Off with Her Head, or at Least Her Tiara
Tonight’s bedtime story has a very familiar backdrop but will be told to little Lizzie in a much more au courant way. The little girl’s favorite aunt is sitting comfortably 2,000 miles away in her tiny dorm room adjusting her Apple screen before she begins rehashing one of her most poignant lessons to date via Skype on impressionable ears. After almost completing her first semester studying literature immersed in the city which really doesn’t ever sleep, the classic fairytales have taken on much more modern endings. Knowing how much Lizzie dreams of being a princess someday, despite the continuous drop in pay over the last couple of decades, the nineteen year old decides to throw Cinderella, Belle, Princess Aurora, even Shrek’s Fiona, out the NYU window, and regale her niece about all things Kiki.
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom nestled by the sea, which could only be accessed by boat, or by Lurssen super yacht. San Libertine was adjacent to rival Monaco, but unlike Monaco’s 499 acres of French flair, the much smaller principality had become more of a red headed stepchild situated along the expensive real estate that was the French Riviera. It was long rumored that reigning King Juan (now in his early 80’s, despite numerous attempts to update his Wikipedia page) was really born in Puerto Rico and secretly smuggled in when his late father only shot blanks. Of course, there were still a few purists who did see the resemblance between Juan’s Papa and his last Latin maid, a’ la Arnold. Either way, Juan was a tall, striking man in his prime before mid-life began morphing him into a famous King centuries before him who’s lasting legacy in the history books focuses predominantly on his fickle behavior when it came to wives.
Our now portly royal finally decided it was indeed the time to start a family, not necessarily to feel the joys of being a parent or throwing a baseball with a mini-me, but rather the need to secure the family business. Juan experienced great success during his fifties, both personally and professionally. After several failed attempts at hoping to open their borders to the casino leftovers from “next door”, Libertine’s gambling efforts resembled more of a Hangover night at a dilapidated Atlantic City venue, instead of even a poor man’s Place du Casino. Then there was one spring where Juan tried his country’s hand at auto racing. Unfortunately, the glamour of international sports cars segued into beer drinking NASCAR fans showing up on the beaches wearing their trucker hats. Juan felt the racing season under his reign would have to be one and done. Finally, right before the big Six-0, the mini country that only knew the word “can’t” learned about Canne. No, it would never become Marche’ du Film, but for those film makers desperately hoping to break into the business somehow, it was a plausible Step One. If not, it did give one hope they’d at least make it to the Portland Horror Film Festival the following year.
On the romantic front, try as he did, not even an ever expanding wallet was enough to score with the fairer sex, and there was nothing happening in that department at all. Juan did attempt Keto, high interval training, even goat yoga, but to no avail. At almost 300 pounds, he found himself panting just while attempting to swipe right and left on his newly found hobby, Tinder. As the decades began to pass, Juan did occasionally break away from years and years of dry spells, coupled with the aid of a few blue pills. In fact, along the way, there were now two baby mamas and two daughters. It never even occurred to the aging Crown that, again like Henry, he would have difficulty in producing a male heir. Unlike, the famous Tudor, Juan allowed his two exes to keep their heads, but banished them to a waterside condo on the opposite side of the white sandy beach. (It really could have been so much worse, and they did each receive their own place.)
The other nagging problem with Juan’s quickly evaporating grandiose plan was that the two offspring weren’t what one would consider, “lookers.” As much as our King did care about his daughters, it became crystal clear by the time each girl had their fifth birthday that the old scenario held true, “After a few drinks, everyone looks good.” King J must have experienced some blurry vision on at least two particular occasions. He did almost throw in the towel, so to speak, and felt semi confident that as the two daughters grew up, their bank accounts would help them become much more appealing to the opposite sex. However, lo and behold, on the eve of his 62nd birthday, that crazy Uncle in the family (we all have at least one), sent him a Stripagram for his present, and Juan found himself doing a lot of unwrapping that particular evening. Nine months later, Kristina was born, and like her mother, she was a knock out.
It became quite apparent to Juan that as Kristina hit her teen years, the little nation that could, did, and finally began generating the most important commodity of all circa 2020, buzz. Besides the sordid bunch the annual film festival brought to the idyllic island, Libertine was now frequently featured in the only other important books besides the Bible: TMZ, and The Daily Mail. The reason? Kristina.
Kiki, as she had now renamed herself was the best type of celebrity. She was famous for being famous. On her twentieth birthday, she officially unveiled her own eyelash line called “Size Matters”, and treated herself to new cheeks. Everywhere she went, she was papped and even her haters couldn’t wait to read more about her flashy hijinks. In the meantime, what is a great story without a dash of scandal, or two, or more? The aging Juan was really feeling his years, along with his always aching back, legs, and all other appendages he no longer had use of. His primary relationship still needing first aid was his lack of spirituality and he quietly began to make peace with his maker. The many parallels with his English counterpart only intensified in his final couple of years here on earth. He found himself forging open communication with his Priest, and also decided to shuffle up the centuries old royal succession line.
King Juan finally passed away at the ripe old age of 82, but the entire country would continue speaking about him for years and years to come. Maybe, he ultimately wanted to prove that some of us are indeed more famous after death than they ever were in life. Being that Juan’s final wife was forty plus years younger than him, she had constantly exposed him to all of our modern day trappings. On the final night of his life, after turning his hearing aid on high, she mentioned that His Royal Highness should try mastering Snap chat. The next morning, as the Patriarch took his last breath, his three daughters saw their phones light up. At first, the trio was simply shocked to be receiving a morning greeting from their father via social media. Then, one by one, their shock turned to disbelief as they began reading some additional, last minute, VERY fine print written in by his pushy lawyer; Kristina was now the next in line. Of course, Juan explained this recent development was strictly due to the fact that his first two marriages were not considered official. After all, that was when he took his private jet to Vegas on both occasions and had to hide the bill from taxpayers. In fact, what good is a royal wedding if there are no tea towels depicting the pics from A Little White Chapel? The last ring ceremony was conducted by Rupaul who flew in one weekend; all expenses paid for, and was commemorated by the happy couple’s smiling faces sold on shot glasses. Online sales generated close to a million. The King did have the foresight to email a copy of his long, drawn out Au revoir to the press.
To be expected, Cinderella’s beauty challenged step sisters, or in this particular case, half sisters, did not take the latest news very well. After the third round of appeals, which included attempts at filing legal actions in their original birth spots of Nevada, they decided the next battleground would be a proper smear campaign. Kiki and her wayward mother were described as being as loose as the legendary Boleyn girls before them and there were soon carefully planted tidbits emerging in the rags of them both even sharing boyfriends. The only problem was that the images of the mother/daughter duo strolling along, hand in hand in St. Barts wearing nothing more than what a Scores entertainer does while working a pole on a highly profitable Saturday night, generated more likes and followers for the Queen. After a year, the older siblings decided to play nice, play the game, and attempt some much needed makeup tips.
Maybe it was 2019 when the young Blue Blood began to finally experience a seismic shift and the forever “It Girl” soon saw her headlines reading, “New Lohan.” No, it really wasn’t true. There really is such a thing as bad press. Despite having an amazingly perfect tabloid friendly year which consisted of plenty of boy toys, that unlike her Top Shop friend, none had rap sheets, along with Oscars after parties and front row seats at Donatella’s last Resort Collection, the tide began to turn. Was it getting snapped semi cognizant in the backseat of an Uber after a long night out with a droplet of drool on her chin, or the last walk of shame seen across the world as she left the latest Bachelorette’s castoff when she paid him a late night visit at his L.A. bungalow? Kiki really believed her good fortune would be on an upswing after she launched her latest at home Brazilian wax kits while also surpassing Charlotte Casiraghi as the hottest royal under 30, but the public had other opinions.
Kiki spent the next six months in virtual exile while trying to plan her reemergence back into appropriate social circles, all the while using the most highly touted PR agency around. If Angelina could evolve into a respected humanitarian and Kim K was about to become a practicing lawyer, it is reasonable to assume that an impressionable former princess with a newly created mental health disorder would see the light at the end of the tunnel and manage to become a modern day role model for those who grew up shopping at Kitson. It isn’t like Kiki took on this challenge strictly at face value. Not at all! After a global DWI mug shot, she really did decide to study the art of meditation and did decide to pursue and discover just what she really needed to become a better version of herself.
There was a soft launch of her latest Sephora based products, and she decided to be celibate for a while. Granted, her late father made some unusual choices in his life, but he did resuscitate the country’s economy with the craziness of Tinsel Town, and that is another viable avenue Kiki decided to pursue. With the help of Hamilton, her fellow Queen who truly was a true friend, a top secret meeting was arranged between Kiki and a world renowned film director which would take place outside her country’s limits. Kiki had indeed experienced a sprinkling of business success albeit Juan, and wanted to tap into expanding the yearly movie fest into, at the very least, Sundance or Telluride. She somehow managed to escape the prying eyes of her two burly, and very hot, bodyguards, and left her gated compound driving her latest overpriced sedan. Kiki, never having actually passed a driving test, was also one to not pay too much attention to vehicle upkeep. After all, that is what drivers are for.
“Auntie M, is this story going to have a happy ending?” The once drowsy school girl was now very wide awake as the clock in the background was overheard striking midnight on a school night, no less.
“Shhh. We don’t want to wake up your parents, and the ending will be what you decide to make of it. Any who….. ”
Queen Kiki manages to sneak off without anyone realizing that she was even missing. After several months of private one on one GOOP sessions, undercover volunteerism with organizations she actually cared about, and numerous strong colonics, Kiki was feeling about as organic as humanly possible. Trying to appear semi low key, she had swapped her usual bondage style Herve Leger black frock for a much more low key Jenny Packham knee length number and finished it off with a messy up do. Yes, she had royal blood flowing in her veins but she was very much aware that her lunch date was a recipient of a golden Hollywood statuette, which trumps everything else, nowadays.
After picking at a very lady like entrée of seasonal steamed white wine mussels with just one bite of bruchetta dipped in olive oil (extra virgin, of course. This was the only time in Kiki’s recent memory that she could ever even recollect saying the word “virgin” and her name in the same sentence), she splurged on l’orange caramelisee, and tarte aux grains de ble’, topped off with a triple shot of espresso. Il Terrazzino was world famous for its legendary atmosphere and food, and a few out of work actresses making an extra buck as a yacht girl. The late lunch was a success and the famed director and modern day monarch left with a deaux of air kisses, exchanged digits, and a verbal agreement to do some sort of collaboration on his next big budget masterpiece. As Kiki was grabbing her sparkling keys from the incredibly handsome, in a young “Catch a Thief, Carey Grant, Euro trash way, the Academy Award winner waved and said, “Enjoyed it. Will be in touch, but lay low for a while.”
Maybe it was the fact that the youthful queen was driving down the very same Southern coastal road that the former Grace Kelly pretended to be maneuvering when in actuality, was sitting in front of crew members on a Paramount lot, but Kiki felt like Edith Head, minus the diamonds and cat burglar. She felt for her loosely held bobby pins, and, one by one, began pulling them out while simultaneously tossing them aside. Rubbing her hands through her hair, the lady of stature wanted to feel much more like a free spirit bohemian gypsy who spent her days listening to the sounds of the ocean and people watching while sitting at her favorite outdoor café. Still, ever present that she does indeed live in the era of Tik Tok, she cranks up her tunes to the latest Post Malone and floors it, until….. That must be the reason for that bright red light that has remained on for the last fifty miles. Before Kiki even begins to contemplate the word, “Mechanical,” her Jag XE sputters off and peters out onto the narrow shoulder of the Cliffside road. “S… I really should have gone electric and taken the Tesla.” A few Sprint calls later, the someday fashion icon sits and waits for help to arrive.
Totally captivated by the latest Pinterest Amalfi interiors, a slight tapping at her window instantly jars the sexy European with her newly bought Bardot pout back to reality. At first, Kiki zeroes in on the sweaty biceps protruding from the light blue stretch fabric. Maybe it is the unusually hot May temps, but the sun is shining down on this man as if he is the second coming of Hermes. In fact, our little royal thinks this would be a swap she would consider, Hermes bag for Hermes God. Never in her short 22 years has Kiki ever been as spellbound as she now was. In fact, as H drove her to his little mechanic shop to the stars, the tabloid magnet was barely able to utter a complete sentence. How can this be, you ask? She is born into privilege, able to mix and mingle with the rich and famous, and is only used to the jet set lifestyle, and he, despite his model good looks, and seemingly sincere heart, is a mere commoner?
Well, Lizzie, hence the twist in our tale and Disney. Our little glamour girl decides to forger her own identity, not attach hers with her plus one, and become a plus two based on her heart. (Of course, after a little digging, E News did discover our handsome suitor was secretly going to inherit a very profitable vineyard, someday). Will these two make it to the alter and live happily ever after? I guess, you will have to wait and see, but they did make it Instagram official after six months. As for Kiki’s movie project, it worked out pretty well, too. Just as the director’s last big summer blockbuster, our little bedtime story had a twist in the ending when the beginning started out as, “Once upon a time…”