By Alex Berger
Once upon a time, my editor called me into her office. She had heard from an unimpeachable source that Snow White and the Prince Charming were alive and well and living peacefully in a senior citizen home — appropriately named “When You Wish Upon a Star” — in Florida.
“I’m assigning you to go to the land of sunshine, oranges and geriatrics to bring back the exclusive story,” she said.
I ran home and hurriedly reviewed my VCR copy of Walt Disney’s 1937 animated film “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” to refresh my memory of the fabled pair. That night, I flew to Miami with a thousand questions dancing in my head and my Disney watch around my wrist.
Upon landing, I sped to the address of the Princeâ„White residence with trepidation and anxiety. Will Snow White look as beautiful as ever? Will she grant me an interview? Will the Prince not be charming and throw me out? I would soon find out.
When I reached the entrance to their gated community, musical strains of “When You Wish Upon a Star” rang in my ears. The burly security guard on duty looked familiar. We stared at each other.
“Aren’t you the Beast of ‘Beauty and …’?” I asked.
“Yes,” he sadly whispered. “I hoped no one would recognize me. Please don’t tell anyone I work here. My fans — the children of the world — wouldn’t understand.”
“What happened to you, Beast?” I inquired.
“Well,” he answered, “I lost my investment and residual monies from children’s books, movies, live performances and lunch boxes in the Ponzi scheme. My retirement portfolio’s completely drained. And don’t ask me about my derivatives.”
“Are you still with Belle?” I questioned.
“Yes, but with my long hours, I hardly see her anymore,” he sobbed.
“Don’t feel too badly, Beast,” I said, trying to cheer him up. “You should be happy that you’re working during this economic meltdown. Tell me, which way is it to Snow White’s abode?”
“She’s probably in the clubhouse directly ahead, playing canasta with the girls.”
I patted the Beast on his hairy but grayish shoulders, wished him luck and continued onward to my date with destiny.
I quietly entered the clubhouse and there before me was a sight to behold. Sitting around a large card table were a group of aging ladies with grayish−blue dyed hair.
I instantly recognized Snow White wearing orthopedic shoes; a plumper Cinderella; a wrinkled Belle; Sleeping Beauty with bags under her eyes; and Ariel, the Little Mermaid, littler and looking like a sardine, spritzing herself with water to quell her hot flashes.
“Oy,” I heard Cinderella complain. “I feel chilly and my sciatica’s acting up. I think I’ll go and curl up in front of my cinder−less electric fireplace.”
“Oy,” complained Sleeping Beauty. “Don’t talk. I have trouble sleeping. I think I’ll leave for my afternoon beauty nap.”
“Oy,” Belle complained. “You’re all depressing. I think I’ll see my Beast so he can cheer me up.”
“Oy,” Ariel complained. “Girls, you’re lucky you don’t have arthritic gills like me. I think I should’ve stayed in the sea and spent the rest of my years with my daddy, King Triton.”
My attention was diverted to multiple groans coming from an adjacent room. I peeked in and there, sitting under a halo of cigar smoke and playing gin rummy, were a pot−bellied Prince; a bent−over Prince Eric, Ariel’s love; and Cinderella’s balding Prince Charming.
Gripes of prostate problems, indigestion, reflux, kidney stones, cataracts, hearing loss, painful gum blisters from ill−fitting false teeth, baldness and the ineffectiveness of Viagra filled the air.
“We don’t belong here in a world where everything ages,” moaned the Prince. “We are, after all, cartoon characters. We’d be better off if we all moved back to our respective royal kingdoms, where we’ll regain our vim and vigor, our valor, our vanity and our virility.”
They all agreed. And so, within a blink of an eye, the three princes and the Beast, grabbed their beloveds and disappeared without a trace. Tearfully, I looked up at the heavens and wished upon a star that they will all live happily ever after.
As for their retirement home, the instant everyone faded away, it miraculously turned itself into a jai−alai court.
In compliance with the Disney Code of Honor, the tale of this tale can never and will never leave my lips.
I told my editor the story was a hoax, but readers, we know better, don’t we?
Contact Alex Berger at news@timesledger.com.
