Are You Afraid Of The Dark   ::   Sheldon Sidney

I want you to leave-" "Well, look who's come to pay us a visit-her highness." Her stepfather had just walked in. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be strutting around in them fancy clothes?" I'll have to do this another time, Kelly thought.

* * *



KELLY HAD ONE more stop to make. She went to the public library where she had spent so many wonderful hours, and as she walked through the door, holding half a dozen magazines, her mind was dancing with memories.

Mrs. Houston was not at her desk. Kelly walked inside and saw her standing in one of the side aisles, looking radiant in a sleek, tailored dress, busily filling a shelf with books.

As Mrs. Houston heard the door open, she said, "I'll be with you in a moment." She turned. "Kelly!" It was almost a scream. "Oh, Kelly." They ran to each other and embraced.

Mrs. Houston pulled back and looked at Kelly. "I can't believe it's you. What are you doing in town?" "I came to see my mother, but I wanted to see you, too." "I'm so proud of you. You have no idea." "Mrs. Houston, do you remember when I asked how I could thank you? You said I could thank you by letting you see my picture in a fashion magazine. Here." And Kelly put the pile of fashion magazines in Mrs. Houston's arms. There were copies of Elle, Cosmopolitan, Mademoiselle, and Vogue. She was on the cover of each one.

"They're beautiful." Mrs. Houston was beaming. "I want to show you something." She went behind her desk and pulled out copies of the same magazines.

It took a moment before Kelly could speak. "What can I ever do to thank you? You changed my life." "No, Kelly. You changed your life. All I did was give you a little push. And Kelly-" "Yes?" "Thanks to you I've become a fashion plate."

* * *



SINCE KELLY VALUED her privacy, her fame sometimes was troublesome. The constant barrage of photographers annoyed her, and she had what amounted to a phobia of being approached by people she did not know. Kelly enjoyed being alone.

One day, she was having lunch at Restaurant le Cinq at the George V Hotel, when a badly dressed man passing by stopped to stare at her. He had the pallid, unhealthy complexion of someone who spent all his time indoors. He was carrying a copy of Elle, opened to a page of photographs of Kelly.

"Excuse me," the stranger said.

Kelly looked up, annoyed. "Yes?" "I saw your-I read this article about you, and it says that you were born in Philadelphia." His voice grew enthusiastic.