the miscommunication
A week passes, and while the voice screaming about Glinda in her mind has somewhat lessened, Elphaba is chagrined to find that she cannot get the blonde out of her mind. Each day at the shop that doesn’t bring another visit from the actress only deflates the small bubble of hope she has left, and by the next Monday she’s fairly sure she’ll never see Glinda again. Which is completely fine. And does not bother her in the slightest.
And if Fiyero notices that she seems to have watched all of Glinda’s interviews in her spare time, he wisely does not comment on it.
By the afternoon, Elphaba is all about ready to close shop early and just go home. Instead she tells Dillamond she’s taking a break, and walks to the coffee shop. She orders herself the green tea again, and then wonders if it might be too on the nose considering her own.. hue. The barista seems to think so too, judging by the slight raise of her eyebrows at the order, but neither comment on it and soon Elphaba is out the door, tea in hand.
She sips it slowly as she ambles back to the shop, intentionally lingering outside to soak in the warm sun that gleams against the shimmering buildings. The weather is nearly always nice in Oz, but every once in a while spring can bring battering rains or strong winds. Today, however, everything is content, Ozians mingling about in the streets and birds chirping faintly from the rooftops. She breathes in deeply, fresh air lessening her sour mood, and sips her tea quietly. Glinda can’t be worth all this stress, she decides, and with a new spring in her step returns back to the bookshop. Once inside, she sets the tea on her desk and begins shuffling through the papers scattered across it, wondering what there is left to do today.
“Ah Elphaba, you’re back! Thank Oz, I just got a call and the woman on the other end sounded rather urgent.. She was looking for you, said her name was… now hold on.. Linda? No, Lucinda..”
Elphaba swallows, throat suddenly dry. So much for moving on. “Glinda, perhaps?”
Dillamond lights up, and nods. “Yes that’s it! Glinda. Anyhow, she called wondering if you could make it to the Diggs Hotel tonight at 5. She was rather vague, wouldn’t say why, but she didn’t sound shifty so I figured it was an old friend.”
Elphaba nods vaguely. Her heart is stomping in her chest, and she nervously pushes her glasses up her nose. “Something like that. Did she say anything else?”
Dillamond thinks, humming slightly, and then looks up once more and adds, “Oh yes! She said to ask for ‘The Good Witch’ at the front desk, some sort of code name I’d imagine. A rather interesting friend you have, I must say.”
Elphaba’s mind is reeling, and all she can do is nod before asking him to man the shop for the rest of the day and dashing out the door, tea long forgotten.
. . . . . . .
It is roughly 4:30 pm, Elphaba having gone home straight after work to shower and change into more presentable clothing. Nervously she wonders how formal Glinda expects her to be, but decides upon her usual white button up, and a pair of deep green slacks to tuck it into. She rolls up the cuffs of her shirt to seem more casual, and anxiously fiddles with her hair before chiding herself. This wasn’t a date, and Glinda would surely not care whether or not her hair was up. At least, she hopes she won't.
The Diggs Hotel, one of the nicest ones Emerald City has to offer, is closer to the heart of the city. Elphaba catches a cab there, and in the backseat wrings her hands, stomach knotting at the thought of seeing the actress again. It feels like one big, surreal dream, a small nobody with a dusty bookstore driving to the hotel of the world’s favorite actress. Elphaba nearly goes to pinch herself, but is too afraid she’ll find herself back awake in bed, this figment of her imagination a cruel prank by her subconscious.
When she climbs out of the cab, palms sweating, she spots a small flower shop next to the hotel. Surely that was proper not-date etiquette, to bring a bouquet of flowers? She checks her watch and is alarmed to find it’s 4:50, but decides that making a good impression is a must in this situation. The woman has been parading around her thoughts for a week, and Elphaba resolves that she can not mess up this chance she has been given. She strides into the shop, the strong smell of sweet fragrances and humid air hitting her nose immediately.
“Ah, hello! Looking for anything in particular, dear?”
An elderly woman comes up to her, cloud-white hair and small wire glasses framing her face. Elphaba smiles politely, about to answer no, but realizes she does not know the first thing about flowers. What if Glinda reads into this bouquet?
“Um, well I was just looking for a nice bouquet for.. a new friend I suppose. Something sweet, maybe.. pink?” She recalls vaguely the signature color Glinda wears on red carpets.
The old woman smiles, a twinkle of recognition in her eyes, and gestures for Elphaba to follow her deeper into the store. She comes to a stop in front of a small bouquet of pink tulips, long leaves framing them neatly.
“These will be perfect for your.. friend. A classic flower, affectionate but simple, signifying many types of love. And I do find that the pink of the flower goes so well with the green of the leaf, wouldn’t you?”
Elphaba blinks, and wonders how unsubtle she must have been. Clearly a fair amount, if the woman is handing her romantic bundles. Still, she must admit they look perfect, and soon her wallet is a little lighter, and the bouquet, wrapped in brown paper, is clutched tightly in her hands.
She enters the hotel, and her first impression is that the wealth seems to drip off the walls. The lavish emerald green, signature of the city, is on full display, mixed with white marble to create tall and shining walls. Elaborate crystal chandeliers light the lobby, while concierges bustle around, no doubt finding a client’s third champagne bottle or plush bathrobe of the night.
Elphaba steps up to the front desk, and clears her throat hesitantly. The receptionist, hardly sparing her a glance as he types furiously on his computer, raises an eyebrow in answer.
“Uh, I was just looking for Ms. Up- I mean, ‘The Good Witch’? Is she perhaps staying here? I believe she’s expecting me.” She shuffles nervously, and partially hides the bouquet behind her back, suddenly self-conscious.
At her words, the receptionist finally looks up, sparing her a smile. He gestures to a small concierge, and replies, “Ah yes! Perfect! Please, follow him upstairs. The others should already be there.”
The others? Had Glinda invited other people? Now somewhat confused, Elphaba quickly follows the small man, who walks alarmingly fast, to the gleaming gold elevators. They ride up 14 floors in silence, save for the occasional ping as someone enters or gets off. At the top, the man gestures towards a white door at the end of the hall, then closes the elevator door, leaving Elphaba in a stunned silence. At last, she has arrived at the moment she has been waiting for.
She slowly walks up to the door, wiping her palms nervously against her pants and adjusting her collar mindlessly. Would Glinda be happy to see her? Would she even remember who–
The door swings open, and a strict looking woman with a grey updo of hair and a purple pencil skirt beckons her in.
“Oz, there’s always stragglers. They’ve already started doing rounds, just write your name and magazine on the paper and you can start your interviews.” Her tone is sharp and bored, and as soon as she finishes addressing Elphaba she marches off to another room.
Stragglers? Magazine? Interviews? Suddenly, Elphaba catches sight of the giant poster in front of her, standing up on a small plastic easel. The same poster plastered at the bus stop, bold letters SATURN RETURNS printed on it, with Glinda Upland’s face smiling back at her. The pieces slowly begin to fall into place, and Elphaba suddenly feels like a humongous fool. Because this is no date, or even a casual hello, no, Glinda has double-booked her with a press day for her new movie.
A clipboard is shoved into her hand, with two columns: NAME and MAGAZINE. Hesitantly, she writes Elphaba Thropp, and with a glance to her bouquet adds Oz Outdoors as her magazine. The assistant who takes it back sends her a strange glance, no doubt wondering why a gardening magazine is at a film media day, but wisely does not comment on it. Elphaba wouldn’t have an answer if he asked.
“In here, miss.” He gestures her into the first room, and once she enters Elphaba’s frustration dissipates instantly. There, dressed in a silk pink buttoned shirt and beige skirt, Glinda Upland paces anxiously, and freezes at the sight of her.
The room is a nice one, a sitting room with high ceilings, deep green walls, and plush green sofas. The marble tiled floor and large, gleaming window add a touch of elegance, but its classic glamor is somewhat disrupted by the mess of papers on the coffee table and Glinda’s brown purse thrown carelessly on the sofa. Elphaba blinks, and then awkwardly holds out the flowers.
“Courtesy of Oz Outdoors, I suppose. I believe I might have misread the situation.” Glinda’s eyebrows furrow, a trace of guilt flickering across her face, but she smiles slightly at the bouquet and takes them from the green woman.
“Oz, I’m terribly sorry. I was hoping to catch you before all this started, but I completely messed up the times. I just wanted to call and thank you again, I realized later that my exit was rather… rushed, and you really were very kind. I had simply been avoiding some pesky photographers when I dropped into your shop, and I was rather hoping to avoid them capturing me leaving some random woman’s house.” She smiles guilty, and Elphaba nods, a small lump in her throat.
It’s really rather unfair that she can’t be mad in the slightest, because the way Glinda’s honey hair falls in perfected waves down her shoulders and the small dimple on her cheek as she smiles dissipates any anger Elphaba can muster.
“Oh it’s quite alright, really I understand. I–”
The door opens, and the snapping woman from earlier enters.
Glinda winces slightly, and then puts on a smile.
“So, Oz Outdoors, you said? How have your readers enjoyed our film?” She nods slightly at Elphaba, and after a brief second her mind catches up and she realizes she’s supposed to play along.
“Oh, oh yes, I do believe they rather.. enjoyed it. Were there any.. plants in your film?” She pushes her glasses up her nose and shifts awkwardly. Oz, she was not made to be an actor.
Glinda smiles slightly, obviously realizing the same thing, but nods as though it is a perfectly reasonable question.
“Oh well, yes I would say so. She does run through a field of tulips and, we um, we planted those in real life actually. A fun fact to include in your article.” With the woman turned around, busy bustling around papers on a vanity, Glinda takes the liberty of winking quickly at her flustered companion.
This, of course, does nothing to aid Elphaba’s acting skills, and she stammers even more as she replies.
“Ah, wonderful. Well, thank you, I’m sure they’ll.. really be excited to learn that. Yes, quite a few tulips, isn’t that?”
The woman, mercifully, decides to exit, and Glinda lets out a small burst of laughter as soon as she’s gone.
“Oz, I’m sorry. But please never go into acting.”
“Don’t worry, I never even considered it. I’m terribly sorry, this whole thing is just really rather crazy for me. Really the last way I expected my Monday to go, this is the sort of thing that happens in dreams. Good dreams, that is.” She mindlessly fixes her sleeve, suddenly flushed under Glinda’s intense gaze.
The blonde smiles at that, and tilts her head slightly. “And what happens next in the dream?” It’s a challenge, unspoken, and she takes a small step forward.
Elphaba’s breath catches in her throat, and she blinks, before slowly starting, “Well, I suppose in the dream I’d ask–”
The door swings open again, and the woman reenters.
“Ms. Upland, one more minute and then Ms..” She checks her clipboard, searching for her name, “Thropp has to go to the next room, ask your final question I’d say.”
Glinda nods tightly, “Thank you, Morrible.”
The woman leaves, door swinging behind her, and the actress turns back to Elphaba expectantly.
“You were saying?” She bats her eyes, and Elphaba is once again mesmerized by the way her hair shines in the light filtering through the window. She steels herself, clenching her fist, and continues.
“Well, in the dream I suppose I would ask if you were free. For dinner. Tonight.”
Glinda smiles, real and genuine, the small dimple in her cheek prominent.
“I think —in the dream— I would say yes.”
Elated, Elphaba smiles back widely.
And then, because Elphaba’s luck has always been rather rotten, she remembers that it is her that is not free tonight. The crestfallen look on her face must be evident, because Glinda frowns slightly and tilts her head questioningly.
“No, it’s just.. well I’ve totally forgotten, but it’s my little sister’s birthday dinner tonight. I was supposed to pop over, her and our friends, I told her I could make it.”
Glinda’s frown disappears and her usual ease comes back. She smiles again, a glimmer of humor in her eyes, and adds, “Well, don’t you need a date for that?”
All Elphaba can do is look at her, gaping, before an assistant comes and whisks her over to another room, Glinda’s costars awaiting her.
. . . . . . .
The rest of the interviews are an awkward affair, but that is to be expected when you are not a real interviewer and your imaginary magazine is one about plants. The movie, a witty and charming coming of age, does not exactly provide many opportunities to discuss this.
“So, would you say you.. interacted with a lot of plants on set?”
The actor stares at her blankly, white beard neatly trimmed and porkpie hat balanced on his head.
“No, no I wouldn’t. Maybe the lawn in front of the house, but I doubt your readers are really.. clamoring for lawn care tips.”
She winces awkwardly and moves to the next room.
“So your character goes to a park during one scene. Do you remember anything about the.. flowers there?”
The actress scratches her head, somewhat puzzled, but aims for a more tactical and polite approach than her co-star.
“Well, I can’t say I was particularly paying attention, but I wouldn’t be surprised if our set designers kept that in mind. Flower language is pretty big these days, right? That could be a cool detail, but I might just be making that up.” She laughs amicably, and Elphaba feels a little less stressed leaving that room. She smiles gratefully at the girl, but nonetheless subtly checks her watch as she moves to the next one.
The rest of the interviews go similarly, and Elphaba is really rather relieved when she leaves the last room. As she prepares to leave, Morrible, the grey haired woman, comes up to her, lips pressed in a tight line. Her face is one of obvious impatience as she hands Elphaba a small slip of paper, then with one last rather judgemental once-over walks off into another room.
Elphaba raises an eyebrow, confused. She looks at the paper, a light pink index card with elegant handwriting on the back. It reads, Elphaba; what time is dinner? Tell Morrible and meet me at the front door of the hotel on your way there. x Glinda. She smiles, and suddenly the two hours spent in this misunderstanding have all been worth it.