Once Upon A New York Minute: Part 1

by Sherry Ficklin

  “Wow, Haven. That’s awful.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if it was real, or maybe just some kind of vivid nightmare. But I remember it so clearly that I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ve never been able to be in full dark. I need something, even just the glow from a clockface. Something. The idea of being locked in a box, underground, in the dark…” I shudder.

  When I snap myself out of the memory, I see Liam looking at me with concern in his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that. Didn’t mean to kill the vibe.”

  He shakes his head, “No, don’t apologize. I like it, I mean I like knowing you better.”

  I jerk my head, “Come on, we’re burning daylight. Let’s go thank Delia and pay the tab.”

  He sets off to find out hostess while I clean the table, gathering the plate and empty glasses and taking them to the bar. There’s a rubber tub of soapy water, so I set to washing it all up.

  “Delia’s knee deep in fish guts at the moment,” he says, pulling some cash from his wallet and setting it on the bar. “I told her thanks for both of us.”

  Back in the car, we drive off. As we ‘round the corner, we pass Delia and I wave.

  Our next stop is also a little off the beaten path, a trailhead at the base of the mountains.

  We hike the dirt path, through the trees and the twisting vines.

  “Come on,” he urges. “We’re nearly there.”

  Sure enough, a few yards ahead the forest canopy opens, exposing a set of cascading pools of water.

  “These are the Singing Pools,” he explains. “One of the old tribal customs was to come down here when a woman was going to give birth. The whole village would come and she would soak in the warm water while they sang the spirit into the world. Sometimes they’d sing for days and days, they say the mountains would echo with the music of new life.”

  “How do you know so much about the old tribes?” I ask, admiring the pools as we climb around.

  “I didn’t get to go to college state side like Aiden. I studied here, majored in history. There was so much culture here before the English,” he points to himself, “before we came and tried to wipe it out. There’s not much of it left now. But what there is, I think it’s worth preserving.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.”

  Reaching out he offers me a hand up a particularly steep piece of rock. At the top, I look down at all the pools, five in total, not very deep but a clear, glass like blue. The smell surprises me, bitter and egg-like.

  “What’s that smell?”

  He grins, “Sulfur. It’s from the water.”

  Kneeling down, he puts one hand in the water. “Here, check this out”

  Crouching beside him I swirl my hand across the surface, feeling along the edge of the pool. It’s stone, but not like anything I’ve ever felt. It’s smooth, but with a texture like melted wax, somehow stone and not stone at the same time.

  “What is that?” I ask, feeling around deeper, tracing the ripples.

  “There’s so many minerals in the water they collect around the edges,” he explains. “It builds up over time, smoothing out the stone around it.”

  “That’s so cool,” I admit, plunging my hand deeper only to lift it, flicking my fingers at his face and sprinkling him with water.

  “Hey,” he says, cupping a handful of liquid and lobbing it at me.

  “What? You can’t handle a little sprinkle?” I challenge, scooping my hand across the surface and soaking him.

  “Brat,” he says, leaning forward over the pool to get another handful of water. His sneaker loses grip on the smooth edge and he slips. “Oh.” He flails, but it’s too late, one foot is already in the water.

  I try to grab his arm, but from my crouched position my center of gravity is too low and he winds up taking me with him as he falls into the pool with a splash.

  A Day in the Sun

  “Ah,” I cry, breaching the surface and wiping the thick water from my face. “It’s slimy. Why is it slimy?”

  Beside me Liam bobs at the surface, shaking the water from his hair. “I told you, it’s the minerals.”

  “Ugh, it’s so gross.” Sighing, I realize I don’t have to paddle to remain at the surface. It’s as if I’m weightless, buoyant as a cork. “At least it’s warm.”

  We splash around for a few minutes, exploring the pool. My mind wanders back to another time.

  Aiden. In the pool. His arms around me, his lips on mine, stealing my breath. Falling below the surface, his fingertips trailing the edges of my bare skin.

  The memory hits me like a wave rolling up on the sand, softly, but with a pull I can’t fight.

  Or maybe I just don’t want to. Closing my eyes, I call it forward, trying to recreate every detail. His dark hair disheveled and dripping beads of water down his face. The way he looked at me, his expression desperate, his pupils wide. I try to recall the feel of his chest rising and falling beneath my hands, the smooth cut of his abs, the sweet salty taste of his lips.

  Just when I’m sure I have it, every piece down to the smallest detail, Aiden’s voice brings me back and my eyes snap open.

  “Where did you go?” he asks gently.

  I shake my head, the corners of my mouth turning up into a silly grin. “I was just thinking about my date with Aiden. There was this pool…” I trail off. Partly because it’s a memory I don’t want to share—as if it’s a secret just between the two of us—but partly because of the way Liam’s face falls when I say it.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  He swims for the edge, not looking at me as he speaks. “No, don’t be sorry.”

  Climbing free of the water. He turns back to me, holding out a hand. “But we should get dried off.”

  With a nod I swim over and let him help me from the pool. We walk back up the trail and stretch out across a flat boulder near the parking area. The sun beats down on us, and I can feel the water evaporating from my skin, even if my clothes are still dripping.

  “So what else did you and Aiden do on your date?’ he asks after a long stretch of silence.

  I shrug, “Mostly sightseeing. Why?”

  He shifts to his side, propping his head up with one arm. “I guess I’m a little jealous.” He clarifies quickly, “I didn’t get to see much of the city at all. Just the inside of our hotel mostly. Other than the bar where we met you, of course.”

  “I’m sorry,” I offer. “I guess when you guys told me it was his last night in the city, I didn’t realize it was yours two. I would have brought you along.”

  He snorts, “And be the third wheel? No thanks.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “If you were there, it might have been different. I mean, it definitely would have been. More like a group of friends than the romantic thing it turned into.”

  “And you two might never have fallen in love,” he adds thoughtfully.

  It’s a good point. “And you’d be stuck with Queen Genevieve,” I point out.

  He shivers. “I guess everything happens for a reason.”

  “Guess so,” I agree.

  Sitting up, he looks skyward, closing his eyes. He strips off his shirt without looking and lays it out beside him to dry. “If you need to do the same, I promise it won’t look. It’ll dry faster this way.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie even as my black top still clings to me. “You just keep your pants on.”

  “You know, I think that’s the first time a woman has ever said that to me,” he boasts, opening his eyes ling enough to wink at me.

  I wish I could say I didn’t believe him.

  “So, Sarah tells me most of the farms on the island grow tea, is that right?”

  He nods, laying back and stretching out. “Yep. It’s our number one export. Most of the land on the island is owned by the crown and operates as a national forest preserve, but a great deal of the mountainous regions host tea farms. It’s pretty lucrative, you can operate about a thousand plants per acre, and
the climate here is ideal for growing. You’ll find that tea is a very big part of life at court—partly because of the British customs they still hold to. There’s even a huge midsummer festival dedicated to it.”

  “Guess I’ll have to brush up on my tea knowledge,” I say. “Maybe Sarah will help me.”

  “Tommy is the one to go to for that. He’s the resident tea snob of the family, and he’s co-hosted the Queen’s Tea for the past three years.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I can take you by one of the farms to check it out, if you’d like.”

  “That’s be great, though at some point, I need to find a store and replace this,” I say, pulling my dead, soggy phone from my pocket.

  “You don’t have it in a waterproof case?” he chastises.

  “I wasn’t expecting to be dragged into a birthing pool.”

  “I did not drag you.”

  “I was trying to save you,” I say, touching the phone to my chest. “And my sweet phone paid the price.”

  He chuckles, “It’s fine. There’s a shopping plaza not far from here.”

  “Good, I want to do a little shopping anyway.”

  “Anything in particular?” he asks. “Besides the phone.”

  I flip over onto my belly, letting the sun hit my back. “Yeah, I want to get a coronation gift for Aiden. You said it’s tradition, right?”

  “I mean, for the council, yes.”

  “Well, I’m about to be on the council so,” I leave the thought.

  “Fine, but since I’m driving you have to put my name on the tag too.”

  “Deal. It’ll be a gift from the future House MacGregor.”

  We sun ourselves a little longer and while not quite dry, at least we no longer slosh when we walk. I’m desperate for a shower, knowing my hair probably reeks of sulfur, but I pull it back into a low pony tail for the time being.

  The shopping plaza is surprisingly modern, for the rustic parts we’d just visited. A few galleries, a few nice restaurants, even a few designer clothes stores stretch out along the picturesque coast.

  We replace the phone first, then I wander the rest of the shops, looking for something appropriate.

  “What should we get him?” Liam asks, browsing a shelf of crystal picture frames. “I mean, he literally has everything.”

  “The perfect gift is something personal, something that captures a moment or memory that you share,” I offer.

  “Like the little Statue of Liberty that you gave him in New York?” he asks and I spin around.

  “How do you know about that?” I challenge.

  “It’s on his desk,” he answers. “It didn’t look like something he’d have bought for himself.”

  I blush, looking away. “Oh. Well, yeah. Something like that.”

  We keep walking down the boardwalk until I stop at a man painting the most beautiful sunset scene. He’s got several prints scattered around him, some landscapes, others abstract, even a few portraits, all with sale stickers in the corner.

  “These are amazing,” I say, admitting his work. “The colors are so bold, the brushstrokes are so delicate.”

  He grins. “Thank you.”

  “Why aren’t these hanging in one of the galleries?” I ask.

  He rocks back on his stool, his brush not touching the canvas.

  “Because I asked a gallery owner to give me his opinion on my work once. He looked at it for a moment and said, it’s worthless. So I told him, I know, but I’d like to hear it anyway.”

  I laugh and he joins me.

  “How long does one of these take to create, start to finish?” I ask.

  “Depends on the piece. Some only hours, others weeks.”

  “Then you are wildly underpricing them,” I tell him.

  He splays his hands, “Materials are expensive.”

  Looking over the prints, I see one that catches my eye, a sea turtle swimming below a sun kissed surface, the light reflecting in shards of color off his shell. “How much for this one?” I ask.

  “For you, who appreciates my work, it is no charge.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly. What about your materials?”

  He shrugs, “I’d rather give it to someone who loves it than to sell it to someone who will hang it in a bathroom.”

  “Alright,” I say. “On one condition. I do a bit of computer work, and I’d love to set up a website for you so you can sell these internationally. If you’ll let me do that, I’ll let you give me this painting as payment.”

  He beams, “Yes, yes, that would be wonderful.”

  Pulling a still soggy card from my wallet I hand it to him. “Sorry it’s damp, I took a bit of a surprise swim today. But the number is my cell, call or text me anytime and we’ll get together and talk layout and design.”

  He releases me with a grateful nod and we continue our shopping.

  “You know,” Liam says once we’re out of ear shot. “Once you’re queen, you could arrange a showing of his work at the palace. Let all the rich lords and ladies fight over his art.”

  I shake my head, “I didn’t think of that. It’s still hard to imagine. Me. Being queen. It sounds so fake.”

  He chuckles, “And yet. Enjoy your final day of anonymity, Haven, because tonight all that’s about to change.”

  Snapping my fingers, I pull to a stop. “I know what to get Aiden. Is there a bookstore nearby?”

  “I think so?” he says, looking around. “Maybe a few blocks up.”

  We walk faster now, no longer stopping from shop to stop. The bookstore is small, tucked tightly between two much newer buildings, and for a moment I’m afraid they might not have what I’m looking for. As soon as I open the door a bell above it chimes our arrival. The smell of old paper and leather wafts over me like a familiar blanket.

  “I love that smell,” I admit.

  “Decay?” Liam asks, appraising the overpacked shelves inside.

  “Knowledge,” I say, curling my fingers like claws.

  “Hello, can I help you?” an older, balding man with wire frame spectacles asks, popping out from a precariously towering stack of books.

  I weave through the stacks, meeting him near the vintage cash register. “I hope so. I’m looking for a book.”

  He grins, adjusting his glasses. “Then, my dear, you’ve come to the right place.”

  “I’m looking for The Invisible Man,” I tell him.

  He looks at me over the top of his glasses, “Ellison or Wells?”

  “Wells,” I say.

  The thinks for a moment, wiggling his fingers and turning his eyes up before nodding and motioning for us.

  “Yes, that’s over here.”

  “The Invisible Man?” Liam leans over to ma and whispers.

  I nod. “Aiden once told me he wished he could be invisible, just lost in a crowd.”

  “Ok,” he says. “But in that book isn’t the invisible man a lunatic bent on destroying society?”

  “That’s true, but I think it’s more than that. Being invisible freed him from the consequences of his actions—or so he thought. The idea is, who would you be if no one was watching?”

  He takes a deep breath, “Ok, yeah. Aiden would appreciate that.”

  I beam at him, “Giving perfect gifts is one of my many underrated talents.”

  Ducking through a low archway we catch up with the shopkeeper, who holds two books out to me. One is a newer version, a soft, glossy cover, the other is old, obviously used, and a red, cloth covered hardback.

  I take the red one.

  “That’s a first edition, it’s quite expensive,” he says, handing it to me.

  “How much?”

  “Twenty-five hundred,” he says.

  “Dollars?” Liam asks.

  He nods.

  Handing the book to Liam, who accepts it like a live grenade, I pull my wallet from my pants and hand him my credit card.

  Taking the plastic, the shop keeper wanders back toward the register.
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  “You sure you can afford that?” Liam asks, whistling.

  I shrug. “It’s worth it. Besides, I have a little cash I’ve been stashing away for a tropical vacation. Seeing as how I’m getting a free one, thanks to you, it’s not a huge deal.”

  “If you say so.”

  Making our way to the register, the shop keeper hands me the card back and holds his hand out for the book.

  “Shall I wrap it up?”

  “Yes, please.” I say. “And thank you.”

  “I hope it’s going to a good collector,” he says, eyeing us warily as he carefully wraps it in thick brown paper.

  “It’ll be right at home in the King’s library,” Liam says flatly.

  The shopkeeper makes a little shocked sound. “Oh, well.”

  “It’s a coronation gift,” I clarify.

  “Oh, of course. Then I’m honored you decided to purchase it from my little store.”

  “It is a wonderful store,” I say. “I wish I could stay longer and look around, but we have to be getting back to get ready for the ball. I do, however, plan to spend lots of time here in the future.”

  He grins widely, “And you are always welcome. Next time I’ll make a pot of tea and show you some of my other first editions.”

  “That sounds lovely, thank you again.”

  When we leave the shop, Liam turns to me, his hands in his pockets. “Do you have to completely charm every single person you meet? I was hoping it was exclusive to me.”

  “If by charm you mean treat with basic dignity and kindness, then yes.”

  He shakes his head, “You’re single handedly ruining the reputation of all New Yorkers, you know that, right?”

  “Even we are only assholes when we have to be. But when we have to be,” I tilt my chin up, “watch out.”

  The drive back to the palace is longer, Liam driving up the far side of the island and past a few tea farms so I can see them even though we don’t have time to stop. With my window down, I tug my hair free of the pony tail so the wind can blow through it as I lean my head out.