Star Promise

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  She took off down the hall, heading for the bathroom. If her excitement had anything to do with spending the day with giraffes, she was out of luck. The only animals working at my office were lions and the odd snake.

  ***

  I usually spent the long elevator ride up to the office in silence, daydreaming of all the ways I could tell my dad to shove his stupid job. This morning was a little different. There’s nothing silent about a little girl protesting at having her hair brushed. “Stand still,” I demanded.

  “I can’t stand still,” Bridget replied. “My feet need to move.”

  I shoved her hairbrush into her backpack, admitting defeat. “You look like a street urchin, Bridge.”

  I watched her through the mirror, sweeping her messy hair from her eyes. “Yes, I do,” she proudly agreed.

  A bell chimed and the doors opened onto the forty-third floor, home of the law offices of Décarie, Fontaine and Associates.

  I firmly held Bridget’s hand as we walked through the reception area, successfully ignoring Tennille’s disapproving stare as we passed her desk.

  “In here, baby,” I said, leading Bridget through my office door.

  I had no clue how I was going to occupy her for the day. Bribery was my best bet. “If you’re a good girl I’ll take you out for lunch,” I offered, closing the door. “Anywhere you want to go.” I was prepared to endure a meal of chicken nuggets if necessary.

  Bridget was loud and fidgety and had no place in a law office, but she did look the part as she dumped her little backpack down on my desk and took up residence on my chair. Perhaps her outfit had something to do with it. After getting her showered, dressed and semi presentable, she had made me wait ten minutes while she raided my closet for a tie, settling on a blue silk number that she claimed matched her pink boots nicely.

  She grabbed one end of her tie and flapped it at me. “Can you tie it better, please?”

  I spun the chair so she was facing me. “Is a Windsor knot okay?”

  “No, I need a girl knot.”

  I looped the tie around her neck. “A girl knot it is.”

  There must’ve been something wrong with my technique. She asked me to redo it, and I obliged as if I had nothing better to do with my time. My father stormed my office a moment later to remind me otherwise.

  I wasn’t worried about bearing his wrath. As long as Bridget was in the room, I was untouchable. She scrambled off the chair and ran to greet him. “Bonjour, Papy!”

  Dad scooped her up at the last second, saving them both from certain collision. I reclaimed my chair.

  “Why are you here today, my love?” He sounded calm and cheerful, but wasn’t. “Little girls don’t belong here.”

  Bridget picked up the end of her tie and waved it at him. “Yes I do. I have a tie.”

  Dad glared at me. “Your mother could watch her if you’re in a bind,” he suggested. “Call her.”

  “She’s fine, Dad,” I muttered. “She brought plenty of toys to keep herself occupied.”

  The mention of toys reminded Bridget of her backpack. She wriggled free of her grandfather, rushed back to my desk and upended the whole lot, scattering severed doll parts everywhere.

  For Dad, it was the last straw. “Call your mother,” he demanded, exiting the room.

  “Poor Papy,” said Bridget, piling onto my lap. “He’s too busy to play with us today.”

  ***

  It would’ve been logical to call my mother to babysit. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Any time spent with my daughter was precious, even if it was spent trying to stop her rifling through my desk.

  I pulled her hand free of the drawer and closed it – for the third time in as many minutes.

  “I need something in there,” she insisted.

  “What do you need?”

  Bridget replied as if it was a silly question. “All the things that are in there.”

  It should’ve been a conversation that annoyed me, but it wasn’t. I was more pissed at the prospect of having to do some actual work. I leaned back in my chair, resting my hands behind my head while I plotted my next move.

  “Look,” I said finally. “I’ll make you a deal.”

  “I love deals!” She bounced on the spot. “I just love them.”

  “You’re in luck then.” Her bright blue eyes widened as I pulled open the top drawer of my desk. “You can have one thing in here – anything you like.” I glanced inside and instantly regretted the offer – she was likely to choose the stapler. I continued negotiations anyway. “All you have to do in return is sit quietly and let me get some work done.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief when she made a grab for the calculator.

  “Do we have a deal, Bridge?”

  She nodded too many times to be believable. “Yes, a lovely deal.”

  ***

  With the exception of the quiet chatter directed at the pile of dolls spread out on the floor in front of her, Bridget kept to our arrangement.

  She was still distracting me, but it wasn’t her fault. Hearing her narrate emails to Ryan as she typed them up on her calculator was far more entertaining than anything I had going on.

  “I love today, Daddy,” she said out of the blue.

  “Me too.” I meant it.

  “Can we go home now?”

  I glanced at my watch. Skipping out early would earn me a two-hour lecture from the king the next day. On the plus side, he might fire me at the end of it.

  “Yeah,” I replied, closing my laptop. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll go to the park.”

  Playing in the park and chicken nugget lunches were always going to trump mind-numbing hours in the office, but that hadn’t always been my mindset. Having Bridget changed everything. I’d learned to find joy in small things, and my daughter was the ultimate small thing.

  Her take on the world was just as left of centre as her mama’s, only louder. She was bright, sweet and unintentionally funny – and by far the greatest gift Charlotte had ever given me.

  ***

  We slipped out of the office stealthily, turned onto Broadway and just kept walking. I had no idea where we were heading, and Bridget didn’t seem to care. Her focus was on more important things, namely her plans for the rest of the day. “We need to go shopping,” she told me.

  I tightened my hold on her hand as we waited for the crosswalk light. “Why, Bridge?”

  “I have too much money.”

  Spoken like a true Décarie, I didn’t reply.

  “My bag is full of paper money,” she added.

  The light turned green but I stood firm, much to Bridget’s annoyance. “We can go now,” she said, tugging on my hand.

  “Wait.” I slipped her backpack off her shoulders. “Show me where the money is.”

  She pointed at the front pocket. I nearly choked when I unzipped it. It was stuffed to the brim with fifty dollar bills. Working hard to keep the alarm out of my voice, I questioned her about it.

  “Papy gave them to me,” she explained.

  “When?”

  She shrugged. “All the time.”

  I was livid. Charli and I went to great lengths to keep Bridget grounded and unspoiled, which wasn’t easy to do while living in Manhattan. Having her grandparents undermine us didn’t help. Mom did it in the form of toys and clothes. I had no idea Dad was corrupting her with cold hard cash.

  I wanted rid of it, and I didn’t care what she spent it on. As far as I was concerned, it would serve my father right to find out that his money had been blown on frivolous junk.

  I zipped the bag closed and reached for Bridget’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  Anger determined my pace as we crossed the road, which was unfair. The second I realised that Bridget was skipping to keep up with me I stopped walking. Ignoring the fact that I was loading my daughter up with hundreds of dollars on a public street, I hooked her bag over her shoulder and picked her up.

  “What do you want to buy, Bridge?” I asked
.

  Her eyes bored into mine while she thought it through. “A treasure map,” she finally replied. “One that squirrels can’t read.”

  Every ounce of anger I felt dissolved in an instant. It was going to take more than a pile of money to taint her. No matter how much Décarie my kid had in her, the Blake part of her always shone through.

  3. ART ADVENTURES

  Charli

  Art is subjective. What some consider sheer perfection is unappealing to others. My boss, Bronson Merriman, was subjective too.

  Many people disliked him. He was loud, animated and insulted someone every time he opened his mouth. I, however, adored him. He was kind, generous and extremely supportive of up-and-coming photographers and artists. Those traits explained why he hired me to do a job that I was nowhere near qualified to do.

  “Passion for art cannot be taught,” he told me during our first meeting in Melbourne. “You have it here,” he put his hand to his heart, “and here,” he added tapping his temple.

  Not all his words of wisdom were as insightful, but all were memorable. He once told Adam that his mother should’ve cut out his eyes and bottled them at birth. “Cobalt blue is my favourite Wedgwood colour. They should be kept in a gallery and admired by all.”

  Adam hid his horror well, but he did make me promise never to let him near Bridget. He’d also never been back to the gallery since.

  Bronson knew his people skills were zilch. As a result, I handled most of the sales and had recently been entrusted with the task of buying new pieces for the gallery. It was a very big deal, and I always gave my best – a far cry from the girl I used to be. There’s a certain confidence that comes with knowing you’re on the right path. I was headed in the right direction. The tricky part nowadays was keeping Adam from wandering off course.

  ***

  After meeting with a prospective buyer over brunch at a midtown café, I rushed back to the gallery so Bronson could leave. He met me at the door, almost complimenting me on my shoes as he left. “I love them, darling.” He kissed both my cheeks. “Being three feet tall is challenging. It’s nice that they make pretty heels for you.”

  The rest of the morning passed fairly slowly. In between cataloguing, I had time to embark on a gossipy text message session with Bente. The gossip was extra juicy that morning. Years after having her heart stomped on by Ryan, she was gearing up for round two.

  A chance meeting the day before had paved the way for Ryan to make amends. I truly believed he regretted the way he had treated her in the past. I just wasn’t sure he was beyond doing it again.

  – Want me to lay down the law and tell him to behave?

  Her reply was almost instant.

  – No. I like him better when he’s bad.

  I smiled down at my phone. If they could survive the date without killing each other, it might just work out for them. I was midway through telling her so when the front door opened.

  I abandoned the texting in an instant, dropped my phone into my drawer and neatened my hair. Then I looked up and wished I hadn’t bothered.

  I knew Jean-Luc would be upset that Adam hadn’t shown at work that day. What I didn’t realise was that he’d be angry enough to seek me out and take me to task over it.

  “Good morning, Charli.”

  “Hi,” I replied warily. “What are you doing here?”

  Jean-Luc ignored me, wandering away to check the pictures lining the side wall.

  I stayed put.

  “I wondered if you might like to go to lunch with me,” he finally replied. “We haven’t had a chance to talk much lately.”

  The king and I didn’t do lunch. Snarky comments and impolite banter was more our speed.

  “I can’t.” I tried to sound regretful, but failed. “I’m the only one here for the day.”

  “It’s a terrible thing to be left in the lurch.” He slowly turned to face me, arms folded and bulletproof. “I’m sure your boss is grateful to have someone so diligent working for him.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  “I appreciate the same level of dedication from my employees, especially my son.”

  My heels clicked on the wooden floor as I marched over to him. “Cut him some slack for once,” I said boldly. “Bridget needed him today.”

  I wasn’t remotely scared of the king, but every now and then I’d say something that truly pissed him off – and today, this was it. If I said it didn’t rattle me, I’d be lying.

  “You’re detrimental to Adam’s career,” he snapped. “Do you understand that?”

  “He’s spending the day with his daughter,” I returned, matching his angry tone. “I didn’t steal him away.”

  Jean-Luc turned his back on me and resumed studying the pictures. “I understand that you need this little art adventure.” The rage was gone, paving the way for condescension. “But you need to manage your time better. Stop being selfish and take care of my granddaughter properly.”

  I didn’t know whether to be insulted or hurt. I went with royally pissed off. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

  The king took it up a notch. He turned around, gearing up to quietly yell at me. “You lumber him with the child as if his time is secondary,” he hissed. “Adam put everything on hold for you four years ago. Enough is enough.”

  Jean-Luc had a cruel habit of making me second-guess my whole life in just a few sentences. It was pure artistry. I never got used to it and I never got over it, but I always fought back.

  “Adam put everything on hold for you his whole life,” I bitterly replied. “He knows better now.”

  Jean-Luc shook his head. “Adam put his heart and soul into –”

  “I am his heart,” I cut him off. “And Bridget is his soul. He’s not yours any more.”

  I might as well have slapped his face. The king pulled in a long breath through his nose and straightened his pose. He pointed to a photograph to the right of me. “I want this picture for my home office.”

  He’d thrown me. It was as if the last nasty two minutes of conversation hadn’t happened. I took a long minute to study the picture, trying to pull myself together. The black and white photograph of a derelict old yacht didn’t seem his style, though it was gorgeous.

  “Have it delivered to the house,” he added.

  “Say please.”

  “Please, Charlotte,” he sarcastically amended.

  I cocked my head and focused on the picture. “Why do you like it?”

  I wasn’t trying to rattle his cage. I was always curious to know what compelled people when choosing art for their homes.

  “It’s black and white,” he replied. “It will suit the room.”

  “Half the pictures in this place are black and white. Why choose this one?”

  He glanced at the picture. “You have terrible business acumen, Charli,” he chided. “Appalling, in fact.”

  I quickly reined in the smile incited by his mediocre dig. “I’ll add that to my list of shortfalls.”

  “I’m serious,” he replied. “If you were selling me a car, would it be appropriate to ask me why I was buying it?”

  I looked him straight in the eye, and let my smile break free. “I don’t sell cars. I’m on an art adventure.”

  The king smirked at me. “You have a smart mouth.”

  I focused back on the photograph. “Maybe this picture chose you,” I suggested. “Did you consider that?”

  “Stop with the nonsense,” he snapped. “Have it delivered tomorrow.”

  “It’s four thousand dollars.”

  “Fine. I want it framed too.”

  I locked eyes with him. “That’s an extra two thousand dollars.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll get back to you about the delivery charges,” I added.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “If you’re trying to punish me, Charli, let it be known that it would take more than one lifetime to do it financially.”

  4. THE LITTLE BAD WOLF

&
nbsp; Adam

  Sourcing a treasure map in downtown Manhattan is no mean feat, especially one that challenges the literary skills of squirrels. I was just about to call the mission off and suggest Bridget find something else to buy when we stumbled across a military surplus store.

  We spent a long time staring into the small window display. Everything in it was thick with dust and looked like it had been there for years. Old cigarette tins, yellowing decks of novelty playing cards and a stack of ancient newspapers held my attention. Bridget was fascinated by something else.

  “I love that hat, Daddy.”

  I followed her pointed finger. “It’s not a hat, baby. It’s a gas mask.”

  “Can I buy it?”

  I could deal with the quirk of her wearing galoshes every day of her life, but I’d struggle if she took to wearing a war-issue gas mask. “I don’t think so,” I said gently. “I have a better idea.”

  The antique brass compass I spotted at the back of the cramped display was the perfect alternative to a treasure map – and even better, the hefty price tag chewed up Bridget’s loot. I didn’t try beating the shop owner down on price, which should’ve made for a short transaction. Instead I found myself giving Bridget a long lesson in the value of a dollar. She was perfectly willing to buy the compass until it came time to hand over the money.

  Then she wanted both.

  I excused us from the counter and pulled her aside. “One or the other, Bridget,” I explained. “You can’t have both.”

  Bridget leaned to the side, sneaking a quick glimpse at the man behind the counter. “Ask him nicely,” she said, getting upset. “Say please.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” I swept her hair off her face. “If you want the compass, you have to pay for it.”

  The tears that followed weren’t entirely her fault. She was used to sweet-talking people to get her own way. She did it to Ryan all the time, and had never once been told no by either of my parents. Parting with her money was new to her, and she wasn’t handling it well.