Chapter 14
The phone wakes me early the next morning. Everything about being in my bed felt strange last night, from the sensation of something being missing because Hudson wasn’t curled up against my leg, to the feeling that the duvet cover wasn’t the one from the Waldorf, to a sense that I didn’t quite belong here. I was itchy and raw, like a hermit crab who’d outgrown her shell.
“Hello?” I croak.
“Good morning, Charlotte.” My heart sinks at the sound of the voice. “It’s Henry Wentworth.”
“I know who you are. You don’t have to tell me your last name.”
“Force of habit. Anyway, I’m phoning with news.”
I don’t say anything.
“Per Miranda.” Even though I didn’t want to hear from him, underscoring that he had to call me stings.
“Have you checked social media this morning?” I open one eye, look at the clock. 6:25.
“No, not yet,” I tell him. “Why are you up so early?”
“There’s been a crisis. Paparazzi have released photos of the mayor’s daughter in a wedding dress on the shores of Fiji. Miranda just arrived, and is assessing the situation.”
“I’m sorry to hear that for her sake, but why are you calling to tell me that before sun rise?”
“Unbelievable as this may seem, when I arrived onsite around 5 a.m., we heard a cluster of reports from management suggesting that Hudson, or a dog very similar to him, was spotted in several locations inside of Macy’s by security before closing last night.”
I struggle to process what he’s saying. Then an idea forms that makes sense of it all in my pre-caffeinated brain. “Could it be because Miranda had Penelope tweet that my Today Show outfit was from Macy’s? It’s probably a prank, like when those people photoshopped Hudson in with President Obama, showing them going into the Waldorf. You know as well as I do how these things take on a life of their own.”
“That’s what I thought when I first heard. Which is why I didn’t contact you. I wanted to give the story time to play out. The thing is, several of the night guards, independent of this, reported seeing what they thought might be a large rat or a small, hairy toddler.”
“Hudson doesn’t look like a rat!”
“And he likely doesn’t look like a hirsute child, either. But night watchmen in New York City don’t expect to see dogs running wild in major department stores in the middle of the night.”
I roll over, and rub my eyes. “But they expect to see feral children?” I pad to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I really need it.
Henry sighs in frustration. “This is neither here nor there. I had Landry and the others go over this, and it looks like a credible lead.”
“Oh,” I say in a snotty tone. I know I should shut my mouth, but without coffee, the path from my brain to my mouth seems to have no filter. “You had Landry go over it. Figures!” I have to scoot trays and trays of Bakewell Tarts, Peppermint Creams, Everton Toffee, Scotch Tablet, and Irish flapjacks out of the way to make room to brew my morning cup. I’d distracted myself last night by finally catching up on my blog, and by testing numerous recipes from the English Meals cookbook. The fallout took up every inch of counterspace.
“Figures, you say?” He snorts angrily. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I can tell Henry is struggling to remain professional, but I can hear the cracks in his demeanor.
“It means I already told you not to bother calling me, and here we are on the phone!”
“I am doing my job. And for your information, the next part of my job per your aunt is to find you a venue for your reward party, so expect more phone calls from where this one came from,” he blathers. “I may call you every hour on the hour, so strap in Miss!”
“You’d better not!”
“Oh, just watch me. I’m likely to have lots and lots of reports and updates. Sorry if you find that annoying!”
I put the phone down on him. It rings again, immediately
“What?!!” I scream into the receiver.
“Charlotte, it’s Craig. We may have found Hudson.”
*****
I exit the cab with shopping bags full of my homemade treats. Stress baking can really leave a girl with more than she can eat. I figure I give some to Craig, and hand a few around to Jane and Penelope. Even though it’s just past 8 a.m., the streets are filled with shoppers and tourists. Families are taking videos of the moving puppet scenes in Macy’s windows, children bundled up and sipping hot cocoa. There is already a line of women at the 7th Avenue entrance, faces determined. Two more days till Christmas, and people are eager to complete their last-minute shopping.
I text Craig, as instructed, to let him know I’ve arrived. Flurries dance in the chill air, but it’s not bitterly cold as some Decembers have been in past years. I set my bags down on a dry patch of sidewalk under an awning and take in the scene. 34th Street looks beautiful with long garlands of pine and red ribbon twining around the light posts and the temporary planters of squat fir trees in planters lining the length of it. I wonder what next year’s holidays will be like for me. For a minute or two, I allow myself to imagine what Christmas will be like if Hudson isn’t found. I try to picture myself dealing with bad news gracefully, but I can’t. I’m startled out of my reverie by the sharp cry of a toddler in his stroller. He’s dropped his little snowman toy in the snow, and his father dives for it, and shakes off the snow before handing it back. The little boy snuffles, and tries to catch his breath.
I look up to see Craig standing at the glass door, waving. He’s with a Macy’s employee in a suit, who is turning keys in the door. “Stand back, ladies and gentlemen,” Craig says, “Official police business, please let the lady through.” I squirm through the crowd, dragging my shopping bags of baked goods, and the door is locked behind me.
“Where’s Leonard?” I ask.
“I’m not officially on duty,” Craig explains. “I just wanted to follow up on this lead myself. After that mess with the kidnapping and the harness, I didn’t like the idea that someone might be baiting you.”
“What do you mean by baiting me?”
“It’s just an awfully big coincidence. The public knows your aunt is working with the mayor’s daughter’s wedding at Macy’s. It’s been all over the papers.” I follow him onto one of the antique wood escalators going down. He looks right and left. “People know your aunt has money, and they sure as hell know the mayor has money.” He surveys the store. “I just want to make sure all the bases are covered and there’s no funny business.”
We get to The Cellar, where the pop-up restaurant is, but there’s no bustle of activity the way there was the last time I was here. I spy Aunt Miranda standing, holding an iPad, and staring into space. “Hi Aunt Miranda,” I say.
“Oh, Charlotte, I was a million miles away. “Can you believe all of this is for nothing?” she asks, waving her arm toward the now very chic pop-up restaurant space.
There are a few people working and I look around, telling myself that I’m not searching for Henry. “Aunt Miranda, this is Officer Craig Curtis. He’s the one who has been helping me look for Hudson.”
She snaps out of her funk, and comes to life. Extending her hand, she smiles and says, “Of course. Lovely to meet you, Officer. I recognize you from that clever video you and your colleagues produced. I appreciate all you’ve done for my niece.”
“Happy to do it for a friend,” he says. “You haven’t seen anything unusual down here, have you Ms. Nichols?”
“Nothing I can think of. I’ll certainly let you know if I do.”
“Alright, then. If you ladies will excuse me, I’m going to head up to security and interview the guys from the night shift. They’re waiting to go home.”
“Thanks, Craig,” I say.
“Not a problem,” he tells me. “I might go through some of the security camera footage as well. I’ve got my phone. Call me if you need me,” he says and heads back up the escalator.
“How are you holding up, dear?” Aunt Miranda asks me. I’m moved. Up till now, it had seemed like she barely noticed I’d been upset about Hudson.
“About the same. How about yourself? I ask.
She sinks into a folding chair. “Not well, I must admit.” She sighs. “Pulling this off would have been a real feather in my cap. The sad part is, I chose to give up my holiday to work on this project, and now I’ll have nothing to show for it.”
“Surely they’re going to pay you?”
“Yes, that’s not an issue. In fact, they pre-paid the fee, and have paid for everything we’ve ordered so far. There are refrigerators and freezers full of food, and a storeroom filled with linens, crockery, and flatware. The list goes on and on. I have no idea how I’m going to break the news to James. He turned down a chance at guest starring on Martha Stewart’s holiday special to do this. He’ll be devastated to have lost the publicity.”
I felt bad to hear that, even if James wasn’t my favorite person. I wondered if they’d have to lay off all of the servers, bartenders, and other staff they had booked. It would be a huge blow to lose work during the holiday season. “It’ll all work out, Aunt Miranda,” I told her, only half-believing my own words.
“You’re right, darling. It will. I just have to think of something. No ideas are coming to me at the moment. My brain is in lockdown.” She looks at her watch, and sighs. “The store is going to open soon,” she says, and stands up. “I’d better get what little staff we have here to straighten up. I hate to say it, but we may have to start breaking down and moving out.”
“You don’t have many people here.”
“I sent most of them back to the office. Henry’s there fielding calls about the wedding, and doing damage control. That wedding was going to launch this pop-up. Macy’s had planned that it would be packed for the period between Christmas and New Year’s.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Not at the moment, but thanks.”
“If you’re sure?” She nods. “Then I’m going to see if I can find Jane or Penelope and ask them if they know anything about Hudson.”
“Yes, go.” Aunt Miranda has a faraway look in her eyes, as if she’s thinking hard. “I hope you get good news.” She gives me her usual European air kisses, but this time she ends by pulling me in for a squeeze.
*****
“Do you want a refill before the doors open?” Penelope asks me, holding up the carafe of the coffee pot. I nod, and she takes my mug. She and Jane and I had been sitting around the 8th-floor employee lounge chatting and drinking coffee for nearly half an hour.
“So, tell me again about the night guard. I’m confused.”
“When I got here a little before seven,” Jane says, “I run into Murray on my way to clock in. He looks really scared, like he’s seen a ghost or something. I say to him, ‘Murray, what’s the matter with you? You look like hell warmed over,’ and he says to me, ‘Jane, I think I saw one of them chupacabras in the fine china department.’ He said it had big yellow eyes, and moved real fast and low to the ground. I told him that chupacabras only live in like fields or forests in like Mexico or the Amazon or something. I told him they eat stuff like groundhogs or squirrels or something, and how was it gonna survive at Macy’s, by going behind the counter at Mixed Greens and tossing himself up a salad?”
“He broke over 500 dollars’ worth of Mikasa dinnerware, Jane,” Penelope says. “This wouldn’t be the first time he was drunk on the job. He needed an excuse so he wouldn’t be blamed for the damage.”
“He does carry that flask,” Jane says thoughtfully. “It’s probably his mind playing tricks on him.”
“The only thing that keeps me from writing the whole thing off,” Penelope says, putting our mugs in the half-sized dishwasher, “Is that Bernice from lingerie said in her closing report that she had to call janitorial to clean up a pile of something she found in the fitting room.”
“Hudson is housebroken,” I say automatically. In all the time he’s lived with me, he’s never had an accident in the apartment.
“So am I,” Jane says, “but if you leave me someplace without a bathroom long enough, and all bets will be off. Nature calls, you know.”
“I won’t go into gory details,” Penelope says, reapplying her lipstick in front of the mirror by the door, “but you’d be surprised at the kinds of things we’ve found in the bathrooms and fitting rooms.”
“I know, like…” Jane begins.
“Tsst!” Penelope hisses. “Too gross.”
“But tell her about the…”
“Shh!” Penelope warns. “Too shocking.”
“But what about the security cam tape where…”
“Stop!” Penelope says, hand in the air. “The lawyers say we can never, never mention that. Male politician. Brassiere,” she whispers. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Macy’s will be opening in five minutes,” a smooth voice purrs over the loudspeaker. “Employees please take your positions. Let’s make today a great day for ourselves and our guests.”
“Hey, Pen,” Jane says, “What say we take Charlotte down for a makeover again? If we tell the big managers that Ms. Nichols doesn’t have much for us to do, they might make us start doing inventory early.”
Penelope considers it. “Come on,” Jane says, “You don’t always have to be a goody two shoes.”
“Why not? It’s almost Christmas. We deserve a little fun. Maybe I’ll get my own brows done while we’re at it.”
*****
I’m seated in a big, padded salon chair, while T’Kwon is working his magic on my hair. He’s pulling it out, section by section, with a big, fat round brush while I’m bent over at the waist. So far, the three of us have spent nearly two hours hopping from one cosmetic counter to the next, having lips done here, eyes done there, and being spritzed with intoxicating scents. I wonder what, if anything, Craig has found out. I wish he’d call my cell.
At one point during our makeovers, a senior manager came by to check on Penelope and Jane, and Jane told such a convincing story about how we all needed to look good for a Macy’s-based Vine shoot pleading for Hudson’s return while putting the store’s best foot forward, I almost believed it myself.
Once the boss was satisfied and had moved on, Jane shouted from her chair, “Where is your hunky boyfriend today?”
The coffee in my stomach curdles. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I holler back, just as T’Kwon shuts off the dryer. Everyone within 50 feet turns to look.
“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” T’Kwon says, fluffing my hair with his splayed fingers.
“No, it’s the truth. Turns out he never was. He was just using me to get on my aunt’s good side. I was nothing more than a step on the career ladder to Henry Wentworth.”
“That’s his name? Henry Wentworth?” T’Kwon asks. “Mmm mmm mmm. That is sexy. That is real sexy.”
“You’re not helping, T’Kwon.” Jane chastises.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the stylist says, getting his bearings. “I meant to say you’re too good for him, honey.” He circles my head with a fast-flowing can of hairspray. “You can do better than that no good ol’ Henry Wentworth.”
“That’s right!” Penelope chimes in.
“Mmm mmm mmm. Henry Wentworth,” T’Kwon murmurs under his breath. “That is just too sexy.”
“T’Kwon!” Jane bellows.
“Sorry,” he answers meekly. “Well alright then, Cinderella,” he says, taking off my cape. “Get on with your bad self.” I look at the result in the mirror. It’s the best version of me I’ve ever seen. I flash back to the look on Henry’s face when he saw me after my first Macy’s makeover, and I feel an aching in my chest.
“Come along, ladies. We still have carte blanche to dress Charlotte up on the Macy’s tab. Let’s take her up to ladies’ wear and play with our human doll while we can.”
“You look hot,” Jane says. “You’ll find a new man in no time, righ
t Pen? Maybe we could introduce her to Girard in Fine Leather.”
“Gay,” Penelope declares.
“How about Frank from up in Customer Service.”
“Lives with his mom.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“In Newark.”
“Oh no,” Jane responds. “Next! Jamal from the loading dock?”
“Girlfriend.”
“Nicky from Menswear?”
“Divorced.”
“So?”
“Three times?”
“Thanks anyway, girls,” I break in, “but not everyone was born to be coupled up. I’ve tried it. I’m much happier on my own.” With Hudson, I think. The idea that I might never get him back creeps back in, and I feel tears threatening to rise.
“I refuse to believe that,” Jane says, as we ride up the escalator. “I believe there’s a cup for every saucer. I’m not giving up till I find my soul mate, and neither should you.”
Penelope motions for us to join her at a large rack of wrap dresses, and starts sifting through the merchandise.
“I’ll cross my fingers for you, Jane. I’ll even dance at your wedding if you invite me. But I don’t believe it for myself.” I rifle through a round rack of silk blouses, while Penelope holds first one dress, and then another up in the air for our votes. As I’m flicking through the hangers, I feel Jane step on my foot. “Ow!” I say, involuntarily.
“You OK?” Jane asks me from across the think aisle. I feel it again. Quickly, I duck under the blouses to check, but there’s nothing there.
My cell buzzes, distracting me. I see that it’s Aunt Miranda, and I pick up.
“Hello?”
“Charlotte, darling. I’ve been on the phone with Henry over at the office. He’s had the most marvelous idea. He told me not to tell you he suggested it, for whatever reason. No ego at all, that boy.”
I snort.
“What’s that, darling?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
“I told him to find a space for you to do your little reward dinner if someone brought your dog back. Instead, he came up with an altogether new idea that I think is brilliant. Instead of throwing a party to reward someone for bringing Hudson back, he said, why not reverse the idea? Throw a party to invite someone to bring Hudson back? Why not have it in the pop-up,” he suggested, “since it’s sitting empty?”
A Miracle at Macy's Page 28
