A Miracle at Macy's

by Lynn Marie Hulsman

  *****

  “Would anyone care for more kugel? Craig! You’ve hardly eaten a thing,” Mrs. Rabinowitz chides, carrying a tray and pushing her ample girth between the various folding tables and card tables taking up nearly every square inch of my living room.

  Craig pats his stomach, and says, “You have got to be joking, Mrs. R. You must have scooped gefilte fish onto my plate three times when I wasn’t looking, and I just ate my weight in those cookies you made. What do you call them?” He leans down and scoops up two tiny Yorkies in one large hand, and balances them on his lap. Vijay reaches over and offers the bigger one a scrap of meat. The little one beats him to it, and Vijay laughs, grabbing another scrap for the big guy.

  “Rugeleh, my dear. Let me say, those Scalloped Onions you brought were perfection.”

  Craig smiles proudly. “My grandma taught me right down south. The boys learned to cook as good as the girls. Sturdy old southern cooking will stick to your ribs.”

  “You know that’s right,” Beverly, my agent says. He pats his stomach under his vest and watch chain. “Helped me to grow up to be quite a big boy.” Everyone laughs.

  “You’ll have to come to our house some night and I’ll make you a whole meal. Bring your husband.”

  “I’ll take you up on that,” Mrs. Rabinowitz says, heading toward the kitchen.

  Vijay raises his glass. “To Charlotte! And the best Day-After-Christmas Dinner anyone has ever thrown.”

  “To Charlotte,” everyone responds.

  “And to the book she’s going to right for me the very minute she tests the last recipe for Traditional Meals.”

  “Beverly,” I say in a warning tone, “I never promised to write my own cookbook.” I check my watch as I gather plates and cups. Henry’s over an hour late, and I haven’t had a text or a call. I’m starting to worry.

  “But darling,” Aunt Miranda chimes in, “Money cannot buy the kind of exposure you have right now. Strike while the iron is hot. Hudson is the new black.” She’s reclining on the sofa next to Jane in front of a fair number of shot glasses. I’ve never in my life seen her let her hair down like this.

  “I thought tequila was the new black,” Jane argues with a little bit of a slur.

  “How about I get you both cups of strong, black coffee, and that can be the new black?” They both snort, and wave me off.

  “Skip!” I holler to my neighbor over the din, making my way toward the kitchen. “I’m going to give Hudson some Beef Pot Roast. Is it OK if I give some to Dylan and Connor?”

  “Only if you want two new roommates. After being fed like this, those little Corgis won’t want to come home to me. You’re taking spoiled to a whole new level.”

  In the kitchen, Hudson and Popcorn are snoozing together in Hudson’s oversized donut. Irv and Frieda, my old neighbors and new friends, are seated at the table with Manuel drinking after-dinner cappuccinos and talking about Guatemala, where Manuel was born and where the older couple own a mountain home. “Hold still,” I tell them. “I want to get a photo of you for my blog. I cannot believe how full my kitchen is, and how many friends I’ve made in such a short time. My face hurts from smiling.

  “Pay attention, everyone,” I shout. “‘Charlotte’s Chefs’ have been begging me to post more pictures of the friends I’ve been writing about. Say ‘queso!’”

  I begin piling morsels of meat into small bowls for all the dogs when I hear the buzzer go. “Penelope,” I call. “Will you please make dinner for the dogs while I get the door?” I’m so glad she got the day off from her job so she could join us. People in retail always work on holidays. I’m especially glad she insisted on showing up early to do my make-up. I’m starting to like the girly-girl thing.

  “Sure,” she says, coming through to the kitchen and setting her fussy, pale Chihuahua called Macy Gray down on the floor. The spindly little dog, wearing a pink turtleneck sweater toddles over to sniff Hudson and Popcorn. Hudson lifts his head and raises an eyebrow. Macy turns away to inspect the perimeter of the room, unimpressed as I predicted she might be.

  Ruby pops her head through the swinging door, and asks, “Can I help with anything?”

  “No, but thank you. Just relax and enjoy your downtime.” She smiles and retreats back to the living room. When she called to congratulate me about Hudson, I hesitated to invite her, knowing the grand lifestyle she was used to leading. I could almost hear her jumping up and down on the other end of the phone. She told me she couldn’t wait to have a homemade meal. Turns out, she’s very down-to-earth, and she showed up not looking like a model at all, but wearing a very simple sweater and long skirt without a trace of makeup.

  I push my way through all of the tables and chairs to reach the door as the buzzer sounds a second time. “Can someone buzz them up?” I call. Mrs. R’s husband does a sprightly half-jog to the intercom, and presses the button, while I’m still weaving in and out of tables and chairs.

  Sorry, Leonard,” I tell Officer Scrivello. He’s made fast friends with James. It turns out that they both have an interest in sleight-of-hand magic, a new development since I had been part of James’s world. They’re palming coins and doing card tricks for Ruby’s brothers, and Beverly. I’m happy James is at my table, in my home. I figured a meal was the least I could offer him after he worked to feed all of my friends at the welcome party. I never thought I’d be friends with him; it’s a wonder how things can change even if you never expect them to.

  I open the door expecting Henry, but instead see a stout, graying couple in somewhat formal clothes holding packages. “Happy Boxing Day,” the woman says.

  I stand there, staring. I know I’m being rude, but my brain scrambles to figure out how I know them. Did I meet them at the pop-up party? “I’m Charlotte,” I say, stalling. “Happy belated Christmas.”

  “Same to you,” they say in unison, still waiting.

  “Do you have the wrong apartment?” The buzzer goes again, and I press the button to buzz open the front door to the brownstone.

  “I don’t believe so. 3R isn’t it?”

  I hear someone thundering up the steps, two at a time. I crane my neck to see Henry flying around the corner, panting and red-faced. “I’m so I’m late. Mum and dad, this is Charlotte Bell.”

  Mum and dad? “Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth! Come in, please,” I say, standing aside. “Here, let me take your coats.” Mrs. Rabinowitz swoops in with welcomes and introductions, ushering the Wentworths in and getting them drinks. “Henry,” I say, “would you help me with these coats?”

  He follows me into my bedroom, where everyone’s winter gear is piled on the bed and says, “Remember the fight we had at The Waldorf?”

  I laugh. “Which one?”

  “The one where you told me I should appreciate my parents. After you sent me away from the TV studio, I felt more lonely than I ever have in my life. I called my mother, and told her everything. We must have talked for an hour. I had her get dad on the phone, and we talked for nearly five minutes, which was an achievement. The point is, I was happy they were there.”

  “That’s so nice. But what happened to Ebenezer Scrooge?”

  “You look lovely, by the way,” he tells me.

  “Thank you, but back to the story,” I say, blushing. I begin organizing the coats by color.

  He moves closer. “You have been very bad indeed to put off seeing me until now. One kiss after the Hudson reunion, and then banishment? What a cruel mistress.”

  “I needed to bring Hudson home alone that night. You understand, don’t you?”

  “I do, but that didn’t mean I didn’t yearn for you. I not only yearned, I believe I pined. The torch I carried nearly set New York City aflame.”

  I start putting gloves and mittens in neat piles. “Do not ever tell me again, Henry Wentworth, that you don’t have a stack of Harlequin Romances in the back of your closet. Anyway, you and Aunt Miranda were up to your eyes in work once the news hit the media about the pop-up restaurant launching. I
still can’t believe she’s able to be here today.”

  “Let Landry and the rest handle it. There are more important things in life than work.”

  “Again, what happened to Scrooge?”

  Henry smiles. “He sent the boy to buy the biggest goose in the window, didn’t you hear?” He looks at me seriously. “I’m sorry if I ever rained on even one moment of your Christmas joy.” I wave him off. “But I promise I’m a changed man. I arranged to send my parents plane tickets, and to take off from work. It’s only a shame they couldn’t make it on Christmas Day.” He sidles up to me, and slides his arms around my waist. “Besides, I wanted them to meet you.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “No,” he says turning to face me. He takes both of my hands. “No, I wanted them to meet you.”

  “Oh.” I look up at him. “Oh!” I feel a lightness in my chest. “Would you call us an item.”

  “I would and do.”

  “Would you say we are a couple?”

  “I would say it on the record at a news conference.”

  “Would you say we’re getting serious?”

  “Serious as a proverbial heart attack, but with no threat of demise or perishing.”

  A smile spreads across my face, and I raise an eyebrow in imitation of Henry. “Then let’s go tell everyone, why don’t we?”

  “That,” he says, kissing me lightly on the lips, lingering slightly before drawing back, “Is my plan exactly.”

  *****

  “I knew Charlotte was keeping secrets when I asked her if Henry was her boyfriend,” Jane says loudly to Leonard. “I have an intuition, you know. People say I have the gift.”

  “So does my Nana,” he says, sliding closer to her on the sofa. “Tell me more.” Hudson jumps up into his lap, and Jane reaches over to scratch the dog’s neck. He’s wearing a little red stocking cap that Mrs. Rabinowitz brought him as a present from the pet store. “Would you ever want to have a dog someday?” I can tell Leonard likes her by the way he’s sitting up straight. “Or kids? I mean, if you got married, of course?”

  I smile, and look around the room. Henry’s parents brought crowns for everyone to wear, the way the English do at Christmas dinner. They also brought crackers, the paper tubes shaped like wrapped candies, that make a noise and pop out small favors when you pull them apart. They’re spread among the tables. I can’t wait to see them in action. Everyone looks sated and happy. Dogs are running around between everyone’s feet, and revelers are taking turns leashing and harnessing them for quick walks in the foot-deep snow. It takes a village, I think to myself.

  “Charlotte, do you mind if I turn on some music?” Henry asks.

  “No,” I holler across the room. “That would be great.” The sun is just waning outside the windows, and the street lamps have gone on for the night. Ruby is circulating the room, pouring the Champagne she brought to the party into my guest’s glasses.

  “Charlotte, could you come help me with this?” Henry calls from the front of the room, where’s he’s fiddling with the speakers. Hudson leaps down from the sofa, and hops up onto the window seat next to Henry. Henry reaches over and gives him a treat. “Good boy, Huddie. Good boy.”

  “Here, let me try,” I tell Henry. But he doesn’t need my help. It was a ploy to bring me in close. He puts his arm around me as the room swells with Michael Bublé singing I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. Henry picks up a Champagne glass, and tings the side several times with a butter knife. Every head, including Hudson’s, swivels to watch as Henry drops to one knee, and says in a loud, rich voice, “Charlotte Bell, will you marry me?”

  He pulls a ring from his pocket and holds it up in the air, waiting for an answer. His face looks confident, but I can see his hand shaking.

  “Yes. Yes, Henry Wentworth, I will marry you,” I say, and he slides the ring onto my finger. I watch as if it’s slow motion. The ring is a rich, deep garnet, surrounded by small emeralds, and set in yellow gold. It’s perfect. I never was and never will be a diamond solitaire girl, and the fact that Henry knows that melts my heart.

  As we kiss, I hear yipping and thumping from Hudson in the window seat, and the pop pop pop of Christmas crackers. We pull apart for a moment to look at the friends and family surrounding us, to bask in the warmth. And then we find each other again, this time for good.

  Epilogue

  We applaud wildly when the huge cast of the Broadway show finishes their big old-fashioned song-and-dance number, and file off the stage by the entrance to Macy’s. Henry is holding Hudson in his arms, and I’m taking deep breaths waiting to be introduced.

  “Like I told you a year ago,” Aunt Miranda says, no one could have dreamed up this kind of publicity. That dog of yours is a genius.”

  “I’ll say,” Beverly chimes in. “That dog bought me my villa in Italy. I’ve never seen an auction for a book go that high, that fast.”

  Ruby has taken the stage.

  “Oh my word,” says Mrs. Wentworth. “She’s a vision. It’s hard to believe that’s the same girl who sat with us at dinner last year. Isn’t she the most beautiful woman you have ever laid eyes on?” she asks, poking her husband in the ribs.

  “No, because I married the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on,” He tells her. She brushes him off, but she looks pleased. “I hope my son treats you half as well as I’m treated, Charlotte.”

  “He’s a good man, Mum.” I say. I love calling her Mum. She insisted on it the night we got engaged. I’ll never get tired of it.

  Behind Ruby, they’ve projected the picture of her and Hudson in Times Square last Christmas. She’s talking about how meeting Hudson inspired her to donate so much money from the photo’s sales to animal charities.

  “I’m just glad that such a huge portion of the proceeds from Hudson’s Adventure’s in Santa Land are going to help support animal shelters around the world,” I tell them.

  “Oh, come on now, tell old Beverly the truth, “Aren’t you just the teeniest bit excited about your own book? Charlotte Bell Cooks for Friends and Family isn’t going to suffer one bit from having a picture of you and that magical dog on the front cover.”

  I smile. “Yes, I’m pretty excited.” After all of the post-Hudson return interviews and photo shoots last year, and the focus the media put on my and Henry’s wedding, I’ve gotten quite used to being in the public eye.

  “I can’t wait to see what’s behind those curtains,” Mrs. Rabinowitz says, squeezing Abe’s arm. She motions to the purple curtains with swirling gold script that say Coming Soon: Hudson’s Adventure’s in Santa Land. “How about you Abie?”

  “If it means I can keep my limbs then yes, bring it on in good health!”

  “Getting married in Macy’s was a stroke of genius, Henry.” Beverly drawls. “You are not Miranda Nichols’ protégé for nothing.”

  “I wish I could take credit, Beverly, but it was all Charlotte’s idea. You know the bride is always right.”

  “Beverly, they got married in Macy’s because it was romantic, not for publicity,” Jane protests. “You make it sound so cheap. They met there! That’s why we’re getting married in Macy’s, right Leonard?”

  “That’s right, Sweetie. But I hope you’re not disappointed if the paparazzi don’t turn out for ours like they did for Henry and Charlotte’s.”

  “As long as you’re there, nothing could disappoint me,” Jane says, giving him a peck on the cheek.

  “We’re almost up, Huddie,” Henry says. Hudson looks especially festive tonight in a red sweater with white faux-fur at the collar, and a pair of reindeer antlers, all courtesy of Mrs. Rabinowitz. Gently, he hands me my dog. “Media genius or not, I know what the public wants to see, and that’s not me, but Hudson with his mommy.”

  The window designer is speaking, talking about this year’s theme. They’ve partnered with the publishing company to create Christmas windows featuring the book cover. He also asked us for wedding photos with Hudson as Best Dog, wearing his tuxe
do, and “going up the aisle,” by riding the wooden escalator. Those have been blown up as backdrops for some of the windows along with pictures from photo shoots showing Hudson at Blow Bar wearing a hairdresser’s cape, Hudson standing in two pairs of men’s shoes, Hudson being gift-wrapped by a sales girl, and Hudson eating a plate of spaghetti Bolognese in James’s new permanent restaurant in The Cellar called, fittingly, 34th and Hudson.

  There are animatronic Hudsons, puppet Hudsons, marionette Hudsons, Lego Hudsons, and stuffed animal Hudsons.

  “…I’d like to introduce to you the inspiration for all this magic, Hudson, booms the emcee.”

  Henry and I ascend the stairs to the platform, amid flashing cameras and roars of applause. “And now, allow me to present this year’s Macy’s Holiday Windows.” The designer holds his arms up in the air. “Hudson in Santa Land!”

  Fireworks shoot off from the roof of the building as the curtains drop, revealing the windows that are alive with lights and motion. Glitter cannons shoot gold sparkles out of the third floor windows, and the sides of the building light up in red and green. Hudson pants, smiling. We turn our backs to the clapping crowd, and survey the splendor of the building. Henry slides an arm around my waist whispers “Are you happy?”

  “I have everything I have ever wanted.” I choke up. “I got my grown-up Christmas wish.”

  Above the clock, in sparkling gold letters two stories high, a sign lights up.

  Believe.

  Acknowledgements

  I send out deep thanks to my editor Charlotte Ledger. She’s as nice as she is smart. She makes my stories better, and boosts me up. Thank you to Alexandra Allden, a real artist, for my perfect book jacket. Thanks also to the whole team at Harper UK.

  I wouldn’t have had the gumption or momentum to face writing the words “Chapter One” without the support and encouragement of my friends. Heartfelt thanks to Kate Bushmann, Molly Sackler, Meirav Duffey, Anne Hulsman, Laura Feldman, Kenny Feldman, Dan Diggles, Susie Felber, Jill Bennet, and Zahava Tzur. Special thanks to Cathy Yardley for all of her kindness and wisdom. Thanks to my Kentucky and Erie family, too. If I have forgotten anyone, please forgive me. My brain is a sieve. If I tell you I remember something clearly, don’t believe it. Challenge me. I won’t be offended. I haven’t been right since I gave birth for the first time.