by Marian Keyes
"No, wait. Which guy?" Tandy asked.
"The gentleman raising his glass like a character in a low-rent James Bond movie," the waiter said politely. "May he join you?"
"Sure." Tandy sighed. "If it 's okay with you, Grace?"
"Er, sure."
By the time we left two hours later Tandy had agreed to go on a date with James—I'm sure that wasn't his real name—the following evening.
Back home Nick had celebrated getting the part of the neo-Nazi psycho by going to the movies. With Karl.
"Crazy alcoholic Karl?" Tandy was aghast.
"Who hasn't had a drink since Sunday," Nick replied.
"He was talking about you." He addressed this to me. "He decided to stop drinking, he says, when he had a moment of Grace."
"Just because my name is Grace doesn't mean it 's anything to do with me."
"What is it about you?" Nick stared at me, lost in consideration.
"Nothing. There 's nothing about me."
Chapter Six
Tandy and I stood in the Rodeo Drive store, struck dumb by the beauty of the leather goods before us—the sturdy, curvy shapes, the way the light caught the devilishly pliant hide, the slender long handles just begging to be slung over our shoulders.
I wanted to possess them so badly.
"Other people go to art galleries," Tandy admitted. "I come here and look at the purses. They're so beautiful that sometimes I cry. I used to be like that about shoes, but—"
"—handbags are the new shoes," I finished for her. I may have been on Earth for only six days, but I'd taken care to learn the most important stuff. That kind of knowledge would take me anywhere.
"When I do my first not-straight-to-video movie," she promised, "I'm going to come in here and buy every purse they have."
"Me too. When I play my first non–fat girl part," I said.
"Tandy, can I ask you something?" And yes, I admit it was a trick question. "Is it greedy to want to steal one of these bags?"
Tandy was appalled. "Greedy? It 's totally normal."
I tried again. "Would it be greedy to want to steal more than one?"
"Depends. What were you planning on doing with the both of them?"
"Both? Well, I was thinking of more than two."
This seemed to impress her.
"Okay, what you would do with them all? You can't really wear more than two at the one time."
"I'd have some next to my bed so they'd be the first thing I'd see when I woke up. I might frame some and hang them on my wall and I'd keep the rest in my closet, and when I was depressed I'd take them out and kiss them."
After an awkward pause she asked, "Are you going to give one to me?"
And, shamefaced, I had to admit that, "No, Tandy, I want to keep them all for me."
"That's greedy," she said huffily. "That 's like, not nice. I thought you were my friend."
"Sorry," I whispered, suddenly restored to normality. Of course I'd give Tandy one of the bags I wanted to steal from Prada. All of them, if she wanted. (But hopefully she wouldn't.)
"Hey." Her smile was suddenly sweet. "This is crazy. No one 's going to steal anything."
"Good," said the male assistant who'd materialized behind us. "I have a horror of scenes."
Suddenly I'd perked up—I'd just committed my sixth deadly sin. So that was how greed operated—blinding you to friendship and generosity. All for the sake of some nicely stitched leather. Very nicely stitched leather, I thought, in lovely colors, with zips and locks and . . . I could feel myself getting sucked in again.
Of my seven deadly sins I only had Lust to go. As if on cue a
woman hurtled into the store and flung herself on a purple ostrich skin evening bag.
"Ohmigod," she shrieked. "I totally lust after this. One of these is better than sex!"
Naturally enough this gave me pause for thought. In my great yearning for a bag had I also done Lust?
It would be very useful if I had, of course, because I could spend my last day on Earth lying by the pool. Maybe I'd even get to talk to that pale and interesting man who'd been there two days ago. But I'd always expected that I'd feel Lust about a man, not about a handbag. I wasn't ready to give up on that yet.
All week men had been coming on to Tandy. Every time we 'd gone out she 'd spent her time wearily dismissing bottles of champagne and phone numbers and cheap pick-up lines. So why was she going on a date with this James guy? What was so special about him?
"I'm going to give it my best shot," she said. "It 's stupid to keep hoping and—" She stopped abruptly and put another layer of shine on her cheekbones.
By the time she was ready she was so dazzlingly gorgeous she would take the sight out of your eyes.
Dark and downbeat at the best of times, Nick had gone into overdrive. He slouched on the couch like a human black hole.
"How do I look?" Tandy danced into the room and pirouetted in her date finery.
"You're blocking my view of the TV." Nick rubbernecked as he tried to see around her.
"Doesn't she look great!" I said heartily.
Nick pressed the remote and raised the sound.
"Nick?" Tandy asked, above the raucous canned laughter.
"What can I say, Tandy?" His voice was flat. "You look beautiful. You always look beautiful."
This seemed to confuse her and some of her dancing, lit-up quality dimmed.
"You'd be even more beautiful if you ate occasionally," he added. She marched from the room and slammed the door. Yikes!
After she 'd left, Nick and I watched a movie and ate popcorn in companionable silence. Well, companionableish. Nick was so broodingly self-contained, I couldn't help sneaking glances at him. Suddenly he turned and caught me looking. After a silence he spoke, "How come you're not on a date tonight, Grace?"
"No one asked me. Tandy's so beautiful." I shrugged. "It 's hard not to disappear beside her."
All right, so I was milking it.
"Aw, but you're so cute," he said softly, swinging his legs off the table and moving suddenly closer along the couch. "You've got these curls." He wound a hand into my bouncy hair. "And beautiful skin." With his other hand he touched my face. "And a perfect mouth . . ." With his thumb he pulled gently at my lower lip and moved his face so that it was level with mine.
He was going to kiss me. And I wanted him to. My heart was knocking echoes into my ears, and I was wound tight with longing. I leaned into the heat of him, feeling the grip of his hand on the back of my head and then, and then . . . Something changed and it was all trickling away.
"I'm sorry," he said, pulling back with a heavy sigh. His eyes were weary but the touch of his hand on my face was kind. "I'm so sorry, Grace. It 's not you."
"Whatever." But my voice was helium high and didn't convince.
I burned with humiliation. What made things worse was that I'd been enjoying the movie and now I had no choice but to slink away to my room.
I'll level with you. Of all the seven sins, Lust was the one I'd been most looking forward to. And see what had happened—over before it had begun.
The phone rang and I heard Nick saying to some heartbroken girl, "I'm sorry, baby." The line he 'd been saying all week since I arrived: he was like a broken record. And some kind of understanding began to stir in me, something to do with Tandy saying that things would never work with her and Nick because there were all these women around him . . . But before my realization was fully formed the doorbell rang and I lost my train of thought. I've always had a very short attention span.
I strained to hear who it was. Please don't let it be a girl, I begged. But thank God, it was only crazy, alcoholic Karl. Who, if Nick was to be believed, was no longer so crazy or so alcoholic. They left to shoot some pool.
Chapter Seven
M y last day on Earth. That sounds really dramatic, right? I'd successfully completed my mission, done all seven of my deadly sins in six days and I was shipping back to Up There this evening, a more confident
, experienced, humane angel. Yet I was left with the feeling that there was still something very important to do. THE most important thing, actually.
It was another beautiful morning. Granola was scampering around chasing dust motes but as soon as I came into the room he bolted to his basket and crouched in it, trembling. Looks like winning the dog over isn't going to be one of my success stories.
Tandy was swinging around the apartment taunting Nick.
"I had the best time last night. James is really cute and smart and funny." She was watching Nick very carefully as she said all this, but he was utterly engrossed in the sports pages.
"He is the funniest guy," Tandy said dreamily. "Let me tell you what he—"
With a sharp rustle of paper Nick sat up. "So, you gonna go out with him again?"
"What do you care?"
"You're right, I don't."
They stared each other down, looking like they hated each other.
Clearly, they were in love with each other. How had I not noticed until now? Well, last night, really.
At least I got it in time.
I needed to speak to Tandy, there wasn't much time before I left for home.
"Nick . . ." I began.
"That jerk!"
"Yeah. So let 's see if I've got this straight. You slept with him—"
"I was loaded," she furiously defended herself.
"Then afterwards nothing happened and you were cross because he always had a bunch of girls around him."
"Yeah." She sounded uncertain, like she wasn't really sure where this was going.
"But!" I said dramatically. "Since I've been here I admit there are a lot of girls around but Nick keeps telling them to go away. Seems to me like he 's clearing the decks."
"For what?"
"Dduuuuhhh! For you! Who do you think?" Well, it certainly wasn't for me. Not that I was sore. Angels don't really do sore. But if I wasn't an angel I think I might have been very sore indeed. Anyhow . . .
"For me? You think?" Tandy couldn't keep the hope out of her voice, then she changed tack. "He thinks I'm anorexic."
"You are very thin," I said carefully. "And you don't seem to eat very often."
"I'm not anorexic," she yelled. "I'm—"
"Yes, I know, you're an actress."
"No. I'm in love with him! I was a hundred and twenty pounds before I moved into this apartment."
"When exactly was that?" I was very keen to know how long it took her to lose thirty pounds.
"A year ago. Back then I used to play a lot of fat best friend parts."
"Like me!"
"Just like you. I preferred them to the hooker roles I get now."
We were getting diverted from our main purpose.
"So what about James?"
"Oh, he 's an asshole," she said dismissively.
Next stop, Nick. We hadn't spoken since he 'd acted like he was about to kiss me, then changed his mind with those immortal words, "It 's not you."
Anyone who's ever been told, "It's not you," knows immediately that it is them. But this particular case is the one exception. It wasn't me—it was Tandy! Nick loved Tandy, but old habits die hard and a ghostly flicker of his former behavior meant he 'd probably felt it would be impolite not to try to jump me.
He was on the deck, staring at nothing.
"Can we talk?"
The poor guy looked horrified. He thought I was going to be a girl and insist on doing a big analysis of how we nearly but not quite got it together the night before.
"Sure," he croaked, doing a wild retreat behind his eyes.
I sat down and smiled reassuringly at him. Okay, so he hadn't found me attractive. But I'm bigger than all that. Well, I'm working on it.
"About Tandy," I began.
"Yeeaaahhh?"
"Since I've been here, you've been on the phone a lot saying good-bye to girls. Is it because of her?"
He tried to stare me down. But I can stare longer and harder. Sometimes it's great being a supernatural being.
With a sigh he caved in. "Okay. I wanted her to know that I wasn't going to be fooling around with anyone else. But what happens—she goes on a date with cute, smart, funny James."
"He 's an asshole." I was thinking how lucky it was that I was here. They'd never sort this mess out if I wasn't.
"Says who he 's an asshole?"
"Tandy."
"Yeah? For real?" A rare smile played on the corners of his mouth. He really was devastatingly attractive.
If you like that sort of thing.
"You two need to talk. But you're kind of hard to approach, you know?"
"I wasn't always like this," he bristled. "I was a really happy guy until she moved in. But I see her, so beautiful and I, you know, I get, like, depressed. I usta do a lot of comedy roles once, now I only seem to get offered psychos."
"Talk to her now," I commanded, very excited about the way things were going.
But before we got any further, we had a guest.
"Karl!" Nick exclaimed. "So have you met Grace?"
It was the pale, ill-looking man who'd been lying by the pool. He
was also—though I hadn't recognized him—the shouty smelly bloke I'd accidentally called on when I'd first arrived in Los Angeles nearly a week before. He certainly scrubbed up well.
"It 's you!" He sort of gasped.
Yes, it was indeed me. No point denying it.
He ran his eyes over me with the same sort of awed wonder that Granola looked at me with.
"What did you do?" he asked. "You called into my apartment and when you left I didn't want to drink anymore. Then you stop me from burning in the sun."
"How'd she do that?" Nick demanded.
"I put suntan lotion on him."
"Who are you?" Karl wondered. "Some sort of angel?"
Nick followed the exchange with interest. I know Nick had had his suspicions about me, so I was surprised when he said matter-offactly, "She 's Grace from Hicksville and you were long overdue to quit drinking, buddy. It 's no biggie."
Karl was adamant. "I know you've had something to do with it. Thank you."
"You're welcome," I said shyly.
"I knew it!" Karl said.
"Karl buddy," Nick cut in. "Can I catch up with you later, I got something real important to do."
"Sure."
Tandy was in her room and after a push from me, Nick knocked and went in. I was going mad wanting to know what was happening, but I wasn't able to see through the wall—I really needed to do some work on my X-ray vision. Luckily, though, Nick didn't fully close the door behind him, so through the narrow gap I could see Tandy.
First she looked a little suspicious, then like she was listening, then she smiled and said something. Another bit of listening, then suddenly Nick was also in the frame, taking her in his arms and holding her like he was never going to let her go.
The situation was just begging for a soundtrack. I simply couldn't resist it—the air trembled and swelled with the sublime sound of heavenly violins. In his basket in the kitchen Granola began to howl happily along with it.
A Woman's Right to Shoes
Thin morning light, gray pavement, counting forty-eight seconds from the front door to the end of my road. Turn onto bigger road and start again, counting seventy-eight seconds before the traffic lights. Across the road in thirteen, then counting twenty-nine to the shops.
I've only started this counting lark lately—just in the last few weeks. But now I do it all the time, I count everything. It 's very handy, it stops me from going mad.
As I got nearer the pub, I wondered if my silver sandal would still be outside. Probably. Because who would want it? Mind you, there was no accounting for pissed people. They took big orange traffic cones home, why not a single silver sandal?
Nearer I got and nearer; there was something there alright and it was the right size for a shoe. But already I knew it wasn't mine. Alerted by some instinct, already I knew something strange was happening. A
nd sure enough, once I was close enough, I saw that my sandal was gone—and, as if by alchemy, shimmering in its place was a different shoe, a man's shoe. It was astonishingly beautiful: a classic brogue shape, but in an intense purple leather. It sat on the gray pavement, looking almost like it was floating, and it seemed to throb, as if it was the only thing of color in a black and white world. Slightly mesmerized, I picked it up and turned it over. There were no scuffs on the sole, like it had never been worn. Butter-soft, biscuit-colored leather lined the insides, and it made my aching eyes feel better just to look at it.
