Cinderella's New York Fling

by Cara Colter

  The other girl’s hair was lighter, and she had freckles, and it was she who had a squirming Max held firmly in her arms. Both the young women were laughing, and they looked so vivacious and full of life. It was such a beautiful thing to see—plus the miracle of Max being returned to me—that I started to cry all over again.

  I suddenly found Max in my arms. The little monkey—his outfit utterly destroyed—licked my face as though he had not deliberately run away and was delighted to see me. The two young women who looked like sisters introduced themselves. The British girl was Daisy, which is a name I find very old-fashioned and completely lovely.

  It turned out the third girl—her name was Aubrey and she was Australian—had scooped up the loose dog as he had continued his mad dash through the crowd. How appropriate is that, that my little joey had been snagged by an Australian? That girl had a “life of the party” way about her.

  And then Daisy had come upon her as Aubrey stood there, not quite sure what to do with her find, and brought her—and darling Max—back to me.

  We ordered tea all the way around, and I found out a bit about each of them. Daisy was, indeed, a budding musician who would be playing some of the minor stages at the festival. Aubrey, despite being so outgoing, had something faintly fragile about her, that made me feel concerned about illness. She was involved in some kind of custom painting family business with her brothers. She sounded less than enthused.

  I was enjoying visiting with those young women so much I nearly overlooked the fact I was keeping them from their concert, which would be starting momentarily.

  I gathered Max, and stood to go. The delight of being in the company of all that vigorous youth had been so lovely I had forgotten the injury to my ankle. But when I stood pain shot through it, and I sank back down with a defeated yelp.

  I caught sight of that man, Ralph, on the edge of all those moving people, craning his head, obviously looking for Jessica. He saw her and came to the table, casting a terrible shadow on it.

  “I see the dog has been found,” he said tightly, not at all humbled by the fact there was a real dog. He was obviously more than annoyed that his time had been wasted in the search, and that he was about to miss Carlene’s show. “Jessica, let’s go.”

  She tilted her chin at him, and I was happy to see a spark of pure fire in those soft, dark eyes.

  “Actually, my friend is going to need some help getting home. She’s hurt her ankle.”

  I could have protested that I did not need help, but it really seemed far more important to see how this played out.

  “We’re missing the concert,” he said.

  “Yes, we are,” she returned, calmly.

  “These other women can help her.”

  “So our enjoyment of the concert is more important than theirs?”

  The other two girls sat, wide-eyed, eyes going back and forth, as if they had front row seats at Wimbledon.

  Ralph drew in his breath, gave Jessica a withering look and stalked off in the direction of the stadium.

  It seemed like all of us had been holding our breath.

  “Well,” Aubrey said, breaking the silence. “What an ass.”

  And then we were all giggling like schoolgirls. It made me feel a part of things, something I certainly had never felt when I was an actual schoolgirl.

  “I can manage,” I said. “Please go enjoy the concert.”

  “I don’t see how you can manage, at all,” Aubrey decided. “I’m going to go see if I can flag down one of those golf cart things that are driving around.”

  The lady who was running the tea stand came out to collect dishes and I ordered a crumpet for my dear little Max.

  The lady brought Max his treat and said, “I’m going to close up now, if you don’t need anything else?”

  I looked at her and realized she looked exhausted, and also, of course, I knew exactly what she needed.

  She needed to feel like everyone else in the park tonight, as if life could have some happy bits in it, and things to look forward to, not just be a sea of endless drudgery.

  “Here,” I told her. “I don’t have any need for this.”

  I gave her my ticket for the Carlene concert.

  Jessica said, “If you’ve got a friend who can come on short notice, you can have mine, too.”

  And then Daisy chimed in, and the waitress was suddenly holding three tickets to Carlene. The weariness evaporated from her face and she stared at the tickets as if they had fallen straight from heaven.

  “My kids were dying to go. We live close. They can be here in a blink. These tickets are impossible to get,” she breathed.

  “Nothing is impossible,” I told her sternly. She looked hopeful, as the evidence of that very thing was resting in her hand.

  Daisy was smiling at me. “I like that. Nothing is impossible.”

  “But you could still have gone! I don’t need all three of you to miss the concert!” I told her, but she was watching that waitress, and I could tell she would not have traded anything for the look on that woman’s face. In a world where “self” seems to reign, how had I been lucky enough to run into these three women?

  A golf cart came careening down the path, Aubrey in the front with a young man who had on a first aid attendant uniform.

  He grabbed a bag, and peeled off my sock and shoe, and poked and prodded at my ankle.

  “I think it might be broken,” he said. He took a radio off his belt and, ignoring my protests, ordered an ambulance to meet us at one of the exits.

  Even when I insisted, my angels, bless their hearts, refused to leave me, even Aubrey, who still had her ticket.

  “What will happen to Max at the emergency room?” Daisy asked, practically. “No, we’ll come and take turns staying outside with him until you’re released.”

  And so, we all ended up in the golf cart, though it hilariously overloaded it.

  Aubrey said, “I feel as if I’m in a carload of clowns heading for the center ring,” and we all laughed, and despite my ankle throbbing, that golf cart ride through Faelledparken felt very spontaneous and joyous. There was an ambulance waiting at the exit, manned by two swoonworthy Danish men. Jessica came in the ambulance with me, and Aubrey and Daisy followed with Max in a cab.

  Hours later, outside the hospital, with my ankle bandaged—thankfully just severely bruised, not broken—we exchanged hugs. We were beaming at each other as if we had known one another forever, the most delicious little bond between us, the kind that only a closely averted catastrophe can create.

  Finally, I was able to look at the young women who had put their own agendas so selflessly aside to help me.

  Really look at them.

  I’ve had this unusual gift since I was a child.

  My mother was appalled by it and called me fey. She went as far as to discourage my use of it by saying she thought maybe I wasn’t a real Ascot, after all, but an Irish traveler baby, fallen off the caravan.

  I’m afraid the thought of really being an Irish traveler, instead of a member of a very stuffy aristocratic family, bound by rules and customs and most especially by what will people think, gave me many fantastic hours of make-believe and much needed respite from my mother.

  I certainly wasn’t fey in the way most people would think of that. I was unable to speak to dead people, an enviable talent that has become so popular there are now entire television programs about it.

  It was just that I could look at people and sense what they needed.

  In my younger years, it had been quite overwhelming, especially in a crowd. People’s needs, both large and small, swarmed around me like restless bees, buzzing...

  She needs to see a doctor...he needs a long walk in the forest...he needs glasses...she needs a new life...he needs a new wife...

  As I had gotten older I’d learned to keep my observ
ations mostly to myself. People didn’t really appreciate a complete stranger approaching them with life advice. I’d also gotten better at shutting off some of it, and had learned that knowing what someone needed—even when sometimes they did not know themselves—gave me quite a sharp advantage in business.

  Looking at my rescuers right now, I knew with startling clarity exactly what each of them needed.

  Still, you didn’t attain the incredible successes in business that I had, by relying on your instincts alone.

  “I have ordered a car for Max and me. I’ll make my way back to my hotel.” Jessica was going to protest, but she had done enough for me, so I held up my hand. “But I would so love to keep in touch. I’m brand-new to social media. Would you mind if...”

  Of course they saw me as entirely adorable, and wrote their full names and all their social media contact information—Facebook and Twitter and Instagram—on a scrap of paper I provided. They had already exchanged information with each other, but they had put that directly into their phones. No scraps of paper for their generation.

  Having all that information meant I could spy on their private lives shamelessly—young people were so oblivious to who was watching what they revealed online—to confirm if what I thought they needed really was what they needed.

  And then, I was in the unique position of being able to give it to them. I felt no rush, at all. They were young, and at that age where their needs could change in a heartbeat. I would be patient. Bide my time. Wait until I was 100 percent certain.

  I realized, gleefully, all the girls had accepted me introducing myself simply as Viv, and not one of them had any idea who I really was—Vivian Ascot, one of the sponsors of the music festival and CEO of one of the largest and oldest corporations in the world.

  “What a good little boy you’ve been,” I told Max. “You’ve brought me this wonderful opportunity.”

  I watched the girls walk away, arm in arm, lifelong friendships appeared to be budding. Jessica was going to stay with Aubrey tonight instead of running the risk of running into Ralph at her hotel, and then they were all planning to go together to watch Daisy’s “gig” at the festival the next day. I contemplated what those young women, my rescuers, needed. They were so young. So filled with hope. So confident that they knew everything they wanted and needed for happiness. Naturally, they had no idea.

  Of the three of them, I had gotten to know Jessica the most. I loved the way she had described Timber Falls, the small resort town in the Canadian Rockies where she had grown up and ran her bookstore, and where her parents still lived.

  But, while it had sounded like a great place for aging parents, and possibly for a short holiday, and while Jessica undoubtedly felt safe there, what longing had led her to Copenhagen? Whatever she had told herself, I felt her journey to the music festival was not so much about a romance as it was about a longing for a larger world. Young people need challenges to make life seem fresh and interesting.

  The small town had to be quite stifling for someone so smart and ambitious. And single. But now, after the Ralph fiasco, it seemed there was a possibility Jessica would go back there and be more reluctant than ever to explore all life had to offer.

  Well, not if I had anything to do with it.

  Waiting for my car to come, I felt the most delicious wave of happiness. I decided playing fairy godmother to those three young women was probably going to be just about the most fun I had ever had.

  CHAPTER ONE

  JESSICA WINTON STEPPED out through the Customs and Immigration doors into the full flurry of the arrival area of John F. Kennedy International Airport. Her hand tightened on the handle of her wheeled carry-on.

  She had not seen a crowd like this since that summer night of the music festival in Copenhagen. Could that be two years ago, already?

  Yes, almost to the day.

  And look at how that had turned out: her grand virtual romance had been exposed as horribly naive and shabby when the harsh light of reality had shone on it.

  This was going to be more of the same. Jessica could just feel it. Yes, there it was, the panicky sensation rising in her chest.

  What moment of madness had made me agree to this?

  Right now it felt as if, after that initial glance, it would have been better—so much better—if she had just junked the email that had brought her to New York City as one of those endless variations of the Nigerian orphaned princess scam.

  Dream job this time. Dream man last time. Did she always have to be the sucker for a dream?

  She cast a desperate glance back at the doors that had just whispered closed behind her, but saw that reentering the Customs area was strictly forbidden. What would she do if she managed to go back through the doors, anyway? Demand to be sent home, like a child who had found summer camp not to her liking?

  She’d been invited to a job interview here in New York City. Of course, she already knew she couldn’t take it. Even if it was her dream job, which it most definitely was. She had her life and it was a totally satisfactory life. She was successful, she was a respected member of the community. Who was always the keynote speaker at Career Day at the Timber Falls High School?

  No, a job in New York City, at this point in her life, was out of the question.

  And yet, here she stood, as if pulled by an invisible cable. She’d been up front with the marketing firm Jensen, Henry and Ascot that she wasn’t in a position to take the job. But they had been persuasive. Why not just come? Have the initial discussion? See some of New York City? And then, an airline ticket, and a reservation confirmation for three days at a posh Manhattan hotel had been sent, as if that was all settled.

  No one could say no to that. Could they?

  And yet, standing here, exhausted—it took longer to travel from Timber Falls than the time she would spend in Manhattan—and not quite knowing what do next, Jess felt regret at being so impulsive. It never paid off for her. Other people could embrace spontaneity, but it seemed as if it just wasn’t a good fit for her.

  Something wasn’t ringing true about all this and she should have paid attention to that feeling instead of being persuaded by Aubrey’s ever chipper Australian voice coming over the line, chiding her.

  Is something not ringing true, or do you just believe good things can’t happen to you?

  Daisy, while pleased that Jessica had decided to accept the trip to New York, had said rather gleefully, Looking at a new job is like going to the pet store and looking at puppies. You’re already partway committed to taking one home with you.

  What if it proved harder to resist the temptation than Jessica anticipated?

  It wasn’t going to be that hard to resist if her first few minutes in New York were any indication. The Customs lineup had been slow, the official had been unnervingly unfriendly and, now that she had been admitted to the country, the crowds were crushing, and her stomach was growling. And as far as she could see, there was no one here to greet her.

  Her tablet case and her purse were strapped securely to the pull handle of her carry-on bag. She turned to it. She fished the piece of paper from the outside pocket of her purse and looked at it.

  The letter instructed her she would be met at the airport by James Gilbert-Cooper, Chief Operating Officer of Jensen, Henry and Ascot, a marketing firm that had a division that exclusively handled bookstores. The man could potentially be her new boss!

  But not if this was his idea of making a good first impression. Leaving her hanging.

  It’s been two minutes, Jessica chided herself. She forced a deep breath, and a change in attitude. She was sure Aubrey, her irrepressible Australian friend, would invite her to turn it all into a game.

  Okay. What would someone with a name like that look like? Old, she decided. And very proper. A vested suit and a bow tie. Definitely glasses. Round-framed ones.

  Jessica looked around nerv
ously. She couldn’t see anyone who looked like she expected Mr. Gilbert-Cooper to look.

  What if he didn’t come? Should she wait? Call the number on the letter? Surely the office would be closed. Should she take a cab to the hotel she had the reservation at? Didn’t cabdrivers take advantage of people like her? Despite her best effort to look sophisticated, Jessica felt she was probably telegraphing that she was from a different country and a small town. Did cabdrivers have to pass some kind of test of their driving skills? What if she was killed in traffic? And what about their character? What if she was driven to a remote location and—

  Stop it! Jess ordered herself.

  She made herself think of Aubrey and Daisy, and the wonderful connection the three of them had enjoyed since Copenhagen—thank you very much, WhatsApp. Both women had encouraged her to come, and hinted that maybe they thought Jess tended to play it too safe, and make her world too small. It was funny what close friends they had all become, despite the fact they came from different parts of the globe and had very different lifestyles. Still, Jessica confided things to them that she would not have dreamed of saying to any of the people she shared a life with on a daily basis.

  Take a chance, Aubrey had insisted after Jess had received the intriguing email and determined it was not a hoax.

  Too late, Jess was remembering almost those exact same words—from other well-meaning friends—had led her to the disaster in Copenhagen with Ralph.

  Jessica took a deep breath, and searched the sea of faces waiting in the arrivals area. None of them seemed to fit her idea of James Gilbert-Cooper, and none of them seemed particularly interested in her.

  I’ll be wearing a red jacket.

  Thinking about it now, that could be left open to some interpretation. The jacket in question leaned toward burgundy. She should have been more descriptive: the color was like sun filtering through a bottle of merlot, which was what she had thought when she splurged on it.

  Why hadn’t she thought out the intricacies of being met by a stranger in such a large airport a little more thoroughly? Had she been expecting someone to be waving a sign with her name on it?