Wish Upon a Star

by Olivia Goldsmith

  ‘Well, what have you been doing?’ Michael asked. She dared to look at him. Handsome devil. But he did seem somehow, just a little less … smooth? Secure? ‘Are you working over here? And who was that Malcolm?’

  Claire looked down to hide her smile of pleasure and the cerise of her lap gave her confidence. ‘I’ve actually found work I really like.’ She told him a little bit about the shop, the classes, and Mrs Venables. ‘The nicest part is how much I enjoy it. It doesn’t really feel like work. I like the teaching, selecting the stock, putting out the wools. It’s all fun.’ She made it a point not to tell him that the shop was going to close. She talked for a little while about some of the more interesting customers and how she had started the classes.

  ‘Ingenious,’ Michael said. ‘I’m always reading about young socialites going to hen parties where they crochet or something. Knitting seems to be the “it” thing, the book circles of the new millennium. You hopped on a hot trend.’

  Claire shrugged. ‘I’ve been knitting since I was a kid,’ she said. She couldn’t help looking at him again. His skin had a wonderful color – darker than pale but lighter than one of those permanent suntans. Despite any setback in love or business, he seemed to have a healthy glow, and his hair had the shine of a well-cared-for pet. He actually looked more handsome than ever with that slightly anxious look in his eyes. Sternly, she told herself not to appreciate these things, though she couldn’t deny to herself that they moved her. She looked down at his hand – near hers on the table. She remembered how it had felt on her body. Then she thought of Mrs Patel’s advice.

  While they ate dinner she asked him about Crayden Smithers. He filled her in very generally. No mention of the problems that Abigail had written of. She managed to finish her fish before she asked, in a voice as neutral as she could manage, ‘And how is Katherine Rensselaer?’

  He had the good grace to flush a bit. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘We don’t see each other now.’

  They ordered dessert, though Claire was feeling a little bit sick to her stomach. It wasn’t until the profiteroles arrived that Michael addressed the real reason they were there.

  He leaned forward and tried to take her hand, but she gently pulled it back. ‘Look, Claire. I’m sure you despise me. But even if you never speak to me again I want to thank you for giving me this chance to talk with you. I’ve already told you that I know I made a mistake and that I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re so … individualistic. You’re not like anyone else I know.’

  Claire shrugged. ‘I’m sure you haven’t met anyone like me,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you move in Staten Island circles.’

  ‘Come on, Claire. That isn’t fair. I know Tina and I’ve met plenty of her friends. I’m not saying anything against her, but I am saying that you’re nothing like her and my guess is you’re not much like any of the other girls you grew up with. The fact is, Claire, you are a very special person.’

  Claire thought of the conversation she had had with Mrs Patel. Could she be right? She reminded herself that Michael might say this to every one of the women he went out with. After all, every woman wanted to be special, and being special in Michael Wainwright’s eyes would make you very special indeed. But, ‘Thank you, Michael,’ she said. And she meant it. Even if she was just another girl that Michael pursued, she still felt somewhat honored, if only to be a notch on his belt. As long as she didn’t let him get under her skin, she told herself, she would be just fine.

  And then Claire asked the question that all women want an answer to, an answer most men are so inadequate at giving. ‘What is it about me that’s so … well, that makes you think I’m special?’

  Michael didn’t even pause. ‘Your courage. You gave yourself to me. I know that now, and you didn’t hold back. Then you walked away to start a new life without any safety net. And look at the work and the people you’ve already found. I’ve been back and forth to London for two decades but in two months you seem to have made more friends and done more authentic things than I …’ he paused. ‘You’re generous, Claire. You’re not like most of the people I know, always selfish, always playing the angles.’

  He looked down at his untouched pudding. ‘I want to tell you something else,’ he said. ‘I spoke with Abigail Samuels.’

  Claire blinked. She tried to remember exactly what she’d written to Abigail about her feelings for Michael and for a moment she panicked. But Abigail was her friend, she reminded herself. Surprised to hear this new development she was also interested. ‘About what?’ Claire asked.

  ‘About you. When I asked for your address, well, it wasn’t altogether pleasant.’ Claire allowed herself to smile. She imagined that a conversation with Abigail could be very unpleasant indeed. ‘Anyway,’ Michael said and flashed her a bit of his old grin, ‘she read me the riot act. She told me what kind of idiot I am and she had it pretty accurate.’

  His grin dissolved and he looked away. For a moment Claire felt sorry for him. Abigail would not have minced words. ‘Anyway, she wouldn’t give me your address until I promised her that I was serious about you. And even then I could tell she wasn’t crazy about doing it.’ He shrugged and looked back at Claire. ‘I know I haven’t behaved well, and I’ve been spoiled all my life. But the fact is, Claire, I’ve had a lot of time to think. This tough financial climate and my … well, my poor performance, made me feel for the first time as if I was … vulnerable. No one can keep a winning streak running forever. I don’t want to go Buddhist on you, but even if you’re young and healthy and successful, in the end you’re going to lose everything. Death evens things out. And I don’t want to go through life or face my death without somebody beside me that I can trust and love. I know I haven’t been worthy of trust, but I swear that I can be trusted now. You know how well I focus on work when I want to. Well, now I’d like to focus on something else. At least part of the time. I’d like to focus on being with you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Would you consider going back to New York with me?’

  The offer wasn’t something Claire was prepared for. She expected he would, perhaps, apologize some more and then … well, maybe want her to sleep with him. Maybe even ask her away for a weekend – one of his favorite strategies. But not that he would want her to go back to New York with him. What did that mean?

  ‘I know you’ve been making a life here,’ he said. ‘I saw you in the shop. Of course, I didn’t know that you were working there but, well, despite your friends, that Malcolm or whoever you’re seeing, do you think that you might want to come back?’

  Claire thought of the reality she was facing. In a way it was completely unfair to let Michael think she’d been successful. But she wasn’t exactly lying, she told herself. Imogen would definitely approve. He was assuming things and she simply wasn’t correcting him. It was time, she decided, for her to speak.

  ‘Michael, I don’t want you to believe that I haven’t thought about you. I’ve thought about you very often. But I knew, even before I saw you in the bar with Katherine, that you didn’t take me seriously and you never would.’

  He began to speak but she put up a hand and he stopped himself. ‘You don’t owe me anything,’ she said. ‘In fact, I owe you a great deal. I never would have gotten here to London if not for you. And this trip has meant a tremendous amount to me. I have changed my life. You’re right about that. But you were the catalyst and I’ll always be grateful.’

  She looked at him and trembled. If he simply bent forward now and kissed her, could she go on in this calm way? Or would she stand up like a mesmerized rabbit and follow him to his room – or any other place else he wanted to take her? He was so handsome, so perfect, that even with him sitting just across from her telling her how he cared so much for her, Claire found it impossible to really believe. Was that because it wasn’t true or because she couldn’t accept the idea?

  Once again, she thought of Mrs Patel. It was insane, but the only way she could begin to judge him was using Mrs Patel’s method. Imogen
’s strategies only went so far. ‘Michael, I’m a surprisingly serious person. I’m not really good at dating or social events or office politics. I used to think it was a flaw of mine but now that I’ve found another way to live, I just accept it. It’s the way I am.’ She shrugged. ‘If we ever were together I’d be useless to you in your career. I’m not good at parties.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m looking for,’ Michael said.

  ‘So, what exactly are you looking for?’

  ‘You. Just you.’

  If she was the butter in the little pot on the table she’d have melted, but she steeled herself. ‘I’m afraid that’s not enough information. I really can’t afford to get involved with you unless …’ she took a deep breath. ‘The fact is, unlike you, I have no family to watch out for me. My dad is dead. My mom isn’t really … well, she isn’t really very involved. So I’ve had to make my way alone and …’ she knew she was stammering. Mrs Patel would expect her to be stronger than this. But she felt even more awkward than she had imagined she would. Before she could begin again Michael interrupted.

  ‘I know about our social backgrounds and the differences there, but I don’t care.’

  She bridled. ‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘The point is I have to ask you what your intentions are.’ She blushed. This certainly wasn’t following Imogen’s rules.

  ‘My intentions?’ Michael repeated then paused. ‘My intentions are to ask you to come back to New York and to live with me. Isn’t that clear? I didn’t come all the way to London or wait all this time in my hotel room just to ask you out for dinner.’

  Claire literally dropped her fork. Michael was inviting her to live with him? As far as she knew he had never done that with any of the women he had dated. Still, she didn’t think it measured up to Mrs Patel’s tokens of good faith. She didn’t know what ‘behavior and goods’ she should expect or ask for but she would have to come up with something. Or, better yet, let him come up with something. ‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough,’ she said. ‘To take the chance of leaving here, moving in with you, and not knowing when you’d change your mind or how it would end … Well, I know that’s standard for relationships today, but we both agreed that I’m not like a lot of other girls.’ Right now she felt as if she were a silly, useless combination of Mrs Patel’s stern straightforwardness and Imogen’s strategizing, neither of which were her style. She sighed. She wasn’t really being herself, and she wasn’t good at pretending to be anyone she wasn’t. But the advice of both women had merit and she had never, in her limited experience, had any real success with men. If she were as brave, as spontaneous as Michael seemed to think she was, what would she do? It was an interesting thought. Claire had so rarely acted spontaneously, especially with men, that she had no history to draw upon. But, she thought, what would she really like to do?

  Then she got an idea.

  She leaned forward and she took his hand. ‘I’d like you to come up with some way, in your behavior and … well, and some tangible things to show you’re ready for a real commitment. And in the meantime, I’d really like you to invite me up to your suite.’

  Michael opened his eyes wide. ‘You mean to …’

  With perfect confidence, Claire smiled. ‘I like you very much that way,’ Claire said. ‘Making love with you was, well, it was unforgettable.’

  ‘So you’ll … you’ll come back to New York with me?’

  Claire looked at him as calmly as she could. ‘No matter what happens I don’t see why we shouldn’t at least …’ she paused. ‘Repeat history.’ She smiled seductively. ‘I know this great hotel that has a giant bathtub, a soft bed and silky linens. What do you say?’

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  Claire left the hotel the next morning feeling exhilarated. The sex with Michael had been wonderful – if anything better than she remembered. Perhaps it had been better than before. After all, now that Michael was a supplicant he had to prove himself to her. When Mrs Patel had talked about ‘tokens of behavior’ Claire didn’t think she meant that sort of behavior. But it really was part of the picture. Claire would not let herself be seduced by sex alone, but it was an important part of any relationship and Michael’s passion was mixed with what seemed like enormous tenderness and gratitude.

  As she got on the underground Claire realized there had been two more reasons to sleep with Michael: because she hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time, and because it would further remind Michael of exactly what was at stake. As she took a seat in the train she smiled again. The sex had been so very, very satisfying and this time as she walked down the hotel hall she felt that it would be impossible for Michael to put her out of his mind.

  The problem was that it began to seem equally impossible for her to put him out of her mind. Of course, she had taken that into consideration as the risk of sleeping with him. But somehow she hadn’t thought her longing to be loved would kick in quite so strongly. Life is dangerous if one takes risks. It is meaningless if one doesn’t.

  In front of her was the painful process of leaving London, one way or another. Back at the flat she began, with a sigh, to pack up her belongings. Imogen had decided she would be leaving at the end of the month and Claire wanted to be sure she was out long before it was necessary. As she folded some of her clothes Michael’s face, his brow furrowed with longing, his voice insistent and hungry, came back to her. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling. Being truly wanted was so novel that it had a special thrill. Of course Edward wanted her, but that had seemed such a detached feeling with no passion at all, that she could hardly count it. The novelty of being wanted by somebody that she wanted back was something very special and it was the first time in her life Claire had experienced it.

  She stopped her packing and looked out the window at the gardens. She would regret losing the view. How could she live without the civilizing influence of flower boxes, blooming parks, potted topiaries and front and back gardens everywhere? New York – even Michael’s luxurious apartment – could not compare.

  But one thing she determined: she would not go with Michael because her other choices were unpleasant ones. She wouldn’t take the easy way out. It wouldn’t be easy because in the past months she had somehow gained a lot more pride than she once had. Even if she had failed to find a permanent home here, she had made a good effort and with only slightly better luck might have succeeded. If she had to return to New York – and it looked certain that she would have to – regardless of what happened with Michael she would not live with her mother. She might have to temporarily, of course, but she would make it only temporarily. And she wouldn’t keep living in Tottenville either. If she had found a place and a roommate in London she could find one in New York. And she would do it. If it couldn’t be in Manhattan, it would be somewhere else. But it would be her own place and it would be somewhere she felt comfortable and at peace.

  She looked around her pretty room. Of course she couldn’t expect it to be this lovely. Claire felt a stab – a real physical pain – in her chest at the thought of leaving. In New York, somehow, she’d just felt like a lonely person in an indistinguishable crowd. Here she felt as if each person – though unknown to her – was separate and unique, that if she only spoke to them she would find a potential friend, an interesting story, or an eccentric passion. She knew she was probably wrong, that her prejudice was only that. New York would no doubt be full of as many stories, friends, and eccentrics if she’d only try. But London had been so very good to her – and for her – that having to leave was a reality too painful to contemplate at the moment.

  She thought of the first evening she had expected to have dinner with Michael and the hundred dollars he had given her instead. And given to her in front of witnesses. The vast change in her position since then made her smile, but it was a rueful one. The humiliation and disappointment were still there. And always would be, though this reversal was especially pleasant to contemplate. Claire wasn’t spiteful and did not want to inflict a
ny pain on Michael or anyone else but she was human. And there was …

  Nigel! There was Nigel. She had forgotten all about her dinner date with him. She couldn’t believe it. Her hands actually began to shake. Mrs Venables had been such a good friend to her and, even if Nigel had been rude and even hostile at first, their relations had become so cordial that the thought of standing him up, blowing him off without even a phone call, upset her deeply. Only those who had been forgotten can understand the deep pain of it and she had forgotten Nigel altogether.

  She dropped the sheet she had been folding and ran to the phone. Then she had to run back to her bedroom and search for his numbers. She only got his machine at the office, another at his flat, and no answer on his mobile. Perhaps he was looking at her number and refusing, out of pride, to answer it. She called the other two numbers and left long apologies, explaining how exhausted she was and how she had fallen asleep. She only felt a little bit guilty about the lie, since telling him the truth would have been impossibly hurtful. She also left an invitation to dinner, her treat as a token of apology.

  She didn’t want to think about any pain she’d caused Nigel but she couldn’t stop thinking about pain she might feel in dealing with Michael. Thinking that her future was in his hands and that she would have to make the difficult judgment about whether or not he was trustworthy just upset her. Instead she kept returning to the feeling she had had when his arms were around her and how his voice in her ear had been almost unbearably thrilling. Claire shook her head as if she could shake out unwanted thoughts. Sleeping with Michael, she realized, had probably been a mistake. But how could she make a rational decision if she didn’t? And how could she be rational now that she had? All of her confidence from the morning seemed to leak away, leaving her, once again, insecure and more than a little frightened. Michael had had so many women that there was no reason for her to think that sex with her would make her more special in his eyes. Probably it had done the opposite. And though it had been wonderful, wasn’t giving it up – if she did – going to leave her feeling hungry and unsatisfied? Yet if she made her decision because of the passion she’d felt wouldn’t she regret … oh, it was all so confusing and disturbing.