by Nico Jaye
Perking up, Edwin nodded encouragingly, only to deflate with Trick’s next words.
“—but I’d rather hold on to it to get that much closer to the buy-in amount I need.” Trick set his jaw and stood up straighter. “Let’s do this.”
They spent a full morning and afternoon trudging through the area and inquiring at a handful of places with signs in the windows. Even with a quick break for lunch for energy—Chinese food, which Edwin had grown fond of in his short time in New York City—it was still discouraging.
Trick sighed and came to a stop to sit on the stoop of an abandoned storefront. Edwin joined him, wishing there had been more promising prospects.
They’d just come from the building’s small second-floor room, which, like two others they had seen that day, didn’t even have a toilet inside the unit. The apartments were all in varying states of disrepair, and Edwin found it likely they would be similarly at risk of a collapsed ceiling sooner rather than later.
“I don’t know, Edwin.” Trick’s chin dropped to his chest, and he shook his head. “Maybe I should try somewhere else, like that area around Coney Island, which isn’t too pricey. Sheepshead Bay might have something.”
Remembering the long subway trek out to Coney Island, Edwin grimaced at the thought of Trick having to make such a trip simply to come into the city or go to work.
Edwin was frustrated. He wished there were something he could do, but he couldn’t simply manifest a dwelling—let alone do it in such a densely populated place as New York City, never mind the need to figure out the practicalities of plumbing, electricity, and wiring. Sighing, Edwin placed his hand on Trick’s shoulder, hoping to lend some support.
“I think we should make our way back into the city and take a break,” Edwin suggested. “We can investigate the Coney Island area later or tomorrow.”
Trick furrowed his brow. “I need a place to stay, Edwin. I can’t just put this off.”
“You can stay with us, of course. It’s only another day, and you’re more than welcome. Besides, we don’t know what we’ll find in the city. Maybe the perfect place will show up.”
With a snort, Trick shook his head. “Unlikely, given I could barely afford the shoebox I was renting before.”
“Well,” Edwin said, determined, “a break would do us well nonetheless. Let’s go to that place you were mentioning with the plants and walkways.”
“The High Line?” Trick sent him a surprised look. “You remember that?”
“Of course,” Edwin said. He remembered that, and he remembered the way Trick liked that area of the city as a respite from the hustle and bustle. Edwin couldn’t explain it, but he had a good feeling about that neighborhood.
Grabbing Trick’s hand, Edwin stood and pulled him to his feet. “Come now. A good meander is just what we need.”
THE HIGH Line was a quaint little park along the western edge of lower Manhattan.
It was relatively new—built up within the last decade, Trick explained—and Edwin was fascinated to learn that it was elevated because it was constructed on an abandoned railroad track. Many of the flowerbeds held merely brown dirt or leafless bushes and trees. Nevertheless, the crispness of the air and noticeably hushed effect of the elevation lent the space a sense of peace in the middle of the city.
Trick sighed from his seat beside Edwin. “You’re right. This helped.”
Edwin glanced at Trick and smiled. “I’m glad.”
They had started at the northern end and wandered along the path, finally making their way to the southern tip and grabbing a bench to people watch. With the approaching winter, the days grew shorter, and already the sun was beginning to dip behind the buildings that lined the waterfront across the river.
“Wanna find somewhere to eat? I guess I could check out Brooklyn tomorrow,” Trick said, offering Edwin a tired smile.
“Yes, food would be good. Perhaps pizza—”
Edwin broke off, his attention caught by a flutter in his peripheral vision. An older woman was walking by, her delicate blue scarf trailing from her purse and onto the ground behind her. Edwin stood and moved to walk beside her.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
She stopped and looked up, blinking at him with a question in her eyes. “Yes?”
With a gentle smile, Edwin gestured at the length of gauzy material behind her. “Your scarf appears to be in danger. It looks quite fragile, and it would be a shame if it were to snag on something or get pulled loose altogether.”
“Oh!” Reaching into her handbag, she caught the scarf and tugged it free before folding it neatly. She tucked it into her purse and gave it a soft pat. “My goodness, I can’t thank you enough,” she said, grasping Edwin’s hand in a surprisingly firm grip. “My grandchildren gave it to me, and I would definitely not want to lose it.”
Edwin nodded, somehow managing to say “You’re most welcome” past the flash of impressions he received upon her taking his hand. They weren’t as strong as Trick’s had been, but Sandra Reinhart had led a good, fulfilling life. Above all, though, one impression offered pertinent information to his current charge.
“Ma’am, please don’t think me odd for asking this, but by any chance are you in need of a tenant?”
WITH ONLY seven units and three stories, Sandra’s building was a charming, well-kept converted brownstone near the water on West 10th. The waning sunset filtered through the nearly bare trees that lined the sidewalks. After her youngest grandchild had recently graduated from NYU, he’d decided to move to California to dive into the tech industry there, leaving a decently sized garden apartment vacant for the past four months.
“I haven’t been in a hurry to find anyone,” she said with a shrug that lifted her thin shoulders underneath the wool coat she wore. “And since family has always stayed here, the rent hasn’t been much of a factor in anything. To be quite honest, I’ve considered keeping it vacant in case any other great-grandchildren or family would like to stay here.”
Edwin looked around, taking in the shining hardwood floors and delicate crown moldings at the edge of the ceiling. The walls were scuffed in places, suggesting a previous occupant, but the unit was otherwise clean, sturdy, and comfortable. Best of all, there was a door that led out into a tiny garden, to which only this apartment had access. Trick was currently looking out the window into said tiny garden, an inscrutable expression on his face. Edwin couldn’t tell if it was hopeful or wary.
Perhaps it was a little of both.
“I may be wrong,” Edwin said slowly, even though he knew he was not, “but I believe Trick’s circumstances align well with your situation.”
At the mention of his name, Trick turned his head, brows lifted. He seemed to process the conversation a moment before turning back to face the room. “I—yes, Mrs. Reinhart—Sandra,” Trick said quickly, seeming to correct himself at the memory of Sandra’s insistence they call her by her first name. “I’m really looking for something that would be on the temporary side, only until the building I’ve designed is completed and ready for me to move in.”
Her brown eyes went wide with delight. “Oh my, you design buildings?”
Trick inclined his head, his cheeks ruddy. “I do. This will be my first to actually be constructed, though.”
Meanwhile, Sandra was muttering to herself, “Grigsby, Grigsby….” Finally, she looked up with a light of recognition in her eyes. “Grigsby, Redden, and Associates?”
Trick’s mouth dropped open. He clicked it shut to ask, “How did you…?”
“My husband did business with your… father? John?”
Trick nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “That’s my dad.”
“He was at the height of his career when my Stuart was winding down his. Your father was incredibly talented.”
Trick’s lips curved in a soft smile. He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”
Edwin moved to clasp a hand over Trick’s forearm, squeezing it comfortingly, and h
e glanced up to catch a concerned look in Sandra’s eyes. “Does this sound like something you’d find agreeable, Sandra? A tenant to keep the place occupied, but not on a permanent basis?”
She nodded, a kind smile on her face. “Certainly. And I’ll need a lease signed, but I think we can reach an understanding on the rental amount.” She then named a figure that had Trick startling noticeably under Edwin’s hand.
“Wait… really?” Trick stared at Edwin, then back at Sandra. Trick’s expression went through a complicated cycle that reflected hope, disbelief, skepticism, and cautious optimism.
Sandra looked at Trick, then at Edwin, and inclined her head with a mischievous smile that made her look years younger. “It’ll be our secret.”
By the time they finished making arrangements for the move-in date, keys, and paperwork, Trick’s good mood and excitement were practically tangible. When they stepped back onto the street, sunset was upon them, the sky showing off its tapestry of colors.
“Oh my God, Edwin. Oh my God.”
“You’re pleased, I take it,” Edwin commented as they walked down the street.
“Oh my God. Yes. Hell yes. I—I’ve always loved the West Village. And now I get to live in it! I can’t—I can’t even believe it. How did this even—” Stopping abruptly, Trick broke off and stared at Edwin.
Edwin tried to hide a grin, but knew he failed when Trick laughed.
“You!” Trick grabbed him in a hug and shuffle-danced him around. Edwin laughed with him, the feeling of Trick’s happiness radiating from the impressions that were zinging through him at his touch.
Trick tilted his head back and laughed loudly. “I have a fucking fairy godfather!”
Chapter Thirteen
IT HAD been the most amazing and most surreal week of Trick’s life. He had a goddamn fairy godfather, for Christ’s sake. In a matter of five minutes, his life had gone from one of mundane mediocrity to one of unbelievable and extraordinary mediocrity.
Trick secured the cardboard box containing all seven of the books he still owned with packing tape. It didn’t stick well, since the boxes were covered in dust. Everything was covered in dust from the whole ceiling-caving-in thing. The landlord still hadn’t bothered getting around to tarping anything or taping anything off, and Trick probably could have done it, but fuck that guy.
He’d paid that crook more than was fair for this shitbag apartment for the last three years, and he’d never bothered to do anything for Trick, no matter how many maintenance requests he’d put in.
This day was long overdue, and Trick was over-the-moon excited to be getting out.
His new place was absolutely gorgeous. It was like something out of a dream, and maybe it was. Edwin had promised he hadn’t coerced Sandra in any way to lower the price of the new place, and Trick believed him, which was possibly the most unbelievable thing of all. Affordable rent in Manhattan?
Absolutely unheard of.
Trick added another piece of tape to the box for good measure and placed it on the chair Edwin had bibbidi-bobbidi-booed into existence during Thanksgiving dinner. And just like that, he owned something he hadn’t haggled off a sketchy dude on Craigslist or found on the side of the road.
Thanksgiving had been one of the most incredible nights of Trick’s life and not just because he’d found out he’d been gifted with his very own genie or whatever. Fairy? Were they the same thing? Or members of the same family, like horses and zebras? Trick would have to remember to ask Edwin the next time he saw him. Which was supposed to be in—Trick checked the clock—two hours.
He’d better get a move on.
The thought of Edwin coming over had Trick’s mind wandering. He was still having a difficult time wrapping his head around the whole magic thing. If he hadn’t seen Edwin create an entire Thanksgiving dinner out of a couple of veggies and a bird too small to feed the rats that likely lived in these walls, he probably never would have believed it.
Part of what was so unbelievable wasn’t even the part where Edwin had a fucking magic wand. It was that he’d chosen Trick. It didn’t sound like everyone got their own fairy godfather, and Trick had no idea what it was about him that made him so special.
On paper, he was the very picture of average, and in reality, even more so.
Trick knew Edwin was a fairy godfather in training, but he was going to have to master some pretty heavy-duty spells if he was ever going to get Preston Ward to notice Trick. He wondered if Edwin had a spell to make him into less of a bumbling idiot when Preston was around. Every time Trick saw the guy, any brain cells left in his head just imploded, leaving him a drooling, stuttering mess.
There was a spark of excitement at the thought of having a boyfriend. Trick had spent so much of his adult life alone, he wasn’t sure he knew how to have a boyfriend. Would he be required to do more than hang out and go for dinners? The sex part would be nice. It’d been too long to even contemplate. If reinstated virginity on the grounds of disuse was a real thing, Trick would totally qualify.
Trick let his mind roam a moment into thoughts of what sex with Preston would be like. The time Trick had spent with him had mostly been in the elevator, or a few awkward words shared in the lobby of their building. There was a flirtatious quality to him that Trick saw every once in a while. Even thinking about it made him blush.
He imagined getting caught in the elevator with Preston, the only illumination from the emergency light. They’d be stuck in there for hours, waiting to be rescued. Trick fantasized about the way Preston’s hands would feel on his body, stripping away his clothes and crowding him up against the mirrored wall of the elevator.
Indulging in the fantasy, he closed his eyes, but imaginary Preston was different than Trick thought he’d be. Instead of suave and experienced, imaginary Preston was a bit fumbling, a bit unsure. Trick almost choked when he realized imaginary Preston was imaginary Edwin instead.
Thoughts of Preston vanished in an instant, and Trick let himself relive the night he’d spent with Edwin all those nights ago, only this time, it didn’t stop with that one kiss.
A loud pounding pulled him out of the wayward fantasy just in time. Had it gone any further, Trick would have had to change his underwear before Edwin arrived.
“Come in!” Trick called, knowing he would easily be heard through the flimsy door. He didn’t know why this landlord had bothered with so many dead bolts and chains. Anyone who wanted in could have gained access with a hard push.
“Good morning,” Edwin said, stepping through the door and closing it behind him. “Are you finished with the preparations to move into your new home?”
“Almost. I just have a couple more boxes to tape up, and then I should be good to go.”
“I’m quite excited for you to move in. You must be excited as well.”
“Fuck yes. More than you will ever know.”
Trick had spent the last week in Edwin’s uncle’s apartment at the Pointe but had insisted on spending one last night in his condemned studio in order to get his things packed up. Edwin had offered to help, but Trick had declined. After seeing where Edwin was staying, he was even more humiliated by the meager accommodations he’d kept all those years.
“I will help you with the taping. Franz will be here any moment to help us carry all your possessions to the vehicle.”
Before Trick could ask who Franz was, there was a loud knock at the door.
“Come in,” Trick called for the second time that morning. His curiosities were satisfied when a man, presumably Franz, walked through the door.
Trick tried not to stare at the man who was dressed head to toe in a monochromatic bronzy-green color, complete with matching hair and face paint. His outfit was straight out of Civil War–era America. The whole image was rather impressive. Strange, but impressive.
“Hey, man, I’m Trick. Thanks for helping out. Your costume is amazing, by the way. Most guys just slap some silver paint on and cover themselves in tinfoil. You really went all out.”
Trick shut his mouth, knowing he was babbling, and extended his hand toward the man. Franz shook it robotically before picking up the closest box and disappearing back out the door without a word.
“Wow, he’s really dedicated to his character.”
Edwin peered at him over the box he was carrying, confused.
“The guy you hired to help us. He’s not busking right now, but he still won’t talk. That’s dedication.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
Sometimes Trick forgot that he needed to explain things to Edwin as though he’d just arrived on the planet.
“Franz… usually those guys hang out in the park and pretend to be statues so tourists will give them money.”
Edwin grinned. “He is a statue.”
“What?” It took a moment for Trick to process that information. “Like, a real statue?”
“Yes. I borrowed him from Riverside Park. I thought it would make our task much more manageable to have someone to assist us.”
The whole fairy godfather thing was going to take some getting used to.
“Is that not acceptable?” Edwin asked.
“No, no. That’s fine. A little odd, maybe. Most people con their friends or family into helping in exchange for a pizza or something.”
Edwin tilted his head slightly as he regarded Trick. “Frederick is busy with Abigail today, and since you are my sole friend, I decided that perhaps it was good that I looked elsewhere for aid.”
Trick picked up a box, grunting under the weight of it. He hadn’t bothered to label anything since he owned so little, but from the heft of this one, it was more than likely his books. “It was very good thinking.”
They headed toward the door.
“Wait,” Trick said, pausing on the threshold. “If he doesn’t talk, how do you know his name is Franz?”
“It was written on the stone beneath him,” Edwin replied matter-of-factly.
And that’s how it came to be that General Franz Sigel helped Trick haul his belongings across Manhattan.
