Magic Sometimes Happens

by Margaret James

  ‘Man, forget the student, will you? Come on, buddy, chill a while, take a seat, relax?’

  ‘I can stay five minutes, tops.’

  ‘Yeah, okay, okay.’ He prowled around the room. It was like he was a preacher working on a sermon in his head. Then suddenly he rounded on me, stabbing at me with his index finger. ‘So, get this. A guy’s been working on the screenplay of Missouri Crossing.’

  ‘I thought you told me you’d be writing it yourself?’

  ‘Yeah, it was suggested. But I’m busy working on my current novel so I don’t have too much time to spare. Anyway, the money men have done their stuff. The whole thing’s been green-lit. There’s going to be a movie! We got some very special folks on board, including someone who is mega-famous to play me.’

  ‘You always said the hero isn’t you.’

  ‘Well, he’s kind of me.’

  ‘Who is this famous actor?’

  ‘I can’t tell you his identity. It’s still embargoed. But I’ve met with him and I can tell you that the guy is A-list and hell is he excited!’

  ‘Great,’ I said, and wondered who was going to play my father, if anyone could do the bastard justice, which I rather doubted.

  ‘You and Lex, you’ll both be at the premiere,’ he added, picking up one of the books and starting to page through it.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ I said. ‘I’ll get to meet a bunch of movie actors and other famous authors, a ton of VIPs?’

  ‘You bet.’ He glanced up from the book to look at me. ‘You forgot to say congratulations.’

  I saw how he was smiling his holy-cow-I’ve-made-it-God-in-heaven-how-I’ve-made-it smile, and suddenly I couldn’t stand to carry on with this charade a single moment longer.

  ‘You and Lex,’ I said. ‘I know.’

  ‘You do?’ He turned his smile off like he just turned out a flashlight. ‘Who told you, Tess or Lexie?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ I stood up to leave. ‘You are a piece of shit.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess I must be.’ He sighed, but then he smiled again, and this time it was his old smartass, boy-I’m-brilliant smile, the one he keeps for younger female journalists and attractive graduate students. I am irresistible. I am hot sex, come fly me. ‘But I’m not the first, you know,’ he added. ‘Lexie has been cheating on you since she was sixteen.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘You’re a liar.’

  ‘It’s the truth, I swear. Patrick, my old buddy, I might be a piece of shit but I’m a shit who always tells the truth. It’s what novelists do. We tell the truth. Lexie is a tramp and she’s had lovers by the score. As for those two kids – I doubt they’re yours, and I—’

  It was like I hit a bowling pin. One second he was on his feet, the next flat on his back. His eyeglasses flew up into the air, the book he had been holding spun out of his hand, and he lay there on his Persian carpet, blinking up at me.

  ‘Get up,’ I told him.

  ‘Why, so you can knock me down again?’

  ‘Get up, I said!’

  ‘Okay, but let me take it nice and slow, in case I got me a concussion?’ He rolled on to his side and maybe thirty seconds later he managed to sit up. ‘Wow, that was some punch,’ he added as he rubbed his jaw. ‘Pass me my eyeglasses?’

  ‘Say please.’

  ‘Please, Professor Riley.’

  I picked the glasses up and saw that they were broken. ‘Do you have a spare pair?’

  ‘They should be in the top left drawer.’ He pointed to his desk and then he struggled to his feet. ‘Man, those babies cost eight hundred dollars and that’s without the lenses.’

  ‘I guess they were insured. So who did Lexie—’

  ‘Oh, the usual suspects – jocks, homecoming kings, class presidents and later guys at work. Then the more attractive, more successful, richer fathers in the PTA. Guys with glitz and glamour who were up for one night stands.’

  ‘Why did I not know? Why didn’t I notice anything?’

  ‘You were always working. The ladies don’t like playing second fiddle to a guy’s career. I tried to warn you, didn’t I?’

  ‘When did you try to warn me?’

  ‘It must have been last August, last September, when Lex took up with Mr Wonderful, or what the hell you call that British guy. I said you’d been with Lexie way too long and you should find somebody new, go play the field yourself, instead of storming round the place and being mad at everyone.’

  ‘I was mad at Lexie and her lover. I was desperate my kids should not be hurt. But you’re saying Joe and Polly aren’t my children?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not – so how does any father know?’ He smiled a slow and sly and secret, clearly wince-inducing smile. ‘When Joe and Poll were born, you didn’t get a DNA test, did you?’

  ‘So you’re telling me that you—’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t, haven’t – Pat, calm down. I went to bed with Lexie once, and that’s the honest truth.’

  ‘You’re not the father of my children, swear to God?’

  ‘You have my word. Pat, you only have to look at them to see we’re not related. Hell, I shouldn’t have said what I just did. Those kids, they have your face, your eyes – they’re yours, poor little bastards.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess they must be.’ Suddenly, I felt so sick, so tired. I wished I hadn’t hit my friend, betrayed myself, done what I’d told myself I’d never do, no matter what the provocation. ‘Or maybe I don’t care who fathered them. Joe and Polly – they’re my children, even if their mother fooled around with other men.’

  ‘Of course you would say that. You might be a smart-guy scientist, but you’re a romantic too, and romantics don’t do very well in this cruel world. Pat, like I just told you, Alexis is a tramp. She’ll go with anyone. She isn’t worthy of you, never was and never will be. You should head off back to the UK and tell that Denham woman she’s—’

  ‘She’s none of your business!’

  ‘Yeah, okay, let’s change the subject. I was thinking, maybe I should call up Tess and tell her that I’m fixing to have some therapy for sex addiction? The guy who’s going to play me in the movie, he was saying while he was in therapy—’

  ‘You don’t need any therapy. You’re a two-bit serial adulterer, plain and simple. You never could resist it when it’s offered on a plate. You’re never going to change.’

  ‘So I guess I’ll have to live with it?’

  ‘I guess you will.’ Now I could see the damage to his face was quite impressive. When he went down, he must have caught his cheekbone on the corner of his desk. ‘But, whatever – I should not have hit you. I apologise. You want to hit me back?’

  ‘I’ll take a rain check.’ He rubbed his reddening cheek and jaw and winced. ‘So I was telling you about this movie. They’re looking at locations and casting all the minor parts right now. I was thinking I could maybe play a little role? A bartender, perhaps? The younger version of the father? When he was young, your daddy must have been a real cool dude? A magnet for the chicks? He worked the fairgrounds, didn’t he, and rode the rodeo? I’d have to dye my hair, of course. Your father’s hair was black.’

  I walked out of his office and was halfway down the passage when I heard his voice again. ‘Hey, Professor Riley?’

  But I kept on walking and didn’t turn around.

  ‘You mustn’t feel too bad about what happened in my office! It’s all great material! I’ll put it in a book!’

  FROM: Patrick M Riley

  SUBJECT: Back in the USA

  TO: Rosie Denham

  SENT: July 23 17.35

  Hi Rosie

  Miss you, darling.

  It’s so bad without you.

  Call you soon.

  Pat XXXX

  FROM: Rosie Denham

  SUBJECT: London

  TO: Patrick M Riley

  SENT: 23 July 23.31

  Dear Pat

  I miss you, miss you, miss you.
<
br />   I love you, love you, love you.

  Rosie XXXXXXX

  ROSIE

  I missed him like an eye, a hand or some other essential part of me.

  I wondered about setting up in business in Minneapolis. That would be a challenge, wouldn’t it, and might even be fun? Fanny had American clients and American connections and I knew she’d help.

  So I googled green card application and I looked at websites for the IRS and other US government agencies. I found it wasn’t like the door was open and America was saying welcome, Rosie, come on in and stay how long you like.

  I should have been a fashion model of distinguished merit. Yes, that’s exactly how the relevant website put it. Or a famous and successful artist or an entertainer, those occupations would have been just fine.

  I should have been Victoria Beckham, David Hockney or Kate Moss.

  I didn’t think I could fix that omission overnight.

  PATRICK

  Ben called me up the following evening.

  ‘I don’t wish to speak with you,’ I said and disconnected.

  So he called again and then again and then again.

  ‘What do you want?’ I muttered. ‘No, strike that from the record. I don’t have time to talk. I’m very busy.’

  ‘Pat, we need to meet, you need to listen to me – please?’

  ‘Why would I need to listen to a piece of shit like you?’

  ‘There’s a ton of stuff you ought to know.’

  ‘So tell me on the phone.’

  ‘Patrick, please don’t be like this?’

  ‘Patrick, please don’t be like this?’ I mimicked. ‘You know you sound exactly like a girl?’

  ‘Yeah, I sound exactly like a girl. The usual place, about half eight, okay, and I’ll be buying.’

  ‘You got that last bit right.’

  ‘Well?’ I demanded as Lou-Anne-our-waitress-for-the-evening set the glasses on the table, smirked at Ben then sashayed off again.

  He was looking good in a white dress shirt and dark business suit, not a pre-restructuring plaid horror or bright blue denim jeans. His silk tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt undone, like he was an executive in a multinational company who just had a busy day and had earned his rest and relaxation. Tess had reinvented him – at least the outward part of him – pretty comprehensively, I guess.

  He suited a black eye and swollen, purple-yellow cheek. He wore his injuries with flair and pride. He looked like he was in a fight and won, because his whole demeanour shouted yeah, but you should see the other guy.

  ‘You and Rosie Denham,’ he began, as he poured the wine – an expensive Californian Merlot, I observed, he must be feeling guilty still. ‘You and that British girl—’

  ‘—are none of your business, like I told you yesterday.’

  ‘Patrick, listen – hell, it hurts to talk, feels like I did twenty rounds with Lennox Lewis or Muhammad Ali. I swear I never knew you had it in you, to smack a guy like that. I saw whole galaxies – no, make that whole universes.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Hey, come on, old fella, don’t let’s bear any grudges.’ Ben’s hand was on my sleeve. ‘You and I, we go way back, remember? We’ve been best buddies from the time we were in diapers, all through kindergarten, grade school, high school—’

  ‘You have anything to say, I mean aside from yarning like an idiot, because I have a ton of stuff to do?’

  ‘Okay – cut to the chase. You and Rosie, you have something great between you. So hang in there, buddy – don’t be tempted to make up with Lex, and don’t lose what you have with Rosie.’

  ‘What are you today, some sort of covered wagon counsellor, moonlighting from the pages of a trashy magazine?’

  ‘I’m a piece of shit. But, like I told you, I’m an honest piece of shit and I’m your friend. Okay, I screwed your wife. But that was after you and she were through – I’d never have done anything while you were still a couple. You know that.’

  ‘You want me to be grateful you held off?’

  ‘I want you to understand that if you let the British woman go you will regret it all your life.’

  ‘Fairfax, you’re a prairie schooner charlatan, is all.’ I stood up, found my backpack. ‘You know nothing about anything.’

  ‘Riley, I know you.’ He grabbed me by the belt and pulled me down again. ‘I know your history. I know your nature. Lex was never right for you, but Rosie – you and she are perfect.’

  ‘We know – we did a quiz in Cosmopolitan.’

  ‘Pat, I’m serious! The afternoon last fall, when you and Rosie climbed the bluff, you came back all lit up, the two of you, in spite of Rosie getting hurt. She must have been in agony – that foot, it took some beating – but hell, the woman glowed! As for you, old buddy – as God is my witness, I never saw you look that way before.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You do, and as for Lex – don’t trust that girl. She’ll be out to get you now. She’ll punish you for daring to be happy with another woman.’

  ‘Why would she do that? You should stick to writing novels, Ben. You know damn all about the real world.’

  ROSIE

  I was working hard, so very hard.

  But I wasn’t making any money.

  ‘Why’s that, then?’ asked Tess.

  ‘Goodness, I don’t know.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m charging people reasonable fees. I have a lot of clients now and most of them pay up on time. But even so I’m barely breaking even.’

  ‘You could ask your dad for some advice?’ suggested Tess. ‘Your old man, he’s an accountant, right?’

  ‘I don’t want to ask my dad. He’d only tell my mother I was struggling and then they’d both start bossing me around and knowing best.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask Fanny, then?’

  ‘She’d tell my mother, too.’

  ‘So that leaves me. Let’s have a dekko at your books.’

  ‘Do you know the first thing about books?’

  ‘I’ve done Dad’s for years.’

  Tess was brilliant, I have to say – just absolutely brilliant.

  She knew about dull stuff like cash flow, profit margins, all that if-I-earn-a-pound-but-spend-a-pound-and-five-pence-I’ll-be-miserable rubbish.

  Or upon reflection perhaps it isn’t rubbish?

  ‘Okay,’ she told me several hours later. ‘This is what you have to do. Stop buying fancy stationery from little local firms. Get it printed by the guys online for half the price. Stop buying flowers to decorate the office. If you want some greenery, get yourself a spider plant like everybody else. I’ll bring you one of Mum’s. She’s got a dozen of the things. She won’t miss one.’

  ‘I don’t like spider plants, they creep me out. I could get a fern or two, perhaps? A well-behaved Dryopteris might give the place a certain ambience?’

  ‘Ferns aren’t tax-deductible,’ said Tess. ‘So I’m very sorry, but you can’t have any ferns. Stop taking people out to lunch, as well. You can’t afford it.’

  ‘When you run a business, you have to take your clients out to lunch.’

  ‘No you flipping don’t.’ Tess glared at me. ‘Rosie, sweetheart, there’s no way a baby firm like yours can justify a spend of eighty quid on lunch. Your clients, your customers, your punters – they’re all busy people, yeah? I reckon they’ll be happy with a sandwich and a coffee from the local Starbucks. You don’t need to take them to the gastropub or tapas place.’

  ‘But Fanny has expensive stationery. Fanny has fresh flowers in her office. Fanny always entertains her clients. When you’re trying to build up a business, don’t you think it’s sensible—’

  ‘—to sit there half the afternoon and nibble baby squid, patatas bravas and stupid little strips of belly pork? To drink a bottle of – flipping heck, girl, look at this receipt! What did you order, Chateau Mouton Rothschild ’86?’

  ‘How do you know about Chateau Mouton ’86?’

  ‘Oh, B
en has three bottles of the stuff. They’re an investment, not for drinking. You were saying?’

  ‘I don’t like cheap wine. So I won’t insult prospective clients by offering them plonk.’

  ‘Who are these clients, then? All members of the aristocracy, the House of Lords?’ Tess gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I dare say you skirt around the money stuff, as well. After all, it’s vulgar to talk money, isn’t it?’

  ‘I can talk money!’ I retorted.

  ‘But I bet you have to force yourself. Rosie, honey, you’re so bleeding middle class it hurts. You’re so into doing what is charming and respectable. How many of these tossers you take out to lunch get back to you and give you work?’

  ‘At least two thirds – well, give or take.’

  ‘You mean just over half, which isn’t good enough, you know. It should be all of them. You spend your time and money on these people. So you want it to be worth your while. You want them to give you their accounts. You’re trying to run a business here, for heaven’s sake – not a drop-in club for losers who have nothing else to do and all day to do it. Listen, Rosie – power, water, petrol, software, postage – you’re not keeping proper records, and you need—’

  ‘Tess, before you tell me what I need, I’ll pop across to Starbucks and get us both a latte, shall I?’

  ‘Yeah, and get some chocolate muffins, too. We could be here all night.’

  PATRICK

  I thought about what Ben had said.

  It galled me to admit it, but I knew he was right about me being a romantic. Rosie was the centre of my world. What I wanted most in all this world – more than money or consumer goods, success in my profession – was to spend my life with Rosie. So I tried to see a way.

  My kids – I wanted, needed to be with my kids, of course. But I wanted, needed Rosie, too. It would be impossible to choose between them, and I hoped I’d never have to do it.

  A few days after I met with Ben, I took a call from Lex. She said she wanted to meet up. We needed to discuss the kids. ‘Their shoes and clothes and school, you know?’ she added. ‘Polly’s day care, Joe’s computer camp?’

  ‘I’ll give you fifteen minutes in the place we met before next Friday afternoon.’