One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story)

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘Whoa. Today’s article?’ Tony asked.

  He nodded, but instead of feeling the gripe of anger that had welled through him earlier all he could recall was how her lips felt embedded in his last night.

  ‘What did you do? Don’t tell me you couldn’t make her wish come true?’

  He swallowed, thinking about the Google search he hadn’t completed earlier. Michel De Vos’s name would still be blinking at him on his computer.

  ‘Something like that.’

  * * *

  Statue of Liberty, New York

  ‘Did you know there are twenty-five windows in the crown of the statue?’ Hayley said as they walked towards the entrance. She shook the guidebook, her head dropping further into it. She’d been quoting snippets of information at Angel since they’d boarded the ferry.

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ Angel responded.

  ‘I’m educating you for a change.’ She sniffed. ‘Did you know three hundred different types of hammers were used to create it?’

  ‘Mum, why have you got a job as a cleaner?’

  ‘Fashion alert, twelve o’clock.’ Hayley pushed Angel’s head in the right direction. ‘We have a fanny pack. I repeat, we have a fanny pack!’

  ‘Mum!’ Angel exclaimed.

  ‘Reasons Christmas is better in New York number 56. We don’t have to watch the Queen’s Speech.’

  ‘Mum, stop!’

  Hayley swallowed. There was no getting away from the topic now. She sighed. ‘I know you think I’m being completely weird but …’

  ‘It isn’t just weird. It’s completely crazy and I don’t get it,’ Angel said, snatching the guidebook from her.

  ‘I know you don’t.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  What was it supposed to mean? She didn’t want to tell Angel she had lost her job. That wasn’t a worry a nine-year-old should have. But anything else was going to be a lie and she was already holding so much back from her. She took a breath.

  ‘I’m just … a bit short of money at the moment, that’s all.’ She watched for Angel’s reaction. ‘The flights were more expensive than I thought and I want us to be able to do everything we want to do here. Like this.’ She held her arm up and out like the Statue of Liberty, fixed her face to solemn.

  ‘We could ask Uncle Dean,’ Angel suggested.

  Hayley shook her head so hard it hurt. ‘No.’

  ‘But he has loads of money.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ His financial stability had always been thrown in her face by her mother.

  ‘He won’t mind.’

  ‘I mind, Angel. I want us to stand on our own two feet.’ She looked down at her boots, wet and covered in snow. ‘Four feet. Yours and mine.’ She sighed. ‘You know what I’m saying.’

  ‘If Nanny was here she’d say you were being stubborn.’

  ‘If Nanny was here she’d be needing the toilet by now.’

  ‘The bathroom. You should say “bathroom” as we’re in America.’

  ‘Are you going to do that the whole trip?’

  ‘I’m just trying to behave like a local.’

  ‘Then you won’t be needing this, will you?’ Hayley snatched the guidebook back. ‘Look, here we are, standing below one of the most iconic places in New York and we’re talking about Nanny needing a wee.’

  Angel let out a giggle of amusement before raising her eyes to the sky. She emitted an awe-inspired sigh. ‘I didn’t realise how tall it was.’

  Hayley’s eyes went to the green copper woman, rising up at the edge of the Hudson River, her torch held out like a beacon to everyone below. ‘Just how tall? Let me see …’ She thumbed the pages of the book in her hand.

  Angel made a grab for it. ‘Give it back!’

  ‘You mean you don’t already know the answer?! Shame on you, Angel Walker.’

  ‘I do know that there’s no way you’re going to be able to manage a Princess Diana on that house this afternoon. Your idea of cleaning is remembering to unload the dishwasher before we have to use paper plates.’

  Hayley stared at her daughter, her mouth falling open. ‘You were listening.’

  ‘It was pretty hard not to.’

  Hayley nodded. ‘Well, maybe you can help me. I mean, Ms Rogers-Smythe said the Diana was all about family. You can plump some cushions and spray some lavender everywhere while I flick a duster round.’

  ‘What if they have a really technical hoover?’

  ‘As we’re in America I think you should be saying “vacuum”.’

  ‘I’m serious, Mum. I don’t know why you’ve got yourself into this.’

  Wise words from the mouth of a nine-year-old. ‘I told you, it’s a money thing. And it’s not something for you to worry about.’

  ‘We could ask Nanny for money.’

  ‘No.’ That was worse than asking her brother. ‘After we’ve seen all there is to see here we’re going to go and collect my uniform and equipment and we’re going to do a Diana. Period.’ She sniffed. ‘See, how’s that for American terminology?’

  Angel wrinkled her nose. ‘Rad.’

  The Riley Club, Lower Manhattan

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’

  Tony had pulled his red Mustang to the kerb and Oliver had his hand on the door handle.

  ‘I’ve taken a day’s quota of painkillers and hydrated myself to the absolute max,’ he replied.

  ‘The finance talk in that place would kill me,’ Tony said, nudging his head towards the opulent entrance of the Riley Club.

  ‘I’d better get in there. Andrew Regis is always early for everything.’ Oliver opened the door and the chill of the wind slipped through the gap, infiltrating the in-car heating.

  ‘D’you want me to swing by and pick you up later?’ Tony offered.

  ‘No, I’m good. You go take care of the restaurant.’

  ‘Restaurants,’ Tony added with a grin. ‘That’s a plural.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Days away from completion on two more. Part of the Papa Gino franchise.’

  ‘Wow, Tony, that’s great news. Why didn’t you tell me about it?’

  ‘Well, you had a lot going on and nothing was signed and sealed.’ He paused. ‘And it’s hardly global software.’

  Oliver swallowed. Had his best friend really not told him because he thought his family’s business was less of a business than Drummond Global?

  ‘I mean, it’s just pizza,’ Tony added.

  ‘The best pizza,’ Oliver said sternly. ‘And people will always need pizza. I’m not so sure they’re always going to need computers when the zombie apocalypse comes.’ He smiled at his friend. ‘It’s tough times out there and I’m proud of you.’

  The sentiment clogged his throat. What had gotten into him? He quickly opened the door some more and shifted himself out.

  ‘Hey, pizza on the house for opening nights,’ Tony called out to him.

  Oliver ducked his head back into the car. ‘I think opening night should be sponsored by Drummond Global.’

  ‘Really?’ Tony asked.

  ‘Absolutely. Now get out of here,’ he urged. He slammed the door of the car and waved a hand at his friend. The Mustang pulled out into the flow of traffic and Oliver looked up at the Riley Club. He stepped towards the door.

  * * *

  In days gone by all you’d been able to smell in the entrance of the club was the fragrance of cigar smoke. Now the atmosphere was pure testosterone mixed with a dash of Scotch. Oliver hated it. And now, as he stood in the lobby, there was a six foot Christmas tree and a life-size moving Father Christmas. It was ghastly.

  Standing on the regal red carpet, Oliver looked into the antique mirror against the gilt wallpaper, adjusting his tie. His father had spent half his life in this place, making and breaking deals, mixing in influential circles. Was that why he detested it so much? Because it had taken so much of his father’s time – more time he could have spent with the family? He shook himself. This wa
sn’t any time for sentimentality. This was business. And he was going to lay it on the line to Andrew Regis. He checked his reflection once more. The truth was, he still wasn’t entirely convinced by the man’s motives. The merger looked good for both businesses on paper, but was it the same in reality? They needed to finalise how it was all going to work once they’d joined forces. Had Oliver jumped on the offer because it was going to grow Drummond Global? Or just because it was a steal of a price? He needed to make sure all his ducks were in a row and get focussed.

  Oliver took a step towards the door that led to the Invicta Room. A violinist was playing in the corner of the grand space, partially obscured by a large plant, the lights from the two chandeliers that dominated the room were turned down low and most of the tables were taken up by businessman clones. Formal three-piece suits, the majority of the people wearing them over fifty. One day he would be exactly the same. He swallowed at that thought and inhaled, turning his head a little. If he made it to fifty. It seemed unlikely. Perhaps not turning into one of them was a plus point.

  Andrew Regis was sat by the window, his polished bald head instantly recognisable. Oliver moved across the floor towards him and, when he was a few yards from the table, the man got up, extending his hand out.

  ‘Oliver,’ Andrew greeted. He grasped Oliver’s hand, pumping it up and down.

  ‘Andrew, it’s good to see you.’ He sat down, instinctively picking up the wine menu. ‘Have you ordered drinks?’

  ‘I’m on the Scotch I’m afraid.’ He smiled, raising his glass. ‘It’s been one of those mornings.’

  Oliver said nothing but moved his eyes to scan the list of drinks. Like magic, a waiter appeared alongside their table.

  ‘We’ll have a bottle of the Australian Merlot.’ He looked to Andrew. ‘Is that OK with you?’

  ‘That’s absolutely fine with me.’

  Oliver waited for the waiter to take his leave before he clasped his hands together and angled his body forward. ‘Andrew, I’m going to come right out with it. We need to iron out this deal together.’

  The man picked up a linen napkin and toyed with it in his hands. ‘Straight down to business then,’ Andrew said.

  ‘I must have looked through the contract a dozen times now. It seems to me your lawyers are fighting hard to keep themselves in fees. The latest changes are so miniscule … the whole thing is racking up unnecessary costs and a whole lot of aggravation.’

  Andrew nodded. ‘Your mother said you would say that.’

  The sentence stung like he’d just stumbled into a nettle bush. Heat spread quickly to his cheeks. ‘You’ve spoken to my mother about this?’ He blinked. ‘Why would you do that?’

  Something changed in Andrew Regis’s stance. He looked a little uneasy. Oliver watched him press the napkin to his lips.

  ‘She hasn’t told you,’ Andrew stated, putting the napkin to the table. He shook his head. ‘She said she was going to tell you.’

  Now Oliver’s chest cavity filled up, his heart beating like tom-toms as he frantically tried to decipher the vagueness Andrew Regis was delivering.

  ‘Told me what?’ His words were tentative, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was coming.

  ‘Your mother and I … we’ve been spending a lot of time with each other and …’

  Oliver didn’t need to hear any more. Those choice words said everything. The room stared to spin, the violinist grating on his every nerve, the temperature increasing instantaneously. He stood up.

  ‘Oliver, please, sit down.’ Andrew got up.

  ‘If you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me then I have nothing to say to you.’ He recoiled from the table, staring at the man opposite, his father’s best friend.

  ‘We’ve kept things discreet for the past couple of months but I said she had to tell you before it got out.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘Oliver, come on, this is a little over the top, don’t you think?’

  It was all Oliver could do to keep standing. He wanted to lash out, spray the table settings to the ground in fury. Instead he ground his teeth together and spilled words out. ‘If you’re telling me that you and my mother are having some sort of romantic relationship, then this merger …’ He took a breath. ‘This merger is over.’

  Now it sounded like the violinist had ceased playing and everyone in the room had stopped talking. The sounds of fine dining had been replaced by hushed whispers.

  ‘What your mother and I have together has nothing to do with this. The merger is business, Oliver.’

  ‘Yes, it is. My family’s business.’

  ‘Which is only going to benefit from this mutual joining,’ Andrew responded.

  Oliver shook his head. ‘No.’

  Andrew sighed. ‘Listen, I’ve done all the right things. I’ve bided my time, I’ve stayed out of things but …’

  ‘You’ve bided your time?! What is that supposed to mean?’ He laughed. ‘You’ve been hanging on for the moment your best friend met his maker? Jesus Christ!’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant … Richard’s been dead for a while now.’

  He couldn’t stand this any longer. He wanted to punch Andrew Regis, but if he did it here he would make the front page of the paper tomorrow as well. No, he had to maintain his cool.

  He held his hand out to Andrew and waited for a response. ‘It was nice to see you again, Andrew.’

  The man looked at the offering and Oliver pushed his hand a little closer. Andrew took it, giving it an unsure shake. ‘Let’s schedule another time to get together, once all this has had a chance to sink in.’

  Oliver straightened himself. ‘Be in no doubt, Andrew, our business is concluded.’ He turned to the waiter who was returning with the bottle of red wine on a silver tray. ‘Charge the wine to my account.’ He looked to Andrew. ‘With my compliments.’

  His heart fighting for room to expand and contract, Oliver turned and headed for the exit. The animated Santa leered and swayed and the Christmas lights flickered in his peripheral vision as he fought his way to the door of the Riley Club. He burst through it, out onto the street, desperately pulling in a breath of freezing air.

  It took him half a dozen inhalations to feel anywhere near better. With shaking hands he reached into his coat for his cell phone.

  He called up a contact and dialled, waiting for a response. ‘Hello, Daniel?’ He looked back to the door of the Riley Club, half expecting Andrew Regis to be following him. ‘Daniel, it’s Oliver Drummond. I need you to do some work for me.’

  24

  Westchester, New York

  ‘I can’t believe my Majestic Cleaning name is Agatha,’ Hayley exclaimed.

  ‘I can’t believe you were thinking of getting the subway here.’

  Hayley manoeuvred Angel out of the cab before stepping down onto the pavement behind her. She looked up at the house sitting proud at the top of a snow-covered grassy bank. It was imposing in its size and perfect. White pillars propped up the front entrance and the US flag hung from a pole to the right of the front door. The windows had shutters, giving it a colonial feel. It looked worthy of a cleaner much more accomplished than her. She cleared her throat and turned to Angel.

  ‘Have you not seen the people on the subway? Me dressed in this outfit would not be the craziest costume on there, I can assure you.’ Hayley brushed down her burgundy skirt, then adjusted the waistband. The white shirt was made for someone with an AA cup size not a generous C. She felt like an extra on Nanny 911.

  ‘The mop would have got some funny looks,’ Angel continued.

  The driver opened up the trunk and handed her the wicker basket apparently containing all her hygienic needs. Hayley thrust the mop at her daughter and dug into her rucksack for some money for the cabbie.

  Passing the cab driver a bill, Hayley caught Angel’s expression. Her daughter looked so much like her mother right now.

  ‘Let’s just get it done and then we ca
n go somewhere nice for dinner tonight,’ Hayley said.

  ‘And spend all the money you made cleaning.’

  ‘Please, Angel, just for once in your life, could you act nine and not forty?’

  The atmosphere cooled to well below freezing and, as the cab drove away, the silence and the hot breath from their mouths was all that was left.

  Hayley took the mop from Angel and, with the basket nestled tight under one arm, she led the way to the steps at the front of the house.

  ‘OK, here we are. The client’s name is Cynthia.’ Hayley blew out a breath. ‘Do you think that’s a made up name too?’

  ‘It’s better than Agatha,’ Angel responded.

  When they got to the front door, the brass letter box and knocker all immaculate, the reality of what she was doing hit her. Working here was breaking the law. It had said as much in the small print of the visa waiver documentation and the very serious man at JFK had mentioned it too. Yet here she was, rocking up to a house that looked fit for the Obamas to move into, her nine-year-old daughter in tow. She needed the money. Would that wash if immigration caught her? She hoped she didn’t have to find out. US immigration didn’t mess around. They were all tooled up more than mobsters.

  Before she could move, either to flee back down the steps or to knock, the door swung open. A beautifully turned-out woman, possibly in her fifties, stood there. She was wearing a royal blue woollen skirt and matching jacket, patent nude-coloured shoes, her blonde hair set in place and pearl earrings in her lobes. There was no need for fashion advice here. Everything was current. This woman had style written all over her.

  ‘Hello, I’m H … I’m Agatha from Majestic Cleaning,’ Hayley greeted, offering her hand forward and dropping the basket to the floor.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ Cynthia’s eyes went immediately to Angel and the woman smiled warmly.

  ‘Oh, excuse me, this is … Charlotte.’ Hayley swallowed down the lie. ‘Charlotte is here on work experience today.’