One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story)

by Mandy Baggot

Her brow creased as her brain tried to catch up with the meaning behind her brother’s words. ‘I can’t even begin to understand that.’ Her head nudged Shirley Bassey. ‘I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but what you just said indicates I shouldn’t be. Only the other day you were commenting on the fact I hadn’t had many dates since I had Angel.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

  ‘Well, what did you mean? First of all you don’t want me to be a nun, then you want to drag me to the nearest convent? Mixed messages here, Dean!’

  ‘Hayley, you’re being over the top …’

  ‘Over the top? Wow!’

  ‘What about Michel?’ Dean asked.

  ‘What about Michel? We went to the other gallery he said he was exhibiting at when I met him and the only thing they had was a website address … which doesn’t work!’ she yelled. ‘Before you came home from work I called forty-eight galleries and got nothing, but still Angel thinks he’s going to come running into her life like a dreamy, schmaltzy movie on the Disney Channel.’

  ‘I just think …’ Dean started.

  ‘And what does me trying to find Michel have to do with Oliver? If Michel gets in contact we’re not going to rekindle the one night of romance we had and morph into Brad and Angelina.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I do know that. Because I don’t want that,’ she said with determination. ‘Anyway, he could be married. Or … he could have realised he’s gay.’

  She gave a satisfied nod as that sentence settled into Dean’s conscience.

  ‘I’m not looking for a relationship. I wasn’t even looking for a date but … he asked and … he’s funny and stupid and irritating and … I’m on holiday for the first time in nine years and in between the searching for an ex-lover I wouldn’t mind having a bit of fun! And … I like him.’

  A conscious pang of heat took her by surprise. She did like Oliver. It was obviously casual, but not casual enough to dismiss entirely.

  Dean sighed. ‘Well, what about this job? You know you can’t work here without a permit.’

  ‘Yes I do know that.’

  ‘So …’

  ‘So I needed some extra cash because I quit my job, and I took a chance. I thought I could see how it went and ...’ Hayley stopped.

  ‘And what?’ Dean asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘After the boss finally put his clammy, wandering hands on me one too many times I thought maybe …’ She sighed again. Dean would think she was certifiable if she admitted she’d hoped to see if New York’s streets were paved with opportunity for them when they got here. ‘It was stupid.’

  ‘There are harassment laws to stop that sort of thing.’ Dean shook his head.

  ‘I know. I just couldn’t bear the hassle of all the paperwork and the meetings. It was just easier to leave.’

  ‘He could do that to the next girl. How could you be so stupid?’

  ‘All right! I don’t need it rubbing in my face from the golden child.’

  The second the words were in the air Hayley regretted them. She wanted to say she was sorry or retract the fierceness of the statement, instead she nudged the photo of Shirley Bassey with the side of her head and it fell off its nail and hit the floor.

  Hayley bent down, retrieving the picture and brushing the glass with her fingers. ‘Sorry … I’m sorry.’

  Dean snatched the frame from her. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s just a picture.’ He slipped it back into position on the wall. ‘I’m worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Hayley responded quickly.

  ‘You’re not fine.’

  ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘I know what it is,’ Dean said with confidence.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Angel’s coming up to secondary school age. She’s growing up, getting more independent, it’s making you re-evaluate everything.’

  ‘Who made you Dr Phil?’ She tutted. ‘It’s really not that.’

  ‘You think you need to strike out a little.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with doing that anyway. You said so yourself. Or did you mean something more like crochet?’

  ‘I think you know that in a few years’ time Angel’s not going to be occupying so much of your time and you think you need to fill it with something else.’

  ‘Don’t I need to fill it with something else? Don’t I deserve to fill it with something else?’

  ‘A job here?’

  ‘Well, why not? How about a life of my own? Doing things I want to do. Things that don’t involve Angel.’

  ‘Like dating my boss?’

  ‘Well, why not that too? I mean, what’s so wrong with that? Why shouldn’t I go out with him? Or is a lowly single mother with no college qualifications not good enough for your precious boss?’ She sized Dean up, tilting her head at an angle. ‘Is that what it is? Are you ashamed of me?’

  ‘That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,’ Dean snapped back.

  ‘Is it? Because from where I’m standing all you’ve done is insinuate I’m mentally challenged for wanting more from my life than a child. All this women must stay at home and nurture is totally out-dated and sexist, neither of which I thought you were!’

  ‘Hayley …’

  ‘No, I’m not going to apologise for taking this fundraiser job.’ Hayley put her hands on her hips and struck a pose. ‘And I’m not going to feel remotely guilty about accepting a date with one of the world’s more eligible bachelors.’ She nodded. ‘And if you have a problem with any of that then maybe … maybe Angel and I should stay at a hotel.’

  The thought that all their dollars would evaporate in a couple of nights if they stayed anywhere but a youth hostel triggered an involuntary swallow. She moved, shifting down the hall before Dean could say anything else.

  ‘Hayley, where are you going?’

  ‘Out,’ she responded, not looking back. ‘I’m being branded as the bad mother so I may as well act the part.’ She crashed down the stairs and headed for the front door. Grabbing her coat from the hook on the hall wall, she roughly put it on then flung open the door with full force. She bowled over the threshold, stepping out into the night.

  34

  Washington Square Park, Greenwich Village

  Hayley’s angry stomps had lessened in ferocity, her pace finally turning into a gentle stroll as she headed towards the arch. The snow falling from the sky was so dense she could barely see anything in front of her. Focussing on the near-replica of the Arc de Triomphe, she carried on, trying to sort out the mess of her muddled mind.

  Dean did have a point. But he had no idea of her discontent at home. He had thought this was just a winter holiday, a chance to get together and catch up. Then she’d dropped the mission to find Michel on him. Taking on a job would sound crazy to someone who didn’t know it was ever on the agenda. And Oliver. Romance of any kind, no matter how tentative the status, that had never crossed her mind either. But now there was adult male company on offer and the owner had to-die-for bone structure and eyes she regularly got lost in, why should she turn it down?

  She stopped at the base of the arch, looking up through the snow and admiring its stature. She had been here before. In the early morning, just as the sun rose, she and Michel had stood underneath the arch letting the first rays of light touch their faces after their night together. At eighteen it had seemed romantic. Spending the night with a stranger. A good-looking foreign stranger who painted and took photos for a living. It would be a story to tell to her children. She hadn’t thought it would be a story she would tell the child she’d made that very night. Now when she thought of what she’d done, all she wanted to do was warn Angel about her own stupidity, tell her never to drink or go off with strange men she knew nothing about.

  Hayley shivered and drew her coat closer. There was no way she was leaving this city without finding him.

  * * *

  Restaurant Romario, Greenwich Village

  Oli
ver put his lips to his bottle of beer and took a sip of the cool liquid. He’d had the breath taken from him by Tony’s mother and father when he’d come by the restaurant and they’d force-fed him and Tony several dishes from the menu. Protesting seemed rude and, in his opinion, the food was the best Italy had to offer in New York. The restaurant was busy, couples and families dining on the traditional pizza and pasta fare along with several ‘secret recipe’ dishes Mr Romario had concocted over the years. Red and white check cloths, candles set in empty bottles of Pinot Grigio, the wax dripping down in bubbling strands, coating the glass. It all made for an authentic Italian experience. There was festive cheer thrown in too. Silver and gold tinsel hung over the old wooden window frames and a small Christmas tree sat on a table in the corner, a set of porcelain nativity figures in front of it.

  ‘I have a date,’ Oliver said, turning his attention back to Tony.

  ‘Sorry, man, I don’t think I heard you right.’ Tony narrowed his eyes and looked at Oliver with suspicion. ‘Did you say you have a date?’

  Oliver nodded, a smile invading his lips. He still hadn’t worked out all the details of the night yet. But he knew he wanted to make it unforgettable. The knowledge of that was killing him as much as exciting him. That was the reason he hadn’t called her yet. He wanted everything to be perfect and he also needed the time to sit with the idea of going out with someone he cared about.

  ‘As in, with a woman? Someone you’ve met once and arranged to meet again?’ Tony clarified.

  ‘Kissed too actually. More than once.’

  ‘Wow, and did you hold hands?’

  Oliver stretched across the table, buffing Tony’s shoulder with his hand. ‘Funny guy.’

  Tony laughed, undoing the top button of his shirt and leaning back against the red and white check upholstered booth they were sitting in. ‘So, where did you meet this one?’

  ‘At the Chinese restaurant actually.’ He smiled again. ‘When I was escaping from the woman in the red dress.’

  ‘You dog!’

  Oliver was quick to shake his head. ‘No, it wasn’t like that. She bailed me out big time.’

  ‘And that made you want her even more,’ Tony scoffed.

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Shit, she’s married?’

  ‘No,’ he paused. ‘But she does have a daughter.’

  ‘Oh man, stay out of that.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Kids, exes, they’re complications you definitely don’t need.’

  ‘The ex isn’t on the scene right now.’

  ‘Then she’ll be needy. And boy, single mothers can smell a billionaire from a mile away,’ Tony said, swigging from his drink.

  ‘Hey, when did you get so judgemental?’ He felt a niggle of anger digging in his stomach.

  ‘I’m just telling it like it is.’

  ‘You haven’t met her yet,’ Oliver defended.

  ‘Have you asked her what her wish is? Bet it’s a loft in Tribeca.’

  Oliver squirmed in his seat. At the mention of Hayley’s wish a gnawing feeling started in his chest. He’d called Daniel Pearson earlier for an update on Andrew Regis and to see if he’d made any progress finding Michel De Vos. There was nothing yet, in either respect.

  ‘Her wish was to find her child’s father,’ Oliver breathed out.

  ‘Holy shit.’ Tony’s eyes enlarged. ‘That’s what she wished when she could have anything?’

  Oliver nodded. She’d been honest, true to herself, passionate. All the things he admired. All the things he’d forgotten how to be.

  ‘You like this woman,’ Tony said, his tone even.

  Oliver opened his mouth to reply but, for a second, couldn’t. There was that voice again. You’re going to die. This date is pointless. You can’t fight fate. How could he throw his hat in the ring when she was destined to leave and he was going to die?

  But this was his best friend, the guy who knew him better than anyone. He had to be honest despite everything else. ‘Yeah,’ he said, nodding. ‘I like her.’

  * * *

  Vipers Nightclub, Downtown Manhattan

  Hayley had meant to go straight back to Dean’s. He’d already sent two messages and left a voicemail. He was worried. Stroppy her was thinking so he should be, sensible her was thinking she might have overreacted a little and storming off into the night wasn’t behaviour befitting of someone her age. But the nightclub was on her route back and standing outside, feeling the throb and pulse of the music from inside, had transported her back ten years again. With purpose in her stride she headed to the entrance.

  ‘Excuse me! Is Artie here?’ She had to shout above the music and squeeze her way in between patrons waiting to be served.

  ‘Artie doesn’t work until Friday,’ a girl called back, stopping in front of her, using the bottle opener to de-lid a bottle of Bud.

  ‘Someone told me that, I just thought he might have picked up a couple of extra shifts.’ She needed a lead on Michel. It was driving her crazy. She needed something solid to give Angel.

  The bartender passed the bottle to the customer and took payment before giving Hayley her attention. She flicked back an abundance of curls and smiled at Hayley.

  ‘Artie’s married by the way,’ the girl told her.

  ‘Oh,’ Hayley said. ‘I wasn’t thinking of hitting on him.’ She slipped her phone from her pocket and tapped the screen until the photo she’d taken of the photo of Michel was displayed. ‘I’m looking for someone.’ She turned the screen to the bartender. ‘His name’s Michel De Vos. He, er, we met here ten years ago and I’m trying to find him.’

  The girl took the phone from Hayley and studied the photo up close. Hayley swallowed as she watched the woman taking in the picture. There was no look of recognition on her face but that didn’t stop the whirling sensation in Hayley’s stomach from taking hold.

  ‘I’ve seen him in here,’ the girl said finally, passing the phone back. ‘His hair’s the same.’

  Hayley fought to get her words out over the knot that had strangulated her vocal cords. ‘What? When?’

  The girl took another order and began swirling vodka into the cocktail shaker. ‘A month ago? Maybe more.’

  She couldn’t believe it. A month ago. Michel was in New York. She wet her lips. ‘Are you sure?’

  The barwoman nodded. ‘Yeah, he came in every night for a couple weeks. Sometimes he sat here at the bar. Said he was an artist.’ The girl smiled. ‘Probably just a line.’

  Tension flooded her gut. If only she had been as streetwise as this girl in 2005. The bartender made to move off, shaking the mix of drinks up.

  ‘Wait,’ Hayley said. She grabbed a paper coaster. ‘Have you got a pen?’

  ‘One second.’ The barwoman poured the drink into a long glass, added an umbrella, a cherry and a slice of pineapple and finally a straw. It didn’t look dissimilar to the cocktail Coke Angel had made with Vernon.

  The girl passed a pen over and Hayley grabbed it like it was an antidote to a lethal snakebite. She began writing furiously on the paper coaster until the whole circle was full.

  ‘If you see him again …’ She paused to take a breath. ‘These are all my contact details.’ She held on as the girl took hold of the paper. ‘Could you tell him Hayley Walker, the girl in the pink dress who liked fashion, really needs to see him again?’

  The bubbling in her stomach was like a chemical experiment where no one knew quite what was going to happen. Hayley finally relinquished the paper and smiled at the bartender. ‘Thank you.’ She stepped back from the bar, a little light-headed. She let the music seep into her, gently allowing her eyes to get used to the strobe and glitter ball reflections. If Michel was here a month ago he could still be here now. Angel might just get her wish. And how Hayley felt about that, she still didn’t really know.

  35

  The Crystalline Hotel, Downtown Manhattan

  ‘Uncle Dean thinks you aren’t talking to him,�
�� Angel whispered.

  They were stood in the lobby of the most impressive hotel Hayley had ever been in, waiting for Cynthia to arrive. The carpet was gold-flecked and the chandeliers threw out shapes of light that bounced off the walls. The green of the Christmas tree was completely over-embellished with blingy ornaments and lights that faded in and out to carol songs.

  ‘Why would he think that?’ Hayley responded.

  ‘Because the only words you said to him over breakfast were “we’re out of bagels”.’

  ‘We are out of bagels.’

  ‘Are you fighting because I told him about Majestic Cleaning?’ Angel asked, her eyes wide.

  ‘No of course not.’

  ‘I’m sorry I told Uncle Dean,’ Angel said, her eyes moistening.

  ‘It isn’t your fault, Angel. Let’s just forget it. I’ll calm down, he’ll calm down and someday soon we’ll be back to sharing tales of Vernon’s cooking.’

  ‘Someday soon? They say that in books when it’s going to be a really, really long time.’

  ‘It won’t be that long.’ Hayley checked her watch.

  ‘Is it likely to be more “shortly” or more “soon”?’

  Her mobile began to ring and she swung her rucksack off her shoulder, unzipping it. She located her phone and looked at the number. It wasn’t recognised. Perhaps it was a lead on Michel.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Good morning, Lois.’

  Oliver’s voice had her toes curling and her cheeks heating up in appreciation. She turned her body away from Angel in case she read the body language. ‘Good morning, Clark.’

  ‘So, I remembered your number.’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘And I’m hoping you’re still free tonight.’

  ‘I have to admit, Dean has excellent cable channels.’

  She could tell he was smiling.

  ‘Then he should also have a DVR.’

  Now she was smiling. ‘What time will I need to be setting it?’