Mad About Max

by Holly Jacobs

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Betty.” Grace hung up and sank weak-kneed into the chair. She was taking charge of her problem, and she would overcome it.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Myrtle said from behind her.

  “You’re not crazy,” Blossom assured her.

  Fern suddenly popped into the room wearing a ski outfit. “The Alps,” she explained. “And, no, Dr. Aaronson won’t be able to medicate us out of existence. We’re as real as Bilbo Baggins.”

  At Grace’s skeptical look, Fern cried, “Don’t tell me—you don’t believe in Middle Earth, either?”

  Grace shook her head, and Fern mumbled something about not wanting to be in Grace’s shoes come Christmas morning.

  “Go take your shower,” Myrtle directed. “If you’re going to see the doctor, you might as well look your best.”

  “You mean it gets better than this?” Grace looked weakly at her still gorgeous reflection in the mirror.

  “Oh, lots better.” Blossom offered her a reassuring smile that only scared Grace more.

  But it turned out, Blossom was right. When Grace finished showering, she did look better. Much better. Her hair, shortened to shoulder length, fell into pretty waves that framed her face. At the fairies’ insistence, Grace applied her new makeup, compliments of WWOW. It went on as if she’d been wearing it for years. No blobs, no smears. The results were impressive. She was gorgeous.

  Wrapped in her bathrobe, she walked into the bedroom and opened her closet, determined to wear what she pleased, no matter how beautiful she now was—no matter what a certain trio thought. She’d just bought a new flannel shirt of muted greens and rusts. She’d give in enough to wear that, instead of one of her older, more worn ones.

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Myrtle scolded as Grace threw open the closet door.

  Grace’s jaw dropped open. Her closet was empty. Empty except for last night’s outfit and one other.

  The new outfit consisted of a pair of soft, grey pants and a pale pink silk blouse. Grey pumps sat underneath the clothes—the only shoes in the closet. Grace turned and ran to her dresser, jerking open the top drawer. Inside was what the godmothers must have intended to be underwear. Grace lifted it and eyed it critically. She didn’t see how it would work. The stuff last night was a lot skimpier than her usual cotton fare, but these? There wasn’t enough silk on the pile to cover her big toe, much less her assets.

  She turned to the trio and wailed, “What have you done with all my clothes?”

  “Now, honey. It’s hard to catch a good man when you wear the things you usually do.” Blossom’s brow wrinkled in disdain. “Not that there’s anything wrong with them.”

  “Not a thing,” Fern parroted.

  “But you have to realize that there are right ways and wrong ways to go about these things.” Myrtle folded her arms across her chest.

  “I like those things. They’re comfortable, and I’m comfortable in them.” A new balloon of hysteria formed in Grace’s chest. She was hallucinating about fairies who made her beautiful and stole her clothes. She was much sicker than she’d realized.

  Fern got off the bed and walked over to Grace, patting her shoulder. “Now, now dear, don’t get yourself into a dither. You can have your clothes back after—”

  “—you catch your man,” Blossom finished.

  “After your appointment with the doctor, you can go to the mall and buy more appropriate man-hunting clothes,” Myrtle said.

  “After my appointment, I have to work on my book. They’ve decided to go with the new series sooner than I expected.” Grace hated working under a deadline, but she’d signed a three book contract for the series, promising the first Tanner brother’s story next week. She was just having a little trouble wrapping it up.

  “The mall,” the fairies said together just before they all blinked out of the room.

  It was too early to leave for her doctor’s appointment, but Grace dressed hurriedly anyway. She wasn’t about to sit around her house waiting for the fairies to return. If she was in public, maybe they would leave her alone.

  She walked out into the bright sunshine and smiled despite all her problems. The winters were long and cold in Erie, Pennsylvania. Living on the south side of the Great Lake that shared its name, Erie was well acquainted with the term lake effect snow. Cold arctic winds blew over the warm lake waters and dumped tremendous quantities of snow on the entire region. But Grace had always thought that all that snow somehow made the rest of the seasons more special.

  Out in the sun with no fairies in sight, it was almost impossible to believe she was crazy. Maybe it was all a bad dream? Maybe she’d go into the house and find that all her clothes were in the closet, and she was back to being passably pretty? Maybe . . .

  “Maybe you’d like us to come along?” Myrtle asked, though she didn’t materialize.

  Grace’s momentary good humor plummeted. No getting around it. She was crazy. She left for the doctor’s not caring that she’d be early. She didn’t even care if the fairies followed. She would ask Dr. Aaronson about her characters and pray that he had some helpful advice.

  “MISS MACGUIRE,” the kindly looking, white-haired receptionist called. Grace was the last one in the waiting room. She’d seen three other patients go into and then leave the inner office. She’d sat staring out the window at Erie’s bay front, worrying about her questionable mental state. The godmothers had, thankfully, not come to visit.

  “Yes?”

  “After you called I realized I’ve read your books. The fairy godmother books, right?”

  Grace nodded, and Betty continued with even more enthusiasm. “Oh, I love those three. They’re so sweet, and despite their mishaps, they always manage to have things come out right in the end. Are they the characters you’re having trouble with, or is it the people they’re playing Cupid for?”

  “A little of both,” Grace admitted.

  “Well, you just go right on in. Max will help you out.”

  “Thank you. I won’t forget that dedication.” Grace smiled at the older woman as she walked through the door into the inner office. A high-backed, leather chair was turned, facing a window that offered the same view of the bay front that Grace had been enjoying. Warm, dark colors dominated the room. There were oak book cases and deep cranberry walls with accents of green. The room was masculine, yet comforting.

  Grace cleared her throat. “Dr. Aaronson?”

  The chair swung around and, at her first glimpse of Doctor Artemus Aaronson, Grace gave a little cry. Her knees went weak, her palms started sweating, and her heart rate skipped erratically. “Oh, my.”

  “Pardon?” said the very young, very handsome doctor.

  Where was Einstein, with the wire-rimmed glasses and pipe?

  As she continued to stare at the man, she realized the fairies had planned this whole thing. They wanted her to meet the hunky doctor, so that he’d fall in love with the very new, very improved, very insane Grace MacGuire.

  She stood mute, trying to decide what to do.

  The good doctor looked confused. “Miss MacGuire. Betty said you write romance books, and that you’re coming in to consult me about some characters in your book.”

  “A writer. Just a consultation. Yes, that’s right. I wanted to ask about some characters.” She shook her head violently and backed up toward the door. “But, I’m afraid I can’t consult with you. I like my life the way it was before they came yesterday. I like my books and I really, really, really like my blue jeans and flannel shirts. I do not like gorgeous doctors.”

  Grace took a deep, calming breath. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Dr. Aaronson. I came here today to ask you some . . . some background information for an upcoming book. There are these very unruly characters, and I was at a loss as to how to deal with them. But, I just had one of
those flashes of inspiration.”

  Keep talking, she told herself. She had to convince him she wasn’t nuts. If he thought she was, she might have to see him—often. And that would be a mistake. She would be falling right into the fairy godmothers’ plans.

  “Thank you for squeezing me in, but I won’t be needing your services after all.” She raised her voice for the godmothers’ benefit. “The plot these characters were going to use won’t work. I see that now.

  “Thank you,” she told the doctor who stared at her with a befuddled expression. Then she turned and fled.

  ARTEMUS MAXMILLION Aaronson sat in his leather chair, chin steepled between his hands, and stared after the beautiful woman who had fled his office. She—he glanced at the chart—Grace MacGuire was a writer, coming in for a consultation on a story?

  But she couldn’t consult with him because she’d changed her mind? The characters who were giving her problems were about to be rewritten, and she didn’t need to talk to him.

  That was a shame.

  Something about the woman intrigued him. Maybe she’d come back in and consult him some time in the future. Max hoped she would, and he wished she’d given him the chance to say as much.

  Max tossed the file onto his desk, told Betty good-bye and walked from his office. His original plan for the afternoon was taking his sailboat out on the lake. TGIF and all that.

  But suddenly the idea had lost its appeal. Max wanted to go shopping.

  He got into his Explorer and headed to the mall. There wasn’t anything strange about that, he decided. He needed to pick up a couple of new suits. Until this morning, he hadn’t realized how shabby he was starting to look in his old ones. Maybe he’d buy a tux, too. He’d been thinking about owning his own for quite some time, but had never gone to the trouble of getting one. Yes, he’d definitely buy a tux. How could he have gone this long without one?

  “HOW COULD YOU?” Grace asked the thin air as she drove nowhere in particular. “How could you let me go in there expecting some gray-haired old man with wire-rimmed glasses and a pipe? Now he thinks I’m crazy.”

  “You think you’re crazy. So what does the doctor’s opinion really matter?” Myrtle didn’t materialize, but her voice came through loud and clear. The logic of her statement didn’t comfort Grace.

  “Wrong!” she yelled, forgetting her window was open, and she was sitting at a red light. The man in the Jeep sitting next to her gave her a curious look. The way she was going, the entire city would know she was nuts before the day was over, and The Steps—Doris and Leila—would move in for the kill.

  “Wrong,” she repeated, more quietly this time. “I don’t think I’m crazy. I know I’m crazy. I’ve spent one too many nights alone. That’s what it is. Or maybe someone put something in those brownies I bought last week at that bake sale. It could be just some residual effects.”

  “Nope,” came a voice. Fern, Grace thought.

  “Where are you guys, anyway,” Grace muttered as she braked for another red light.

  “Waiting for you at your house,” Myrtle told her. “So you better head this way right now. We have to talk.”

  A true silence filled the car, and Grace knew they were gone, at least for the moment.

  There was no way Grace was going home to have a showdown with the trio. She was going to go to the mall. Not that she was going to buy the man-hunting clothes the godmothers wanted her to buy. No way. She was going to buy some new jeans and flannel shirts. Maybe even some flannel boxer shorts to go under them instead of the scraps of lace the godmothers wanted her to wear.

  And sweatpants, lots and lots of sweatpants. She’d cut some off to make shorts for when the weather got a little warmer. T-shirts and cut off sweats for her summer-wear. Flannel shirts and jeans for her spring-wear. That would show the fairies that they couldn’t push Grace MacGuire around.

  She hesitated. There was a flaw in her plan. She was trying to prove something to her delusions. Maybe that wasn’t the way to handle this breakdown. Things were going from nuts to certified asylum material.

  Grace decided her fairy godmothers were pushing her too far. Delusions or not, she wasn’t going to take it sitting down.

  Determined, and pleased she was taking back control of her life, Grace drove to the mall.

  SITTING IN THE living room of Grace’s house, three elderly women smiled. Things were going according to their plans.

  “She’s coming along nicely,” Fern stated.

  “I don’t know,” Blossom piped in. “I have a bad feeling about this. Grace is right. Whenever we try to help, something goes wrong. Remember poor Susan and Cap? We wanted to give her a disease that would make that dim man come to his senses. Well, he did come to his senses, but the mono hit poor Susan so hard it was months before she was up to thinking about his proposal.”

  “Oh.” Fern frowned at the memory of that particular pair. “And then he fell off the ladder when he tried to climb to her window and serenade her . . .”

  “I thought it would be such a nice touch. Every girl should be serenaded at some point in her life.” Blossom wrung her hands. She was tired of defending herself on this particular point.

  “He fell down and broke a hip. He was in that body cast for six months.”

  “Girls.” Myrtle looked at her two depressed sisters. “We’ve planned everything out perfectly this time. Nothing is going to go wrong with our Grace. Since she wrote the books, part of the misadventures were her fault—her and that strange sense of humor of hers. This time we’re taking control, we’re masterminding the story. So there’s no way anything is going to go wrong.”

  Myrtle smiled after her little pep talk. Fern and Blossom tried to, but their upturned lips didn’t ring quite true. They, more than anyone else, knew how confused these things could get, despite the most careful planning.

  “Don’t worry,” Myrtle said again. They all turned their attention back to their perfectly sane goddaughter, who was in for a big surprise.

  Three

  GRACE PULLED INTO the mall parking lot fully intending to head straight to Sears and buy her jeans. Problem was, she couldn’t find a parking space in front of the department store’s door. Actually, she couldn’t find one anywhere near the store.

  So she drove through the mall’s labyrinth-like parking lot until she spotted a space, the only one she’d seen in fifteen minutes of circling the lots. It was on the far side of the mall, the exclusive section she never shopped in.

  Grace entered through the Webster’s door, still slightly annoyed at having to walk across the entire mall to get to her jeans.

  She’d never been in Webster’s before. It was too exclusive for her taste. The kind of clothes they carried hadn’t suited her look, or lack thereof. Their apparel would be perfect for her new look, though—quiet and elegant. Not that she was interested. Even if she was interested, she wouldn’t give the fairies the satisfaction. She was doing cotton, not silk.

  As she stepped into the store proper, she was blinded by a flash of light. “Here she is,” a loud voice blared over a microphone. “Webster’s one millionth customer.” A man appeared in front of the shining light. “Can you tell us your name, Miss?”

  Grace stared at the man, unable to speak. What had the fairies done this time? Realizing the man still waited for her name, she cleared her throat and said, “Grace MacGuire.”

  “Well, Grace, you are our lucky one millionth customer. You represent a million people who have walked through our doors, a million people who have found Webster’s to be the ideal place to shop for quality women’s fashions. We’d like to thank you, and through you, all our other loyal customers, by offering you a brand new wardrobe.”

  Grace could feel her lips start to quiver. Not only was she was insane, she was lucky. Extremely and unreasonably lucky. She wanted to run screaming fro
m the store, but she didn’t feel the need to announce her sanity impairment to the world. Instead she smiled bravely. “Thank you.”

  Two hours later Grace was clad in a beautiful tailored pantsuit, carrying an Italian handbag and sporting her newly made looks. She left Webster’s and walked hesitantly into the mall proper. The Webster’s manager had arranged to have the rest of her new wardrobe delivered to her house. She’d been measured, poked and prodded, had even had her colors analyzed.

  Earth tones, they’d assured her. Muted greens, browns, rusts and grays would compliment her medium skin tone and highlighted hair.

  As she left, Grace assured the manager that someone would be at home to collect the packages. The magical trio wasn’t about to let her miss out on a pile of new, beautiful, man-hunting clothes.

  “What else do the three of you have up your sleeves?” she whispered as she strode past the fountain. Having nowhere in particular to go—shopping for jeans seemed rather anticlimactic now—Grace sank onto a bench. She turned sideways on it and stared at the water cascading in the fountain.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” came a decidedly male voice.

  “Jeese Louise,” she muttered softly. “Don’t you guys ever give up?” She turned around, no doubt in her mind who would be sitting beside her on the bench. She was right, and she wanted to groan.

  Instead, she said, “Dr. Artemus Aaronson, I presume.” She could have scripted this move by the fairies. Indeed she had scripted similar scenes in her books. “Whatever brings you to the mall on a gorgeous Friday afternoon? I would think you could find better ways of spending a May afternoon when you don’t have to work.”

  “Call me Max. I hadn’t really planned on coming to the mall. I was going sailing.” His brow wrinkled, as if he was trying to figure out a particularly difficult problem. “But I needed to buy a new suit and a tux. Damned if I know why I needed that tux,” he said, looking puzzled, “but it will be ready tomorrow. As for the suit, well, I suddenly realized today how shabby this one looks.”