Better Witch Next Time

by Stephanie Damore

  Wind rise up and aid me.

  Clear this fog that I may see.

  As I will it so make it be.

  My words were useless.

  The fog grew thicker and darker, swirling like an ominous storm. Irene slipped into the abyss, and that was the last I saw of her.

  The front door to the apartment opened, and my heart jumped up in my throat. I thought I'd have more time before someone came home. I scrambled to open the bathroom window and fanned the fog out into the fresh summer air. A light haze still hung in the air and clouded the mirror, like smoke.

  I opened the bathroom door and peered out, but I couldn't see who had come home from where I was standing. Looking down, I realized that I hadn't even changed into my uniform yet. Note to self: next time, get into character immediately. I had a feeling Mrs. Hendricks would fire me on the spot for not complying.

  But she wasn't the one who was home.

  Mr. Hendricks rounded the corner to the hallway. He looked to be in his fifties, like Mrs. Hendricks. He had dark, curly hair clipped short and a mustache. He wore a brown business suit, with a white shirt, and brown and mustard yellow striped tie.

  I resisted the urge to duck back inside the bathroom and hide. Instead I said, "Afternoon, sir."

  The man completely ignored me, his face buried in a stack of papers he held a foot from his nose, as he walked down the hall toward me and went directly to his study, unlocking the door and closing it behind him.

  Nice to meet you, too.

  I turned and looked at the bathroom mirror once more. The only thing that stared back was my reflection. I thought back to what had just happened.

  Who and what was I dealing with here, I wondered.

  A witch? Another supernatural? Nothing in Irene's file hinted that she even rated on the magical index, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible. Magic of some sort was at play here, and I had no way of tracing it. I was going to have to track Irene down through other means and fast, because I knew for a fact her family never saw her again.

  The mysterious A. from Irene’s love letters was the first lead I had. But it wasn't like I could just ask the Hendrickses who he was. They didn't even realize their daughter was missing, and it would've been completely out of line for the housekeeper to pry into such private matters. Even if I had pretended to stumble across the love letters while cleaning, it wasn't my business. And I didn't want to get booted out of their apartment. As much as me being a mid-century housekeeper was a joke, it was a smart undercover gig.

  Unfortunately, that undercover gig now required me to play the role that I was assigned, which meant no more sleuthing for the afternoon. For the first time, I went into the spare bedroom. It was a utilitarian space with nothing more than a twin-size bed and a dresser. I opened the dresser and found some extra clothes, most likely belonging to the regular housekeeper. However, from the sparse look of the room, it didn't look like she lived here full time like I was planning to do. The room's bedding, window sheers, and wall color were all decorated in shades of peach. The carpet was pink, like the uniform that was waiting for me to put on.

  I looked at the pink dress with its white capped sleeves and matching collar and wrinkled my nose. A coordinating, lightweight white apron and small white hat—if you could even call it that, it was more tiara-like … a princess crown of housekeeping—finished off the uniform. I quickly dressed, feeling more like I was getting ready to attend a Halloween costume party than to prepare a meatloaf. I glanced out of the singular bedroom window and saw that, like Irene's bedroom, mine also had a fire escape, which made sense since both bedrooms were on the backside of the building. I opened the window and stepped outside. The black metal fire escape was sturdy, and it would make sneaking in and out of the Hendrickses’ place that much easier. Bonus points that we were only on the second floor. I felt the same way about heights as I did meatloaf—slightly nauseous.

  After getting over the impressive-looking oven with its eight knobs, six burners, and two oven doors, I set about trying to figure out how to operate the intimidating appliance.

  "It's not as easy as it looks," I said to George, who was staring at me from the kitchen doorway. Unlike Agatha, he didn't reply, which was slightly disappointing.

  A couple of hours later when Mrs. Hendricks walked into the apartment, I was proud to say that I had managed to bake the meatloaf, peel, cut and boil the potatoes, and shuck enough peas to make a presentable side dish—and I didn't curse anyone or any appliance in the process. Mrs. Hendricks stood over my shoulder and examined dinner's progress.

  "Don't forget, plated and served no later than seven-thirty," she said as she walked through the kitchen. I took that as her sign of approval, even if it was a rather rude one. Perhaps I'd get to curse someone yet.

  "Where's Irene?" Mr. Hendricks asked, seeming to notice for the first time that his daughter wasn't at the dinner table. I walked around the table, plating their mashed potatoes and spooning out peas to go with the meatloaf.

  "You're just now realizing she's absent? I've been asking you if you'd seen her today," Mrs. Hendricks shot back.

  Mr. Hendricks didn't reply.

  "Well, have you seen her today or not?" Mrs. Hendricks asked, the annoyance heavy in her voice.

  "Today? No, can't say that I have. And who are you?" Mr. Hendricks asked, really looking at me for the first time.

  "Anna is filling in for Mary," Mrs. Hendricks replied for me.

  Mr. Hendricks looked perplexed.

  "Mary's taking care of her mother. Do you remember now?" Mrs. Hendricks asked.

  Mr. Hendricks shook his head no.

  "Honestly, Frank. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother."

  Mr. Hendricks didn't seem to know why she did either. He returned to his dinner, forking at his meatloaf and eating in silence.

  "Well, how rude of Irene not to join us for supper. She knows how much it displeases me to have her galivanting around town." Mrs. Hendricks looked to the clock on the dining room wall as if confirming Irene's tardiness. "Who's that dreadful friend of hers again? You know, the one who has a job." She said the word with more disdain than I'd ever thought possible.

  Mr. Hendricks continued to eat.

  "That makeup counter girl. You know who I'm talking about."

  Clearly, Mr. Hendricks didn't know and didn't care. He leisurely ate his supper while Mrs. Hendricks' plate remained untouched.

  The minutes ticked by, her food getting cold, but still she let it sit.

  "The redhead. Oh, what in the devil is her name?" Mrs. Hendricks said, thinking aloud.

  Again, more silence.

  Finally, after Mr. Hendricks was about finished with his meal, Mrs. Hendricks said, "Penny, that's it! She's probably with that one."

  Mr. Hendricks stood to leave the table, leaving his plate for me to clear.

  "You're not joining me for supper?" Mrs. Hendricks asked her husband.

  "You can't expect me to sit at the table all night, now can you? I have to work to do." With that, Mr. Hendricks walked out of the room and left Mrs. Hendricks to eat her peas alone.

  Chapter 4

  I woke the next morning to George pawing at my face to feed him and the Hendrickses talking somewhere in the distance. The morning had started without me, and I was going to have to hustle if I was going to pretend otherwise. I got dressed in record time, patted the back of my hair down (reminding myself why I normally loved my style), and bustled out to the kitchen to start the coffee and give George some kibble. While I checked out the contraption on the stovetop that was supposedly the coffee maker, bits of the Hendrickses' conversation floated down the hallway.

  "If the Morgans find out, there's no way they're going to entertain a marriage proposal," Mrs. Hendricks said, matter-of-factly.

  "What do you suggest we do, call the police?" Mr. Hendricks replied, and even I could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn't think that was a good idea.

  "The police? Of course not! Don't be r
idiculous. I said I didn't want the Morgans to find out. We have to be smart about this. Find her and bring her back home immediately."

  "I don't disagree with you, but I don't understand how in the world you expect me to do that," Mr. Hendricks said. "I'm extremely busy at work and I don't have time to take a day off and go hunting the city for that daughter of yours."

  "Don't you give me that line. She's just as much your problem as she is mine."

  "This is just like her. Run off and get into trouble and expect us to bail her out," Mr. Hendricks replied.

  There was a moment of silence, and I quickly went to the fridge to retrieve some eggs in case one of them unexpectedly walked into the kitchen.

  "Give her time," Mr. Hendricks said after another minute.

  "Time?"

  "She's always come home before. This time will be no different. I'm sure of it," Mr. Hendricks said.

  "If you're sure..."

  "I am. Now, you go about your day. Don't let on to anyone that you're worried one bit. I'm sure Irene will be home by supper tonight," Mr. Hendricks said.

  "I don't know what we're going to do with her," Mrs. Hendricks replied.

  "Get her home, get her married to James, and let her be the Morgans' problem," Mr. Hendricks said flatly.

  "I hope you're right."

  "I am."

  "Fine. I'll give her time," Mrs. Hendricks said.

  "Good. Now not another word," Mr. Hendricks replied. I could tell they were walking up the hall now.

  "You don't have to worry about me saying anything," Mrs. Hendricks said as they entered the kitchen.

  An hour later, after Mr. Hendricks had left for work (without eating the breakfast I had prepared according to his schedule, I may add), Mrs. Hendricks followed suit without speaking a word to me. That was fine by me. I had work of my own to do. I waited in the apartment for ten minutes to make sure she wasn't returning immediately and changed out of my uniform and back into the green dress I had worn when I arrived yesterday. I plopped the bacon I had made for Mr. Hendricks’ breakfast into George's bowl before leaving as well. George had meowed appreciably and rubbed himself against my leg. I swear, all that cat did was eat and sleep. I was getting slightly jealous.

  Henry was working the elevator again.

  "You didn't by chance see Irene leave yesterday, did you?" I asked on my quick ride down.

  "Irene? No, can't say that I did, but that didn't mean she didn't," he replied.

  "I'm sorry?" I asked, not following.

  "Afraid the old noggin isn't what it used to be. Pushing buttons seems to be all I'm good at these days," Henry replied, tapping his head. "Sometimes I even forget what floor I'm on."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. If you do see her though, and you remember, can you let me know? Her mom and dad would like to speak with her."

  "Will do, ma'am."

  Here's the thing about makeup counters in New York City—they're everywhere. Every major department store employed dozens of young women to work their cosmetic counters. Add the fact that I was looking for a girl named Penny, one of the most popular names for a young lady in nineteen fifty-eight, and you could see my struggles in finding Irene's friend. There was a Penny at Bloomingdale's who coincidentally also had a friend Irene, but not the Irene I was looking for. Saks had three ladies by the name of Penny who worked at the cosmetic counter, and only one of them was working. She didn't know Irene either.

  I left Saks and headed to Macy's in hopes I would get lucky and find the right Penny. If not, I at least wasn't leaving the store without a new pair of shoes. Note to self: Don't walk all over Manhattan in heels. I had taken a cab to Midtown, but after that, I had been walking from store to store. The result? My calves would look fabulous, but my toes were starting to cramp.

  I walked into Macy's, bypassed the coat check, and approached the first makeup counter girl who was available.

  "Is Penny working today?" I asked. I was finding that it was easier to just assume a Penny worked at the cosmetics counter than to ask if one did.

  The redhead pointed to the name tag pinned on her chest. "I'm Penny, and that color lipstick is all wrong on you," she said.

  "I'm not wearing any lipstick," I replied.

  "I know, and what a tragedy that is. With those full lips of yours? We could really make them shine. Here try this." Before I could even step back, Penny was applying a warm, rich shade of red on my lips that made my green eyes pop. I admired the new look in the mirror and then had to remind myself what I was supposed to be doing there.

  "And I love your hair,” Penny continued. “You're such a trendsetter. Are you looking for a job?" she asked, nodding her head encouragingly.

  "Actually, I'm looking for someone. Her name is Penny and she's a friend of Irene Hendricks?"

  "Oh good gracious, what has Irene gone and done now?"

  "You know her?" I asked. I looked closely at Penny and realized that she was the same girl in one of the photos on Irene's dresser.

  "Of course I know Irene. She's a hoot. That is, when she can get away from her parents, if you know what I mean." Penny then completely changed topics. "Have you tried Spring Day?" she asked, spraying a bottle of perfume in the air and eyeing a woman over my shoulder nervously.

  I glanced behind me and found an older lady watching us. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Eyes like a hawk. Her blue skirt and white blouse mirrored Penny's uniform, only hers was finished off with a suit jacket. The woman's attention darted around the floor at her employees.

  I kept my voice low. "Is there somewhere we could go to speak in private?" I asked her.

  "There is, but I can't leave the floor right now. That's grounds for being sent to the basement, and you don't want to go in the basement." Penny handed me the bottle of perfume to smell, a fake smile plastered to her face.

  "What's in the basement?" I asked, picking the perfume up and smelling it.

  "The phones, of course. Have you ever worked a switchboard at a department store?" The girl shuddered. “Besides, you'll never find a husband working in the basement." Penny was dead serious. I had a feeling that, like many girls in her day, matrimony was high on her to-do list.

  "No, I suppose you wouldn’t." I put the perfume down. "The thing is, she hasn't been home since yesterday morning, and nobody knows where she is. Her family has asked me to help track her down. They want to make sure she's okay."

  "Irene's run off?" Penny had moved on to selecting the right shade of blush and eyeshadow to complete my look.

  "Or something bad has happened to her," I said in all seriousness.

  "What does Archie say?" Penny leaned in and applied a bronze shade to my eyelids.

  The infamous A. "I haven't talked to him. Do you know how I can get ahold of him?" I tried not to sound too hopeful.

  "I'm sure he's at work right now," Penny said.

  "Which is where?"

  "The newspaper stand right outside Irene's building. How do you think she met him?" Penny held up a handheld mirror for me to see my reflection. I hadn't worn this much makeup since Lexi dragged me off for makeovers on my thirtieth birthday. So yeah, it'd been a while, but I couldn't deny that Penny was gifted.

  "Here, take a free sample of the lipstick with you." She put the miniature lipstick in a little paper bag complete with a piece of tissue paper. "And here's a sample of our new fragrance too." She leaned in. "I think it smells a little bit too strong for me, but everyone else is loving it, so who knows," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  "If you see Irene..." I let my words trail off.

  "I'll be sure to tell her to hightail it home."

  "Thanks so much, I appreciate it. All of it." I held up the bag for emphasis.

  "No problem whatsoever. Thanks for stopping in."

  Chapter 5

  As promised to myself, I did swing through the shoe department and picked up a pair of black flats, along with a pair of petal pushers and matching shirt for a whopping twelve dollars. I
stepped into the ladies’ fitting room before leaving the department store and traded my heels and dress for the more comfortable new outfit and shoes. Even with the new shoes, I decided to take a cab back up to the Hendrickses' apartment, knowing how reasonable the cab fare would be. I still had seventeen dollars to my name, which should be plenty for food and transportation for the next couple of days.

  Once back at the apartment building, I paid the cab driver a couple of dollars and headed directly for the newspaper stand that I had previously overlooked. I stood in line behind a couple of businessmen who were completing their early afternoon purchases and took in the stand's inventory. I hadn't realized how many daily newspapers New York City had in the fifties. Not to mention the magazines and candy. The stand was a hub of information. I couldn't believe how much this would all change within a few short decades with the burst of the Internet. Kind of made me feel a bit nostalgic and wishing the Good Ole Days were still here. I was lucky in that regard. Anytime the modern world became too much, I could pop into whatever time period I wished and check out for a few days. Well, any time period up until nineteen fifty. Anything past that took some extra fire power and wasn't a trip I could manage solo. Not yet.

  I checked out the stand's candy stash while thinking about how I had the best job in the world. Necco Wafers, Atomic Fire Balls, Boston Baked Beans, Super Bubble, Peanut M&Ms—plus some candy that I had never even heard of lined the front counter. Like, what was a Cup-o-Gold? For five cents, I decided I would purchase one and find out. The men in front of me paid for their purchases and stood aside, leaving me standing in front of a rather old man. His gray hair was clipped short, but his silver beard was long, as were the lines down his face. Surely this couldn't be young Irene's admirer?

  "Whatcha got sweetheart?"

  "Just this, and I was looking for someone named Archie? Do you by chance know who he is?"