Manhattan Cinderella

by Kate O'Keeffe

  My comment lands like a lead balloon.

  To my surprise, he snatches the phone from my hand and presses cancel before stuffing it back into his pocket. “I’ll, ah, talk to her later.”

  I notice how tense his features have become and suspiciously say, “Okaaay.”

  “Shall we get going?”

  “Sure.”

  As we walk, I wonder what his story is, why he’s so thrown by a call from his own mom? Sure, I’m hardly the poster child for the functional family unit, but his reaction was unexpected.

  We amble along the tree-lined sidewalk, past familiar buildings with awnings and wrought-iron railings. As we walk, I tell Cole about the Upper East Side, about how I went to Cece’s school, St. Martha’s, when I was a girl, how I adore this city of mine.

  He doesn’t say a whole lot, but he listens to me, and I find myself feeling more and more comfortable with him, this mysterious guy from Tennessee that I can’t quite figure out.

  As we near St. Martha’s, I scan the groups of kids milling about, searching for my sister. After a moment, I spot her with a cluster of kids I don’t recognize. They’re all in the regulation school uniform, of course, but the girls’ skirts look two sizes too small for them, and the boys have the “I-just-got-out-of-bed hairstyles” that take ten minutes to perfect each morning. They’re more worldly-looking than her usual group of nice, long-standing friends.

  I frown. She toys with her hair while she talks to one of the guys. She’s flirting—and doing it a whole load better than her big sis has managed today.

  “Which one’s your sister?” Cole asks.

  “The one with the long dark hair, talking to that boy.”

  “I should have known. She looks like you. Are we going over?”

  “Are you kidding? You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager, obviously.”

  “I’m only twenty-four. It’s not that long ago. And anyway, I didn’t have an older brother or sister to embarrass me.”

  “What about your parents? I’m positive my dad lived to embarrass me back then. It was like he made it his personal mission or something.”

  “I bet.”

  I wait for him to share a story about his dad. Instead, he looks down at his feet, and then across the street at Cece once more.

  Weird.

  Cece looks over in our direction and I give her a little wave. She says a few words to her friends then crosses the street to us.

  “Where are Victoria and Emily?” I ask when she reaches us, naming Cece’s best friends for years.

  “Oh, they had a thing.” Her attention shifts to Cole. She looks back to me with a questioning look on her pretty face.

  “This is Cole. He’s visiting from out of town. We met today at the recording studio.”

  “Cool. Are you a musician?” she asks.

  He turns his shoulder to show her his guitar. “Was it this on my back that gave me away?”

  “Kinda,” Cece replies with a grin. “Are you in the Pop Princesses’ back-up band?”

  “Cole’s here with another band,” I reply, remembering his reaction when I mentioned he was playing with Rex Randall to Sylvia. “Are you ready to go home?”

  I turn back to Cole and notice he’s holding his phone in his hand, reading the screen. His eyes dart to mine. “Text from Nashville.”

  “Oh.” My heart drops. “What does Man Bun have to say?”

  “I’ve gotta bail. Give me your number, and I’ll see what I can do to set up that thing we talked about.”

  As we exchange numbers, I try to contain my excitement at the prospect of what meeting Rex Randall could mean.

  “Thanks for being such an awesome tour guide,” he says.

  “Anytime.”

  “I guess I’ll see you in a couple or three days.”

  “Unless—” I stop, not sure if I should say what I want to say.

  “Unless what?”

  I glance at Cece and she shoots me an encouraging smile. Bravely, I say, “There’s a bunch of us going to The Mandolin later. It’s open mic night, so you can perform your original song, watch others, have a beer. It’s a lot of fun. I thought you might want to come along? If you’re not too busy braiding Man Bun’s hair, that is.”

  His smile takes over his whole face. “I’ve never been that good at braids.”

  “That’s a yes?”

  “Yeah, I’d love to. I’ll have to check if I’m free first.”

  I feel a surge of happiness. “Well, if you are, bring your guitar. Who knows, you may have the urge to dazzle us with your talent.”

  “Are you performing?”

  “Every week, baby.” Well, when I can get away from Sylvia’s claws.

  “See you, Gabby. Nice to meet you, Cece.” And then, with a smile, he’s gone.

  I’m shocked when I miss him already as I watch him stride down the street and out of view.

  “So?” Cece teases as she slinks up beside me.

  “So, it’s time we got you home.”

  “You can’t brush me off that easy. Do you have a date with Cole tonight?”

  I shrug noncommittally.

  “I’ve gotta say, Gabby, it’s about time. You’ve been single forever.”

  “No I haven’t.” It’s a hollow protest. I know it’s true, and she knows it’s true. “He’s helping me, that’s all. He’s promised to get me in to meet someone influential. This could be my big break.”

  “Of course. That’s what he is; helpful. The fact he’s a total hottie is completely irrelevant. Well, hot for an old guy.”

  “He’s twenty-four!”

  “Yup. Old guy.”

  I roll my eyes at her. The prospect of spending some more time with Cole heats my cheeks and makes me giddy with happiness.

  As I go about my long list of domestic chores back at the penthouse that afternoon, I hum a happy tune to myself, much to Cece’s amusement. I tell her it’s because I’m finally putting the wheels for The Plan in motion, but I’m about as good a liar as I am a drinks carrier. It’s safe to say she doesn’t believe a word of it.

  That firm line I tried to draw back in the park just got a whole lot fuzzier.

  And in all my Cole-induced euphoria, I forgot to collect the freaking shoe.

  Chapter 8

  Cole

  The same name flashes up on my phone once more. That makes nineteen times today and counting. There’s no way in hell I’m answering. By not telling me who my dad is, she created this whole goddamned mess. She’ll just have to live with the consequences, and it’s going to take a lot more than a bunch of apologies to make up for all the lies told over the last twenty-four years.

  When I reach the recording studio, I stuff my phone in my pocket. Nashville greets me at the top of the escalators, as he did this morning.

  “Cole. Good to see you again. How’s that song coming along? Rex is anxious you learn it by the concert. He’s relying on you to knock it out of the park.”

  Pressure, much? “I’ll have it down pat.”

  “Awesome.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and maneuvers me back toward the entranceway. His hand is hot, an invasion of my personal space. “So, something’s come up, and Rex can’t see you again today, buddy.”

  Buddy? What am I, ten?

  Disappointed, I shrug his hand off my shoulder. “Why not? What’s happened?”

  “You’ve got to understand, buddy, Rex is a busy man. He’s recording right now and got the concert coming up next week.” Nashville has the look of someone who needs to explain something too adult for a child to comprehend. “He has a lot of engagements and commitments. Your turning up here today wasn’t exactly expected.”

  I grind my teeth. “Look. I’ve flown all the way to New York to see him, and I’ve spent, what, ten minutes with the guy? I think I deserve a little more than that. Don’t you, buddy?”

  The insult isn’t lost on him. “I get it, really I do. That’s why Rex asked me to schedule an early breakfast with you for
tomorrow.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  “Just the two of you.”

  I nod, the offer going some way to appease me. “All right. When and where?”

  “His hotel at nine thirty.”

  Nine thirty is an early breakfast for Rex? I’ve already run my four miles and put in a couple hours work by then. “Sure, nine thirty’s good.”

  “Great! I’ll send the details of where to meet him to you.” Nashville puts his hand back on my shoulder.

  Is he seriously still trying to treat me like some kid? I glare at him and he removes it, pronto.

  He clears his throat. “Why don’t you go back to your hotel and practice that song Rex gave you?”

  No Rex means I’m at loose ends right now, so I head back to my high-rise hotel. Once in the suite, I give the window a wide berth once more. I grab a bottle of beer from the minibar, kick off my boots, and concentrate on not thinking about being on the forty-seventh floor. A few decent slugs of the amber liquid and it begins to weave its magic, taking the tension from my neck. I sit back against the padded headboard of the huge bed. I take another swig of my beer then let out a breath.

  What a day.

  I’ve met my father, agreed to play a song with him at his concert, got manhandled by Man Bun, and least I forget the green goop lobbed at my shirt by a cute girl. Gabby. Things begin to stir as I think of the way she felt in my arms.

  As diverting as she is—and I could get used to being diverted by her real fast—I’m here to get to know my father and see what sort of man he is—to prove my mom wrong that we were better off without him.

  Yeah, that was her reason for keeping his identity from me all these years: to protect me. I’m a grown-ass man, I should be able to make that kind of decision myself, not have her fussing over me. Because what kid doesn’t need a dad?

  I drain the bottle and place the empty on the mirrored nightstand as my phone rings. I glance at the screen.

  “Avery, hey.”

  “Oh, my God, Cole! You don’t know how happy I am to get a hold of you!” my cousin says in a rush, and I can sense the tension in her voice from a handful of states away.

  “She told you, huh?”

  “She did, but don’t be mad. She is freaking out.”

  I think of all the texts and voicemails Mom has left in the last twenty-four hours. “I got no sympathy for her right now. Sorry if that sounds harsh.”

  “Look, I get it. You’ve got a lot to deal with. I just wanted to check in to see how you’re doing.”

  I harrumph. “How do you think?”

  “I think you’re reeling right now, and I totally get it. It’s a big deal.”

  “You can say that again.” I scrunch my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. “It was total bolt from out of the blue clear sky, Aves. I mean, shit, Rex Randall?”

  “I know. I was shocked! He was a freaking superstar, that guy. It’s gotta be so weird to find out the man whose music you’ve heard all your life is your dad.”

  I respond with, “Yup.” It’s all I can say. Avery gets it in one.

  “Cole? Are you okay?”

  I rub the back of my neck, the beer doing nothing for the tension holding my shoulders tight. “Yeah. No.” I let out a puff of air at the total craziness of my life right now. “I guess I don’t know.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in a swanky hotel suite in Manhattan.”

  “Seriously? How’d you pull that?”

  “Rex.”

  “Ah. The perks of being the King of Pop’s son, huh?”

  “That’s what he said today. Said I was his ‘heir,’ which sounded totally ridiculous to me. Anyway, I thought Michael Jackson was the King of Pop.”

  “There are two schools of thought on the subject,” Avery replies.

  “Two schools of thought? You been on some college course since I left Hamilton this morning, or something?” I jest.

  “Yeah, I fitted that one in while balancing being mom to the twins and my full-time job at the store.”

  “How are Gracie and Liam? I thought about them today while I was in Central Park.” My mind turns to Gabby. “This girl I met today told me she wanted hair like Ariel when she was a kid, just like Gracie.” I smile at the memory and notice the tension in my neck releasing a notch.

  “Hold up. You’re in Manhattan to go meet your father you’ve just found out about literally a day ago and you’ve found the time to meet a girl?”

  “Yeah, I hear it.” I laugh at how preposterous it is that I could be feeling something for Gabby amid the shitstorm of my life right now. “She’s been the perfect distraction today.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Gabby. Short for Gabriella. But don’t call her that, she hates it.”

  “Is that so? You seeing her again?”

  “Tonight. We’re going to some music club downtown.”

  “You’re going on a date?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You tell me; what’s it like, then, Cole?”

  “It’s . . . it’s just going out with a cute girl while I’m at loose ends. Nothing more.”

  “Hmm,” she replies, and I know she’s not convinced. And you know what? I’m not convinced either.

  “When are you meeting Rex?”

  “I met him today.”

  “And?” My cousin can’t keep the excitement from her voice.

  “And he seems cool. I only spent a short amount of time with him, but it’s a start.”

  “That’s awesome news. What’s he like?”

  I take a moment to think before I reply. “He was real excited to meet me. Said he couldn’t get over how alike we look. I only got to spend about ten minutes with him.”

  “Are you seeing him again soon?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  “Look, this is a major thing, and it’s gonna take you some time to wrap your head around all this.” There’s a loud crash followed by wailing, and I know something’s happened with the twins. “Liam, what did you go doing that for? Look at this place! It’s everywhere!” There are muffled noises as she puts her hand over the receiver. “Cole? Honey? I’m sorry, but I gotta go. Liam’s got a hold of a bag of flour, and it looks like a white freaking Christmas in my kitchen now.”

  “You go fix it. And Aves?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  I press the “end” button and lean back against the headboard. Although a few years older than me, Avery and I have been close since we were kids, and I can always rely on her to have my back.

  I reach out and collect my guitar, open the case, and pull out the sheet music for the song. I read the title once more. What I thought I’d lost. A song about father and son, about him and me. Rex might be harder to pin down than a slippery eel, but I know his heart’s in the right place. He wants me in his life just as much as I want him in mine.

  I rest my guitar on my lap and begin to play the tune. It’s a slow ballad, full of emotion, so unlike the light, fast-paced pop music Rex was famous for back in the day. I sight-read the notes, strumming each fret. My eyes trail over the lyrics, a sense of calm pervading my thoughts.

  I wanted you before I knew you

  You’re the arrow for my bow

  You’ve given me new hope

  The one I did not know

  I stop playing, look up at the ceiling. She kept us from knowing one another, from being father and son. I can’t forgive her for that.

  I strum a few more chords, immersing myself in the music, blocking out the noise of my day. Instead, I concentrate on what matters: my father.

  I practice the song until I know the tune, the lyrics staying with me long after I’ve closed my guitar back in its case. Hours sail by.

  My phone beeps on the bed beside me. I skim past the new texts and voicemails from my mom, finding one from Gabby. The girl who put a smile on my face at a time when smiling felt like that last thing I would do.
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  You still good to come to The Mandolin tonight?

  I type out a reply.

  What does a guy from Tennessee with almost all his own teeth wear to this place tonight?

  The reply is swift and typical of the girl I’m getting to know.

  An Elvis costume. Clearly.

  I try to think of something clever, but only come up with, Sorry. Elvis costume at the cleaners.

  In that case, your usual cowboy getup and a tub of fried chicken will do.

  I smile. This girl has spunk.

  I will come as a cowboy if you come as Daisy Duke. And before you say it, I know she’s not from Tennessee. Just go with it.

  An image of Gabby in a tiny pair of jean shorts and a tight shirt flashes before my eyes. Things begin to stir once more.

  Definitely don’t have the legs for it.

  Having had the pleasure of the back view of her legs and pert butt today through her jeans, I very much doubt that.

  I bet you do.

  Yup, I’m flirting, and it feels damn good. Hell, a night out with this girl is exactly what I need right now. And to get to feel what it’s like to touch her, to kiss her, to . . . Yeah. Not going there.

  I sit, looking at my screen, awaiting her response like some desperate teenager with a serious crush. Dots flash on the screen, telling me she’s typing, and then they disappear. Eventually my phone pings.

  See you at nine. I’ll text you the address. Don’t forget your guitar.

  Okay, so when things between us begin to heat up, she’s not playing. Shame.

  My stomach protests at the lack of fuel I’ve provided it today. Loudly. It’s only happy once I’ve chomped down on a surprisingly good room service burger and fries that cost as much as a meal for five would at Jimmy’s Diner back home. After I’ve finished, I shower and change—not into an Elvis costume or anything vaguely like the idea Gabby has of Tennessee natives. Jeans, a pressed navy buttoned shirt, my trusty boots.

  No tub of fried chicken.

  I grab my stuff, sling my guitar over my shoulder, and head downtown.