A Miracle at Macy's

by Lynn Marie Hulsman

  “He tears his eyes from his laptop, and looks around. “I think that will be all.”

  She looks panicked. “But I told them not to expect me back at the office until late, if at all. I’m really dedicated to the project. Isn’t there anything you need? Coffee? Anything?”

  Henry stands up, takes off his glasses and rubs a fist into his eye. “I think we’ve done about all we can do for the moment. Now, we sit back and wait.” He stretches, and the front of his shirt comes untucked, exposing a scant inch of firm ab adorned with a faint line of sparkling gold hair. I look away, while Landry gawps like a trout. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” he says, walking toward his bedroom.

  Landry follows, clicking on the bare wood part of the floor with her impossibly slim, metal, cigarette heels. “Let me help!”

  Henry turns around, and casually holds onto the doorframe, extending one long arm. “I’m planning a trip to the loo. Thanks for the offer, but it’s more of a one-person job.”

  “Of course. Take your time,” Landry concedes, lowering her head and holding her hands out in front of her. “When you’re through, er, when you come back out, we can keep working.”

  “Thanks, again, but it’s a wrap. I’ll call Shanna back at the office and tell her you’re on your way.” She looks stricken. “And I’ll let her know what a bang-up job you’ve done this morning. See you back there soon,” he says, and closes the door.

  I pour myself a second cup of coffee, and take a bite from a triangular brownie dusted in gold powder. As she shrugs on her long, camel-colored overcoat, she observes me like I’m a lab animal. “Wow,” she breathes. “Good for you.”

  “Want one?” I ask, motioning toward the heaving platter of goodies.

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Ahh! You’re hilarious.” She throws a glance over toward Henry’s bedroom and whispers, “What is it about Englishmen that make them so hot?”

  “Henry?” I ask. “Hot?”

  “Oh, no,” she backs off. “Are you two an item?”

  “Ho, ho, no way. He’s all about the work.”

  “I bet I could take his mind off it for a day,” she smirks. “Or a night.”

  “Good luck with that,” I say, draining my cup.

  “Aww. Thaaaanks.” She clearly doesn’t understand sarcasm.

  “Charlotte,” Henry says, striding purposefully back into the room. “Oh, Landry. You’re still here. I just spoke to Shanna. She said go directly to Macy’s to support Miranda, and don’t bother going back to the office first. She said to take a cab. Apparently it’s all hands on deck there.”

  “In that case,” she says, as if an idea were just occurring to her, “hadn’t you better come with me? You said yourself that there’s nothing to do here but wait.”

  “I’m where I’m supposed to be,” he says, turning his back on her, and filling a glass with sparkling water.

  “All right, then. I’m going to go now,” she says, backing slowly toward the door leading to lobby. “If you’re absolutely sure you’re OK.”

  “Fine, thanks.” He doesn’t turn around. One thing’s for sure, he has the status part of the job down-pat. Henry Wentworth puts the authority in Authority Figure.

  “Bye,” I say to her. I don’t like her, but I feel like someone should make an effort at manners.

  She mouths, He’s soooooo hot, before composing herself and saying, “Nice to meet you. Good luck with Houston!”

  “It’s Hudson.” I point out.

  “Same thing!” And with that, she’s gone.

  Henry spreads butter on a croissant, and sits back down at his station. He doesn’t say a word to me, just keeps typing. Slowly, I walk around gathering used cups and plates, and stack them on the sideboard. Henry appears to be engrossed in whatever it is he’s scrolling through.

  I clink a few glasses together. Still nothing. I steal a glimpse of myself in the giant mirror hanging over the umbrella stand near the foyer. Not good. Not good at all. My hair is wild, shooting out in all directions from the banana clip I dug out of the bottom of my purse so I could wash my face this morning. There are dark circles under my eyes, possibly from worry, possibly because I’d consumed what’s normally my month’s ration of alcohol last night. I cringe thinking about Landry and her fashion-forward fingernails, and limited edition leather carry-all.

  Oh who cares, I think. I’m here to find my dog, not win America’s Next Top Model. I may be in dire need of a good haircut and a layer of bronzer, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve an apology.

  When I can no longer stand the silence, I probe gently with a “Sooo, Landry seems nice.”

  “Uh huh,” Henry replies, still engrossed.

  “And pretty too,” I say, arranging the unused water glasses in a neat row.

  “I guess.”

  “What, don’t you think she’s attractive?” I press. I hate myself for asking, but I can’t shut my mouth. It’s like picking at a scab. I don’t really want to know the answer, which logically has to be, ‘She’s the most perfect girl I’ve ever seen in the flesh.’

  “She’s pretty, but she’s what? Maybe 12?” He looks up at me. “She’s an intern. I felt like a babysitter.” He closes the laptop, and once again takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes. “I’ve been at this since five am. The groundwork, as they say, has been laid. Now, the waiting begins. I need to clear my head.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Do what you need to do. I’m going to take a shower, then hit the streets again.” I think about heading out without Henry. Searching alone after yesterday will feel so different.

  “I didn’t say I was leaving.” He examines his shirt cuff, and toys with a loose thread. “Just that I need to clear my head.”

  “OK, then. You don’t need my permission. Go to the gym, go for a walk, whatever.” I’m still furious. I should really just go get in the shower. I rearrange the glasses into a diamond pattern. No one says anything. It’s wondrous how silent luxury hotels can be.

  Henry stands up, and crosses toward me. I don’t turn around. The glasses might look nice in a circle, I think, shifting them around. I catch my breath as I feel Henry’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Please,” he says to me.

  I want to answer, but I can’t. On principle. Please what? I want to know.

  “I want to apologize. I confess that up to this point I hadn’t thought of the situation from your viewpoint.”

  I turn and give him a long look, considering him. When my head hit the pillow last night, I’d written him off, and not for the first time. I had decided today was going to be different. It was turning out to be different, but not in the way I’d planned.

  “Charlotte, I don’t like seeing you unhappy. I’m going to make sure you get Hudson back.”

  I know my face is closed off. He’s Miranda’s puppet. He’s just doing his job. I blink, not saying anything.

  “I’m going to make sure you get your family back.”

  I cross my arms, waiting for more.

  “You deserve to be taken care of. From this point forward, there will be no more crumbs of attention. You’ve had enough of that treatment.” I realize he’s talking about Aunt Miranda, but is too polite to call her out. “From here on out, I’m giving you my full attention.”

  I breathe out. “You mean you’ll give Hudson you’re full attention?” I tease.

  “Of course,” he says, face the picture of innocence. “I believe that’s what I said.” His eyes twinkle. “Will you let me?”

  I’m all in.

  “I’m going to get dressed,” I say. “Don’t leave without me.”

  *****

  “Wow,” Henry says, standing up as I stride into the sitting room. I really cannot help striding. It’s the boots. “You look,” he stops and shakes his head. “You look very well indeed.”

  “Thanks,” I say. Normally, I’d brush off the compliment and take a shot at myself. Today, I can’t help but agree with him. Maybe it was standing next to Landry in
my bathrobe that prompted me to dip into the array of Lancôme, Bobbi Brown, and Laura Mercier cosmetics that Macy’s sent over, or maybe it’s the feeling that for once, I’m wearing exactly the right outfit for the occasion. Nah, it’s probably the boots.

  Tall and cherry red, with an asymmetrical military-style rise over my knee, my fiery new boots feature a modern silver buckle accent on the side. At once structured and slouchy, they are the pinnacle of architectural design. With enough of a heel to push me up and out at all the right angles, but enough of a base to keep me grounded, these boots make me feel relaxed and in command. I have to hand it to Calvin Klein. Anyone who can make footwear beautiful enough to display in a museum and manage to engineer the foot bed so the wearer feels like she’s walking on air deserves the Congressional Medal of Honor.

  After unwrapping today’s selection of garments, I feel awful for characterizing my personal shopper as frivolous and flighty. She sent me the most perfect sleek black Michael Kors trousers; they’re not clingingly tight nor do they bag in unfortunate places. They stretch without appearing to be stretchy and feature elongating pleats up the fronts and backs of my legs. I’m not sure what miracle fabric comprises the backside and waistband, but suffice it to say I am duly lifted and tucked.

  To top it all off, I’ve been given a camel-colored Ralph Lauren ribbed turtleneck and a black swing cardigan with a hood, and thumbholes in the extended sleeves. I love being cozy in the wintertime, and I’m amazed I can feel this wrapped-up and comfy in close-cut, flattering sweaters. This is a different universe from my zip-up North Face fleece and Uggs, let me tell you.

  Henry’s gaze still rests on me, and despite the confidence my new look has infused me with, I’m not comfortable standing in a spotlight.

  “What?” I ask to break the tension.

  “You just look…wonderful.” His eyes are soft as he stares. “That’s all. Wonderful. Anyhow,” he says, snapping back to efficiency mode, “how are we going to kill time, as they say, while we wait? I’ve been posting and reposting on all the social media platforms, but so far nothing concrete has come up as to Hudson’s whereabouts.”

  “Oh no!” I wrap my cardigan tightly around myself.

  “Don’t despair. I sincerely think this is going to yield results. That being said, you know the old adage about watched pots, don’t you?”

  I nod.

  “At this point, I think the only sensible thing to do is to make space and allow the seeds we’ve sown to take root.” He runs his fingers through his wavy brown hair. “To be honest, I feel like I’m trapped in a box.”

  I hesitate. I know it’s irrational, but I feel like I’m keeping Hudson safe through sheer force of will. If I’m not vigilant, what will happen? “You know, Henry, I think I should stay here and wait. You take your walk. I’ll man the battle station.”

  “At the risk of sounding like an old country doctor, I think some fresh air would do you a world of good. It’s not healthy to stay holed up all the time.”

  I wince internally. Staying holed up is kind of my thing. Was he getting in a dig about the way I live my life? “Actually, I think most people on the planet would hole up if given suites at The Towers at the Waldorf-Astoria.”

  He smiles, and crosses to the closet to get his coat. “You’ve got a point. Conrad Hilton did call this ‘The Greatest of Them All.’

  “By the way, don’t you think it’s a little crazy how Aunt Miranda splashed out on this? I really could have gone home,” I say, knowing in my heart that I really couldn’t have.

  “Don’t forget that women like your aunt have a lifetime of connections. One hand scratches the other’s back. You’d be astonished what she doesn’t pay for. It’s like the swag bags at all the big Hollywood award shows. Every person who’s given one could afford to buy the contents. But, they never have to. It’s how the rich get richer. I encourage you to shrug off any guilt you may have been harboring. I, myself, am enjoying my brand-spanking new Kenneth Cole boots, and my new jeans and shirt, compliments of Emporio Armani. Don’t look at me like that, part of my job is knowing about fashion design.”

  “You could teach me, then, because I’m clueless,” I tell him, pulling my brown puffy coat off the hanger.

  “For starters, you’ll want to burn that,” he says with a wicked grin.

  “Hey!”

  “You said you wanted the benefit of my vast wisdom. Go check your bags. See if they sent a replacement. If they did, put it on. I’m taking you out on the town. Doctor’s orders!”

  Sure enough, when I dig deeper, I find an Anne Klein slim belted trench and a leather Dooney and Bourke cross body bucket bag. I change purses, throwing out months’ worth of used tissues, starlight mints, wrinkled receipts, and empty packs of gum.

  When I emerge, Henry closes the laptop, and declares, “All systems are go. If my pleas of ‘Can you reunite this girl with her dog’ along with the irresistible photos of your impish pup don’t mobilize the holiday-besotted citizens of New York City, I don’t know what will.” He gathers his keys and wallet from a silver salver on the mirrored umbrella stand.

  “You know, Hudson loves Christmas almost as much as I do,” I tell Henry, as I button and tie my coat.

  His lips twitch in amusement. “Is that right?”

  “Look, I know you don’t believe a dog can have feelings, but you haven’t met Hudson.” I go stand next to him as he waits by the door. He smells really good. A little like the Ferragamo toiletries, but also like freshly cut grass and rain.

  “I’m sure that when I do, he’ll forever change my mind about dogs.”

  “He’ll change your mind about Christmas, too.” I pull my bag over my shoulder.

  “I’m doubt even the magical Hudson has that power.” He drapes his winter scarf around his neck, letting the ends hang.

  “Don’t be such a scrooge. Are you seriously telling me that no part of Christmas in Manhattan was enjoyable to you yesterday?” I cock my head and wait for an answer.

  “We were very busy. I hardly had time to notice,” he says. “Shall we go?”

  “Really? The carriage ride? The gorgeous tree at The Plaza Hotel? The shoppers in Times Square? The skating rink in Bryant Park? Nothing? Is your heart a block of ice?

  He considers this. “For the last several years, I’ve seen Christmas from an office window, or over the top of a spreadsheet.” He pauses. “That was my choice. But, I admit that there was something, yesterday, that made me think I could someday change my mind on the matter.”

  “Then there’s hope,” I say. I tie the ends of his scarf together. “Let’s kill some time and go take a big bite out of Christmas in the city.”

  *****

  “Was that, or was that not, fun?” I ask as we climb the stairs from the subway into the bright December sunshine. An older, dark-skinned man wearing very dark shades, wails on an electric guitar and belts out James Brown’s Soulful Christmas.

  “Do you mean the subway ride? It was different, I’ll give it that. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve only traversed Manhattan by van, town car, and cab.”

  “And you called me spoiled?”

  He holds up his hands in innocence. “These are the hazards of my line of work.”

  “I think most people would call them perks, not hazards. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about riding the subway, I was talking about the trip to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. What are you doing? Are you cold?”

  Henry is standing by one of New York’s ubiquitous Nuts 4 Nuts Carts, holding his hands up to the metal wall for warmth. The guy inside, bundled in a knit cap and scarf gives him the stink eye.

  “I’m afraid to say yes. You might call me names again,” he replies, grinning. “What was it you called me on the ferry to the statue? A big baby?”

  “Well, who gets seasick on a five-minute ride on the river?”

  “I believe the ice chunks in the Hudson made for choppy waters. I have science on my side, so there.” Henry inhales deeply. “
Do you smell that? That must be what it smells like when angels bake.”

  “Haven’t you ever had nuts from a nut cart?” I ask.

  “As I’ve told you, I’ve largely seen your city from the darkened windows of Sedans.”

  “Give me a bag of each, please.” I watch as the guy scoops out the sugar-encrusted peanuts, almonds, cashews, and chunks of coconut from their pans beneath the multiple heat lamps keeping them warm. “How much?”

  “Normally two for five. But you are very pretty. Give me five dollars and blow me a kiss.” I’m flummoxed. I’m torn between indignation at being asked to prostitute myself for candied nuts, and the thrill of being treated like an alpha girl. Normally, I pass through the streets unnoticed.

  Henry quickly pulls out his wallet, and gives the guy a five. “Go on, then.” He teases. “Don’t be a big baby.”

  “Would a handshake and a wave do?”

  The guy hands over my packages, thinking about it. “Yes, I would accept that.” Because he proves himself to be nice and not creepy, I shake his hand, then blow him a kiss as we walk away.

  “Very pretty, indeed. Your husband is very lucky!” he calls.

  “Believe me, I know it!” Henry calls back over his shoulder. I punch him in the arm. We’re both laughing, giddy with the cold and the pre-Christmas excitement in the air.

  “As if! I cannot imagine, in my wildest dreams, you putting a woman before your career.” He stops laughing, and looks at me seriously.

  “There’s a Starbucks,” he says. “Let’s have a coffee and talk.”

  *****

  “What did you do after she said no?”

  He looks down at his latte. “It was awful,” he says in a low voice. “More awful than you can imagine. My mother had Champagne on ice in the kitchen, and my father had put on a tie. Of course, they make an effort to spiffy up for holiday meals, but they had really pushed out the boat. I feel such the fool for not seeing it coming, but it was beyond my imagination. I mean, when someone says to you, point blank, ‘I wish this would never end. Wouldn’t it be bliss to spend the rest of our lives together,’ it paints a certain picture.”