A Miracle at Macy's

by Lynn Marie Hulsman

  It’s a great idea, I’m only miffed that Henry was the one to think of it. More brownnosing at my expense. “When?” I ask.

  “This evening.”

  Wow, I think. That’s soon. But what if I could get Hudson back by Christmas? “OK!” I agree. “Let’s do it.”

  “Wonderful,” she tells me. “Henry said he has Landry lying in wait, ready to pull the trigger on the social media announcements. He tells me that she’s turning out to be quite an asset. It seems she nearly as big an asset as he is.”

  “Almost,” I say, fuming. “But not quite.”

  *****

  Jane and Penelope have been stars, helping me set out a handful of the baked goods I brought onto platters, and make a cozy corner to offer treats to anyone who might find Hudson. We set a table for eight, even though that might be overkill. Anything smaller just didn’t look festive, in Penelope’s opinion. Aunt Miranda asked the staff to lend a hand, and a few of them helped us pull out carrots, celery, and radishes to make a crudité plate. While they were doing that, I spotted some phyllo dough in the freezer, along with some frozen spinach. I rooted around in the giant fridges until I found some feta cheese and I whipped up a tray of spanakopita.

  “We need flowers,” Jane chimes in. Before I know it, Miranda has one of her assistants on the phone with the florist that had been engaged to do the wedding.

  “Wait till you see this,” one of the other assistants tells me. She rolls out a cart with some electrical equipment on it, flips a few switches and suddenly the entire restaurant is bathed in a soft, welcoming light. It’s a breathtaking contrast to the regular daytime store light. “How on earth did that happen?” I ask.

  “Your aunt knows what she’s doing. She called in lighting designers to make sure the bride would glow.”

  I have to admit, it’s perfection. Jane and Penelope look lovely bathed in the pinkish illumination. “Hey there, Miss Charlotte,” Craig says, strolling up with Officer Scrivello. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “Hi Leonard,” I say, and he tips his hat. “Give me the bad news first.”

  “The bad news is that we don’t have concrete proof of anything. Turns out, about ten people posted things on Twitter last night saying that they saw strange things in Macy’s yesterday. There were a couple of pictures, but they were too dark or blurry to tell anything for sure. One guy swears he saw a dog who looks like Benjy from those 70’s movies sitting on the train in Santa Land, and he thought it was a publicity push for a remake.”

  “What’s the good news?”

  “The good news is that there haven’t been any more threats or demands for cash. We were worried about copycat activity.”

  My heart falls a few notches. I was hoping for something better.

  “Thanks, Craig.” I say.

  “When we were looking for clues, we saw your announcements everywhere. Word is spreading. People are reposting the tweets and photos about how you’re waiting here at Macy’s. They put it up on their blog, along with that picture of you sitting on Santa’s lap.”

  “Speaking of that, Charlotte,” Penelope says, staring at her phone. “I just got a text. They want to know if you’ll come up to the main office to take a few shots. The management here really wants to see you get your dog back. They’re going to stop advertising on the big screens outside the store today, and just put up a picture of you and a plea to bring Hudson back.”

  I swallow. “The big screens on the sides of the store?”

  “Yes,” Penelope tells me, “and even better,” she says waving her phone in the air. “They’re also going to put it up on all the electronic billboards they’ve rented around the city, and believe it or not, on the Jumbotron space they’ve bought in Times Square.

  “That all sounds awesome,” Craig says. “But listen,” Scrivello and I have to go check in at the precinct uptown.

  “Oh,” I say. It sounds sadder than I meant it to.

  “But don’t worry, we’re still on top of it. We have our buddies on the trail, and as always, if we hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Thanks, guys.”

  “Charlotte, come with me. Let’s go get this picture taken. The faster we do, the faster your face will be all over New York City.”

  As I follow her up, I wonder if Henry will catch a glimpse of my face. I wonder if he’d even notice.

  *****

  The store is mobbed with holiday shoppers, and it takes forever to make it back to The Cellar from the administrative offices. The deed is done. The guy who handles publicity showed me how he edited my photo so there would be an image of Hudson in the corner, and added a slogan and contact info. He hit a button, and the poster hit the streets of New York almost immediately. While he was working on the computer, he hopped from platform to platform showing me how news of the “Bring Hudson Home” celebration was spreading like wildfire. Matt Lauer tweeted,

  Make a sweet girl happy this Christmas. Macy’s 2nite. B there or B square. #BringHudsonHome

  As the escalator conveys Penelope and me down to the pop-up, I see James’s curly brown hair. He’s in his chef’s whites, with his back to me. I turn and start walking up the down escalator, before Penelope grabs my wrist, asking “What are you doing?”

  Too late. James turns and sees me, a big smile spreading across his face. The little I can see of the restaurant looks lovely, and there is jazzy Christmas music playing. “Hey Charlotte. I caught wind of all the hubbub and thought I’d swing by to see if I could lend a hand. Your aunt told me you were cooking,” he smiles a television smile at me. “We always made a great team in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll give you that, James. That was the one room where we made a great team.”

  “Hey, hey, now Feisty,” he says, holding up his hands to defend himself. “I really am here to help. I saw the pictures. I feel bad about your little dog. I never knew you were a dog person.”

  There was so much about me you never knew, I think. “Where’s Mira?”

  “Out of the picture,” he says, shrugging. “From the looks of it, your guy is, too. No reason we can’t keep each other company, isn’t that right?”

  “Charlotte,” Jane says, poking me in the ribs. “It’s Christmas, for Pete’s sake. The guy is here to help you.” From between her teeth, she says, “Be nice.”

  “Yes,” I tell James. “Why not? Thanks for offering to help.”

  “Anytime. Hey, I made hummus and I’m thinking about making a salmon-cream cheese spread. I could make toast points. Stop back by the kitchen.” He smiles a genuine smile that actually makes me smile back. “What do you say?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  He flashes me one last smile before going back to his post in the kitchen.

  “I cannot believe James Keyes if flirting with you!” Jane squeals. “I love his stuff on the Food Channel. Can I offer to help in the kitchen? Maybe he’ll sign my spatula.”

  “Go for it,” I tell her. She runs off eagerly. Maybe he’s not that bad after all. Maybe he never was. Henry pops into my head and I sigh. Maybe I was born without the good judge of character gene.

  No wonder I prefer dogs to men.

  *****

  I’m nervously pacing the perimeter when I see the elevator doors open, and a family emerges, including a young man in a motorized wheelchair with a small pig seated in his lap. The family from the news story about Hudson in Serendipity light up when they see me. Penelope appears by my shoulder, smiling, and greets them.

  “I hope you don’t mind that we’re here, Charlotte. When Bobby saw the news story on the TV in our hotel room, saying that Hudson would be back tonight, he asked if we could come say hello. He fell in love with that little dog the day we met him. As disappointed as he is that we’ll never be taking him home with us, he was happy to see you on the Today Show. He just wanted to know the little fella wasn’t on his own.”

  “Oh! Well, I’m not sure that Hudson will be here tonight, Bobby. Of cour
se I hope someone brings my dog back to me, but there’s no way to predict what will happen.” I feel bad. I hope I haven’t led these people down the wrong path. I don’t want to see them disappointed.

  “He will be,” an atonal, electronic voice says.

  “That’s how Bobby communicates. Lots of people ask us if he’s related to Stephen Hawking because they sound so much alike,” the mother says, winking at her son. Bobby cracks up.

  “That joke never gets old,” says Bobby’s proxy voice. I laugh. His dad scans the room. “You’ve done the place up real nice. Why don’t we wait someplace else? Looks like we crashed your party.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I say. I’m happy to have them with me. It feels like good luck. “Please, join us.” Penelope, ever polite and proper, invites them to follow her with the promise of drinks and snacks.

  The elevator doors open again, and this time there are two men pushing carts with countless flower arrangements and loose, long stems. “Delivery for Nichols. Where do you want ‘em?”

  “Erm, I’m not sure.”

  Aunt Miranda comes sweeping up beside me. “Good. You’ve arrived. You were due an hour ago, but better late than never.”

  “What is all this, Aunt Miranda??

  “When we called the florist, we found out that they’d already started assembling the wedding flowers. The bill has already been paid by the mayor, so I told them to go ahead and bring what they had. Over here, men,” she says, leading them through the entrance to the pop-up.

  Looking at my watch, I realize it’s nearly the time we’d publicized that the party would begin. Nervously, I glance up the escalator. Who do I see but Landry, standing tall and proud on the descending conveyor, like the figurehead on the prow of a ship. Behind her is a man holding a large camera emblazoned with the New York One logo, and a reporter whom I recognize from the news channel. What I thought was going to be a little incentive party to entice a kind citizen to give back my extraordinary dog, rather than hold onto him, is beginning to take on a life of its own. Feeling overwhelmed, I walk back to the kitchen area to get a drink of water.

  “Charlotte, James here was just saying how wonderful you looked on The Today Show,” Miranda said. “Let me get out of your way,” she says, pushing me toward the stove where James is sautéing garlic in olive oil. “I’ll just let you experts work.” As she breezes by me, she whispers in my ear, “Together.”

  He tips a dozen or so long, green asparagus into the pan from a cutting board. “I’ve missed you, Charlotte.”

  “James, don’t.” I’m filled to my eyeballs with a wide variety of emotions, ranging from anticipation, to fear, to shyness. A confessional speech from James might just do me in.

  “I really think you should hear this. I’ve been with women since you. Lots of women,” he says. He adds finely chopped red pepper to the pan. “Look at that, Christmassy, right?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” I tell him. Maybe it’s a bit on the nose, but at Christmas time, I think that’s a good thing.”

  “Anyway, lots of women. Lots. In lots of different ways.”

  I roll my eyes. “Go on.”

  “You were the best of the bunch.” He pours the tasty morsels onto a while platter, and sprinkles dark green chopped parsley leaves on top.

  “That’s nice of you to say.”

  He hands me the platter. I take it, but he doesn’t let go. We’re standing eye-to-eye. “If I knew then what I know now, I would have cherished you more.”

  I’m dumbstruck. I don’t recall ever hearing James say much of anything that was self-aware or humble. “I, um, need to get out there. Just in case.”

  “Let’s have dinner.”

  I take the platter. “I’m kind of in the middle of something,” I say, deflecting.

  “Not now. You name the date.” He gives me a long, serious look. “Think about it.”

  I whisk the platter through the flap that cuts off the kitchen in the restaurant tent, and head for the food table. Someone has pushed in four more tables and there are people seated all around. In the middle of the table is a platter of gefilte fish I don’t recognize. Suddenly, I’m squeezed from behind.

  “Bubbeleh!” Mrs. Rabinowitz cries. “Any word about Hudson?”

  “Not yet,” I tell her, scanning the table. There’s an open bottle of Manishewitz wine, and several people are drinking it from small plastic glasses.

  “Sheldon, my delivery boy, such a tech genius he is. He read out to me all of the goings on about the welcome party for Hudson.”

  “It’s not really a welcome party,” I tell her. “I don’t know if anyone is going to bring him back tonight or not. I had just planned to offer dinner for one, maybe two people…”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she says. “What matters is I’m here. I couldn’t stand the thought of you waiting here, biting your nails, by yourself. My husband Abe came to keep us company. ‘You can’t show up without some schnapps, he says,’ and of course he’s right. We brought a little of this, a little of that. I didn’t know you’d have so many guests!”

  “Neither did I,” I say, as more people stream down the escalator and head for the restaurant. Penelope is functioning as hostess, welcoming people, and seating them. Uniformed waiters are starting to pass trays of hors d’oeuvres. I give her a quick hug. “Will you excuse me, Mrs. Rabinowitz?”

  I find Jane, and ask her what’s going on. “Who are all these people? Did the mayor not cancel the wedding party?”

  “Mayor?” she says. “These people didn’t come for the mayor, they’re here to see Hudson. “See that couple over there with the fanny packs talking to Bobby’s family?” I glance over at a middle-aged couple wearing matching shirts, fussing over Daisy the Service Pig. Seated regally next to them is a tall, chocolate brown Standard Poodle, wearing a bandana printed with snowflakes. “Last summer, they lost Cocoa when they were hiking in the Catskills, and a ranger returned him two weeks later. They saw your story on The Today Show and wanted to come show support. And that guy over there said he waited on you during the Michael Bublé concert.”

  I wave, and the waiter holds up his little Peek-a-Poo.

  “That’s Popcorn,” Jane continues. “Manuel, you know, from the Rainbow Room, just said he was on his way over to pick up his holiday bonus check, saw Macy’s and decided to drop in and meet Hudson.”

  “Where did all the waiters come from?”

  “From the agency we were going to use for the wedding, I guess. That aunt of yours is a force of nature. Between you and me, I just heard her tell the captain to tell James Keyes to unlock the wine fridge.” In a sing-songy voice, she trills, “There’s gonna be Champagne!”

  I look over the crowd, and see Craig and Leonard, still in full NYPD uniform, holding their mounted police helmets, and posing for photos with various smiling people who look like tourists.

  Five handsome men are standing in a small circle, harmonizing to find a pitch.

  “Um, Jane? Who are they?”

  “Some guys from the Gay Men’s chorus. Apparently, they saw you on The Today Show and planned to come over after their Carnegie Hall gig. They told me they were all not only singers, but the tall one runs one of those Adoption Day vans you always see down by Union Square. A bunch of random animal lovers, I suppose. They asked me if I minded if they did a few Christmas tunes as long as they were here. Is that OK with you?”

  “Why not?” I ask, my head spinning. “What’s next, trapeze artists?” I can’t believe the way this simple event was mushrooming. Aunt Miranda sweeps by, and leans over my shoulder, “This is getting big. Really big! Landry just told me that the local network news feeds are being picked up by nationals. The combination of the mayor’s daughter eloping, James Keyes doing a surprise eclectic pop-up, plus the Hudson story. We weren’t prepared. The pop-up launch wasn’t supposed to be for days, not until after we cleared out the wedding supplies and brought in the pop-up restaurant supplies. I haven’t had this much fun since Julia Roberts can
celled her wedding to Kiefer Sutherland! The creative juices are flowing, My Dear. Absolutely flowing. “Walk with me,” she says, “Keep up the pace, already in motion.”

  “Excuse me,” I say to Jane and the chorus singers, and follow Aunt Miranda to the kitchen. There are four sous chefs, all in chef’s whites with bandanas or toques, chopping, marinating, and filleting. “I called in the troops,” James tells me.

  To my surprise, Mrs. Rabinowitz is standing above a giant bowl of grated potatoes, cracking in eggs, while James listens to her instructions, flipping dozens of pancakes on the griddle. “Charlotte, you’ll have a latke, maybe two? Your James here let me into his kitchen. What’s a holiday party without latkes?”

  James turns and smiles. “Your James,” he mouths. I can’t deal. I walk out in search of Penelope. She has a level head. If there’s been any word about Hudson, surely she’d know it. Instead, I run into Jane. She’s twirling a long piece of her hair, leaning against a wall. A man leans in, whispering in her ear, and she giggles. He turns and says, “Oh, ‘ello! I was told to messenger the stray items you left in your suite, but I saw on ze news zat you were here, so I decided I’d deliver them in person.” He holds up a small carrier bag that says, The Waldorf-Astoria on it.

  “Oh, no. Come with me, young lady.” I grab Jane by the arm, and pull her along with me.

  “Hey! That guy was friendly.”

  “You have no idea how friendly. I’ll fill you in later. For now, help me find Penelope.”

  A swell of music fills the air, and I look up to see that someone has put together a small dais, and covered it with cloth. It must have been here for the Bride’s table. Standing on it are the tuxedoed chorus singers, doing a soulful a cappella rendition of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. More tables have been set up, and dozens and dozens of people, including several elves from Santa Land, are seated with flutes of Champagne, eating from china plates, drumming their fingers on tables along to the beat.