When Good Wishes Go Bad

by Mindy Klasky

  “Excuse me?” The voice came from behind us, from the back of the theater. A woman was speaking loudly, clearly, with just a hint of apology underneath her words. Hal was already facing the back doors, but Ryan and I turned at the same time to see the newcomer.

  Kira spoke from the stage, keeping her voice polite as she shaded her eyes for a better view. “May I help you?”

  The woman stepped into the theater, letting the lobby door close behind her. She blinked in the relatively dim light as she pulled herself to her full height—which wasn’t much. I figured she was about a foot shorter than I was.

  But she had me outpaced by a mile when it came to dignity.

  As the newcomer approached us, she carried herself with a regal solemnity. Her spine was straight, rigid with a precision that spoke of a lifetime of pride. I could picture her raising her arm, waving to a crowd of onlookers, the Queen of England at a parade.

  If the Queen of England just happened to be an elderly black woman.

  She stopped halfway down the aisle, pausing to eye us with the patience and grace of an ancient lioness. “I apologize,” she said, and the words flowed toward us like a stream of melted caramel. “I intended to be here at the start of auditions, but I was unavoidably detained.” The woman offered up some papers—a resume and a headshot. “I beg your pardon. Is it possible for me to read for the part of Anana?”

  Hal’s excitement shimmered like a coil of heated wire. I followed his blue topaz gaze as he took in the new arrival’s serious expression, as he measured the corona of tight gray curls that framed her earnest face. Ryan was staring at the woman, as well, his expression so rapt that I wondered if he’d even heard a single word she’d said. The pencil that he’d clutched as a defense against awkwardness, against me, clattered onto the table like a tree trunk toppling in a forest.

  The woman spoke again. “I can assure you that my delay this afternoon is a complete anomaly. I’ll not be late again. I know how important your time is, and I understand the demands of a theatrical production in a house as professional as the Mercer. May I read?”

  Hal gestured toward the stage, his arm trembling as if he were King Lear. “Please,” he said, and I think he just stopped himself from bowing. He and Ryan sank into their seats at the same time, excitement driving them to lean forward, as if they could pull perfect words out of the woman by force of will alone. I only barely kept myself from moving in the same inexorable pattern.

  Kira jumped down to join us as the woman proclaimed, “I’m Felicia Halliday. My monologue is from Richard III.”

  She paused for a moment, her head bowed as if she were in some secret church. Her fingers curled into loose fists, and I could feel the energy that radiated out from her, pulsing across the theater.

  “If ancient sorrow be most reverent, give mine the benefit of seniory and let my griefs frown on the upper hand.”

  The familiar lines of mournful Queen Margaret rolled over the seats. Felicia kept her voice low, but she spoke from her diaphragm, pulling every one of us to the literal edge of our seats. We could hear every single syllable that she pronounced, almost as if a cone of power magnified the force of her speech.

  She set each word into the charged air of the theater, nestling her terrible images of death and loss into the air around us, as if every phrase were a delicate glass ornament. Every sentence settled into place with perfection, with the gravitas of a matriarch, with a terrifying hint of frailty, of vulnerability, of age. Felicia found Hal’s eyes as she spoke, pinning him with her speech, pouring her emotion into his ears.

  Despite my determination to avoid Ryan, to set myself apart from him, I heard him catch his breath. I saw him clutch his pencil. I watched him lean forward, drawn to Felicia like a thirsty man desperate for a fountain.

  I felt the pull myself, a tug as urgent as undertow at the beach. I wanted to go with the actress. I wanted to travel wherever she would take me. I wanted to see her, to be with her, to stay forever in her presence.

  She recited the last line of her speech, settled the last word into the theater’s perfect silence. Her right hand relaxed by her side, loosening from the tight fist that had fueled her theatrical storm.

  And that’s when I saw it—the tiny hint of flame.

  The tattoo was etched into her obsidian skin, woven into her midnight flesh so expertly that I nearly missed it entirely. But my fingers were attuned to that mark. My thumb and forefinger greeted “Felicia” with the slightest tingle, with the barest apprehension of power.

  Teel, I wanted to shout.

  Before I could say anything, though, Hal collapsed back in his chair, clearly overcome by the mastery we all had witnessed. He turned to Ryan, leaning close, but I heard his gleeful whisper clearly. “She’s our Anana. She’s perfect.”

  Before Ryan could agree, I sprang to my feet, brandishing my bottle of water like a woman bearing the Olympic torch through a crowd. “Thank you, Ms. Halliday,” I said, and my voice sounded as false and hearty as a pitchman in a late-night infomercial. “Thank you very much for that reading!”

  I leaped onto the stage, shoving my water into Teel’s hand, as if the old woman had been threatening to collapse. I stepped in front of her to shield our conversation from everyone else, and then I muttured, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Teel looked up at me with ancient eyes, with eyes that knew a thousand ways to lie. “What do you mean?”

  I glanced at her wrist, at the cuff that obscured all but a tiny flash of golden ink. “You can’t do this! You can’t be in our play!”

  She turned her head to one side, a wise and curious raven. “Why not? I’ll be available to you, whenever you’re ready to make your last wishes. You won’t forget about me, this way. You won’t delay in making your wishes.”

  I wasn’t about to apologize. I had every right to hold my two wishes in abeyance.

  Teel grinned wickedly and twisted her rhetorical knife. “And this way, I’ll stay out of trouble.”

  I bit my lip, struggling to superimpose the image of bubble-headed Marilyn Monroe over the diminutive but majestic creature who stood before me. I was only too certain that Teel could invent all new meanings for the word trouble—every day and in a million different ways. I seized her arm, hoping that no one else could see how tightly I was clutching her flesh. “You cannot ruin this show, Teel. It’s too important. It means too much to Ryan. And to the Mercer. And—and to me.”

  She nodded toward the men and Kira, who were gathered into a tight knot. “They seem to think that I’d be perfect.”

  Of course, a little Marilyn Monroe flirtation wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to Ryan’s play. Losing its key actor in the middle of the run would be the greatest disaster. Realizing that I had one last big gun for the battle at hand, I hissed, “So help me, Teel, if you insist on being part of this cast, I won’t make my final wish until the show is over.”

  “So you say,” she said, apparently the voice of reason. “But if you found something worth wishing for, I’m sure you’d come around…”

  “I wouldn’t,” I said, making my voice as firm as I could.

  Before Teel could reply, Hal said, “Felicia?”

  Teel stepped to one side, so that she could look at my boss directly. Her imperious shrug reminded me to release her arm. “Yes, Mr. Bernson?”

  “I notice that you don’t have an address on your papers. Are you living here in New York?”

  “Oh, yes,” Teel said. Standing this close to her, I could feel the spell that she cast through her tattoo, the ensnaring magic that she wafted toward the trio in the center of the theater. Kira frowned slightly; she must have sensed the genie magic, having been the beneficiary of Teel’s spells in the past. Ryan looked disoriented, as well, uncertain. Or maybe I was just displacing some of my own feelings onto him.

  Hal, though, was immediately ensnared by Teel’s magic. He…settled into his place. I couldn’t think of another word for it. He didn’t mo
ve, not precisely. He didn’t step out of the row of theater seats; his feet didn’t shift at all. Rather, the set of his shoulders eased. Subtle lines on his face relaxed. He was comfortable. He was content. He was home.

  Teel continued, as if there hadn’t been a pause in her reply. “I was in transition, but I’m settled in the city now. I can give my address to your fine dramaturg here. Or to your stage manager, if you’d prefer.”

  I saw Kira wake up, shudder to attention as she realized exactly what was going on. I recognized the instant that she shook free from Teel’s spell, the second that she pulled loose from our genie’s hypnotic suggestion. She stared at the two of us in shock. I couldn’t say if her expression was meant more for my benefit, or for the benefit of the creature at my side.

  “Hal,” she said, never taking her eyes from Teel. I watched her chase a half-dozen arguments to ground, fruitlessly. Neither one of us would be able to explain the full truth. Neither one of us could say the word genie.

  As if to prove that Kira was no match for her, Teel boosted her magic, the wave of her hypnotic control sparkling even higher. I found myself wondering why I was worried about having her join However Long. Why did I have any fear at all? Teel was a genie, after all. Teel was my genie. What could possibly go wrong, if she were cast as Anana? Who could ever make a better Anana than Teel?

  I dug my fingers into the palms of my hands, forcing myself to toss off Teel’s spell, just as Hal said, “We’d be pleased to have you join our production, Felicia.”

  Ryan spoke, as if someone had elbowed him in the ribs. “Yes,” he said. “Pleased.”

  “Hal—” Kira started to say again, and I could read the struggle on her face, the pitched battle to remember why it was so important to warn him.

  I shook my head in annoyance, fighting to clear my own thoughts so that I could bolster Kira’s argument. Before I could speak, though, Teel coughed. The motion was enough to make me turn to face her. She reached out her knotted old-lady hands, folded them around my own fingers, clasping my water bottle between us. “Thank you, dear,” she said, pitching her words just loud enough that the others could hear. As I let her take the bottle, she added something meant only for me. “Five out of ten public appearances by genies go exactly as expected. But you don’t have to play the odds. You can just make your last two wishes. Now. Then, we’d all be happy.”

  Five out of ten. Fifty-fifty—if I believed a single statistic my genie had flung my way. I bit my lip and reached a decision. “Not now. I’m not ready to wish now.”

  “Then relax.” Teel smiled serenely. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  Even as she asked the question, I realized that Hal and Ryan had come onstage. Both men were eager to greet our newest actress, to welcome her into the production. As Ryan shuffled in front of Teel, I turned and gazed out at the audience seats. Kira had collapsed beside the worktable, sinking into a chair and stretching out her legs, as if she were trying to melt into the floor. She stared at me, shaking her head slowly. I shrugged and mouthed, “What could I do?”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. I only hoped that we could work together to control our headstrong genie.

  CHAPTER 11

  ALL TOLD, THE AUDITIONS HAD GONE BETTER THAN I ever would have predicted.

  Sure, I was worried about Teel being in the cast. I knew, firsthand, how destructive she could be. Moreover, I was concerned about what would happen to the show if I did make my last wish before the end of the play’s run. Teel would go off to wherever genies go, and the Mercer would be left high and dry.

  But I had seen the sheer emotional strength behind her audition monologue. I understood the acting ability that she broadcast every day, every second that she skated through the ordinary human world. I had no doubt that Teel was our Anana.

  The rest of the cast had fallen into place, as well. The talent we’d accrued that Saturday morning had been stunning. However Long would be everything Hal and I had dreamed of; it would make the Mercer’s reputation as a company that asked serious questions, posited real debates. We’d accomplish more with Ryan’s work than we ever could have done with Crystal Dreams.

  Ryan. It had been so awkward seeing him inside the theater first thing that Saturday morning. At least no one else had figured out what was going on between us. No one could have suspected that he’d almost ended up in my bed the night before. To any casual observer, we were the mature professionals we pretended to be. We were coworkers, diligently intent on creating a small theatrical miracle. We were colleagues, and I was determined to keep my distance, absolutely, completely, religiously. I vowed that I wouldn’t talk to him unless we had someone else with us, a chaperone of sorts.

  After nine straight days of work, I’d almost convinced myself that rule was working. (I know. A week should only have five workdays. Normal people rest for two days, recuperate over their weekends. But there was no rest for the weary—not with a production as far behind schedule as However Long. Through no fault of my own, of course. Through no fault of anyone—except, perhaps, an overzealous copyright lawyer named Elaine Harcourt.)

  I’d kept myself busy for long hours, researching the political history of Burkina Faso, where Ryan had completed his Peace Corps service and where he’d set However Long. I’d prepared briefing books for Hal, for Kira, for the actors who would take on the play’s lead roles. I’d read through reams of articles, peering at my computer screen until my eyes teared up with the strain.

  Yeah. The strain of looking at endless electronic pixels. That’s why my eyes were tearing. Really. It couldn’t have anything to do with the mess I’d made of my personal life. Nothing to do with Dean or Ryan or anything else. Nothing at all.

  Each night, I stumbled home to my apartment, feeling like a Marine conducting door-to-door fighting. My muscles were pulled tight, ready at any moment to jump back inside the elevator, to lunge for the emergency stairs. Anything to keep from running into Ryan by accident. Anything to keep from thinking about the heat that had soared between us. About the embarrassment that had crushed whatever fledgling emotions had tried to bloom that night in my apartment.

  For good measure, I avoided Dani, too. I’d already seen the way that she could worm her way into my life. She’d enchanted me with her guerilla gardening, but I wasn’t going to succumb to an attack of guerilla mothering. No matter how well she had seemed to understand me the night we planted the cabbage seeds. I wasn’t going to let Dani drag me into a conversation about her son, about the man I’d almost…

  That thought made another frustrated tear sketch its way down my cheek.

  No. It was better to avoid Dani altogether. Twice, I’d started to open my apartment door, only to find that she was standing across the hall, juggling keys and potting soil, or gardening shears and a giant roll of heavy black plastic. The normal, sane woman who lived inside my body urged me to step out, to offer her a hand, to help like any ordinary neighbor would.

  But the coward inside me whispered my door closed and counted to a hundred—twice—before venturing out.

  I wasn’t completely insane, though. I didn’t kill the seedlings she’d entrusted to me. I kept them watered, turning the rolling rack every couple of days to maximize the delicate plants’ exposure to sunlight. The green leaves continued to unfold, fragile as lace.

  I managed to maintain my anti-Ryan vigilance for an entire week, until the Monday night of our second week of rehearsals. I’d spent most of the day in my office, researching the grim effects of starvation on mental processes. I was trying to create a window for Fanta, a way to help the actress see into her character’s somber life.

  I only felt a little guilty as I powered off my computer, as I collected the oversize purse that contained half my life. My life was so easy compared to Fanta’s. Now that I’d received my first post-Dean paycheck, now that I’d broken my lease at the apartment we’d shared, left that part of my life behind forever, I was able to relax, just a little. In fact, I couldn’t wait t
o get back to the Bentley. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to shed my Teel wardrobe for my one pair of sweatpants, to pull my hair back into a loose ponytail, to watch the trashiest TV I could find while I used chopsticks to pick out the best tidbits of ordered-in Chinese food.

  I was so intent on deciding between mu shu pork and Szechuan chicken that I forgot to keep an eye out for Ryan.

  He was waiting right outside the theater’s door, stepping out of the shadows just as I moved onto the sidewalk. He glided up beside me like some benevolent stalker. The collar of his coat was turned up, and he’d shoved his hands deep inside his pockets. “Ryan!” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  I should have expected the goofy grin. “I work here. Remember?” He fell into step beside me, matching my stride step for step. “I wanted to wait for you,” he said, then added deferentially, “As long as we’re walking back to the same building.”

  I told myself that my breath caught in my throat because of our efficient, block-devouring Manhattan pace. At the same time, I racked my brain for something to say, for something meaningful to share with him. Okay, meaningful wasn’t mandatory. I’d settle for something entertaining. All right, entertaining was a pretty high order for the day. I’d go with just about anything in English.

  “Ryan—” I finally began, just as he said my name at the same time. “You go first,” I said, grateful that I didn’t have to improvise further.

  He became unnaturally fascinated by the cornice on a building across the street. Directing his words to that marble molding instead of to me, he said, “Becca, I owe you an apology.”

  “You—” I started, but he cut me off.

  “This is hard enough. Let me finish. I’ve been trying to figure out what to say all day.” He stopped speed walking, pulling me to a halt with a gentle hand on my sleeve. “I’m sorry that I left that night.”