by Susan Conley
Annabelle looked genuinely puzzled. “What about it? That was weeks ago.”
“So? So you haven’t been calling me or Maria Grazia, Maria Grazia has been so worried that you’re mad at us — ”
“I’m not mad, I’ve been busy,” Annabelle interjected. “I’ve been working, like, every day — ”
Lorna barreled on. “And I — well, I simply don’t have the patience for one of your snits.”
The waiter dropped down the beverages, and fled. Annabelle stirred her tea, and as she gazed into her cup, she imagined that the slowly swirling tea was picking up speed, spinning about faster and faster, taking on the force and power of a whirlwind gone out of control, and Annabelle realized that she was getting seriously pissed off.
“I am not in a snit.” Annabelle calmly sipped her tea, but felt a flow of anger slide down her throat into her belly. “Far from it, in fact. I am, in fact, in the best mood I’ve been in since Wilson dumped me. Remember? I got rather viciously dumped a bunch of weeks ago.”
“Six and a half. Six and a half weeks ago.” Maria Grazia mumbled into the dregs of her cappuccino, and grabbed a piece of Lorna’s toast.
“Almost two months? Really?” Annabelle shook her head. “I can’t decide whether it feels more like two days or two years.” She sat back, forgetting that she’d just been in the middle of a burgeoning tirade. Two months. That didn’t seem like a huge amount of time to get over something that had been a big part of her life for all those years, but time was relative, maybe the relationship actually didn’t merit much more grieving, but it did seem like she might like some closure —
“Anna!” Lorna waited impatiently as their server doled out their orders, including Maria Grazia’s three scrambled eggs with sausage and bacon, rye toast, and a side order of hash browns, which she reached for like a lifeline.
“Calm down, missus, and leave MG alone, you know she hates this kind of thing.” Annabelle serenely spread cream cheese on the lightly toasted sesame bagel. Arranging red onion and capers on the soft surface, she then layered the almost transparent strips of salmon over the top of the whole thing. So much neater this way, she thought as she admired her handiwork. No capers slipping and sliding all over the top of the lox, and the onion helped anchor them down —
Lorna’s fist slammed down on the tabletop. Annabelle took an enormous bite of her bagel, and suppressed the desire to grin at her agitated friend.
“Go on,” Annabelle urged, after a thorough chewing-and-swallowing. “Something seems to be on your mind.”
Lorna shoved away her portion of unbuttered toast, and signaled for more coffee. She composed herself by flattening her already orderly and shining mane, smoothing her hands over her cheeks, and rearranging her pashmina. “I’ll get to the point. We admit, we were in collusion with Kelli, attempting to orchestrate a successful meeting between you and Michaelangelo.”
Annabelle choked on her brunch. “Together? You got together? You met with Kelli, to push me at Jamie? Holy shite!” She leaned forward.
“Do you mind?” Lorna interrupted and Annabelle shook her head in disbelief. I, she thought, am really, really seriously getting steamed. “This was an unpleasant but necessary meeting that we entered into, despite our feelings about the other party involved, because we care about you, Anna, and we felt that no sacrifice was too great if meant that you were happy.”
“Lorna. Maria Grazia.” Deciding to keep her cool, Annabelle reached across the table and put one hand on Lorna’s rigid fists, and brought under control one of Maria Grazia’s madly forking-and-knifing hands. She looked at them both, warmly, and with a little regret. “Thanks. Really. I was a bit ticked off about the Jamie thing, but it really is up to me, isn’t it? Whether or not I hook up with this guy?” She let go, and sat back in her seat. “It sounds to me, Lorna, that you’re pissed off that it didn’t work out the way that you wanted it to.”
Shocked into silence, Lorna stared at Annabelle. Annabelle, in turn, stared back out at the crowd. A mighty stream of pedestrians were holding up the flow of traffic, and a bad-tempered bout of honking from a taxi caught in a crosswalk seemed to sound directly into Annabelle’s right ear drum. She turned to glare pointlessly in its direction, and noticed that the cab was level with their table. Atop its bright yellow roof was an ad for World Trax magazine, displaying the Dan Minnehan cover … featuring her name in the cover line!
“Look! Guys!” She pointed at the taxi. “My name! On the taxi!”
She stared after the cab until it was out of sight, and turned back to the table. Maria Grazia was grinning, full throttle, and several patrons of the terrace (and a few who had a view through the restaurant’s window) happily lost their trains of thought at the sight of The Smile. “Hey, honey,” she said affectionately, “I’m so proud of you. Really. What was he like?”
“His bark was worse than his bite.” Annabelle poured the last cup of tea out of the little pot. “We ran away from his handlers and we had tea in the meatpacking district. He was very helpful, actually, I told him about my Pooka, and he had some information that I needed to make a better connection with it. I’m trying to avoid having to bring it all the back to Ireland, but I’m worried, it’s ailing the same way it was when it was a hazelnut plant, and — ”
Lorna’s voice cut in like an ice pick. “What. Are. You. Talking about!” That she didn’t quite roar was a miracle.
Annabelle raked her fingers through her hair. “I know you guys are having a hard time with this, so I didn’t bother telling you that the plant turned into this thing called a Pooka, it’s kind of a supernatural creature that follows me around and creates havoc … um, never mind. It’s not fair to you,” she said reasonably, “And it irritates me that you don’t believe me, but, no, okay, I can understand it. It’s out of the ordinary, it’s a bit new-agey freaky-deaky, it’s not for everybody.” She shrugged, and grinned weakly. “It’s okay. Maybe I don’t need you to believe in this stuff anymore.”
Maria Grazia cleared her throat. “My nonna always said — ”
“I — I don’t want to know what your grandmother would say, Maria Grazia. I’m sorry.” Oh, boy, thought Annabelle, this is getting heavy.
“Anyway,” Annabelle chirped on. “Let’s change the subject. I ran into Jamie the other day, and he asked for my number because one of his aunts is a — “ Bad choice. “Well, he asked for my number, so there you go. Mission accomplished, no hard feelings, we’re all okay, okay?” Annabelle ended on a slightly anxious note, and thought that maybe a trip out of the country might not be such a bad idea after all.
“Show me.” Lorna sat forward now, avid.
“Show you … ?” Annabelle sat back, worried by the look in Lorna’s eye.
“This thing — what did you call it?”
“A Pooka.” Annabelle was feeling intimidated and she didn’t like it. Maria Grazia waved desperately for the waiter.
“Right. Fine. A Pooka. Show me.”
Maria Grazia reached for a non sequitur. “The pre-show cast bonding party for Kelli’s show is on Saturday night.”
“This thing is taking on epic proportions.” Annabelle laughed, trying to avoid Lorna’s basilisk stare.
“It’s in Greenpoint,” Maria Grazia continued, sounding a little breathless.
“How surprising.” Annabelle grumbled, forgetting her vow to keep her Pooka trouble to her herself. “This is all getting a bit too neat.”
“What is?” Lorna asked, conversationally. “Truly. Do tell.”
Fine, thought Annabelle. The gloves are off. “You really want to know? Let’s see. I become the unwilling but proud owner of a nut that turns into a plant that turns into a supernatural, celtic mythological being that can shapeshift — hence the hazelnut plant, you see. Now it’s left the world of flora and is strictly fauna — like birds, and bees, and such. Animals, m
ostly. Although it can ‘be’ human, too. Anyway, through its interference, I find myself on a path to gainful, steady employment, the premiere gig having been, as you know, the website for Kelli’s show … during which time I met The Irish Guy.”
Taking a sip of stone-cold tea for effect, Annabelle continued. “Suddenly, you and Maria Grazia join forces with a person with whom you, Lorna Bates, wouldn’t share the last lifeboat off the Titanic, in order to thrust me into the path of said Irishman. Now, handily enough, the pre-show cast bonding party from this inexplicably influential off-off-off-off Broadway show is in the very neighborhood in which the very Irishman lives.” Annabelle waited, and was greeted with a blank stare. “Hello! You think this is all a coincidence?!”
“Show me.” Lorna’s insistent voice was barely a whisper.
“It doesn’t work like that.” Annabelle scowled. “She’ll come if I light some sage. Got any on you? No? How surprising.” Annabelle looked around, feeling pressured and embarrassed and annoyed at being put on the spot. Lorna didn’t take her eyes off her. “She’s not a trained seal. I had all these ideas about things she could do to make my life easier and she won’t do anything she doesn’t want to do. I’m the one that has to do everything, including taking her back to Ireland, which, I mean, how am I supposed to afford that? It’s utterly pointless, by the way, to have a magical companion who expects something from you!” Annabelle had a little laugh, all by herself.
“Until you can show me, I will think you are crazy.” Lorna’s enunciation was sharp as a razor, and she lit up another cigarette.
“Why, in the world, do you think that I care about what you think about me!” Annabelle shot back, incoherently.
“Girls!” Maria Grazia begged. “This is getting out of control! I am afraid that all our years of friendship are about to go right down the frickin’ toilet! Annabelle, please!”
“This is not my fault!” Annabelle shot back. “I was minding my own business, picking myself up off the floor after my heart got shattered to pieces, and all of a sudden I’ve got Pooka trouble and my friends are turning on me!”
“Maybe this, um, creature, really does need your help, Belle. It certainly did its bit to help you out, maybe it couldn’t hurt, take a little trip — ”
Lorna cut in. “If this thing is for real, then I can’t imagine the consequences if you don’t give it a hand.” She took a deep drag. “And if she is throwing Matisse at you as well, hey, sounds like it’s got a lot in common with the humans who care about you — ”
Annabelle exploded. “This is not ‘care’! It’s complete and utter manipulation, on all your parts! Not one thing that any of you did was actually in my best interests! You were all serving some kind of agenda of your own!”
“Oh, please explain,” drawled Lorna, and Annabelle pinned her with a fierce look.
“I am sick and tired of you, both of you, living your romantic lives vicariously through me. Every single time I’ve had a crush, a flirt, a boyfriend, a one-nighter, a relationship, you name it, it’s like it was your business, like it was your crush, or flirt, or whatever! And on top of it all, nobody was ever good enough, or cute enough, or if you thought they were, then you shoved me at them like I was some freak who couldn’t handle her own affairs. Now, you’re trying to tell what to do about a magical creature that you didn’t even believe in five minutes ago!” Annabelle threw some money on the table, grabbed up her purse and flowers and rose to her feet.
Speechless, Lorna and Maria Grazia tilted their heads back to look up at her.
“I,” said Annabelle, pausing dramatically, “Have had it. Get lives!”
Lorna dropped the cigarette that had burned down to the filter and then burned her finger, and Maria Grazia ripped the heavy cloth napkin, that she had been twisting, in half.
The waiter dropped down Maria Grazia’s Belgian waffle and fled, recognizing the remains of a bad scene when he saw it, and went back to flirt with the sous chef.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Pick on her human, would they! She would have given that long-haired, frosty wagon a show that would have set her teeth on edge … if it had been allowed. The Pooka had reached, it seemed, the stage in which her contact with Annabelle was about to be severely curtailed.
Time was running out, and Callie wasn’t exactly positive that this was the way things were supposed to be going, and she had no way of communicating with the others who had gone before, and succeeded in their mission. She only knew that she was the last one, the very last, and that the simplest change of form in Annabelle’s presence was taking it out of her.
Stubborn bit of baggage, that Annabelle Walsh, Callie thought, not without a touch of pride. Wouldn’t push that one around any day of the week now, even with her soft wee heart. Past time that she gave those friends of hers what for, and got them on track to finding the loves of their lives …
As to that, she knew that something had to break, as regarded Annabelle, sooner or later. It was fate, after all, wasn’t it? There was, Goddess knew, a kiss in the shared future of Annabelle and Jamie, much less a bit of spooning and what have you. Did it have to take so bloody long? Were all humans this fussy and unwilling to receive celestial guidance?
If Annabelle only knew that all-powerful, all-knowing mysterious creatures were as powerless as any other soul when it came to themselves, she might have a bit of sympathy … Ah. The Pooka felt a surge of hope. Time to go straight for that sympathetic, soft heart. Annabelle had learned a harsh lesson about the nature of powerlessness — it was time to up the ante and get this business sorted once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Annabelle sat cross-legged on the floor of her front room. Spread out before her were piles of photocopies of her latest clippings, each with a personal letter of greeting, to a plethora of agents, editors, deputy editors, of every agency, newspaper, or magazine that she thought ought to be representing her or giving her work. She had sat down with her latest manuscript last night, and into the morning, and realized that it was absolutely not her thing.
But her voice was there. She started putting sheaves of paper into envelopes. My voice was there, Annabelle thought. Only it was saying the wrong things. Not that the work was completely useless: it showed her that she could take an idea forward, see it through, that her researching skills were nonpareil, and that she was, incontrovertibly, a writer. She’d also found the beginnings of what could turn into a short book, to do with an unknown Sixties Warhol hanger-on. Upon digging, Annabelle had found said hanger-on should most definitely be known. Maybe she’d pick that one up again, send out chapters to relevant glossies, maybe get her book deal that way.
Just because she didn’t have a gig that day didn’t mean she didn’t have work to do.
And keeping busy helped keep her mind off the fact that she’d had an enormous fight with her two best friends, and that her Pooka had gone missing.
Pushing an errant lock out of her eyes, Annabelle kept enveloping away, afraid that if she stopped, she’d grab the phone and start apologizing profusely, more out of fear than contrition. She wasn’t sorry — well, maybe she was sorry for yelling and being snotty, but she wasn’t sorry for expressing herself. It had been as much a surprise to her as to them, she realized. She hadn’t known that she thought that Lorna and Maria Grazia had been living through her relationships; now that she thought about it, the idea had a lot to support it.
Something weird had happened after graduation: neither Lorna nor Maria Grazia had ever been short of admirers, and both had taken full advantage of being away from home and being in their new lives. But even still … Annabelle shook her head. Even still, they had always had this weird fixation with her romantic business, maybe because she was less sure of herself than they were of themselves? Or because she went for ‘normal’ guys? It only got worse: once they got out into the real world, Lorna and Maria
Grazia had just put their heads down and had gone about the business of making their marks on the world.
I, thought Annabelle, became their only source of relationship drama. Couldn’t they have gotten addicted to soap operas instead?
Gathering up her pile of mailers, she dumped them onto her desk, and dragged her little couch and coffee table back into place. Was there time to go to the post office? The longer those cards sat on her desk, the longer it would take for the phone to ring —
The phone rang.
Annabelle checked the caller ID. Number Unavailable. Oh, well. “Hello?”
“Annabelle. Howaya. It’s Jamie calling.”
Which reminded her that the third thing she was trying to forget about was the fact that he hadn’t called. Until now.
“Howaya, yourself.”
“Busy?”
“Nope, just finished packing up my latest cuttings. I’m counting on Dan Minnehan to get me a lot of work.”
“Jesus, I’d love to read that article.”
Annabelle laughed. “I understand that the issue will be out on the stands in two weeks.”
“Maybe we could work out some sort of arrangement, like a barter, maybe.” There was a provocative edge to his voice that Annabelle hoped had nothing to do with offering to put up some shelves.
“We might be able to arrange an arrangement.”
“I could see about getting rid of that Pooka for ya.”
Annabelle lay down on the couch, her head propped on one arm of the two-seater, her legs hanging over the opposite side, her bare toes in reach of the refrigerator, idly shifting magnets around. “Thanks, but I think she — it — may have gone off already.” She looked around, a bit sadly. “Nothing’s happened for days.”
“Maybe it got itself a one-way ticket back home.”
If he only knew. “I would have liked some warning, in any case. And it may … come back, or something.”