If Wishing Made It So

by Lucy Finn

  ‘‘Look, Kiki,’’ he said at last. ‘‘Don’t get yourself all upset. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Why don’t you go on to bed. I’m going to sit up and watch TV for a while.’’

  Kiki lifted her head, her long dark hair spilling like silk rain down her back. Tears like diamonds glittered on her eyelashes. She wiped them away with her fingers, no longer whimpering or even seemingly very upset. She kissed him on the nose, gripped his shoulders, her red nail polish very bright against his T-shirt.

  She spoke to him as if he were a schoolboy. ‘‘Oh, Michael, you were very naughty, weren’t you? I guess a man has to have a fling every now and then. It’s how men are, no? I forgive you. There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just going to forget this night ever happened, and you need to too. After all, my wedding dress will be in the paper tomorrow.

  ‘‘And you know what else, Michael? I also told Liz Smith we set a date. I was so excited about the dress, and a September wedding sounded so lovely. I just couldn’t resist telling her that she could announce the news in her column. September seventh is our day. Donald, that dear dear man, said he’d cater it all for us here in the Plaza.’’

  Mike felt as if he had just been given a sentence by a hanging judge.

  Kiki stood up and walked to the bedroom, turning as she got to the door. ‘‘But yes, you should sleep on the sofa tonight. Naughty boys do need to be punished, at least a little.’’

  Michael thought his head was going to explode. He couldn’t think straight. He settled himself in an easy chair and turned on HBO. A Sopranos rerun was playing. Mike didn’t really notice. He was thinking that he couldn’t deal with Kiki and the wedding. It was easier to push it out of his mind and focus on getting his new business going. He needed to talk to Jake Truesdale as soon as possible.

  Then he thought about Hildy; he never meant to hurt her and now he was afraid he was going to break her heart.

  Chapter 13

  ‘‘It’s another great morning on Long Beach Island!’’ The hearty, upbeat voice of Sonny Somers, the weather guy, issued from the radio next to Hildy’s bed. The alarm had gone off at exactly seven a.m. Hildy stirred from sleep and put her pillow over her head.

  Sonny’s weather report penetrated through the goose down. ‘‘We’ve got the three Hs—hazy, hot, and humid. The Bermuda High I was telling you about—the one that had been sitting around eight hundred miles due east of Charleston, South Carolina—has moved in and intends to stick around for the rest of the week.

  ‘‘Enjoy the sunshine. Expect temperatures of eighty-five to ninety by this afternoon with near one hundred percent humidity. A perfect day to get out your swimsuits and spend time at the beach.

  ‘‘But bad news for you nine-to-fivers. Watch for rain this weekend. We have a tropical depression out in the Atlantic heading west. It could turn into Angie, the first hurricane of the season.’’

  Linda Sue, the drive-time host, broke in, her chirpy voice darkened by alarm. ‘‘A hurricane! Sonny, is that something we need to worry about?’’

  Sonny Somers laughed. ‘‘No worry at all. The last major hurricane to hit New Jersey was the legendaryLong Island Express of 1938, a borderline category four storm, hundred-mile-an-hour winds, and the fastest-moving hurricane on record. That’s when the bridge to Brigantine collapsed. But even the worst hurricanes after that have only brought some heavy rain and beach erosion.’’

  ‘‘Okay, Sonny, that’s a big relief. So we’re not in the line of fire, then?’’

  ‘‘This potential hurricane is sitting east of the Dominican Republic, a thousand miles away. It’s those Floridians who need to keep on their toes. I’ll keep you all posted.’’

  ‘‘And that’s it from Sonny Somers,’’ Linda warbled. ‘‘Now let’s go to Rusty Fender with today’s traffic—’’

  Hildy managed to slap the OFF button on the clock radio, groaned, and sat up in the bed that was tucked under the eaves in the cozy sleeping loft of the cottage. Cozy? Hildy kicked off the covers. It was stifling up here. Even the cats, who had snuggled up next to her when she fell asleep, had sought a cooler location.

  Two thoughts burned through Hildy’s brain at lightning speed. She needed her coffee—and she needed it now.

  Barefooted, her hair matted, her body covered by another of her well-worn Penn State T-shirts, Hildy descended the pull-down ladder into the living room. With her eyes barely open enough to see, she headed toward the smell of fresh brewed coffee which beckoned her thither.

  She entered the kitchen. A masculine hand extended toward her with a steaming coffee mug.

  ‘‘Ovid once wrote, ‘A morning without coffee is like sleep,’ ’’ a man’s voice said.

  Hildy looked up in surprise and took the cup. ‘‘Ovid said no such thing.’’ She shielded her eyes from the brightness of the blue-sky morning that streamed through the windows. She beheld the six foot four inch genie who had evidently come to stay.

  Hildy had no desire for company of any kind. She managed to turn a sour look in the genie’s direction. ‘‘I’m not used to having a roommate, especially one of the male gender. Why are you roaming around? Aren’t you supposed to be in your bottle or something?’’

  ‘‘You didn’t order me to return, nor did you replace the stopper. I was on sentry duty all night. I didn’t think Jimmy the Bug’s men would return, but I kept watch.’’ He turned sad blue eyes in her direction. ‘‘I thought you’d be pleased, Ms. Caldwell. I fixed the coffee ‘light and sweet,’ just as you prefer.’’

  ‘‘Great, thanks. Look, Tony, I like some time to myself in the mornings. I’m not sociable first thing. I don’t converse with anybody before eight a.m., so give me a couple of minutes alone, okay?’’

  ‘‘Your wish is my command, Ms. Caldwell,’’ Tony said with just the slightest trace of sarcasm.

  ‘‘Stop talking like that,’’ Hildy griped. Through bleary eyes, she noticed the cats’ dish had been filled, the kitty litter was fresh, the windowpanes sparkled, the linoleum shone, and the kitchen was spotless. All that gleaming made it entirely too bright in there. She took her hot coffee into the little dining room where she sank down on a chrome and plastic-covered chair. This room too had been thoroughly cleaned.

  ‘‘I thought you were a big tough Roman warrior, not a Merry Maid,’’ she grumbled, realizing she should be grateful instead of feeling as if Tony G. had made a clearly uncomplimentary statement about her housekeeping skills. Her sister would be thrilled, she supposed.

  With uncanny serendipity, Hildy’s cell phone rang. She found her tote and extracted the phone, noticing it was the sister in question calling her at this ungodly hour.

  ‘‘What’s the matter?’’ Hildy said worriedly instead of saying hello.

  ‘‘Now why would you think anything’s the matter?’’ Corrine snapped back at her, clearly annoyed.

  ‘‘You don’t ever call this early. And you always get short-tempered when you’re upset. Something’s got to be wrong. So talk.’’ Hildy’s anxiety rose like a dark beast.

  ‘‘Can you buy the New York Post in those news machines up at the corner?’’ Corrine said.

  ‘‘The Post, the Daily News, the Times … Sure, why?’’

  ‘‘Go buy it, turn to Page Six, then call me back.’’ Corrine hung up.

  ‘‘That bastard!’’ Hildy shrieked as she stared at the photo of the wedding gown captioned, ‘‘A Donna Karan original for celebrity photog Kiki’s September 7 nuptials to real estate magnate Michael Amante.’’

  Tony G. peeked over her shoulder at the newspaper. ‘‘I hate to say it but—’’

  Hildy turned on the genie. ‘‘Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so.’ Don’t you dare!’’

  Tony G. retreated quickly to safer ground on the far side of the kitchen. He held up his hand in a placating way. ‘‘If I may make a comment?’’

  ‘‘What!’’ Hildy glared at him.

  ‘‘The paper no doubt went to press before your … you
r … assignation last evening. Perhaps the situation has changed.’’

  ‘‘Don’t you dare make excuses for him! He had no right … no right … to sleep with me when … when … he knew … he knew …’’ Hildy’s throat closed up. ‘‘He knew I’d see this,’’ she finished in a tiny voice.

  ‘‘Indeed, but even when the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak,’’ Tony G. said.

  ‘‘I told you not to make excuses for him,’’ she said, and stamped a bare foot.

  ‘‘Okay, men are little better than hound dogs. I belong to a brutish, bestial gender. We have no scruples when it comes to getting some nookie.’’

  ‘‘You can say that again,’’ Hildy grumped.

  ‘‘Okay, men are little better than—’’

  ‘‘Stop it! I wasn’t being literal about that. But I’m going to kill him! I’m going to literally kill him. Where does he get off waltzing back into my life and playing with my emotions! Who does he think he is!’’ She started pacing back and forth between the sunroom and the kitchen.

  Tony G. turned his head and stifled a smile. This Hildy Caldwell was a hellion when enraged. He felt sorry for Michael Amante, sort of.

  Just then Hildy’s cell phone rang. She figured it was Corrine. She snatched it off the table, about to flip it open. Hard muscular fingers closed around her hand.

  ‘‘Don’t answer that,’’ the genie ordered.

  ‘‘Why?’’ Hildy’s puzzlement showed on her face.

  ‘‘It’s him.’’

  ‘‘Mike? Really? Well, I want to talk to him.’’ She tried to wrestle the phone away.

  The genie didn’t release his grip. ‘‘No. He must not know that you are willing to speak with him. Ms. Caldwell, think. Why is he calling? To apologize? To explain? To make excuses? To ease his guilty conscience? Or do you think it’s to declare his undying love?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know why he’s calling, now do I?’’ Steam could have come out of her ears she was so annoyed.

  The ringing stopped.

  ‘‘He’ll call back. Believe me, he will call back. Let him stew. Let him worry. Let him think he’s lost you. You need to play your cards right this time, if you still want him. Do you?’’

  Hildy stared into the genie’s face. He stared back. She thought, Do I still want Michael Amante? Her heart said, Yes; her head said, Hell, no. ‘‘I’m not sure,’’ she finally answered. ‘‘It depends—’’

  ‘‘That’s absolutely right, Ms. Caldwell. It does ‘depend.’ It depends on the depth of his feelings for you. It depends on what he is willing to do to put things right between you. It depends on whether or not he breaks his engagement. Am I right?’’

  ‘‘Yes, you are,’’ Hildy agreed.

  ‘‘Then you cannot, you must not answer his calls and you absolutely must not call him back. Agreed?’’

  Hildy thought for a minute. ‘‘Yes. But I feel it would be a mistake to do nothing and just leave the field wide open for this Kiki person to steamroll ahead with the wedding plans.’’

  ‘‘Ah, Ms. Caldwell, I was not suggesting retreat. I was about to propose a plan of attack. Would you like to hear it?’’

  ‘‘I most certainly would, but can you hold the thought for five minutes? If I don’t call Corrine back, she will get in her car and drive down here.’’

  The phone was ringing again. Hildy looked at the screen. It was Michael. She waited until it stopped, then hit the speed dial number marked SIS.

  The first thing Hildy did was assure her worried sibling that she was not going to drown herself in the ocean. She explained that she was in a holding pattern with a wait-and-see attitude. She mentioned that Mike had just tried to call her, but she didn’t want to answer, not just yet.

  At that point a meaningful silence stopped the conversation. When Corrine spoke again, her voice was heavy with suspicion. ‘‘And why was he ringing you at that phone number? His mother called me this morning. I was pretty surprised about that, let me tell you. She was pretty clear that Mike had been calling everyone to find out how to contact you, but he never did get the number of your cell phone.’’

  ‘‘Mike’s mother called you? This morning? Why?’’

  ‘‘She called me—after phoning the church secretary who referred her to Father John who turned her over to Annie who handled the bus reservations for St. Vlad’s. Annie had my number on the bus list and gave it to her. The poor woman was nearly hysterical. Mike phoned her right after dawn to break the news about the wedding day. He didn’t want her to learn about it from the newspaper or from somebody else who saw the Post first.

  ‘‘In any event, Mike’s mother pleaded with me to contact you. She said her son is, and I quote, ‘about to make the worst mistake of his life.’ Then she said, and I will quote this as well because I never heard Mrs. Amante say a bad word about anybody before, ‘That woman is a heartless bitch and she will destroy him.’ ’’

  ‘‘No kidding? Mrs. Amante said that? I can’t believe it.’’

  ‘‘I’m not done. Then she said, in so many words, that Mike has been carrying a torch for you for years. If there was any chance that you still cared about him, to please do something to stop this wedding. I said I thought there might be an outside chance you did still care. Then she started crying, ‘Thank God! Thank God!’ and made me promise to call you. She’s afraid to meddle herself. She’s afraid if she makes him choose between her and Kiki, she’ll lose her son. So I’m calling you.’’

  ‘‘Holy cow. That’s intense.’’ Hildy didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘‘Intense! It’s tragic, that’s what it is. So what are you going to do— wait a minute. You didn’t answer my question. How did Mike get your number? Did you call him even after you promised not to?’’

  ‘‘No, not exactly.’’

  ‘‘What exactly?’’ Corrine used that big-sister tone that worked better than truth serum on Hildy.

  ‘‘I saw him. He showed up on my doorstep last night.’’

  ‘‘He did! Why didn’t you say so? Why didn’t you call me and tell me?’’

  ‘‘Oh, I would have, I really would. But I came back here late and things had gotten … ummm … things got complicated.’’

  ‘‘Complicated? How complicated?’’

  ‘‘Ummmm, we sort of, you know, did it.’’

  ‘‘Oh. My. God. Then you see that wedding dress in the paper. You must be devastated. I’m going to kill him. I’m coming down there. If I leave right now I can be there by noon.’’

  ‘‘No! Really, it’s not necessary for you to drive back down here today. I’m fine. I’m thinking about what to do. I’ll call you if I need you, I promise. Let me figure this out first, okay?’’

  Silence filled the line. Finally Corrine’s voice came through the phone, loud and clear. ‘‘Hildy, you are all that matters to me. I don’t want you getting your heart broken. To hell with Mike Amante. If he doesn’t want the nicest, cutest, smartest girl in the world, to hell with him.’’

  Hildy’s voice sounded stronger and more confident than she felt when she answered, ‘‘Corrine, don’t worry. I think he loves me. He just doesn’t know it yet.’’

  ‘‘You have a powerful ally in his mother,’’ the genie observed after Hildy hung up. He had been shamelessly eavesdropping again. ‘‘You now have the superior force to carry out our battle plan.’’

  ‘‘You mean with my sister, his mother, and you on my side? How can I possibly lose?’’ Each word was weighted with irony.

  The genie nodded. Her sarcasm was lost on him. She decided to be direct. ‘‘Look, Tony, I don’t believe you can make somebody love you no matter who is on your team or how brilliant a plan you concoct. I don’t think love works like that.’’

  ‘‘How old are you?’’ Tony G. demanded.

  ‘‘Twenty-seven.’’

  ‘‘And you think you know about love?’’ His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He put one sandaled foot atop the seat of a chair. He loo
ked as if he was about to give a speech. He was. ‘‘I’ve been on this earth for two millennia, Ms. Caldwell, and one thing hasn’t changed. Love between men and women is an illusion. Men desire what seems out of their grasp. They long for that which other men admire.

  ‘‘If I may wax poetic: A man aspires to be the hunter who finally captures the fabled snow leopard that few have approached and none have been able to trap. Is it love that drives him to face the treacherous peaks and murderous cold in pursuit of the leopard? No, Ms. Caldwell, it is not. It is ambition, passion, obsession, but not love. And the greater the obstacles, the more elusive his quarry, the more he cherishes the prize he obtains.

  ‘‘You, Ms. Caldwell, must be Michael Amante’s snow leopard.’’

  Hildy did listen to the genie’s soliloquy carefully. Despite her conviction that love cannot be forced, perhaps it could be coaxed along. The genie had a point. She conceded the round to Tony G.

  ‘‘I think we must agree to disagree about the nature of love. But you’re right about my needing to think before I act. I have to help Mike realize he loves me and see this Kiki for the selfish, self-centered witch she is. What happened between Mike and me last night wasn’t lust.’’

  The genie rolled his eyes at that.

  Hildy saw him do it, as she had seen a thousand high school students roll their eyes when she announced something like, Today we will begin our study of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. I know you’re all going to enjoy it.

  This time she reacted, something she never did in class. She snapped at Tony, ‘‘That’s very rude, you know. Mike cares for me, I really believe that. But I am afraid he will go through with the wedding because he gave his word. That’s how Mike is. That’s why I would like to hear your plan.’’

  Tony G. shook his head. ‘‘Why not do this the easy way? Just wish that Michael Amante loves you and cannot live without you. Make another wish that he sees Kiki as a repellent, hideous succubus that he must escape at all costs.’’

  ‘‘No, I told you that before. Mike’s love for me must be his own choice. Otherwise it doesn’t mean anything, you know?’’