by Cherrie Mack
“Can I help you?” she asked as she desperately tried to look appealing. He gave her a smile that sent flames shooting through her body and landing in the pit of her stomach. And then he looked past her as if she wasn’t there.
“I am looking for Miss Chadwick. Perhaps you can let her know Mr. Zach Brady would like to speak with her.”
When his gaze met hers once again, she stammered, “She’s not here at the moment. Can I leave her a message?” She recognized the look of disappointment in his expression. He sighed and held out a shoebox. “Can you please give her this box and tell her that Mr. Zach Brady feels she deserves these beautiful shoes. Tell her that she is not only beautiful on the outside but on the inside as well.”
Seriously? Her sarcastic smirk was evident, but quickly changed to complete mortification when he said, “Are you permanent or are you from a service?”
She stared at him. Was he serious? Did he really think she was the maid? “Part-time, but I’m always looking for more hours,” she said without thinking it through. Why would she say such a stupid thing? Maybe because you’re gonna need a job?
“I see. Please make sure she gets them. I attached my business card. It has my personal cell phone number on the back.”
“Sure. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“Thank you. And your name?”
“My name is Alli … son.”
“Thank you, Allison. That is a beautiful name. By the way, I hope I’m not being offensive, but I’m actually looking for someone right now. If you need some extra hours, maybe we can work something out. I can speak to Miss Chadwick if you’d like.”
“Uh … she doesn’t share well. Not her employees, anyway. Can I call you on the side perhaps, and maybe we can arrange for an interview?”
“Sure. Sounds great. Don’t wait too long, though. I’m kind of all over the place, and my house gets quite unorganized.”
“Sure. I’ll call soon.” Like never.
“It was nice meeting you, Allison.” And with those last words, Zach Brady left Allie standing in the doorway holding a shoebox in one hand and her heart in the other.
* * * *
Allie sat on the couch, and although she tried to keep her attention on her laptop, her gaze kept coming to rest on the shoebox. What kind of man shows up at a woman’s door with a gift of shoes? My kind of man. But they were meant for her stepsister, Adrienne. A peek wouldn’t hurt, would it? Allie rose to her feet and circled the box as she tapped her chin. This had to be done very delicately. She narrowed her eyes and picked up the house phone.
“Hi, George, it’s me, Allie. Can you do me a favor? When you see my wicked stepfamily, can you give me a heads-up? Yep. Just one ring is all I need. Thanks, George. I’ll bring you that cigar you love.” She hung up and rubbed her hands together. Laughing at her own antics, she dove in, carefully unwrapping the shoebox so as not to disturb too much of the paper.
The box read Manolo Blanick. Huh! If she were a maid, these shoes would cost her at least four or five weeks of salary. But she wasn’t a maid, nor did she have enough money in her savings account to pay for one of these shoes, let alone a pair. The beautiful box was lined with pink paper, and resting inside was a pair of shoes that would do Cinderella justice. The black pumps were embellished with crystals. The cluster of gems lay across the toe, draping up the side and jutting out to resemble a swan’s wing. Allie held one up and gazed at its sheer perfection. This was the dreamiest shoe she’d ever seen. Who would wear this shoe? And where?
As a mental image of Adrienne dancing in these shoes with Zach Brady came into her mind, her heart sank. It was just another thing Adrienne would have that she would not. There was no place for this shoe in her future because she was on the wrong end of a family. Sighing, she gingerly wrapped the shoe back up and didn’t disturb the other. When she placed the box on top of the glass entry table, she cringed. Allie didn’t want to feel sorry for herself, but she did.
She searched her memory for a time when she was truly happy, but those days seemed like a dream. She stared at the shoebox and took a deep breath. Determined to forge ahead with her day without another thought about Zach and those damn shoes, Allie went back to her studying. When the sound of the one ring signal on the house phone caught her attention, she shook her head. The bitch is back. Allie picked up her things and went to her bedroom.
* * * *
Patiently she waited. “Ahhh!” And there it was. The excited scream could be heard a mile away. As she walked into the living room, she saw Adrienne fall to the floor, tearing into the shoebox with no more regard for its contents than that of a clumsy little girl. Glad I was so careful.
Allie pouted her lips. “How is your mom?” A smiling Adrienne pulled the shoe out and held it up. “She’s fine. They kept her for some tests, but she’ll be coming home in the morning. I couldn’t stay. I have a date with gorgeous Dr. Keith Curtis tonight. Maybe you can go by later?”
“I-I don’t know. I have some things at Longwood to deal with, and I’m not sure I can—” Her stepsister shot her a disgusted look. “Really? You know, Allie, I’ve been pretty good to you. I never ask more of you than what we agreed. The least you could do is help out.”
Allie huffed. “Fine, Adrienne. I’ll go later this evening.”
“Just look at these shoes, Allie. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“You’re welcome, and yeah, they’re beautiful. You must have really impressed that guy with your…” dim “…wit.”
Adrienne looked at her as if surprised. “Guy? What guy?”
“The guy who dropped off the shoes. His card was sitting right on top of the box. He wanted me to give you a message.”
As Adrienne scrambled to her feet to retrieve the card, Allie delivered Zach’s message with a monotone voice. “He feels that you deserve these beautiful shoes. He said to tell you that you are not only beautiful on the outside but on the inside as well.”
Adrienne smirked at her. “Why, Allie, you surprise me. Do I detect a green-eyed monster?”
“No, not at all. I couldn’t care less.” Any man that is interested in you is clearly in a downward spiral.
“Well, what if I told you that Mr. Zach Brady is the son of a very famous playwright? Not that you would care. Anyway, his father just won a Tony, and Zach is riding his coat tails all the way to Broadway with his own show, ‘The Dignitaries’.” There’s a big opening night in my future. But you know nothing about culture and the arts, do you? You’re too busy hanging around death at Longwood—which, by the way, is how I snagged Mr. Brady.”
Allie tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“It seems he has an old great-aunt who is going to need hospice soon. Longwood, with its access to the city, is naturally on the list of choices. I told him one of your sappy stories. You know the one when Mr. Sullivan croaked and you cried for days? He thought I was some kind of saint or something. Anyway, your sob story got me these shoes. And to think I put them on order weeks ago. Hand me the phone. I have to call to thank him.”
Allie’s mouth hung open. Hand it to you? I should throw it at your fucking head and hope it takes out a tooth! “Sometimes, Adrienne, you can be a real bitch.” She shoved the phone at her. As Allie walked into her bedroom, she listened to Adrienne’s lies. “Oh Mr. Brady, I don’t know what to say. I would have never afforded myself such a luxury. How could I ever thank you?” Ugh! Allie slammed her bedroom door.
Opening her closet, she sifted through the sparse clothing she had hanging inside. Her eyes scanned the floor, and she counted exactly five pairs of shoes. That’s it. At twenty-two, she had the belongings of an eleven-year-old. All the years of ignoring her dwindling social circle and appearance came back to haunt her. Pushing her clothing aside, she stepped inside her closet. She leaned up on her tippy-toes and pulled down an old hat box from the top shelf.
Allie held the hat box as if it were the most precious of all her things. Because it was. She placed i
t on top of her bed and got on her knees beside it. Pulling off the cover, she looked inside at its contents. This was her life. Every lunch note, every birthday card, every memory, she carefully preserved inside her hat box. It held all the things that truly made her happy.
She pulled out a note from her mother and traced the letters with her fingers. She managed a smile while her heart shattered with the memories of a woman who shaped her as a human being. As she pushed the old pictures and notes to the side, Allie located the three-by-five black box. It was the only thing left to her by Gregory Chadwick, and she had yet to open it. She held it in the palm of her hand and daydreamed that inside was a check for one million dollars or a valuable ten-carat diamond. But the fear of nothing of value inside had stopped her from opening the box every time. She was safer not knowing; that way she couldn’t be disappointed.
But Allie knew the time had come. She leaned on her elbows and stared at it. What if she opened it and it was something stupid? Or what if it were a rare gem? A cure for cancer? What? What could be more valuable than a company and a big, fat inheritance? Convinced that it was now or never, Allie reached for the key with shaky fingers. As she turned the lock, she whispered a prayer, “Please let it be something great.” And she opened the box.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at its contents. The black velvet liner cradled an old, yellowed piece of paper. Afraid it would crumble, she was as gentle as she could be. She pulled the aging piece of paper out and placed it beside the box. Running her fingers around the inside of the box in case she missed something, disillusionment slowly crept its way into her mind. Unless this paper contained the winning lottery numbers, she was in for a big fat letdown.
Seeing it through, Allie used precision when opening the paper. It was as old as anything she’d ever seen. Written in a calligrapher’s hand was an address: 184 Mulberry Street, Little Italy, New York. Underneath it said “Prendete il mio Angelo.” Allie looked at the other side, but it was blank. That’s all there was. She hated herself for looking inside. She should have lived with the dream of not knowing for just a little longer.
Looking to the Internet for assistance, Allie typed the old message into the computer. The message was written in Italian. Once translated, it meant “Take me to my angel.” Great! She picked herself up off the floor and put the paper back inside the box. Allie threw the box into her purse and decided to check out the address. After tonight, she’d never think about the little black box again.
Chapter 3
Allie rode the six subway car to Times Square, where she waited for the number one train. She wondered what could possibly be so important about an old address. When Mr. Slotsky had given her the box, she remembered his apology and his warning, “Whatever you find inside, Allie, is to be discovered by you alone. Gregory gave me strict instructions when he first met you and your mother. It was something he felt very strongly about.” Allie wished her life wasn’t so hard all the time. Getting left out of the will wasn’t as much of an issue as feeling left out of a family.
Times Square was bustling, people were everywhere, and Allie stood in the middle of the chaos feeling more alone than she’d ever felt before. When she boarded her next train, the ride to Little Italy felt like a dream. Allie stood with her hand wrapped around a silver pole and hung on. The car was warm and crowded, but not the usual sardine can. The last of winter had come and gone. Soon the spring rain would soak the city streets and bring forth the flowers that Allie loved so much. She didn’t have a green thumb, but she had a great affection for flowers.
As she followed the crowd up to the street, she pulled her jacket together and held it closed at the neck. Before she knew it, she was on Mulberry Street. No wonder they called it Littler Italy now. The old bakeries and storefronts were sparse compared to years ago. Then, you could find open shops on every street corner. She remembered her mother taking her to Grand Street for pastries when she was small. Allie would stare in the windows at all those delicious-looking cookies and pull her mother by the hand, dragging her into each shop. Allie shook her head. Things sure have changed. As she searched for the numbers on the buildings, she decided she was on the right track. She moved quickly until she stood in front of a burned-out storefront next to a brand-new building selling condos. Now what?
She looked around and decided to look again at the handwritten note. She felt around inside her purse. Without removing anything from inside, she opened the box and fished out the paper. Once she held the old scrap in her hand, she pulled it out. Silently reading it to herself twice, she was still confused. This is ridiculous! Finally, in an attempt to ward off her oncoming frustration, Allie murmured “Take me to my angel?”
Suddenly the air swirled and the street lights dimmed. Paper floated up above the ground and spiraled back down with the gush of a strong wind. Allie could swear she felt a slight tremor under her feet, but she remained still. Within a few seconds, all seemed back to normal. But down at the end of the street walking toward her was a woman who resembled a character out of an old folktale. She looked to be at least ninety years old as she slowly strolled, hunched over, with the aid of a walking stick. Allie was immediately drawn in. Maybe she had a message? Yeah, okay, Allie.
Closer and closer the woman came. When she was ten feet away, Allie smiled. The woman jutted out her bottom jaw and narrowed her eyes at her. The old lady stared at her as she moved past, craning her neck to keep a watchful eye. Allie looked down. Another disappointment found its way past her wall, angering her. What did she expect? At this point anything would be good as long as it was something. Not wanting to give up, she looked around. Maybe Gregory owned one of these buildings?
More irritated than ever, Allie turned around in a huff and bumped into a huge biker dude. He was big, muscular, and scary. His shoulder length hair was dark, falling over his eyes. He wore a small, gold hoop in his earlobe and a diamond stud in his nose. Tattoos adorned both his arms, and his short-sleeve shirt was pulled so tightly over his chest his veins bulged.
“I’m sorry, mister. I didn’t see you.” She moved around him because he didn’t budge. Another one with the manners of a jackass.
“That’s okay, Allie. Because I saw you.”
She stopped and turned. She narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down, and then shook her head as if snapping out of a haze. “How do you know my name?”
“That’s easy, sugar. I’m your fairy godmother.”
As the words sank in, Allie backed up. “Fairy godmother? Don’t fairies look like dancing little sprites wearing tutus?”
“I’m not sure what they’re supposed to look like.”
“O-kay. Buh-bye.”
“It’s true, you know. You possess the message, and you called for me. I am ‘Il mio Angelo.’ It’s Italian for ‘my angel.’”
“You look more like a Hell’s Angel to me.”
“I’m a fairy.”
“Fairy? Okay, where’s the camera and what time will I be on? I’ll set my DVR.”
“No camera.”
“Look … Angelo, I need to get going. I have to see a wicked witch in the hospital. Hey, maybe you know her?”
“This is no joke. You hold the ancient message that signifies your worthiness from its prior owner. You will need to pass it on as it has been passed on to you. It cannot be given to a lover or a blood relative. It has to be someone who you think is a decent human being, someone who will pay it forward, so to speak.”
“Uh-huh. What kind of services do you provide?”
“Well, you can’t ask for money or love.”
“Are you saying I get three wishes or something?”
“Listen, I’m gonna give you some really valuable advice right now—” Allie started to laugh uncontrollably. She held her side and chuckled harder than she had in months. “I’m sorry,” she said through her giggles. “It’s just that I’m picturing you wearing a tutu.”
Angelo nodded his head. “Not a good way to start a rel
ationship with your fairy godmother.” Allie cracked up even harder, which had Angelo walking away from her. “Say my name out loud if you want to apologize.” And off he went.
When Allie’s laughter died down, her smile faded. The lengths people will go to make you the butt of a joke is scandalous. She looked suspiciously around at the quiet street and then continued on her way to the hospital.
* * * *
Allie changed her clothes in the bathroom as Trudy spoke through the door.
“Oh, Allie, thank God. I asked that nurse to bring me some water an hour ago. Do they think so highly of themselves that they can’t bring me a beverage?”
Allie emerged from the bathroom wearing lilac-colored scrubs. Trudy lay in her hospital bed looking like a queen. A silk robe, with the price tag still attached, covered her hospital gown.
Looking Allie up and down, she rolled her eyes. “I guess it doesn’t matter if you bring germs back to Longwood, huh?”
“I’m not staying, Trudy. This visit will be brief. Very brief.”
“Well then make yourself useful and fetch me some water, will you?”
“Sure. Anything else you need?” Some caviar perhaps?
“Water, Allie. And fast.” Her response was curt, but Allie was used to it.
“I’ll be right back.”
Allie grabbed the little plastic pitcher and walked down the hall. The gray walls and smells brought back the memories she tried so hard to forget. The bad news was always aplenty when she walked these halls. Stopping to fill the pitcher, she rethought her choice of career specialty and seriously considered making a change.
“Excuse me.” A woman with brittle, blonde hair approached her. She rested a clipboard on her waist. Her plum lipstick was fashionable a decade ago. She looked at her as though Allie should recognize her.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
“I-I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“That’s okay. It happens.”
“It’s just that you look so familiar to me. Do you have a sister that works at Sun Coast Rehabilitation Center?”