Wish Upon a Star

by Olivia Goldsmith

Before Claire could answer, Tina had turned away and, with an expression of intense concentration, began to click through the rack in front of her, the extra inch or two between garments used to push the rejected coats further away and give the next candidate a moment of breath. Tina surveyed each, then, heartlessly, clicked it beside the previous reject before Claire could even get a look. Soon, Tina had gone through ten feet of coats and had pulled three out. ‘Here. Want a slicka?’

  It was a yellow plastic, exactly the color police wore when they directed traffic. Claire didn’t even respond. ‘I didn’t think so,’ Tina laughed. ‘How about this?’

  It was black, with more straps, buckles, epaulettes, and pockets than any uniform the French Legionnaires had ever imagined. ‘No, I want …’

  ‘… beige,’ they said simultaneously and to Claire’s complete amazement Tina flourished a decent-looking light tan raincoat.

  ‘Ta-da!’ Tina said. ‘Looks like your style. Really boring.’

  But when Claire began to unbutton it she saw the label and the lining. It was Aquascutum. And though Claire didn’t know anything about fashion she knew it was a label on the coats that the people with the windowed offices wore.

  She slipped into it. The lining was soft and the color was more a light gray than a tan. ‘Hey. That looks good,’ Tina said as if truly surprised. She pushed Claire in front of a mirror and Claire had to agree. It did look good. The shoulders were slightly built up to enhance Claire’s narrow ones. But it flared enough to camouflage her hips. It hung from a raglan sleeve in a simple drape without a belt or extra gimmicks. ‘It’s a little plain,’ Tina pointed out. She held up the black one. ‘You get more for your money with this.’

  But Claire continued to survey herself in the mirror. She thought of Katherine Rensselaer on the rainy night. She was wearing a raincoat similar to this one. ‘I want it,’ Claire said and only then looked at the price-tag. Reduced. But it was still three hundred dollars!

  ‘Get outta here!’ Tina said when Claire showed her the tag. She turned and checked the rack, checked the signs above and gave Claire the moderately good news, ‘Twenty per cent extra off any coat bought today.’

  ‘But it’s already reduced,’ Claire said. It was true. The original price was just a little under a thousand dollars.

  ‘So? It’s twenty per cent more off the three hundred. At least you save sixty dollars.’ She looked back at the black coat. ‘This one’s only a hundred and forty,’ she said.

  But Claire had made up her mind. She looked at herself in the mirror. Somehow, in this coat, she could imagine herself on a London street looking up at Big Ben.

  On Tuesday night Tina came over to ‘help with the packing’ though Claire suspected she actually wanted to snoop and report back to the lunch table, if not all of Tottenville. Claire knew that even if she asked Tina not to tell anyone, it would be far beyond her capabilities. Let’s hope, Claire thought, she doesn’t say anything to my mother.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Bilsop,’ Tina said, her voice sing-song with secret.

  ‘Hi, Christine,’ Claire’s mother responded, luckily – as usual – not interested. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothin’ much.’ Then Tina silently mouthed, ‘Did you tell her yet?’ in an exaggerated, cartoon way. Claire shook her head. Luckily, her mom’s back was turned.

  ‘We’re going upstairs,’ Claire said and, as she led Tina up the steps, she rolled her eyes. ‘Shut up.’ Subtlety was not Tina’s stock-in-trade.

  In her own room, the door closed, Claire felt comfortable enough to take out her passport and her suitcase. She had decided not to embarrass herself with Abigail Samuels by borrowing her luggage. The passport was an adorable little booklet. What thrilled Claire the most about it was that behind the picture page there were another dozen pages of Entries/Entrees and Departures/Sorties. Her pages, of course, were blank but soon there would be a departure and an arrival. And a book to fill.

  She wondered for another moment how many entries Michael Wainwright or Katherine Rensselaer had in their passports. She shook her head. She was twenty-four and she had never even managed to get this far.

  Meanwhile Tina looked over at the bag. ‘Is that all ya bringin’?’ she asked before the suitcase was even open.

  ‘Well, I’m not quite packed,’ Claire admitted. ‘Oh, there’s my new sweater.’ She took it from the top of the packed pile of clothes and unwrapped the tissue paper. She slipped out of her T-shirt and pulled the sweater over her head.

  ‘Wow!’ Tina said. ‘Nice.’ She came over and fingered the delicate cables. ‘Feels good. Angora?’

  Claire felt a moment of contempt. Angora was as much like cashmere as burlap was to silk but ‘Cashmere,’ was all she said.

  Tina looked into the suitcase. ‘You’re the queen of beige. You sure you don’t want to jazz it up a little?’ she asked. ‘Hot pink or a little turquoise? I have a new tube top I think would fit you.’

  Claire smiled. It was March, pink and turquoise were not her colors, and she didn’t have the anatomy necessary to hold a tube top up but, she reminded herself, Tina didn’t notice details about other people unless they made good gossip.

  Tina, bored with the contents of the bag as well as the contents of Claire’s room, walked over to the desk and picked up an old framed photo taken at their high school graduation party. She smiled at it, put it down, turned and looked over at Claire.

  ‘Look, you know I don’t mean to hurt your feelin’s when I say this, but you do know it isn’t goin’ to last longer than the weekend. It’s nothin’ personal,’ she added. ‘It’s just the way Mr Wonderful operates.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And bitches like Joan are just goin’ to be thrilled to watch you fall to pieces when – I mean, if – you know, if Michael doesn’t …’

  ‘You mean when he drops me,’ Claire said calmly, folding her new nightgown carefully. Then she looked at Tina. ‘It’s not all about Michael,’ she said, forcing herself to use his name. ‘I mean I like him, but I like the adventure more. London! I can’t even imagine it.’ She gestured to the half-packed bag on her bed. ‘I don’t expect anything. I can hardly believe I’m going at all.’

  Tina waggled her head in a dismissive gesture she used. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s what ya say now. But afta ya spend a romantic weekend with the guy, ya may get othah ideas. He’s very good at what he does.’ She winked broadly.

  Claire folded the silk robe and carefully stowed it in the bag along with the nightgown. ‘I know. He’s the star of the department.’

  ‘I don’t just mean his work. I mean everythin’. You should see the e-mails some of the women he’s slept with send him.’

  ‘How have you seen them?’ Claire asked.

  ‘Oh, it’s not like I don’t know his password,’ Tina said and then, for the first time Claire could remember, she actually blushed. She got up off the side of the bureau she was perched on and crossed to the bed. ‘Look, Claire, what I’m tryin’ to say is that people like Michael Wainwright, they’re not like us. It isn’t like I wouldn’t want to find a guy like him. But guys like him, they don’t go with girls like us. That’s why I’m with Anthony. He has a good job, a pension plan. He thinks I’m gorgeous and sexy. And his family loves me. You’d never even get to meet Michael’s family and if he saw this place …’ she gestured, her fingers with their long, painted nails wiggling at the tiny room, the wallpaper curling away from the wall under the window, the worn nylon carpeting.

  And instead of shame, or gratitude, Claire was suddenly filled with such rage that she had to turn her back so that Tina couldn’t see it. She knew Tina didn’t ‘mean anything by it’ but for once Claire didn’t need to hear about how she wasn’t good enough, that she shouldn’t expect too much, and wasn’t going to get it even if she did. She knew all of that already.

  Claire calmed herself enough to look at Tina. She was careful to control her voice so that it was neither loud nor shaky. ‘I’m not stupid, Tina. I know there�
��s nothing like what you’d call a “future” with Michael. I don’t have a real future. And I don’t even have a past. There’s no Anthony taking me to Puerto Rico, and there’s no wedding that I’m saving up for. And anyway that’s not what I want. But just because I can’t settle for some guy from around here doesn’t mean I’m going to make a fool of myself over Michael Wainwright. I’m going to have an adventure.’

  As soon as she had spoken, she could tell by Tina’s tightened mouth and her body language how offended she was. Claire bit her lip, picked up the new blouse and began to fold it.

  ‘All I’m sayin’ is to be careful,’ Tina said. ‘I don’t want to see ya get hurt.’

  Claire couldn’t bear to look at her. She just put the blouse in her suitcase and went to the closet. ‘I know,’ she said. Then, looking at the empty hangers and the rejected clothes – clothes she realized she never wanted to wear again – the thought came to her that Tina might be jealous.

  In all the years that they had been friends, Tina was the one who did things, who went places, who had boyfriends. She was the one with the big family and lots of family parties. She’d had a sweet sixteen, an engagement celebration, and a string of rejected suitors. Claire had an aunt she never met, never had anything that Tina wanted, not even her good grades. Tina didn’t care about school. And, oddly, Tina would never believe that Claire didn’t want any of the things that Tina had.

  Now, it struck Claire almost like a blow to the head that, for the first time, Tina might be envious, and that she felt Claire had also dissed her and Anthony. And with that knowledge Claire felt fear. But it was too late. Claire shrugged. ‘Is there anything in here you want?’ she asked.

  Without moving, Tina snorted then shook her head. ‘Hey, it’s not like ya movin’ away or dyin’,’ she said. ‘It’s just four days.’

  Claire nodded. Her bag was almost full. She just reached down beside her bed and picked up her knitting and two extra skeins of wool.

  ‘What are ya doin’? You’re not takin’ your knittin’?’

  ‘Why not?’ Claire asked.

  ‘Are ya crazy? Men don’t like to sleep with their grandmas.’

  ‘Tina, I’m not planning to sit in bed and knit. But he’s working on Thursday and Friday and if I have nothing to do …’

  ‘… you’ll shop. Or have a facial. There’s a spa on the top floor of the Berkeley. There’s a pool on the roof.’

  ‘A pool?’ Claire asked amazed. Somehow a rooftop pool in rainy London wasn’t part of her mental landscape.

  ‘Yes, a pool. Ya know, the kind ya swim in. Bring your suit.’

  ‘Really?’ Claire didn’t want to bring a swimsuit. She didn’t have a nice one and she didn’t want to go swimming with Michael – she needed to show him her thighs like she needed a spinal tap. But she felt Tina’s eye on her. She walked to the dresser, took out her old blue maillot, put it in the suitcase and closed the lid. She reminded herself to take it out once Tina had gone. ‘Well,’ she said, turning back to her friend, ‘I think that’s about it.’ She looked at Tina.

  Tina shrugged. ‘Well, I better be gettin’ home.’ Claire nodded and the two of them silently walked down the stairs. Behind her Claire heard the sitcom, Jerry’s snore and her mother’s chuckle over some television joke. ‘Bye, Mrs Bilsop,’ Tina called.

  ‘Bye-bye,’ Claire’s mother called back.

  ‘Okay, see ya tomorrow,’ Tina said, raising her voice as if it was important for Mrs Bilsop to hear. Claire stood, holding the screen door open, while Tina walked down the back steps. When she reached the walkway, she turned back to look at Claire. ‘Ya know, I love Anthony.’

  Claire nodded. ‘Of course you do,’ she said.

  ‘No. I mean it. I really love him. More than I could ever love someone like Michael Wainwright.’ Claire nodded again. It occurred to Claire that she might not be the only one with an unrealistic crush on Mr Wonderful. She looked at Tina for a moment, then looked away for fear of embarrassing her. We all have our secrets, Claire thought. And our blind spots. ‘Well, have a good night,’ she said. She didn’t know what else to say.

  Tina shrugged, walked off and Claire stood there alone, listening to the tippy taps of Tina’s heels against the Tottenville sidewalk. She realized that something in their friendship, such as it was, had ended. Something was very amiss when Claire’s life was more interesting than Tina’s.

  Claire went back to the door and stuck her head inside. ‘Mom, I’m going for a little walk,’ she announced.

  ‘Better take a sweater or something. You don’t want another cold, do you?’ her mother called back.

  Claire reached in and took a sweatshirt off the chair by the entrance, quietly closed the door and shrugged into the garment.

  Tina was out of sight now so Claire went off in the same direction and made her way down Ottavio Promenade, where a lot of the big new – and in Claire’s opinion – ugly houses were located. They were mostly huge fake Colonials with lots of brick, columns and concrete balustrades. Her father would have hated them, but now they cost a million dollars to buy. The same thing had happened on Hyland Boulevard. There used to be nothing but a woods with little cottages there but since Claire was in kindergarten all that had changed. The area below it, once a dump, was now filled with mansions along the waterfront, each one larger and gaudier than the one next to it.

  Claire preferred her neighborhood. On Amboy Road she turned onto Main Street. Egger’s Ice Cream Parlor was closed and so was the Tottenville Bakery. But as she passed it, a heavenly smell of baking cookies enveloped her. No bakery anywhere was better than Tottenville’s, Claire was sure of that. Hungry, she quickened her steps and walked past the bank building and the beautiful public library.

  She was home with perfect timing – her mother and Jerry were still distracted by the television. Claire looked around. The house was a big one, and had probably once been elegant. But that would have been a long time ago. For as long as Claire could remember it had been in disrepair, and though her father had been proud of it, he had never been proud enough to accomplish any renovation. But he did, with Claire’s help, take great care of the front yard and side gardens. Now, it was the only house on the street that hadn’t been bought by rich young couples and spruced up. Claire, like her father, had always loved the house and the old apple orchard behind it. But her mother and Fred had only complained about its run-down nature, though it would be too complicated to move.

  Claire turned, closed the door behind her and walked up the stairs to her room. Once in her room, she went to look out the window at the overgrown front yard – since her father’s death, Claire had lost her enthusiasm for gardening, perhaps because it made her miss him. The fence around the house had long ago peeled its paint the way a snake shed its skin. The house was still called ‘The Old Bilsop Place’ and Claire had wondered what it had looked like when it was ‘The New Bilsop Place’. But that would probably have been before they had cameras, and if they did, they didn’t waste photographs on houses. Her father had always talked about his family as if they were important, but aside from the house, another grander one called ‘The Bilsop Homestead’ and an old sea chest that had once belonged to the family and was now in the town museum, there didn’t seem to be much evidence of that. Her father had talked about a fight with his own dad, and his sister Gertrude who had weaseled the family fortune away from him, but Gertrude had left Tottenville years before Claire was born – if, indeed, she ever existed, and wasn’t just one of her dad’s fairy tales. She looked up at the night sky and took a gamble and made a wish upon a star.

  She turned back to her bed, opened the suitcase, took out the bathing suit and threw it into the wastepaper basket under her desk. Then she picked up the discarded knitting and placed it where the bathing suit had been. She added a third skein of wool, a lovely yellow. She, like the girl in the fairy tale, would knit straw into gold.

  ELEVEN

  It was Wednesday, the day she was going to Lond
on. Claire left home later than usual, just after her mother went to the hospital where she worked as a nurse’s aide, and before Jerry woke up, so neither of them saw her negotiating the heavy luggage. She rolled the black suitcase onto the ferry, off it and up to the office. She had a feeling as she made her way to her work station that all eyes were on her but she told herself it couldn’t possibly be true. She stored the case in the closet behind Joan’s desk, sat down at her own and tried not to think about how this was the most exciting day of her life. She told herself there was still a chance that Michael would cancel, but at ten-fifteen Tina called her and told her he was running late because he had to pack.

  Claire hung up the phone and wasn’t quite sure if she was feeling relief or dread at the news. Maybe some of both. Where had she read that reality was the leading cause of stress – for those who are in touch with it? She doubted she was in touch with hers. Wild imaginings – way more unrealistic than her daydreams – kept running through her mind. She tried to keep her eyes on the screen and her hands on the keyboard. She actually felt the sweat in the palms of her hands running to the ends of her fingers. Twice she stopped typing to be sure that she had her passport in her purse, along with the ticket. She did. She also had her money. She wondered whether she should change it into English money now. She decided that at lunchtime she would go out and see if she could find a bank that could help her.

  She looked back at the ticket. She was seated in 2B. She wondered if it were an aisle or a window and if there would be someone else in their row. If Michael sat next to her would there be someone between them or at the end? And what would they serve? The flight took off at nine. Should she have a sandwich beforehand? Would they show a movie? They were flying British Airways, so would it be a British movie?

  At a quarter to twelve, Claire having done very little work, Tina called again. ‘I’ve just confirmed with the limo service. They’re picking you up here at a quarter to seven. Mike has a six o’clock meeting so he’ll probably be late. But it looks like you’re ready to join the Mile High Club,’ Tina chuckled. ‘We’re all going to meet for lunch a little bit early,’ she added.