“Sorry,” I muttered. “Sometimes I can’t stop the sarcasm.”
“Don’t apologize,” said Lydia. “That’s one of the more ridiculous charities. Its only function is for attendees to show off, stuff their faces with exorbitantly priced cheese, and plow their livers with wine. Topeka probably doesn’t remember much of that event. She has a bit of a red nose, if you know what I mean.”
“By the way…Topeka? Not to sound rude, but…why?” I asked quietly.
“Her parents, Clovis and Rayne, hail from Topeka, Kansas. Rumor has it, once they reached the upper crust of Manhattan’s finest, they vowed to name their first born Topeka, believing wholeheartedly it would trend with New Yorkers. It didn’t. She’s very sensitive about it all, poor dear.”
“So I guess a ruby slipper, heel-clicking joke would be out of the question,” I mused.
This time Lydia let a complete chuckle escape her. “Perhaps, but at least you had the wherewithal to bite your tongue. One Christmas party many years ago now, Topeka arrived looking disheveled, her hair an absolute mess, and yours truly just had to quip: ‘My goodness, what happened? Looks like you got caught up in a tornado.’” I had to cover my mouth to keep from belly-laughing. “Poor taste, but the fallout was spectacularly entertaining.”
“Did she cry for Glinda and the wizard?”
“Better. She had a meltdown. It was quite the scandal. But most felt it was owed. See, Topeka seduced Nancy Flattery-Stockington’s husband. Oh, what a divorce that was!”
“Lydia! Lydia!” Oh, God. I knew that voice. Blair Huntslee sauntered up to us in a cream suit that I swear I just saw on a ninety-year-old woman.
“Oh. Blair,” said Lydia, less than thrilled.
“It’s been too long since we’ve had a girl’s day together,” Blair oozed. It was a wonder Lydia didn’t get a mouthful of cavities, given the amount of artificial sweetener Blair was currently pouring on her. “Remember those divine shopping days that last straight through cocktail hour?” Blair had yet to acknowledge me, but I had a feeling her words were meant to instill a bit of jealousy over her seemingly close relationship with Blake’s mom.
Lydia maintained her even countenance. “Hardly, actually. Blair, you’ve met Charlotte, haven’t you?” Her tone was significantly warmer when mentioning my pseudonym. And, yes, it bothered the hell out of me that she couldn’t know me as me, Maggie.
Blair shifted her eyes to me, her overly bright smile rapidly darkening. “Yes, of course. Nice to see you, yet again, Charlotte.”
“Likewise, yet again,” I said smoothly. Boy, did Blair hate me. Unfortunately, her attitude was a hornets’ nest I couldn’t help but kick. Repeatedly.
“So, Lydia, how on earth did Charlotte Canteberry manage to talk you into all of this?” asked Blair.
“She didn’t. If anything, it was I who lassoed her against her will,” said Lydia, laughing. I shook my head and held up a hand, letting her know she did no such thing. “After having the pleasure of meeting Charlotte on Thanksgiving, I knew everyone should meet her.”
Blair suddenly looked as if she had been confronted by a very bright flash from a camera. “Thanksgiving? Why…I mean…Charlotte spent Thanksgiving with you? At Traverz Estate?”
“Well, of course, dear. Where else would I have a family Thanksgiving? In an alley?” Unlike most of the women here, Lydia had perfected the art of the fake laugh—good enough to be believed, yet clearly fake to an observant ear, if one could refer to an ear as observant.
“Blake was there, then,” Blair stated, already aware of the answer.
“He is my son, dear.” And with that rather forceful statement, Lydia shut Blair down. “I believe lunch is about to be served. I do hope you enjoy the menu, Blair. You’ll find your placement card back there, dear—table thirteen.”
The wounded ego look did not suit Blair. “I’ll just go locate my seat, then. Lydia, Charlotte.”
Once out of earshot, Lydia leaned into me and whispered, “Not a single second has passed where her voice hasn’t made me wish for nails on a chalkboard. Now, let’s get to our table.” Lydia looped her arm in mine and guided me to our table, which was in the very front of the room. We took our seats, but Lydia soon stood regally and tapped a spoon against her water glass. “Ladies, if you’ll please take your seats.”
When the queen bee spoke, her subjects obeyed. I hadn’t really realized the clout Mrs. Traverz held in these circles. These women may mercilessly backstab and exclude her, but when Lydia Traverz demanded their attention, she owned them all. What odd, exhausting lives these label-shaming women must lead, whether their façade allowed them to realize it or not.
In addition to the entertaining company of Blake’s mother, the food was outstanding. We started with a classic Caesar salad, followed by a filet mignon entrée. Topping off the meal was an insane peach cobbler. I took another bite of cobbler, contemplating how bad it would be to lick the bowl when finished.
“Lydia, I have to thank you again for today. Everything has been really wonderful,” I said.
Lydia patted my hand and squeezed. “No need to thank me. I was happy to do it. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself. I must admit, I can see why Blake is so enamored. You’re quite entertaining. Bet it runs in the family,” she said, taking a sip of wine.
“My mother could be very charming.”
“Ah, well, that doesn’t surprise me one bit,” she said with a smile.
I felt like someone’s daughter again. God, I hadn’t felt like this in so long. I’d almost forgotten how comforting it could be. I wasn’t imagining Lydia as my mother-in-law. I wasn’t that far gone…I wasn’t Blair, for instance. But Lydia simply reminded me of the lighter side of being a mother’s daughter.
My eyes drifted to the little train on our table. “I love these trains.”
Lydia sat taller in her seat. “You are the only one to say anything, probably the only one to notice,” she said with a snicker. “They were inspired by Blake.”
“Blake? Really?”
Nodding, Lydia said, “He loved trains as a boy. His father and I gave him an elaborate set when he was a child. At one point, we had a whole room devoted to his collection. He was the conductor, naturally. Oh, he was so precious. We’d buy him various components every Christmas.” Her expression grew distant. “That all stopped when Chester…well…it was a long time ago.”
I remembered Blake alluding to the destruction of his family and the effect on his mom when Chester Traverz began escalating his extramarital affairs.
“Lydia, do you think I could take one of these trains home with me?” I asked.
Lydia’s smile made clear she understood my intentions. “I’ll have one boxed up for you and put with the Christmas gift I found for you.”
“Oh, Lydia, you shouldn’t have! I don’t have anything—”
“Not another word, young lady. I mean that,” she said, waving a finger. “If you did get me a present, I would be terribly offended, and I think you can tell from today’s outpouring of brown-nosing, you wouldn’t want to be on my bad side. Now then, I have to be in Florida over the holidays—a friend of mine isn’t doing well. I’m counting on you to give Blake the merriest of Christmases.”
“That’s exactly what I hope to do,” I said.
“I thought as much.”
“Excuse me, Lydia?” It was Blair. Barf. “Would you mind if I borrow our darling Charlotte for a brief moment?” Double barf.
“That’s not up to me,” Lydia replied coolly.
“Charlotte, would you mind?” Blair’s countenance was much too sunny.
“Not at all,” I said, setting my napkin on the table as I rose from my seat. “I’ll be back momentarily, Lydia.”
“That’s fine. I’ll get the train packed up and ready for you now,” said Lydia, flagging down a waiter.
“That’d be great, thank you. Pardon me.”
I followed Blair into a narrow corridor just outside the dining area. “What can I d
o for you, Blair?” Translation: hurry the hell up and spit it out, so I can get back to my seat.
Ignoring my question, Blair just had to start with a snide remark. “Bringing home a toy train? My, my, how low we’ve sunk to impress Lady Lydia.”
“The train is a gift for someone else. But then, you’re not well-acquainted with the idea of doing for others, are you Blair? Not even at Christmas.” Yes, it was a bit more of a burn than I had intended, but, damn if Blair didn’t warrant a verbal slap every time she opened her mouth. “Look, I’m not really into doing the witty repartee thing with you, so why don’t you say whatever it is and save your brain the trouble.”
Blair crossed her arms. “I hear Blake has taken a liking to you.” She waited for a retort that wouldn’t come. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Blake’s slumming. Nothing more, nothing less. When he’s done, he’ll come back to me, where he belongs. He always does.”
With a cunning smile tugging one corner of my mouth, I said, “Seems to me you’re the one with unrealistic hopes, Blair.”
Clearly that response was not the one she desired because her next statement pulled no punches. “I’m above you in every possible way. I’m the kind of person who fits the Traverz name. Lydia sees you as a new chew toy for her son. She’s pacifying him. To think she’d allow you to bear the family name…one…day!” Blair choked the words out between laughs.
“Wow, you do hold yourself in high regard. I hadn’t realized your self-adoring tendencies ran so deep.”
“You may have Blake fooled, and perhaps even Lydia, but you don’t fool me.” Inching closer, she added venomously, “There’s something off about you. I’m going to find exactly what that something is, and when I do, I will rip your life apart vein by vein, until you’re in so much agony that your only option is a tumble off the nearest bridge.”
Moving closer to her spoiled, pug-like face, I said, “People who think they’re above others fail to realize one critical advantage we underlings possess: where you may know how to fight mean, we know how to fight dirty. Dirty trumps mean. So, go on. Give it your best shot.” I started walking away, but turned to face her once more. “Oh, and Merry Christmas. May St. Nick bring you everything you deserve.”
Verbal slap accomplished.
Chapter Nineteen
Ah, Christmas. That merry time of year, showering us with jolliness, candy canes, unforgettable carols, ornaments, a free excuse to eat whatever we wanted and drink and drink and drink some more. Yes, Christmas sure knew how to deliver an escape from the stresses of life…unless, of course, there were only two days until the big day and you had accomplished absolutely none of the most important items on your jerk of a ‘to do’ list. Why, hello peppermint-scented chaos and eggnog-drenched panic!
None of my surprises for Blake were ready. None. Okay, I did have all of the stuff, but that ‘stuff’ required significant set up time—time Blake’s schedule simply refused to give me. See, I needed Blake, for lack of a better term, away, and there were several obstacles preventing as much. First, he put his regular work at Traverz Enterprises on hiatus through the New Year. Second, because Blake had concrete confidence and had prepared immeasurably for the heist, he was free as a bird. Third, both my presence at the luncheon and my word-whipping of Blair apparently had Lydia singing my praises to her son. Blair couldn’t wait to tattle on me with both Blake and Lydia. Both of them thought what I did to Blair was ‘fantastic’ and long overdo. I’m not sure I’d go that far, but I made a point never to waste an opportunity to put a snobby bully in her place. Thus, between Blake’s open schedule and his mother’s approval, Blake had nothing to do but dote on me. Damn if I couldn’t shake him! And that may have sounded harsher than intended. I realized this wasn’t worthy of a complaint, but I had two days—TWO—until Christmas, and I was a frazzled mess. So, I finally caved and called the one person I knew could help…
“I can’t believe you have me hanging cheap plastic ornaments on an effing tree.” Standing beside a tall fir tree in Blake’s Tribeca apartment was hardly the place one would expect to see Ivy. Her snark, however, was entirely fitting. “Look, this one’s stick-on eye fell off. It’s a one-eyed elf. Pathetic. It might scare children, however. There are some of those miniature humans in my other apartment building. Hmm. On second thought, I might keep this one, hang it on my door for when those annoying kids down the hall coming toddling by.”
“What’d they do to you?”
“Made noise.”
“Well, you may not like the ornaments, but I wanted to give Blake an old-school Christmas. This was the best I could do.”
“Oh, he’ll love it,” Ivy groaned, grudgingly. “My neighbor’s family growing up had crap like this, knickknacks and such, along with those god awful paper chains and—”
“Finished the popcorn string!”
“Popcorn strings.”
I set the popcorn string aside and started setting up some Christmas themed trinkets around the place. This was the first time I’d ever visited Blake’s Tribeca dwelling, and I could instantly see why he preferred the brownstone. This was his show place, the grand façade: perfect, modern, and cold with its monochromatic gray and black color palette and uncomfortable looking furniture. Ever since Blake told me about his once unyielding love of the holidays and how he tried to keep his family traditions alive before the constant absence of his parents drained the Christmas spirit from him, I was determined to bring it back for him.
“Ivy, I can’t thank you enough for getting me in here and Blake, well, out of the way,” I said.
“Greg’s keeping Blake busy. He’s great at rattling on about computer programs, problems, possible solutions, ideas for improving future heists. The best part is Blake’s unending curiosity regarding anything that can make our group stronger, more infallible.” Ivy sat down and rummaged through the box of ornaments I’d brought. “I do like these wooden ones.”
I smiled at the tiny glimpse of Christmas spirit Ivy just unveiled. “How’d you get Greg to go along?” I asked, wrapping the popcorn around the tree.
“Wasn’t hard,” she said with a smirk.
“You didn’t threaten him, did you?”
“Of course I did.”
I rolled my eyes. “How long do you think he can keep it up?”
“You know, I’ve been taking bets on that for a good while now. Unfortunately, I won’t know until I’ve taken advantage of him properly.”
“Ivy! You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I know. It’s just fun dirtying things up. But, to answer your question as intended… Greg knows to keep up the charade until I call Blake. When we’re done here, I’ll call our Manx and have him wait for me there. Finn will drop you off at the brownstone, then take me to the hub. When you’re done doing your fairy godmother nonsense over there, text me, and I’ll send Blake here. Just don’t forget to leave the note you told me about.”
“It’s already beneath the plate of cookies, beside the fireplace.”
“Out of curiosity, what does it say?”
My cheeks grew warm. “Just… ‘The spirit of Christmas may fade, but it never truly leaves you. Find the rest where the stars and snowflakes meet in Manhattan.’ Corny?”
After a long moment, Ivy replied, “No…not corny at all. You have a good heart, Maggie. Try not to let it harden. Now, put on some carols. Let’s do this Christmas thing to its fullest.”
And so we did. After about thirty more minutes, we were done. The cold of Blake’s showplace was gone, and in its place was an undeniable warmth.
“Think we’re done!” I declared.
“I’ll call Blake.”
“Wait!” I screeched. “We forgot the tinsel!”
“Yes, because we haven’t quite achieved the requisite level of tackiness with plastic ornaments, multi-color lights, and popcorn strings.”
“So no tinsel, then,” I said flatly.
“I draw the line at metallic strings.”
&nb
sp; “I can live with that.”
After Ivy got hold of Blake—who, thankfully, wasn’t the least bit suspicious and actually sounded enthusiastic over Greg’s ideas—Finn dropped me off at the brownstone, where I wasted no time turning every inch into a Christmas haven: Christmas tree in the family room, much like the one in his Tribeca apartment, except in place of a popcorn string, I added a paper chain—it was a subtle difference that I’m not sure Blake would even notice, but I wanted to bring all of his happy childhood memories back for him. I sprinkled holiday decorations like reindeer, Santa, and elves along the mantle and various tables; poinsettias and matching placemats and dishtowels brought cheer to the kitchen; and in the pillow-laden enclosed courtyard, I dangled blue twinkling snowflakes between the lanterns Blake added when he was a boy. Directly beneath the area open to the stars, I sat a little family of rather recognizable plush snowmen.
Perhaps it was a bit over the top and likely very juvenile, but I didn’t care. Besides, when something comes from a Christmas-kissed heart, how could it be anything but right? Maybe I shouldn’t answer that one. I’d like to remain in my state of blissful ignorance at least until I spy the whites of Blake’s possibly worried-for-my-sanity eyes.
After I sent the go-ahead text to Ivy and received confirmation that she’d guided Blake to Tribeca, I hurried upstairs and slipped on a pair of jeans and an ice blue Fair Isle knit sweater, my Christmas gift from Lydia Traverz. I galloped down the stairs, flipped on some carols, and anxiously waited in the family room for the front door to open.
Finally, I heard the door swing open. I hopped up from the couch and waited to see him round the corner. I didn’t know what to expect; I hoped he liked everything, but really I just wanted to see Christmas back in his eyes. No matter how much hurt someone has endured, they should never be without Christmas, for it was the one time of year you could feel hope without reality tainting anything.
His footsteps walked with purpose and haste. When he rounded the corner and spied me, I saw exactly what I had hoped to see…and one more thing: Love.
Watercolor Hearts (Watercolor Love Book 1) Page 26