One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story)

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘I’ll pick you up at 7.30.’

  ‘And what should I wear? Formal? Casual?’

  ‘Cute sleepwear?’

  ‘That’s funny, Clark.’ She looked to Angel who was now paying her all her attention. She didn’t want to let on this was a date. Her daughter had enough going on. ‘I’ll dress for business.’

  ‘My imagination is running wild.’

  ‘Cynthia’s here!’ Angel announced, jumping up.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Hayley spoke quickly. ‘I’ll see you later.’ She ended the call, dropping her mobile phone into her backpack. She brushed her hands down her front. She’d dressed to impress this morning. She’d cobbled together a pair of smart black jeans, her boots, a cream chemise and a red jumper she’d cut up the middle to create a make-shift jacket. She’d spent the early hours of the morning sewing it into place when she hadn’t been able to sleep.

  ‘Good morning, how are we today?’ Cynthia greeted, holding her hand out first to Angel and then to Hayley.

  The woman looked immaculate in a grey two-piece suit, her hair and make-up as perfect as ever.

  ‘We’re really well. How are you?’ Hayley answered.

  ‘A little flustered I have to say but …’ She paused. ‘I’m really looking forward to showing you this room. Shall we?’

  Cynthia held out her hand and ushered them into the main body of the hotel. Hayley looked back, taking a moment, her eyes roving over the immaculate décor of the lobby again. This function, like the hotel, was going to have to be perfection. Just what had she taken on?

  * * *

  Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan

  Andrew Regis had done it. The interview was on Oliver’s desk in front of him. The man had told the world the merger between the two companies wasn’t going ahead because of Oliver’s reluctance to embrace the future. He’d called him a control freak and a megalomaniac. He said he had none of his father’s belief in mutual support creating stronger foundations. And Andrew had formally announced his personal relationship with Cynthia. His mother must have known this was on the cards and she hadn’t told him. That stung more than the article itself.

  ‘Oliver.’ Clara’s voice invaded his consciousness. He looked up to see his personal assistant still sat in her chair opposite his desk. How long had he been staring at the words? He didn’t even remember the last thing Clara had asked him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said in reply.

  ‘Shall I order some coffee?’ she offered.

  He shook his head. ‘No, I’m good.’

  She tutted out a noise and reached for the magazine article. ‘I never liked that man. I know he was your father’s best friend but, I don’t know, I never really trusted him. There’s something about his eyes.’

  ‘My mother obviously thinks very highly of him.’

  ‘But not after this, surely!’

  ‘Why not?’ Oliver asked. He reached for the stress baseball.

  ‘Because none of this is true.’ Clara shook the magazine.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No, Oliver.’

  ‘So I’m not power-crazed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A control freak?’

  ‘That one maybe a little.’

  ‘Not a team player.’

  ‘We all have certain strengths and weaknesses.’

  ‘You should have been a politician, Clara.’ He stood, the force of his movement sending his chair shooting backwards to hit the wall. He paced towards the windows, looking out at the skyline.

  ‘You know why he’s done this,’ Clara said.

  ‘To belittle me? To undermine my decision in public so the whole board question it? To discredit Drummond Global?’

  ‘No. This isn’t a man who’s acted with his business head on. This is him bitch-slapping you for not welcoming him into the family with open arms. This is all to do with Cynthia. It’s personal. He feels threatened.’

  ‘Did you just say “bitch-slap”?’ Oliver turned back to face her.

  ‘I believe I did. I apologise.’

  ‘No, don’t apologise.’ He took a breath. ‘What do you think I should do?’

  ‘I really don’t trust the man,’ Clara said. ‘Something about all this doesn’t add up.’

  ‘Which bit?’

  Clara adjusted her body in the chair. ‘Can I speak freely?’

  ‘Of course, Clara.’

  ‘Well, the merger from the beginning was always driven by the relationship he had with your father. Yes, they were friends, for a very long time, but I can’t help thinking that there was a reason your father never went into business with Andrew Regis in the first place.’

  ‘I have thought about that, Clara. I assumed, initially, when they were both starting out, they were working towards different goals, maybe sparking off the rivalry a little.’

  ‘Regis Software has nothing like the contracts Drummond Global has.’

  ‘I know that. But they have expertise in areas we haven’t broken into.’

  ‘And why hasn’t Drummond Global broken into those areas?’

  ‘Because we’ve been focussed elsewhere.’

  ‘Maybe. But like I said, I don’t trust the man.’ She shook her head. ‘And this relationship with Cynthia … what’s his play there?’

  ‘You don’t think it’s genuine.’

  ‘Your mother is a very powerful woman on the board here.’

  ‘You think he wants that power.’

  ‘I’m not going to say that outright but I would just keep your mind open to all possibilities where Andrew is concerned.’

  Oliver gritted his teeth. The thought of Andrew Regis having dishonourable intentions towards his mother made his blood boil more than thinking he had honourable intentions towards her. He still hadn’t heard anything from Daniel Pearson. If there was dirt to be found Daniel would find it. Perhaps there was nothing there. Maybe Andrew’s motivations in all areas were genuine.

  ‘What do I do about this?’ Oliver asked, indicating the magazine Clara was still holding.

  ‘You could call Delaney and get her to manage it with a retort in their rival’s edition tomorrow.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t do that?’

  ‘No. I’d play Mr Nice. I’d invite Andrew and your mother out to dinner, congratulate them on their relationship, see how the land lies and try and get a feel for what he’s up to.’ She threw the magazine down onto the desk. ‘You know what they say about friends and enemies.’

  Oliver nodded. ‘Yes.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘Yes I do.’

  The Crystalline Hotel, Downtown Manhattan

  ‘It’s gorgeous! I can’t keep my eyes off of it!’

  Angel had been squeaking with excitement since the second Cynthia had opened the doors into the Crystalline’s ballroom. The room had an arched ceiling with diamantes embedded in every inch of the plaster. Light streamed in from the Art Deco windows and when the many spotlights connected with the tiny sparkles they produced pinpricks of light on the mellow duck egg blue walls and the vintage parquet floor.

  ‘What do you think?’ Cynthia had addressed Hayley and she turned to the woman, her eyes alive.

  ‘I think it’s a beautiful setting.’ She swallowed. ‘My mind’s buzzing with ideas to make it even more perfect.’

  ‘I knew it would be,’ Cynthia said, smiling.

  ‘Did you know that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers once danced here,’ Angel announced, twirling around on the dance floor, her arms in the air, one leg cocked at an angle.

  ‘Did they really?’ Cynthia asked, clapping her hands together and looking delighted.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse my daughter, she’s a bit of a walking encyclopaedia,’ Hayley said, unzipping her rucksack and getting out a notebook.

  ‘I think she’s a doll.’ Cynthia sighed. ‘I longed for a daughter but it wasn’t to be.’

  ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, she’s not even ten yet and she already raids my wardrobe. So …’ She looked u
p from her pad. ‘How do you usually have the setting arrangements? Round tables? Long ones?’

  ‘Usually round. Businesses tend to buy a whole table or two.’

  ‘And they would sit all together?’ Hayley asked, writing notes.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Hayley looked up again. ‘Well, if they all sit together that would mean that every year they sit next to the very same people, all from their own companies.’

  ‘That’s usually what happens.’

  ‘It isn’t very good for talking to other businesses though, is it? I mean, as well as the charitable cause, this is a great networking opportunity, a social gathering. I’d want to talk to people I don’t know yet, meet some new friends.’

  Cynthia put her hands to her mouth, her eyes growing bigger as she looked at Hayley.

  ‘Have I said something really stupid? Because I can retract it and just go back to thinking how we can decorate this place.’

  Cynthia shook her head. ‘No, you’re absolutely right. Why has no one ever thought of that before? We don’t want people being insular all night, we want interaction and cooperation, making new acquaintances. We can sell tables but we can mix up who sits where. Can we make a note?’ Cynthia asked, striding into the centre of the floor where Angel was still dancing.

  Hayley scribbled as she followed Cynthia. She also made a note about getting drapes around the windows, creating a more intimate setting without making it feel small. The room had a presence all of its own. She was going to ensure any enhancements she made were in keeping with the era of the building but definitely noticeable. It was going to be classic and classy. The platinum and gold could definitely work.

  ‘So, do you have a speaker all lined up?’

  ‘You should get someone really cool like Michelle Obama or maybe Miley Cyrus. She’s interesting,’ Angel said.

  ‘Shall I write down “wrecking ball” as well as “glitter ball”?’ Hayley shook her head at Angel.

  ‘I was hoping Oliver would speak this year,’ Cynthia stated.

  Hayley swallowed. She wanted to shut her ears. If she didn’t hear anything it wouldn’t influence the other area of her life she was keeping separate from this one. She started to hum ‘Stop The Cavalry’ in her head.

  ‘Is he too busy?’ Angel asked.

  ‘He says he is, but I know it isn’t that.’

  ‘What is it then?’ Angel asked again.

  It was no good. She could hear everything. She shot Angel a warning look.

  Cynthia sighed. ‘As much as Oliver supports the foundation, I know he hates it in equal measure. He didn’t deal with the death of his brother or his father very well and he hates to be reminded of it.’

  ‘My nanny hates to be reminded how old she is,’ Angel said. ‘She also hates being reminded that she started using Oil of Olay when it was called Oil of Ulay.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Hayley asked.

  ‘You were the one that told me!’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to remember.’

  ‘Do you know me at all?’

  Cynthia burst out laughing. ‘You two are hysterical. If I don’t find another speaker I think you should do a comedic double act. Right, shall we meet the chef? See what suggestions he has for the catering?’

  ‘Yes, let’s talk cuisine instead of complexion,’ Hayley agreed, glaring at Angel.

  36

  Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan

  Clara held up a photograph. ‘This one?’

  ‘Argh! Don’t tell me! I know this one.’

  Despite the climate control making it a comfortable twenty degrees in the office, Oliver was sweating. All day he’d been trying to memorise the flash cards Clara had organised for him. His father had known every single member of his workforce. He wanted to do the same. Familiarity bred loyalty, not a larger-than-most pay cheque. He wanted to show his employees that they were important to him. Because they were and he should have realised that before.

  ‘Shall I give you a clue?’ Clara offered.

  He snapped his fingers. ‘Gemma Polvanoski. She works in accounts.’

  ‘Very good,’ Clara said, putting the photo to the back of her pile.

  ‘Give me another one,’ Oliver demanded, loosening his tie and pacing the carpet.

  ‘Oliver, you’ve named fifty-five employees already.’

  ‘I didn’t get them all right.’

  ‘You got forty-nine of them right.’

  ‘How many people do I employee?’

  ‘Almost four hundred.’

  ‘Then we have a long way to go. Give me another one.’

  ‘I don’t think you should be exerting yourself.’

  He closed his eyes as what felt like a clenched fist took hold of his heart and squeezed. He swallowed before continuing. ‘I’m still here.’

  ‘The doctor told you to take things easy.’

  ‘No one ever wanted to die taking things easy, Clara.’ His reply was blunt and determined. Perhaps a little too blunt and determined. He looked at Clara, making sure he held her eyes. ‘How would you want to go?’

  He watched her cheeks pink up. ‘Well, I don’t know, it’s not something I’ve really thought about.’

  Oliver let out a sigh. ‘It’s all I think about.’ He smiled. ‘The other night I watched Tony eat food to rival the guy on that show Man V. Food and I thought how ironic it would be if I died right then when he practically inhaled a heart attack.’

  ‘So, how about it? Where would you want to be?’ Clara asked.

  She’d turned the tables and he didn’t have an answer ready. Would he want to be here, working the role his brother was destined for? The football field, playing like he used to, scoring a touchdown, being part of a team that had the kind of camaraderie he’d never experienced since? Would he want to be with his mother, in Westchester? Or somewhere else? He let his breath go. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Well, I think I’d want to be on the last day of a three-week Caribbean cruise, having spent twenty-one days and nights soaking myself in margaritas, eating food I’ve never heard of before, sitting in the sun with a good book, Bill next to me, holding my hand, warm, comfortable, relaxed …’

  He’d done this. He’d turned a simply fact-finding mission into sentiment city. He needed her to stop now. He coughed. ‘Show me the next card. I’d hate not to know these before you leave me for Cuba.’

  Clara held up the next photo.

  Oliver put his hand to his hair again. ‘Dammit, I don’t know this one and I really should.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up over this. I understand why you’re doing it and I think it’s a good thing but …’ Clara began.

  ‘Thomas … Tom … it’s coming,’ Oliver said, closing his eyes and crushing them together.

  ‘Shall I give you the first letter of his surname?’

  ‘No! It’s a “B” I’m pretty sure.’

  ‘It’s not a “B”.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  ‘It’s definitely not that.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  The phone on his desk began to ring and he snatched it up without thinking about it. ‘Yes … O-K … Put her through.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Hi, Mom.’

  Clara got up out of her chair and made for the door. Oliver waved his arms, pointing her back to the chair as he paced.

  ‘So, I was thinking, if you’re free, maybe we could get together for dinner or something, with Andrew as well, of course.’ He swallowed. ‘You kept that one quiet.’ He made a face at Clara. ‘Yes I’ve seen the article in Business Voice … well which bit did you want me to say something about?’ He ignored his pounding heart as best as he could. ‘You think he’s just blowing off steam. Trying some sort of shock technique to get me back on board?’ He wanted to snort but held off. ‘Listen, Mom, let’s just meet up and we can talk it out over dinner. All of it.’

  The words were literally burning their way up his throat as he spat them out as evenly as possible. He was
n’t sure he could make nice with Andrew, but Clara was right, it was the only way he was going to get to the bottom of his intentions towards Cynthia.

  ‘Maybe lunch?’

  Clara started shaking her head and mouthing something to him.

  ‘Or dinner?’ Oliver said, looking to Clara, who nodded. ‘Yes, dinner. How about Mancinis, tomorrow night? Say, seven?’ He waited for the reply. He nodded. ‘Good, I’ll meet you both there. Listen, I’d love to talk for longer but Clara’s looking daggers at me over a report we need to finalise, so I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘OK, Mom, see you then. Bye.’

  He ended the call and dropped the phone back into its cradle. With an audible expulsion of air, he dropped to his chair. ‘Wow, that was hard.’

  ‘But you did it,’ Clara remarked.

  ‘Yes I did. But I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to stop myself from grabbing him by the throat tomorrow night.’

  ‘You’ll find a way, Oliver. Because you’re playing the more intelligent game.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nodded. And he was going to ring Daniel Pearson the first moment he got.

  ‘And you have a date tonight, don’t you?’

  He checked his watch. ‘I do.’

  ‘Are you all set?’ Clara asked.

  ‘I think so. Everything’s organised and in place. I just have to decide what to wear, turn up and hope my date hasn’t changed her mind.’

  ‘Have a little faith. It’s almost Christmas.’

  Oliver smiled. ‘I hate to tell you this, Clara, but I found out Santa wasn’t real a good while ago.’

  ‘What?! He’s not real?!’ Clara exclaimed, her hand at her chest.

  He clapped his hands together in applause. ‘Bravo. I’d expect a call from Broadway any day.’ He put his hands to his head and closed his eyes. ‘Thomas Mitchell! That last guy you showed me is Thomas Mitchell from technical support.’

  ‘Congratulations, Mr Drummond, you’re getting to know your staff.’

  37

  Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan

  Hayley blew at the clear gloss on her fingernails and took a sneaky peek at her watch again. It wasn’t long until Oliver would be coming. She’d been buzzing since their phone call that morning, wondering where he was going to take her and how the night was going to go. She shook her hands in the air to speed the drying process. She was really nervous, which was completely ridiculous. She’d spent more time with this man than she’d spent with Angel’s father. And they got on. Really well. Better than she’d got on with any man. They had a vibe, they bounced off each other, it was a good connection. With only a few weeks before she had to face unemployment back home, it was nice to be in a New York bubble where she had a job and a night with a good-looking guy to enjoy.