One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story)

by Mandy Baggot

  She wrinkled up her face in disapproval. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re deeply annoying?’

  ‘Would you like all their names and zip codes?’

  * * *

  The look on Hayley’s face when she saw the banner announcing what they were going to see was priceless. Her mouth had sprung open, her jaw hanging, eyes unbelieving. She turned to stare at him, unspeaking, seemingly lost for words which, for her, was a definite rarity. He felt pure unadulterated joy welling up inside him. This was what it felt like to do something for someone you cared about. And then something stung. He didn’t do caring like that. It only led to pain. He kept the smile on his face and put a hand to his chest to quell the spasm that had occurred in apparent protest. This had to be light and casual. He ground his teeth together. He was living in the moment. Just the moment. Nothing else.

  ‘I know about this … I mean … I knew it was in New York soon and I hoped I’d be able to catch some of it on TV. I mean, people like me don’t get tickets to this sort of thing,’ Hayley gabbled.

  ‘People like you?’ he questioned, drinking in the sight of her in the perfect dress, the ends of her new hairstyle just touching her delicious jawline.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s one of the most famous fashion collaborations of the year. All the greats are here, Alexander McQueen, Versace, Galliano and …’ She took a breath like she was steeling herself for something. ‘Emo Taragucci.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Oliver asked, his face a blank canvas.

  ‘Who’s that?!’ She flipped around on him, looking mean. ‘I can’t believe you said that.’

  ‘To be honest, I’m kind of a Tom Ford guy.’

  He watched Hayley approach the poster, looking up at it like it was something to worship at. ‘Emo Taragucci has been … was … an inspiration to me.’

  He wet his lips. Was she about to open up to him now? He’d known the flashes of spirit she had shown him were only the tip of the iceberg. Underneath the responsibilities of being a mum there was a frustrated spirit waiting to break out. He held his breath, wanting nothing to get in her way.

  ‘I dreamed I’d be designing clothes like this one day,’ Hayley said, the words floating from her mouth almost subconsciously. ‘I thought … hoped … one day my name would be up there.’ She indicated the poster with a shaking finger. ‘Somewhere like this.’

  This was her wish. When he’d asked her at Vipers she had totally ignored her own dreams and desires and told him what she wanted for her daughter. But this was it. This was what she wanted the most for herself. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he remembered his own life plan he’d had to give up.

  ‘It’s never too late,’ he whispered, stepping close to her until he knew she could feel his breath on the nape of her neck. He watched her visibly shiver in response. What he wouldn’t give to touch that delicate skin, the shorter hair leaving it bare to the world.

  She shook her head. ‘No. I missed my chance. Flying off to Milan and creating my show for London Fashion Week is never going to happen for me now.’

  ‘That’s defeatist.’

  ‘It’s reality. I have Angel.’

  ‘If you fold her up a certain way I think she could class as hand luggage.’

  Hayley laughed. ‘The special dictionary alone covers that. Add all the guidebooks and I may as well pay for her seat.’

  He reached out and touched a strand of her hair before removing his hand quickly. Where had that come from? It was way too intimate. He cleared his throat. ‘Shall we go in?’

  * * *

  The opera house was, without doubt, the grandest place Hayley had ever set foot in. The tiers of sumptuous red upholstered seats were just like the Albert Hall. Looking upwards she marvelled at the unusual circular design of the ceiling and the Art Deco-style starburst lights, their arms shooting out like radiant rays of stardust. Even in the best dress she had to wear she felt conspicuous. Oliver, on the other hand, couldn’t have fitted in better. His winter coat was over his arm now and the charcoal suit he was wearing tapered in all the right places. She really needed to stop looking at him like he was a piece of meat ripe for the barbecue. But she couldn’t deny there was a part of her warming to this man in quite a significant way. Bringing her here wasn’t about showing off his ability to get tickets that had probably sold out the second they went on sale. Somehow he knew this meant something to her.

  She watched him saying hello to various patrons along the way. He was a well-known businessman; he probably knew half the room. She, on the other hand felt like a fish out of water. She really needed to learn to walk a little taller, remember the social skills she used to possess before the only thing she had to focus on was Peppa Pig. In a few days she was going to be mixing with the rich and the beautiful at the McArthur Foundation fundraiser. And she really needed to tell Oliver about that.

  Right on cue he turned back to catch her gaze. ‘We’re here,’ he stated, holding an arm out, indicating the very front row.

  The front row. Of course he had got them tickets for the front row. Where else would a billionaire trying to impress his date sit? She threw a glance over other guests already in their seats and almost choked on the air she couldn’t swallow down.

  ‘Oliver, don’t look now, I think Victoria Beckham is sat two rows behind us,’ Hayley hissed.

  She watched him look then wave a hand of acknowledgement. ‘Ah good, I’ve been meaning to catch up with David about youth sports sponsorship.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Hayley said, her voice an octave too high.

  ‘What?’ Oliver responded with a laugh of innocence. ‘If you’re impressed by sitting in front of Victoria Beckham what are you going to think about sitting next to Emo Taragucci?’ He indicated the seat to Hayley’s right.

  Suddenly she felt like she was holding the winning lottery ticket and didn’t have a clue what to do.

  * * *

  From the second the music started, Oliver watched Hayley give every ounce of her attention to the show going on in front of them. She clapped and whooped, whistled in appreciation and watched steely-eyed as model after model made their way down the catwalk on stage towards them. It was evocative. She was evocative. His eyes hadn’t been on the stage, they’d been on only her. He swallowed as that thought travelled over his brain.

  Hayley pointed. ‘Look at that. See how she creates the illusion of length. And those colours!’

  ‘I’m not even going to pretend I know what I’m looking at.’

  ‘Oh come on, Oliver, you appreciate the female form, don’t you?’

  ‘It has been known.’

  ‘Well, Emo Taragucci dresses women in a totally unique way. All her designs are ultra-feminine, sexy, strong, everything a woman should be.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ Oliver answered.

  Hayley punched his arm. ‘You’d better mean that.’

  ‘I do, I swear,’ he laughed.

  ‘Ooo, look at that one … it’s beautiful,’ Hayley said, admiring a black dress printed with tiny Japanese blossom.

  Her excitement and enthusiasm was catching. Her joy in the fashion show made him feel the same elation as winning another billion-dollar contract or scoring a winning touchdown on the football field. He swallowed back the feeling, something pinching. There had to be at least an arm’s length. She was leaving. He was dying. He couldn’t do complex.

  ‘I squeezed Emo’s leg,’ Hayley whispered, her face close to his.

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘I didn’t mean to, I just got overexcited. She took it well. She is coming back after her section of the show isn’t she?’

  Oliver laughed. ‘How hard did you squeeze her?’

  ‘Do you think it would be too much to ask for a selfie?’

  39

  Greenwich Village, New York

  ‘So this is Greenwich Village,’ Oliver remarked after the car had dropped them off again.

  Hayley sucked in some of the cold air, including a mouthful
of snowflakes, one hand deep in her pocket, the other intertwined with Oliver’s. She was still on cloud nine after the fashion show. Seeing a production like that, something she would never normally have been able to get invited to, had been unbelievable. Sitting next to her absolute, number one icon in the fashion industry had been on another level. By the end of the evening at the theatre Hayley had felt confident enough to speak instead of squeeze and she’d complimented the designer on all her favourite collections since she’d become a fan.

  Hayley sniffed. Scents of incense, spruce, chocolate and mulled wine filled her nose. There were different flavours on every corner. A man was selling Christmas trees up ahead and it reminded her that Dean still didn’t have one in the apartment. He had always been far more into Christmas than she was until Angel came along and stoked up her excitement. When Angel was little she’d always made a paper fairy for the top of the tree. Hayley suspected making tree toppers was way too infantile for a nine-year-old now. Her daughter was growing up so fast. Then Michel came to mind. He’d walked her through Greenwich Village in their twelve hours together. He’d seemed right at home with the bohemian ambience.

  She came to a stop outside a store where Christmas music was coming from the window display. There were animatronic animals moving to the sound of ‘Rockin’ Robin’. A stag was in the middle, his mouth opening and closing in time to the lyrics, two penguins sat in front, their wings lifting up and down, then there was a trio of rabbits – knitted red scarves wrapped around their necks – and half a dozen small mice, spinning round and round in circles. Fake snow was filtering down upon them and a troupe of Nutcracker soldiers moved up and down the window frame on a track, pink wooden cheeks glowing, arms shifting forward and back.

  Hayley laughed. ‘Angel would love this.’

  ‘What does this store sell anyhow?’ Oliver asked, trying to look for merchandise. He stepped back, looking at the sign. ‘Pet supplies,’ he remarked, shaking his head.

  ‘Can we go inside?’ Hayley asked him.

  ‘You want to go shopping for pet supplies?’

  ‘We enjoyed the display, Dean’s partner has a dog, come on,’ Hayley encouraged, stepping towards the door.

  Oliver checked his watch. ‘We have a dinner reservation.’

  ‘Five minutes, I promise.’ She pulled a face she hoped was like one of Angel’s when she wanted something. It always worked for her.

  * * *

  ‘I really hope this dog likes sequins.’

  ‘It isn’t really for Randy,’ Hayley responded, tucking the paper bag containing a silver sequinned waistcoat and bow tie for the pooch under her arm. ‘It’s for Angel. Fussing over that dog and dressing it up is going to take her mind off finding her father.’

  Oliver swallowed. Daniel Pearson hadn’t been able to find any trace of Michel De Vos which even the private investigator thought was unusual. He was going to keep looking, try a different tack, report back as soon as he had something.

  ‘Still nothing?’ he asked her. Should he tell her he was looking? How would she feel about that? Pleased that he wanted to help? Or was it too much and none of his business?

  She sighed. ‘I went back to Vipers last night. Another bartender there said she’d seen him recently, like in the last few weeks. I left my details.’ She swallowed. ‘Last night it felt like all my Christmases were coming at once but in a city this big it’s still a long shot.’

  ‘Hey, don’t underestimate the outside chance. Drummond Global has made a fortune on some of those.’ He smiled. ‘We’re here.’ He held his hand out indicating the building they’d stopped at.

  ‘Restaurant Romario,’ Hayley said, reading the sign.

  Oliver took it all in, like he was seeing it for the first time. Not much had changed since he was a kid. The window frames and door had been given a fresh lick of paint but the green and red canopies over them were still the originals. His stomach rolled as if it could already taste the delicious Italian feast about to come their way. Breadsticks and olives followed by a garlic-infused lasagne.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Hayley announced. ‘I want the biggest pizza they’ve got.’

  Oliver smiled, stifling the laughter with a hand to his mouth.

  ‘They do do pizza don’t they? This isn’t one of those restaurants where I won’t know the name of anything is it? I went to a Christmas meal once where they did heirloom tomatoes and something called a mackerel escabeche. I was too scared to order anything but turkey.’

  Oliver pushed at the door. ‘One thing I can tell you is, you won’t want the biggest pizza they’ve got.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? I’m a big eater.’

  ‘It takes two people to carry it,’ Oliver responded.

  * * *

  Hayley watched Oliver push open the door and a bell chimed above as he moved over the threshold. Heat hit her as she stepped up into the entrance and smells of oregano, parmesan, olive oil and freshly baked dough infused her nose. As she relieved herself of her coat, shaking snowflakes off the material and folding it over her arm, she watched Oliver being swallowed up in the embrace of a short, dark-haired woman in her sixties. The woman was speaking in hurried Italian and Oliver was responding, kissing both her cheeks with real affection. This was somewhere he knew well. And it was nothing like the opulent surroundings of Asian Dawn. This was a cosy restaurant, somewhere you would come to feel at ease. It wasn’t the sort of place Hayley had imagined eating dinner at tonight and, as she watched Oliver in this relaxed atmosphere, she realised that was a good thing.

  The older woman shuffled forwards, dark eyes shining at Hayley. Before she had a chance to do or say anything, the woman had taken her hands and was clutching them tight in a move that suggested she was thrilled to meet her.

  ‘You are a very beautiful girl, very beautiful,’ Mrs Romario said, still holding on to Hayley’s hands.

  ‘Thank you,’ Hayley said, a little embarrassment creeping in.

  ‘Hayley, this is Anna Romario, this is her restaurant,’ Oliver introduced.

  ‘Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you,’ Hayley replied, shaking the hands that were holding on to hers with more affection.

  ‘This one needs a good girl,’ Mrs Romario continued, her eyes moving to Oliver.

  ‘Whoa there, Momma, I think that’s enough of the matchmaking right now.’

  Hayley looked to the newcomer. He was taller, late twenties, with dark eyes and hair to match. He smiled and held out his hand.

  ‘Tony Romario,’ he introduced himself. ‘And actually this is my restaurant now, along with two others from the Papa Gino franchise.’

  ‘You’re not at a networking event,’ Oliver said.

  ‘She’s cute,’ Tony whispered back.

  ‘Thank you,’ Hayley replied. She shook Tony’s hand.

  Oliver smiled. ‘Hayley this is my best friend, Tony. Tony, this is Hayley Walker.’

  ‘Charmed,’ Tony said, smiling. ‘Now, please, let me show you to your table.’

  Hayley followed Oliver through the restaurant to a booth at the back next to a window looking out onto the street. Oliver pulled out a chair for her and she sank down into it, looking to the view outside. A group of carol singers stood across the road, the tune of ‘Ding Dong Merrily On High’ just audible through the glass. A couple walked by, wrapped up in hats and scarves, taking turns to nibble on a doughnut.

  Hayley turned back to the room and watched Oliver take his seat opposite.

  ‘A menu for madam and one for sir,’ Tony said, passing them out. ‘Can I recommend a wine or perhaps some champagne?’

  ‘You keep working that charm,’ Oliver joked. ‘Hayley? What would you like to drink?’

  ‘I do like fizzy wine. It doesn’t have to be champagne. Sometimes fizzy wine is actually better,’ she responded.

  ‘Got any fizzy wine for the lady?’ Oliver asked, looking amused.

  ‘Only Bollinger,’ Tony replied, not missing a beat.

  ‘Bollinger it
is then,’ Oliver answered.

  ‘I’ll be right back. Oh, the specials are on the blackboard but we’re all out of the arrabbiata.’ Tony left the table and headed towards the bar area.

  Hayley let out a laugh, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I had no idea you were going to bring me somewhere so … so normal.’

  She watched Oliver shift in his seat and knew instinctively she’d said the wrong thing. She followed it up quickly. ‘I didn’t mean that how it came out. This place, it’s lovely.’ She looked at the other booths behind them, the round tables covered in gingham cloths, the wine bottle candles shimmering. ‘I just thought …’

  He interrupted. ‘I’d take you to a soulless restaurant on a rooftop somewhere and we’d pick over heirloom tomatoes and mackerel escabeche?’

  She nodded. ‘And that was me putting my foot in it.’

  He pulled in a long breath. ‘I could have taken you somewhere like that. That’s what I would usually have done but …’

  Her heart was racing. The velvet texture of his tone was settling on her like a layer of snow, but warm, welcome.

  ‘I’ve not brought anyone here before.’ He swallowed. ‘This place is …’ He reached his hand across the table and picked a breadstick from the glass in the centre. He broke it in two. Hayley could sense his hesitation. For whatever reason, he was finding this difficult.

  ‘My mom and dad, me and Ben, we used to come here every Friday night without fail. It was one of the only times business was switched off and we talked about other stuff that was going on.’

  Hayley leant her elbows on the table and inched herself closer. ‘Like what? School?’ She smiled harder. ‘Glee club?’

  Oliver smiled. ‘No one in our family was in Glee club.’ He broke the breadstick again, pieces landing on the small plate to his right.

  ‘So what did a young Oliver Drummond do at school? Don’t tell me … you were president of the debating society?’ She could see him doing that. Commanding other students, leading a healthy argument about the state of the world.