Mad About Max

by Holly Jacobs

“What were you doing in Pittsburgh?”

  “I’d just flown home from New York. I signed a three book contract with my publisher.” She’d been so happy. She’d thought she was on top of the world. If she knew then what she knew now, she’d have relished every blessedly sane moment of it.

  “And are you worried about the books?” He glanced at her, waiting for her reply.

  “Oh, no. I’m almost finished with the first one.”

  “So, you’re excited about the books?”

  She nodded. “I love what I do.”

  “How about a man? Have you had any problems with the men in your life lately?”

  Grace felt as if she was playing twenty questions back in high school. “Are you going to ask about my childhood next?”

  “Sorry. I’m grilling you.”

  “No, I’m sorry. You’re trying to help. The only man who’s been in my life lately is you. And you’re not a problem.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. But, what I’m trying to find out is what stress is there that might have caused you to—”

  “Flip out?” Grace smiled wryly.

  “That’s not the term I would have used. But you get the idea. What new stress is there that might make your writer’s imagination take flight?”

  “Nothing new.” She paused a moment. “You know, I can’t decide which is the better option. Either I’m nuts, and the fairies don’t exist—in which case I might never get rid of them—”

  “Or?”

  “Or, I’m nuts and they do exist. If so, they might never leave me alone. My only hope is doing what they want. Maybe then they’ll leave.” She fidgeted in her seat. “See? Hopeless.”

  “We’ll work everything out, I swear. Why don’t we start at your house and just go from there?”

  “Okay.” She sounded unconvinced.

  They arrived back at the mall. Grace retrieved her car, and as she drove home, she glanced frequently in the rearview mirror, relieved to see Max was indeed behind her. Somehow everything seemed saner since she’d met him.

  As they pulled up to the small Cape house, Grace felt her heart race. She didn’t want to open the door. She didn’t want to see the fairies. She wanted to run away from here and let Max convince her she wasn’t crazy.

  Instead, she got out of the car.

  “Nice place.” Max fell into step behind her.

  “Thanks.” She cracked the door. “Hello?” Silence was the only sound that greeted them.

  Her home was the perfect size for a single woman. The furniture represented last summer’s work. She’d spent every weekend shopping garage sales and putting her household in order.

  She gazed fondly at the old cedar chest that sat proudly in front of her couch. She’d spent three weekends stripping, staining, and finally painstakingly painting it with four coats of polyurethane. She was proud that she’d done it herself. Just like she was proud of the small dried flower arrangement that sat on top of the chest. She’d grown them, dried them and then arranged them.

  This was her home, something her furnished apartment had never been. Everything here bore her stamp. Though her stepmother and stepsister might sneer at the house’s lack of size and its simplicity, she loved every inch of it.

  She’d bought it—or at least bought what the bank didn’t own—with money she’d earned through her own hard work. The success of her fairy godmother books allowed her more financial freedom. She’d inherit her father’s money next year on her thirtieth birthday, but she didn’t need it. She was content with making her own way in the world. Hopefully someday her way would lead to a place on the lake, like Max’s. But until then, she was content.

  Of course, if she was insane she might not be able to write. Then again, she might find that her work improved without the constraints sanity held on her. It was something to think about.

  “Hello?” she called again. “They’re not here,” she whispered to Max when no one winked in or spoke. “Even if they were you wouldn’t be able to see them. But then again maybe they are here, and just not letting me see them, either.”

  She called, “If you’re here, come out. I want to talk to the three of you.”

  The house remained silent. “What’s all this,” Max asked, motioning in the direction of a huge mountain of boxes and bags.

  “Oh, that. Webster’s must have delivered the new clothes while I was gone. I didn’t mention that, did I?”

  Max shook his head.

  “After I left your office, but before you found me at the mall, I won an entire new wardrobe from Webster’s to go with the makeover. The fairies are efficient, at least sometimes. Alison, next door, has a key. I’m sure the godmothers saw to it she let the delivery people in.”

  He stared at her, questions in his eyes. “They’re efficient?”

  “Very. Except when they’re making a mess of things, but even then, they do a killer job of it.” Grace started for the bedroom. “Let’s take a look at my closet. If there’s still nothing in it that might prove something, though I’m not sure what. They stole all my jeans, so I’d be forced to dress up in these manhunting clothes. I guess they were afraid a professional man like you wouldn’t look twice at a passably pretty woman who would rather wear jeans and flannel than cashmere and silk.”

  “I like jeans,” Max muttered as they walked into her bedroom. “And I like this room.” Max eyed the quilt that Grace used for the headboard of her king-sized bed.

  “So do I.” She stared at her empty closet. Only the outfit from Le Chic’s hung inside. “Yesterday morning this whole closet was filled to the brim with denim, flannel and sweatshirts.

  Now . . .” She shrugged.

  “You know, the least the fairies could have done was hang up all that new stuff. Now, I’ll probably have to press it all and I hate, utterly loathe, ironing.”

  Max studied the closet. The empty closet. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  Grace nodded, glad he was finally getting the point. “That’s what I’m saying. None of this makes sense.”

  “What night is your garbage night?”

  Garbage? She’d lost her wardrobe and her mind, and he was asking about garbage? “What?”

  “What night is garbage collection?”

  “Wednesdays.”

  “And all this happened today, right?”

  She nodded. “Right.”

  “So let’s see if your flannels and jeans are in the garbage. If they’re not, we’ll be able to rule out the possibility you threw it all away without realizing it.”

  She led him to the back yard and opened the garbage can. A stench immediately filled the air, and she waved her hand in front of her face as she said, “See. It’s just garbage, but no wardrobe. It didn’t get picked up this week because I was in New York.”

  “So all your clothes disappeared while you were gone? Could it have been a robbery?”

  “Someone would steal jeans and sweatshirts? I don’t think so.” There was nothing truly worth stealing in her house. A thief could certainly find better places to hit.

  “Let’s check anyway. Humor me.”

  Back in the house, Grace went through her jewelry box. “This is the most expensive thing I own,” she said, holding her grandmother’s string of pearls aloft. “They’re certainly worth more than my clothes were. Plus the television, the VCR, even my computer—they’re all still here.”

  “Cash?” There was a prickling at the back of Max’s neck, as if someone was staring at him. He glanced over his shoulder. There was no one in the room. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that they were being watched.

  She placed the pearls back in the box. “In the bank.”

  “Okay, so no robbery.”

  “So what next, Sherlock?” She pursed her lips.


  What next? Max stared at her lips. Kissing her came to mind. He’d like to—

  He shut off the thought. She was attractive, but she was in trouble and didn’t need any more stress. Plus, he wasn’t the type of man who acted on a whim. He was the kind of man who spent months getting to know someone. He wasn’t into instant lust. He wanted more substance to relationships than mere physical attraction.

  So why was he standing here with Grace, almost ready to believe in her fairies? Because his tendency to want to save people in trouble had led him to psychiatry.

  And even if he wasn’t officially her psychiatrist, kissing her was certainly out of the question. That didn’t keep him from fantasizing about how those lips would taste against his.

  “I can’t,” he said in a strangled voice. Again, it felt as if he were being watched, almost as if his mother was sitting in the room and watching every move they made, knowing every lust-filled thought in his mind.

  “You can’t figure out what’s going on, either?” Grace asked.

  That was close enough to the truth. He let it stand. “Not yet, but I will. One way or another, I will figure it out.” He needed to get out, to get some distance from Grace and her problem. He’d be able to think more clearly and decide why anyone would steal her clothes, why she thought she saw fairies—why she stirred feelings in him that he couldn’t understand. “I think we should sleep on this.”

  Her face fell. “Listen, if you don’t want to get involved, I understand. I can handle things on my own. You could just leave your friend’s name and number. It might be better if you cleared out now and let me work things out with him. Lord knows what those three will do next.”

  “I’m not going anywhere but home, and I’ll be back tomorrow, first thing. You’ll be okay?” He was staring at a chair, as if he expected someone to materialize there at any second.

  “Hey, I’m already nuts. What else can happen?”

  Four

  GRACE SNUGGLED under the covers, willing sleep to come her way. Maybe if she got a good night’s sleep, things would look better tomorrow. Maybe she was just having a little emotional breakdown, and she and Max would be able to fix it tomorrow. Maybe she’d seen the last of the three fairy godmothers.

  The bed sank.

  Maybe not.

  “Hello dear,” said Myrtle, when Grace opened her eyes. The three fairies were sitting next to Grace on the bed.

  “You’re making progress. After all, you’ve met your own Prince Charming, and it’s only the first day. So many of our godchildren can’t tell the toads from the prince for what seems like forever,” Fern assured her excitedly. The fairy was dressed in a green sari today. When she followed Grace’s gaze, she explained. “I was visiting some friends.”

  “Now, as Fern was saying, you are making progress,” said Blossom. “Finding your Prince, though, is just the first part of the story.”

  “About tomorrow,” Myrtle interrupted.

  “I think I can handle tomorrow on my own. Max will probably drive me to a very nice sanitarium where we’ll meet his friend. My new doctor will see to it that they put me in a very comfortable wheelchair and straightjacket. Then they’ll pump me full of all kinds of interesting drugs.” Grace smiled bravely. “I’m going to think of it as a vacation.”

  “You’d better not let him do that,” Fern warned.

  “Oh, no. You can’t do that. If you do, then Leila will get herself named your conservator, or maybe Doris will, and—”

  Grace shuddered and held up her hand, not needing Myrtle to finish the sentence. “With everything else that’s been going on, I forgot all about Leila.” And that alone let Grace know how bad things were. Forgetting about her stepsister’s spitefulness was a difficult trick indeed. She glanced at the clock. “What day is it?”

  “I think we’re sometime in the twenty-first century,” Faith said helpfully. “The time you humans use always confuses me.”

  “It’s 2000,” Myrtle added, a bit more specific.

  “Oh, my, oh . . .” Grace bolted out of bed. “I’ll talk to you three tomorrow. I’ll deal with all my delusions then. But right now I have to know . . . though I’m pretty sure. What am I going to do if . . . ?” Grace slipped on a new robe and opened the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called out to the fairies as she fled the room.

  One by one they smiled and winked out of Grace’s bedroom.

  Grace rushed through the living room and into the kitchen. She had to be positive that tomorrow was the day. Maybe she was wrong?

  She groaned as the calendar confirmed her worst suspicions.

  She picked up the card Max had left her and dialed his number. “Max?” she whispered when he picked up.

  “Grace?” came his groggy reply.

  “Max, are you awake?” There was no response. “Come on Max, I need you.”

  “What time is it? It feels like I just closed my eyes.”

  “It’s twelve-thirty or something. Listen, are you awake?”

  “I guess. What’s the problem? Bad dreams?”

  “Well, the fairies were just here, and maybe they count as bad dreams, but they didn’t get me into any mischief this time. But then I thought of Leila. She’s beyond bad. She’s a nightmare, and that’s the problem. I need your help Max, and I need it bad.”

  “Slow down, honey. Now, tell me about this Leila. Is she another character from one of your books?”

  “I’ve used her for the basis of all my wicked villains, but don’t tell her that, or she’ll sue for slander or something,” Grace replied. “But she’s real flesh-and-blood, and, worse yet, she’s my stepsister. My very wicked, hates-my-guts, wishes-I-were-dead, stepsister.”

  Realizing what she’d just said, Grace moaned, “This sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? Did Hans Christian Andersen ever write one about a psycho-writer with living characters, and a wicked stepsister and stepmother? Kind of a Frankenstein, Cinderella thing. Or maybe Sleeping Beauty. All I know is I created the three fairies, and now I can’t get rid of them. But, no matter how good a writer I become, I’d be hard-pressed to create a character like Leila.”

  “So, was your stepsister in the room just now, too?” Max sounded genuinely confused.

  Grace sighed. “No. Leila isn’t a figment of my imagination, like the fairy godmothers are. She’s my late-father’s second wife’s—his widow’s—daughter from her first marriage. Does that make sense? A stepsister. She’s beautiful—really beautiful, not fairy magic beautiful. She’s also married to a rich—eats from a silver spoon kind of rich—businessman. And she hates my guts.” Grace sighed. “So does her mother—my stepmother—hate me, that is.

  “They hated me when my father was alive and hated me worse when he died. You see, he left most of his money to me in a trust, which I can’t touch until I’m thirty, except for school. He wanted me to make it on my own before I had to deal with his money. Doris, my stepmother, went through her money fast, and now both she and Leila resent me. Leila has her husband Leo’s money, but it’s not enough. They think they should have my money, and they hate me. I’d give them the money if I could, but I can’t do it because of the trust.”

  “So now you think you’re in a fairy tale with a wicked stepsister and stepmother?” Max still sounded confused.

  Grace continued, hoping to explain. “Tomorrow—well, actually today—is their party and they always invite me, so no one knows they hate me. And I always go, just to annoy them. But, don’t you see, if they know I’m crazy they’ll have me committed and take control of me, just so they can get their hands on Dad’s money. They’d like nothing better.”

  “Okay, so just don’t go to the party.”

  Grace twisted the phone cord. “I have to go, or they’ll know something’s wrong and will start snooping and find out where you’ve committed me
. Then they’ll take over and—” She stopped. “And you’ve got to help me.”

  “Help you do what?”

  “Help me go to that party and not look crazy. You can pretend you’re my date. We can even tell them we’re getting married, since the fairies aren’t going to leave us alone until we do. Then you’d be in charge of all my money when I turn thirty next year. Leila and Doris won’t be able to touch my inheritance or me. When you divorce me, you can even keep all my inheritance. I never wanted the money anyway. I was just going to donate most of it.

  “Well, maybe I’ll need half the money,” she amended. “I’d like to live in a small place on the beach. I love the beach. If my writing is driving me crazy, I won’t be able to do that anymore, so I don’t know how I’ll support myself without some money from the trust.”

  “Let me see if I’m following you,” Max said. “You’re seeing your characters come to life, so you’re convinced that you’re crazy. These characters aren’t going to leave until we marry, so we should get married. Then I can commit you to a psychiatric hospital until you’re well. Marrying you will also protect you from your wicked stepmother and stepsister. I’ll get an inconvenient wife until you’re well, but then you’ll divorce me and let me keep half of your father’s sizeable fortune. Do I have that right?”

  Grace was relieved he understood. “Right. You just forgot about the party part. You have come to it with me and make me look sane.”

  “That could be the hardest part of this whole drama,” he stated dryly. “I’m not sure I can make you look sane because I’m starting to doubt my own sanity.”

  “Oh, no. I’m the crazy one. You’re just the white knight who’ll ride to my rescue.”

  “How do you know I won’t leave you in the hospital and spend all your money?”

  “Because you’re noble and generous.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Because Myrtle, Blossom and Fern would never let me fall in love with a knave. Only Prince Charmings will do for their goddaughters. The three of them might confuse some things, but they always pick a good guy. Always.”