First We Take Manhattan

by Colette Caddle

  ‘Shit.’

  The older woman glared at her over the rim of her specs. ‘Exactly, and you’re in it.’

  ‘Phyllis—’

  ‘No more excuses, Krystie, I’ve heard ‘em all and I’m sick of it. You’re my best tailor, but you spend more time daydreaming than you do working.’

  Krystie gaped at Phyllis. The fact that she wasn’t shouting and had even paid her a compliment – sort of – was worrying. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Sorry, kid, but I’ve got to let you go.’

  ‘But you can’t! If you’re letting anyone go it should be Jenny,’ she said, ignoring the guilt of betraying a mate. She needed this job. ‘Last one in, first one out, apart from the fact that she can’t sew half as fast as me.’

  ‘At least she’s here when she’s supposed to be and can keep her mind on the job instead of having her head in the clouds,’ her boss retorted.

  ‘Aw, come on, Phyllis, I know you lost the Levi order and I’m sorry, that’s tough. But, cheer up, there will be lots of other weddings.’ She tried a playful grin. ‘You need me, Phyllis. Like you said, I’m the best. Where are you going to find someone half as good?’

  ‘Already have,’ Phyllis said, writing a cheque, ‘and hopefully she’ll be a bit more dependable than you.’

  Krystie felt queasy as she realised she may not be able to talk her way out of trouble this time. ‘You’re kidding, I know that. I’m sorry, Phyllis. I promise I will be employee of the year from now on.’

  ‘You’re fired, Kelliher.’ Phyllis put the cheque in an envelope and tossed it across the desk. ‘Your papers are in there along with a letter of recommendation – not that you deserve it.’

  ‘You want me to go now, this minute?’ Krystie stared at her.

  For the first time Phyllis’s expression softened. ‘Look, kid, we both know you don’t belong here. Get out there and do what you really want to do. You have the talent. You just need a break and you’re not going to find it working for an alterations company. Trust me. One day you’ll thank me for this.’

  The others watched in shocked silence as Krystie packed up her few meagre bits and pieces, pulled her hat on over her dark curly hair and raised a small smile for a tearful Sandy. ‘See you at home,’ she said and, slinging her bag across her shoulder, she tramped down the four flights for the last time.

  Wandering the streets in the general direction of the apartment she shared with Sandy and two other girls, she grew even more miserable as she realised that she would have to move out. It was a struggle each month to make the rent and they couldn’t afford to carry her. She found herself outside Saks and stared longingly in the window at a bolero that cost more than she earned in a week – had earned, she corrected herself. It was a good design, intricate, yet simple, but in her heart she knew she could do better. If only someone would give her a chance.

  She had left Dublin so full of hope seven years ago, convinced that she could make it really big in the fashion industry, but she’d been kidding herself. Not that she intended to give up on her dream, no way. She’d just been thrown off course a bit. Maybe coming to New York hadn’t been her smartest idea. She probably should be grateful to Phyllis. She’d got too settled and lazy in Sew Splendid and it was a dead-end job. She had to stay positive and look on this as an opportunity to get back on track. But how? She needed to think outside the box, as Sandy would say. She went into a coffee shop and ordered a small hot chocolate – not that she should be spending money on such little luxuries, but she needed cheering up. After taking a sip, she tugged off her gloves, unwound her scarf and pulled out the reference Phyllis had given her. She felt a little tearful as she read. It was more than generous and not at all what she would have expected from the tough broad from Brooklyn: ‘Krystie is an excellent seamstress and has an eye for style and a natural flair for design. She would be an asset to any fashion house. I wish her well.’

  She refolded it carefully and put it back in the envelope. The cheque she would lodge after she’d finished her drink. Not that it would last long now she was unemployed – again. On her visits home, she’d always made her jobs sound a lot more important than they were; well, she had her pride and was damned if she’d admit to her family that she was a failure. But, while they all accepted whatever she said, her nasty little sister would wait until the entire extended Kelliher clan was assembled before asking pointed, direct questions. Was she operating alone? Did she have her own line now? Who stocked her clothes? Bloomingdale’s? Saks? Wal-Mart? Of course, the snide comments would always be accompanied by a laugh, and everyone would treat it as a joke, but as time went on Krystie found it harder to laugh, and she started to find excuses not to travel back to Dublin. The thought that she might have to go home for good was very depressing.

  Of course her ma and da would be thrilled. They’d gone mad when she’d told them her plans. Had she lost her reason? How could she up and go to a strange country where she knew no one and had no job waiting for her? But Krystie was determined. She’d read the fashion magazines. She knew that New York was the place to be, and she’d been planning her escape for months.

  ‘I do know people and I do have a job and a visa,’ she’d told them triumphantly. Her best friend Jenny had emigrated with her family last year and her dad had agreed to employ Krystie so that she would be able to get a visa. They were also going to let her stay with them until she found her feet.

  ‘You’ll be back with your tail between your legs in a few months,’ her dad predicted, while Mum just cried.

  ‘Be happy for me, Ma,’ Krystie begged her. Her mother’s sadness was making her feel guilty as hell.

  ‘I am, love, but you know that I’ll worry myself sick about you.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m a big girl, Ma, I can look after myself.’

  ‘But what if you get sick?’ her mother said.

  ‘It’s been two years since I had a fit,’ Krystie reminded her, ‘and they have doctors and chemists in America.’

  She had completely dismissed her mother’s worries, but it was the one area she hadn’t thought through properly. Living at home in Ireland, she’d never had to think of the cost of medical care, but it was a whole different matter in New York when you had a condition like epilepsy and no health insurance. She had had only a couple of seizures but they had been costly ones.

  ‘So, Krystie, baby, think outside the box,’ she muttered now, staring out at the people purposefully striding past the window all with someplace to go. Why the hell didn’t she have some rich maiden aunt somewhere who would kick the bucket and leave her enough cash to open her own little shop? Why didn’t she know anyone with contacts in the business who could get her in the door of one of the design houses? But she didn’t, and, despite Phyllis’s opinion and kind words, Krystie admitted to herself that there wasn’t a hope in hell of her making a name for herself as a famous fashion designer in Manhattan. She thought of her paltry savings and the money she owed Sandy for her meds and she knew it was time to leave.

  ‘No way!’ Sandy screeched, looking fierce – well as fierce as it was possible for her short, skinny friend to look. ‘You’re not going home,’ she said, taking a beer from the fridge.

  Krystie gave her a sad smile. ‘It’s not like I want to go but I’ve no choice, Sandy.’

  ‘Are you shittin’ me? You got plenty of choices, girl. Hell, you haven’t even checked out the vacancies and you’re buying your plane ticket?’

  ‘I’ve lost my job, I can’t pay my rent and I’ve no health insurance. Tell me, Sandy, exactly what are my options?’ Krystie helped herself to a beer. She didn’t really drink much but she needed something to numb the pain. She was barely holding it together and Sandy wasn’t helping. As if she wanted to leave.

  ‘We’ll talk to Laura and Jess. Maybe they could get you some work at the bar.’ Sandy was not ready to accept defeat.

  Waitressing was all very well for their flatmates, two young girls working their way through colle
ge. But a twenty-seven-year-old graduate scraping a living working in a bar was not how Krystie saw her life panning out. There had to be some way of digging herself out of this hole, but she didn’t see how she could do it and stay in New York. Perhaps if she went home she could save face by telling the family that she was on a sabbatical. Everyone knew that creative types often needed a change of scene when they were looking for inspiration. She brightened at the thought. If she was ‘on holiday’ at her folks’ she would be able to live very cheaply and, on the quiet, check out the job market. She put down her beer and smiled at her friend. ‘Good idea. It’ll pay for my ticket. I’m going home, Sandy, but with a bit of luck I’ll be back before you’ve even had a chance to notice I’m gone.’

  Sandy’s sigh was resigned. ‘I’ll keep your room for you.’

  ‘No way, hon. Rent it out. You need the cash.’

  ‘What will you do in Dublin?’ Sandy asked.

  Krystie swallowed back her tears and smiled. ‘Start over.’

  She felt better once the decision was made. She checked all the flights to Dublin and finally found a relatively cheap one that would mean she’d be home in a couple of weeks. Laura had indeed got her a job at the bar in the evenings and she’d done pretty well on tips so far. With most of her things packed, Krystie spent her last few days walking the streets of Manhattan, drinking in the noise and the smells, and wallowing in the atmosphere. She survived on coffee and bagels in the cheapest coffee shops, sitting in the warmth and sketching. She didn’t know what it was about this city that she loved so much and why it felt like she belonged here, but it did, and she was heartbroken to be leaving. It was as if she was admitting defeat and giving up on her dreams. Had she been kidding herself? Was it really her destiny to spend the rest of her life behind a sewing machine, taking up hems and letting out waistlines? Was she going to end up like the rest of her family, working to live as opposed to living to work? The thought really depressed her. So many people like her had started out with nothing and now their designs were showcased in the windows of these fancy posh shops. Why not her?

  With a heavy heart she turned away from a particularly stunning display of colourful, chic berets in her favourite millinery to see another woman gazing in the window with the same intensity. I’m not the only one with dreams, she thought with a sigh. Krystie stared in surprise when the woman turned. She’d guessed the lady to be in her forties, given the drab clothes and sensible shoes, but her face was young, her skin smooth and pale and the blonde strands that escaped her bobble hat framed startling grey eyes and high cheekbones. Krystie smiled at her in solidarity but, looking slightly alarmed, the woman turned away and disappeared into the crowds. Krystie chuckled. She’d forgotten that you didn’t look at strangers in this city, let alone smile at them.

  That was one huge difference between New York and Dublin. Back home it was commonplace to chat to someone while waiting for a bus or help someone who’d dropped their shopping or was having trouble getting a buggy through a doorway. The thought cheered her and for the first time she felt excited at the thought of returning to Ireland. It might be nice to spend a while in her hometown and catch up with old friends.

  Sandy sat cross-legged on the bed watching Krystie pack the last of her stuff. ‘I still think this is a seriously bad move.’

  Krystie shrugged and smiled. ‘I told you, Sandy, it’s the only way I can get back on my feet. I can stay with my folks rent-free and sign on the dole and get some money while I figure out what I’m going to do next.’

  ‘Have you told Jacob?’

  Krystie froze for a second, and then continued to fold her clothes. ‘We’re finished, Sandy, I told you that. What’s going on in my life is none of his business.’

  ‘Oh, pur-leeease, don’t give me that! As for being finished, ha! I’ve lost count of the times it’s been over.’ She made dramatic quote marks in the air and rolled her eyes. ‘But you always get back together in the end.’

  Krystie thought of the last time she’d seen Jacob, and shivered. ‘Not this time.’

  ‘What the hell happened between you two? You never told me? He wasn’t fooling around with someone else, was he? Hell, he’s not the real reason you’re leaving, is he?’

  Krystie sank onto the bed. ‘No, I’m going home because I can’t afford to stay. And, no, Jacob wasn’t fooling around. Everything was going great. I know we had rows but they were almost worth it because making up afterwards was always so wonderful.’

  Sandy shook her head, confused. ‘So what went wrong?’

  Krystie had to swallow back her tears before she could continue. ‘Do you remember the night that I ended up in the hospital?’

  ‘How could I forget it? You scared the hell out of us.’

  ‘I certainly scared the hell out of Jacob. It completely freaked him out. That’s why he broke up with me.’

  ‘The asshole!’ Sandy was incensed.

  Krystie shrugged. ‘Some people just can’t handle sickness.’

  ‘But you’re not sick. You’ve got a condition and you’ve only had, what, two or three seizures since you got here?’

  ‘Maybe it was just an excuse – who knows? It doesn’t really matter, Sandy, does it? He dumped me.’

  ‘You’re better off without the sonofabitch.’

  Krystie laughed. ‘I am. Now, do me a favour and see if you can find my red bag. I’ve looked everywhere. Oh, and my blue scarf, too.’

  ‘Did you check the girls’ room?’

  Krystie grinned. ‘No.’

  Sandy stood up. ‘I’ll go have a look. They’re just like magpies and they so love your style.’ She paused and looked at Krystie. ‘I’m going to miss you, Irish.’

  Krystie enveloped her in a big hug, smiling at the pet name. ‘Gonna miss you too, hon.’

  Chapter Five

  Sheila stared at herself in the mirror. You’re not Sheila Healy, she told herself. You’re Donna Cassidy. She now wore her hair in a short blonde bob. Who would have possibly recognised her as Sheila Healy, especially dressed like this? She barely recognised herself. She hadn’t possessed a pair of trainers since she was a teenager. As for the sweat pants she lived in these days, she wouldn’t have been seen dead in them in Dublin. ‘Seen dead.’ The unfortunate phrase brought a wry smile to her face.

  Karl Fitzsimons came to stand behind her and massaged her shoulders. ‘Will you stop worrying? Even if she did recognise your face, out of context it would mean nothing. How long is it since you’ve met?’

  ‘Maybe eight years? We went to the same college.’

  ‘Did you have anything to do with each other?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Sinéad?’

  Sheila didn’t have to think twice. If Sinéad and Krystie Kelliher were friends, she’d have known about it. She met his eyes in the mirror. ‘No.’

  ‘Then this girl, if it is her, may not even know what’s happened,’ he said, his voice soothing and sensible.

  It was her. Sheila was sure of it. The girl had always worn very eye-catching clothes and still did. She may have only seen her for a few moments but she remembered the colourful jacket and jaunty hat. But there was no reason why she would recognise Sheila, who looked nothing like she had in her college days. ‘You’re right,’ she said, smiling at Karl. ‘She could be anywhere in the world now. I must ask Sinéad . . .’ She broke off. When would she get used to not being able to talk to her sister any more?

  He squeezed her shoulders. ‘Come on. Let’s go eat.’

  ‘No,’ she said, suddenly nervous at the idea of going out. ‘I’ll make us something.’

  He snorted. ‘You are not going into hiding because you saw a woman on the other side of town who you might know and who might have recognised you.’

  ‘Perhaps it was a mistake to come to New York. There are too many people.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ He grinned. ‘Haven’t you heard? The best place to get lost is in a crowd.’

  In the restaurant she tried to
relax but she still had an uneasy feeling. She had deliberately dressed down in a black sweater, slacks and flat pumps and had pulled her hair back into a knot.

  ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ Karl asked, as usual reading her mood.

  She looked at him, so calm, so self-assured and so unflappable. She considered his question. ‘I suppose the worst is that the truth is splashed across the front of the Irish newspapers.’

  ‘The truth?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘The fact that I’m alive and well and living here,’ she amended.

  He nodded. ‘Would it matter that much?’

  She took a sip of her Martini. ‘Maybe not, but I don’t want to think about the past. I want to get on with my new life.’ She had adapted so easily to New York, to being with Karl. It was as if she belonged. She didn’t want to leave or look over her shoulder wherever she went.

  ‘You could always lie low for a while, spend some time in Minnesota.’ He helped himself to more noodles. ‘The light down there in winter is amazing, inspirational.’

  Sheila thought of his beautiful and very large ranch that had literally taken her breath away the first time she’d seen it. Looking at him now, sitting in the chic Chinese restaurant in the best part of town, it was hard to believe he had come from such humble beginnings. With his blond hair, blue eyes, perfect smile and fine clothes, he reeked of wealth and breeding. She still couldn’t quite take in the extent of his success or his affluence, not that he flaunted it. He was as unassuming as he’d been the day she’d met him. He had developed a gaming website that had become hugely popular in a matter of months and was bought out a couple of years ago for almost a billion dollars. He could easily retire and live comfortably for the rest of his life on his ranch, but he’d be horrified at the very idea. He lived for his work and continued to develop gaming software, but now for smartphones.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked.