by Anita Hughes
She reached for her phone, but the hot dog slipped and splattered mustard all over her bag. By the time she found her phone the ringing had stopped, and the phone read: INCOMING CALL UNKNOWN.
It couldn’t have been Fletcher; his number would have printed out. She started eating the hot dog when her phone rang again.
“Hello?” She flipped it open.
“Emma, it’s Fletcher,” he answered. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. One of the actors got pneumonia, so I spent last night begging every guy in the drama department to play Hamlet’s father. Today they offered me an extra shift at work, and my phone fell out of my pocket while I was bicycling to Ye Olde Candy Shoppe. The phone in the dorm wasn’t working because someone left it off the hook, so I’m calling from the phone in my advisor’s office.” He paused to take a breath. “How is New York?”
Rain was beginning to fall, and people scurried for cover. There was a mustard stain on Emma’s blouse, and the hot dog bun was soggy. But none of that mattered because she was standing in Central Park looking at the Manhattan skyline, and Fletcher was on the other end of the phone.
“New York is the most amazing place I’ve ever been,” she said, and had never felt so happy. “I can’t wait to show it to you.”
Emma hung up and hurried out of the park before the rain ruined her new pumps. There was a line of people waiting at the bus stop, and her phone rang again. She thought it was Fletcher, but instead there was an unfamiliar male voice.
“Is this Emma?” the man asked. “This is Walter Barrows. We met yesterday afternoon.”
“Of course.” Emma tried to keep the phone dry. Walter was a senior copywriter at Ogilvy & Mather, and was on the team that had interviewed her.
“This is a little premature because we have to get approval from the higher-ups, but we wanted you to know how impressed we were,” he said. “You should be hearing the good news from HR shortly.”
“Are you serious?” She gulped. “Do I have the job?”
“It’s not official, and anything can happen in advertising,” he said, but there was a smile in his voice. “However, if I were you, I’d be scouring the classifieds for an apartment.”
Emma was tempted to call Fletcher. But Walter had said it wasn’t final, and she didn’t want to jinx it. The bus pulled up and she hopped on board. The next time she ate a hot dog in New York, she would be a junior copywriter at Ogilvy & Mather. Fletcher would be assistant director for some off-off-Broadway play, and they’d meet for lunch in Central Park. There was a break in the clouds, and her smile was as wide as the rainbow in the sky.
Three Days Before New Year’s Eve
Snowberry, Vermont
Emma tried to ignore the waitress at the Snowshoe Café clearing the next table, and wondered what would have happened if she’d called Fletcher back all those years ago. But that was ancient history, and so much had happened.
She caught her reflection in the window and was angry with herself for thinking she and Fletcher had a chance. Fletcher was engaged, and she wasn’t going to start pining for him like a teenager reading the diary of her first crush.
The café door opened and a small figure entered the space. Her face was hidden by a hooded jacket, but Emma recognized Lola’s pink tights and lace-up boots.
“Lola! What are you doing here?” Emma asked.
“Betty said you came into the village.” Lola pushed back the hood and plopped down across from Emma.
“Does your father know you’re here?”
“He was in the library, and I didn’t want to disturb him,” Lola answered. “I had to see you. It’s important.”
“You can’t wander around Snowberry by yourself,” Emma said.
“I grew up in London, and now my father lives in the East Village.” Lola rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of walking one block to Main Street. This is life or death—it couldn’t wait.”
“Life or death?” Emma grinned, and felt foolish at how happy she was to see Lola.
“Maybe not exactly life or death, but you’ll understand when I tell you what happened.”
“It’s going to have to wait until we leave.” Emma pointed to the waitress. “I’ve been sitting here too long, and I’m going to get kicked out unless I order something.”
“That’s fine with me.” Lola picked up the menu. “I haven’t eaten since lunchtime, and I’d do anything for a burger and a shake.”
* * *
“So I took a hot bath, and then I was about to go into my dad’s room to get my sweater,” Lola began after the waitress delivered a turkey burger with a side of sweet potato fries. “I didn’t even know Megan was there; I thought she was at the beauty parlor.”
“Megan went to the beauty parlor yesterday,” Emma said, trying to follow the story.
“There was an inner tubing accident. Megan’s leather jacket was ruined, and her hair got wet,” Lola explained. “Honestly, Megan’s hair looked good with a little frizz, but she likes it pin-straight. Anyway, I heard her talking—”
“Don’t tell me you eavesdropped again,” Emma interrupted.
“I didn’t mean to.” Lola crossed her hands over her chest. “At first, I thought she and my dad were talking, but then she mentioned his name and I realized she was on the phone.” Lola looked at Emma. “Megan said she couldn’t believe Fletcher made her spend Christmas week in Vermont, and she was going to miss the most important theater party of the year.”
“She was probably just complaining to a girlfriend,” Emma said uneasily. “Sometimes my friend Bronwyn talks about her husband, Carlton, and they have a wonderful marriage.”
“Does your friend say things like ‘he cares more about his bratty daughter than about me,’ and ‘I always dreamed of getting married at the Plaza, and I’m not going to settle for a garden wedding at some country inn in the wilds of Vermont’?” Lola squeezed ketchup onto her burger.
“You must have heard her wrong,” Emma assured her.
“They do those hearing checks at school where they ring a bell. I have perfect hearing.” Lola’s face was serious. “Then she said she’d better get the lead in the play, or marrying Fletcher is a bad idea.”
Emma’s cheeks paled and her heart beat faster.
“Megan is a beautiful woman with a Yale degree. She wouldn’t marry your father to get a part in a play.”
“The person on the phone must have said something, because Megan did say he seemed sexy in the beginning,” Lola said, and stuck out her tongue. “You don’t know the theater—actors do crazy things to get roles all the time. My godfather told me about an understudy who filled the dressing room with roses even though the lead actress was allergic. The understudy claimed she didn’t know, but every night someone whisked away the flowers the actress received because even looking at them gave her hives.”
“Lola,” Emma said sharply. “Whatever goes on between your father and Megan is none of our business. All couples have arguments. If it’s something serious, they’ll tell you.”
“How can my father say anything when he doesn’t know himself?” Lola asked. “He can’t marry Megan if she’s using him to get a part in a play.”
“You’re nine years old. You can’t stop them.”
“Will you stop talking about my age? Emma Watson was only eleven when she starred in the first Harry Potter,” Lola said impatiently. “My father is one of the two people I love most in the world. I can’t let anyone hurt him.”
Emma wished she could talk to Bronwyn, or even Betty. This was serious, and she had no idea how to answer.
“You can’t say anything to your father. You don’t have any proof, and Megan would deny it.” Emma fiddled with her napkin. “Spreading gossip is wrong, and it’s only going to get you into trouble.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Lola ate a handful of fries. “Cammi’s stepfather is an entertainment attorney, and one of his clients is some big music producer. US Magazine wrote something bad about him, and he sued fo
r millions of dollars,” she said thoughtfully. “He told Cammi if being a divorce attorney doesn’t work out, she should switch to entertainment law.”
“I have a feeling Cammi will do well at whatever she tries,” Emma chuckled, feeling more relaxed. “Fletcher and Megan will work it out. Why don’t we find Betty and work on the program?”
“We can’t do that now, I have to help my father,” Lola protested.
“You just agreed there’s nothing you can do,” Emma reminded her.
“You said people shouldn’t listen to gossip,” Lola said and took a large bite of her burger. “Could you please pay the check? There’s somewhere we have to go.”
* * *
“What are we doing in here?” Emma hissed at Lola.
They were standing in the waiting area of Nancy’s Nail & Hair Salon. It was the opposite of the salons in Manhattan: one vinyl sofa faced a chipped coffee table, and Christmas cards were arranged on the Formica reception desk.
Lola peeked at the back of the salon, where women were sitting under old-fashioned hair dryers. Her eyes widened and she approached the desk.
“We’d like to get our nails done,” Lola said to the receptionist.
“I can fit you both in tomorrow at nine in the morning.” The woman flipped through her book.
“It has to be now—it’s for a Christmas party,” Lola said, and turned to Emma. “You get your nails done, and I’ll watch.”
Emma had no idea what Lola was up to. But Lola’s jaw was set in a determined line, so Emma gave up and played along.
“Could you squeeze me in?” Emma asked the woman.
“I suppose,” the woman sighed heavily. “Gretchen will take you back.”
* * *
“You still haven’t told me why we’re here,” Emma whispered when they were seated behind a curtain. Lola flipped through People magazine, and a dark-haired woman dunked Emma’s fingers in a bowl of sudsy water.
“Look, it’s a photo of Haley Thomas, the actress who is going to play the lead in Father of the Bride.” Lola waved the magazine in front of Emma. “She’s only twenty-two, and she’s already won two Tonys.”
“I thought Megan was going to play the lead,” Emma said, and winced. The water was too hot, and Emma wished the woman wouldn’t squeeze her fingers.
“Haley has the same manager as Alec Baldwin. If they fire Haley, Alec might quit too,” Lola said loudly. “The producers would kill if they lost Alec Baldwin—he’s the reason the play will open on Broadway.”
“I’m sure your father knows what he’s doing,” Emma said uncertainly. “He wouldn’t jeopardize the production.”
“Graham told me a story about when he was going to produce a revival of Jesus Christ Superstar with Jay-Z and Beyoncé. The director decided to replace Jay-Z with some rap sensation who happened to be a friend.”
“I didn’t know Beyoncé was going to be in Jesus Christ Superstar,” Emma said.
“When they fired Jay-Z, she quit so fast you could feel the wind in the theater after the door slammed behind them,” Lola said knowingly. “The biggest star is the one with the control.”
There was a crashing sound on the other side of the curtain, and Lola closed the magazine. She moved closer to Emma and pointed to the row of nail polishes.
“You should try the Christmas Burgundy,” she said, reading the name on the bottle. “It would look so pretty with your complexion.”
* * *
“What was that about?” Emma asked when they left the nail salon. Her nails looked lovely under the streetlight, and she thought she’d buy a bottle for Bronwyn as a present.
“Megan was on the other side of the curtain,” Lola said.
“How do you know?” Emma gasped.
“I passed the salon when I was coming to see you.” Lola skipped along the pavement.
Emma stopped in front of a dress shop. The salesgirl was filling the window with balloons, and there was a gold banner that read HAPPY 2020.
“Lola, please don’t tell me you made that up for Megan to hear!” Emma turned to Lola. “If they fire Haley, Alec Baldwin might quit too. And the story about Jay-Z and Beyoncé?”
“I can’t remember what I said. Anyway, it doesn’t matter whether I did or not.” Lola pressed her face against the glass. “I was talking to you in private. It’s not my fault if Megan heard us. You’re the one who said people shouldn’t listen to gossip.”
* * *
When they got back to The Smuggler’s Inn, Lola ran upstairs to find Fletcher, and Emma poked her head in the kitchen.
“There you are. I was hoping you’d be back soon.” Betty was standing at the stove. “I took a pork rib eye out of the oven, and wanted someone to taste it. It’s on tonight’s menu, and I’m afraid I used too much pepper.”
“I’d be happy to,” Emma said. The counter was scattered with platters of sautéed spinach and sweet corn, along with a cheese board and toasted nuts.
“Stephen was here, and I got inspired.” Betty followed her gaze. “He’s quite the chef. He gave me some new recipes, and showed me how to roast nuts in the oven.”
“Stephen was here?” Emma raised her eyebrows.
“He dropped off some things for the talent show, and brought me a poinsettia,” she said, waving at the counter. “We discovered the craziest coincidence: his daughter lives in the same town in New Jersey as my son! He offered to give me a ride the next time he visits her.”
“That’s very kind of him,” Emma said slowly.
“I miss John terribly, but it’s nice to talk to a man.” Betty flushed. “I can’t help but feel this was all meant to be: not the possibility of losing the inn, but doing the talent show and reconnecting with Stephen.”
“Do you believe in that sort of thing?” Emma prodded. “In synchronicity?”
“When I was in the theater, everyone believed in chance happenings. If you didn’t, you couldn’t go to endless auditions that never amounted to anything except wearing out new pairs of shoes.” Betty picked up an oven mitt. “But then one day you got the part in a TV commercial because the girl they wanted had food poisoning, and the director recognized you from the subway when you were reading one of his favorite books.” She paused. “If you had been reading anything else, he may not have remembered you, and might have given the job to someone else.”
“I hadn’t looked at it like that before,” Emma mused. “Life has always moved in a straight line for me: go to a college and find a career you love. Then hopefully get married and start a family.”
“That’s important, but you have to allow for a little magic.” Betty scooped up gravy. “If you didn’t, life would get quite boring, after all.”
* * *
After Emma left the kitchen, she went to her room and opened her laptop. The screen flashed, and she pressed the FaceTime icon.
“Emma? Hold on, let me take this thing off.” Bronwyn appeared on the screen. A silk sleep mask covered her eyes, and she was wearing some kind of pajama top.
“Were you asleep?” Emma wondered. “It’s six o’clock in the evening.”
“I’m adjusting to vacation time.” Bronwyn pulled the mask over her forehead. “We leave for The Breakers in the morning.”
“Palm Beach is in the same time zone.”
“Vacation time is different. The girls get up at six in the morning so they can check out the soaps in the hotel bathtub. They’re so worn out from spending the day at kids’ club, they pass out before dinner.” She patted her hair. “They wake up around midnight starving, so I have to call room service and pay a fortune for two hot dogs and glasses of chocolate milk. I can’t wait until Carlton arrives. He’s so good at taking care of the girls at night if they get restless so I can sleep.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you,” Emma said.
“It’s fine; I was having a nightmare that Zac Efron was sitting by the pool at The Breakers.”
“How could that be a nightmare? He’s gorgeous,”
Emma laughed.
“In the dream I forgot to put on sunscreen,” Bronwyn sighed. “I envy women with darker complexions. My skin is that kind of milky white that sounds romantic in a Barbara Cartland novel, but I have to lather on so much protection I look as sexy as Liv when she’s covered with diaper ointment.”
“I was wondering,” Emma began. “Do you really think synchronicity exists?”
“Did something happen with Fletcher?” Bronwyn was completely alert.
“Lola overheard Megan talking to someone on the phone,” Emma answered. “Megan was saying that if she doesn’t get the lead in the play, she’d wish she hadn’t agreed to marry Fletcher.”
“I told you!” Bronwyn jumped up. “Megan is going to flounce back to New York and you’ll take her place at the dining table before Fletcher notices she’s gone.”
“Even if Megan leaves, Fletcher hasn’t shown any interest in me,” Emma said, shaking her head. “And Lola could be wrong about the whole thing—she’s not Megan’s biggest fan.”
“Synchronicity is never wrong,” Bronwyn said. “You only have to read Jung to understand. He documents dozens of cases where a convergence of events resulted in a unique outcome.”
“I’m not talking about something you studied in college,” Emma urged. “Have you seen it happen in real life?”
“I must have told you the story about how Carlton and I met,” Bronwyn reflected. “I was at Bloomingdale’s, buying sheets for my new apartment. I ended up on the seventh floor instead of the eighth, and then I got on the down escalator by mistake and tried to climb back up. Carlton was on the same escalator going down and he looked at me like I was crazy. Two weeks later we bumped into each other at a Starbucks in Midtown. I had been trying out a new skin product and my cheeks were covered in spots because I had an allergic reaction. A month after that, we were at the same dinner party. He said I was the most memorable person he hadn’t actually met, and from that night we were inseparable.”