That Magic Mischief (32 page)

Annabelle stood and checked herself out in the mirror. “I intend to have a civilized conversation, Lorna. Relax.”

She turned and strode calmly over to where Wilson was sitting, tie thrown over his shoulder in anticipation of his meal, reading
Newsweek
magazine on his iPad.
I
, thought Annabelle,
have always preferred
Time.

“Hello,” Annabelle said, looking down at him. First expression: dismay. Second expression: sphinx-like, yet wary. He laid his tablet aside, and shoved back his chair.

Annabelle dropped down into the one across from him. “Oh, don’t get up. It’s so medieval.” That wasn’t true:
I,
she thought,
actually like old-fashioned courtship rituals.
Never mind; it sounded good. “I passed you in the street the other day. You were with your fiancée.”

“Ah. Winifred.” He cleared his throat.

“Yes. We’d met.” Annabelle raised an admonishing hand. “I’m not going to make a scene. I know how you hate them.” She smiled. “And I don’t have many questions, hardly any, apart from one: how long were you dating ‘Winnie’ when you were still actually dating me?”

Wilson looked over her shoulder, worriedly, at the door. He pulled his tie back over his shoulder, and smoothed it down fussily, playing for time. Annabelle leaned an elbow on the table, and dropped her chin in her hand. “I had asked you, remember? If you’d met someone else?”

“I believe you asked me if I’d met someone new, and strictly speaking I hadn’t, and not that it was any of your — ”

Annabelle hooted. “So slippery! No wonder you’re so good at what you do.”

“Bitterness isn’t becoming,” Wilson said, primly.

“Neither is lying or cheating.” Annabelle held up her hand again. “Trust me, I don’t sit at home going over and over the last things you said to me. I’m far too busy for that. But there are two things that have bugged me, the thing about a possible ‘other woman’ and the bit about me loving you more than you loved me?” She shook her head, and pushed back her chair. “I didn’t. Just to let you know, so you’re not laboring under some kind of conceited misconception. I didn’t. I was just much, much better at showing it.”

She rose, and Wilson’s stunned gaze followed her. “Congratulations on the wedding. I do hope that rock was insured. I really must return to my friends and continue celebrating my latest success.”

Lorna and Maria Grazia didn’t bother concealing the fact that they’d been watching like hawks, and they broke out into spontaneous applause as Annabelle joined them. She smiled and regally nodded her thanks.

“He looks even more uptight than normal,” jeered Lorna.

“And now he looks really, really confused,” laughed Maria Grazia. “‘
I
didn’t order a bottle of champagne!’”

Annabelle clapped her hands. “You didn’t!” Lorna smirked and winked.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Maria Grazia sat up and peered over Annabelle’s head. “Look who’s here!”

“Oooh, it’s that bitch — that diamondless bitchface!” Lorna tried to kneel up on her seat.

“Sit down!” Annabelle hid her face in her hands. “Don’t do this! I don’t want to — I don’t need to — what are they doing?”

Maria Grazia and Lorna took turns with the play-by-play. “Bitchface has seated herself — and she’s not too happy about that — ”

“‘And why are you sending back that perfectly fine bottle of champers, darling?’” Lorna simpered.

“‘Never you mind, Bitchface, just do what I tell you to do and I’ll marry you and knock you up and commence taking mistresses.’” Maria Grazia boomed.

Lorna’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Bitchface chastises Willy with less than a look — even I’m not that good — ”

“And he turns to beg the poor beleaguered wait person, yes, we’ve changed our minds
again
— ”

“He’s not moving fast enough for Bitchface — oh, my Lord!” Lorna gasped, suddenly sober. “She has just
snapped
her
fingers
at the waiter — ”

“Who is now carrying a full tray — ”

“He’s tripped — ”

“He’s — ”

Annabelle could have filled in the rest for herself, but turned to look anyway as a piercing scream filled the restaurant. A tray set with bowls full of some violently red-colored liquid — which didn’t appear anywhere on the menu — rained down on Winifred’s head, dripping down the front and back of her white linen suit, destroying it utterly. Wilson ineffectually patted at her with a napkin, and she smacked at his hand with more force than was necessary.

The waiter calmly put down his tray and walked away, toward Annabelle’s table. Passing it as he went to the door, he winked one merry hazel eye at Annabelle before going out into the street.

“Callie!” Annabelle grabbed her bag and ran out after her. She blew kisses to her friends, shouted, “See you tomorrow!” and was gone.

“That,” said Lorna, “Was worth the price of admission.” Winifred was now weeping hysterically and calling for the manager, and Wilson stood by, the rejected napkin dangling uncertainly from his hand.

“Talk about closure,” Maria Grazia said, and poured out another round. “Well, Annabelle’s back to … normal.”

“Wonder where I could get one of those Pooka things?” Lorna muttered into her drink, as she leaned up against Maria Grazia’s shoulder. Both put their feet up on the seat opposite and settled back to better enjoy the continuing drama.

• • •

Annabelle could just make out the back of the ‘waiter’ as ‘he’ moved briskly down Hudson Street. The balmy spring evening had lured quite a crowd to Tribeca, and Annabelle wasn’t keen to make too much of a spectacle of herself. Breaking into a trot, she started to overtake the ‘waiter’, muttering, “Callie Callie Callie Callie,” over and over and as the next traffic light threatened to change against her, she broke into a run and was just about to make it when —

She plowed right into Jamie.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, when he got his breath back. He steadied her, and she jumped up and down, trying to see over his shoulder.

“Oh, no, oh, no, he’s gone — she’s gone — damn it!” Annabelle felt the urge to stamp her foot. What a silly thing to do.

“Who’s gone? Oh.” Jamie let go of her, and he stepped aside.

“I haven’t seen her since, uh, Friday night, and she looked terrible, like she was — she looked awful.” Annabelle twisted the strap of her purse around and around her hands. “I have made such a mess of this! If I hadn’t had been so stubborn from the beginning, she wouldn’t be in such trouble! There I was, trying for years to make something happen, conjure up who knows what and when a thing, a real magical thing, actually presents itself and asks
me
to do it a favor, what do I do? I make a
mess
of it, and it’s become harder and harder for her to shapeshift and, she won’t make it back to Ireland, I just know it, and it’s all my fault!” And Annabelle burst into tears.

Jamie led her over to a stoop and sat her down. Saying nothing, he let Annabelle get it out of her system. She had her head down on her knees, and was mumbling at her feet. He patted her back, and she raised her head. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I feel like such a fool.”

Not for nothing did he have three sisters, most especially an older sister who used to tear up, much less sob, at the drop of a hat. He reached into his jacket and handed Annabelle a handkerchief. She sat up, and blew her nose thunderously. “Keep it,” he asserted, when she tried to hand it back to him, and they both laughed.

“Listen, Ja — ”

“C’mere, Ann — ”

“Oh, you — ”

“Go on, you — ”

They both fell silent, and eyeballed each other. Jamie shook his head, and Annabelle nodded at him. He shook his head again, she nodded, he opened his mouth, and Annabelle blurted, “I’m sorry I was such a brat. Last week.”

“You weren’t a brat. I was the biggest eejit.”

“You were. An enormous eejit.”

They smiled a little and fell silent again.

“I mean,” Annabelle began, and Jamie shut his mouth. “I agreed with everything you said, as I’ve said to myself over and over for the past week.
I
didn’t want to make some kind of instant life-long commitment to some guy on, on such short notice.”

“I’m not saying that I’m against, em, lifelong commitment or anything,” Jamie said, “I’m a bit of serial monogamist myself — ”

“Oh, me too!” Annabelle nodded vociferously.

“It was just the part about, ah feck it, I don’t know. Between your Pooka and my aunt, I felt … ” This conversation was a nightmare!

“Backed up against a wall.” Annabelle nodded again, sympathetically. “It’s not like I don’t like you,” she offered, tentatively.

“It’s not like I don’t like
you
,” Jamie did some vociferous nodding of his own. “I do, I mean, like you. A lot. In fact.”

“Wait’ll I tell all the girls in home room!” Annabelle joked.

“What’s home room?”

“Forget it.”

“Oh,” Jamie said. “Like kids in school, yeah, it’s sad altogether.” But they smiled at each other, and Annabelle folded up the hanky (
a hanky!
) and put it in her pocket. They sat in silence, companionably, and watched life go by. A soft breeze blew over from the Hudson, and Jersey glittered in the distance. Would it be a nice summer here? She’d never missed an East Coast summer in her life. She might even miss Thanksgiving. Weird.

The hand waving in front of her face made her laugh. “I always come back, have a little patience.” Annabelle turned to him, and sighed. Oh, well. Pooka or no Pooka, she would have liked to have gotten to know him better. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t coming back. Was it? But a guy like him wouldn’t be single for long, not in this town, and even if they kept in touch via email, it wouldn’t be the same, and it would dribble off, and then it’d be awkward if she tried to reconnect if she —
when
she came back, and —

“It’s especially weird to watch you do that when you’re looking right at me,” Jamie said, and narrowed his eyes. “Were you thinking about me?”

He had almost surprised her into admitting it. “I need to have
some
secrets.”

He looked at her keenly, and flustered, she looked away. “So. My news. I have news.”

“I was only going to ask.”

“I got an agent. I signed a contract last week.”

“That’s brilliant! Congratulations! So they get you work and whatever?”

“They’ve already go me work. Big money work. The pressure — ”

“Ah, you’re very good, you’ll have no trouble at all — ”

“Thanks. I’m excited but nervous, too. It’s normal, I guess.” It was exciting to talk about, but it made her nervous, so Annabelle looked up and down the street and changed the subject. “I was chasing Callie.” Okay, so maybe not the best choice, but time to get this out in the open. “She had shapeshifted into a waiter and dumped a trayful of something horrible on the head of my ex’s fiancée. She’s long gone now. I can’t believe she even made me run after her — oh.”

“She sure has a knack for throwing us, em, together,” Jamie said.

“I’m sure she’ll have unpacked all my bags again.” Annabelle stood.
This is too uncomfortable,
she thought,
and we’re not getting anywhere, and it’s making me sad.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’m going to Ireland. For a year. That first big job, for the agency. I’m, uh, going on tour with a musician, writing about him for a book.”

“That’s massive, really cool. Hey. What musician? What musician tours Ireland for — ”

The penny dropped like a bomb. Annabelle watched the envy, disbelief, pain, and pride (
Pride? Oh, man!
) pass over Jamie’s face like a wave, and he was struck dumb.

“I’ll send you a postcard … ” Annabelle offered, and Jamie took deep breaths, pulling himself together.

“That. Is. Amazing. Janie Mac. When are you off?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” he stuttered. “Tomorrow? Night?”

Annabelle strangled her hands with her purse strap again. “Yeah. And I better get going. I guess.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Em, can I meet you for a coffee or something? Before you go?”

Damn it!
“Um, I have a lot to do — call me on my cell? I’ll be running around all day, I have to do some last minute, uh, running around.”

“You?”

“Yeah, well.” Annabelle shrugged, and turned to hail a taxi. “Even I couldn’t get it all together in less than a week.”

A cab pulled up beside her, and Jamie opened the door.
Medieval looked good on
him, she thought, and moved to get into the car.

“I hope I can see you tomorrow. Before you go.” He reached out and stroked her arm.

“Me, too.” She hesitated in the door of the taxi.

“Speak to you?” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Okay. Bye.” She touched him lightly on the chest, and leaned in a fraction —

And he leaned in a smidgen —

And they kissed each other, lightly on the cheek —

And as the cabbie honked impatiently, neither consciously felt the little spark, the burst of heat, the frisson of a glimmer of something big, much bigger than a harmless peck on the cheek would normally evoke. Neither knew it at that very minute, but as Annabelle’s taxi zoomed away, and Jamie turned to go (where the hell was he supposed to be going?) both would mull it over during the long, sleepless night ahead.

There’s nothing I can do
, Annabelle thought, blindly staring out the window as the taxi sped toward Brooklyn.

• • •

Could I?
thought Jamie.
It’s madness. It’s bonkers. It’s insane …

But, sure …

Annabelle debated taking a taxi all the way home. Since she was as far uptown as she could be without being in the Bronx, it wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly. As lovely as it was in Washington Heights, it wasn’t precisely the place she’d have chosen to go to on her last day in the city, and if she’d
known
that the German mime lived all the way up here, she’d have met him for the key exchange in Midtown, at the very least.
But no, Annabelle: a people-pleaser to the end.