Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection (35 page)

“You’re crackers,” she protested, but she
was smiling.

“That’s a fact.”

But now he had her curious. “So who was
it?”

“Just some Joe I used to know.” He pulled
her behind his cart, as familiar to her as home now. “Come on, Red,
let’s take a load off.”

They sat on wooden folding chairs behind
Griff’s apple cart, eating food out of the basket and watching the
city walk by, dabbing their mouths with the embroidered cloth
napkins Mae had packed as if they were eating in the finest
restaurant in town. She couldn’t have been any happier if they had
been, she figured, when Griff dotted a bit of frosting from his
chocolate cupcake onto her nose.

“Hey!” she protested, making a face and
wiping at the sticky stuff with her napkin. “Didn’t your mother
ever tell you not to play with your food?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, his
mouth mostly full of cupcake as he licked his sticky fingers.
Grabbing three of his apples, he tossed them casually into the air,
juggling them easily. He always sold more apples than anyone
because he did all sorts of tricks with them. He could juggle and
make them disappear and had even once turned an apple into the fat,
juicy orange she’d packed in her basket for him, although she still
wasn’t quite sure how he’d done it.

“So what’s eating you, Red?”

She sighed, shrugged, and looked out at the
people passing them on the street. Most just walked by and didn’t
see them at all. Griff was good at getting people’s attention when
he needed to, though. She glanced at him leaning back in his chair,
hands behind his head. He looked casual, but she knew he was
waiting for her answer. She wondered how old he was. Older than she
was, certainly—she hadn’t even decided what college to go to when
her parents had died—but not old.

No, not old. His face was unlined, but
tanned from the sun, his eyes a bright, mischievous blue. His hair
was cut nicely, his face shaved, his clothes clean, although his
shoes were rather shabby looking and his hat, a fat little black
cap, had seen better days. He was quite handsome, really, although
she didn’t think he knew it, and he wasn’t a small man. His
shoulders were broad and full under his button-down shirt and
suspenders.

“It’s my grandmother,” Mae finally
confessed, contemplating her tomato. She ate them like most people
ate apples, and Griff still teased her about it, saying he should
start selling tomatoes for her on his cart. “She wants us to move
away.”

The legs of Griff’s chair came down slowly.
“Away? Where?”

“She’s not well.” Mae decided against the
tomato, tucking it back into the basket, seeing the white paper bag
inside. “It’s her heart. The doctor says she’s got too much stress
here in the city. Says she needs to get away.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “I’m sure
you’ll miss her.”

Mae glanced at him again, meeting his eyes
only briefly. “Well that’s the thing. She wants me to go with
her.”

“Oh.” The word was barely a breath.

“I’m really doing okay by myself,” she
assured him, as if he’d given some protest. “I have the insurance
settlement from my parents’ accident. It’s more than enough for me
to live on. But my grandmother…” Mae glanced down, smoothing her
skirt over her knees. “She can’t stop talking about finding me a
husband.”

Griff nodded. “Pretty girl like you should
probably have one,” he agreed.

She smiled shyly, picking lint off her
skirt. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind. If it was the right one.”

He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Did
you have someone in mind?”

She felt herself blushing and looked
away.

“Hey, Mae…” He knew her real name, but he
hardly ever used it. The sound of it thrilled her. “I was
wondering… would you like to go to a picture with me?”

“Which one?” She held her breath as if the
answer really mattered.

“King Kong,” he replied and she smiled. Of
course. It was all anyone could talk about. “It opens tonight.”

She wondered if he could see the stars in
her eyes. “I’d love to.”

“Really?” He sounded almost as surprised by
her assent as she’d been by his question.

She knew she was breathless, but she
couldn’t help it. “When?”

“Tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Here.” She pulled a pencil and a receipt
out of the little purse hidden at the bottom of the basket, writing
down her address and apartment number. Now he knew where she lived
and the thought made her feel a little lightheaded. “I should go.
My grandmother will be waiting.”

She pressed the piece of paper into his hand
and it closed around hers. His touch was like fire.

“Tonight.”

She smiled, closing her basket and slinging
it over her arm. “I can’t wait.” Which was the truth. Seven o’clock
was only four hours away, and she wanted to get home so she could
torture herself over what to wear.

“See ya, Red,” he called as she walked
away.

She couldn’t remember how she got to her
grandmother’s. She thought maybe she flew. The walk was blocks and
blocks but she didn’t see any of the usual scenery, didn’t stop at
the other street vendors or delight in the performers. She didn’t
see or hear anything but Griff and that bright light in his eyes
when she’d said, “Yes,” didn’t feel anything but his hand
swallowing hers.

That’s probably why she didn’t see Lionel
until he grabbed her arm, catching her up short, causing her to
gasp and look up in alarm. She was in a much better neighborhood
now, nearing Central Park West where her grandmother’s apartment
overlooked the city, but she was always worried about “getting
snatched,” as her grandmother phrased it. In her new clothes, with
her hair styled, she practically made herself a target. Which was,
of course, why her grandmother kept telling her she needed to move
in, and another reason she insisted they move away from the city
altogether. “It’s too dangerous a place for wealthy people to
reside,” her grandmother had decided.

“Lionel!” She recognized him immediately,
feeling a connection to home she hadn’t even realized she’d been
missing. She could suddenly see her father’s office from her usual
vantage point under the desk, smell the sharp, dark ink he used to
sign his contracts and the pipe he smoked when he was deep in
thought. Her father was a rancher, but he also singlehandedly ran
eight of the biggest slaughterhouses in the Midwest. He’d made his
own fortune, although she’d never been spoiled like most children
with rich parents. Granted, she hadn’t really wanted for anything,
but her life with her parents on their ranch didn’t speak of great
wealth.

She’d spent lots of time playing and reading
in the kneehole of her father’s desk—until she got too big to fit,
and then she would loll around in the fat, black leather armchair,
wearing dungarees with hay in her hair and her nose in a book,
while her father talked on the telephone about cows and pigs and
chickens or railed about the unions. Occasionally people would come
into the office to talk to him. One of those people had been Lionel
Tryst.

“Well, Maeve Eileen Verges!” he exclaimed,
sweeping his hat off his head and bowing low. The gesture wasn’t as
foreign to her as it once had been, but it still made her want to
giggle. That, along with hearing her full name, made the moment
even more surreal. She’d been named after her grandmother, a family
name passed on, but no one ever said it out loud. “What a pleasure
to find you in New York!”

“How are you?” she inquired, slowly
extracting herself from the man as they walked—he was still holding
her arm, a little too familiarly for her liking. “I haven’t seen
you since…”

He nodded sympathetically. “I’m so sorry
about your loss, Mae. Your parents were wonderful people.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat that
always rose whenever anyone mentioned them. “Thank you.”

“So what are you doing here in the big
city?”

“My grandmother.” She nodded at the building
they were now standing in front of. “She lives in the
penthouse.”

“In the Century building?” Lionel gave a low
whistle, squinting as he looked upward. “That’s an expensive piece
of real estate.”

Mae laughed. “I thought you were in the
insurance business?”

“I’m a jack of all trades.” He grinned. “I
just sold an apartment in the Majestic for five thousand a
year.”

Mae gasped. “It’s amazing anyone can afford
that nowadays!”

“With great collapse comes great
opportunity.” He winked. “You let me know if your grandmother is
looking to sell. I’d be happy to find her a buyer. In fact, I
talked to someone just last week who was asking me about the
penthouse in the Century.”

“Really?” She hesitated. Her grandmother had
been so ill, and part of that, she knew, was living in the city.
Fresh air would do her good. But the truth was, as much as Mae
missed the country herself, there was now an even bigger reason for
her to want to stay. Griff had just asked her for a date! But as
much as she wanted to just bid Lionel a quick goodbye, in spite of
his connections to home, she knew she had to do the right thing.
“Actually, she’s been trying to sell it for a few months now, but
in this market…”

“Is that so?” Lionel’s eyes widened in
surprise. “Well, muffin, what say you and me go pay your
grandmother a little visit?”

The doorman at the Century knew Mae and he
let her up with Lionel without question. They chatted in the
elevator about Nebraska, and Mae inquired about mutual
acquaintances. She’d left her best friend, Irene, just as the girls
were planning to find a college to attend together. Lionel said
Irene had gone on to some art school in California, but Mae
couldn’t even imagine it.

“Grandmother?” Mae knocked and then slipped
the key into the lock when no one answered, opening the door at the
end of the hall. The entire top floor was hers, but it was
sectioned off, and her grandmother only lived in part of it. She
opened up the other wings only when she had guests or entertained.
The foyer was open and there was a large living area with a
fireplace almost as tall as she was and hardwood floors her
grandmother had covered with ornate rugs. The dining room to the
left showcased a gorgeous oak table underneath a chandelier so
heavy Mae often wondered how it stayed secured to the ceiling.

“I’m in the kitchen, dearest!”

Mae smiled at the sound of her grandmother’s
voice, motioning Lionel to follow. In spite of the fact that Mae
hadn’t even known the woman existed before a few months ago, she’d
grown quite fond of her in the time they’d spent together, and it
seemed the reverse was also true.

Mae found the old woman stirring a cup of
tea and she wondered at that, frowning. Usually her grandmother had
plenty of help—two maids to clean and a butler to answer the door,
as well as a nurse who came in once a day just to check. Her
grandmother rarely lifted a finger to do anything for herself. She
didn’t have to, and she seemed to like it that way.

“Where’s John?” Mae inquired after the
butler, kissing her grandmother’s cheek, catching the scent of
lavender and rose water. The old woman’s skin was as soft and thin
as the Kleenex Mae used to take cold cream off her face at
night.

“I gave everyone the night off.” Her
grandmother smiled as she turned to face her granddaughter, her
eyes still bright, although her face was heavily lined. She was
always impeccably dressed, still wearing heels, even at her age. “I
have a surprise for you.” The woman’s eyes widened as she saw the
stranger standing in her doorway. “And who’s this?”

“Oh, this is Lionel.” Mae smiled at him as
he swept his hat off and bowed low. “Lionel Tryst. He worked for my
father back home. Lionel, this is my grandmother, the first Maeve
Eileen Verges.”

“So pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs.
Verges.”

Mae noticed that Lionel’s manners had
already won her grandmother over, which was probably a good thing.
If he had a buyer for the penthouse, that would go a long way
toward getting it sold more quickly. Although she wasn’t sure
anymore if that was a good thing. But she couldn’t deny that
meeting Lionel right out front of her grandmother’s building had to
be some sort of sign. It was too much of a strange coincidence not
to mean
something
.

“He thinks he may have a buyer for your
apartment,” Mae explained, taking the old woman’s elbow as she
started toward the doorway.

“Oh that would be wonderful!” The old woman
glanced up at Lionel as he flanked her on the other side, also
taking her elbow as they made their way to the living room. “How
did you know my son, Mr. Tryst?”

“He was a business associate,” Lionel
explained as they settled themselves. “A finer man I’ve never
met.”

Her grandmother beamed at his praise of her
son and Mae couldn’t help smiling. The old woman got teary eyed
every time his name was mentioned. She’d missed so many years of
his life, and all of Mae’s up until now, just because she couldn’t
stand the woman he’d married. Mae’s mother had been, as her
grandmother politely put it, “Not of the same social stature” as
Mae’s father. She’d never known her father had come from old money,
or that her mother had been born poor and was just a young tennis
instructor he met at summer camp his senior year.

There had been a great deal about her
parents she didn’t know, she realized now. It didn’t make her love
them any less, but it did make her sad, for all of them, at the
time they’d missed. Her grandmother had changed her mind and had
tried, many times she’d said, over the years, to reconcile, but
Mae’s father was a stubborn man. He refused to return her calls and
wouldn’t let her see her own granddaughter.

Of course, after the accident, her father
hadn’t had a say in Mae’s life anymore, and when her grandmother
had contacted her, asking her to come to New York, she’d gone in a
haze of grief, looking for any connection she could find to her
dead parents.