Spinning Tales Page 2

  Jostling her way past people in the financial district uniform of gray, black, or blue suits, she made her way to the firm she’d been working at for the last five years. She waved at Billy, the guy behind the lobby’s big, marble, impersonal reception desk, and he waved back as powdered sugar fell from his donut and onto the counter. She pressed the button for the thirtieth floor and grinned as she always did when her stomach dropped at the speed of the elevator launching upward. Anywhere else, seven in the morning would have meant she’d be alone, but in New York, there was plenty of company.

  At her floor, she took a deep breath and stepped into the lobby. She kissed the receptionist, Sarah, on the cheek when she put her mocha down in front of her. “Hello, beautiful. Good weekend?”

  Sarah sipped her drink with her eyes closed before answering. “Bill and I went to our grandson’s tee-ball game. You’ve never heard so many screaming parents and seen so many miserable little ones. Back in my day, sports were about having fun.”

  Maggie smiled. “It’s all about competition and seeing who can be better than the next guy. Better learn early, I guess.” She waved as she made her way through the glass door and into the hub of cubicles. Speaking of being better than the next guy… She sighed as she put her bag and coffee down in her own little cubicle. Figurines from various animated movies were lined up like little sentinels along the edges of her desk. In this gray, intense, competitive arena, the colorful little things made her smile.

  She opened her email and quickly deleted the spam and “friendly” reminders about the cleanliness of the kitchen and the ethical issues of eating someone else’s food from the staff room. When she saw one from her sister, she opened it with a usual feeling of wariness.

  Hey. Need your address. Not sure where you are these days.

  Things great here. Leaving on the yacht next week. Kids at school. Feel free to check on them.

  J.

  That usual feeling of wariness turned to the usual feeling of being irked. Away on the yacht while her kids were tucked out of the way in boarding school. Maggie loved her niece and nephew, although they were on their way to becoming carbon copies of their parents; they were entitled and living in a bubble only being born into wealth could create. When she spent time with them she tried to give them some sense of the real world, but there wasn’t enough time in the day to deal with what they’d grown up around. She sent a quick message back with her address and to say have a good trip, then put it out of her mind. She’d been in her apartment for the last five years, and there really was no reason her sister wouldn’t have her address.

  A flicker of blue popped up in the corner of her screen, and her mood lifted. Only her best friend used this method of social media, and that was one person she could count on to make her smile.

  Call me tonight. I want to hear about that blonde you met last weekend. And I need you to tell me if my new hair color makes me look like some creepy kid’s character. Xx.

  Maggie made a mental note to call, and then got on with her work. Accounting hadn’t been her first choice, but growing up the way she did taught her that creative jobs were meant for people who didn’t mind scraping by every month, and she damn well wasn’t going to be one of those. She lived well below her means and kept a healthy savings to make sure she’d never have to wonder where her next meal came from again. So instead of painting she’d become an accountant and worked her way right into the comfortable middle ground of doing well but not making it a career. That kind of permanence wasn’t an option. Being tied down that way would be as suffocating as it was on the subway in the summer tourist season. Still, she missed playing with color, mixing and blending and getting messy until something came alive on canvas.

  When she got home after a grueling, boring day of crunching numbers, the cat was sitting on the windowsill and barely glanced up at her from cleaning its paws. She dropped her bag and flopped backward onto the couch. She spent entire days in an office full of people, and she spoke to someone all of about three times. Like mice in a maze of desks, they crunched numbers and worked accounts in an effort to be first across the finish line. The thing was, the only prize was getting to come in the next day and do it again.

  She jumped when something bumped against her hand. “Hey. I suppose you want to be fed?” The cat bumped her hand with his head again, and she scratched his ears before getting up and dumping some food into a makeshift cat bowl. She grabbed her laptop and a decaf coffee before launching Skype.

  “You remembered!” Casey smiled and pushed her glasses up her nose. “I thought you’d forget.”

  “I needed to see if you looked like the purple people eater. Now that I know you don’t, I’m going to bed.” Maggie smiled to show she was teasing. “Seriously though, love the color. Nice red.”

  Casey studied a piece of her hair as if analyzing it. “It’s called Sensual Merlot Berry. The name bothers me enough I may have to change it on principle.” She dropped her hair and leaned forward. “So, tell me about your date last weekend. Was she hot? Cute? Did you get past your phobia of getting close to people and take her to bed?”

  “Phobia firmly in place, sorry. She was about as interesting as cement, and I’m not sleeping with someone who nearly bored me to death over my dessert even if she did have great tattoos.”

  Casey sighed theatrically. “Your standards are way too high. Come to London and let me set you up with a nice English butch. Even if she’s boring, you’ll love the accent.”

  There was nothing Maggie would like more than to travel the world the way Casey did. They’d met at a book festival when Maggie first moved to New York and had become fast friends. She was really the only true friend Maggie had, and she cherished her even though they saw each other only every few years. “They’d take me for a leprechaun in England. And who dates a leprechaun?”

  “Leprechauns are short. And people here love the American accent. You’d get all kinds of play.” Casey laughed when the cat jumped onto the desk in front of the camera. “You’ve still got it. Have you given the poor thing a name yet?”

  Maggie gently slid it off her keyboard. “Cat, I guess. You know I don’t get attached. It could leave as easily as it came, and if I name it then I’ll be sad when it goes.”

  “You’ll be sad when it goes even if you don’t name it. Cats are picky, you know. It chose you for a reason.” Casey took a sip of some foul-looking green drink. “And not everyone is going to leave you, honey. One day you’ll have to give someone a chance to prove it.”

  Maggie sighed and gave in to the cat’s desire to be petted. It purred on her lap and she found it comforting. “Okay. It makes this sound—”

  “Can you stop calling it, it? Don’t you know if it’s a boy or a girl cat?”

  “That’s very genderist of you. What if it doesn’t consider itself either? Who am I to designate?”

  Casey rolled her eyes. “Then we’ll assume it will bite you and pee on your pillow if you’re wrong. Hold it up.”

  Maggie lifted it in front of the camera, feeling absurd. There was something about this cat that made her feel intrusive when she bothered it.

  “Boy cat. Now what were you saying about the sound he makes?”

  It settled back on her lap, looking grumpy as ever. “It’s a kind of hacking, coughing sound, and it goes perfectly with his face. I’m going to call him Blech.”

  Casey snorted as she drank her green thing and choked on it. “You can’t name a cat after a gross sound.”

  “I can and I have. Right, Blech?”

  As though in answer he farted on her leg and jumped down to situate himself somewhere better.

  “Any other things to tell me? Any other dates on the horizon? A promotion? A circus you’d like to join?”

  “Nothing. I work in an accountant factory that churns out accountants who account things. I live with an irksome cat and have dinner occasionally with the homeless man down the street. Tell me about your life, which has to be more interesting.�
�

  Casey shook her head. “If I lived there, we’d fix that life of yours into something far superior. I’m doing a shoot next week in Morocco, and then one in Iceland the week after.” She held up the bottle of green liquid. “Hence the detox cleansing juice. I need to be on my A game. The models coming in keep getting younger and thinner.”

  “Good thing you’ve got that backup degree in ornithology.” Maggie had always thought Casey was the most down-to-earth model she’d ever known, and she knew that although the lifestyle had its glamorous side, it also took a toll on Casey’s mental health sometimes.

  “Let me tell you, there are days I’d love to just take off into the woods and do nothing but play with birds.” Casey looked over her shoulder and smiled at the woman who came in, another model who was doing the genderless modeling thing for all the big labels, both male and female. She was hot in a totally unattainable way for the likes of normal looking women like Maggie, and she couldn’t help but be a little envious.

  “Sorry, babe, we’re heading to a movie to spend some time together before we head to different shoots.” Her expression grew serious. “Really, Mags. Consider coming my way. Take a break and get away. You need time to figure out your next step. You were meant for so much more. I know it.”

  Maggie smiled and waved as they hung up. She didn’t need to tell Casey she was floundering. They had the kind of friendship that meant a lot of things didn’t need to be said to be understood. She stood under a hot shower before placing an order for Chinese. The silence of the apartment was encroaching tonight, and she considered heading to the bar for some company. But what she’d told Casey was true. She didn’t want to sleep with someone just because she was lonely. She wanted a connection, something real.

  When she slid into the cool sheets later, she punched the pillow beside hers before pulling it close. Things needed to change.

  Chapter Two

  Wanted: SWF for unusual experience. Cottage keeper for fairy tale home in highly desired location. Must be quick thinking and resourceful. All expenses paid first year, along with living stipend, for the right person ready to make a real change. For interview, contact itsyourtime21.

  Maggie tapped on the ad while sipping her coffee. The alarm clock hadn’t been necessary today since she’d spent all night tossing and turning. Thoughts of change and what she wanted to do with her life kept her from falling asleep, and when she did drift off, haunting images of forests and red eyes glaring at her through the leaves made her wake, her heart racing.

  Now, sitting with her coffee and looking over the personal ads, she kept rereading the strange little ad. Why would you need to be quick thinking to manage a house? Or was it a cottage? Beneath the questions lay a flutter of excitement. Possibility beckoned. She stood and the cat gave a petulant grump when she moved the chair it was sprawled on. “This is ridiculous. Right?” She directed her words at him, glad he couldn’t respond and ask questions she didn’t want to answer. “But if I could have an income and a place to live, maybe I could figure out where I want to go next.”

  Blech yawned and rolled over to put his back to her. She saw him eye a mouse who snuck out, grabbed a piece of Blech’s food, and darted under the cupboard. He barely twitched an ear.

  “You’re really a piece of work, you know that?” She scratched his head and got the same amount of attention as the mouse.

  She grabbed her bag and headed to work, but all day long she couldn’t get it out of her head. By the time she got home she was almost breathless with unexplained anticipation. Instinct led her through the most difficult situations in her life, and now it was screaming for her to pay attention. She flipped open her laptop, logged on to the newspaper website, and sent a reply to itsyourtime21, requesting an interview. Before she’d even checked her social media accounts, there was a reply inviting her to the cottage the next day. She jumped up and looked around, wanting to tell someone. But there wasn’t anyone to tell. It was too late to call London, and her sister was probably off on her yacht or buying clothes or something. Not that she’d be interested.

  The excitement waned slightly, but she went to bed feeling more hopeful than she had for a while. She’d been in one spot for over five years, her longest time anywhere since she’d left her adopted parent’s house, and it was definitely time for something new.

  * * *

  “What the hell?” Maggie followed the directions the ad person had sent over. She loved the amazing number of parks throughout the city and all the tamed beauty they encapsulated, but today she was more interested in trying to understand what she was looking at as she left Roosevelt Park to stand in front of the five-story brick building at 72 E. 1st Street. She reread the instructions and focused on a bit at the end she hadn’t paid attention to before. How did I miss that? Goose bumps broke out over her arms. She paid attention to detail. She couldn’t have missed it…

  Have faith. Take the elevator to the penthouse floor. I’ll meet you there.

  She shook her head, but the novelty of it had her hooked. She went into the somewhat dilapidated looking apartment building and headed straight for the elevator. No security, nobody at a reception desk. Just a line of mailboxes with mail poking out of some of the slots and a bit of scuffed linoleum flooring. It definitely didn’t look like the kind of place to have a penthouse of any kind, and a niggle of worry ran through her. In her desire for change, had she walked into some weirdo’s trap?

  But in the elevator there was a button clearly marked P. Why not? She’d taken plenty of self-defense classes. If it turned out to be something weird she could take care of herself. Somehow, though, she knew it was what she’d been looking for. Whatever that was.

  When the elevator door opened, a man in a sharp suit turned and smiled at her. Lines were a roadmap of life on his face, but his pale blue eyes sparkled and he stood straight, though Maggie would have placed him on just the other side of ancient.

  “Ms. McShay. Welcome. If you’ll follow me, I think at least a few of your questions will be answered right away.”

  She couldn’t place his accent, but it definitely wasn’t East Coast. Or American, even. She followed him down a dimly lit hallway and up a few stairs to a door. He unlocked it with an old-fashioned type key and motioned her ahead of him.

  He ran into her from behind when she stopped and stared.

  He moved around her. “Unexpected, right? I felt the same way the first time I saw it. And the view. Truly spectacular.”

  Maggie turned in a slow circle to take it in. On the rooftop of this old apartment building was the most beautiful little cottage she’d ever seen. It looked like it had been dropped there by accident, like a tornado had picked it up from somewhere else and set it down here. Fortunately, she couldn’t see any witch’s feet sticking out from under it, though that wouldn’t have been out of place. A small turret hugged one corner, and there was even a front lawn with an orange tree. An unobstructed view of Roosevelt Park and the East River far below made Maggie’s eyes water at the beauty of it.

  “Would you like to see the inside?” he asked.

  “Please.” Something in his tone made Maggie think he knew exactly what she was feeling, even if she wasn’t sure herself. Above the front door hung a small circular plaque with the words Happily Ever After written on it in fancy script, and it made her smile. She followed him inside and he moved to the right and stood with his hands clasped in front of him, like he had all the time in the world. She wandered around, touching furniture that looked more expensive than everything she owned put together. The high ceilings had thick wood beams, and an open fireplace on one wall had two massive overstuffed chairs in front of it. The kitchen was tucked into the curve of the turret, and shiny countertops reflected back recessed lighting.

  The back door creaked in a breeze, and she saw that it wasn’t shut properly. She opened it and glanced at the cute little backyard, complete with a wood fence and lots of growing things she couldn’t identify without looking them up.
She closed and locked it behind her before continuing her tour.

  A floating staircase led to a large, airy loft complete with a skylight. The turret corner was lined with overflowing bookshelves and even had a window seat with thick cushions. A painting with beautiful, brilliant colors showed a girl on a ladder looking at books, with characters from those books roaming the shelves around her. In the middle of the loft was an honest to God four-poster bed draped with the kind of thin curtains they showed on period TV shows. She’d sink into it and never have to leave.

  She gave the book nook one last wishful look and headed back downstairs. She wanted this place with every fiber of her being, but nothing like this came without a high price. The guy who’d let her in was waiting in front of the fireplace. Above it was a piece of carved driftwood with Once Upon a Time carved into the wood in flowing script. He motioned to the chair opposite him and she took it, holding onto the arms to brace herself for the catch.

  “I can tell by your expression that you love it.” He inclined his head with a smile. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if I may?”

  “Sure. Whatever you like.” Maggie knew better than to hope for something like this. Opportunities like this one were reserved for people with money and connections. She didn’t have either.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” He took out a piece of paper from his coat pocket and put on reading glasses that looked far too small for his face. “Do you have any pets?”

  Damn it. First question and I can’t even answer it. “Kind of. I’m not sure.” At his expectant look, she continued. “I have a cat that moved in with me. I don’t know if it will want to come.”