Wishing in the Wings (8 page)

I cut my mental tirade short. For now, I’d use my wishes to take care of myself. Of my immediate problems.

“Okay, then. I need a place to live.” I started to suggest a rent-controlled apartment, the Holy Grail of Manhattan tenants, but I could be a little more extravagant than that, couldn’t I? I mean, genies had to have some way of covering up their actions, right? Teel had to have some secret magic that would make everyone forget that I’d been terrified and homeless only an hour before.

I steeled myself and elaborated: “A condo.” No negative reaction from the genie, so I must still be on track. “Two bedrooms? And an actual kitchen, not just a galley?” She still wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t shutting me down. I decided to push for even more. After all, this was one of my wishes, one of the four total. If I could have asked Teel to invest centuries managing climate change, I could certainly elaborate a little bit on my new home. Couldn’t I? “And could it have a view of the river? And a doorman? And, um, two bathrooms, do I have to specify that?”

“I get the idea,” Teel said dryly. “You have to phrase your request in the form of a wish.”

I felt like I was a contestant on some obscure new game show. Any moment, there would be flashing lights and blaring music, and a secret studio audience would be revealed behind a curtain. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like the type of genie who kids?”

Not with that perfect haircut. Not with those pumps and that expertly tailored suit.

I took a deep breath and said, “I wish that I had a condo with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a view of the river, all in a doorman building.” I barely remembered to exhale, as I waited to see what Teel would do.

She nodded once, and then raised perfectly shaped fingers to her right earlobe. Flawless nail polish highlighted her pearl earring. I watched, hypnotized, as my genie’s tattooed flames caught the light. “As you wish,” she enunciated, as if she were speaking to a judge, a jury, and a courtroom full of spectators. Then, she tugged at her ear twice, hard enough that I winced in reaction.

An electric shock jolted through my body, stronger even than the current I had felt when Teel had manifested from the lamp. My lungs were frozen between breathing and coughing; my heart bucked in my chest as if I were a patient in some lousy television medical drama. The jagged electricity hurt, and tears sprang to my eyes.

And then all of the jangling power dissipated, flowing into the space around me as harmlessly as wine pouring from a bottle. Teel nodded, a satisfied smile turning the corners of her lips.

“You’ve done it?” I croaked. “You granted my wish?” I looked around, half-expecting to find us transported to my dream apartment.

“Just…one…mo-ment…” Teel said, drawing out the last syllable.

And then my phone rang. A quick glance at the built-in Caller ID showed that the call came from outside the Mercer, from somewhere else in Manhattan’s 212 area code. One ring. I stared at it. Two. My fingers froze. Three. I was afraid to answer.

With an annoyed harrumph, Teel grabbed the handset before the call could roll over to voice mail. “Rebecca Morris’s office.” All of a sudden, she was chomping on a wad of gum. The minty stuff had materialized from thin air; I certainly hadn’t seen her unwrap a stick. Her lawyer-modulated voice was gone, replaced by the nasal stereotype of bad secretaries everywhere, each phrase punctuated with a hearty Doublemint smack. “Just a moment, ma’am. I’ll see if she’s available.”

She extended the phone to me.

I gave her a curious glance, but she refused to say anything, to give me any more to go on. I forced myself to take the instrument, to put on my most business-like voice. “Rebecca Morris,” I said, trying not to sound as puzzled as I felt.

“Maureen Schultz here,” said a crisp voice. When I didn’t respond immediately, she added, “With Empire Realty? Over at the Bentley.”

“The Bentley?” I repeated.

“I just wanted you to know that we’re ready for you to move in at any time. Per your contract, the painting was completed last week, and the floors were refinished over the weekend. Your furniture all arrived this morning, and I had the men place it where you indicated in your sketches.”

“My…sketches.” I swallowed hard and watched Teel’s smile grow broader.

“I have to say, Ms. Morris, I was quite impressed with the information packet that you sent over. So many of our new owners don’t plan ahead, and we end up needing to reserve the elevators for another round of furniture removal and re-delivery.”

“Well, yes,” I said. I’d never lived in a building where elevators needed to be reserved. When Dean and I had moved into our place together, we’d just traded off pressing the call button, doing our best to keep the too-small elevator on the floor where we needed it. I shook my head. “My assistant, um, Teel, takes care of those details for me.”

My genie beamed as Maureen made approving noises. “So can we expect you this afternoon?”

I glanced at my shabby surroundings. I wasn’t going to get anything else done today. Not with rumors from the board meeting still metastasizing in the hallways. Besides, the cops were likely going to show up soon, to go through my every professional possession. “I’ll be there in about an hour,” I said.

“Wonderful!” Maureen’s enthusiasm made me believe I’d just perfected her afternoon. “I’ll see you then!”

“Oh!” I said before she could hang up, and then I improvised, “I don’t have my papers in front of me, and I need to fill out a change-of-address form here at the office. What’s the exact address?”

Teel nodded in approval as Maureen recited a street number that placed me in prime West Village real estate. The real estate agent laughed as she added, “Of course, your unit is 8D.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.”

After I hung up, Teel said dryly, “I took the liberty of having furniture delivered for you. I’m sure you would have thought of that, if I’d let you go on with your wish-making.”

“The liberty…” I stared at the address that I’d scribbled down. “How does this work? I mean, how much is the mortgage on a place like this?”

“Nothing,” Teel said.

“Nothing?”

“Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. You wished for a condo, and your wish was my command.”

“I bought it outright?”

“That’s what the paperwork will say.”

“And taxes? Insurance?” I remembered my grandfather ranting about his real estate taxes. Even after he’d paid off his home, he’d complained bitterly that San Diego was trying to bury him with annual levies.

“Everything’s wrapped up for as long as you own the property.” She clicked her tongue. “Honestly, all of this is in the contract that you signed. Real estate obligations are there on page 74, in simple black and white.”

I could barely process what she was saying. An hour ago, I’d been homeless. Now I owned a home that was probably worth more than my parents’ and my grandfather’s houses combined.

Teel allowed a very lawyerly frown to crease her brow. “You should start over there. You don’t want to keep Maureen waiting.”

I heard the dismissal in her voice. “And you?” I asked. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

Teel’s carefully glossed lips came close to mocking me. “I already know what the condo looks like.” She shook her head and raised her fingers to her ear. This time when she tugged, I didn’t feel anything, didn’t suffer the electric shock. When she lowered her arm, she wore a stunning wool coat over her suit, a fitted garment with a belt that accented every curve of her figure. A cashmere muffler draped over her shoulders with casual élan, and a pair of fur-lined leather gloves covered her fingers, palms, and tattooed wrist. “You go ahead,” Teel said. “I’m going to spend a little time visiting some old haunts.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” I blurted, glancing at the lamp, which still lay on my desk.

“Of course,” Teel said with a sweetness that made me just a little suspicious. “That’s the bargain. You have however much time it takes to make your wishes. And I have my freedom.”

“But how am I going to find you? What about when I’m ready to make my next wish?”

She nodded toward my hand, the one that was embossed with my own faintly flickering flames. “We already went over that. Just press your fingers together and call my name.” She tossed one end of her scarf around her neck and breezed over to my office door.

“Teel!” I called, before she could open it, before she could disappear into the Mercer hallways, into the New York city streets. She turned back with one eyebrow arched into a question. “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

“Oh,” she chortled, and her stern lawyerly facade crumbled before my eyes. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

AND TEEL WAS right.

I’d had an image in my mind when I’d described my dream apartment. I’d pictured enough space to move, a little open air to breathe, enough room for a couch and a loveseat in the living room.

But I had never, even in my wildest dreams, imagined living in the incredible condo that I now, um, owned.

Picture the coolest apartment you’ve ever seen in a movie, the most incredible airy Manhattan loft. Make sure to include floor to ceiling windows. Toss in unbelievable furniture, fresh from the catalog of your choice—just make sure that there are a few hints of the softest teal, of dusty rose, of wintergreen, all used as perfect accent colors to offset the classic upholstery of the couch, the loveseat, two chairs, matching ottomans, side tables, and a full-size coffee table. Yes, all of that furniture—picture it!—just in the living room!

Add a kitchen, and a couple of bedrooms, and a view of the river, and you’ll soon understand why I was unable to summon two consecutive sentences as Maureen Schultz showed me around my new home. I’m sure she thought I was nuts—Teel’s magic somehow had her believing that she and I had met many times before, that we’d actually weathered a long business relationship with plenty of failed visits to other buildings before I’d set my heart on the Bentley.

I tried to remember basic English sentence structure as one part of my mind gibbered, “Mine, mine, mine!” and another chanted, “Eat your heart out, Dean Marcus!” I was still grinning like an asylum escapee when I stood in my doorway, waving Maureen toward the elevators. Yes, elevators. Plural. “Thank you!” I said, pumping her hand once again.

“No,” she said with a throaty chuckle. “Thank you!”

I barely kept from squealing as I gazed down the carpeted hallway (carpet!) and watched the whisper-quiet doors whisk away my fairy real estate godmother. Before I could turn back to explore my domain further, the door across the hall opened. Still reeling at my personal good fortune, I grinned and took a step forward, forgetting New York City’s unspoken Good Neighbor Rules, the ones that mandated silence and polite disinterest in all public interaction with strangers. “Hi!” I said, extending my hand.

The woman in the doorway could have been the cover model for the debut issue of Earth Mother magazine. Her elaborately embroidered blue cotton workshirt hung loose over faded jeans. The pants were too long for her; she’d rolled them up in cuffs that displayed beat-up Birkenstock sandals. Bright red socks peeped out between the shoes’ leather straps. Her face was weathered, as if she’d spent long hours in the sun, and her eyes were the color of well-watered earth. A long braid hung down to her waist, generous strands of gray twining around dark chestnut.

“Hello,” she said, and her voice was soft, like a brown paper bag that had been reused so many times it felt like cloth. “You’re the new neighbor?”

“Becca,” I said.

She shook my hand firmly, and I felt the rasp of calluses on her palms. “Dani. We were wondering who would move in here.”

“We?” I looked behind her, into the violet-tinged shadows of her apartment. From the hallway, it looked much smaller than mine.

“My son and I.” She sighed, sifting a layer of sweet fondness across her placid features. “He’s new to the building, but I’ve lived here forever. The Bentley is a perfect place for gorilla gardening.”

Okay… What was that supposed to mean? Did she raise primates for the Bronx Zoo? I resisted the urge to take a deep sniff in the direction of her apartment. Nothing seemed too strange there, no bizarre noises, no caged-animal stink. There was the slight flicker of the purplish lights, though…. I tried to smile. “Um, gorilla gardening?”

“Guerilla,” Dani repeated. When I still stared at her without comprehension, she enunciated the word with care, trilling an exaggerated Spanish accent: “Guer-ee-ya. As in ‘warfare?’”

“Guerilla gardening,” I repeated, a little relieved that I wasn’t going to have giant apes across the hall. The purple cast must be from grow lights. But growing what? My pulse surged momentarily, and I wondered if Teel had dropped me into the middle of some clandestine West Village marijuana-growing cooperative. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what that is.”

Dani nodded patiently, as if she were accustomed to people admitting such ignorance. Her earthen eyes twinkled as she said, “It’s my passion.”

“Passion?” The psychedelic embroidery on her blouse made my throat seize up. I pictured police raids throughout the building, being thrown out of my new home before I’d even settled into it. Out of the frying pan, into the fire… I fought to swallow my panic.

Obviously unaware of my reaction, Dani elaborated with a rapturous smile. “We call ourselves the Gray Guerillas. Most of us are over seventy—who else has time to do this sort of thing?” She shook her head. “There’s so much space that goes unused in the City—on rooftops and fire escapes, in those cut-outs of dirt by trees on the sidewalk.” Her sing-song voice told me she’d recited her words a thousand times. “We can reclaim that space. We can use it. Guerilla gardeners create little havens, right here in the middle of Manhattan. Today, we might be growing a few sprigs of parsley, some basil, some sage. But tomorrow, we’ll have peppers! Tomatoes! Flowers of all kinds! Treasures you don’t even realize you’re missing!”

Her enthusiastic words melted into laughter, an infectious joyousness. She wasn’t trying to break the law. She wasn’t going to attract police raids. She was talking about regular plants, legal plants, perfectly ordinary, everyday, green, growing plants.