Wish Upon a Star (23 page)

Okay. Maybe I wasn’t all that upset about losing a
fish
. But I was pretty bummed that I’d officially failed at the second phase of my Master Plan.

I had just returned to the kitchen after flushing Tennessee when my cell phone rang. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, but I still sounded weepy when I answered. “Hey, Ame,” I said, pulling her name from the caller ID.

“What’s wrong?” Her sisterly radar zeroed in on my tears immediately.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“Nothing, my a—um, foot,” she said. Justin must have been within earshot.

I unsuccessfully tried to swallow a sob. “Tennessee died!”

“Tennessee? As in the state?”

I sniffed. “As in the playwright. As in my goldfish.”

“Goldfish! You didn’t tell me that you got a goldfish! The Master Plan is working!”

I choked out a protest. “No, it isn’t! Not with Tennessee gone!”

“What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything! I fed him every day, just like it said on the fish food, only a few flakes at a time! I changed his water every third day, then every day, toward the end!”

“Jeez,” she said. “Did you buy stock in Arm & Hammer?”

I rubbed at my eyes, wiping away my tears. “What do you mean?”

“Baking soda. Arm & Hammer baking soda.”

“Why would I buy baking soda for a fish?”

“Not for the fish. For the water. Everyone knows that New York City water is soft. The pH is all wrong for goldfish. You need to add a little baking soda when you change the water, to keep the fish from getting slimy. From going belly-up.”

Oh.

“Don’t get upset by this little setback, though,” Amy said. “I’m really proud of you for proceduralizing the Master Plan. If you got the fish, that must mean the plant is doing really well, right? How many flowers does it have now?”

I glanced at the dead peace lily on the counter. I’d kept it there as a sort of penance. As a denial that I was violating the central tenets of the Plan, moving forward before I’d perfected the past. I tried to figure out how many blooms it would have, if it had lived.

“Erin?” Amy asked when my silence stretched out a bit too long. “You do still have the plant, don’t you?”

“Yes!” That wasn’t a lie.

“And it’s alive?”

“Um, not exactly.”

“I do not
believe
you!” So much for sisterly pride. “This isn’t like putting socks on an octopus! You had one simple plan, and you couldn’t even stick with it for, what, six weeks?” She was really angry. “I
knew
you were cheating, when you kissed Dr. Teel! Dr. Teel doesn’t count, you said, and stupid me, I went along with that. But keeping a peace lily alive? Is that such a big deal? And a goldfish! Even Justin can keep a goldfish alive!”

“Thanks, Amy,” I said in a tiny voice. “You’re really making me feel better.”

She started to say something else but stopped herself before a new world war actually melted our telephones. Instead, after a very long pause, she opted for, “So? How was rehearsal yesterday? Did Martina ever get that dance combination down?”

I made an agonized noise halfway between a scream and a sob. “I thought that she’d be
better
once we got into the theater, but she’s actually worse! You know, she has to sing now, and she has to work through the dance steps. Yesterday, she was driving me nuts—her voice is all warbly, that sort of reality-show sound, and no one else even seems to realize it! She doesn’t have an ounce of breath control, and she can
not
sing and dance at the same time. By the end of rehearsal, I thought I was attending a meeting of the Four-Pack-a-Day Society, the way she coughs and sings and trips and shouts all at the same time.”

“Wow,” Amy said when I finally ran down. “It went that well, huh?”

I winced. “I guess I still have a few issues with Martina,” I said primly.

“I’m really sorry,” Amy said, and she sounded sincere. For all her berating me about the Plan, she really was on my side. She always had been.

I glanced at the clock on the oven. “I’ve got to go. We’re trying to rework a major number in the second act. For the twelfth time. Just kill me now.”

“At least you’ve got Timothy’s food, for comfort.”

Every day, I’d been reporting on the classy fare that Timothy brought to rehearsal. Shawn had been right, of course—Ken Durbin had jumped at the opportunity to have real catering on our set. Whatever the theater was paying Timothy wasn’t enough—Martina’s complaints about starvation had actually been reduced to no more than one per rehearsal.

I had to admit, though, my personal satisfaction with Timothy’s catering had little to do with Martina finally shutting up. Sure, his food was good; often, it was the only real sustenance I got in a day. But the real advantage of having Timothy at the theater was that I got to see him—at least in the mornings, before he hurried back to Garden Variety to serve lunch, and then again for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Timothy was being run ragged; all of his usual prep time was being spent at the theater. But I had to assume that the producers were making it worth his while. Broadway pockets were notoriously deep where finicky stars were concerned.

I loved watching Timothy work. I loved his feline energy, his scarcely controlled power as he moved behind his table, setting out treats, talking easily to everyone in the cast and crew.

Talking easily, that was, to everyone but me. Each time I had a conversation with Timothy, I found myself more tongue-tied than the time before. Despite his easy smile, despite his welcoming shrug, I had trouble putting two words together. My mind did strange things, throwing up images of Dr. Teel’s sharp gaze, countering them with memories of Timothy’s easy grace that night in Garden Variety, when we’d all gotten together for dinner. I kept thinking about kissing Teel in front of Timothy, about how guilty I’d felt when I turned around, caught in the act.

I wasn’t an idiot. I knew myself well enough to recognize the signs of a crush. But I absolutely could not have a crush on Timothy. I couldn’t have a crush on any man. Not until I’d completed the Master Plan. As stupid as I’d thought Amy’s plan might be when she first proposed it, I had come to believe that I truly needed it. I needed to carve out a new life for myself, free from the sort of idiotic sacrifices I’d made for Sam, and for all the other guys before him. Following it was the only way that I’d ever stop imitating the life of Laura Wingfield, wishing for the perfect man, afraid of living my actual life.

Amy interrupted my daydreaming. “Speaking of Timothy, can you do me a favor?”

“Um, sure,” I said, instantly wary.

“Can you tell him I can’t interface until four o’clock this afternoon? Dr. Teel can’t get here until two.”

“What?” There were so many things wrong with her request, starting with the totally obnoxious verb
interface,
that I didn’t know where to begin asking questions. “You’re meeting with Timothy?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I needed a class project, creating a business plan for a company in the service sector. I asked Timothy if I could do one for Garden Variety.”

“When did that happen?” Amy and I talked every single day. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t mentioned it before.

“About a week ago? Maybe two? A couple of days after we all had dinner at the restaurant.”

“Amy, you were keeping it a secret!”

“Sort of like you, not telling me about your poor, departed peace lily?”

Touché.

I had no choice but to go back on the defensive. “And what do you mean, ‘Dr. Teel can’t get here until two’? Why is he coming over there at all?” My genie had absolutely no reason to be hanging around my sister.

“He’s just going to keep an eye on Justin while I go meet with Timothy.”

“He can’t!” I practically shouted. Teel was a genie! He was absolutely irresponsible! He couldn’t be trusted with my
nephew!

Of course, I couldn’t say any of that out loud. As far as Amy was concerned, Teel was a brilliant medical doctor who had not only served a key role in saving Justin’s life but was now instrumental in bringing my nephew’s behavioral problems under control. “Seriously,” I said, struggling to muster my arguments. “Doesn’t he have to be on call or something?”

“He said he could handle it. Justin loves having him around. I think it’s good for him to spend time with a man. You know, until Derek gets back.”

I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t trust my genie, not as a babysitter. I’d seen him dressed up as a buxom cheerleader, as a leather-bound party boy—not exactly ideal models for child-care providers. Besides, I didn’t want Justin to get too dependent on him. At some point, I was going to make my fourth wish, and Teel would be off to his Garden. Justin would be left high and dry, victim of yet another man who disappeared from his life.

Of course, I knew what Teel would say if I challenged him. He’d tell me that he needed to do
something
to fill the time between my wishes. A genie had to keep himself busy somehow….

And I knew what Amy would say, if I challenged
her
. She’d accuse me of getting emotionally involved with Dr. Teel. Of putting way too much importance on what he did in his spare time.

Well, the guy
could
kiss like no one I’d ever met. But that wasn’t my problem with him as a babysitter. That wasn’t why I thought he was dangerous.

I knew better than to protest more, though. Amy was my big sister. She’d never listen to my complaints, especially when I couldn’t back them up with cold, hard facts. I sighed and grabbed my purse, snagging my keys so that I could rush out the door. “Look, I’d love to fight with you about this, but I really do have to get to rehearsal.”

“Fine. You’ll tell Timothy, though?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll tell him.” We said our goodbyes, and I dumped my phone into my tote bag. I was still annoyed when I tugged open my apartment door. My mood was definitely not helped when I almost tripped over a cat.

“What the—” I exclaimed.

Three.
I’m telling you right now, my life would end with the tagline “happily ever after” if I could just stop those bad things from tripling up on me.

The universe was laughing, and I was the butt of the joke. Have you heard the one about the woman whose Master Plan involved a plant, a goldfish and a cat?

The animal on my doorstep wove herself between my ankles. She was purring so loudly, I could hear her without bending down. She was a tiny calico, mostly white, with patches of orange and black on her face and chest. As I stared, she arched her butt high into the air, shaking her tail back and forth and yowling as if all the demons in hell were chasing her.

Dani Thompson’s door flew open across the hall. “Tabitha!” she scolded. “How did you get out here?”

The cat looked up at her and shook her hindquarters again. This time, her howl sounded like she was being skinned alive.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, trying to step away from the poor thing. Tabitha merely flowed between my ankles again, rubbing hard against my legs.

“She’s in heat,” Dani said grimly.

“Oh!” Tabitha confirmed the news with another unearthly cry. “Where did you get her? I’ve never, um, heard her before.”

“We found her on a guerilla raid last week, over by the Jefferson Market library. She must have sneaked out of my place just now, when I was carrying in my groceries.” Dani clicked her tongue and picked up the animal. Tabitha immediately started to butt her head against Dani’s chin, making my neighbor laugh. “The poor thing was soaking wet, and she was hungry enough to chew on my handbag. I brought her home with me because Lorraine Feingold is allergic to cats, and no one else lives in a building where they can have pets.” She shook her head and sighed. “I was hoping I could get her through this heat before bringing her down to the shelter.”

As if Tabitha could understand every word that Dani said, the animal let out another incredible shout. I shook my head a little, trying to clear the ringing in my ears. “Shelter? Won’t she quiet down after she’s through being in heat?”

Dani grimaced. “I don’t have to give her up because of the noise. She was quiet as a mouse, the first couple of days. No, it’s the guerilla supplies. I can’t trust her near the compost box for a minute, and she’s already chewed up half my fall seedlings. I’m worried she’ll get into something that’s poisonous for her.”

“Poor thing,” I said. “She doesn’t know any better.” Without thinking, I reached out to take her from Dani. She melted into my arms, flowing across my chest like a living blanket. If possible, her purring ratcheted even louder.

Dani pounced on the opportunity. “Will you take her?”

“I can’t!” I protested automatically.

“Why not?”

“I killed my peace lily,” I confessed, as if those words would make perfect sense to an outsider. “And my goldfish died this morning. I know that sounds strange—it’s just that I have this Master Plan.”

“I’m sure you do,” Dani agreed soothingly. “And part of it should involve keeping Tabitha out of the shelter. If those places get too crowded, you know, they have to put pets down.”

I would have resented Dani’s pulling my heartstrings more if Tabitha hadn’t chosen that moment to bat playfully at my nose. She kept her claws tucked neatly away—she really
was
a sweet cat. And I
had
planned on getting one sometime soon. And Dani really
did
need someone to help her out, now. Weakening, I said, “I don’t have any cat food. And I’ll need to buy a litter box.”

“I’ve got all of that. I’ll bring it over, right now.”

And that was it. I couldn’t fight Dani’s simple determination, her absolute confidence that I was going to do the right thing, that I was going to step up and save poor Tabitha. I couldn’t argue against the purring furball that insinuated itself around my neck. I never got a chance to explain that I needed more time, that I needed to step back to the plant stage before I could even think of taking in a living, breathing
mammal.
Before I really understood what was happening, Dani had transported all of Tabitha’s worldly possessions into my apartment.

We put the litter box in the bathroom, and we set out food and water in the kitchen. Tabitha seemed to like the apartment; she immediately found the brightest patch of sunlight on the living room floor and stretched out her meager frame until she seemed to be six feet long. She looked up at Dani and me and yowled again, a haunting cry that made the hair rise on the back of my neck.