Wishing in the Wings (32 page)

“But you did do great things while you were there! You helped people. And you wrote However Long. Your work was good enough that we picked it up, even though you came to us outside our usual process.”

He took a deep breath and stepped away from me. My fingers curled into the empty space where they’d been touching his sleeve. “That’s the thing,” he said. “However Long. That was my fourth wish. To have the Mercer produce my play.”

I felt like he’d punched me in my stomach.

His play. His amazing play. The one I’d read, the one I’d championed, the one I’d moved heaven and Hal to produce…. All because of a wish? All because of a genie’s manipulation?

He had to be lying. I didn’t know why yet, but he had to be making up a story.

But I remembered waking up with a sudden compulsion to read However Long. I remembered knowing that it was perfect, that Hal had to select it. I remembered knocking on Ryan’s door to share my good news, our good news, to tell him that we’d selected his play. And I remembered his strange reaction, the way he’d taken two deep breaths, as if he were ashamed.

As if he were guilty.

As if he’d used magic to achieve his fourth and final dream.

Sudden tears pricked the back of my eyes. I had to be a better judge of theater than that! I had years of education behind me, countless hours spent reading endless scripts…. I knew a good play when I read it. I couldn’t have been fooled by Jaze, by Ryan, by a stupid, idiotic wish.

Nausea twisted through my gut, and I forced myself to take deep breaths. This wasn’t happening to me. This couldn’t be real. My first solo choice as a dramaturg, my first declaration of independence from Dean Marcus, couldn’t have been because I’d been manipulated by someone else’s magic.

I remembered that night at the Pharm, the night that Jenn had handed over the bribes from other playwrights. I’d spent so much time convincing myself that I’d been right, that I’d been fair. That I’d followed all the rules.

And all that time, it had never occurred to me that I was being manipulated in a far more subtle way. I’d been dragged through ethical breaches I hadn’t even imagined existed. Ryan’s wish had forced me to forfeit every moral standard I’d ever worried about as a dramaturg.

But then, as clear as the nightingale song that I couldn’t hear in the Garden, I realized something. However Long was a good play. The story was strong. The characters were unique. The language was pure poetry.

Ryan may have wished his play into rapid production, but he’d only expedited his success. In the ordinary course of business, I would have eventually gotten around to reading his manuscript, eventually plucked it out of the pile on my desk. I would have recognized the script’s inherent power. I would have suggested it to Hal, worked to bring it into the Mercer.

All of that would have just happened a few years further down the line.

Even as I took comfort in my realization, a tiny part of me was struck by the absurd irony of the situation. If Ryan hadn’t wasted his last wish on getting my attention, However Long might have been in a stronger position to debut. A year from now, two years from now, Dean’s theft would be ancient history. The Mercer would have rebuilt its ties with its traditional sponsors. We’d never have become indebted to the Popcorn King. I never would have stormed into rehearsal, ranting about Ronald’s insulting popcorn flavors. I never would have started screaming at Ryan like a madwoman, and Teel never would have intervened by taking us away, taking us both to the Garden.

I never would have known that Ryan had a genie too.

“Okay,” I said, realizing that Ryan was still standing in front of me. I could read the agony on his face, the absolute certainty that I could never forgive his manipulation, his turning me into the object of his fourth and final wish. It was time for me to speak. “I understand.”

“Really?” The tiniest spark of hope brightened his face. “And you don’t hate me?”

“I don’t hate you. Any more than you should hate me, for moving in across the hall.”

I watched him process that. “One of your wishes?”

“Not specifically. I mean, not across the hall from you. But after I realized Dean had left me with no place to live, I had to do something. My first wish was for a place to live. Teel stole your address from the copy of However Long that was on my desk. She and Jaze must have loved that opportunity to mess with our minds.”

“And your second wish?”

“For clothes, back when I didn’t have anything. When all of my possessions were still wrapped up in Dean’s police investigation. I wished for the wardrobe that got us through all those business meetings. And my third was for the Gray Guerillas.”

“You used a wish to help my mother?”

I nodded. “After I saw what the Grays were doing, after you showed me how to plant the seeds, and I watched those little plants sprout…. I had to do something when Dani was arrested. Had to let others have the same experience. I mean, I didn’t plan on getting the mayor involved, but….”

“So, you have one wish left?”

“And I’m saving it for a rainy day.” I think that the old cliché made us both think of seed bombs, of the type of dark and stormy night that was perfect for guerilla attacks. We smiled at each other.

“Hey,” I said. “What did you do with your lamp? After you made your last wish?”

“I packaged it up and sent it to Burkina Faso. To a woman in the village where I was stationed, the model for Fanta. I knew that she’d be able to use the wishes, and I liked the idea of putting a genie in circulation there.”

I liked that idea too. I wasn’t sure how Jaze would fit in to African village life, once her sabbatical was over in the Garden. But one thing was for sure. She’d be appreciated. Probably more than I could ever imagine.

Ryan cleared his throat. “Becca, I’m not even sure what we were fighting about back there, in the theater. I mean, I know I was furious with Ronald, but I never should have taken it out on you. Or on Jenn. Or on you about Jenn.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t used to guys apologizing to me. I wasn’t used to the sudden rush of pleasure that his words brought, wasn’t used to the realization that he was reaching out to me. “I was wrong, too,” I finally said, amazed at how easily the words came once I started. “I mean, it’s not my fault that the Popcorn King is a jerk, but I shouldn’t have gotten as upset as I did. I think I was mostly embarrassed. I’d been avoiding you, and it was hard to come in there, with that news, with yet another disaster.”

“And you were avoiding me because of Pam?”

I tried to put my thoughts into words. “Not exactly. I mean, I know you dated other women before me. But I was upset that you’d never mentioned her to me, that you’d barely even mentioned the software. When Dani told me, I understood why the blocking was so important to you, and I just wished that you had told me yourself. I could have helped. I mean, helped you and the show.”

“I can see that now.”

Wow. This was how adults talked through their problems. This was how two grown-ups explained their misunderstandings to each other.

All of a sudden, I thought back to that night in Dani’s apartment, the night that Ryan had shown me how to plant cabbage seeds. I’d realized then that he was an excellent teacher, that I could learn from him. And here was another lesson he was handing over to me, wrapped up, with the proverbial bow on top.

I caught myself grinning awkwardly. Like he used to do. Like he used to do, when he was gangly and uncomfortable, when he’d first appeared in my office, and I’d nearly dismissed him as some sort of mis-socialized geek.

I was glad I’d taken the time to get to know him better.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Before I could respond to his apology, before I could formulate any sort of suave, adult reply, he closed the distance between us. His fingers were warm against my cheek as he leaned in for a kiss, but his lips were soft, tentative.

That sweet uncertainty awakened the beast that had been frozen in my belly. Heat uncurled inside me, reaching out tendrils to steal my breath, to make my pulse pound hard. He must have felt my response, must have recognized it for what it was. His hand slid to the back of my head, and his fingers twined in my hair. His kiss became more urgent, more demanding.

My own hands made themselves busy, clutching at his back, pulling him closer. I tugged at his shirt, ready to free it from its waistband.

And that’s when I heard the cough.

A polite little “ahem,” delivered against a wrinkled palm. A prim reprimand, like the chastisement of a grandmother. A deferential reminder that someone disapproved of my behavior.

Teel.

Ryan froze at the same time I did. When he stepped back, he slid his hands down to my elbows. The motion effectively kept him between my genie and me, giving me a much-needed moment to catch my breath, to collect my composure. There was nothing I could do about the tingle in my lips, though. Bracing myself, I stepped to the side and confronted my judgmental genie’s ebony gaze.

“If you two are quite through, we can go back to rehearsal.” Teel-as-Anana’s disapproval shattered against the gray nothingness. “You seem to have finished your discussion, and you obviously don’t need to look at the Garden.”

Ryan glanced at me. “You can actually see it?”

Great. Even if I’d wanted to continue lying to Teel, wanted to spin out some elaborate story to cover my earlier confusion over the gate’s location, I couldn’t do that now. Not with Ryan asking me a question, point-blank.

“Not exactly,” I said. Teel harrumphed, and the cap of her silver hair trembled like a high-strung horse’s mane. I swallowed hard and forced myself to explain. “But I pretended that I could. Before. When it was just Teel and me.”

Teel’s old lady voice was raspy. “I thought that you were a Perceptive. One of the very few humans who can truly see the Garden. One who can understand.”

I twisted my hands in front of me, honestly miserable. “The first time you brought me here, I thought that I was the strange one. The way you went on and on about how wonderful it was, I thought that everyone else had to be able to see it. I didn’t want to disappoint you. I didn’t want you to give up on me, to take away my wishes because I was defective, or something.”

“But I believed you! I shared my secrets with you!” Her words trembled, and an actual tear carved a valley down her cheek.

“Teel! Don’t cry!” I rushed over to her, folded her hands between mine. It was hard to believe that this was my genie, this pitiable old woman whom I’d inadvertently hurt….

She was also the Con Ed line worker. She was the debonair man in a tuxedo. She was the painter and the bombshell who had ruined my hopes of soliciting money from the International Women’s Union, and she was the clown and the lawyer. I couldn’t picture any of those personas crying. I couldn’t imagine any of them caring enough, any of them being influenced at all by who I was, by what I said, by what I did.

And yet they were all one and the same. They were all, at their core, the same creature. The same magical being who had been there for me each time I thought my life couldn’t get any worse.

Sure, Teel could be annoying. She purposely got a few wish details wrong, just to spice up her magical life. She sparked each week of her life with more drama than most humans would pack into a lifetime.

But she didn’t deserve being lied to.

“I’m sorry,” I said, applying the lesson I’d just learned from Ryan. “I shouldn’t have lied. I thought that I’d be making things better for you, not worse.”

The old woman sniffled before she pulled her hands away from mine. She tilted her head to one side, squinting her eyes as if she were measuring the actual dimensions of my apology. I hung my head, trying to convey the full extent of my remorse.

“There is one thing that would make me feel better,” she said.

“What?”

“Make your fourth wish, now.” She struck like a cobra.

“Teel!” When I looked closer, her eyes were completely dry; her tears had faded as soon as she revealed her true purpose.

She shrugged. “It was worth a try.” She cocked her head, taking in Ryan. “So, are you two ready to go back?”

I thought about the argument we’d had back at the Mercer, the frantic escalation of our emotions. I didn’t want to yell anymore. I didn’t want to fight. “Do we have to?”

“It’s that, or stay here forever,” she said.

Ryan stepped up beside me. “We’ll go back.” I heard the fervent desire in his voice. He must really dislike the Garden space, as much as Kira did.

“But what about everyone else? They’re going to realize something’s wrong, if Ryan and I aren’t screaming like magpies.”

Teel rolled her eyes. “You were the one doing the screaming. He kept his voice down the entire time.”

“Great. Thanks for reminding me.”

Gallantly, Ryan got us off the subject. “Seriously, though. What are we going to do? We can’t explain to anyone what’s happened. Your magic would just knock us silent, won’t it?”

“Silence won’t be a problem,” Teel said. “I promise.”

Before we could ask for an explanation, she raised her mahogany fingers to her ear. The wrinkles across her knuckles were deep, mesmerizing, and I almost forgot to grab a breath before we translated through the gray nothingness.

I stumbled just a little as I came back to the Mercer. Ryan shot out a hand to steady me, leaving his fingers on my forearm. I glanced at him, hoping that he had an idea, that he could figure out something on the spot to explain to everyone why we weren’t fighting anymore.

And then I heard the sound of popping corn, and I knew why no explanation would be necessary.

“Pop off!” exclaimed Ronald as he rolled through the theater door.

Hal still held the printout of Jenn’s e-mail in his hand. The cast still thrummed with outrage about Plain Starvation. And everyone was waiting for me to take the lead, for me to respond to the rampaging Popcorn King.

I swallowed hard and stepped forward. I waited until Ronald slapped his cell phone shut, and then I said his name by way of greeting, keeping my voice perfectly level.

“I got tired of talking to your assistant! Sweet girl! But can’t make a decision to save her life!”