The Charm Bracelet (12 page)

Holly smiled broadly. ‘That would be fantastic!’

‘Ever heard of Margot Mead?’

She shook her head. The name meant absolutely nothing to her. ‘Well, she’s pretty well known in society circles around Manhattan, and one of our regular customers, if you know what I mean,’ he added delicately, and Holly figured this meant that Margot was rolling in the moolah.

‘OK … ?’

‘She’s a collector. Adores jewellery. If there’s one woman who could help you identify a charm that distinctive, or indeed someone who has the means to come by it, it’s her. She has a lot of friends and, believe me, they buy a lot of expensive stuff.’

Holly looked at the egg again. It really was a marvellous charm; she was surprised that she hadn’t noticed how much more expensive it looked compared to some of the simpler pieces on the bracelet. She wondered if it had been bought to commemorate a particularly special occasion – a significant birthday, maybe?

She noticed Danny edging towards her and looking fidgety, and figured that was her cue to take her leave. ‘Well, Samuel, I really appreciate your help. I’ll see if I can track down this Margot.’

‘You’re welcome. Best of luck to you,’ Samuel said. ‘It’s a lovely bracelet and I’m sure the owner will appreciate your efforts.’

Holly was about to slip the bracelet back into her pocket, but then remembering how expensive it was, she instead carefully tucked it into the inside pocket of her handbag.

Margot Mead …

She sounded like one of those out-and-out New York society queens. How on earth was a lowly shop assistant like Holly going to inveigle an audience with someone like that?

At his parents’ house on Park Avenue, Greg paused at the threshold of their bedroom
, a lump in his throat.

It was the place he had run to in the middle of the night as a child when he had a nightmare, or didn't feel well. Not to mention all the times he would sit on the big four-poster bed and watch his parents getting ready to go out to some fancy event or another.

The morning light began to illuminate the room. He looked around; every item and every fabric had his mother’s imprint on it. She loved bright colours, yellow especially, often saying that there had been little colour in Alphabet City, where she had been raised.

On the dressing table, amongst the various perfume bottles and lotions, he spied a framed photograph and picked it up. It was one of Jeff and Cristina taken before they married. His mother looked like a film star, Audrey Hepburn-like with a pretty print dress and gloves and hat.

‘Love you Mom,’ he whispered, carefully slipping the photo back on the dresser amongst her things.

Then,
Greg swallowed hard and went back into the living room where his father waited.

‘Everything OK, son?’ Jeff Matthews asked, watching him carefully.

‘Sure,’ Greg nodded and, going to the drinks cabinet, poured his father two shots of his favourite thirty-year-old Scotch.

Taking in the surroundings in which he’d grown up, he realised that the place was a bit like the Scotch:
richly familiar, and little had changed in the last few decades. As always, there were fresh sunflowers on the living-room table. He didn’t know where Jeff had got them, this time of year especially, but his father had bought his mother sunflowers every week of their marriage for the past forty years.

‘Here you go, Dad, just what the doctor ordered.’

He passed the leaded crystal rocks glass to his father, and took a seat across from him on the settee that his mother had picked out when they first bought this classic, pre-war apartment.

Jeff took a sip of the amber liquid and gave a small grimace as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

‘Actually, this is probably the last thing that the doctor ordered, son. But really, who wants to listen to that old bastard. If it were up to him I’d be on an all-greens diet with a water IV. No fun in that,’ he chuckled. ‘If I’m going to go out, I’m going to go out the good way: pickled in good Scotch and eating a cow.’

‘Dad. Come on: don’t joke about your health. And besides, you are as strong as a horse,’ Greg scolded
, uncomfortable with such discussion. The past few months had been hard on everyone, and Greg still worried about his father rattling around in this huge apartment.

‘So,’ Jeff said, taking another sip of his drink and changing the subject. ‘You quit your job.’ He wore a serious expression that suggested: OK, let’s talk business.

Greg sucked in his breath, but his dad started to laugh, slapping his knee jovially, which finally elicited a smile. ‘Well damn, good for you! In my opinion you should have quit that sweatshop years ago. So what’s the plan now?’             

Greg rubbed his hands together and reached for his own drink (a glass of red wine; he had never been much of a hard liquor drinker), took a sip and smiled. ‘I’m going to make a go of it on my own, with my photography. You know, it’s always been a dream of mine, and since that photo of the Flatiron sold, I have been playing with the idea. Of course, there is a risk … ’

‘Life is a risk. Don’t let that scare yo
u
if you live your life always afraid of putting yourself out there. You should do what you love, because in this economy,’ he joked, ‘you're gonna be doing it for a long time. And you're good at it, I know that. Taking pictures, your mom reckons you were like one of those Hudson River painters, except with a camera.’

Greg smiled, uncommonly proud at hearing this.

Jeff spread his hands around in the air, gesturing at the apartment. ‘All this didn't happen overnight, and this is not why I went into trading. I did it because I loved it, standing in the pit, the excitement the panic, the joy on my customers’ faces when I made a good deal … ’ He glanced over at the flowers. ‘The rest just happened to be a perk, and – well, back when I was on Wall Street – your mom always said she didn't care what I did or what we had, as long as I could provide – for you of course!’ he playfully pointed a finger at Greg. ‘That's what love does, you know,’ he added softly. ‘Everything is more bearable with two. And speaking of which, what does Karen think of it all?’

Greg grimaced a little. ‘Well, let’s just say that she is still getting used to the idea.’

‘Oh?’ Jeff queried. ‘She’s upset with you for leaving?’

‘I guess you might say that,’ Greg replied, trying to choose the right words. ‘But it’s my own fault, really. In hindsight, I know I should have given her more of a heads-up, whereas instead I kind of just sprung it on her. I honestly thought she would be happy, but she just seems worried.’

Jeff eyed his son, the wheels in his head obviously turning. ‘Worried about what?’

‘Well, I suppose that she is just a little intimidated by me going off on my own and her being the only one with the dependable, pensionable job. I told her I have a plan; I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t, but, you know, she is my partner in all of this, in life. I’m probably the bad guy for not telling her before I pulled the plug.’

Jeff laughed. ‘Well, most women can be uptight when they worry about the bills.’ He paused. ‘You aren’t, are you? Worried about the bills?’

Greg smiled and shook his head. Leave it to his father to still think he was an eighteen year old who needed to be bailed out. ‘No, Dad. Trust me, I’ve been responsible. I’m not coming to you for a cheque.’

‘Ha! You thought I was offering!  You know, that time I quit my job before going out on our own, your mom was scared too, at first. We had just bought this place and the mortgage was hanging over our heads. But she eventually came around. And when I opened up my own firm, that risk paid off. I’m sure the same thing will be true for Karen.’

Greg nodded, and hoped his father was right. But while he thought about it, he decided he might as well get his input on one other matter that had been playing on his mind.

‘So, I was thinking … ’

‘Yeah? Well, that makes a change,’ his father joked. It was hard to find Jeff in a bad mood; he was always jovial.

Well, almost always.

‘Dad, I’m serious,’ Greg chided.

‘OK, OK, so what is it?’

‘Well. I’m thinking of asking Karen to marry me. I think it will help us get past this place … this problem, and refocus our relationship. And I suppose I wanted your blessing.’

Jeff looked at his son thoughtfully, all joking now set aside. ‘My blessing? Shouldn’t you be asking for
her
father’s blessing?’

‘Her father passed away a couple of years ago, remember?’ Greg stated quietly. ‘And she’s not really that close with her mother. I just felt that I needed to talk to someone about it.’

Jeff nodded. ‘I see. Do you feel it’s right?’ he asked point blank.

Greg thought for a second and shook his head in the affirmative. ‘Yes, I do. I love her more than I have ever loved any woman. And I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want
a marriage like yours and Mom’s - the romance, the sparkle, the love. Everything that happened during the good times. I want that, with Karen.’

His father paused and looked away, out of the windows that let in a spectacular view of
Central Park. The snowflakes hit and melted against the windows.

‘You even willing to deal with the stuff that happens in the bad times?’ he asked bluntly, causing Greg to shift in his seat.

‘It’s a part of marriage, isn’t it?’ he replied gently.

Jeff swallowed hard. ‘
Yep. As they say, for better or worse. Marriage is like life; no one ever said it was easy. And it’s just … if this is what you want, then I say go for it. Karen’s a smart girl; she’s driven, talented, beautiful. The whole package, right?’

Greg laughed at the confirmation of his own perception. ‘Yes, she really is the whole package.’

Jeff smacked the armrest of the chair he sat in. ‘Well, I hope you have something special planned. Have you been thinking about how you are going to pop the question?’

Greg
let out his breath and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Yes, I think I have it planned. I want to do something special, something really memorable.’

‘Something that’ll blow her socks off?’

Greg smiled, unable to remember the last time Karen had worn socks, if ever. She seemed surgically attached to her skyscraper heels.

‘Pretty much. My buddy Rob, you know, my old roommate at Columbia? Well, he works at the
NYT
and I was thinking of enlisting his help on this.’

‘The newspaper? Sounds intriguing. What did you have in mind?’

At that moment, the doorbell rang, signalling Karen’s arrival for dinner.

‘Hold that thought. Don’t want to let anything slip in front of her.’

‘I know. Dad, I have one other question … ’

‘Hit me, but hurry,’ he chided as he rose from his chair. ‘Maria will let her in,’ he said, referring to the hired help who ghosted in and out of rooms in the penthouse.

‘Well, remember how Mom put Nonna’s ring aside for me? I was going to ask her with that.’

‘Wonderful.
There are a lot of happy times associated with that ring, a lot of history, and of course your mother would be happy to see it live another great life. I’ll need to search for it, though – she must have put it away somewhere … but I’ll get it for you soon, OK?’

Greg beamed and stepped forward to give his father a hug.

‘That would be great. Thank you.’

Just as he was about to head down the hall to the front entryway to meet Karen, Jeff called out to him. ‘Greg?’

‘Yes?’ Greg turned around with raised eyebrows.

‘Just a thought. When I met your mom, I knew within two minutes that she was the one for me. We had a great life before … ’ He shook his head, sadly. ‘I hope it’s the same for you and Karen.’

So do I
, Greg thought, heartened. Karen was the one for him, no question about that.

What his dad had said about his grandmother’s ring – that it would be good to see it live another great lif
e
was exactly what he fel
t
what he
hoped

for him and Karen. He just hoped she felt the same way.

It was late evening, and Holly and Danny were back at the apartment and trying to keep warm in spite of the plunging temperatures. Upon leaving Tiffany’s earlier, they’d gone into the park for a walk and, on impulse, Holly bought two tickets to the zoo. As they passed through the turnstile, she remembered back to when the kids’ zoo in Central Park cost only ten cents. Wow, things had changed in such a short time.

She watched Danny as he examined the mice and stood in the mouth of
the blue whale, and then laughed as he tried in vain to feed the chickens, which refused to come out of their shed due to the snow.

‘Hmm,’ she said to him. ‘
We probably could have just seen mice at home huh? How about some cotton candy?’

‘You feeling all right, Mom?’
Danny joked. She tried her best to keep him away from processed sugar and all the crazy things that passed for children’s ‘food’ these days.

‘I'm just fine,’ she replied. ‘Then let’s go
and see the penguins.’

At the penguin exhibit, the
penguins were out, themselves marvelling at the snow, and Holly realised the exhibition hadn't changed in the past twenty-odd years.

Danny
tugged at her arm as she paused, lost in thought and memories. ‘Seriously Mom, are you OK?’

‘
Yeah, I’m fine, I'm just remembering when I use to come here with your grandpa. I really wish you could have known him.’

Danny shrugged. ‘I know, you've said that
before.’

Holly took note; maybe she was dwelling
too much. She thought about who they did know. Maybe this year she should have Christmas dinner at her house, maybe invite Kate and be less dependent on her mother.

‘You’re right,’ she said, hugging Danny, who this time
didn’t resist. ‘Maybe we should concentrate on the living. How about we have Christmas at our house this year?’

Danny stared at her. ‘Really?
With a tree and everything? I mean a big tree,’ he clarified quickly. They always had a tree but a tiny table-top one; certainly no competition to Maggie's full-size live tree.

‘I guess so.’ Why not go the whole hog? Holly thought, deciding to throw caution to the winds.

‘Yay, Mom! I can’t wait!’

Afterwards they made their way back home, Danny chatting excitably about Christmas all the way.

In the meantime, he’d also taken a keen interest in the mystery bracelet having learned all about it following their trip to Tiffany’s that morning

‘So a flower, a handbag, a feather … ’
He reached for the bracelet she’d once again been examining. ‘It really is just like yours, except the charms are different.’

‘That's a quill, Danny,’ she corrected him.

‘Really? It looks exactly like a feather to me.’

‘Well, yes, this is a feather, but the kind they used to slice the end off, so they could dip it in ink and write.’

‘Cool! I want to do that.’

Holly laughed.

‘Well, if that feather thing is used for writing, maybe she’s a writer?’ he offered.

Holly shrugged. ‘Could be.’ A highly successful one if she was carrying around charms made of platinum and
diamonds she thought wryly.

‘And what’s that?’ Danny asked, pointing to a crescent-shaped object that looked a little bit like a tadpole.

Holly had been wondering about that one herself from the outset. She’d thought at first that it could be a chilli, but there was a definite wave to the design that suggested otherwise. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, honey.’

‘Well, what about these wedding bells – you think that maybe the owner of the bracelet is married?’

Holly nodded; she had already considered that, but unfortunately it didn’t open any other doors for her. After all, people got married every day, and nothing on that particular charm gave a when or a where.

‘I thought about that, but it doesn’t lead to me anything – not that I can think of, at least.’

Danny inspected further. ‘How about this one?’

Holly leaned closer to see what he was looking at. It was a horseshoe.

‘What about it?’

‘See on the back there’s some kind of stamp?’

‘Yes.’ She had taken note of that too; a series of letters and numbers, she had no idea what they meant, and just assumed it was a jeweller’s mark. ‘I saw that, but I didn’t know what to make of it.’

‘Did you run it through Google?’

‘What?’ She looked at him, feeling stupid. ‘No. Actually, the thought didn’t even occur to me.’ Leave it to her technologically savvy son to inspire a new avenue for the search.

Danny rolled his eyes in feigned disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t do that first thing … Here, let me get the computer.’ He scurried off to get Holly’s laptop and then sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘Can you read off what it says?’

Holly looked closer at the charm, and deciphered the letters and numbers. Danny’s fingers, entirely adept to a computer keyboard, quickly typed in the information and waited for the search to populate. Holly moved beside him and peered over his shoulder in curiosity as she watched her son do his magic.

‘What are you getting?’

‘Not sure, might be nothing. There’s a bunch of hits for books, library call numbers and some other stuff … ’

Holly looked at the search listings and, admittedly, it seemed like a lot of gobbledegook. A thought occurred to her. ‘Maybe it’s a date or an address? And since we know this bracelet’s home is most likely in
New York, why don’t you add New York to the search terms? This might be a zip code, or … something.’ She didn’t know
what
it could be, but she thought her suggestion was reasonable.

Apparently, so did her son, who turned around with his eyebrows raised. ‘Who are you and what did you do with my mom?’

Holly tapped him on the back of his head. ‘Enough with the wisecracks, kid.’

She watched as he turned back to the computer and typed in her suggestion.

‘Huh,’ he said, after a beat. ‘Mom, you might be onto something.’

‘Why? What do you see?’ Holly looked closer and found that the search had returned a list of websites related to an artist named Gennaro del Vecchio. He happened to be based here in
Manhattan, and he owned an art gallery on West Twenty-Fifth Street.

‘Do you think this means something, Mom?’

‘I don’t know, but I’d certainly say it’s a shot in the right direction,’ said Holly, feeling positive once again. ‘Does the address of his gallery happen to be six-eighteen?’ she asked, referring to the numbers on the inscription. Danny checked and shook his head.

But maybe the horseshoe charm had some kind of connection to the gallery anyway. ‘Are you going to go there?’ her son inquired. ‘To the gallery?’

‘I’d say that’s my next port of call, wouldn’t you? Maybe this Gennaro fellow can tell me something.’

‘And maybe I should keep searching on the computer,’ Danny offered with raised eyebrows, wondering if his mother’s excitement over this new development might put off bed just a little while longer.

Holly was so busy examining the horseshoe charm that she barely took note of Danny’s last suggestion. She nodded her head in agreement, albeit absently. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea, that’s probably what you should … hey, wait a minute,’ she exclaimed, suddenly coming out of her daze. ‘Nice try, mister, but not so fast. School tomorrow, so it’s bed for you. Now.’ She smiled, amused by her son’s artful dodging.

‘Awww Mom—’

‘Don’t “Awww Mom” me. Bed. It’s only a few more days till winter break and then you can be the Watson to my Sherlock as much as you want.’

Danny smiled. ‘Or, you can be the Watson to
my
Sherlock. Don’t forget who took the search to Google.’

He jogged off, laughing merrily as his mother nodded in agreement. Indeed, because of Danny, they once again had a warm lead.

On Monday morning, Greg strode into the lobby of the
New York Times
building with his portfolio under his arm. He felt amazing. As he rode up in the elevator to Billy, the photo editor’s office, he realised he had no plan, no prepared speech, nor had he done a Q and A with himself in the bathroom mirror: he was just going to go in and show what he had and what he could do.

Billy's floor was pretty much the same set-up as Rob's, except that as a senior editor he was not only given a space on the common room floor, but was also given a private office. As Greg was ushered in by Billy himself, he stopped to stare at all the photos on the wall. Every inch was covered. There was one of almost every
New York mayor from the seventies onwards, a few presidents, and every angle of the city you could imagine.

Suddenly Greg felt like grabbing his portfolio and running back out through the door. But, before he could, Billy motioned him to sit. He did, his knuckles white over the edge of the leather case.

While the walls were covered with prints, the desk was clear except for a phone. It was a long wide glass desk, with a light under it that would illuminate the whole thing to look at negatives and prints. Greg gripped his portfolio tighter.

‘So what do you have?’ Billy asked, getting straight down to business. He held his hands out to Greg for the portfolio. When Greg paused, the editor scratched his ear and laughed a little, ‘C'mon, they can't be that bad. You're here aren't you?'

Greg slowly handed the portfolio over and held his breath as Billy untied the ends and dumped the whole thing out on his desk.

He sat and slowly went through every single photo, sometimes turning them over to read the date and description, sometimes putting them aside in a separate pile to go back over. After what seemed like an eternity, Greg cleared his throat.

Billy was behind a large print – one of the shots Greg had taken while out with the cops in Queens. ‘Can I get you some water?’

‘Uh, no, I'm good.’ Greg managed. ‘It's just, ah … you’re not asking me anything.’

‘Shouldn't have to.’ Billy put the photo he was looking at down on the desk. ‘Your work should be able to tell me anything I need to know. I'm looking for photographers, not writers.’

Greg nodded. ‘True.’

‘And these are quite good, really quite good.’

Greg felt relief wash over him like a hug from his mother.

Billy closed the portfolio and sat back in his chair. ‘OK, now here comes the questions … Ever been punched in the face?’

Greg looked at him, startled, but could see from Billy's expression that he was not joking.

‘Uh, I may have been in a bar fight in college once … ’

‘Good, ever had someone try to run you over with their car?’

Greg shook his head, baffled.

‘Ever been in the middle of a shoot-out?’

Greg shook his head again; this was an interview for photography and not the Marines, yes?

‘I only ask,’ Billy got up and perched on the edge of his desk, ‘because if I call you and say, there's a riot downtown and the cops are using tear gas, you gotta go, right?’

‘Sure.’ Greg nodded, gulping a little.

‘I mean, you can't be afraid to jump in there, and you may get hurt. You would get a press badge, of course, but when things get rough, no one's going to be looking at it, you know?’

Greg nodded again. ‘I understand,’ he said out loud. ‘I can do it, I'm not scared.’

‘Good, because I can reimburse you for broken equipment, but you'd be contract, so if you break your teeth, you’re on your own.’

Greg felt his shoulders relax and smiled a little. ‘Fine by me.’

Billy stuck his hand out. ‘OK great,
consider yourself officially on trial.’

‘Seriously?’
Greg grabbed and shook it hard. ‘That's it?’

‘Oh no, that's not it; there's lots of legal now … papers for you to fill out and all that stuff. Mostly ’bout how you won't sue us if you break your teeth.’ He tapped on Greg's portfolio as he handed it back to him, ‘and how any shots you take on assignment belong to the
NYT
.’ He flashed Greg a big smile. ‘Legal and HR will call you to come in and fill that crap out. Now, let me think about what I want to do with you.’ He leaned against the desk, and squeezed his eyed shut. ‘There's Christmas coming up and one of my regular guys has been bitching about vacation, so you can take the assignment.’ Billy’s eyes remained closed and Greg wondered if he had everything in a file in his head. ‘Colour, of course – shots of all the traditional New York places New Yorkers go during the holiday season, so Rockefeller Center, Bryant Park, you figure it out OK? The writer’s name is Suzanne Lee, she's in our directory, which you need.’

At this he whipped open a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers stapled together. ‘Copy it, I want it back. Call, introduce yourself as
her
photographer – it always goes better that way – and ask her what she wants. But you get that list.’

Greg nodded, suddenly overwhelmed.