Godmother: a novel

  "Lil," he said, laughing, "I think you might be reading too many of those fairy tales behind the counter."

  I looked at the book in front of me and then back at him, my mouth opening to explain.

  He put his hand on my arm. "It's okay," he said. "I was only teasing you. I love those tales, too." He reached down and picked it up. "This one's a beauty, though, isn't it? You know this was printed in 1835? Right here in Manhattan?"

  "Yes," I said. "You told me."

  He placed the book gently on the counter. Its bark scent wafting up. He cracked it open slowly, revealing a page of text with leaves cascading down the side, opposite a drawing of a girl cleaning a fireplace. "These prints. They're exquisite. Look at her face."

  I leaned in. The girl's face was lovely, intricate, infinitely sad. "It's so emotional," I said. "And just a few black lines."

  I was right there. I could have told him, right then. Who I was. What I was. But I couldn't speak.

  The moment passed. He was flipping through the book. "Someone wrote in this," he said. "Tous mes anciens amours vont me revenir." H is French was perfect.

  "All my old loves will be returned to me," I repeated. "It's lovely, isn't it?"

  "Yes," he said, looking at the script more closely. "Imagine, scribbling in a book and having someone read your words more than a century and a half later."

  "It's incredible." My voice cracked as I spoke. "How much is forgotten. I think about it all the time."

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  George looked up at me, closed the book. "Are you okay, Lil? Is something wrong?"

  "No," I said. "Everything is fine." I smiled at him, felt a tear drop down my cheek. "I'm just a silly old lady sometimes."

  "Ah," he said. "Aren't we all?" He smiled back at me, and I felt a wave of caring for him. As if I were in my old skin. A new energy moving through me, something ancient but just below the surface. He stood. "I better start heading up if I'm going to get back this afternoon. I've got another collection to look over tonight, in TriBeCa."

  I did not want George to be alone, the way I was alone.

  "Okay," I said, wiping my face. And after a moment, "You know, I think your dance will be good for you."

  He shrugged, smiling, gathering up his book. "Well, at least it's for a good cause, as they say. They also claim that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

  An idea was forming. A perfect thought. "No, I mean I can help you. I will help find someone for you. Someone to take. Someone you'll like."

  He laughed out loud, throwing his head back slightly. "Well, that is quite a task. Very sweet of you, too, but I wouldn't assign that job to my worst enemy."

  "I'm serious," I said. And I was. I was! For a second I believed that if I jumped in the air I'd be able to see past his skin, into his deepest heart.

  "You want to find me a date?"

  I nodded. "Yes. For the Paradise Ball."

  He looked at me. "You seriously want to find me a date? You know I'm hopeless at these things, right?"

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  I smiled. "I am aware of this, George. That is why I'm offering to help."

  "Desperate times, desperate measures, yes?"

  "Exactly. And my help, I might add, is more valuable than you know."

  "I have no doubt." He threw up his hands. "And who am I to turn down such a magnanimous offer?" He shook his head, staring at me. "Now I'd better get out of here before you start threatening to pick out my next wife and name my children, too."

  "That," I said, "is not a bad idea."

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  Chapter Five

  IOPENED MY EYES IN THE BLUE WATER OF THE FAIRY lake, the vines and water lilies looping around me, sparkling with the sunlight that shot through the water. A flurry of fairies was passing, their wings fully spread, translucent. The great tree with its jutting branches grew out of the lake bottom, which was covered in grass and plants and jewels. A flapping red flower opened, and a just-born fairy emerged, blinking her long lashed glittering eyes. In the distance was the fairy court, the gleaming shell-made seat of the chief elder. Around it the tangled branches of the tree curling down.

  It was all so beautiful. And yet, for the first time in my life, my world felt lacking.

  "Lil!" I heard, and suddenly Maybeth was swaying before me, laughing wildly. "Get up!"

  "No," I said, curling back into the water lily and twisting over onto my side. I just wanted to go back. The only thing I could focus on was the image from her dream, an image that had entered my own dreams now, the man standing in

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  the field in front of her, the longing that had moved its way through her, and now me. I pulled the flower petals up to my shoulders and closed my eyes.

  Maybeth pressed her face close to mine. "Come on," she said. "What's wrong with you?"

  "I'm sleeping," I said, shaking her off. "Leave me alone."

  "I brought you a present," she said, as a tiny seashell appeared in her palm. "Isn't it pretty? It has red dye inside, to color your lips with." She made it wink and glitter at me, but I turned away. "I can show you where to find more."

  "I just want to go back to sleep. I was having a good dream."

  "This isn't like you, Lil," she said. "Come on. You've been weird since we came back."

  "I'm fine."

  She sighed. "You shouldn't have transformed. Something happened to you, didn't it?"

  "No," I said.

  "Something is different about you. It's that girl, isn't it? Something's wrong with her. I can't believe she is to be queen."

  "May," I said slowly, flipping over. I lowered my voice and looked around. In the distance, I could see one of the elders moving his head, his eye rolling toward me. "Do you ever think of what it'd be like to be human?" I whispered.

  She floated next to me, wild, her long purple hair tossing in the waves. "What are you talking about?" she said, her face changing. "Why would you wonder that?"

  "Shhh," I said sharply. "I just wonder. I can't stop thinking about her."

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  "About who?"

  "Her. Cinderella. And her dreams. She was dreaming of him."

  "So? Of course she was. All humans are like that. Pathetic. Lil, they're watching us. Let's go. We should at least get up to the pier."

  "But I felt what she felt. The prince was in her dream and all she wanted was to be with him."

  "You've always been good at that, feeling them. I wish I was as good at it as you."

  "You'd hate it. How they feel."

  She rolled her eyes, impatient. "Anyway, she'll be with him soon. So what?"

  "Now I want that, too."

  "What do you want?" To be with him.

  "Wait. The prince?"

  I nodded.

  Her eyes widened. "Lil. You can't talk like this. You can't."

  "I just want to go look at him. See what he's like."

  "You know what he's like! He's the prince!"

  "Come with me to the palace, just one time."

  "We can't!" she cried, then clamped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted up to where the elder sat, past branches and through the water, past two fairies darting by just then, calling to us to come to the surface, me and Maybeth, my flower sister, and even through all that distance I could feel his eyes slicing through to me. But I didn't care.

  "It will be fun. Let's just go and look at him. Don't you

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  wonder about him? They all dream about him. The whole kingdom."

  "Don't talk about him like that," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Don't even think it." Her clear eyes staring back at me, hard-edged, like diamonds.

  It was the first time our hearts hadn't been one piece.

  Something had happened to me, I realized then. My own world seemed muted, emptied out. The crystal water, the great tree, the wondrous flowers and gems, the tangle of human fate the elders deciphered, the fairy court lined with shells, the colors so bright a human would have gone blind from the sight of them, the
elders moving through the water or sitting at their thrones like elegant, shimmering fish while the young fairies emerged from the water and flew back down again, going back and forth between worlds, the fate of all humanity in their hands: it all seemed to have dried up, in an instant, until the only thing left was him, the field, and his hand reaching out for me.

  I had never lied before to Maybeth, but I knew I needed to then. "I was only kidding," I said. I made a face at her, then flung myself off the lily.

  Her face relaxed. For a moment, the world was normal again. I grabbed her hand and pulled her up with me to the surface of the lake. We passed the elder who'd been watching us, and I smiled over to him, spreading my wings. Water streaming around us on all sides. I lifted my head and tried to forget everything else.

  We burst into air. The sun bright above our heads, the air full of the sweet music of our friends, who were scattered on the pier and in the branches of the trees, instruments in their hands and against their lips. Others were returning

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  from the human world, others still disappearing into the line of trees to do their own work there.

  I must have been mad, I thought, to dream of the other world, when everything any being could ever want was right here.

  I flew into the air, perfect. Whole in a way a human could never be.

  THE PIERRE. Even the name felt like some exotic truffle on my tongue. I had walked past its pale wedding-cake like façade, seen it shooting like a palace above Central Park, admired its pointed copper roof that shone when the sun hit it. I'd heard stories about its grand ballroom, elaborate and overblown, like something from Versailles. I couldn't believe I'd never been inside. There was so much in the world that I didn't pay attention to, traces of the old world all around.

  The Pierre was perfect. The perfect place for the ball. And George was a prince, or as close to one as I could imagine. It was hard to remember sometimes that he'd been raised in a palace overlooking Central Park, that he'd studied at a prep school in Connecticut and gone on to Yale, that one of his relatives was a duke. And now he was going to a ball, just now, at the same moment when a girl showed up with evidence of fairies and just when the prince showed himself to me, too. Theodore had had fairy blood, like Cinderella, like all the royal line. Now I was convinced it had been him in the diner. Maybe he had been more than part fairy. Maybe that's why he'd been able to see me the way he had, so long ago, and was able to appear to me in human form now.

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  And then I understood. Or at least I thought I did. They were coming back to me. Weren't they? They were giving me a chance to change the story. They had to be. George was going to a ball, and he needed a woman to bring, someone he would fall in love with and marry. Didn't he? Didn't everyone? And I knew just the right girl for George. She'd practically been dropped in my lap. There was a reason why George collected fairy stories, why Veronica had shown up with a book showing real fairies on this earth. Even if they didn't know it, I did. I was a fairy godmother. Even now I had white feathers on my back, after years of being on earth. I made sure that humans met their fates. If I did this, I could make up for that night so long ago.

  Couldn't I?

  The thought was dizzying, luxurious: I could redeem myself for what I'd done. I could return to my own world, where nothing from this world would matter. Not Leo or the apartment or the bills I couldn't pay. Not my wrinkled, hanging skin, or the ache that seemed to start in my bones and spread out like tree branches.

  I tossed in bed that night, imagining the two of them together. George in a tuxedo as black as his eyes, the color of ink, and Veronica in a pale blue dress, her bright hair falling to her neck. I grasped for an image and thought of bright silver walls the dancers could see themselves in. The smell of perfume, of rain. Myself running up the silver stairs, racing through the night with the beating of wings behind me.

  I shook my head, tried to rid myself of the memory. The past was becoming the present becoming the past. Everything was happening again and again, until it was set right and all was forgiven.

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  I sat up in bed. It was only nine P.M.

  It took me a second to orient myself. This was not the old kingdom. The silver palace had long ago been destroyed. In its place was a whole city. I breathed in and out, slowly, and concentrated on the sound of cars rushing by, the honking horns and faint sirens, the sound of a television playing upstairs. The footsteps in the hallway as one of my neighbors returned home.

  I tried to think of the Pierre, of what was happening now, but my mind kept moving to the past, to everything I'd tried to forget. To me standing on the balcony wearing what would have been her dress, the whole world open and beating like a heart, ready to take me into itself. The clock chiming once, twice ... The faces of the elders as they bore down on me. I had heard of them leaving the lake only one other time and even now I shivered thinking of it. The terrible sound their wings had made, fully spread and hammering above me. The sensation of falling to earth. My eyes opening onto grass, dirt, and then me standing on the ground, as if I'd been rooted to the spot, my body changed, human now, an enormous, blundering thing I'd wobbled as I tried to move, to return to them. Hunger, for the first time, pressing into me from all sides. Pressing, physical hunger.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, forced myself into the present.

  The Pierre, I thought, breathing slowly, concentrating. I conjured its gold-scripted name, its glittering, pale façade. I felt an urge suddenly, to go right then, get out of this crumbling apartment and into the world as it was now. It was only nine P.M. It wasn't too late to go and see the Pierre for myself.

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  I got ready carefully. I brushed my hair, tried to smooth it, and then pulled it back with a barrette. I patted my mouth with pink lipstick. I looked at myself. If nothing else, I looked like a normal human old woman. Like I should be pinching cheeks and making coffee cakes from scratch. I shuddered.

  The city outside was black and draped with lights. The cars flashed in my face. I headed to Seventh Avenue and then uptown, forcing myself to look at the people passing me, to notice the giant billboards in Times Square, the store windows filled with athletic equipment and cosmetics and souvenirs. A whole different New York from the quieter, stranger one I occupied.

  I turned right on Fifty-ninth Street, passing the line of fancy hotels across from Central Park, which was a dark forest on the other side of the car-filled street. The doormen I passed nodded as I walked by, gatekeepers to these secret worlds filled with men and women who could afford to pay my entire rent for one night's sleep.

  I crossed the street toward the end of the park, passing a row of carriages and horses. All lined up and ready to go. The coachmen waited outside, beckoning for me to sit down. The horses stood perfectly still, their heads lowered, terrifically outfitted in thick leather, like silent monsters.

  Across the street was a large spraying fountain, the Paris Theatre, all glimmering in the streetlamps. A red carpet unfurled onto the sidewalk in front of the Plaza.

  I shook my head, crossed, and turned up Fifth, trying to focus on the smell of grit and exhaust. The nearby scent of roasting nuts and pretzels from a street vendor. The hard concrete under my feet. The hotel was just ahead, though

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  and the stone of the façade glittered in the streetlamps. As I passed under the windows, I looked up and saw ceilings painted over and curving with scenes of gods and goddesses, lights hanging down like bits of ice.

  The doorman smiled at me and stood back to let me pass through. I paused, expecting to be questioned or pulled aside. The man just smiled and waited with the door open.

  I remembered the palace, the complete mastery I'd had over everything in the human world back then. Flying down the great hall and into the prince's chambers, slipping in and out of everyone's thoughts, appearing to him at will, because I wanted to, because I had wanted him to see me in my human form. I was so beautiful then. I could do any-thing,
be anything

  I felt so much. I hadn't felt so much in years. Maybe not ever, not since that night.

  I walked into the lobby, close to tears. It was almost entirely empty. Faintly, I registered the shining black-and-white floors, the paintings on the walls, the glass cases. A man sitting on a small sofa looked up at me, then back down again.

  Everything felt so familiar. As if I'd been there before. I knew to turn in to a great room with painted walls, a dining area that led into other rooms and had a staircase twisting above it. I knew to turn and walk up the stairs, through the doors, and into a long hallway. Almost no one was around. Upstairs, in the hallway, it was completely silent.

  I walked down the hall. Past room after room, all seeming to open into other rooms. Mirrors lined the hallway, so I could not tell what was real, what was being reflected. Above me, glass and crystal dripped down, and the ceiling

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  curved, laced with patterns and swirling shapes, paintings of ancient scenes.

  At the end of the hall was a large room and, past it, the grand ballroom. I walked inside.

  Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, like antlers coated in ice, attached by gold ribbons wrapped around wire, and elaborate bows. Stacks of gold chairs, hundreds of chairs, lined the dance floor. Mirrors and glass reflected everything. At the other end of the room was a stage, framed by curtains. I stared at it, imagined an orchestra spread over it, the sounds of strings and air.

  It was eerily quiet, silent except for the dull buzz of lights. I stepped forward, my feet padding along the thick carpet.

  I imagined him, Theodore, waiting for me. It was hard to remember, that night of the ball. It had been so long, and I'd heard and seen so many other recountings since. I had had no way of knowing, back then, how that night would live on not only in my own memory but in all the world's. How history would remake it, twist it into a happy tale that would set girls to dreaming centuries after.