Christmas With...Penny Reid!
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Breakfast at Tiffany's
Ever since she had been a child she
had dreamed of leaving Greenstown, West Virginia and living a
glamorous life in New York City. Because, as everyone knows, life in
New York City is nothing if not glamorous.
And so, twelve days before Christmas
1962, Amanda smoothed the length of her black skirt, pulled at the
cuffs of her ruby-red skit sweater through the sleeves of her winter
coat, and—rolling her only bag of luggage after her—hooked her
purse over her shoulder.
Amanda Tucker snuck out of her
parents’ house, leaving her childhood, her boring life, and a note
of:
Thanks but no thanks. I do not
plan on marrying Bolt Shepard and having four litters of kids. You
can kiss my ass.
-Mandy
P.S. Merry Christmas
Actually, she didn’t like to think
of herself as sneaking out, but rather asserting her
independence as a full-grown, fair minded, well functioning adult.
Regardless, no one knew she was leaving and that suited her just
fine. Therefore, boarding the bus to New York City at approximately
twelve-thirty-eight in the A.M., she felt light as air.
As the bus rolled pass the city
limits of Greenstown her stomach rumbled and growled, reminding her
that in her haste and excitement she’d forgotten to bring a single
bite for breakfast or as a snack.
Ah well.... She raised her
eyebrows and sighed, I’ll just have my breakfast in New York.
And, without another thought to the
matter, she leaned back in her seat and settled in for the long ride,
ready for her life to begin in the town of her dreams.
***
Karl Sterling was having a shitty
day, and it was only seven thirty in the morning.
First, his neighbor had been
arrested—he always knew the Snodgrass’ hadn’t made their money
in pig farm futures—at five in the morning. It seemed that the IRS
didn’t like checks that bounced. Then, his housekeeper and maid
were both on vacation. This left no one to make his breakfast but the
gardener and the chauffeur; neither knew a toaster from a roasting
pan, and it didn’t matter anyway because both were out with the
flu.
Wistfully, he thought of Mrs.
Mayfield’s eggs and toast as he pulled his lucky tie from the
rotating closet rack and found the matching charcoal wool jacket.
Grabbing a stainless steal mug he filled it with coffee from the
percolator and left his house in South Hampton at precisely 5:30AM.
With no driver, he opted to take his new model jaguar into town
rather than driving the more sensible Cadillac sedan.
He made it halfway down his driveway
when his tire, having hit a carelessly strewn garden rake, burst.
This shook both him and the car, subsequently drenching both the
interior and his favorite tie in Columbian roast. Gritting his teeth
before cursing long and loud he attempted to mop up the brown stain
from the carpet of his new toy before realizing the fruitlessness of
his efforts.
In the end, he had called for a car
service and changed, throwing his lucky tie in the bin Mrs. Westby
would take to the cleaners on Wednesday. As the limo pulled from his
driveway at six-forty-five in the A.M. his stomach rumbled
uncomfortably, reminding him of his lack of both coffee and
breakfast. Covering his mouth with his giant hand, the blue eyed,
black haired business tycoon clenched his jaw, trying to decide
whether he would fire his cook, his maid, his gardener, or his
chauffeur first.
***
By the time the bus arrived in New
York, Mandy was famished. A woman on the bus had a mini picnic around
seven thirty and Mandy contemplated jumping her for the food.
Instead, she looked on, almost drooling, and sat quietly in her seat.
She passed the time imagining all the wonderful foods she would find
in the city.
However, as she moved to collect her
bag, pushing against the crowd that had gathered, she found it had
been “misplaced.”
“Misplaced? Misplaced?!”
She screeched at the bus attendant, “What exactly do you mean by
misplaced?”
The man, whose name was Don
according to his name tag and had a thick accent and a nasal twang
all at once, huffed, “Listen, lady, I don’t know what happened to
it, what can I tell you? Someone must have taken it by accident.”
Mandy clutched her purse to her
stomach, she didn’t want anyone taking that by accident, and leaned
forward, “What am I supposed to do? Everything I own was in there!”
Don shook his head, “We have form
you can fill out but… other than that, I got nuthin for ya.” The
man shrugged and Mandy wanted to punch him in the nose.
A temporary setback she told
herself, you were going to need new clothes anyway. She bit
her lip to keep from crying as she asked Don for a form and a pen.
***
Traffic was terrible. There was no
way into the city it seemed, and Karl Sterling was late. So late in
fact that his secretary had likely canceled all his morning meetings
as he was uncertain when his albatross of a driver would finally make
it to his building. He called it his building because it was his
building.
When he spied first sight of it at
10:30 AM, he instructed the driver to pull to the side and let him
out. Karl decided he would walk the last few blocks. His stomach
grumbled again… perhaps he would grab something to eat on the way.
As soon as he stepped out of the car, all at once thankful to be free
of the limo with bad brass paneling, the traffic seemed to magically
clear up.
And, just as the ugly black car
turned the corner, Karl realized his briefcase, as well as all his
money and cell phone, were still keeping company with the ugly brass
paneling. A new and even more colorful string of curses spewed forth;
he turned red as he contemplated chasing the car down, but thought
better of it as he was only seven blocks from his building.
However, he soon came to regret that
decision as he walked into the lobby of his building and was
adamantly denied access to the elevators by a new security officer
named Bob.
Grinding his teeth, his hands
clenched white on the marble security counter, “Would you please
just call my secretary? Mrs. Teffler will be more than happy to-”
“Listen, buddy, I don’t care if
you are Rodgers and Bernstein, I’m not letting you use the phone
and you are not going upstairs, capiche?”
Karl closed his eyes, trying to
control his anger, “It’s Rodgers and Hammerstein.”
Bob’s face turned red with anger
and he stood suddenly from his gray, sensibly upholstered roll chair
and wagged his finger at Karl, “You get out of here or I’ll make
you get out.” His voice was low with threat.
Karl’s mouth drew into a tight
line as he made a mental note: add security guard to list.
***
Now that she’d arrived, she
couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of anything. Everyone walked
so fast, it was like a race everywhere she went and she somehow got
caught in the flow of traffic without meaning to.
Mandy allowed it to carry her along
streets and avenues, walking somewhat despondently as she mourned the
loss of her roll luggage.
She wondered if she had made a huge
mistake. Bolt wasn’t so bad, even if his name was Bolt. What
kind of person names their kid Bolt anyway? Dunderheads, that’s
who!
It wasn’t until she found herself
standing in front of Tiffany’s that she was shaken from her
depression. She gasped, audibly gasped at the size of the store;
diamonds winked at her from the window, glittering in the almost
afternoon sun. There were so many different colored jewels, so many
different shapes, a yellow diamond tiger, a green emerald dog, a
purple amethyst grape vine.
Suddenly, she remembered her hunger
and lack of breakfast and she laughed. Her first meal in New York
would be spent standing outside Tiffany’s. She spun and twisted,
searching for a store, a bakery, as street vendor, anything
that sold food. Her eyes settled on a hotdog vendor and she charged
forward, not letting herself mind the interesting odor as she
approached.
She ordered a chili dog with extra
cheese—no onions—and paid the man from her savings. Smiling, she
took the stale bun gleefully, and turned, leaving the Russian vendor
more than a little confused.
Raising it to her lips, she paused,
and her eyes widened with surprise. Sitting not more that four feet
from her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen with the
angriest and most exasperated expression on his face eyeing her
hotdog with the bluest and hungriest gaze imaginable. Forcing herself
to swallow, her eyes moved from him to her hotdog then back again.
She bit her lip, then, boldly,
crossed to him, moving the hot dog into her left hand as she offered
her right.
“Hello. I’m Mandy Tucker.”
***
There he was, minding his own
business, waiting for his vice president to pick him up when he saw
her. Snow white skin, red lips, chocolate brown hair; she looked like
she’d just stepped out of a magazine advertisement for Macy’s,
and she was holding a chilidog with extra cheese, no onions—his
favorite
The last thing he’d expected was
for her to march over to him and introduce herself.
Even more surprising, when she spoke
he was enveloped in a charming and unassuming—thick as sausage
gravy—West Virginian accent. He didn’t know what to do, which
irritated him. He always knew what to do.
So he took her hand in his and
introduced himself, “Uh, Hi, I’m Karl.” He swallowed.
He dwarfed her. He was tall and she
was short. She smiled up at him brightly; he felt the exasperated,
tense expression leave his face. Suddenly, her hotdog was in his hand
and she had turned to order a second one. He glanced from the hot dog
to her, unwillingly admiring her shapely legs.
She walked back to him, still
smiling. “I didn’t know how you like it. I hope this is okay. I
don’t like onions, they make my nose itch,” she explained,
indicating to the hotdog in his hand, the hotdog in hers and the
vendor watching on with more than a little curiosity.
“Thank you.” Was all he said,
completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words. He eyed her
suspiciously, wondering if she were an escaped mental patient.
She nodded her head then turned her
attention to Tiffany’s. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.
Merry Christmas!” She glanced back offering a shy smile over her
shoulder as she began to walk away.
He watched her go three steps before
his brain drop-kicked his mouth and feet, yelling at him to move.
“Wait, wait!” he called after her, holding his hotdog to the side
and reaching for her arm with his free hand.
She stopped and looked at him,
puzzled, waiting for him to speak. Finally, for lack of any other
words, he asked, “Where are you going?”
She shrugged her shoulders, licking
her lips, “I was just going to have... um, breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
He glanced down at the hot dog in
their hands, then back to her large dark sapphire eyes. For the first
time that morning, he smiled, unable to help himself.
Offering his elbow to her, he dipped
his head. “Mind if I join you?”
Penny Reid
is a part time author of romantic fiction. When she is not immersed in
penning smart romances she works full time in the biotech industry as a
researcher. She's also a full time mom to two diminutive adults (boy-7
and girl-5), wife, daughter, knitter, crocheter, sewer, general crafter,
and thought hijacker.
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