Miranda Sparks’ wonderful life

Chapter 3

– Take it, it’s for you.

I handed Frank a box of cookies.

– Tommy. – He pronounced and placed it carefully on the table.

– These are pink cookies. I don’t know if you like them. My aunt brought them back from France yesterday. I don’t really like sweet things myself, maybe you’ll like them!

– Thank you! Are you going somewhere now?

– Yeah, for the fundraiser. I think I’ll be gone until9.

– Shall I call a cab for you?

– Oh, no, you don’t! I’m supposed to be picked up.

Frank looked at the computer monitor.

– Then, totally maybe it’s up to you!?

I leaned against the table and looked at the dark car Frank was pointing at.

– Most likely. Well, I guess I’ll be going, then. And don’t forget the cookies.

– You can rest assured, miss, I certainly won’t forget them.

Cousin Patricia, Aunt Jo’s oldest daughter, came to pick me up. In May, she was supposed to turn twenty305, but because of her short stature and childlike face, she wasn’t supposed to be more20 than that. Patricia, had reddish, naturally curly hair, a firm heel, and a tough temper. She was not one of the people I was intimately acquainted with. I knew as much about her as Mr. President knew about me.

Also, Patricia worked in my father’s company. For more than 12 years, she had been hunched over for him and was probably the only one in our family who never got into scandals. According to Aunt Jo, her eldest daughter, most like a man, because of her own business acumen and rigid ways of working. And it also bothered my aunt that her thirty-five-year-old daughter was still single.

I glanced sideways at my cousin, who was rapidly typing something on her phone as we drove to a fundraiser her mother was throwing.

In general, charity for me is like buying hot dogs for bucks50, but giving for them70. And to do it as if those bucks20 helped change the world. Seriously, that’s exactly how it looks. Until one day you step in someone else’s shit and realize that the good is good and the ugly is still there. And no matter how hard you try, you can never make the world the way you want it to be. So you get discouraged and lose enthusiasm, but you’ll still keep leaving bucks20, because your conscience is clear and you’re morally satisfied.

Now, I just brought with me, just the bucks20. And it’s not because I’m stingy for life. No, it’s not! The reason was more banal than you could ever imagine. It’s just, it was all I had. There were two days before payday, and if this event, say, for example, on Thursday, I would not be stingy, and would donate, his honestly earned three hundred bucks, for such a good cause.

In general, if you’ve ever been to this kind of event, then you may remember those old ladies, dressed in luxurious furs, who leisurely dash from one acquaintance to another. At first, you are struck by them, then you look closely, and somewhere in the third minute, you begin to recognize in this lady, one of your own relatives. Like, for example, I saw my Aunt Jo as soon as I entered the small room of the local art museum on the 3rd floor.

– Thank goodness! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.

– Hello, auntie!

When she hugged me, I thought I could even taste the sweet taste of her perfume in my mouth.

– Your father, no way, is a great man! Now Arbiter Ramsey was able to come, even though he said he wouldn’t be here a few days ago. I wasn’t the least bit taken aback when I found out it was because your father was coming. I always knew that Henry, which, incidentally, is my father’s name, would be a great success in his business. But not like this! I couldn’t even dream of that. It’s a shame, of course, that Claire left us so soon. She was a saint.

Nothing disgusting was ever said about my mother. Everyone knew her as the beautiful, cheerful, and kind spouse of Mr. Henry Spikes. Which, evidently, cannot be said of me.

Almost every seat in the auction hall was taken. So I slowed my pace as I spotted an empty chair, in the right row, off the small improvised auction stage.

– Where are you running to, young lady?

Behind me was an old lady in a perfectly tailored peach-colored tweed suit with a thin string of pearls around her neck.

– Nowhere, madam. Please, come in!

Such prim girls, always trying to cut in line. Because, you see, they have been through a lot more than you have, and also, in the rules of good upbringing, it is considered bad form not to give way, a person older than you, a seat. Which, in principle, I – a young, well-mannered lady – had to do. Specifically, I had to let an old lady into the empty seat I was claiming.

In order to finally sit down, I now had to drag myself across the room, cursing my apologies as I passed other people who had already taken their seats. As I made my way to a free chair, I banged myself in pain. The nasty, throbbing pain in my knee reminded me of when, as a child, my mother had gently treated my scrapes and sores. I swiftly wiped away the tears, so no one would see them. I did not want to become another victim of gossip mongers, or simply inquisitive individuals who loved to discuss such displays of helplessness in their own small circle, with a glass of local French wine.

– Excuse me sir, may I…

Next to a vacant chair, sat a man, in a gray-blue three-piece suit, who was reading the newsletter of the current auction when I approached him.

– Yes, of course.

He had to get up from his own seat so I could get through.

– Thank you, sir. – The man nodded his head courteously in response to my reply, and began again to examine the lots on display for the day.

I, too, picked up the ballot as I sat down, and almost shrieked in surprise when I opened the last page.

«What the hell!» – I wanted to say when I found out in the last lot, my mother’s beloved brooch my father had given her, in honor of their third anniversary of marriage.

Well, nothing for yourself, a turn of events!

Chapter 4

20 The $500 that was in my purse now seemed like a pittance. Because the original price of my mother’s brooch was 500 bucks, not 20.

At the auction, there were a lot of people who I knew well, and who also knew me. I could have asked one of them to buy my mother’s brooch, but as luck would have it, all those people were sitting very far away from me at the moment. There was no one in front or behind me who I could ask for such a favor.

I began to shiver nervously as the last item was brought onto the stage. A small brooch, in the shape of a bee, made of white gold and studded with dark diamonds, which my mother adored so much.

– No… no… no… no! – I kept repeating.

The auctioneer pronounced the initial price, making it clear that the bidding had begun.

– 700. – Raising the sign, the lady in the black velvet dress said.

– A thousand bucks! – The man in the third row answered.

With each bet, it felt like my heart was clenching desperately in my chest. I needed to do something, but I didn’t know what to do. My father had acted inappropriately in putting my mother’s thing out there without telling me. I was very angry with him, but that anger did nothing to help me at this point.

– 2000! – The old lady to whom I had given up my seat not so long ago clicked.

– 3500.

I almost jumped up in surprise when the man sitting next to me said resoundingly:

– 5,000 bucks.

I turned in his direction. It seemed that, at the exact moment he said it, something was finally beginning to make sense to me. Specifically, my only chance to get my mom’s brooch back.

– 5500!

– Sir!» I grasped the sleeve of my neighbor’s jacket.

The man looked at me in surprise.

– 5,500 times! – the presenter pronounced resoundingly.

– Sir, please buy back this brooch!

– 5500 two!

– This thing is very dear to me. It once belonged to my mother. If you help me, I promise I’ll give you double the value for it!

– 6,000! – I heard the painfully familiar voice of my own father.

– Me-my name is Violet Spikes and I’m Henry Spikes’ daughter. I don’t know if you know him! But please believe me, I’m not some crook or whatever they call me. Sir, I really need that brooch, but I’ve only got a buck20 on me. – To be sure, I took it out of my purse and showed it to my friend. – I didn’t know Mom’s brooch would be on display right now, please believe me!

«What else can I say to this man to get him to help me?»

I was desperately gnawing his eyes, trying to figure out if I could get through to him or not.

– Six thousand, two! – the booming voice of the presenter sounded.

– Ten thousand! – Raising his sign, my neighbor said.

For the first time in my life, I wanted to hug someone as badly as I was hugging this man right now. I took my hands off his jacket and looked gratefully in his direction.

– Thank you, sir!

– 12,000. – It was my father.

– 12,000 ra…

– Fifteen thousand! – the neighbor answered at once.

– Fifty thousand bucks! – my father kept up with me.

My rescuer looked at me questioningly.

– 100,000. – Without waiting for my answer, he said.

I saw a lot of people in the audience starting to look in our direction.

– 200,000!

Apparently my father put my mother’s brooch up for sale, so that he could buy it back himself. But I don’t know why I didn’t want to lose to him at this point. I was well aware that the promise I had just made to the man sitting next to me was beginning to take an unsafe turn. Because even without looking at a good income, I could not afford a brooch for 200 thousand bucks. But at this point I had other things on my mind. Like letting my dad know that I was playing against him?

– Ma’am? – My neighbor turned to me.

– Do you take checks?

The man grinned.

– I accept. 250,000 bucks!

– 250,000 one! 250,000 two!

– 300,000 bucks.

I didn’t seem to want to overcome it at the moment, but I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away. After all, 300,000 bucks was my ceiling, which I could no longer jump over.

– Sir, I think you and I are going to have to slow down.

– Convinced?

– 300,000, one.

– I’m afraid so.

– But it’s your mom’s brooch!

– I know.

– 300,000, two.

– But should I stop there? – We looked each other in the eye. – 350,000!

There was an uproar in the hall.

– Sir, I don’t have that kind of money! – I whispered.

– 400,000 bucks! – my father bellowed.

I imagined his face, scarlet with tension, and grinned bitterly. My neighbor was about to raise his sign, but I stopped him.

– Don’t. I am grateful to you for responding to my request. But now I ask you to slow down.

– 400,000, one.

– Ma’am, I’m afraid it’s a matter of principle. – He made me feel uncomfortable. – 500,000!

I saw Aunt Jo standing up from her seat next to my dad, and she looked in our direction. We met her eyes, and then she sat down again and said something to my dad.

– 500,000, one! – The host’s voice sounded an octave higher than before. – 500,000 two!

The whole room fell silent, waiting for the next bet.

– Please, Daddy, don’t do this. – I pleaded with my eyes squeezed shut.

– 500,000, three! Sold to the man at number 205!

There was applause.

– Congratulations, you finally made it!

I was a little worried when I said those words.

– So are you.

Now that everything was behind me, I was relieved. Never had a charity auction been as exciting for me as this one. People began to rise from their seats to continue the evening over good wine and dancing in the museum’s large banquet hall.

Well, now it’s time for me to settle up for a huge thank you!

Chapter 5

– Here’s my card. – With a trembling hand, I pulled a small piece of paper from my purse with all my contact information written on it. – Call me when you feel comfortable, so I can keep my promise. I am very grateful to you for believing me and redeeming my mother’s brooch. Thank you, sir!

– I couldn’t help you, Miss…» The man looked at my card in his hands. When a young woman asks for help, a man shouldn’t stay away. Thanks to you, this evening doesn’t seem so sour to me now. Here, in case you need my help again.

I took his black platinum card and ran my eyes over it.

– Mr. Moreau? Right?

– That’s right.

– It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moreau!

– Likewise, Miss Spikes!

– I apologize for dragging you into this adventure. I’m really sorry that you had to spend so much money on such a little contrivance.

– It’s okay. It was kind of fun. It’s not every day that you get something really valuable, like this brooch.

We were standing by the champagne table, which we approached as we walked out of the auction hall. My lifeguard was eight inches taller than me, if not more. I was standing with my head held high, and my neck was starting to hurt.

The man was not only tall, but also quite good-looking, so many of the ladies present, threw intrigued looks at him. I was a little taken aback myself when I finally got a good look at my neighbor, after the tension had finally subsided in my whole body. Apparently I was so used to ignoring the people around me that now any of them became, in my eyes, impersonal.

The first time I met Mr. Moreau, all I could see was a gray-blue three-piece suit. And for some reason I thought he was, like, over the age of 50. Even after I clutched at his hand and begged for help, I still didn’t pay any attention to his appearance. Now that the invisible shroud of excitement was out of my eyes, I could finally get a good look at the man. His dark-blond hair, hazel eyes, light stubble, and straight, aristocratic nose. All in all, there was a man standing in front of me who, on my friend Miranda’s «Attractiveness» scale, could get nine points, if not all10.

– Means Henry Spikes, your father!?

– Yes, that’s right. Do you know him?

Mr. Moreau took a small sip of champagne from his own glass.

– This is inevitable if you are a major partner in a large company like Spikes & Spikes.

– The truth?

– Yes, ma’am. – The man leaned toward me a little. – And since you’re his daughter, I’ll give you some advice. Don’t ever try to stop me again. It’s not my policy to give up before I get to the end, even if the risk is great.

I didn’t like what he was saying.

– Would you like to say that I am very impulsive?

– Is it?

– I would call it determination.

Mr. Moreau grinned and placed his own glass on the table.

– So be it! At this point, ma’am, please excuse me.

– Oh!» I got a little confused. – Yes, of course. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Moreau.

– Me too, Miss Spikes! And me!

The man looked at me again and, with a slight nod of his head, strode confidently toward the center of the banquet hall.

Chapter 6

Heresy. All is heresy. A deception of untainted water.

At this point, I was lying to everyone. My dad, Miranda, Aunt Jo, my personal therapist Brenden Cooper, and even our concierge, Frank. And they all believed my heresy.

In fact, I was in pain. Reckless, to the point of clinking in my own tiny bathroom, where no one would see my pain. In all four years, I didn’t show it to others. It was only my pain, my torment, and my punishment.

After Mike’s death, my life was transformed into theater. I put on different masks in front of people and played my part. And after another intermission, I would lock myself in the bathroom of my own apartment and indulge in self-torture.

Mr. Cooper, the psychologist hired by my dad, even though he looked like a man who believed in me. Still, from time to time I noticed doubt in his eyes. Maybe if I was a little more candid, then I would be able to tell him what was happening in my life and my soul. But how could he know that? A man with a beautiful wife and two little kids! He lived in a world of happiness and domestic harmony. While I was living in misery and spiritual anguish.

Mr. Cooper loved to repeat, the only word he liked to use was «lingering depression. In just one hour of our meeting, he said it twice20. Apparently, in his mind, that’s exactly how it looks. Part of the reward for me was that he didn’t dig deeper into the very essence of the difficulty. And that annoyed me.

To be frank, I was annoyed by everything. People, whether they were close to me or strangers. The things around me, the weather on the other side of the window, the sounds, the voices, even the silence made me furious. I could hold this feeling inside me for a long time, until I was alone with myself. That was my therapy and I needed nothing else. Over time, this life became the norm for me. I smiled when it was necessary, and afterwards I returned to my empty apartment, took off my mask, and transformed into myself.

If anyone had seen me in those moments, they might have thought I was no longer alive. I sat naked in the bathroom for a long time, my knees pressed against my chest, listening to the soft murmur of the tap water. I devoted that time to my main symphony of life – a melody moving from unbearable pain to serene emptiness. After a few hours in the bathroom, I was exhausted and broken, moved to my bedroom and lay awake for half the night looking up at the night sky, not thinking about anything.

Miranda would come back, and I’d start my own play again. I got up in the afternoon, put on my business suit, ate one milk sandwich, pretended to be late, and left for work. I did all this so Miranda wouldn’t ask me any questions. What my friend didn’t know was that I didn’t actually work at a prestigious company. That I had never even applied there in the first place. Neither my loved ones nor my father knew that either. They believed in my heresy. Several times one of them dropped me off at the head office of ARTNOVA Design Studio. But none of them bothered to check to see if it was in fact true. They smiled, telling others that I was working at a lovely job where I was designing websites for various companies. They believed the heresy I made up and were happy. In fact, I only had the occasional part-time job at a small greeting card design firm that did work online.

Twice a month I visited the library and took a stroll to the pool, at least to relieve my boredom. Since not enough people went to the library at nine o’clock, it was the same with the pool. I told Miranda I was going to work, but in fact I was in one of these places. There was a peace and quiet that allowed me to be alone. In the library I mostly slept and only occasionally read one of the books I took with me. Hence the small number I read. When people came, I went to the park, ate one ice-cream or continued to sleep on the bench. On several occasions I was naturally approached by the police, so I had to keep my passport with me at all times. If I had been taken to the police station for a few hours, all my relatives would have heard about it. Then my heresy would have been exposed, which means I had to say that I do not work and never worked at the design studio «ARTNOVA». After one uncovered deception, would have been followed by another, and so everyone would finally realized that in fact I was leading everyone astray, almost years5. And maybe after that they would have put me in a hospital to help me cope with my own spiritual pain. But that’s exactly what I didn’t want. That’s why I hid behind masks. It was the only way I could survive in their happy world and stay alive. Maybe at some point I would become ordinary. Or maybe I would just end it once and for all. It was up to me to decide, and that meant I was the only one who had to fight.

In my soul I am a lonely warrior and everyone calls me nothing.

Chapter 7

– Take it away! I don’t need it anymore.

Miranda returned now in the evening6, and right from the threshold, she handed me the languid bag in which her friend always kept her equipment.

– What do you mean?

Miranda sat down on the couch, folded her arms across her chest, and looked at me sternly.

– Straight up. I know I’ve said it often enough, but now was really the last time I took a picture for someone.

– Again!?

My friend jumped up from her seat and ran over to me.

– I’m serious Val!

– What now?

I got tired of holding the bag and put it on the floor.

– This time, it’s definitely over!

– The end of what, Sue? Work? Travel? Or photos? To what directly!?

– All Val. I’m tired of working with people who criticize me all the time and who keep repeating that if they had taken Stefano, they would have been finished in two days. What’s disgusting about being a bit of a perfectionist in my business? Just a couple of days and I would have given them the great footage. But Mr. Paczynski, damn him, told me they only had a week left before their magazine would be stitched together. What’s that got to do with me? They could have told me right away, or called me earlier. How hard can it be, Val?

I took my friend by the shoulders and put her on the couch.

– That’s easy. But let’s you calm down for the moment, and we’ll relax and sort this whole situation out. All right?

Miranda glared at me a couple more times before she finally nodded her head.

– Well, the first step is over. – I sat down next to her. – So, how many days did you work for Mr. Paczynski anyway?

– This 5is from the moment I arrived in Australia.

– And how much was paid for you?

– For days6! But I wouldn’t return the excess to him, because his interference in the shooting process, greatly damaged my nerves. And there is still a fee for that.

I shoved my friend unhappily.

– Miranda!

– What about Miranda? You know how much those people piss me off. They’re always trying to impose their views on me. After all, I’m the photographer here, not them!

– Mr. Paczynski, as your client, has a right to make his point.

– Not him! That hog only knows where to eat. Do you know how nauseating it is when your interlocutor, with his mouth full, tries to say something else for you?

I made a disgruntled grimace.

– No, but I can imagine.

– Believe me, it’s even worse to see it with your own eyes. I almost twisted a few times right there. By God, Val, I won’t work for their magazine anymore. That’s my word of good faith to you!

– Well, that’s fine, we’ve dealt with that. Now explain to me, why do you have to give up your favorite case because of this?

Her friend got up from the couch and paced from side to side.

– Since this has been going on, it’s not the first day. I’m tired of people like Mr. Paczynski. I may like my work, but only because I can tell my story, not just another dose of sameness. It’s very hard to work for glossy publications and think the way they want you to think. That’s why I’d rather find another job than be a grayish mediocrity.

I had to take my deepest breath to continue this conversation.

– Dear Miranda. – I got up from the couch, too, and walked over to my friend and hugged her tightly. – You’re one of the hardest people to call, but you’re one of the hardest to call! You’re the only person I know who’s catchy, vibrant, and spitting your own originality. To me you are special, you are a person, just not fully disclosed. That’s your mystery. Many people underestimate your talent, creating things even more fascinating than others. Personally, I appreciate that about you! Seriously. From time to time I think your energy is enough to light up an entire major city for a couple of years to come. – I opened my arms and looked into Miranda’s face. – And you know, I’m sad to hear you say something like that. It turns out that I, too, am a grayish mediocrity who makes other people’s wishes come true.

– Sorry.

– It’s okay, it’s better to call things by their proper names.

– You know what I wanted to say.

– Naturally! We’ve known each other for years. So Miranda, I will say this, not because I’m your friend and someone close to you, but as a casual observer. You’re an excellent photographer who makes amazing things out of the ordinary, like this table or… – I spread my hands so that my friend knows what I’m talking about at this moment – or this teapot! You have everything you need. Oh, no, wait, you don’t. You have no patience.

– Hey!

– But that’s just the way it is.

Miranda strode over to her own bag, still on the floor, and scratched her head cheerfully and smirked.

– Are you sure?

– Completely.

– Do I have to break my own word of honor again?

– If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t taken your «honest» words seriously for a long time.

Miranda blinked her green eyes in surprise.

– And for how long?

– Since the day you swore not to eat any more meat.

That was eight years ago and my friend only lasted a week without him.

– So long ago!? Eh, not mind-boggling then!

My voice cracked a little when I said:

– Now I hope you won’t just give up on what you really love. So pick up your bag and keep working the way you always have.

– You’re right. I’ve been through so much for this, I can’t just give up.

I turned my back to Miranda so she wouldn’t see the tears coming, and quickly wiped them away, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV. My friend picked up her bag and put it in the hall closet and joined me. Some kind of cooking show was on, but I hardly listened to anything they were saying.

«Mike, my sweet Mike! I’ll never forget you!»