Meet Me at Macys

In Front of Macy's

CLAIRE

Claire found a prominent location in front of Macy's on Thanksgiving morning. She ensured she was visible to Maxwell when he performed in front of the popular storefront. The year had gone slowly for her. Every day, she thought of her reunion with Maxwell.

Claire hated Gerald. The day he marched her from Uncle Maynard's office was the worst day of her life. Nothing changed. Although he acted adequately in front of her parents, he continued to abuse her behind closed doors. The more she fought against him, the rougher he became. Gerald resented her affair with Maxwell and never let her forget it.

"You will never leave me again," her husband threatened, tightening his fists around her upper arms. He grimaced in her face and shook her. "And do something about that hair. You look like a tart. What was wrong with your natural color?"

"Maxwell loved my hair," Claire remarked sharply. She never could control her tongue. Gerald slapped her across the face.

"Don't you ever say that name in front of me again," Gerald snarled, grabbing her arms again.

"Maxwell, Maxwell, Maxwell," she chanted loudly.

"If you repeat it," Gerald threatened, grinning crookedly, "I will kill you."

"MAXWELL!" Claire shouted defiantly.

Gerald seethed with rage. Spinning Claire around roughly, he threw her against the wall. She stumbled and hit it with her forehead. The force of the blow knocked her out. When she awoke, she found her husband slumped in a chair facing her. Claire brought herself to her knees and crawled toward Gerald. Realizing he was asleep, she stood up on wobbly legs. She knew she had to escape.

Packing a small bag, Claire sneaked out of her husband's apartment. She had put up with his abuse for three months. Despite her parents' pleas to make it work, she knew she had to leave. Why should she put up with his maltreating her? Half the time, he was too drunk or high to perform sexually. It was a waste of a life.

Claire studied Gerald long and hard. His baggy jeans hung low beneath his paunchy stomach, and his white tee shirt looked grimy. Empty beer bottles lay scattered at his feet. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a thick black marker. Uncapping it, she wrote 'asshole' in large letters across his chest.

Feeling satisfied, Claire picked up her suitcase and left the apartment quietly. She strode purposefully toward the nearest bus stop and headed to LaGuardia. Her first instinct told her to find Maxwell. Then, she realized she couldn't involve him in her mess. When Gerald awoke, he would try to find her. The scandal she brought with her could destroy his career. Finally, she realized there was only one person who could help her.

******

Oliver Weeks sat in the back booth of his café. Opposite him, Claire leaned forward and grasped his hands. The sorrowful look in her eyes tugged at his heart. He loved her—not in the same way Maxwell loved her—but he knew his emotions were intense.

"You have to help me," Claire moaned, tears clinging to her eyelashes. "I have to hide from Gerald. He's probably already searching for me."

Ollie continued to ponder the situation. He wanted to help Claire. He thought of Maxwell and Claire together and the magic they created. A romantic at heart, he felt he had brought them together. They did, after all, meet in his establishment.

"Come with me," he finally decided, rising.

Pulling her headscarf forward to conceal her face, Claire glanced furtively toward the large front windows. She knew she had to use extreme caution. Gerald could have tracked her already. Quickening her steps, she followed Oliver into his storeroom. The café owner stood near the back, holding open a heavy oak door. Together, they descended a steep stairway and faced another door.

"It's not as luxurious as you're used to, Missy," Ollie exclaimed, throwing open the door, "but it will keep you hidden for as long as you want."

Claire stepped into the small basement room. It contained a seating area with a pullout sofa bed, an oven, and a refrigerator. Oliver showed her a tiny bathroom. Her heart sank a little, but she gratefully accepted the accommodation.

"You can exit into the alley and walkabout a bit," the café owner suggested, opening an outside door. "There are a few shops around the corner and an old cinema. If you're careful, perhaps you could go a bit further afield. Otherwise, you'll find it quite a safe place to hide."

"You don't know how grateful I am, Oliver," Claire declared, kissing her savior on the forehead. "It's only until November. I have to meet Maxwell in front of Macy's. I should make out all right here."

"You see that you do, my dear," Ollie stated, returning a kiss on Claire's cheek. "Mind you, divorce that creep and make yourself free for Maxwell. I don't want to see him getting hurt more than he already has."

"I wouldn't hurt Maxwell for all the world," Claire stated, grinning from ear to ear.

The rest of the year crept past slowly. Claire remained cautious and hunkered down in Oliver Week's basement apartment. Occasionally, she ventured out to the cinema but scurried back home quickly. Once or twice, she thought she recognized Gerald but realized she was wrong upon taking a closer look. Finally, Thanksgiving approached, and she returned to New York City.

Claire joined the crowd in front of Macy's. One by one, the parade floats passed by, along with marching bands and Broadway shows. Her heart thumped when she recognized Maxwell in the turkey float. When he sang Meet Me at Macy's, she felt wild inside. Until that point, she had never heard the song.

The parade finally ended with the appearance of Santa Claus. Around her, the thronging crowd cheered. Someone jostled her, but she didn't mind. Happiness welled inside Claire. Soon, she would see Maxwell, and he would swoop her into his arms. The same person jostled her again, and she took several steps along the sidewalk. Slowly, the crowd began to dissipate.

Anxiously, Claire scanned the mob, expecting Maxwell to stride toward her. She bounced on her feet to look over people's heads and strained around shoulders. Finally, a figure in a dark hoodie and black sunglasses moved toward her. She smiled widely and stepped toward him. The man grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the sidewalk. Joyfully, Claire trotted along beside him.

Her companion hailed a cab and, flinging open the door, thrust Claire inside. She landed on the seat hard and turned to protest. Her lover pushed her across the backseat and plopped down beside her. Leaning into his side, Claire took his arm firmly and pressed close to his side.

The hoodie fell back, and her companion ogled her maliciously. Claire shrank back, terrified.

"Gerald," she managed to croak out.