Free Vivian In Red by Kristina Riggle Page A

engaged.”
    “Another one bites the dust.”
    “Poor dear found herself the last of a dying breed: an independently wealthy man who goes fishing for a wife in the steno pool.”
    “I’m off to lunch. Want me to bring you back a sandwich?”
    “Sure, I’ll live the high life today with a pastrami on rye.”
    “Your wish is my command.”
    Milo himself wasn’t going just to eat lunch. He was going to Macy’s to buy his mother a present.
    He had never given his mother a proper present that he could remember, not even when the tailor shop was in the money; he never earned his own keep before, is why. And with a few paychecks now, and a few lunches skimped on and coins set aside, Milo was prepared to buy his mother something nice, something just for her, that couldn’t be given to anyone else like the last piece of brisket that she would never take.
    He strode at a rapid clip through the silky cool of middle September to Herald Square. As he passed under the awning of Macy’s, he stepped into a whole other world, where the Depression didn’t exist, or everyone liked to pretend so, anyhow. And if a person pretended hard enough, couldn’t he almost make it true? After all, with those stout pillars supporting floor upon floor of merchandise, you just had to know that people were buying these things with some kind of money.
    Milo had already made up his mind, so once inside the store, it was a simple matter of finding the ladies’ overcoats. His $18 weekly pay wasn’t enough to afford an extravagant item, and his mother would never wear anything too fancy anyhow, these days. Just last week the Shapiros nearly got evicted, after all, and it was only passing the hat around the neighbors that kept the locks off the doors for a little longer. It wouldn’t do to flounce around in fancy clothes, considering.
    But a nice, new, warm overcoat for about $10, that much he could do, and Chana Schwartz would probably even wear it.
    Soon enough, a headache gripped his face from east to west. He was standing, in all places, in front of perfumes, instead of overcoats. He suspected that he would need the elevator, but had no idea where it was.
    “Who’s the lucky lady?”
    “I’m sorry, miss?”
    That voice chimed in him like a bell, so familiar, yet he had never set foot in the store before. He turned away from his search for elevators and brought his nearsighted gaze to the shop girl leaning on the glassy perfume counter in front of him. The posture was familiar, too, somehow…
    “Who’s the lucky lady receiving a gift from a good-looking fellow like you?”
    “Ah, well, my mother, if I can find the overcoats, that is. It’s getting cold soon, see…”
    “How nice for her to have such a thoughtful son.” The girl stepped away from Milo and he thought that was the end of that, until she walked to the end of the counter, lifted a section on a hinge, and stepped through. An older woman behind the counter barked at her, “Miss Adair! You come back to your post, right now.”
    Miss Adair paid the woman no mind, despite the other lady’s reddening outrage. Milo began to stammer, “Miss, I don’t want you to get in any trouble, I’m sure I can find—”
    “Right this way,” she said, moving past him without seeming to have heard. He was able to easily keep an eye on her dark green dress, and the sway of her hips as she wound through the crowd brought more attention than just his. She paused before the elevator. “I’ll tell you a secret, Mr.…”
    “Short,” Milo replied. It was already automatic to say so. He’d decided to go ahead and keep the new, American-sounding moniker that he’d gotten accidentally.
    Miss Adair went on, watching the elevator doors and tucking one errant curl behind her ear. “I’m getting fired any time now, Mr. Short. I’m quite sure that the only reason I haven’t been told this news is because they need me to stand behind the counter and gush rapturously about all the various eaux