Excerpt from The Wishing Coin

Prologue

 

I sat back on my chair and closed my eyes. The words of the vendor were echoing in my mind. “Ma’am, I could sell you this coin but I won’t take responsibility for the consequences. Remember that what now looks like a gift might very soon turn into a curse.”

Several months before, while I had been walking down West 54th Street after work, I had seen a stranger selling wishing coins. It had been the first time I had seen such a thing. At first I had thought he was some mad person, and yet I had bought one of his coins. According to him, it was able to make all wishes come true, no matter what they were. I reached for my wallet and took it out. A small coin tarnished by the time – on one of its sides there was a depiction of a deity and on the other, some geometrical figures. Who could imagine, watching this miserable little thing, that it was so powerful it could fulfill all their wishes? Thanks to this coin I got my own show, made up with my ex, drove the despicable Jennifer away from New York and even transformed Lewis’s mother, which was as funny as it was incredible. However, my wishes had begun to cross the reasonable line. With limitless power came huge responsibilities. The street vendor’s warning was beginning to come true. I stared through my office window. I felt overcome by strange excitement. How could I possibly live with the thought of having changed Jackie or intentionally made three teenagers disappear? No, it was too much. I couldn’t even remember anymore why I had made these wishes in first place. I had to talk to the vendor.

I quickly went out of AEC’s office and aimed for West 54th Street. On the way I remembered how it had all begun.

 

Chapter 1

 

“Are you ready?”

I nodded at the cameraman and began:

“Good afternoon from Broadway 317; we’re at the headquarters of New Software Solutions, more commonly known as NSS. Today I am honored to be talking with its founder and CEO Mike Greenberg. Hello, Mike.”

“Hello, everyone.” Greenberg waved warmly at the video camera lens.

“A year ago you launched the free software app Synthesis and soon after followed its premium version. The companies using the application have already surpassed two million and even Microsoft has revealed its intention to buy its rights. Do you think you’re living the American Dream?”

Mike laughed.

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘the American Dream’ but I’d like to tell everyone who’s watching that I believe in hard work. If one has any goals and dreams, they must pursue them tirelessly, even if the whole world’s against them. That’s exactly what Damien, my partner and co-founder of NSS, and I’ve just been discussing. If anyone thinks Damien and I have had some privilege then they can’t be further from the truth. In the beginning we were just a couple of poor young students who relied solely on New York University’s scholarships.”

“Mike, could you tell our viewers how your idea was conceived and how Damien and you founded New Software Solutions? What was your goal?”

After some fifteen minutes there was hardly a viewer who had failed to learn in detail the life story of Mike Greenberg and Damien Nash.

“Thank you, Mike.” I turned back to him. “It was a delight to be able to talk with you about your business startup and your future plans. I am Julia Preston and you watched Good Morning USA’s feature Miracle – How I Did It.”

“Cut! Well done!” The cameraman took the camera off his shoulder.

I was preparing to leave when Mike asked me:

“Are you free for lunch? There’s an Italian restaurant not far from here, if you don’t mind, of course. The owner is a friend of mine. He makes delicious Neapolitan pizza.”

“Is that a date?” I asked innocently and he blushed. He was acting freely and his energy appealed to me. I would’ve loved to have lunch with him. Suddenly I remembered that at two o’clock I had to talk to AEC’s program director at the company’s corporate office and I had to be there on time. I glanced at my watch – it was past 12.30.

“Okay, but let’s hurry. I have a very important meeting at two o’clock.”

***

“So how did you come up with the idea behind Miracle – How I Did It?” Mike asked casually, voraciously swallowing the pesto pasta he’d ordered.

We were already at Mario’s – a cozy Italian restaurant cuddled up in one of Tribeca’s backstreets. Over the pizzeria’s entrance there was a big sign saying “Delicious Neapolitan pizza”.

“Well, it happened somewhat spontaneously. I was in my final year at the University of Florida when a friend of mine read in the student paper about a California man who had earned ten thousand dollars for a children’s center by selling paintings on the street for a year.”

“You mean he was an artist?”

“No, painting had been just a hobby for him; he’d never done it professionally and that’s what’s interesting about the story. They said he’d been surprised people bought his paintings himself.”

“Perhaps he really painted well?” Mike suggested, chewing intently.

“I’ve no idea. Never mind; the article intrigued me and I went to talk to him. He turned out to be quite a down-to-earth guy, with a warm and nice personality. He thinks that each of us has some potential that can do wonders, but only if it’s aimed at benefiting others around us. In that moment I felt my mission was to bring similar cases into the open and show them to society.”

“A very generous goal.” Mike took a sip of wine. “I’ve always thought that one’s intentions are good until they become rich and successful. Once we get a touch of money in excess, however, it begins to ruin us. That’s the reason why I explained to Damien that right after we’ve negotiated the sale of Synthesis to Microsoft, I’m out of the game. At the time Damien and I developed the application the only money I got was my scholarship, which barely covered my rent, and we would often have dinner for free here at Mario’s restaurant, developing and maintaining his website in return.”

“Is that why you said you didn’t really get the idea of the American Dream? That’s interesting, because I think you actually made it come true.”

“I did? Just because NSS has earned one million dollars this past year and Microsoft is ready to pay three more to buy it? Is that why you think I made the American Dream come true?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that; what’s bothering you?”

“Look, Julia, let me tell this to you as a friend – there’s no such thing as the American Dream. In fact, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the myth of this famed American Dream originates from a 60s mortgage commercial…”

“Buongiorno, signora!” The owner of the restaurant came to our table and interrupted Mike. “You are charming! A tender flower in the garden of GMU. Is Steve annoying you with his theories?” He poked Mike in the ribs. “If he’s bothering you, just let me know. I’ll serve him some sauce that’s so spicy it will zip his mouth.” Mario patted Mike warmly and we all burst out laughing. “I really like your stories, senorita. I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Yes, my mom is your fan, too,” Mike added. “She follows your features. I even think you’re the reason she watches Good Morning USA.”

“Is that so? I didn’t know I had such true fans.”

“I’m honored to have stars dining at my restaurant!”

“I wouldn’t call myself a star…” I objected, but the owner’s powerful baritone interrupted me mid-sentence.

“Senorita, it’s on the house! You’re always welcome here. Now excuse me, I’ll be back in a second.” Mario went to the adjacent table to take the orders of the newly arrived customers who had their eyes fixed on us.

Mike and Mario’s praise made me think. It was already my fifth year of working for AEC’s news bulletins and the third of being part of Good Morning USA. My television glory was narrowed down to some fifteen-twenty minutes of airtime – that’s how long my weekly feature for the talk show took. I wasn’t really complaining, since GMU was one of the most viewed morning TV shows, but I was always in the shadow of the real stars – the hosts. For almost a year I’d been in talks for my own show with Carter Phillips, the Program Director. I’d have liked to host The Screw because there I would’ve gone on with my feature. Carter could’ve also made me a Jimmy Kimmel Live’s reporter, but only if I changed my stories. I’d been waiting a year for an opportunity to come and there, The Screw’s host Diana McCarthy’s contract was expiring and the show’s producers were planning changes. I was praying for Carter to be generous to me and give me a chance to make my dream come true.

“Is anything wrong, Julia?” Mike leaned toward me with a slightly worried expression. “You’ve been thinking about something. Did I say anything wrong?”

I shook my head and smiled at him.

“Could you go back to explaining to me where the phrase ‘the American Dream’ comes from?”

 

Chapter 2

 

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been telling Jerod – a great story, and look how many people have shared and liked the tweet!”

When I opened the door of the Program Director’s office, I saw him absorbed in discussion with Raymond Harris, the Executive Producer, Advertising.

“Oh, Julia, hi, come in,” Carter invited me, seeing me at the door. “How’s it going?” He took the rubber ball that had been standing on his desk and started playing with it. I took a chair facing him.

“Well, my interview with Mike Greenberg from NSS just finished and…”

“Mike Greenberg? Wasn’t he the guy who developed that app…” Carter forced his memory.

“Synthesis?” I helped him.

“Ray, have you used this app?” Carter suddenly hurled the ball at Ray who was visibly startled.

“I personally haven’t but two friends of mine have. I’ve heard contrasting opinions…”

“Entrepreneurship, new technology, money, fame…” Carter had turned his face to the window and was gazing at the office building across the street. “I like it.” He turned back to me. “That’s what the average Joe wants to watch. It’s no accident that your most commented and liked stories are the one about the 90-year-old man from Kansas who became a YouTube star and the other – about the teenage author who sold over million copies of her sci-fi series.” Carter was staring at me thoughtfully. “We show what the viewer wants to see. The viewer is king and their desire is the law AEC abides.”

“Yes, that’s why my stories are always based on readers’ emails and letters I’ve received. The last one I got was from a woman from Milwaukee who’d written to me about a priest who had helped…”

“Julia, do you know which story has been most viewed for the past month? A Talk to a Star by Jennifer Bailey. Her last interview with the up-and-coming rapper Chris Levine has over 230 retweets on Twitter and 400 shares on Facebook. It’s been added to favorites by more than 500 people and our mail is swarming with messages. That’s what Raymond and I were discussing before you came in. Ray, show her the figures!” Raymond, who was sitting next to me leaned forward and showed me the stats displayed on a tablet.

Jennifer Bailey was a young 20-something reporter fresh out of Columbia University who usually interviewed celebrities in Los Angeles for Jimmy Kimmel Live.

“I know we had agreed that you would be host of The Screw but Jennifer will fit much better with the whole concept behind the show. I am sorry to say that to you but for now it’s not possible for you to have your own show.”

I shuddered for a moment. I couldn’t believe that one little girl who’d been working at AEC for less than a year had stolen my primetime!

“Don’t be sad, Julia. Stephan Georgepolous likes you; he’s a big fan of yours. If you push him a little bit, you might get your own show.”

“Are you kidding me? Yes, at my birthday party in GMU’s office he did say he was my fan but that was just a joke.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

Raymond chuckled.

I pressed my lips together nervously and aimed for the door when Carter’s words stopped me:

“Julia, I appreciate your diligence and hard work. I promise you that next season I’ll talk to Barbara Harris and try to make you Jennifer’s deputy on The Screw.”

Raymond smiled pityingly and tossed the rubber ball at me.

***

“And how did you feel?” Susan, the Investigative Reporter, asked me.

“Furious, of course. I felt like aiming Carter’s goddamned rubber ball right at his face!”

Emily, the Workplace Contributor, laughed. Every day after work my colleagues and I met up at the Dead Poet. Ted Collins, the weather anchor, always spent his birthday there because of the bar’s policy of offering free drinks to customers who were born on the same date as some eminent literary figure. It had turned out Ted was born on the same day as Hemingway, and that day he had talked the bar’s manager into selling drinks at half price to all people from GMU’s team.

“I’ve noticed that when things start working well professionally for somebody, soon enough they succeed in personal life, as well,” Susan added thoughtfully. “Take Jenny, for example. Not only will she become The Screw’s new host but she’s also going out with Lewis.”

Emily poked Susan to make her shut up. “I told you not to mention Lewis!”

“What? I thought Julia had already gotten over him. After all, it’s been more than half a year since they broke up.”

“Good evening, ladies,” Scott, the Financial Contributor, greeted us and came closer to our table. “How’s it going? Em, is that a new haircut?”

“Not really. I only colored my highlights. It looks like your hair might need some coloring, too, though. I can see that the financial turmoil on Wall Street has given you quite a lot of grey hairs.”

Scott laughed.

“Being on Wall Street isn’t that stressful when you don’t have capital; I’m not complaining. Julia, and how are you? You look a little bit pale.” He turned to me.

“Yes, Scott, you’re right. I don’t feel very well and I think I should go home.” I took my jacket, paid for the beer hastily, and aimed for the door despite Susan's and Emily’s loud protests.

Before I went out, I heard Emily scolding Susan. “Is it so hard to be at least a little bit more considerate?”

The cool wind outside quickly dispelled my thoughts. I aimed for Central Park. I had often taken this way in the past. Once I entered the park, I felt much calmer. The green foliage, the cool weather and the stillness relaxed me. There were a lot of people, though it was a workday. There were couples in love, and mothers with kids or ordinary walkers passing me. While I was striding home intently, I started asking myself why I was putting so much effort into my work. I had come to New York eight years before, right after I had graduated from The University of Florida. What was the point, I thought, of trying so hard when in the end Jennifer or another ambitious fledgling would effortlessly get to the top? I was slogging away for twelve hours a day, five and sometimes even six days a week and to what end? To top it all, Jennifer was now going out with Lewis. Damn it! I interviewed people in a feature I’d named Miracle – How I Did It and yet the miracle was slipping away from me. I felt as if I was in a self-imposed prison. Suddenly I noticed I had my feet on Strawberry Field. I felt something peculiar.

“John, buddy, imagine… Imagine what it would be if I got what I wanted at least once in my life…” While I was muttering these words, I suddenly remembered the lyrics of “Imagine” and started singing about everything I wanted coming to me, about being a dreamer, and how I wasn’t the only one. While I was humming, a couple in love passed by. The woman looked at me curiously. I sighed and went my way further down the alley. It was shaping up to be another lonely evening at my small apartment in Midtown Manhattan. I was going to buy a bottle of white wine, some rice with vegetables, and a packet of chips from the nearest store. But suddenly something unusual happened. Something that completely changed my monotonous daily routine. As I was walking down West 54th Street in the darkening day, a stranger grabbed my attention. He had a little table in front of him with a sign saying “Wishing coins for sale.”

“Come closer, ma’am, take a look at my incredible magic coins and pick your own,” he said invitingly.

“Are these the advanced version of Bitcoins? Are they taxable?”

“Everything has a price, ma’am, and you know this very well.” The stranger paused. “But if you mean federal tax, no, these coins aren’t taxable. You’ve got nothing to declare.” He smiled widely.

I stopped in the middle of the street.

“Come, ma’am, and give them a try for free!”

Something about that vendor – it could have been his voice, the words he’d been using or his energy as a whole – aroused my curiosity and made me come closer to the table. According to the laws of logic, he matched all the characteristics of a crackpot.

“Do your coins really make wishes come true?”

“Sure, didn’t I attract you here? I had just wished that you would come closer and my wish did come true, didn’t it?”

I chuckled; the stranger had a good sense of humor. I glanced at the coins – some were white, others kind of yellowish and still others had the color of copper. There were some very old and other brand new ones among them.

“Is there any difference among them? What is each used for?”

“You’re quite observant! Yes, there’s a difference. The white ones you see fulfill all wishes related to health. The copper ones are for work and the golden – for love. Which kind would you like, madam?”

The stranger was so convincing that I was beginning to believe him. Wishing coins? I felt as if I was going back in time to when I was a kid and wanted to find something similar to Aladdin’s magic lamp.

“Can I buy all of them then? I have a wish that’s related to my work and another to love…”

“No, ma’am, these are very powerful objects and you can buy just one. I’m not allowed to sell anybody more than one.”

“But what I’d really like is a coin that will fulfill all my wishes. Don’t you have one like that?”

The stranger was staring at me intensely without uttering a word. I felt I couldn’t bear his silence any longer and decided to leave, but he stopped me.

“Miss, hold on!”

I turned back to him. He came closer to me as if he had to tell me something confidential.

“I do have one such coin. I don’t offer it to anybody because… because it really makes all wishes come true.”

“But that’s awesome!” I exclaimed, overexcited. “I mean… who wouldn’t want all their wishes to come true?! Where’s this coin? I am buying it immediately!”

The stranger smiled. He had nice white teeth. For a moment it crossed my mind that he might not have been just an ordinary vendor, but I was too excited to give it a second thought. Later on, when I was going back to this very moment I wondered if I would have taken the coin if I had known its real price.

“Miss, I can sell it to you, but I am not taking any responsibility for the consequences. Remember that what now looks like a gift may very soon turn into a curse.”

“I’m taking it!” I insisted. The more he was warning me, the more I wanted the coin. Marketing specialists could only watch and learn from him.

“All right, then,” the stranger resigned with a sigh and bent under the table. After a few seconds he took out a carefully folded cloth, unfolded it pedantically and revealed a small quite tarnished coin – a true relic. I reached for it but he stopped me.

“Don’t you ever take it with your right hand! Touch it only with the left one. Will you remember that?”

I reached out my left hand obediently and he dropped the coin in it quite unwillingly. As soon as it fell on my palm I got a strange feeling. There were some figures engraved on it and, tarnished as it was, I could identify something like a deity on its face.

“Where’s it from?”

“I’m not sure – either Nepal or Kashmir.”

“And this tiny piece of metal is my ticket to fulfilling all my desires?”

“Yes, ma’am, I warned you about it several times already.”

“Excellent. What do I owe you?”

“500 dollars.”

“500 bucks for this junky piece!” I couldn’t help but cry with astonishment. A walker turned his head towards me and eyed me with curiosity. His reaction sobered me. How had I even fallen for such a cheap trick like wishing coins? I should have hurried to the supermarket if I didn’t want to eat yesterday's leftovers for dinner.

“Thanks a lot, I intend to invest my money in something more reasonable.” I gave him the coin back immediately. I expected the vendor to object or at least to start talking me into buying the coin, but he was visibly relieved and I heard him mutter,

“Thank God she didn’t take it.”

Now, I am asking myself: if I hadn’t heard him, would I have just gone home and would the story have ended right then? Who knows? But I heard him and made a firm decision: I had to have this coin at all costs, even if I had to pay five thousand.

“Hey… um… What’s your name? I’m buying the coin!”

He turned back to me, flabbergasted, and handed it to me reluctantly.

“And remember, don’t you ever touch it with your right hand!”

“Yes, yes, all right.” I took out the money hastily and paid him. All I wanted was to go home as soon as possible and examine the coin undisturbed by anything. Perhaps all this was just a well-staged theater aiming at making me buy this useless piece of crap, but I could feel in my gut that there was something special about that coin.

I opened the door of my apartment and immediately rushed to the living room, where I took the coin and put it up under the lamplight. I could definitely discern something like a deity. On its back I identified some geometrical shapes blending into one another. I felt overexcited. “Could this be true? A wishing coin?” I spoke aloud and then laughed nervously. I glanced back at the little coin – it was now or never.

“I want…” I started but then stopped. Did I have the guts to try it? “I want to be the new host of The Screw,” I announced firmly. “If this works out, I will wish for Lewis and me to make up,” I was thinking on my way to the fridge. I took out a bottle of white wine.

“Namaste!” I raised a toast to the strange coin I had put in a prominent place in the kitchen.

 

Chapter 3

 

“How I spent five dollars on recording a hit song for YouTube that now has over 2 million views. See it yourself!” That was the message displayed in my GChat. I stopped to consider it with my hand on the mouse. The link was one click away. I hesitated because it had been awhile since I had last paid attention to such aggressive approaches.

It was past 10 o’clock and for an hour already I’d been checking my email and the latest tweets from AEC’s Twitter account. I was looking for a topic for some new material when this message got my attention. I got a lot of personal messages of this sort every day but usually they turned out to be ads or made up stories. People would do anything to get to their own piece of 15-minute fame. In the past I would’ve checked every link and every message, but eventually I’d given up. Looking at that message, I felt a compelling urge to click on it.

Was I curious or did I just want to see what the sender of the message had come up with? Anyway, I was going to find out after some seconds.

“Yo- yoo man, what’s up? Diggin’ in the dirt,

Girl, better take off your shirt

I’m a gangsta

Catch me if you can

I am the man

…”

Less than 15 seconds later I stopped the video. It was a cheap one, shot somewhere in the Bronx. Why had I wasted even a single minute from my working time to listen to that impostor’s gibberish? I wondered how many views this “masterpiece” had had. I expected not more than several hundred, so when I saw the number two million and three hundred thousand, I was dumbstruck. How was that possible? I stared at the paused video and refreshed the page.

“Yo-oo man,” the rapper began again. The number, however, didn’t care to change – it had remained two million and three hundred thousand. What the hell?

I then moved my eyes to the likes of the video – there were over half a million. The dislikes were a bit over three thousand. I clicked on the comments and was hit by a wave of praise. There were some negative ones among them but that was normal. An artist couldn’t appeal to everyone, after all. I was gaping with surprise.

“How the hell?” I spoke aloud when somebody tapped me on my shoulder. I turned around. It was Emily, the News Editor.

“How are you? How did you get to your place last night?” she asked me.

“Oh, it’s you. Well, it was okay. In fact, on my way home I met this curious guy and I even bought –”

“I’m sorry for yesterday but you know Susan, don’t you?” Em interrupted me impatiently. “Oh, gosh, I gotta go! Nick will kill me if I don’t bring him the reports immediately. Take care, Julia!” She ran down the corridor hurriedly. I focused my attention back to the YouTube video.

“But how has this piece of crap become so popular?” I was puzzling over it aloud when I heard a familiar voice again.

“I’ll tell you how. We are drawn by what sounds provocative and intriguing and we share it with friends on social networks. Artists aggressively use all kinds of methods to grab our attention, with the risk of making their messages look like shameless self-promotion or even spam.” Taylor Carey, the Technology Editor, came nearer. His desk was next to mine and we often popped into the Dead Poet after work.

“Okay, but two million?”

“It’s all about marketing. It’s wrong to draw a line between a product and the way it’s promoted. Making a good product or, in this case, a piece of art, is marketing in itself.”

“Do you mean Roscoe Ritch’s song is good art? God save us from such artists!”

“Why, don’t you like him?” Taylor winked at me. “My 13-year-old nephew is a huge fan of rap and of anyone who raps about hot chicks and violence.”

“The world’s surely going nuts!” I exclaimed while still trying to assimilate those two million views.

“I’m not sure if it’s going nuts or if we’re just addicted to negative news. Hey, how about having lunch with me at David Burke at Bloomingdale’s? In a few hours I’m having a meeting with an entrepreneur in front of the Sony Tower.”

“Fine, but you’re paying. Isn’t that some negative news?” I winked at him.

***

“So what, you couldn’t make it as a host of The Screw?” Taylor asked me while he was having tomatoes with mozzarella.

“Yeah, life sucks.” I took a sip of wine resignedly.

“Did Carter at least tell you why he didn’t choose you?”

“That new one, umm, Jennifer Bailey, you must know her, from Jimmy Kimmel Live? Her stories apparently generate much more response and have won the affection of the mass viewer.”

“Was she the one who interviewed Dannie Ashville and that boxer Dexter Bake?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Well, her stories were a bang up job. You can do nothing but start learning from her.”

I put my glass on the table and eyed Taylor spitefully.

“Are you picking on me?”

Taylor grinned.

“No, I’m damn serious. Go and show some more mainstream stories and you’ll become the new host of AEC News in no time.”

“Do you think I don’t realize this? It just…” I stared at the little bubbles in my wine. “It just wouldn’t be me and the spirit of my stories – the way I planned them to be eight years ago – would be lost.”

“Yes, but if you don’t change them, you’ll risk losing your screen presence.”

“Is it really that bad?” I asked worriedly. “I remember that this month I had two stories which gathered some very favorable feedback, not only among our viewers but in the social networks, too. Even Georgepolous congratulated me.”

“Julia, I don’t mean they’ll kick you out, just… make those stories more – What’s the word? – more appealing to the mainstream viewer.”

“You mean I should lower the quality?”

“Why, for example, don’t you interview that rapper who had the video with two million views as part of your next story? It will be a killer!”

“That guy? But he’s horrible. Do you really think it will make the grade?”

“Do I think? I’m a hundred percent sure.”

I gave him a skeptical stare.

“Is he really such a gold mine?”

“Let’s bet, if you don’t believe me! Feature that white rapper in Good Morning USA and your rating will double! Fifty dollars and a free drink at the Dead Poet for the winner. Do we have a deal?”

I laughed. “Okay, if you don’t mind wasting your money so easily, then let’s bet.”

At the same moment my iPhone vibrated. Mike Greenberg’s name was written on the display. I wondered what he wanted. I dismissed the call.

“Do you have an admirer?” Taylor winked at me.

“Oh, shut up and eat your salad!”

 

Do you want to know what happens next?

Purchase the book from Smashwords.