by Josie Brown
42
“Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
—Erich Segal
Tuesday, 24 Dec., 2:20 p.m.
Ted’s office is always a hornets’ nest of activity. The day before Christmas is no exception. The sales floor is a crazy maze of cubicles where the phones buzz constantly and the computers chirp and trill with instant messages from colleagues and clients alike. Unlike the majority of visitors, I have no problem with security clearance. Ted was one of the original employees. Although that number is now in the hundreds, the security guards still ask after the once-towheaded tyke named Tanner and his two younger siblings.
I’ve decided to surprise Ted by showing up with an offer to buy him lunch. It’s part of my new resolve: to be the kind of wife Ted will always want to come home to.
Or in this case, go home with, especially on Christmas Eve Day.
As the company’s director of sales, he rates a corner office and the accompanying perks, including a sweetheart of an assistant: Vanna, who after a decade of listening to his shuck and jive is oblivious to his rants, ruminations, and flirtations. She hugs me when she sees me, but shakes her head when I ask if he’s in.
Seeing my disappointment, she quickly adds: “He took a late lunch today. But, hey, feel free to take over his office until he gets back.”
At first I hesitate at this very generous offer. As in every other situation, Ted will be balls to the wall when he comes in, fully focused on whatever bit of business is driving him crazy right now.
Damn it, it’s the day before Christmas! If he’s not going to stop and smell the roses today, then when?
He needs me in his life, for that alone.
I nod and head on in, closing the door all but a crack.
The chair across from his desk is loaded down with files, leaving me no choice but to take his chair behind his massive desk, on which papers, contracts, and files have been divvied up into several messy piles.
Poking out from under one stack of papers is a box from Tiffany.
Hmmm.
I look up to see if I’m somehow being observed by anyone out in the hall, but no: Ted’s team is scurrying around like rats chasing down any crumbs of green cheese they can get their paws on. Still, I get up and nudge the door shut, just in case.
The box is too large for a ring and too wide for a bracelet. I recognize the design of the necklace inside: two bottom-heavy hearts—one silver and one gold—hang together on a silver chain. The design is renowned: it’s by Elsa Peretti. I remember admiring it in the glass case once, when Ted walked me into the store. He’d just landed an account and was feeling flush, but the next day we found out that Tanner needed braces, so that was the end of that.
I guess not.
From what I can recall, the price tag was something over five hundred dollars. I now see it in black and white: almost seven hundred dollars.
I love Christmas.
I love Ted, for remembering.
His deep chuckle at one of Vanna’s jokes is my warning that he’s back from his lunch. Quickly I slip the box and its receipt back under the pile of papers and walk in the direction of his picture window. Since my back is to him, he doesn’t think I see him when he enters. He comes up behind me and places his hands over my eyes. I pull them down toward my mouth and kiss them tenderly.
He’s surprised by this. Yes, it’s been too long. “Been waiting forever?”
“Nope, not at all. Sorry I missed you.”
“With that kind of welcome, the feeling’s mutual.” He walks over toward his desk. “So, you came into the city for some last-minute shopping or something—”
Then he sees it: the Tiffany box.
The strangest look comes over his face. It moves from shock to concern.
I know he’s wondering if I saw it.
To put him at ease, I start chattering like a magpie. “In fact, all my shopping is already done! Really, this was all for you.” I feign interest in the building across the street, where Christmas lights flicker in a multitude of colors. “Hey, I just want to say that I appreciate all the hard work you’ve put in this past month. And I know you were just as disappointed as the kids and me about skipping Cabo this year. And let’s face it, we’ve been under a lot of strain since—well, since Thanksgiving.”
He nods absentmindedly. I watch his reflection in the window as he takes the jewelry box and slips it into the deep inside breast pocket of his overcoat.
“So, what say we let Christmas be our New Year? You know, have a mutual resolution, starting tonight: more little random acts of kindness, like a lunch date every now and then”—I’m back at his side with my arm around his neck, pulling him down to me—“and a random act of passion too. Something like this. . . .”
My kiss is heartfelt, and long enough for him to get the message: he’s forgiven for all the little petty head games over the past few months.
I expect his response to be relief, maybe even a chuckle that, yes, he too is ready for bygones to be bygones.
What I don’t expect is outright euphoria.
It drives him to pick me up in his arms. He presses my lips to his and gives me kisses that are hard, probing, while he leans me back onto the desk. . . .
“Whoa, guy! You’ve got a whole office of people out there—”
“The door is shut. If anyone knocks, I’ll tell him to get lost. You want to be my priority, you want my full attention? Well, you’ve got it.”
His hand drops to the hem of my dress, which he hikes up in order to inch his fingers up along my upper thigh. When he gets to my panties, he yanks them to one side so that his finger can penetrate me. I’m wet enough, despite my apprehension at being my husband’s afternoon delight in his very busy office.
Not that he hasn’t already guessed how concerned I am by the way I try to stifle my moans.
For him, that’s part of the thrill.
And don’t we both know it.
43
“Men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage; they’ve experienced pain and bought jewelry.”
—Rita Rudner
Wednesday, 25 Dec., 5:43 a.m.
Olivia is bouncing on our heads to wake us up. “Can we go downstairs now? Please? To see if Santa has been here?”
Mickey’s voice chimes in from the hallway. “Olivia, of course he’s been here! Just look over the banister, for crying out loud! The whole floor is covered in presents.”
Ted peels our daughter off his chest, tossing her onto the foot of the bed. “Yeah, sure, go! GO! . . . Hey, you can look, but don’t touch—not until your mom and I get down there too.”
“How long will that take?” Olivia tries to pull the covers off the bed, but I hang on fast to my end.
“It will take longer if I don’t get my first cup of coffee.” I know I sound grumpy, but that’s the breaks. It’s been a long, stressful week. We put out the gifts after midnight, and I’m dead tired.
Besides, I don’t do crack of dawn too well.
“I’m on it, Mom!” I hear Mickey tromping down the steps to push the button on the coffeemaker.
Olivia flies down the steps too. “Wait for me! WAIT! . . . Oh! It’s bee-U-ti-ful!”
The tree, she means.
Well, more honestly, the field of dreams that surrounds it.
Tanner, too old and too cool for such a show of unfettered giddiness, growls from his room for everyone to shut up. “I’m an atheist! I don’t believe in Santa, so shut up!”
“Santa is secular, you moron!” Mickey yells from the kitchen.
I know, though, that the minute Tanner hears Ted and me stirring, he’ll be right on our heels.
“Are you up?” I nudge Ted, because he looks as if he’s falling back asleep.
“Hell yeah. You know that Christmas always gives me a woody.” He reaches for me and pulls me close. “So does the thought of more office sex, by the way.”
“I’ll remember that. Only next time, let’s wait
until everyone leaves for the day. I didn’t like the fact that Vanna couldn’t look me in the eye when I left.”
“I’ll make it part of her job description.” He stretches as he rises from the bed. “All right! Showtime . . .”
I make sure to hand Ted his Christmas gift first: it is a mini digital camcorder, which will be used to capture every ooh and aah that happens over the next thirty minutes. When Ted is not manning the camera, it goes to Mickey, our budding auteur. I’m not sure he can edit out each and every time Tanner shoots a bird at the camera, but with my prodding, I know he’ll do his best.
The kids make out with quite a haul. Besides video games and more sports paraphernalia, Tanner and Mickey have been gift-carded to the hilt. Better safe than standing in the return lines at the mall, is my motto. Olivia’s stash includes several dolls and, of course, a few more costumes for her make-believe alternate universe.
And lots of books, books, books. A few more Harry Potters for Tanner, another gift box set of Lemony Snickets for Mickey, and a few simple readers for Olivia.
Last but not least, it’s time for my gift from Ted. Mickey steadies the camera as Ted rummages around the back of the tree for the last box there, and hands it to me with a hug.
“Oh . . . what is this?” I feign ignorance.
“Go ahead, open it.” He’s just as excited as I am.
I tear open the wrapping paper. “Ah, Tiffany! Nice.”
He nods modestly.
For dramatic effect, I open the box slowly—
“Oh . . .” Yes, it is a necklace; but no, it’s not the one with the two hearts. Instead, on the sterling silver chain is a key anchored by a turquoise enamel heart.
“I remembered you like it, so . . .”
I recognize it, too, from our Tiffany shopping expedition: when Ted whistled in shock at the price tag of the double heart necklace, he asked if I’d settle for this more modestly priced piece.
Of course I said yes. Because it’s the thought that counts.
Obviously, he thought so too, and returned the double heart necklace before he came home last night. . . .
My eyes tear up. Seeing that, he hugs me all the harder. “Hey, not to worry, babe! It’s not like it broke the bank or anything.”
He leans back and pats his belly. “Okay, everybody’s on wrapping-paper cleanup crew while Mom hits the kitchen to make our Christmas pancakes. Oh, and, Lys, I’m taking off around twoish, to go in to work—”
“Wait . . . what? You’re working today?” I look down at the necklace in my hand. “But . . . that makes you the only person on the planet.”
“Next week the big boss expects sales projections on his desk. And suggestions for budget cuts. I don’t want him to add me to that list because I’ve decided to stay home.” He reaches down for a handful of wrapping paper, bundles it into a wad, and takes a layup shot. When it lands in the trash can across the room, he pumps his fist in triumph. “And he scores!”
Not in my book. “Mickey, please, turn off that damn camera now!”
I wonder if I can figure out how to delete those last few bytes of the camera’s memory.
If only it were that easy to do the same to my own.
44
“Love is a canvas furnished by nature and
embroidered by imagination.”
—Voltaire
Thursday, 26 Dec., 1:15 p.m.
I come to Xanadu bearing gifts: a chocolate heartache cake for the Shrivers, and Harry’s painting.
The gate is open, so I roll right up to the garage. I knock on the front door of the big house first, but no answer. Out of courtesy, I leave the cake box on the bench with a Christmas card from our family to theirs.
Since Christmas was yesterday, I don’t know if Harry is sharing a belated get-together with his family today or not. In a way, I’m hoping he is, because he’s always happier with them beside him.
I’m disappointed when there are no signs of life coming from the cabana. There is no rain in the forecast, and the painting is wrapped up tightly. I could just leave it beside the door, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing the look on his face when he opens it, so I nix that idea. I know, it’s selfish of me. Too bad. It’s the artist’s prerogative.
I’m about to leave when I hear a splash.
Harry just dove in.
I don’t know what his reaction will be when he comes up for air and sees me here. No matter. I lean the painting up against the door, then mosey over to one of the many double chaise longues scattered beside the Shrivers’ pool. Might as well make myself comfortable as I wait for him to pop through the steam floating over the pool’s heated surface.
Because his back is to me, at first he doesn’t see me and goes under with a flip. I can’t help but laugh, since that’s something Mickey would have done if he’d been in the pool.
When Harry resurfaces, he coughs up the water in his lungs. It sounds like a dolphin in heat.
This only makes me double up in laughter.
He looks around. Finally spotting me, he swims over.
“Well, well. What a great Christmas present!”
I feel myself blushing. “I’m glad you feel that way. I’ve been missing you too.” I reach over and grab one of the towels that have been left on the teak table beside me. I’m almost afraid to ask, but I do so anyway: “How was your Christmas?”
“Somewhat decent, I’m happy to say. The kids came over here yesterday afternoon.” He stands over me as he dries himself, blocking out the sun and putting himself in silhouette with a halo. Although I can’t see his features, already I know them so well.
By heart.
“How about you? Everyone pleased with their Christmas bounties?”
“For the most part, yes.” I know he’s not asking about me. And even if he were, I’d have no reason to complain. A gift is a gift is a gift.
It’s the thought that counts.
I smile as I shade my eyes against the bright aurora that glows around him. “I left a cake for the Shrivers. Are they due back soon?”
“Nope. Pete and his wayward mistresses left for Tahoe this morning. He wants to give his marriage one more shot. Frankly, I think it’s a waste of time.” He frowns. “Unfortunately, they’ll still be up there on the day of Olivia’s New Year’s party.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But you’re coming, right?” I look away, afraid of how he’ll answer.
“Lys, I told you before that I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He wraps the towel around his waist and sits down in the chair next to mine. “It would just complicate things.”
“How so? Because DeeDee will be there too?”
He pauses as if searching for the right words. Finally he settles on a shrug. “Yes, quite honestly. I don’t think it would be fair to the kids.”
“Children like to see both their parents in the same place at the same time, even when they’re not happy together. Believe me, I know from experience.” I’m being stubborn, but suddenly I don’t care.
“Lyssa, it wouldn’t be fair to me.”
There, he’s said it.
“How can you say that? Of course it’s fair to be with those who love you, no matter what others think!”
His laughter comes out with no joy, just pain. “Oh, that’s rich! No matter whom it hurts, right?”
Our children.
Ted.
Stalemate.
“Lyssa, you have to trust that I know what’s right for all of us.”
Suddenly I’m very tired. It’s time for me to go. I get to my feet unsteadily. With a wave, I turn and walk back toward the house. As I pass the cabana, I see the painting I left by the door.
It’s my Christmas, too, and I want to give myself the one gift that will make me happy.
I pick it up and take it over to him. “From me. Merry Christmas.”
He’s taken aback at first. Slowly he unwraps the paper taped around it. What he finds underneath brings tears to his eyes. “This is incredible
. It’s beautiful! You did this—for me?”
I nod. “It’s how I see you: always at your happiest. And Jake and Temple too.”
He thanks me with a kiss, but when our lips meet, neither of us can stop there.
He is hungry for me. His mouth lingers on mine, gently at first, then with abandon as he sets it loose over my neck, my face, my hair. When he gets to my shoulders, his hands fumble with the buttons on my shirt before he can tear it away from my body.
He admires my breasts. Yes, I have to admit, they do look nice. Even to my eyes, they look much fuller than I remember. Must be the chilly air, which has stiffened my nipples. They seem darker and larger. When he takes one in his mouth, my heart beats harder in my chest. . . .
One hand cradles the back of my neck as he guides me down onto the chaise, while his other hand slips below the waistline of my pants, exploring, probing, inciting me to desire him all the more, if that’s even possible. He wants me just as badly, I know, because his cock swells in his swim trunks to the point where it lifts them up. I can see it clearly defined—
The buzz of my cell stops us cold. Harry sits up with a groan. “Well . . . maybe it’s for the best.”
I stare down at my purse, but I don’t make a move.
So he does. He stands up and wraps the towel around his waist again. The effect is silly:
Tent trunks.
I’d laugh if I weren’t crying so hard.
He sits beside me and cradles my head to his chest, but the tears don’t stop, can’t stop. He takes my hand and examines each finger before stroking them lightly, kissing them from tips to palm.
We sit together like that for at least an hour, not saying a word. Finally he rises, pulling me up with him. He picks up the painting and studies it carefully. “Someday we’ll be this happy again.”
“I know.”
I mean it.
2:40 p.m.
I am already in my house when I remember the cell call. I don’t immediately recognize the number on the caller ID, so I hit the message button to hear Patti’s voice, choked with heartbreak, informing me that Dad passed away early this morning, and that the funeral will take place on Monday. She also says she will leave it to me to inform Mother, and would welcome her at the funeral if that is my wish.
