A Winter Dream

by Richard Paul Evans

  She looked at me doubtfully. “Okay.”

  I stopped at the front counter and paid the bill, then walked out the door alone. My mind was reeling. Finally, everything made sense. And nothing did.

  CHAPTER

  Nineteen

  Sometimes our cruelest acts come not from meaning to do wrong but from not trying hard enough not to.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  I didn’t call April the next day. Or the next. I didn’t call her that whole week. It’s not that I wasn’t thinking about her—I couldn’t stop thinking about her—it’s just that I wasn’t sure what to say if I did. I didn’t even send the text messages I had written. It may sound strange coming from a professional copywriter, but I just couldn’t find the right words.

  At first I told myself that I didn’t know who she really was. But the truth was, I knew exactly who she was. She was the woman I loved. As incomprehensible as her past was to me, it had also made her one of the kindest, sweetest women I had ever met. I suppose it was hypocritical of me to love the fruit but hate the tree.

  It took me a full week to sort things out, to realize the truth that whatever she was born into didn’t matter. I wasn’t interested in her past. I didn’t even have a past anymore. I was living for the future and I wanted her in it.

  I thought it best to tell her what I’d discovered in person, so I decided to tell her on Friday—the night of the Christmas party.

  If you’re a woman reading this, you won’t understand my thinking. I’ve been told it’s a guy thing. Or maybe it was just the way I was raised by my father—stick to the plan until you hear differently—but it never occurred to me that April might not be expecting me the night of our company Christmas party. After all, I had never told her we wouldn’t be going.

  I called the morning of the party to let her know what time I’d pick her up. But she didn’t answer. I assumed she was busy and left a message.

  Around six o’clock I took a cab to April’s apartment. I knocked on her door, but she didn’t answer. I knocked again. Then I called her cell phone, but it went right to messages. I walked back out to the cab and climbed in.

  “Take me to Lawrence and Austin,” I said. “Mr. G’s Diner.”

  Ten minutes later the driver pulled up to the diner’s curb. “Shall I wait?”

  “Yes. I’ll only be a minute.”

  The diner was crowded as it usually was on the weekend. Ewa was standing behind the counter. She watched me enter.

  “Hello, Joseph,” she said. Her tone was angry.

  “Have you seen April?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “She went back to Utah.”

  My chest constricted with panic. “When did she leave?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “I told you to be careful. She was very, very sad that you did not call her. She cried for many days. You broke her heart.”

  “I didn’t mean . . .” I exhaled. “I just tried to call her, but she wouldn’t answer. Would you please call her for me?”

  Ewa shook her head. “She did not take her phone. She said she would not need it there. Just a minute.” She walked out of the kitchen door, then returned. “She left this for you.” She lay something on the counter. It was the Tiffany necklace I’d given April for her birthday. My heart felt like it would break.

  “How do I find her?” I asked.

  Ewa looked at me as if she was amazed by my stupidity. “You cannot find her. She went back to her husband.”

  My head spun. I could hardly breathe I was so sick with grief—much worse than when Ashley had told me she wasn’t going to follow me. This time I was to blame. Why hadn’t I just called? How could I have been so stupid?

  I just stood there, my world caving in around me. After a minute Ewa said, “We are busy, I must go. I am sorry for you.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

  I stood there for a moment, stunned, until I noticed several diners in the restaurant looking at me. I picked up the necklace and put it in my pocket. Then, on weak legs, I walked back out to the taxi.

  “Not there?” the driver asked as I shut the door.

  “No,” I said. Even though I was just a few blocks from my apartment, I didn’t want to go back. The idea of being alone terrified me. I handed him the invitation to the party. “Just take me to this address.”

  CHAPTER

  Twenty

  The spider has spun her web.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  The company Christmas party was held at a 10,000-square-foot mansion in the Kenilworth suburb of Chicago—the home of Leo Burnett Chicago’s CEO, Mr. Grant. As we drove through the massive iron gates and up the cobblestone driveway, the lane looked like the sales lot of a luxury car dealership. It was filled with shiny Lamborghinis, Bentleys, Aston-Martins, Porsches, BMWs, Mercedeses, and Cadillacs. Parked near the front door was Mr. Grant’s bright orange Maserati.

  “Nice place,” the driver said.

  “Yeah.” I handed him two twenties.

  “Call me if you need a ride back,” he said, handing me his card.

  I walked up to the giant carved-oak doors, which were decorated with oversized Christmas wreaths adorned with gold and ivory ribbons and baubles.

  One of the knickered valets opened the door for me as I approached. “Welcome,” he said. “Have a good evening.”

  I mumbled, “Thank you.”

  My senses were flooded by the home’s ambience. The home was gaily lit, and the powerful fragrance of cinnamon, peppermint and clove filled the foyer. Christmas trees lined the entryway walls like a forest, and the stair railing was wrapped in fresh garland twinkling with gold Christmas lights. In a small, open room off the foyer, a string quartet accompanied by a pianist on an electric piano played Pachelbel’s Canon in D. I listened to them for a moment, then panned the rest of the room for the bar. I desperately needed a drink.

  I spotted Timothy standing near a buffet table. I started to make my way to him but was stopped by Peter, who was wearing his signature black silk tee beneath an all-silver suit, iridescent as fish scales. Brandi was holding on to his arm. She was even more stunning than usual, wearing a sheer, low-cut gown, tight at the waist with a slit in front exposing her long, slender legs. Both of them were carrying stemmed glasses half-full of white wine. From Peter’s inebriated glow I could tell he’d started drinking long before my arrival.

  “Hey, J.J.J,” Peter said. “Where’s your date?”

  “She’s not here,” I said.

  “We can see that,” Peter said.

  “She couldn’t make it.”

  Brandi cocked her head. “Aww, that’s sad.”

  I ignored her molesting eyes. “How’s the party?”

  “Good booze,” Peter said, eyeing two women as they walked past us. “See you.”

  Brandi smiled at me as he pulled her away. “Ciao.”

  A butler walked up to me. “May I take your coat, sir?”

  “Sure.” I took it off and handed it to him. He ascended the circular staircase with my coat draped over his arm. Timothy had disappeared, but I saw Kim standing next to the buffet table in the dining room.

  The long, rectangular table was crowded with the most decadent spread I had ever seen: shrimp and crab bowls, sushi, pâté de foie gras, little cream pastries, hand-dipped chocolates, meringues, cherry-topped macaroons and at least six different tarts. In the center of the table was an ice sculpture of our agency’s initials, set between two thick red candles.

  “Hi, Kim,” I said.

  She looked relieved to see me. “Joseph. When did you get here?”

  “Just now.”

  “Where’s April?”

  “She couldn’t make it,” I said, trying to hide the emotion in my voice. “Something came up.”

  “She’s missing out,” Kim said. “Grab a plate. The food’s fantastic.”

  Even though I wasn’t hungry, I took a pla
te and began filling it with food.

  “Are you okay?” Kim asked.

  “My father holds a Christmas party this same night,” I said. “This is the first time in sixteen years I won’t be attending.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

  Just then a man I didn’t know walked up to her and she turned to talk to him. I drifted to another room with a Strass crystal chandelier and ivory carpets and a grand piano. Sade and Chloe were seated near the doorway, drinking and laughing. Kate was standing next to her boyfriend, who was playing a Billy Joel song on the piano.

  “J.J.!” Chloe said. “Come visit us.” She sounded a little tipsy.

  “Hey, J.J.,” Kate said.

  “Hi, Kate.”

  “This is my boyfriend, Clark.” He nodded a little, in time with the music.

  “Look,” Sade said, holding a sprig of parsley from the buffet table. “Mistletoe.”

  “What are you drinking?” I asked.

  “Eggnog.”

  “Very strong eggnog,” Chloe said.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Sade said.

  “Sure.” I gave her a quick peck.

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” Kate asked.

  “She bailed on me,” I said.

  She looked at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight,” Chloe said.

  “Chloe,” Sade said sharply. “Stop it. You’re drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk,” she said. “And you’re the one who got a kiss.”

  “I think it’s time for me to go,” I said.

  Kate nodded in agreement, shaking her head at Chloe.

  “Oh, don’t go,” Chloe said.

  I kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry.” I said to Clark, “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I said to everyone, then walked out of the room. I left my plate of untouched food on a small end table. I found the taxi driver’s card in my pocket and called. The taxi was only ten minutes out, so I started looking around for the coat man. When I couldn’t find him, I walked upstairs to retrieve my coat myself.

  The coats were laid out on the carpeted floor of a massive bedroom at the top of the stairway, with a dozen or so furs layered on top of each other across the bed. There were at least a hundred coats and finding mine wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be.

  As I foraged through a pile of coats, Brandi walked into the room.

  “Hi, J.J.,” she said. She carried two glasses of wine. “Would you like a drink?” She sounded a little drunk, which didn’t surprise me.

  “No thank you.”

  “Oh, come on. I brought it for you.”

  I looked past her to the door. “Where’s Peter?”

  “Who cares?” she said. She shut the door with her hip. “Have your drink.”

  I looked at her warily. “I was just looking for my coat. I’ve got to go. My cab’s on its way.”

  “And leave me here all by my lonesome?” She took a few more steps toward me. “I don’t want to be alone. C’mon, Joseph. Just drink with me. It’s Christmas.”

  “I can’t,” I said.

  “Can’t or won’t.”

  “Both,” I said. “You’re engaged to Peter.”

  “We’re not doing anything wrong.” She took a sip of her wine and smiled. “At least not yet. You can feel guilty later.”

  “Peter’s my friend. He trusts me.”

  “Peter’s not your friend. And why do you keep bringing him up? I don’t see him in here.” She took another step closer and set her glass on the nightstand. She dipped her finger in the other wineglass and held it up to my lips. “Try it. It’s delicious.”

  “Brandi, don’t.”

  She sucked the wine off her own finger. “Do you know how many men want me?”

  “Millions.”

  “But not you? Are you one in a million, Mr. Joseph Jacobson? You don’t want me?”

  “I want Mr. Grant’s Maserati, but I’m not going to steal it.”

  “You don’t have to steal it,” she said. “You can just take it for a ride.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “And you just compared me to a car.” She smiled seductively. “Are you objectifying me, Mr. J.J.?”

  “I’m just saying that I don’t take what’s not mine.”

  “You are objectifying me. You see me as someone’s possession.” A broad smile crossed her face. “Don’t worry, I like being objectified.” She set the second glass down on the nightstand. “I may be an object, but I’m not anyone’s possession. I am free to give myself to whomever I choose.” She pointed at me. “And, right now, I choose you.”

  “Brandi, you’re drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk. If I were drunk, I would have done something really crazy, like ripped open my dress. Like this.” She grabbed the top of her dress and pulled it open, exposing her brassiere. “Then I would have just thrown myself at you. Like this.” She pulled me on top of her over a padding of fur coats. “We should do it on mink.”

  “We’re not doing anything,” I said, pushing away from her.

  “Yes we are.”

  At that moment the door opened. “Brandi?” Peter stood in the doorway staring at us, trying to figure out what he was seeing. “What are you doing?” His words were slurred.

  Brandi immediately started pushing me away. “Stop it! Get off of me!” As I stood, she looked over at Peter. “Your employee attacked me.” She pointed to her breast. “Look, he ripped my dress.”

  “That’s not what happened,” I said.

  Peter charged up to me, his face red with fury. “You son of a—” His fist crashed against my jaw, knocking me back.

  “Peter, stop it,” I said. “She came after me.”

  “Liar!” Brandi shouted. “He tried to rape me.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Don’t talk to my woman like that,” Peter shouted, swinging wildly. I didn’t fight back. Instead, I just put my arms up to protect myself. Still, he knocked me to the ground.

  “Peter. I didn’t do anything.”

  “You stay there,” he shouted, pointing at me with a trembling finger. “You stay there, you lying . . .” He stopped as if unable to find a suitable word to describe me.

  I just looked up at him from the floor.

  Brandi stood behind him, grabbing his arms and staring hatefully at me. “Thank goodness you came when you did.”

  “Peter, it wasn’t me,” I said. “You know it.”

  “Shut up,” Peter said. “Just shut up.”

  Then I saw him wipe his eyes. He knew I was telling the truth. He had to know I was telling the truth.

  The two of them walked out. I still couldn’t find my coat, so I left without it. I grabbed a handful of snow outside and held it to my jaw as I got into the cab.

  “You okay?” the driver asked.

  “Best night of my life,” I said.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-one

  Fate, like fire, is not selective about what it will consume.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  I passed the weekend in a coma of despair. I must have watched at least eighteen hours of television. I didn’t eat anything except a bag of potato chips, which I downed with at least a dozen beers. Why was this happening to me?

  Monday morning came too early. The sky was overcast as if mirroring the dread that filled my heart. I wasn’t at my desk for more than five minutes when my phone buzzed. “I want to see you in my office,” Peter said.

  “All right,” I said, even though he’d already hung up.

  I walked to his office. Kim looked at me sympathetically, a very bad sign.

  “Peter paged me,” I said.

  “Just go in,” she said softly.

  I stepped inside his office. He sat behind his desk, staring at me with disgust. I didn’t know what Peter was going to do, but from his expression, I had a pretty good idea.<
br />
  “I want your resignation.”

  I looked at him a moment, then shook my head. “No. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Are you calling my fiancée a cheater or a liar?”

  Pick one, I thought. I said nothing.

  “And don’t tell me she came up to the room to seduce you.”

  “She just had too much to drink, she . . .” I looked in his face. He was shaking with anger and the veins in his forehead bulged. “. . . Actually, that’s exactly what happened.”

  He stood up, pushing his chair back in the motion. He gestured wildly with his finger. “If we weren’t in this office right now, I’d break you into a thousand pieces.”

  “Then it’s a good thing we’re in this office,” I said coolly.

  He glared at me for a moment, then said, “I can’t fire you. But I can have you demoted and transferred.”

  “On what grounds,” I said. “Your fiancée attempting to seduce me?”

  Peter pounded his desk hard, so hard I thought its glass cover would break. “You say that again and this office won’t protect you.”

  “I’m not your enemy, Peter.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And Brandi is?”

  I didn’t answer him. Her unfaithfulness was clearly too much for him to handle. I sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “You need to calm down.”

  “I didn’t tell you to sit.”

  I just looked at him.

  “I don’t need H.R. approval to transfer you. I’m sending you to our New York office—unless you decide to resign. Either works for me. Make your choice.”

  I couldn’t believe that I was being banished again. Still, banishment or not, I couldn’t stay in Chicago. Potts would make my life miserable. I should say more miserable. I had lost April. I was already suffering.

  “I’ll go to New York,” I said.

  “Good riddance,” he said. He pulled his chair forward and sat.

  “Whom do I report to?”

  “Ask Kim. Now get out of my office.”

  I walked to the door. I hesitated just a moment, then turned back and walked toward Peter’s desk.

  “My father was big on self-defense,” I said. “He insisted that all of his boys be able to take care of themselves. I have two black belts and I used to be ranked nationally. When I was nineteen, I competed in an open ultimate fighting competition on a dare and won.