The weather had gotten colder instead of warmer as the sun rose higher in the sky. A flurry of snow had begun to spit down from the sky. The man silently watched people leave and enter the store. He waited for some kind of outcry or furor to be raised. Nothing. No security guards giving chase, no cars with blue lights screeching to a halt at the entrance. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. Oh, the things he had done. Oh, the things he could have done.
His cell phone rang. He pulled it from his coat pocket and answered it.
"Hello?"
The person on the other end had obviously been crying. Her voice was shaky and teetering on the high pitch of panic. "Michael?"
"Baby, what’s wrong?"
"Um, I need you to come get me at The Store. I had a… I don’t know… I was working and I started freaking out and I had an… accident…"
"Sweetie, relax. I’m already here. Okay? I’m already at The Store."
"You are? You’re here? Oh, I’m so glad. It’s been such a horrible day. I don’t think they’re gonna let me come back to work here."
"Sarah, it’s okay. It really is. Just come on out. I’ll meet you at the front and take you home."
"I’m so sorry, Michael, I’m so sorry, oh God, I am so sorry."
"Baby, everything is going to be okay. Hey. I love you."
She began crying harder. "I smell like piss!"
"Honey, I love you even when you smell like piss. Maybe especially when you smell like piss."
Sarah laughed a little bit, a good sign.
"Come on," Michael told her. "Let me take you home."
"Okay, I love you."
Michael disconnected the call. He drew his hand back up into his sleeve and put the scalpel back into its secret home, inside the coat lining. There were more important things to do now then play the imp with sharp things. His wife needed him, needed someone to love her unconditionally and remind her that everything was going to be all right.
It was Christmas, after all, and if the t-shirts were to be believed, love was the reason for the season.
Naughty
I
Trimmings
CLAIRE OPENED THE bathroom closet to see if the children were there. They were not. Claire shut the bathroom closet door. Claire opened the bathroom closet to see if the children were there. They were not. Claire shut the bathroom closet door. Claire opened the bathroom closet to see if the children were there. They were not. Claire shut the bathroom closet door. Claire opened the bathroom closet to see if the children were there. They were not. Claire shut the bathroom closet door. Claire opened the bathroom closet to see if the children were there. They were not. Claire shut the bathroom closet door.
There. Five times, through and through. The children were not stuck in the closet, suffocating in the towels, overdosing on medicine, dying alone. For the moment, Claire was relieved and felt like she could go one with the rest of her morning.
Twenty minutes later, Claire opened the bathroom closet to see if the children were there. They were not. Claire shut the bathroom closet door.
***
CLAIRE'S HUSBAND, FRANK, was out of the country on one of his frequent business trips. He was an investment banker and financial planner, ridiculously good at what he did for a living. He was criminally better at hiding precisely how good. Some of Frank’s best customers were powerful men who lived in the shadows, men whose names were only spoken in whispers or hinted at on conspiracy websites. The money Frank brought home had been laundered more times than a porn star’s sheets. Claire was only mildly cognizant of these sordid details and never asked for more information. She was simply happy not to be poor.
It was December 21st and there were things to be done, a schedule to be kept. On the evening of the 24th, two limousines would pull up in front of the house. Frank would be driving one of them, the one carrying their two children and his side of the family. The other limo, driven by one of Frank’s men, would have her family in it. Her father, her sister, Jeannie, and her obnoxious husband, Peter, and their just out-of-diapers children would be there in her home, looking through her things, sitting in judgment, staring, staring, staring.
Claire raised the toilet seat. Was there anything in there? No. She flushed, and lowered the seat. Claire raised the toilet seat. Was there anything in there? No. She flushed, and lowered the seat. Claire raised the toilet seat. Was there anything in there? No. She flushed, and lowered the seat. Claire raised the toilet seat. Was there anything in there? No. She flushed, and lowered the seat. Claire raised the toilet seat. Was there anything in there? No. She flushed, and lowered the seat. Claire raised the toilet seat. Was there anything in there? No. She flushed, and lowered the seat.
There. Six times, through and through. Now the house wouldn’t catch on fire.
***
"BE CAREFUL, PLEASE!" Claire cried. The men were bringing in the Christmas tree. The house was an open concept with cathedral ceilings. It was important that the tree be exactly precisely twenty-four feet tall. Frank had it hand-cut specifically and delivered from the country. Now the men were jostling the tree about, making pine needles scatter across the freshly polished hard wood floor. Claire wasn’t sure if the men spoke English.
"Please! Gentlemen! Be careful!" Claire attempted to guide them with her hands, like she was waving in an errant airplane. "Try not to… I need you to… the tree stand is right here, can we… please?" One of the men held up his hand. His partner stopped.
"Ma’am," he said, "We owe your husband a favor. Believe me, we will do everything in our power to put up this tree, just the way you want it. He told us about you. We understand."
"You understand what?" asked Claire. "What has Frank been telling you?"
"Ma’am, he just said… well, look. We understand you, what’s going on with you. And we’re cool. So tell us what you want us to do, but you don’t have to yell. That’s all I’m trying to say. You can stay calm. We can take instructions."
Claire was embarrassed. "I’m sorry," she said. "I didn’t mean to yell. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to."
The guy stared down at Claire’s feet. "It’s okay," he said. "You’re Claire, right? Claire? Is that your name?"
Claire nodded.
"I’m Tony. Not that it matters. Me and my pal, Stretch, are gonna put up this tree. We’ll help you decorate it, if you want. We’ll put fuckin’ lights up and stretch out greenery and tinsel, whatever you want. Just tell your old man we did a good job. Okay? Just tell Frank we helped you and we were friendly and shit to you. Will you do that for us?"
Please put a penny in the old man’s hat, she thought.
"Will you excuse me for just a minute?" Claire asked.
"Sure," said Tony. "Me and Stretch are gonna work on getting this tree in the stand, okay?"
Claire nodded again, then side-stepped her way into the kitchen.
The big knives with the big knives. The small knives with the small knives. The little spoons with the little spoons. The big spoons with the big spoons. The dessert forks with the dessert forks. The big forks with the big forks. Nestled together, in a perfect stack. There. Her nerves were a little better. Calmer. She stepped back out into the living room.
Claire cleared her throat. "Tony, may I offer you and your friend some fresh coffee to drink?" She forced a smile.
Tony’s grin, however, was genuine. "Yes, ma’am. That would be delightful," he said.
***
THE COFFEE WAS a Sumatran blend. Frank said it cost somewhere around fourteen dollars a pound. Claire insisted on whole bean coffee, never pre-ground. She poured half a cup of beans into the stainless steel grinder. She pressed the button. The initial grind lasted for exactly ten seconds. Then, Claire pulsed the coffee five times, one second per blast. The final stage was a hardcore seven second grind, seven seconds exactly.
Claire let the water run through the faucet for twenty seconds to let the chemicals dissipate. Then she poured nine cups of water into the
coffeemaker. This would make eight cups. One cup of water seemed to magically disappear during the brewing process. It had taken Claire three weeks to get the process correct after Frank bought her the new coffeemaker for her birthday last year. Now the coffee was perfect every time. Perfect, always perfect.
***
CLAIRE SAT IN the brown leather chair in the living room. Stretch and Tony sat on opposite ends of the couch, just to make sure Claire didn’t think they were gay. "This is good coffee," Stretch said.
"Yeah, it’s perfect," said Tony.
Claire smiled and mentally filed the compliment away. The man who delivered the Christmas tree said my coffee was perfect. "Thank you, Tony," she said, shyly. "Thank you, Stretch."
Tony shifted a little and leaned forward. "We got the tree to exactly twenty-four feet tall, like you wanted. It was teetering a little, so me and Stretch tied the top of it to the second floor railing. I don’t think it’s too noticeable and we might be able to hide it with some greenery."
Claire looked up, towards the top of the tree. She could barely see the rope. "We’ll figure something out with the greenery. But the tree is exactly precisely twenty-four feet tall?"
Tony nodded. "Oh, yes, ma’am. We measured it three times just to be sure."
Stretch cleared his throat and said, "Frank says you got the OCD or something, right?"
Tony turned and smacked Stretch in the chest with the back of his hand. "The fuck, Stretch? Jesus!"
"Don’t cuss in front of the lady, asshole," Stretch said.
"It’s fine," Claire said, loudly. "It’s fine, really, it is." She folded her hands in her lap and turned to Stretch.
"What you say is true, Stretch," she said. "I do have a fairly serious case of obsessive compulsive disorder. The good thing is, I’m aware of it and can recognize those behaviors when they occur. The bad thing is, I’m aware of it. Sometimes I catch myself doing things for reasons that I know are irrational, but I can’t stop myself from doing them. It’s hard. Sometimes, I think I’m getting better. Most of the time, I know I’m not. That’s why when I have people helping me who are as careful as you and Tony, people who understand important things like precise measurements, I am very thankful. And I tell my husband about those people. If you catch my meaning."
Stretch nodded vigorously. "I catch it, ma’am. I catch it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring something up that was bad. I just thought, well, I don’t know what I thought."
"It’s perfectly all right. Would anyone like some more coffee?"
Both Stretch and Tony declined, with Tony saying they wanted to get back to work on the greenery. "I figure we can run some across the ceiling that will hide the rope and still look festive," he offered.
"Let me take your cups and we’ll discuss that in just a moment," Claire said. Ever the perfect hostess, she gathered cups, saucers and spoons from the workmen and returned them to the kitchen. Used dishes went into the left side of the double sink. The hot water was run through the faucet for exactly thirty seconds to let the chemicals dissipate and to reach maximum temperature. One teaspoon of liquid dish soap was placed into the sink. Steam began to fill the kitchen. It was like a pleasant smelling, soapy sauna. The dishes soaked in the dish water for ninety seconds. Claire plunged her hands into water, just this side of boiling, and began scrubbing the dishes. It hurt. Her hands turned an angry shade of red instantly. There weren’t many dishes, though. It wouldn’t take long.
After the dishes were clean, Claire put them in the dishwasher. She loaded the door compartments with detergent and turned it on. She dried her hands on a paper towel. Already the red was starting to fade. She was used to it.
Before she left the kitchen, Claire checked the garbage can to see if her cell phone had fallen into it. It had not. She closed the lid. She checked the garbage can to see if her cell phone had fallen into it. It had not. She closed the lid. She checked the garbage can to see if her cell phone had fallen into it. It had not. She closed the lid. She checked the garbage can to see if her cell phone had fallen into it. It had not. She closed the lid.
There. Four times, through and though. As she turned away from the trash can, she saw her cell phone lying on the kitchen counter. She slipped it into her pocket, rolling her eyes at herself, furious for having fallen for one of her own mind’s tricks again.
She walked into the living room and called, "Gentlemen, did either of you bring a level?"
***
SIX HOURS LATER, and Tony and Stretch were beat. They had strung lights. Greenery was strewn in a zigzag pattern across the ceiling. Not only was it gorgeous, but it effectively obscured the rope that was holding the Christmas tree steady. According to Stretch, seven gorillas could walk, hand over hand, from the cable of greenery and it would not fall.
Claire had even talked Tony into ironing the tree skirt. "I want you to know, Miss Claire," Tony said, "that this is the first time I have ever said to any other person, ‘Are these pleats okay?’"
"I’m honored, Tony," Claire said, and gave him a small curtsy.
"What’s left, Miss Claire?" Stretch asked.
"Just the stockings," she said. She already had them ready to hang, laid out on the couch. She gave them a thorough pass with the lint roller. She sprayed them with the fabric refresher. She argued with herself briefly about the name placement. At first, Claire had wanted to go the authentic homemade route. She had considered writing the names on the stockings with hot glue and sparkly purple glitter. This decision was foregone when Claire realized what a mess all that glitter would be, constant sweeping of the hardwood floors. Having names embroidered onto the stockings was a far healthier choice.
"The stockings must be exactly six feet from the floor and centered over the fireplace," Claire said. "There are four stockings. Start measuring, please."
Stretch got the measuring tape and Tony pulled a carpenter’s pencil out of his shirt pocket. "Mark lightly on the mantle, Tony," Claire said. "It is a fine mahogany, one piece."
Tony gave her a small, light-hearted salute. "I’ll see what I can do, Miss Claire."
Fifteen minutes later, they were finished. "Are the stockings equidistant?" Claire asked Tony.
"Are they what?"
"Are they the same distance apart?"
Tony shrugged. "They look fine, Miss Claire."
Claire shot him a quick dirty look.
"I’m measuring," Tony said. "I’m measuring."
She watched over his shoulder as he checked and rechecked his work. "It’s perfect, Miss Claire," he said, finally. "Mathematically and looks-wise, this house is some kind of holiday jewel."
"It is," Claire said. "The tree will be hard to keep up with, with the needles falling off and how often do you think I should water it?"
"It’s gonna suck up water like a sponge the first few days," Stretch said. "Fill up the stand about twice a day, once before you go to bed. And put a penny in the water."
"A penny?" Claire asked.
"Yeah," Stretch said. "The tree sucks the minerals out of the penny and it makes the needles stay on the tree longer."
"I’ve never heard that," Claire said.
"Well, it no shit works like a charm," Stretch said.
"No shit," Claire echoed. Stretch and Tony laughed.
"I’m glad we got everything done, Miss Claire," said Tony. "The place looks good."
"Listen, I want to ask you something."
"Sure, Miss Claire. Anything."
"I am a wife and mother in name only," Claire said. "When my husband is here, which is rarely, I do what I have to do. When my children are here, which is next to never, I give as much love as I can and hope for the best. You probably know my husband better than I do. Tell me. How did you meet Frank?"
Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. "I was, well, we were, I mean we got into some trouble, me and Stretch. Some bad trouble with some guys who were, well, bad. We owed him some money and we didn’t have it because we had, uh, i
nvested it, you know? Anyway, your husband, Frank, found it in his heart to buy a controlling interest in our business. He also made those bad guys stop bothering us."
"Is that all?" Claire asked.
"That’s all I feel safe telling you," Tony said.
"What was your business?"
"Let’s say it was pharmaceuticals."
Claire nodded. "I understand." She put her hand out towards Tony. "I want to thank you for your hard work today. The house looks wonderful. I’m pleased. I know Frank will be pleased to know that I am pleased."
Stretch walked up behind Tony. "You’ll tell Frank we done good, right?"
Claire smiled and nodded. "Yes, Stretch. You have done exceedingly well." He grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously, smiling and nodding his head, like a dog getting his belly scratched.
***
THE HOUSE WAS empty and quiet then, and the silence seemed to echo itself off the cathedral ceilings and back off the hardwood floors, like a ping-pong ball of nothingness. Claire sat down in her chair and began bouncing her fingers, one by one, off the pad of thumb. This activity was done only with her right hand. It didn’t matter how many times she did it, though. It wasn’t a counting activity. It was simply a tactile comfort, a way to pass the time.
Time.
Soon, Frank would be home, and the children would start their winter break from school. The house would be filled with laughter and music, people celebrating and reveling. It was Christmas, after all, and her family would surround her, loving and cherishing her, like family was supposed to do.
Fear settled around her like a radioactive cloud from an old science-fiction movie. She could almost see it, greyish-green and pulsing, settling around her head, threatening to infiltrate her being. She could feel it changing her body temperature, seeping into her bone marrow, altering her DNA.
Black Friday: An Elders Keep Collection Special Edition Page 14
