Gift-Wrapped & Toe-Tagged: A Melee of Misc. Holiday Anthology

by Dr. Freud Funkenstein, ed.

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ I said. ‘If you want an uncontested divorce, you can’t afford to have me here.’

  Dirk Otjens recommended an attorney named Bernie Prager; she went to him and he agreed. He warned Louise not to be seen privately or in public with another man unless there was a third party present.

  Louise reported to me by phone. ‘I don’t think I can stand it, darling —not seeing you—’

  ‘Do you still have the maid?’

  ‘Josefina? She comes in every day, as usual.’

  ‘Then so can I. As long as she’s there we have no problem. I’ll just show up to put a few more finishing touches on the portrait in the afternoons.’

  ‘And in the evenings—’

  ‘That’s when we can blow the whole deal,’ I said. ‘Santiago has probably hired somebody to check on you.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Prager’s nobody’s fool. He’s used to handling messy divorce cases and he knows it’s money in his pocket if he gets a good settlement.’ Louise laughed. ‘Turns out he’s got private investigators on his own payroll. So Carlos is the one being tailed.’

  ‘Where is your husband?’

  ‘He moved into the Sepulveda Athletic Club last night, went to his office today — business as usual.’

  ‘Suppose he hired a private eye by phone?’

  ‘The office lines and the one in his room are already bugged. I told you Prager’s nobody’s fool. ’

  ‘Sounds like an expensive operation.’

  ‘Who cares? Darling, don’t you understand? Carlos has money coming out of his ears. And we’re going to squeeze out more. When this is over, I’ll be set for life. We’ll both be set for life.’ She laughed again.

  I didn’t share her amusement. Granted, Carlos Santiago wasn’t exactly Mr Nice. Maybe he deserved to be cuckolded, deserved to lose Louise. But was she really justified in taking him for a bundle under false pretences?

  And was I any better if I stood still for it? I thought about what would happen after the divorce settlement was made. No more painting, no more hassling for commissions. I could see myself with Louise, sharing the sweet life, the big house, big cars, travel, leisure, luxuries. And yet, as I sketched a mental portrait of my future, my artist’s eye noted a shadow. The shadow of one of those pimps prowling Hollywood Boulevard.

  It wasn’t a pretty picture.

  But when I arrived in the afternoon sunshine of Louise’s living room, the shadow vanished in the glow of her gaiety.

  ‘Wonderful news, darling!’ she greeted me. ‘Carlos is gone.’

  ‘You already told me—’

  She shook her head. ‘I mean really gone,’ she said. ‘Prager’s people just came through with a report. He phoned in for reservations on the noon flight to New Orleans. One of his tankers is arriving there and he’s going to supervise unloading operations. He won’t be back until after the holidays. ’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Prager sent a man to LAX. He saw Carlos take off. And all his calls are being referred to the company office in New Orleans.’

  She hugged me. ‘Isn’t it marvellous? Now we can spend Christmas together.’ Her eyes and voice softened. ‘That’s what I’ve missed the most. A real old-fashioned Christmas, with a tree and everything.’

  ‘But didn’t you and Carlos—’

  Louise shook her head. ‘Something always came up at the last minute — like this New Orleans trip. If we hadn’t split, I’d be on that plane with him right now.

  ‘Did you ever celebrate Christmas in Kuwait? That’s where we were last year, eating lamb curry with some greasy port official. Carlos promised, no more holiday business trips, this year we’d stay home and have a regular Christmas together. You see how he kept his word.’

  ‘Be reasonable,’ I said. ‘Under the circumstances what do you expect?’

  'Even if this hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t change anything.’ Once again her eyes smouldered and her voice harshened. ‘He’d still go and drag me with him, just to show off in front of his business friends. “Look what I’ve got — hot stuff, isn’t she? See how I dress her, cover her with fancy jewellery?” Oh yes, nothing’s too good for Carlos Santiago; he always buys the best!’

  Suddenly the hot eyes brimmed and the strident voice dissolved into a soft sobbing.

  I held her very close. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Fix your face and get your things.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Shopping. For ornaments—and the biggest damned Christmas tree in town.’

  * * *

  If you’ve ever gone Christmas shopping with a child, perhaps you can understand what the next few days were like. We picked up our ornaments in the big stores along Wilshire; like Hollywood Boulevard, this street too was alive with holiday decorations and the sound of Yuletide carols. But there was nothing tawdry behind the tinsel, nothing mechanical about the music, no shadows to blur the sparkle in Louise’s eyes. To her this make-believe was reality; each day she became a kid again, eager and expectant.

  Nights found her eager and expectant too, but no longer a child. The contrast was exciting, and each mood held its special treasures.

  All but one.

  It came upon her late in the afternoon of the twenty-third, when the tree arrived. The delivery man set it up on a stand in the den and after he left we gazed at it together in the gathering twilight.

  All at once she was shivering in my arms.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I murmured.

  ‘I don’t know. Something’s wrong; it feels like there’s someone watching us.’

  ‘Of course.’ I gestured towards the easel in the comer. ‘It’s your portrait.’

  ‘No, not that.’ She glanced up at me. ‘Darling, I’m scared. Suppose Carlos comes back?’

  ‘I phoned Prager an hour ago. He has transcripts of all your husband’s calls up until noon today. Carlos phoned his secretary from New Orleans and said he’ll be there through the twenty-seventh.’

  ‘Suppose he comes back without notifying the office?’

  ‘If he does he’ll be spotted; Prager’s keeping the airport staked out, just in case.’ I kissed her. ‘Now stop worrying. There’s no sense being paranoid—’

  ‘Paranoid. ’ I could feel her shivering again. ‘Carlos is the one who’s paranoid. Remember that horrible story he told us—’

  ‘But it was only a story. He has no brother. ’

  ‘I think it’s true. He did those things.’

  ‘That’s what he wanted us to think. It was a bluff, and it didn’t work. And we’re not going to let him spoil our holiday.’

  ‘All right.’ Louise nodded, brightening. ‘When do we decorate the tree?’

  ‘Christmas Eve,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow night.’

  It was late the following morning when I left — almost noon — and already Josefina was getting ready to depart. She had some last-minute shopping to do, she said, for her family.

  And so did I.

  ‘When will you be back?’ Louise asked.

  ‘A few hours. ’

  ‘Take me with you.’

  ‘I can’t; it’s a surprise. ’

  ‘Promise you’ll hurry then, darling. ’ Her eyes were radiant. ‘I can’t wait to trim the tree.’

  ‘I’ll make it as soon as possible.’

  But ‘soon’ is a relative term and—when applied to parking and shopping on the day before Christmas—an unrealistic one.

  I knew exactly what I was looking for, but it was close to closing time in the little custom jewellery place where I finally found it.

  I’d never bought an engagement ring before and didn’t know if Louise would approve of my choice. The stone was a marquise cut but it looked tiny and insignificant in comparison with the diamonds Santiago had given her. Still, people are always saying it’s the sentiment that counts. I hoped she’d feel that way.

  When I stepped out on to
the street again it was already ablaze with lights and the sky above had dimmed from dusk to darkness. On the way to my car I found a phone booth and put in a call to Prager’s office.

  There was no answer.

  I might have anticipated his office would be closed: if there’d been a party, it was over now. Perhaps I could reach him at home after I got back to the house. On the other hand, why bother? If there’d been anything to report he’d have phoned Louise immediately.

  The real problem right now was fighting my way back to the parking lot, jockeying the car out into the street, and then enduring the start- stop torture of the traffic.

  Celestial choirs sounded from the speaker system overhead.

  ‘Silent night, holy night,

  All is calm, all is bright—’

  The honking of horns shattered silence with an unholy din; none of my fellow drivers were calm and I doubted if they were bright.

  But eventually I battled my way on to Beverly Drive, crawling toward Coldwater Canyon. Here traffic was once again bumper-to- bumper; the hands of my watch inched to seven-thirty. I should have called Louise from that phone booth while I was at it and told her not to worry. Too late now; no public phones in this residential area. Besides, I’d be home soon.

  Home.

  As I edged into the turnoff which led up through the hillside, the word echoed strangely. This was my home now, or soon would be. Our home, that is. Our home, our cars, our money, Louise’s and mine—

  Nothing is yours. It’s his home, his money, his wife. You're a thief. Stealing his honour, his very life—

  I shook my head. Crazy. That’s the way Santiago would talk. He’s the crazy one.

  I thought about the expression on the bull-man’s face as he’d told me the story of his brother’s betrayal and revenge. Was he really talking about himself? If so, he had to be insane.

  And even if it was just a fantasy, its twisted logic only emphasized a madman’s cunning. Swearing not to blind a woman by touching her eyes, and then sewing her eyelids shut — a mind capable of such invention was capable of anything.

  Suddenly my foot was flooring the gas pedal; the car leaped forward, careening around the rising curves. I wrenched at the wheel with hands streaked by sweat, hurtling up the hillside past the big homes with their outdoor decorations and the tree lights winking from the windows.

  There were no lights at all in the house at the crest of the hill — but when I saw the Ferrari parked in the driveway, I knew.

  I jammed to a stop behind it and ran to the front door. Louise had given me a duplicate house key and I twisted it in the lock with a shaking hand.

  The door swung open on darkness. I moved down the hall toward the archway at my left.

  ‘Louise!’ I called. ‘Louise — where are you?’

  Silence.

  Or almost silence.

  As I entered the living room I heard the sound of heavy breathing coming from the direction of the big chair near the fireplace.

  My hand moved to the light switch.

  ‘Don’t turn it on.’

  The voice was slurred, but I recognized it.

  ‘Santiago — what are you doing here?’

  ‘Waiting for you, amigo.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘That I was gone? So did Louise.’ A chuckle rasped through the darkness.

  I took a step forward, and now I could smell the reek of liquor as the slurred whisper sounded again.

  ‘You see, I know about the bugging of the phones and the surveillance. So when I returned this morning I took a different route, with a connecting flight from Denver. No one at the airport would be watching arrivals from that city. I meant to surprise Louise — but it was she who surprised me.’

  ‘When did you get here?’ I said.

  ‘After the maid had left. Our privacy was not interrupted.’

  ‘What did Louise tell you?’

  ‘The truth, amigo. I had suspected, of course, but I could not be sure until she admitted it. No matter, for our differences are resolved.’

  ‘Where is Louise? Tell me—’

  ‘Of course. I will be frank with you, as she was with me. She told me everything — how much she loved you, what you planned to do together, even her foolish wish to decorate the tree in the den. Her pleading would have melted a heart of stone, amigo. I found it impossible to resist.’

  ‘If you’ve harmed her—’

  ‘I granted her wish. She is in the den now.’ Santiago chuckled again, his voice trailing off into a spasm of coughing.

  But I was already groping my way to the door of the den, flinging it open.

  The light from the tree bulbs was dim, barely enough for me to avoid stumbling over the machete on the floor. Quickly I looked up at the easel in the comer, half expecting to see the painting slashed. But Louise’s portrait was untouched.

  I forced myself to gaze down at the floor again, dreading what I might see, then breathed a sigh of relief. There was nothing on the floor but the machete.

  Stooping, I picked it up, and now I noticed the stains on the rusty blade — the red stains slowly oozing in tiny droplets to the floor.

  For a moment I fancied I could actually hear them fall, then realized they were too minute and too few to account for the steady dripping sound that came from—

  It was then that Santiago must have shot himself in the other room, but it was not the sudden sound which prompted my scream.

  I stared at the Christmas tree, at the twinkling lights twining gaily across its huge boughs, and at the oddly shaped ornaments draped and affixed to its spiky branches. Stared, and screamed, because the madman had told the truth.

  Louise was decorating the Christmas tree.

  Bradley Sands

  DON’T HATE THE PLAYA, HATE THE DATING GAME

  THE FOURTH OF July asks Christmas out on a date. Christmas is surprised. Holidays do not usually find it an appropriate choice for romance. Christmas wonders if it is a cruel prank that will leave the holiday season in tears. But Christmas tries not to think about it because the Fourth of July is awfully hunky. On the night of the big date, the Fourth of July picks up Christmas in its Toyota Prius. Christmas appreciates a holiday that is concerned about the environment. On the way to the movies, Christmas and the Fourth of July discuss frst dates. “First dates are for getting to know one another,” the Fourth of July says. “How are we supposed to get to know one another when we’re sitting in the dark for two hours without speaking?” Christmas suggests they go to the Baltimore Aquarium instead. The Pruis drives to Baltimore at the speed of light. A police car tries to pull them over. But they are traveling at the speed of light. Christmas is excited. “Bad boys” excite the holiday. It is excited all the way to Baltimore. It stops being excited once it realizes the Baltimore aquarium is the worst aquarium on Earth. But Christmas and the Fourth of July are ok with this. Because walking past dull goldfsh gives them a lot of time to get to know one another. They discuss life, their dreams and aspirations, and the destruction of unwanted presents with the assistance of firecrackers. During the discussion, their hands unite in a clandestine partnership. When Christmas and the Fourth of July are fnished, they exit the aquarium and other holidays are outside waiting for them. Martin Luther King Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Veteran’s Day, Easter, and Rosh Hashanah point at Christmas and laugh malignantly. The Fourth of July stares into Christmas’s spot on the calendar and kisses it passionately on the number five. The cruel holidays gasp. Christmas feels superior to them. This holiday season, give yourself the gift of knowing you are better than everyone who you do not love.

  Cullen Bunn

  THEM WHAT AILS YA

  “IF OLD EZRA could read minds and foretell the future and such, how come he didn’t know he was gonna get himself ate by cannibals?”

  That’s how my brother, Jessie, saw things, and I reckon it was difficult to argue with his reasoning no matter how bad I wanted to do just that. Even after all the peculiar th
ings we’d seen over the years, Jessie was ever the skeptic, especially when it came to Ezra. Me, on the other hand, I believed the old codger’s tales of learning mind-reading from a medicine man, hypnosis from a Creole voodoo priest, and potion-making from a beautiful French witch. According to my brother, that made me no better than a rube paying two-bits for a palm reading. But I never needed a lick of proof in regards to Ezra’s abilities. I don’t know much about faith, but sometimes you just got to go with your gut.

  So how come Ezra didn’t see his death coming?

  The old man once said, “It ain’t the province of man to know the time and place of his own demise, although ther’re some who risk plumb-awful magicks to discern that very thing.” His demeanor grew dark and brooding then, like he was dwelling on something he could hardly bear to think about. “But once those steps are taken… well, then that man ain’t got nothing on his hands but time to regret what he’s done, all for some inkling of events that can’t be changed. It don’t matter two spits how much foresight you have, when it’s your time to die, there ain’t nothing to be done about it… Nor can you do anything to change when you’re gonna come back.”

  At the time, I didn’t think much of Ezra’s cryptic rambling. The old man liked his drink, and was prone to strange rantings when he’d tipped back a few shots. But things started to make a little more sense to me after he was killed, and after the events that unfolded on that Christmas Eve …

  Well, let’s just say it wasn’t Ezra’s whiskey talking, after all.

  Way I figure it, Ezra had known Boone Friedricks and his gang was coming, knew his time was growing short. He’d grown quiet and sullen a few days earlier, and he won’t to be seen unless it was with a near-empty bottle of his special elixir in hand. Maybe his thoughts in those final days were plagued with visions of the gnashing of teeth and the carving of flesh and the screaming that don’t never seem to stop.