Now that he was talking about something that clearly meant a lot to him, Dan’s eyes lit up, making him a lot more attractive. “And it can be difficult to even get a lease when you’re only eighteen. The statistics are alarming. There’s a high rate of homelessness among former foster children.”
Tilly apparently couldn’t handle anyone else holding the floor for so long. “So what Dan’s center does is help them make the transition. This center here provides housing, but there are also apartments where groups of kids can live, and there’s help with training in life skills, job hunting resources, and the like. I’m on the foundation’s board and help with the fundraising, and I had the most brilliant idea.”
“I’m still not sure . . .” Dan began.
Tilly ignored him. “It must be worst of all during the holidays. Imagine, being eighteen and utterly alone at Christmas. So I thought a great way to draw attention to the center and help these kids would be a Home for the Holidays project—get people to take in one of these kids for Christmas, even if just for Christmas dinner. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
I jotted notes in my notepad, trying to keep up with the flow of information. “It certainly seems like something I could promote. The media are always looking for feel-good stories at this time of year, and there are a lot of people who only think about doing charity work during the holidays, so they’re looking for a one-day activity.”
Dan shook his head. “I really don’t want to turn these kids into a publicity stunt. Christmas dinner is great, but what good will it do the rest of the year?”
“Who knows?” Tilly said with an expansive shrug. “Maybe they’ll enjoy it enough that they want to become a surrogate family full-time. Imagine these kids having someone to call for advice, a place to go for Sunday dinners, someone to cheer for them at graduation.”
Dan narrowed his eyes. “You do realize these aren’t adorable waifs, right? They’re teenagers who generally have built up some thick emotional walls. There’s not going to be much instant bonding over pumpkin pie as the family sings carols by the fireside.”
Tilly dismissed his objection with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. “Oh, you’re too pessimistic. You have to believe in holiday magic. Now, I’ll leave it to you two to work out the details.” She gathered up her coat and purse and bustled out, leaving the room strangely and uncomfortably silent in her absence.
Dan and I looked at each other. “Okay, you and I both know that this isn’t going to work and probably isn’t even a good idea, but we both also have to keep Tilly happy,” he said.
“Why isn’t it a good idea?”
“This project won’t do any good. Do you think it’s kind to give these kids a brief glimpse at the sort of life they’ve never had and may never have before sending them back to reality?”
I wasn’t sure why I was arguing with him, since it wasn’t as though I had anything invested in this project, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. “Or it could open the eyes of people who may want to stay in their lives, who might not otherwise have tried something like this, and it will give the kids a good memory, something they may be able to draw upon when they have families of their own. I was serious when I said I could probably promote this, but if you really think it’s a bad idea . . .”
He contemplated this for a long moment, frowning, but then he shook his head and gave a deep sigh of resignation. “What would you need?”
Thinking fast, since I hadn’t yet put together a plan, I said, “I’d like to talk to one of your kids to do a case study—present who he is, what’s happened to him, what he’s hoping to do with his life. Then I can write up a news release, get it to the local media and make a few phone calls. I may also send the information to some of the bigger churches to go in their newsletters. It’ll take maybe half an hour, tops, with the kid, then I’ll need to get the details from you, and you’ll get to review what I write. If any media bite, then I’ll need you and some kids for them to talk to.”
“Okay. I guess I can do that much.” He didn’t sound at all enthusiastic.
I stood and I handed him my business card. “Here’s my contact info. Let me know when you can set something up. The sooner, the better. We’re already pretty far into the holiday season.”
He looked at the card like he thought it might bite him, then finally said, “Um, thank you for coming. I’ll be in touch.”
I had the strongest feeling he was going to “lose” my card.
One good thing about this meeting was that it had ended late enough that I didn’t have to go back to the office. As I walked to the subway station, I called Alicia. “Good news, I’m already on my way. I just have to stop by my place to grab my costume.”
“Wow, it’s a Christmas miracle! Good day, then?”
“No, a terrible one. I missed getting a good account and got assigned a pro bono project with a client who hates the idea and doesn’t want me there.”
“This wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t clinging to that day job. Just sayin’.”
“Yeah, but then I’d have other problems to worry about, like paying my bills. Just sayin’.”
It was nice to not have to be in a big rush, for a change. I got home, dropped off my work bag, and grabbed one of the garment bags from the closet before heading out again. I reached the hotel in plenty of time and found the ballroom where that night’s party would be. It was decorated like a medieval dining hall. That wasn’t what I expected. I reached into my purse for my phone to check my calendar and got a sick feeling in my stomach when I read that day’s entry. I checked the garment bag and found a Santa’s helper outfit. “Oh, no!” I groaned before turning to sprint back toward my apartment.
Fortunately, it was in walking distance, so I didn’t have to hail a cab or wait for a bus or subway. I tore down the sidewalk as fast as possible, dodging pedestrians and waiting impatiently for walk signals at intersections. When I got home, I flung the garment bag across the back of the sofa and pulled another one out of the closet, unzipping it to verify that the medieval costume I needed was inside before I tore out again.
I ran back down the sidewalk toward the hotel, garment bag over my arm. As if sensing my urgency, people kept getting in my way. I came up behind a couple strolling hand in hand and couldn’t get around them without stepping into the gutter. I barely got past them when I came up to a woman with a dog on a long leash, the dog sniffing at the curb while the woman stood well away. I hurdled the leash. At every intersection, I hit the light just as it turned to “Don’t Walk,” and there was enough traffic that I couldn’t get away with jaywalking. There were baby buggies, elderly people with shopping carts, and every other kind of urban obstacle.
Finally, I made it back to the hotel, and I reached the ballroom to find the rest of my group there, all dressed in their medieval attire. Guests in ordinary evening wear were already trickling in. “I thought you weren’t going to be in a rush tonight,” Alicia said.
Still panting, I said, “Long story, and it’s not the day job’s fault. I’d better change.”
The group was already singing a madrigal when I rejoined them in my costume. I felt better once I was singing. The next song involved each of us singing a verse as a solo, with the whole group chiming in on each chorus. I sang the first two words of my solo before realizing I was on the wrong verse, and then when I tried to correct, I got the words all mangled. The group sang the chorus as though nothing had happened, but I could feel their disapproval and wanted to sink through the stage so I could crawl out of there unseen.
When I dragged myself home late that night, I threw the garment bag on the back of the sofa, on top of the one that was already there, and collapsed on the sofa, still fully dressed. “What a day, and thank God it’s over,” I muttered. I knew I should get up and go to bed, but I couldn’t seem to summon the energy, and I fell asleep.
I woke abruptly to find that it was morning. And I was in bed, in my pajamas. Funny, I didn’t remember getting
up and getting in bed, but I must have. I reached for my phone to check the time and saw that it was Tuesday morning.
Wait a second, Tuesday? Wasn’t yesterday Tuesday?
Two
The day from hell must have been a dream, I realized with a surge of relief. Even though my alarm hadn’t yet gone off, I got out of bed and got dressed. Before I left the house, I double-checked the wardrobe for that night’s gig against the details in my calendar and made sure the appropriate costume was ready for me to grab.
On the way to the office, I started to head for the coffee cart, but changed my mind, shaking my head. It might have been just a dream, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I nodded to Janet as I passed the receptionist’s desk, then remembered that it had just been a dream, and Janet wouldn’t remember meeting me. If her name even was Janet. I reached my cubicle and hung up my coat, then headed to the break room to get some coffee.
On the way there, I passed Hadley, who was on her way in, still wearing her coat. Reg came around the corner and approached us. “Oh, good, there you are,” he said.
“Me?” Hadley asked.
“Both of you, actually. I need someone to join Jason on an account team for Carlton’s Department Store. They just dumped their agency since their holiday promotions bombed, and we’ve got the chance to see if we can salvage things.”
Feeling the strongest sense of déjà vu, I said, “Three weeks before Christmas?”
“It’ll be a challenge, and a lot of work, but if we pull it off, we get the account year-round. Any ideas of what you’d do, either of you?”
It might have been a nightmare, but that crazy dream had prepared me for this moment. Before Hadley could pipe up, I said, “A charity drive would be a great way to get coverage at this time of year—like maybe coats or sweaters, something people could buy at the store. And make it a festive occasion, with carolers and refreshments.” It might even help me score points with the group if I got them an extra daytime gig, I thought.
Hadley scowled at me and opened her mouth to add her two cents, but Reg ignored her. “Good thinking. Natalie, why don’t you work with Jason on the team?” Just then, Jason approached us with his coffee. “Jason, Natalie will be joining you on the Carlton account.”
Jason’s smile made my knees go weak when it was directed at me. “Welcome to the team. Come on, I’ll brief you. Is your schedule clear for a meeting this afternoon?”
“I’m wide open,” I said, hoping my grin didn’t look as idiotic as it felt.
As we left, I could hear Reg saying to Hadley, “I’ve got a pro bono project I’d like you to help with.”
I only ever went to Carlton’s Department Store to window-shop because it was way out of my price range. The place oozed class and luxury, even more so now, when it was all decked out for the holidays. I felt like a kid in a candy store, being surrounded by so many beautiful things, but I remembered why I was there and forced myself to look and act like a professional.
Michelle Carlton, the chief marketing officer, was waiting for us in front of the escalators, near the cosmetics counter, and she looked like a walking advertisement for the store, from head to foot—expensive hair, makeup, clothes, and shoes. She smiled at Jason as we approached her, and I got the feeling she didn’t even see me.
“Ms. Carlton? I’m Jason Baker with Parker Publicity, and this is my colleague, Natalie Miller.”
She shook his hand, but didn’t so much as glance at me. “I’m glad you could make time for me on such short notice, but you can appreciate what a crisis this is. This is our busiest time of year—or it should be.”
I realized then that the store was surprisingly quiet. It wasn’t truly vacant, but it definitely wasn’t the hive of activity you’d expect a department store to be, so close to Christmas. Most of the shoppers were just browsing. There weren’t a lot of people with packages or shopping bags. I lagged behind the others as I noticed this, but then Jason reached out to pull me even with them, making sure I wasn’t left out as we got on the escalator.
Michelle led us to the store’s tearoom, a very feminine “ladies who lunch” kind of place. Afternoon tea was being served, but half the tables were empty. One of the empty tables was set with a tea service, and Michelle led us there. “I thought we could talk over tea. Please, have a seat.”
“Oh, this is lovely,” I couldn’t resist saying. I’d always wanted to have tea here.
Michelle finally made eye contact with me. “Yes, isn’t it? It was such a treat to me when I was a child and my grandmother brought me here. Back then, you had to make reservations weeks in advance. Now, look at it. I hope you can help us with that.”
We all took seats around the table. Jason said, “We have some ideas, though you do realize we can’t do a full campaign on such short notice. Normally, we’d spend months planning and working out the details before we launched.”
A waiter came and poured champagne for us. “Of course, I understand,” she said. She raised her glass. “And here’s to having those months to plan for next year. Now, I can’t wait to hear your ideas.”
Alicia was already in her medieval princess costume and was putting on her makeup in the hotel bathroom when I arrived that evening. “Oh, good, you’re here on time.”
“I haven’t been seriously late yet, have I?” I asked. “And it’s not like I’m forgetting words.” I went into one of the stalls to change.
“Forgetting words?” Alicia asked.
“It happens in my nightmares. Oh, you’ll never guess where I had tea today.”
“Buckingham Palace?”
“Close. The tearoom at Carlton’s.”
“What were you doing there?”
“That’s where my meeting was.”
“Meetings in the Carlton’s tearoom? No wonder you don’t want to give up that job. Why were you meeting there?”
“The store just hired us to try to get more publicity before Christmas, and Reg put me on the account team.”
“Won’t that keep you kind of busy? Your evenings and weekends are already spoken for.”
I came out of the stall in my princess dress and approached the mirror to adjust my crown. “I’ll manage it. Besides, I think it was meant to be. I dreamed last night that Reg came to talk to Hadley and me about this, and I froze. Hadley gave some ideas and got put on the team. So this morning when it actually happened, I knew just what to say.”
“You stole Hadley’s ideas?”
“It was a dream, so they were my ideas. I must have just put them in Hadley’s mouth. That’s probably a sign that my subconscious doesn’t have a lot of confidence in my own ideas, or something like that.”
“I don’t suppose you dreamed any lottery numbers, did you?”
“After today, if I do, I’m definitely playing them.”
The real gig, unlike the nightmare, went without a hitch. I tensed when we started the song that I’d messed up in the dream, but I got my verse right without missing a word or a note. The complex harmonies and melodies of the madrigals were a challenge to sing, but they were a lot of fun and added to the festive atmosphere of the medieval-themed party.
I was still tired when I got home, but not as tired as I’d been in the nightmare. I hung up my garment bag, took a shower, and got into my pajamas before getting into bed.
When I woke, I was on my sofa, wearing the clothes I’d been wearing in the nightmare. Two garment bags were draped across the back of the sofa. What was going on?
Three
Feeling rather disoriented, I got up and got ready for work. Janet smiled a friendly greeting when I passed her in the lobby, like she knew me. I got to my desk and checked my e-mail to find a message from Dan. “Well, that happened,” I muttered softly to myself. So it hadn’t been a dream. Or was this a dream?
I pinched myself, but it didn’t change anything. Through the doorway in my cubicle, I saw Hadley and Jason walk past, their heads close together as they probably discussed tea and champagne at Carlton�
�s. I couldn’t help but sigh wistfully.
Dan’s message let me know that he’d arranged an interview for later that day. Since this apparently was real—or if it was a dream, I had to play along with it—I headed to the Ferris Center. “You came back,” Dan said when he opened the door.
“I guess you didn’t do a good enough job of scaring me away. Here’s a hint: Actually arranging the interview wasn’t the way to do that.”
With such a perfectly straight face that I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or being a master of deadpan humor, he said, “There was always the chance a paying client would have something come up.”
“You really are an optimist, aren’t you?”
He took a step back so I could enter. “Hope springs eternal.”
There was a kid waiting for us in Dan’s office. He had to have been over eighteen if he was part of this program, but he could have passed for about thirteen, with his baby face. His clean-cut appearance and varsity jacket made him look like he could have stepped out of a 1950s malt shop, but upon closer inspection, I saw that the jacket was for band, not sports. An instrument case and a backpack bulging with books sat by his chair.
“Natalie, this is Dwayne,” Dan said. “Dwayne, this is Natalie, the PR person.”
He sat behind his desk while Dwayne stood to shake my hand. “Thank you so much for taking the time for this,” I said.
“Hey, anything for Dan the Man,” he said. Dan had already turned his attention to the paperwork on his desk, but I could have sworn that he almost cracked a smile.
I took the seat next to Dwayne and got out my notebook. “Now, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself and how you came to be here.”
He glanced at Dan, as though asking for permission to speak, then began, starting somewhat hesitantly. “I’ve been in foster care since I was five. Haven’t seen my parents since then. I turned eighteen two weeks into my senior year, and I was in a group home that couldn’t let me stay. But someone directed me here, and here I am. I’ve got a room and food, and I don’t have to worry about rent. I’ve got a job, and I’m saving that money for college. I’m hoping to get a music scholarship.” By the end of the speech, he’d warmed up and was speaking confidently.
Twice Upon a Christmas Page 2
