“If you insist.” With a loud and dramatic sigh, David tucked a dish towel into his belt as a makeshift apron, then plunged into the task set out before him.
Just as Jessica had hoped, it didn’t take him long to get into the swing of it.
“Am I getting senile,’’ he asked, reaching for a second lump of the brown mound that was a ringer for Play-Doh made from mixing all the colors together, “or is this actually fun?”
“If you think this is fun, wait until you see the pictures.” With that, Jessica sneaked out from behind the refrigerator, where she’d been waiting for just the right moment, her Minolta hidden behind her back. She snapped a photo of David in his apron, a rolling pin in one hand and a joyous gleam in his eyes.
“Hey, promise you won’t show that to anybody, okay? Promise?”
“Oh, everyone knows today’s man is as comfortable in the kitchen as he is in the board room.”
“I’m not particularly comfortable in either, thank you. And if you even try to show that to anybody, I’ll get out that Polaroid I took of you in a bathing suit a few months after Sammy was born.”
“David!” Jessica squealed. “You told me you destroyed that!”
He shrugged. “I lied. But enough about blackmail. Look, do you really want me to make such a simple house? I mean, this building we’re making here is entirely without architectural interest.”
Jessica peered over his shoulder. “What have you got in mind? A deck?”
“Good idea! And how about a gazebo, for out back?”
“I love it. Hey, maybe we should make the world’s first solar gingerbread house.”
“Why stop there? How about a string of gingerbread condos?”
“I know! A gingerbread shopping mail!”
David leaned over the wooden cutting board, concentrating on cutting out the stiff dough he had just rolled out. He was attacking this project with the same intensity as his vicarious labor pains during Sammy’s delivery, complete with scrunched-up face and heart-wrenching moans.
“You know, I’m trying my best, but the way this is going,” he observed, “I have a feeling this may end up looking more like a gingerbread housing project than anything you’d want to see go up in our neighborhood.”
“Maybe we could make it a gingerbread burnt-out building,’’ Jessica suggested.
David surveyed the dozen or so carefully cut pieces of dough that were arranged on three cookie sheets, their lines straight, their angles exact. “So what do you think?”
“Oh, it’s gorgeous, David. Really. Sammy’s going to love it.”
“Speaking of love,” David suddenly said, wearing a sheepish expression as he turned to face her, “I guess I haven’t mentioned lately that I love you. A lot.” He reached over and tentatively placed his hands on her shoulders.
“I haven’t either,” Jessica admitted. She leaned against him, nestling her head against his shoulder. Just like old times. “You know, I’ve been so busy lately with all the shopping and wrapping and everything that I guess I’ve kind of been ignoring you.’’ She knew it wasn’t that simple, and she knew that he knew it, too. But this was Christmas, when everything was supposed to be merry and bright. “But I love you, too.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s a good thing.”
“Oh, really? Why?”
“Because I just smeared Crisco all over your sweater.”
“Oh, well, that’s what dry cleaners are for.”
Jessica hugged David more tightly. She had almost forgotten how good it felt, a moment like this. It seemed so precious, yet it was as simple as the two of them hugging in the kitchen, cloaked by the solitude of late night, surrounded by those special smells like fresh cookie dough and Christmas tree needles.
“You know,” she went on, “I thought I’d remembered every single detail, but I forgot one.”
David was surprised. “You? Mother Christmas herself? What could you have possibly forgotten?”
“I should have gotten some mistletoe.”
David placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face toward his.
“Oh, yeah?” he said in his sexy, husky voice, the one that always made Jessica’s knees get all wobbly. “Who needs mistletoe?”
* * * *
Sammy, too, became infused with his own pint-sized version of yuletide glee. And while his was based on pure greed rather than goodwill toward humankind, Jessica was willing to take anything she could get.
Besides, his eagerness to buy the whole Santa Claus bit, lock, stock, and barrel, was kind of sweet.
“Mommy,” he said, his soft, Cabbage Patch face growing tense one evening, “we don’t have a fireplace.”
Jessica took advantage of this rare moment of vulnerability to put her arm around his tiny shoulders. The two of them were sitting on the couch, half watching the Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas special, half admiring the tree. In the middle of the coffee table was the magnificent gingerbread house that had been assembled two days earlier. It positively reeked of charm with its crooked chimney, its lopsided candy cane fence, and its haphazard collection of gumdrops gracing the roof. Sammy was pretty charming, as well, decked out in his turquoise pajamas, the ones with the white plastic feet. His bath had left his skin even softer than usual, smelling sweetly from eau de Mr. Bubble. This was one of those times that motherhood seemed a gift more wonderful than anything that could be wrapped and put under a tree.
“I know we don’t have a fireplace,” Jessica said consolingly, knowing perfectly well where his train of thought was leading, “but don’t worry. We’ll find a good place to hang our stockings.”
“But Mom, how will Santa get in if we don’t have a chimney?”
“The window,” Jessica was quick to respond. One of the true rewards of motherhood, she was finding out as Sammy became more verbal, was being able to come up with a snappy answer to a tough question. “Santa will come through the window. Probably that one over there, the one that’s closest to our Christmas tree.”
Sammy nodded. He had accepted her answer, thereby accepting her as the authority. “I got a good idea. We can put the stockings under the tree.’’
Jessica considered his suggestion with great seriousness. “That is a good idea, Sammy. That way he’ll be sure to see them. Now, what about the snack?”
“The snack? What snack?”
“We have to put out some milk and cookies or something for Santa. And a carrot for the reindeer.”
“For Rudolph,” Sammy said wisely. “Hey, I got a good idea. We can have spaghetti and cookies for Santa’s snack.”
“That is a good idea.”
Jessica gave him a little hug. This Santa business was worth its weight in gold. It was easy to understand why generations of parents had clung to it for so long. With the threat of the big guy’s refusal to stop at the house of a naughty little boy hanging over them since Thanksgiving, December had been a relatively peaceful month. Soon it would be time to start building up the Easter Bunny.
“We’ll put the spaghetti and cookies near the tree.”
“And the carrot,” Sammy reminded her anxiously.
“And the carrot.”
Jessica settled against the back of the couch, and Sammy leaned closer against her. It was all so wonderful: his warm little body, swathed in his fuzzy polyester fire-resistant pajamas; his candy-like smell; his willingness to believe even the most incredible fantasies, all in the name of childish wonder and imagination.
Then there was her responsibility for creating wonderful Christmases whose memory he would always cherish. Baking and decorating the gingerbread house, tucking the stockings under the tree to compensate for their builder’s lack of sensitivity and foresight, storming Toys R Us by day, and wrapping, taping, tagging and ribboning long past the eleven o’clock news. . . .
It was all worth it. Ah, Christmas. It truly was a magical time.
“Mommy?” Sammy asked softly. His voice was beginning to fade, a sure sign that sleep was on its w
ay. That was a gift that a mother welcomed at any season of the year.
“Yes?” Jessica prepared herself to spread more wisdom down through the generations. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Mommy?” Sammy said again, his blue eyes bright with curiosity, “Does Santa Claus poop?”
* * * *
“Ho, ho, ho!” chortled Jessica as she approached Nikki, the merriness in her voice complemented by her bulky shopping bags from Macy’s and Casual Corner and The Gap.
She made her way through crowded Houlihan’s, weaving between the tables filled with last-minute Christmas shoppers who had decided to tuck away their credit cards long enough to wolf down a cheeseburger and a good, stiff drink. Nikki was sitting right next to the window, admiring the first-rate view of the Roosevelt Field shopping center’s double-decker parking lot.
“Very original,” Nikki replied dryly. “Ho, ho, ho to you, too.”
Despite her bah-humbug comment, however, she looked pleased to see Jessica. It had been quite some time since the two women had gotten together. The last time, in fact, had been the evening the McAllisters and the Sloans had gathered at Jessica’s house for Family Night. Since then they had both succumbed to the wife-and-mother syndrome, where the needs of one’s children and one’s spouse came first.
Tonight, however, was special. They had set this night aside as their chance to go out together, just the two of them. Their goal was to celebrate Christmas, but also to remind themselves that there was indeed life beyond their picket fences. And what better place than Houlihan’s, a restaurant that was as much a part of mall life as Woolworth’s, Buster Brown Shoes, and B. Dalton?
“It certainly looks as if you’ve got everything under control,” Nikki commented, nodding toward Jessica’s stuffed shopping bags.
“I do now. Nikki, I got the cutest toy for Sammy. It’s like a kaleidoscope, but it has clear glass in it so that whatever you look at turns into these really neat designs. And I got him a darling set of Ghostbusters pajamas. Gee, you don’t think it’ll give him nightmares, do you? And I found the perfect thing for David, a briefcase kind of thing that’s really like a portfolio.
“Oh, I’m so pleased with everything I found! Of course, I’ll be up all night, wrapping, tagging, and ribboning. But as far as right now goes,’’ she finished, looking around for their waitress, “what I really need is a little Christmas cheer. What are you drinking?”
Once she had ordered a glass of white wine from their waitress, a bouncy purple-eyelidded young woman who insisted that they call her Sissy, Jessica folded her arms in front of her on the table. She turned her full attention toward her friend.
“Well, Nikki, tonight I have a little surprise for you. I just hope it’s something you like.”
“Uh-oh. I hope it fits me better than last year’s surprise. Silk underwear was a lovely idea, but really, Jess, size small!”
“I managed to exchange them.” Jessica was startled by her friend’s uncharacteristic grumpiness, and she was tempted to pout. But she quickly reminded herself that it was Christmas. “Besides, the surprise I’m talking about isn’t your present.”
“Well, it just so happens that I have a surprise for you, too. One that’s not a present, I mean.”
“Oh, really? You go first, then.”
“No, Jess. I think that this time, you’d better go first.” She raised her hand to flag down the waitress, “Sissy, do you think I could have another gin and tonic here?”
Jessica was wriggling in her chair, so excited about the little tidbit she was about to drop that she was as squirmy as Sammy. She was certainly too wrapped up in her own giddiness to notice how quickly Nikki had downed her drink. “I hope you don’t mind, since this was supposed to be a chance for just the two of us to get together, but I’ve invited somebody else to join us tonight.”
“You mean David?”
“Uh; no, not quite.” Jessica could feel her cheeks turning as red as the silk balls she had just bought in Macy’s Trim-a-Tree shop. “It is, uh, someone of the male persuasion, however.”
This was the first time she had managed to get a reaction out of Nikki since she had sat down. Her eyebrows jumped up so high that they were concealed by her sleek black bangs.
“Really, Jess, I had no idea you were dating. When did all this start?”
“Oh, Nikki, it’s nothing like that.” In her attempt to scoff effectively, Jessica waved her hand in the air, putting so much enthusiasm into the gesture that she knocked over the triangular-shaped cardboard advertisement for exotic mixed drinks. “He’s just a friend, that’s all. In fact, he’s the brother of the first of the Sea Cliff murderer’s victims. Remember? I told you about him a few weeks ago, when I first met him. His name is Terry Nolan. I’ve been helping him find his way around town, ever since he got here this fall. He’s been clearing up his brother’s affairs. He’s, uh, also looking into the, shall we say, circumstances of his demise.”
Despite the matter-of-fact tone she had purposely adopted, Nikki continued to look skeptical. “Oh, yes. Now I remember. I keep getting an image in my mind of sparks flying across the room.”
“Really, Nikki, he’s only a friend.” The annoyance that Jessica was feeling was beginning to creep into her voice. “Look, wait until you meet him. You’ll see. He’s just a charming guy, that’s all.”
By the time she spotted Terry making his way across the restaurant, looking rather uncomfortable, Jessica wasn’t sure if she had talked him up too much or made him sound like some kind of charity case.
“There he is now,” she said, pointing him out with her chin as if using that particular body part to point were somehow less rude that relying on one’s index finger.
She was relieved that, as she tried evaluating him through Nikki’s eyes, she saw that he was looking especially attractive this evening. He was wearing black-and-white baggy pants in a bold geometric pattern, a similarly disheveled-looking jacket, and an orange T-shirt. His spikey hair reached higher toward the stars than ever; had there actually been gel in his immediate past?
All in all, if she hadn’t known better, she might have concluded that he was a man on his way to a photo session for the new Aramis ad. Or perhaps even someone going out on a date.
“Sorry I’m late, Jess,” he said breezily, pulling up a chair and joining them without further ado. “Parking around here is murder, isn’t it?”
“Christmas shoppers. We’re a special breed,” Jessica said cheerfully. “Most of us are such fanatics that we shop until they throw us bodily out of the stores.” She cleared her throat, realizing for the first time how nervous this was making her. “So, uh, I guess I should introduce everybody. Terry, this is Nikki. Nikki, Terry. You’ve both heard a lot about each other, so you can leave out that part.”
Jessica was amused by the way Nikki was checking Terry out as the two of them shook hands. And if she was reading her friend correctly, it appeared that Nikki liked what she saw. Terry, meanwhile, appeared to be taking this whole thing in stride. He flashed his grin, said hello, and immediately directed his full attention toward Jessica.
“Well. It’s nice to see you like this. Without feeling we have to act all serious, I mean.”
Jessica smiled her agreement.
“And I must say, getting out like this suits you.” Terry was looking her over approvingly. Jessica hoped her flushed cheeks would be mistaken for a side effect of her wine.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” she said in a husky voice.
“You know, I never really got the chance to thank you for doing that volunteer thing over at the S.O.S. offices. Everything got so crazy after the police called me about Ditzler’s murder. . . .”
“What’s this?” Nikki sounded surprised. “Are you two working for the police department now?”
“Actually, we’re working with the police department.” Terry grinned, his eyes still fixed on Jessica’s. “Well, sort of, anyway.”
“You know, Terry, I’ve been thinki
ng. The fact that Ditzler and your brother were on opposite sides of the Hempstead Harbor incinerator issue might not entirely throw out the idea of that being the common thread. Maybe all it means is that we still have a lot to find out.”
“Hmmm, it’s possible. You know, I thought about that, too. But then we’re back to the same old problem, Jess. We have to find out more about my brother and Ditzler and the incinerator project. We’re back to square one, trying to figure out why the killer chose both of them as his victims.”
“Maybe that’ll help us find out who he’s got lined up for next time,” Jessica commented dryly.
“Hopefully we can piece it all together before there is a next time.”
“So, Terry,” Nikki suddenly interjected, “did you manage to get any Christmas shopping done tonight?”
She did not seem particularly interested in hearing his answer;
Instead, it was clear that she was simply trying to be included in at least some small part of the conversation. Jessica realized then how rude they had been. And since she was always anxious to have everybody like everybody else, she was only too glad to step back.
“Actually,” Terry replied, “I’m one of those hateful people who waits until the very last minute. I’m talking Christmas Eve. I just can’t face it until then. And what I usually end up doing is getting the exact same present for everybody on my list.”
“That certainly sounds efficient,” Nikki observed. “If a bit impersonal.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. What I try to do is give something that I’d like to get. That’s pretty personal, isn’t it?”
“It depends on what it is.”
“Well, let’s see. Last year I gave everybody a copy of a spy thriller. One in which every one of the characters turned out to be someone other than who you thought they were.”
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