Let It Snow

by Heidi Cullinan

  Sometimes Mimi would frown and say, “But Marcus lives in Minneapolis. He’s a lawyer,” and when that happened, Frankie would gasp with surprise—every time—and sound excited and happy that she’d clarified this for him, like she’d solved all his problems. It always made her so happy.

  By the time Marcus returned, Frankie had nearly finished, and he let son and mother take over conversing while he styled. Once that was done he worked on her makeup, repeating the same method as he had with her hair, talking about product and skin care and going into even greater detail about the proper maintenance of mature skin. “They make some amazing products now that repair surface damage. The commercials make it sound like you’ll seem twenty, which is ridiculous, but what you’ll notice right away is that you look radiant, which is what actually matters. There’s nothing wrong with a mature look, but we don’t want anyone thinking you’re tired or worn. Our skin has come with us all the way through our journey, so we need to treat it right. What I love about the product we have now is that a few swipes of cream can have the effect of what used to be hours and hours of spa treatment.”

  “I love going to the spa,” Mimi said, her voice soft and happy. “I love getting my face and hair done and getting a massage.”

  “You deserve it too,” Frankie agreed. “Now we’re going to apply foundation. Watch in the mirror how I use this sponge to get an even texture.”

  Marcus watched Frankie too, seeming to be impressed, but Frankie couldn’t be sure. It didn’t really matter, of course, but Frankie hoped he was. He wanted Marcus to feel he was taking good care of his mother. Though honestly, he was having more fun doing up Mimi than he had working over the modeling team last year. Which was why, when he took Mimi on a tour of the dining hall to show her off when she was done and every semi-functional woman present demanded chair time, he didn’t even blink, simply told Kyle to arrange them in half-hour appointments and send them down to the salon.

  He ended up being booked so deep Marcus had to arrange with Kyle for him to come back the next day. The care-center manager showed up too and had to instill some rules about how many people could be in the salon at a time and personally arranged Frankie’s “assistants” from the care-center staff, as suddenly the defunct salon was the only place anyone wanted to be. Frankie declined to leave for dinner, not even letting Marcus get him something from the café, insisting he was fine with whatever they were serving on-site so long as it wasn’t made of cow. Since the evening meal turned out to be meatloaf, the cook whipped him up a turkey sandwich and a side salad, which honestly was such a relief after all the chili that it tasted like it came from a gourmet chef to Frankie.

  When he finally climbed on the back of Marcus’s snowmobile to ride back to the cabin, it was after enduring a crush of goodbyes from his legion of adoring fans and making many promises to return the next day and give everyone a turn in the chair. His last glimpse of the care center featured Mimi Gardner sitting in a chair by the faux fireplace, upright and prim and beaming as she preened for her envious friends.

  It was one of the best days Frankie had ever had in his life.

  This was all before, when they got back to the cabin, Marcus pulled him into the corner, kissed him hard and held him in a tight embrace.

  “I haven’t seen her that happy in years,” Marcus whispered after kissing him again. “She was radiant. Absolutely radiant. You did that, Frankie—that was you.”

  That had been Frankie, and he wasn’t even going to be bashful about it. “I can’t wait to go back tomorrow. I almost hope they total my car so I have to earn enough money to buy a new one before I go home.”

  “Speaking of that.” Marcus pulled back enough that he could look at Frankie as he spoke. “Jed got your car out of the ditch and into the shop. Needs a little bit of body work and a new belt that he says had nothing to do with the storm, and you’ll be ready to go. Though he did say it looked like you weren’t keeping up on your scheduled maintenance.”

  Frankie snorted. “I don’t do scheduled maintenance. I got that car for five hundred dollars, and when it dies I’ll spend five hundred dollars on another piece of shit. Cars are not something I waste time or money on.”

  Marcus gave him a severe look. “If you’re going to be driving up here, even only around Duluth, you need a reliable car.”

  “This is what my father keeps telling me. It’s just that I’d rather spend my money on other things, like clothes and hair products and tools for my station at the salon.” He realized what it meant, that his car was fixed or would be soon. The joy ricocheting inside of Frankie leaked out like air from a balloon. “When did he say he’d be done with my car?”

  “A couple days.” Marcus’s hands slipped to Frankie’s waist. “That said, the roads only just now got their first pass with the plow, and that second storm is heading in tomorrow morning. We also still don’t have a fuel truck, and when we do, the mayor’s talking about rationing that for generators. The Minnesota DOT isn’t recommending travel on any of the northern highways, either. They’re not officially closed, but they’re emphatic about emergency traffic only for now. Plus he has to order the belt.”

  Frankie smiled, his mood lifting a bit. “In that case, I can hardly leave tomorrow.” Thank God.

  Marcus smiled back, his own crooked and shaded with wickedness. “I’d say anything before Sunday is optimistic at best.”

  Heart rushing up into his throat again, the thrill of the day and the promise of several more just like it made Frankie giddy. “Oh, Marcus. I had so much fun today.”

  “Me too,” Marcus said, and brushed their lips together.

  The crackle of the fire and the murmur of Arthur’s and Paul’s voices in the kitchen were the only connections to reality. Frankie shut his eyes and drank in the moment. He wished he could stay. He wished it harder than he’d ever wished anything in his life.

  Marcus stroked his hair. “Don’t think about leaving. Like you said, we have a few days. Let’s enjoy them.”

  “Okay,” Frankie agreed.

  They went to bed early that night, and though they had sex, it wasn’t half as intense as it had been the first few times because they were both so tired. They came together like a sigh, reconnecting after a big day. It felt like the way sex would be if they were able to be together long term—an extension of their relationship, a reconnection at the end of the day before they went to sleep.

  A few days, Frankie thought as he drifted off. He vowed he’d make every minute of every hour count.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE NEXT MORNING when Marcus woke at six thirty, Frankie was already up and making breakfast. He’d started the generator on his own—Arthur had showed him how the day before—and was working away at the stove. As Marcus shuffled into the kitchen, Frankie smiled and handed him a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning.” He kissed Marcus on the lips and went back to flitting about the kitchen, looking radiant and eager. “I only need a quick shower and ten minutes to get ready, and I can head back into town. I know they didn’t make my first appointment until nine, but I wanted to get in there and clean up, do some sterilizing of equipment and maybe put up the Christmas decorations Kyle told me he’d find.”

  “Sure. I’ll hurry up getting ready.”

  Frankie waved a hand at him. “Oh, finish your coffee. It’s early yet. I’m just being an eager beaver.”

  Yes, he was, but Marcus doubted Frankie knew how much his enthusiasm meant to the women he was selflessly giving his time to. Though as Marcus and Frankie came through the main doors of the care center at eight, even Marcus was surprised at the reception waiting for them.

  Marcus had anticipated the women, but some of the men had arrived too, wanting to see what was going on. Most notable, though, were the family members from the community who stood behind the ladies with appointments—younger men and women clutching their mothers’ and grandmothers’ shoulders. Some of them looked eager, but a lot of them looked slightly wary, as if
they weren’t sure they should trust whatever this was that was going on.

  If Frankie was surprised by it all, he didn’t say anything. He greeted everyone cordially, going up to women he’d seen the day before and complimenting them, telling them they looked even more beautiful than he remembered. There was a moment of tension when women who’d already had their turn insisted they needed touch-ups, but Frankie smoothed that over, promising he’d teach the staff how to replicate some of his tricks and that, weather permitting, he’d be back the next day as well. Waving, he disappeared down the hall, turning down everyone’s help, even Marcus’s, promising he’d be ready at nine.

  Not sure what else there was to do, Marcus went into the dining hall to have breakfast with his mother.

  She did look lovely, and she smiled right away when she saw him, touching her hair and blatantly fishing for compliments. While she had to ask several times what Frankie’s name was, she remembered his service to her with a clarity that made Marcus feel warm and relieved. She seemed aware too that she had been the first of the women to receive Frankie’s highly prized services, and she enjoyed this fact immensely. In fact, she was so caught up in her hair and makeup experience from the day before that she had to be reminded, repeatedly, to eat.

  By the time Mimi went back to her room, the salon had opened, and when Marcus checked in on him, Frankie was in full swing. He spared Marcus a bright smile and wave, but he didn’t miss a beat as he carried on his conversation with an almost miniature woman suffering severe osteoporosis who sat in his chair, communication hampered significantly by the fact that she could do little more than mumble. Frankie somehow managed to make the incomprehensible sounds into conversation, and the woman’s eyes shone with a light that grabbed at Marcus’s soul.

  “Feel free to leave me here,” Frankie called to Marcus after apologizing to his client as he turned away from her. “I have everything I need for the day, and they promised me lunch. I mean, you can stay, but I figure this has to be pretty boring for you.”

  Watching Frankie turn one of the most depressing places on Earth into a whirlwind of joy was about as far from boring as Marcus could imagine, but he knew there was likely plenty of work to be done in the rest of the town, so he nodded to Frankie and said he’d see him at noon. Maybe the care center had offered lunch, but Marcus intended to bring him something far superior from the café.

  That was where he headed after the care center, and he didn’t get to sit down before he was given a job. The mayor looked like he’d had about three hours of sleep at best, and he had a whiteboard propped up in the corner booth with a list of jobs for volunteers. A lot of it was shoveling drives and sidewalks for the elderly and single mothers, so that became Marcus’s morning, helping out with a few other guys, though he also sent a quick text to Arthur and Paul, letting them know there was plenty in town to do for able hands.

  One of the places Marcus ended up unburying was what he and Arthur and Paul loosely referred to as the Logan Projects: the old brick schoolhouse some do-gooder had converted into apartments twenty years before with a grant for historical buildings. Dependent on the city for upkeep, it rarely received any, and it had become the lowest rent place in town. As a result, it was a hotbed for meth labs, theft, and domestic violence. Its residents were among the most downtrodden in the county, and even when they weren’t drug addicts and thieves, they tended to be angry, judgmental, and eager for easy targets. Marcus assumed he was going to be called faggot before the job was done and had resigned himself to the fact.

  He did think he heard a few catcalls out of one of the windows, but to his surprise one of the residents, a weary young man Marcus thought he’d seen on a mill job once, came out with a chipped plastic shovel to help. The man ended up working alongside Marcus, and after half an hour’s quiet, he spoke.

  “So,” the man began when they took a break for water. He leaned on the handle of his shovel as he squinted at Marcus through the now-only-faintly-blowing snow. “Hear that next storm is due tomorrow afternoon. Could be twice as bad as this one was.”

  Marcus nodded, having seen the same forecast on his phone that morning. No way the town was getting its power back by then, meaning a lot more people were going to suffer, and all he could think about was how glad he was that Frankie would be staying longer. “Figure that’s why the mayor’s in such a panic.”

  “State’s due to send the Guard up with two tankers and a shit ton of food. Should be here by the afternoon.” He pushed back the rolled brim of his stocking cap. It was one of the church ladies’ hand-knit ones, and it was well-worn, sporting a few holes. “Word is you have some fancy Minnesota hairdresser stuck at your place.”

  Marcus nodded, remembering exactly now who this guy was. His working partner was Carl Felderman, one of the loggers like he’d thought. Carl was about ten years Marcus’s junior, another local who had left and come back, though there was a lot of mystery around the reasons for his return. He had a new wife and a little boy and another kid on the way and no money at all. Some people speculated if they were both his kids. None of that mattered, not really, but when the guy was asking about Frankie, everything seemed to.

  “Heard he’s been at the care center the last few days, doing all the old ladies up fancy. Not taking any money, even when people try to pay him. Everybody’s talking about it.”

  Marcus met Carl’s gaze. “That’s true.”

  “Thing is, my wife—” Carl shifted his feet in the snow, then grimaced and shook his head. “Nah. Forget I said anything.”

  Something at the edge of Carl’s tone melted Marcus, and he eased his posture. “Go ahead.”

  Carl looked trapped and miserable. “She’s been real down. Baby’s due any day, and she’s big as a house and real unhappy. She’s always carrying on about how ugly she is, and she isn’t, but—” He cut himself off and almost glowered. “No. Just forget it, really.” When Marcus started to protest, he held up a hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m not thinking, because of course he don’t have time, and I don’t got any money extra for that. Not with what somebody from Minneapolis would charge, and not with Christmas and the baby coming. And don’t say he would do it for nothing, because Cindy ain’t no old lady in the home, so it’s not the same. I don’t even know why I said anything.”

  Marcus did. Frankie was spinning miracles, and Carl wanted to give a little of that sparkle to his wife. Empathy tugged at him, but a full comprehension of North Woods pride, not to mention his own prejudice given what he knew or suspected about Carl, kept him in check. The awkward silence between them now was heavy, though, so Marcus decided to diffuse it sideways. “He really is something to see. I half-wished I needed coloring and makeup so I could sit in the chair.”

  Carl laughed and shook his head. “Cindy’s pretty with no makeup and a T-shirt. She never thinks so though, and she’s never happier than when she comes home from the Cut ’N’ Curl. She pours over all them pictures too before she goes, talking about highlights and such.”

  Marcus could relate. “This all started because my mom wanted her hair colored. I feel bad, because she’s been saying that for months, but I figured she’s in the nursing home, why bother? If I’d known how much happier it was going to make her, I’d have done it before she said anything.”

  “It’s just hard, you know? It’s all so expensive, and up here, we don’t make shit for pay.” Carl grimaced and started shoveling again. “I’d send Cindy to a spa every day if I could, but I can’t afford that. Shit, not like we even have one. That Cut ’N’ Curl is such a damn dive.” He aimed the shovel at the stairs, where broken toys lay as half-covered lumps under the ice and snow. “Suppose we should clear those next, huh?”

  The conversation drifted off hair after that, but Marcus kept thinking about Carl’s wife and how much Carl wanted to give her something special. Yes, maybe Carl was from the place in town most likely to house the kind of people Frankie feared, but every instinct Marcus had told him Carl and Cindy weren’t tho
se kinds of people. Or maybe he’d been sucked up in the nostalgia too. He felt torn wanting to do something to help a miserable young man and protecting his lover. After a lot of mental wrestling, though, Marcus gave in. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt for me to ask him.”

  Carl considered this a moment, then nodded curtly. “I’ll give you my cell number. Just don’t worry if he says no. I won’t tell her anything unless it works out.”

  Feeling like he’d done his duty, Marcus left it at that.

  The café was bustling as he returned, and it took him half an hour to get his order for himself and Frankie to go. Arthur and Paul were there, on their own break from delivering meals from the church to shut-ins. They were eager to hear all about Frankie’s exploits and were almost annoyed that gossip in the café had more intel than Marcus did.

  Frankie wasn’t all anyone was talking about, but he was a hot topic. Certainly a big-city hairdresser donating charitable services to the town’s elderly population was a heart-tugger, but that he did his task with such enthusiasm and care had everyone abuzz as well. One emotional woman who’d just come from Logan Manor and seen Frankie at work kept wiping her eyes and calling him a Christmas miracle. On December sixth that felt like a bit of a stretch, but it was a good story and one Logan as a whole seemed to be very attached to.

  Not once, not a single time, did anyone mention that Frankie was probably the most obviously gay man outside of a sitcom cliché.

  All this swam inside Marcus’s head as he headed back to the center with their lunch, where at first he worried Frankie had already eaten, but he needn’t have worried, as Frankie’s lineup was even deeper now than it had been upon his arrival. His plate of food from the cafeteria was untouched after an hour’s wait, and while Frankie still looked buoyant, he also looked wilted.

  Marcus spoke—somewhat harshly—to the manager, and shortly thereafter the doors of the salon were closed and he and Frankie sat together inside, Marcus nudging him to eat in between his rapid-fire recitation of the morning’s report.