Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

by Alexander, Carly

  “I have to know, Greg,” I whispered with my eyes closed. “What are we about?”

  “So far we’ve done just fine without drawing any diagrams.”

  “Really, Greg. I need to know. Does love enter into this?”

  “What do you think?”

  Damn, he was making this so difficult. “I think . . . I think, yes, I may be falling in love with you.”

  He thrust his hand deeper, and for a second I felt as if my entire body hinged on his answer.

  “Then let me love you,” he whispered, kissing my ear. “Let me love you.”

  Bingo! That was all I needed to hear.

  6

  “There is nothing relaxing about a relaxing Christmas with the Greenwoods,” Leo said as we sat at the big dining room table, assembling the votive candles according to Mom’s specs. Leo’s job was to place white votive candles into the glass holders, then sprinkle in clear amber glass beads. Then it was my turn to finish each candle off with a fat gold lame bow. “Really,” Leo went on. “Next year, remind me to book a cruise or a quiet trip to Disney World.”

  “You’re having a great time, and you know it,” I said confidently. “Is it my fault you stay out late every night with Wolfie-poo?” Leo and Wolf had been making nightly pilgrimages to local bars. Sometimes I joined them, when I wasn’t pretending to take care of some catering task with Greg. Aside from that, I’d had dinner once with Mom, but her calendar was so loaded with engagements with her friends that she was rarely around in the evenings. And, of course, Dad was seldom at home. Usually he rolled in from the hospital around ten-thirty and planted himself in the small parlor, where he would stay up until eleven and watch the late news before heading up to bed. Hard to believe he was a prestigious cardiac surgeon. Honestly, he reminded me of a hamster in a Habittrail, going from feeding to sleeping to running on the wheel with unwavering regularity.

  “Let me remind you,” Leo said, “I stay out late every night at home, too. But I didn’t count on having to get out of bed each morning for crafts seminars. Hot-gluing cranberries to foam balls. Dressing muslin angels in eyelet and organza. Sewing white mittens out of felt—”

  “Oh, did you see how the mittens turned out?” I pointed to the main staircase, where Mom had hung the finished garland along the banister. “Mom added gold ribbons to the mittens, then strung them into a garland. She used fresh pine branches and faux ivy with white on the tips. It came together so beautifully.”

  “Can we turn off the craft channel for just a few minutes?” Leo griped.

  “Just as soon as you finish your job there, and don’t scrimp on the beads.” Above our heads, a wreath adorned with gold snowflakes and dripping glass beads hung from the chandelier. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and every corner of the house had been festooned with some type of ornament, display, or garland. The decorations only added to the building momentum of the holiday, which seemed to be cresting along with my intense relationship with Greg.

  “You’re awfully chipper for a girl who’s spending her Christmas with Mumsy and Daddy,” Leo teased.

  Tightening a gold bow, I smiled. “You’re looking at a woman in love.”

  Leo gasped mockingly. “No! No way! You haven’t actually used the ‘L’ word, have you?”

  I nodded. “I am in love with one of San Francisco’s most eligible bachelors.” I hugged myself. “Hell’s bells, I’m in love, Leo!”

  “No! It can’t be!” Leo was shaking his head. “What are you going to do? Holy Christ, do I need to find someone to take your share in the apartment?”

  “I don’t think we’ll do anything so radical right away,” I said. “Yes, I fantasize about staying here and making cute little babies with Greg. But not right away. I mean, we haven’t really discussed the details.”

  “Hold on to your hat, Hester Prim. Are you sure that you and Greg are on the same page?”

  “Sure,” I lied. “We’ve talked about our feelings.”

  “And about commitment? And marriage? And bicoastal living arrangements? And the pros and cons of marrying into another culture?”

  Sometimes a good friend could be a total pain in the ass. “No, we didn’t go that far,” I admitted. “But we have a great time together, and we have discussed our feelings.”

  Leo was still shaking his head.

  “He told me he loved me.” Sort of, but it wouldn’t hurt to edit a few things out. “Leo, you know how guys are. They can give you a complete rundown of last week’s Forty-niners game, but when it comes to detailing their feelings and plans, they choke.”

  “Especially when they don’t have any plans,” Leo said.

  “Nuh-ugh!”

  “Uh-huh.” Now he was nodding like a bobble head.

  I turned away from him and focused on tying yet another perfect bow.

  “Don’t ignore me, because I’m not going away. Look, Madison, if I’m all wrong and you and Greg end up living in a cute little Victorian in Pacific Heights, I’ll be thrilled for you. Ecstatic. But what if I’m right, honey? I’m just telling you to protect yourself. Beware of gorgeous men bearing orgasms.”

  When I winced at him, he shrugged. “Hey, it’s always worked for me.”

  “But it’s not true of Wolf,” I pointed out.

  “True, Wolf is a rare exception. The boy is an angel. It’s his family I need to be wary of.”

  “Are they coming for Christmas?”

  “No, but Wolf is flying to Portugal to be with them for New Year’s. We’ll actually be leaving San Francisco on the same day, so we’ll share a ride to the airport.”

  I nodded. “Okay, why don’t I feel compelled to warn you about Wolf? To ask you if you’ve done a background check and grilled him over his intentions.”

  Leo let out a deep belly laugh. “Because you’ve known him since high school and you can attest that he’s a great guy.” Leo took a deep breath, puffing himself up proudly. “You must admit, you couldn’t have hooked up two nicer people.”

  “Don’t be so smug,” I said. “Wolf is great, but I’m still not sure about you.”

  “Oh, shut up and finish up with those bows! We’ve got that matinee of the Nutcracker, and I told Wolf we’d meet him for dinner.”

  “Don’t forget about my dress,” I said. “You promised to hit the Union Square stores with me before the performance. I’m outta time, partner. Tomorrow is the big day.”

  “Calm down, Cinderella. Your fairy godmother will conjure some magic for you.” He let out a mock sigh. “The things I do for friends.”

  Every year, I looked forward to seeing the Nutcracker ballet, the classic story of a young girl who defends her sorry-looking Christmas gift, only to have it come alive, join her in a battle against a group of inflated rats, then turn into a gorgeous prince who dances her off to the Land of Sweets. It’s a darned good Christmas story—at least the first act—and the familiar music is an incredible source of comfort. I have occasionally wondered what kind of opium Tchaikovsky was smoking when he drummed up that story, especially the weak second and third acts, which seem to be fluffy excuses for dancers to leap on stage and perform a series of pas de deux. And then there is the six-headed king of rats—definitely a villain born of drug-induced hallucinations.

  All the more reason to love the Nutcracker. I rarely missed it.

  I’m not sure that Leo shared my enthusiasm, but he did manage to wake up when I nudged him somewhere around the beginning of Act Three.

  Afterward, over a round of drinks at Top of the Mark, I looked out at the jeweled lights of the city and let the alcohol roll over my tongue. “Wouldn’t it be wild if you and Wolf ended up living here in San Francisco?” I said. “Maybe Greg and I could get a place near you guys.”

  “Ach!” Leo held his drink as if he were one with the glass. “Don’t go off on one of those dangerous fantasies with me as the godfather of your kids. I will not be your labor coach, and I don’t change diapers.”

  “I’m just saying it could be nic
e. All of us together here.”

  “Pullleeze, don’t jinx things for Wolf and me. I really like him,” he said in a mousy voice. “Besides, I like living in New York. I like our new apartment. That is, if you don’t get yourself married off before we can move in.”

  “I don’t think things will happen that fast,” I said. “But I meant to tell you, I just talked to Sugar yesterday. I told her you were softening on the roommate issue.”

  “You what?” His handsome face stretched in a scowl. “You big, fat liar.”

  “But I don’t understand what the problem is. So Sugar is a little bit out there. She’s a kind, honest person, who won’t swipe your valuables, won’t leave dirty dishes in the sink, and she will not dance around with your underwear on her head while you’re not home.”

  “I should hope not!”

  “So you are softening?”

  Leo tossed back the last of his Tom Collins and lifted a brow. “Buy me another drink and I’ll think about it.”

  While I was at the bar, Wolf appeared, looking retro in a black turtleneck and plaid blazer. Plaid. On anyone else it would have looked like a rejected kilt, but somehow Wolf managed to pull it off.

  “Madison.” He approached and kissed me on both cheeks. Somewhere between our reunion and his sleeping with my best friend we’d moved from casual handshakes to European kisses.

  “Nice threads. You are too cool, Wolf.” I patted the lapel of his blazer. “So what are you drinking, you big beautiful man?”

  He touched the paneled bar and told the bartender “Dubonnay rocks.”

  “See? You are the only person I know who drinks cool drinks like that. You know, people in L.A. would pay you to loan them your sense of style.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? The very thing that made me the butt of jokes in high school now makes me the flavor of the week.”

  “Don’t let it get you down,” I said. “I’m still the butt of jokes.”

  “How was the ballet?” Wolf asked as we joined Leo at our table by the window.

  “Fabulous,” Leo said. “Any excuse to watch buff men prance around in tights is fine by me.”

  “Oh, please, tell me you did not spend the entire performance staring at crotches,” I said.

  “Musculature,” Leo said, lifting his tall glass in a toast. “Here’s to tight, well-toned musculature.”

  I pinged him on the shoulder. “You’re too young to be a pervert.”

  “Tell me you didn’t look?” Leo said.

  “That’s beside the point,” I said, straightening my skirt. “But let’s bring Wolf up to speed. We finished our Christmas shopping and wrapped the remainder of the gifts this morning. You should see them under the tree—it looks like a spread from Family Circle.”

  Leo laughed. “It really does! A few weeks ago I would have found that highly disturbing, but now it brings me great tidings of comfort and joy.” He plucked the lemon skin garnish from his glass. “Robin has won me over. Call me anal, but I’ve come to appreciate her whole-hog approach to Christmas.”

  “Well, she’s got little gifties for both of you under the tree,” I said, “so I hope you’re planning to stop by on Christmas, Wolf.”

  “Absolutely. And I’d like to be adopted by Robin, too. Do you think there’s room in her heart for two gay sons?”

  Leo slid an arm over Wolf’s shoulders. “I’ll run your proposal by the boss,” he said.

  “But wait!” I held up my arms. “Let’s not forget the most important event of the day.” I turned to Wolf. “I have been to the mother ship! I scoured Neiman and combed Marcus. I searched Macy’s and Saks. And at last, in a tiny boutique off Union Square, I found it!”

  Wolf rolled his eyes, as if someone in the periphery was going to cue him in. “Oh, dear. Is this the point at which I’m supposed to guess what ‘it’ is?”

  “I found the perfect ensemble for tomorrow night,” I explained.

  “With my help,” Leo added.

  “Really?” Now Wolf perked up. “What’s it like?”

  “I don’t want to jinx it by talking about it,” I said, thinking of the fine lines and textures of my gown. “But I will say, it’s one of the best things I’ve seen by our good friends Dolce & Gabbana.”

  Wolf whistled. “Isn’t that a bit steep? I thought you said you were still on a college budget.”

  “It’s one of Mom’s gifts to me. Whenever I’m home, she lets me go wild with the credit cards.” It was a treat I tried not to take advantage of too much, but I think Mom enjoyed seeing me spend, especially since she’d worked so hard to find a way to circumvent Dad’s cheapness.

  “I tried to talk her into a gorgeous Oscar sheath,” Leo interjected, “but she didn’t like the bare shoulders.”

  “Why not?” Wolf asked. “Your shoulders are fine. Not at all like those brawny girls on the swim team.”

  “It wasn’t the style, it was the color,” I said. “That baby blue just doesn’t work for me, and it ties into one of my lifetime rules: Never wear blue eyeshadow. Never.”

  “Isn’t that a little extreme?” Wolf said.

  “If God had intended our skin to be blue, he wouldn’t have made it the color of bruises,” I said. “Besides, pale blue on a brunette is so tacky.”

  “What about Emma Thompson at the Oscars?” Leo pointed out. “She was heaven, wasn’t she? That sparkling blue bodice and the silky wrap. Her gown was by an obscure designer. Caroline Charles, I think.”

  “Emma looked stunning on the red carpet,” Wolf agreed. “But her gown was a darker blue. A peacock blue, I’d say.”

  “You guys need to remember that Emma Thompson has a lot more gold in her hair than I do. Actually, she’s sort of a taffy blonde, anyway.”

  “When are you going to abandon the boring brown?” Leo asked. “Brunette is so dead. Go red, or even blonde. Do something radical.”

  I touched the ends of my long hair and twisted it around my fingers. “But I don’t want to put chemicals in my hair. At least, not until it turns gray.”

  “I think Madison’s hair fits her personality,” Wolf said. “Many European women actually dye their hair darker. It’s elegant.”

  But Leo shook his head in disapproval.

  “What about Sandra Bullock?” I asked. “Or ... or . . .” Damn it if I couldn’t think of another famous brunette younger than Elizabeth Taylor.

  Leo lifted his glass. “I rest my case.”

  “Well, I am not going radical for Christmas,” I said firmly. “And I trust you two won’t show up with shaved heads or flaming red Mohawks.”

  Leo lifted a hand to his schoolboy do—a short, straight cut, parted to the side and held in place by a miracle gel that seemed to plasticize as it styled. Not that it looked bad, but it took Leo forever to shape, volumize, and tame his hair. “Honestly, I don’t have much left to flame,” he said, “unless we’re talking up in smoke.”

  It was one of Leo’s sore spots, and I thought it was brave of him to draw attention to it.

  Wolf twirled his glass, as if searching for something. “Funny, how we all long to be something we’re not.” He gestured toward his dark hair, pulled back in a thick ponytail. “As a kid I was excruciatingly embarrassed about having so much hair. Hair all over my body, like a bear.” He shook his head. “If only we could transform ourselves.”

  Leo grinned. “Honey, that’s the job of plastic surgeons.”

  “But I mean from the inside,” Wolf said.

  “Ohmigosh, Wolf! That is so what Christmas is about.”

  “Again, in English, please,” Leo prodded me.

  “Isn’t Christmas about transformation?” I said, riding a wave of inspiration. “About making our world a little nicer? Being a bit kinder to people?”

  They looked at me with a mixture of thoughtfulness and confusion.

  “That’s an encouraging thought,” Wolf said.

  Leo lifted his glass and laughed. “Oh, man, you two got it bad!”

  Christmas Eve dawne
d gray and overcast, but we were so busy preparing for the party that we barely noticed the climate beyond the front door. There were tables to move, tablecloths to press, candles and centerpieces to set out just so. Of course, Leo lipped off a running editorial on the torture of preparing for a Greenwood Christmas Party, but I could tell he was loving it.

  “Leo,” Mom said as we popped open canisters of the cookies we had decorated. “I leave you in charge of getting these goodies onto trays in a decorative manner.”

  “Robin, you are a slave driver!” he teased. “But the colored sugars will look elegant surrounded by these powdered-sugar puffs, don’t you agree?”

  Except for a bout of rebellion in high school, I had always enjoyed pitching in on Mom’s parties, working in the shadow of her precision, creativity, and dogged determination. Mom’s secret to successful entertaining had always been to do the work in advance so that she’d have time to enjoy the party. So as we ran up and down the stairs, ironed out creases, and stacked glassware, I had to admit, I was having a good time already.

  “God, I love Christmas,” I muttered to Leo as we smoothed a lace overlay atop the dining room table.

  “Yes, yes, but do you think that’s straight?” He squinted at the table, folding his arms.

  “You know,” I told him, “if things dry up for you at the network, you could always become a consultant.”

  “Shut up and pull your side down two inches!” he barked.

  As Leo stacked china on the dining room credenza, I wandered into the front foyer to gaze up at our Victorian tree. A pile of wrapped gifts flanked the base of the tree in a festive display of velvet bows and satin ribbons that would rival Macy’s window.

  “I love this day,” I called to Leo. “Every Christmas Eve, the air is so thick with the scent of expectation. I’ve always felt that excitement when the gift boxes are stacked up with their shiny foil paper and fat bows. You just want to rip them all open immediately.”

  “I see you ogling the presents,” Leo called. “No fair peeking.”

  I picked up a package wrapped in pale lavender paper. Before I checked the tag I knew it was for me, since Mom had always played up to the fact that I loved purple. “Hmm.” I gave it a shake and heard something rattle inside. What could it be?