“Now, if you will excuse us, Nat and I are moving Mom back to the garden room.” I extend my arm to shake my father’s hand. This is my closure.
Raymond Parker places his other hand on my shoulder and mumbles behind a fake tan and an even faker smile. “Son, be safe over there.” He nods apologetically at Nat and clears his throat. “Natalie, please wish your parents a Merry Christmas and tell your mother the lasagna was delicious.”
I place my hand on Nat’s back and lead her into Mom’s little room. We silently gather her quilts and slippers and all the picture frames Aunt Patty displayed throughout the room. I stand over Mom’s bed and smile down at her fragile body. I wonder if she’s even coherent . . .
“Claire, you would be so proud of Zacharie!” Natalie exclaims while packing up the records.
“Nat? Can Mom even hear us?” I ask in a hushed voice.
“Of course she can! Look!” Natalie falls in next to me and takes Mom’s hand. I look down at her pale face and her dark blue eyes, alert and content. Her limp hand rests in Nat’s palm, donning decorative nail polish.
“Why are Mom’s nails painted red and green?”
“Because it’s almost Christmas, ya dork!” She turns her attention to Mom and giggles. “Claire and I have manicures every Sunday night. Her French manicure was so last week . . . we decided something a little more festive would be in order!”
“You come here every Sunday?” I’m shocked – Nat’s the type of girl that surrounds herself in fun and rarely gets too serious, but she’s actually the most profound creature I have ever met.
I furrow my eyebrows in amazement and she nods quietly. And it’s in that silent nod of affirmation that my feelings are confirmed – I’m in love with her.
“Natalie, you’re everything.”
“Je suis ton étoile, n’est ce pas?”
2002-12-17
0900 hours
Nat’s old bedroom is like a mind-trip to Saved by the Bell. In fact, lying below a poster of Mario Lopez and sporting my morning boner is just too much.
I shake Natalie’s shoulders and say, “I’m taking a shower. Let’s get going – Christmas in NYC today.”
“In a minute. I can’t move my legs,” she whines.
Last night we decided to sleep over at Nat’s house because it was so late and frankly, I couldn’t suffer an hour train ride without getting my hands on her. Judy laid out bedding for the sofa downstairs, condoning my blatant intentions to screw her daughter. I tried to remain as respectful as possible by not allowing any sex noises to creep from Nat’s room. So . . .
I fucked her on the bathroom counter with the shower running.
“Nat, Mario is staring at my dick,” I say standing from her bed and stretching my arms.
“Mmm, I bet.” She rolls over and smiles. “Doesn’t he have the most amazing dimples?”
“Get out of bed and come help me with this,” I demand while posing like Superman.
“Why Zach Parker, I had no idea you had a thing for Slater.” She giggles while pointing to my manly erection. I jump on top of her, making the twin bed creak and shake, and run my tongue over her bare stomach. I tickle her ribs and she flails her arms, begging for me to stop.
“You’re bad. Turn over – I want to spank you!” I say as a knock raps against the bedroom door.
“Natalie, Zach? I made blueberry pancakes and turkey bacon. Come down and have some breakfast?” Judy calls through the door.
“Turkey bacon,” I whisper.
“Give us twenty minutes! Zach is showing me how to clean his weapon.” Natalie snorts. I shake my head and laugh into her chest, a little embarrassed, but incredibly turned on by her candor.
“Oh good Lord,” Judy mumbles.
I stare down at Natalie’s glowing face and move the strand of hair covering her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?” I ask hypothetically.
“Don’t leave me.” She sighs.
1400 hours
“Thank you for taking me to Virgil’s,” I say as Natalie and I walk hand in hand down Fifth Avenue.
“Eh, what’s not to love? There’s something very erotic about watching you go at a slab of ribs . . . the way your tongue licks the sauce from your fingers and then you dramatically suck off the tiny pieces of meat from the bone – hot.”
I grab her and bring her close to me, ignoring the customary flow of sidewalk traffic. Christmas shoppers zigzag around us, cursing under their breath. Taxi drivers press their horns, pretzel vendors scream, the Salvation Army bell rings, street performers sing – but all I can hear is her laughter. Ma femme.
“Let’s go see Santa,” Nat suggests with big, child-like eyes.
“Perfect. Macy’s?”
“No, at the fucking North Pole.”
We pick up some hot chocolate and roasted cashews on our stroll down Fifth, doing our best to avoid the crowds of people gawking at the window displays. Of course when we reach Macy’s, the line to see Santa is jammed packed with snotty-nosed kids screaming and crying. We’re the only idiotic adults without kids meandering through a candy cane village, but it’s moving rather quickly. Why? Because there’s like fifteen Santas hidden in different gingerbread houses. What a scam.
When we reach our designated North Pole, Natalie plops down on the iconic red velvet lap and waves me over.
“Ho ho ho! C’mon dude, you’re never too big for Santa,” he quips.
I casually sit on the little bench next to St. Nick and cross my arms, trying to hide my enthusiasm.
“Have you been good this year?” Santa asks Natalie.
She adorably bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head. “Not really. But he has.” Natalie winks at me and I smile.
“Ho ha ha, the beautiful lady’s been naughty!” Santa turns to me and asks, “What can Santa bring you?”
I don’t even acknowledge him because a) he’s thirty and flirting with my girl and b) I’m looking at what I want.
“All right, smile for the camera! Folks, look at the camera. You need to look at the camera for the picture. Look at the camera. Look at the – oh fuck it.” The Elf takes the photo and Santa pushes me off his bench.
“Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas! Exit is to your left.”
I purchase the photo from the Elf and stick it inside my coat pocket. Natalie and I finish the whimsical candy cane tour and take a ride on the vintage escalators before rushing out into the pandemonium of 34th Street.
“What next?” I ask.
“Ice skating!”
“Ah shit. Really?”
“I know you played hockey in high school . . . and later, I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue,” she whispers.
“Deal.”
2100 hours
“Zach, you make me so happy.” Natalie places my arm around her shoulders as we curl up on the sofa to watch Gremlins.
We spent the afternoon ice skating in Bryant Park. I only fell once, and Natalie decided to take that opportunity to straddle and kiss me. We received some applause from skaters and then a pimply-faced employee actually blew a whistle.
On our way back to the apartment, we bought a red Christmas tree (Nat’s choice of course) and some seafood paella from Gristedes. After two bottles of wine and a loaf of bread, we decided to screw dinner and just have sex.
“Kiss me,” I say as I pull her onto my lap. I’m leaving in the morning and I want to tell her, but instead, I keep my promise and simply kiss away the dread. Time has no meaning when I’m with her, but knowing that I will soon be without her is torture. Our lips part and she starts to cry. “Ma femme, please,” I beg.
“I wish, I wi—” she says between gasps of air.
“Tell me. Tell me what you want, but please don’t break my heart.”
She shakes her head firmly as I wipe away every single one of her tears. I cradle her in my arms under the red glow of the lighted tree and we watch the entire movie – in perfect silence.
2002-12-18
0700 hou
rs
Twenty minutes of scorching hot water penetrating my skin and the only pain I feel is heartache. The moment I step out of the bathroom, she’ll know . . . she’ll know that I’m leaving her. Fucking, fucking shit!
I turn off the water and quickly dry myself off. I wrap the towel around my waist and dart into the bedroom. I’m going to tell her – I need to see her face when I tell her I love her.
I push open the door and yell her name excitedly, “Natalie! Natalie, I love—”
The bed is empty.
I run into the kitchen and shout her name. But there’s no answer. Her red coat is missing from the hook by the door and it suddenly becomes very clear. She can’t bear to see me leave and frankly, I don’t want her to. I slowly walk back to the bedroom to get dressed and pack my shit.
I smile when I reach the dresser and find a small plastic snow globe on top of a piece of paper.
My dearest Zacharie,
The cab company called while you were in the shower. They’ll be here at 8:15 to take you to JFK. They also mentioned some sort of coupon that can be found in the Yellow Book – but I accidentally spilled a bottle of wine on the phone book ages ago, so no need to waste your time searching for a $5 coupon!
What else? Oh yeah, a couple of weeks ago, I slept with this guy named Mike – it was a freaking Christmas party and the eggnog was super strong. From what I remember, he only lasted like five minutes and I gave him Angie’s number. Relax.
The snow globe is mine – leave it! Don’t worry, I got you one as well and packed it safely in your sexy pair of black briefs. Did I ever mention you’re wasting a perfectly fine ass in the Marine Corps? You should really be modeling underwear – goddamn you’re hot!
There’s also a bottle of Virgil’s barbecue sauce wrapped in a pair of my recently worn red lace panties. Two things you LOVE to suck off your fingers ... I know, I know – I’m a naughty girl!
Okay, so when you get sad or lonely, just remember...
I will be your light in the darkness and the pleasure during your despair. I am more than just your star, I will forever be your beacon. (My French is getting better.)
Come home to me.
XO,
Nat
2002-12-24
Camp Hammond
Kabul, Afghanistan
Lt. Parker-Operation Lab Coat
1600 hours
“HEY PARKER – you ready for hoops or what?” Dr. Harry Fisher is a dental surgeon with the Navy and my bunk mate – basically we’re fraternity brothers sharing a dorm room and serving our country.
My temporary home in Afghanistan is the most coveted base in the region. Camp Hammond is a Combined Forces base near the U.S. Embassy in Kabul. It is known for its impressive amenities – like toilets, wifi and karaoke night. It was previously some sort of palace, but the military decided to pour cement and drop in a few shipping containers to accommodate the men and women serving in Afghanistan.
I work mostly with Navy officers in the medical unit, but we share resources and housing with officers from every branch of the military and a small number of civilian administrators. Tonight we have a challenging playoff game with the dickheads in the Army, and then our holiday surf ‘n turf meal will be served up, desert-style. Don’t ask, don’t tell – the motto of the mysterious lobster in a landlocked country.
“Fuck yeah! I hate that those guys,” I say, labeling a box of steroid cream. I don’t really hate anyone, but it’s important to keep an image.
“Damn straight! What time will you be done?” Fisher asks.
“Bro, I have like five hundred tubes to label and scan. I’ll meet you on the court around five.”
“Fucking assholes! Okay, I have a root canal and two bicuspid implants. Later, Parker.”
Fisher is from Texas but doesn’t have a twang or a drawl. In fact, most of the time he speaks like Eminem from the mean streets of Detroit. It’s all about the image, yo.
I finish up my last box of fungal cream and check off a few of the inventory requests to be shipped to Kandahar. Huh – that’s odd. Ten requests for Zovirax . . . awesome, a herpes outbreak. And, my work here is done.
I take my laptop into the little storage closet to read my emails. An office chair was in here when I arrived, so I’m not the first one to use this space as a quiet retreat.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Elf
Just so you know, the UPS guy asked me out. Stay tuned.
Chloe’s here! She’s staying with me until New Year’s but I’m trying to devise a sneaky plan to get her to move in with me. Remember how I told you she’s on tour with a band? Well she is.
We’re going to Connecticut tomorrow and I promise I will stop by and annoy your dad. Maybe I will tell him I’m pregnant and need some money for diapers and shit . . .
Hey, remember when I put your ball sac in my mouth and I sucked on your nuts like a greedy little squirrel? Good times.
Molly says “hi!”
I actually like putting your balls in my mouth. Hearing you moan like a woman is such a turn on.
I saw the movie Elf with Will Farrell. Hilarious! You would love it and I heard a rumor that Peter Billingsley (the guy who played Ralphie in A Christmas Story) is in the beginning. I didn’t see him, but I was too busy shoving Junior Mints and popcorn in my mouth.
Okay, I have to get back to work before my VACATION!! Have a great game and kick the Army’s ass.
XO
Nat
PS-I turned the UPS guy down.
I quickly write her back before she turns off her computer.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: UPS guy?
Nice try. I know for a fact that the UPS guy is Raul Sanchez. He’s married with two kids and lives in Long Island City.
Hey, I read somewhere about this company that can make a plaster mold of a penis and then create a silicone dildo for your pleasure. Interested?
Tell Molly thank you for the cigarette lighter and the package of socks. Can you also tell her I’m not in 1970-Vietnam?
Chloe sounds hot!
xo
Z
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Merry Christmas!
Zach,
I finally got your email address from Natalie and I wanted to wish you a very Merry Christmas! You are loved and missed and we want you back soon. I would like to send you a package – whatever you want, so please let me know.
Love,
Angie
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Joyeux Noël
Zach:
I’m not sure when you will get this. Actually, I’m not even sure I know how to send an email across the world. How does that work exactly?
Anyway, Dave and I sent you a few presents in the mail to make your stay a little more comfortable. I also sent a photo of Natalie when she cut her bangs so short they spiked out like a buzz cut. She will kill me, so let it be our little secret.
I stopped by your house to pay a quick visit and to drop off some gingerbread cookies. Your mother is as beautiful and peaceful as ever. There was a sweet visiting nurse that gave her an I.V. of something and painted her nails. Claire is a fighter, and I see where you get that wonderful Dumas strength.
We love you like a son and we pray for your safe return.
Merry Christmas,
Judy and Dave
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Zach dildo
Of course I’m interested. Let me know when it’s in production . . . I’m sure there are plenty of people willing to fly to Afghanistan during a war to make a mold of your penis.
And maybe it was a FedEx guy. Don’t be jealous.
Okay, I have to pack now!
XO
Nat
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Joyeux Noël
Judy,
Thank you so much for your email. This is my private email account on my personal laptop so I get them fairly quickly.
Thank you for the update on Mom. She is an extraordinary woman that is selfless and courageous. I can only hope that I am honoring her by being over here and not there with her.
I look forward to the package. Receiving mail, any kind, is truly the highlight of my day.
Have a great Christmas and don’t forget to give Nat her present from me.
Love you both,
Zach
I shut down my laptop and place it back in its case. I really need to start some sort of electronics detox because in six weeks, it won’t be this easy to just read an email on the fly. I hurry back to my quarters on the north side of camp after stopping by the bazaar for a last-minute gift.
Fisher and I have two beds, one desk and a small sink and mirror. We also have a 13” television that shows crap from the Armed Forces Network. The room itself is actually quite accommodating for our needs and I try to focus on the positive . . . like my trunk full of pictures and letters from Natalie. She must write and mail a letter every day because during my short time here, I’ve become the envy of most of the officers in my unit. Not only is Natalie the hottest thing to invade the Post at Camp Hammond, she also sends things that require an explanation.
This morning I picked up two letters from Nat, one letter from Aunt Patty and an envelope from Natalie full of homemade snowflakes with instructions to: throw them in the air like you just don’t care.
I change into my USMC t-shirt and basketball shorts and sit on my bed to read the letters.
December 19, 2002
My dearest Zacharie,
You’ve been gone for a day. Your Princeton sweatshirt is the only thing I have/had that smells like you. I slept with it, brought it to work and wore it to the grocery store. Then I made the stupid mistake of wearing it to Starbucks. I was standing in line sobbing uncontrollably when a hurried customer spilled his grande bold all over my chest. Your sweatshirt smells like Sumatra. No more Zach. Je n’ai pas rien.
The Album: Book One Page 10
