Emily served some rolls that pop out of a can, and which I love, and more coffee. She also served up Christmas stockings for Ben and Allison.
“Grandma, where did you find these?” Ben stroked his stocking as if remembering it by touch.
“I found them yesterday.” Emily said with great satisfaction. “I think they’ve been here for years, obviously your mother never missed them.” Emily gestured with her coffee mug to my stocking, “That one is for you, hope you don’t mind, it was Donald’s.”
The old fashion knit stockings were delightful because they were such a homely contrast to the rest of the sleek Craftsman, modern, and completely tasteful home. Ben’s stocking featured a lively elf, mine, a snowman. It was perfect. Emily had stuffed the stockings with Godiva chocolates, oranges and small toys. We each found a miniature car that ran on the floor by dragging it backward and releasing it. Ben unwrapped a yo-yo.
I almost cried again.
By eight o’clock, the sun came out, and illuminated the brown stakes of the grape vines. The mustard between the lines of vineyards had turned green, from all the rain. I sat in the living room, curled up with my coffee and gazing out the windows.
“We usually start out this way, the two of us.” Emily sat down next to Ben on the couch. “Ben indulges me by acting the little boy, and appreciating my silly toys.”
Picturing Emily as silly was difficult, but I kept a straight face.
“A single moment of happiness.” Emily stroked his hair.
Ben and Emily were scheduled to drive down to the City for their family Christmas and early dinner as was I.
“Merry Christmas.” Emily gave me a warm hug as we all left - them in their finery, me in yesterday’s clothes. My skirt still reeked of turkey grease. It had been the best twelve hours of the season.
“I think she trusts you.” Ben nuzzled my hair. “Which is pretty exceptional.”
I drove to my house under the hazy shade of winter. Low mist dragged through the valley, but the sky was clear, the roads were dry. What a lovely beginning. Emily was kind to include me.
I took my time changing my outfit at my own house. I ate more Godiva chocolates and put together the paper work for Owen to sign. All I’d need to do was print at the office.
Rosemary’s Mercedes was parked in the otherwise deserted parking lot.
I stepped into the office and Rosemary flipped from her solitaire game to the opening screen for our local MLS.
“Oh hi.” She greeted me.
“Hi.” I remembered Rosemary commenting that her family was away for the holidays. “away” being the whole of her geographic explanation. For a woman who traveled the world, she was fairly vague as to the location of her own offspring.
“So you have an escrow.” She said as a way of greeting.
“Yes, I put in the papers a couple days ago. All cash, it should go pretty quickly.”
I headed to my own office to access the paper work for Owen Spencer’s Purchase Agreement.
“Good for you.” Rosemary called.
I was tempted to call back, don’t forget the black seven on the red eight. We are all very good at solitaire, there is little else to do while waiting for the phone, or waiting for the client who is running late, or waiting for someone to call the office. Some agents play so many games of solitaire they play to beat their own time. I once suggested an office-wide solitaire tournament, but no one will admit how good they were at the game.
Owen has made no fewer than seventeen offers on seventeen different condos. So I wasn’t holding out for a miracle on this, the eighteenth offer, but I was willing to take another chance that this time, Owen was sincere. That’s the hallmark of our business – we are always ready to re-shuffle the same deck and start a new game.
I pressed print, and wandered back to the lobby to chat, while I waited for my papers to print.
“So have you thought of being friends with Katherine?” I suggested.
“She’s a snob.” Rosemary said dismissively. She started a new game and began clicking on cards as she talked. “And she teases me about my hobbies.”
“Come on, the time you erased your computer hard drive with your healing magnet bracelets was pretty funny.”
“Those bracelets are a wonderful way to balance your energy field.” Rosemary pulled up to her full height – she’s five foot seven - and gave me a haughty stare.
“Sorry.” I retrieved the papers and folded them into a New Century Realty binder. This would be a most excellent gift – the exiting of Owen Spenser from my immediate concern.
“Well, Happy Holidays.”
Rosemary nodded, concentrating on her new game. “Merry Christmas, Allison.”
One could ask, during this holiday season, Allison, do you have any clients you actually enjoy? I enjoy Ben.
“You’re late.” Debbie greeted me and she wrenched open the front door. Jingle Bells raged around us because Debbie stood smack in the center of her holiday floor mat. Debbie’s sweater read Merry, Merry, Merry.
“This is a family gathering, and you are part of the family, you could at least come on time.” She accused.
“Had to work.” I said succinctly. Had to cuddle with Ben. Had to drink some more coffee and admire the old vines that swooped up and down the rolling hills right outside Emily’s living room windows. Had to cuddle some more.
I stepped over the mat to avoid another raucous chorus of Jingle Bells, but mid-step, I felt inner muscles pulling, protesting and refusing to cooperate. I recovered as best I could, and limped towards the kitchen.
Debbie’s nostalgia Christmas tree loomed in the corner of the formal living room, big glass ornaments in pale colors winked in the afternoon sun. The pile of gifts spilled out from under the thick branches like a glacier overtaking the floor. My six nieces and nephews snacked on cookies as they hovered at the edges of the glacier.
“Oh Allison, look at your nails.” Mom, dressed in a festive light green cashmere twin set and charcoal gray slacks, bustled up to me and eyed my bruised face, and of course, the missing nails.
“I had an accident.” I explained.
“Really Allison, you should be more careful.” She chided me. “Now hand me those rolls, there’s barely enough room in the oven to heat them up. You’re late, we’re about to open the gifts and eat.”
I glanced at my watch. Oh, my, it was almost one o’clock. That’s the latest I’ve ever shown up for a family event. Good for me.
“I had to work.” I called after her, but mom was already bustling about. She gave Mary some instructions, called for all the granddaughters to come and help and otherwise took over the kitchen. Mom can’t cook, but she loves to bark out random orders.
“How is that nice Ben doing?” Dad approached me, a glass of eggnog in his hand. I gave him a hug and wished him Merry Christmas.
I grabbed a nephew and kissed him on the head, because he hates when I do that, so I always do.
“He’s fine.” I said. “We’re meeting up at four o’clock to exchange gifts.”
Debbie hustled over to me and relieved me of my gifts, all bagged and tagged, I don’t bother much with wrapping paper.
“I’ll put these under the tree. The boys will act as Santa, it will give them something to do. Merry Christmas Allison.” She delivered a dry kiss to my bruised cheek and didn’t comment on my appearance, because Debbie never does. I am an affront to all she holds dear: family, organized children, clean house, soccer team duty, dieting. I think of her life in terms of those home focused magazines that feature a recipe for a seven layer coconut cake smack up against the diet article promising that you can lose fifteen pounds in twenty seven minutes. Debbie always tries the diets, never the cake.
“There are a few hors d’ouvres left.” Debbie instructed. “Go to the kitchen, we’re all in there, and in about seven minutes,” she check her watch. “We will open the gifts.”
“Fran,” Debbie called out. “We’ll open gifts in about six and a
half minutes. Richard! Where are you!”
I managed to get to the kitchen, grab one chip with onion dip before Debbie hustled us back into the formal living room. My nephew, Tom pulled a Santa hat low on his head and quickly distributed the grown up gifts with the practiced acumen of a Vegas dealer. Richard appeared, looked a little worse for wear, and carefully joined Debbie on the couch. With exaggerated patience he set down his martini glass, then grinned at me as if to show that everything was simply fabulous.
Well, at least, he didn’t tip over, and so far, nothing had caught fire.
Gifts were duly opened and thank yous delivered.
Debbie eyed the small gift bag from me, out of place next to the elaborately wrapped gifts from Mary and my mother. Mary followed Debbie’s gaze at the small bag with the words “Debbie” written on it, and looked up at me, and winked.
I grinned back.
Debbie saved my gift for last. For the most part we all give each other gift cards worth fifty dollars. Everyone was pleased with their gift cards.
Debbie delayed as long as she could, then finally accepted defeat, and picked up the small bag, the last gift. She pulled open the bag and pulled out the tissue paper.
“This better be good Allison.”
“It could be a gift card. I’m really happy with mine.” I responded.
Debbie pulled out the first bracelet and gasped, then the second, then the third.
“Where did you? Oh my God, these almost look real!”
“Almost,” I said quickly. “A little something I picked up. I thought of you.” If they were real, well, when she lost one, it would be that much more tragic. Made me happy thinking about it.
She was silent for a full minute as she gazed at the bracelets. Then she slipped them over her hand and jangled them on her wrist. I had a hit. I hoped to never choose her name again.
Dinner was eatable. Richard was quiet. Allen did not go near the fireplace. I ate olives and the bread because Debbie overcooked the turkey and there was no way I was touching the creamed onions. No one did. Debbie had to take a spoonful to be polite.
I was happy to have to leave by three thirty for my “Four o’clock time with Ben.” The magic word, Ben, galvanized my mother, and she propelled me out of Debbie’s house. She was so happy I had a man this holiday season, she didn’t even admonish me to stay to clean up. What can I say? My new relationship was like an extra gift for her.
We met at my house because it was halfway between the city and Emily’s. Emily was spending the night down in San Francisco, her token of holiday conciliation for her daughter. I had Ben to myself.
I greeted him at the door as of we hadn’t woken up together. “Merry Christmas.” I kissed his cheek.
“Merry Christmas.” He pulled me into another breathtaking bear hug. I snuggled into his chest and was prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon in his arms - corny, but completely true.
“Come on, let’s get a glass of wine and exchange gifts.”
My gift to Ben was large and - un-wrapable, so it was hidden behind my chair and draped with one of my throws.
I poured him wine, set out an assortment of cheeses and crackers and then, when he was settled, I pulled out his gift and whipped off the shawl.
“Ta da!” I said with a flourish.
He squinted at the picture. He didn’t move, he stayed in his seat and simply stared.
“Is it okay?” He was too quiet.
He set down his glass.
“Allison.” He reached out and gently touched the frame, he pulled the painting closer so he could study the swirling blue and purple brush strokes.
“Where did you find this?”
“It’s a Bo Freeman.”
“Isn’t that’s the guy who bought the house?” He didn’t say his house, which I found comforting.
“Yes, and he’s the artist of that painting you bought years ago, I recognized a sketch he made.”
“But he’s,” Ben trailed off. I could tell he liked it and was surprised by it. I loved being able to surprise him.
“He’s very popular now.” I agreed. “Which is why he can buy a house for his sister with cash, but I didn’t think that would change how much you appreciated his work.”
“That you’d remember.” He stood to set the painting safely on a far wall, but where he could still see it. “Should I ask how you managed it?”
“No. Your job is to accept it.”
“Okay, I have something for you.” He handed me two flat envelopes. Did I want a small box with a ring nestled inside? Isn’t that the Christmas fantasy? It is, but not on my list. Maybe on my mom’s list – for me.
I opened the first envelope. It was a colorful brochure featuring a charming Victorian Inn and five sets of theater tickets.
“Ashland, next September.” Ben explained.
“And this?” I held up the second envelope.
“Open it.”
It was a gift certificate for $1,000 to Bloomsbury Books in Ashland.
“I’ve never been to Ashland.” I touched the brochure, the picture of the Victorian style county Inn was almost impossibly perfect. And a $1,000 for books! I blinked back sudden tears.
“I guessed that. We need to get you out more,” he agreed. “And, it would be nice to watch drama on the stage, not in our lives.”
“I agree.” I would love to have normal, but I don’t know what that looks like anymore. And Ben probably rues the day he showed up at my listing in Marin, ready to fix a guest bath room and instead, discovering me.
“It certainly hasn’t been boring.” He read my thoughts.
“Not boring, dangerous, but not boring.”
He picked up his wine and sipped. “I miss you when you’re not with me.”
“You’re with me, now.”
“Nice,” he responded sarcastically. “Really, I don’t think I want to be apart from you.”
“Remember, we agreed to postpone any feelings conversations until Valentine’s Day?” I reminded him. I didn’t want to ruin a lovely moment with too much talk.
“It doesn’t get any better than this.” I insisted, hoping to forestall anything he may suggest that would change my suddenly precious status quo.
But, if we don’t throw in something new once in a while, there would be no story.
“You haven’t been here,” he gestured to my living room, taking in the whole house in his comment, “much.”
“Your house is pretty comfortable.” I said innocently.
“You could stay there.”
“I have been.” I pointed out. Was I purposefully obtuse? Why, yes I was.
“No, stay there. with me.” He struggled. “All the time.”
“Move in with you?” I repeated dumbly.
He nodded, relieved that I guessed. “Yes.”
* * *
My favorite day of the holiday season is the day after Christmas. Everything is over save for the shouting. The stores are still clogged with amateurs, but they are all corralled into Customer Service lines, loaded with returns. That frees up the rest of the store for the real shoppers.
I was pleased Carrie managed to spring herself from the Forbidden Palace, and meet me for lunch.
Owen Spencer had signed the purchase agreement papers, first thing in the morning. He even presented me with the updated paper work from his mortgage broker who, I’m sure, will be as happy as me to see the last of Owen Spencer.
After lunch I planned to spend my certificates from the New Century Party and the family Christmas, at the bookstore. I’m only telling this so you don’t think, after everything that’s happened, that I’m completely pathetic and have no happy moments.
There is a particularly good Japanese restaurant in town, Nagasaki, where Carrie and I met for sushi and decidedly un-holiday food.
I walked into the restaurant and took one look at my friend, with her flushed cheeks and stereotypically shinning eyes, and I knew that my announcement about the house, Ben’s delight
over his gift, my very brief contact with his family, was all going to be dropped like the egg in our soup.
“Patrick proposed.” Carrie announced as soon as the waiter had retreated with our order. She dug into her purse, pulled out a velvet ring box, opened it, and pulled out the ring.
It was (this is my best guess) a seven carat, canary yellow diamond, flanked by like, seventeen clear diamond baguettes. The light caught the center stone and splintered shards of light around the restaurant like an erratic disco ball. Three women across the room looked up. All eyes immediately went to the ring. It was like lighthouse in a fog-shrouded coast. The other women lurched forward, drawn irresistibly towards the light. Carrie was too pleased with her bauble to shoo them away.
She gestured to the other patrons. “Come, look.”
“Oh my God.” Exclaimed one woman. “That’s the size of,”
“A creamer?” I suggested.
“A hubcap.” Said the other one.
“That’s not very romantic.” I defended my friend. “It’s more like the size of,” I floundered for a word. “Satellite dish.”
Carrie slipped on the ring. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Oh my.” I said, wishing for my Dragon Roll right now because I could use something in my mouth to keep it from unattractively hanging open.
Carrie held her hand out, her fingers splayed to better see the ring. “He has great taste.”
I looked at my friend, how happy she was, pleased with her gaudy bauble which meant far more to her than the giver would probably ever understand. I noticed that of all Beverley’s acquired jewelry, there wasn’t one diamond. Not a single ring.
“He does have excellent taste.”
She looked up from the ring, startled. “Thank you. You’re not disappointed are you?”
“About the ring?”
“No, about me getting married before you, because you’re older.”
“That has nothing to do with anything.” I snapped then stopped. I did feel older: mayhem, bad people, and my relatives during the holidays will do that.
“I meant… ” Carrie was saved by the waiter bearing a pink bottle of sake.
“I’m sorry.” I apologized. This is about her. It should be all about her.
Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 03 - In Good Faith Page 24
