A Gigolo for Christmas

by A M Jenner

  Jenny continued to screech, scraping her fingernails sharply down Sheila’s face and cutting four deep parallel gouges across her cheek. Jenny’s date attempted to corral her and contain the damage. The scratches began bleeding profusely, as face wounds usually do, and Sheila felt the blood dripping onto her shoulder and soaking through the velvet.

  As she struggled with her date, Jenny’s gown slid sideways, showing a good deal more of her body than should be seen in public. It was painfully obvious that she had chosen to wear the slender gown without the benefit of underclothing of any sort, but she didn’t seem concerned by her exposure. Her entire concentration was on Sheila, and exacting retribution for her ruined dress.

  As the guests tried to avoid the melee, someone bumped into the television and toppled it from its perch atop the medical books. It landed face down on the floor accompanied by the sound of broken glass.

  The other guests at the party ceased their conversations to observe Jenny’s performance with a great deal more interest than they had shown in anything else this evening.

  “What is going on here?” The thundering voice stilled Jenny’s rant, and everyone in the room turned toward the source of the voice. Sheila’s eyes widened as she recognized Mr. Kooper, the complex manager, standing in front of four of the widest, blue-uniformed chests she had ever seen.

  Chapter Three

  Sheila felt the dampness from her bleeding cheek soak through the velvet on her shoulder. Staring daggers of malice at Sheila, Jenny furiously tugged her dress back into a semblance of order. The silence was broken as Jimmy Thomas scooted between the police officers’ legs and darted over to his mother, saying, "Mama, come see! Santa Claus is peeing off the edge of the balcony, and it makes a big splash on the sidewalk!"

  One of the policemen moved out of Sheila's line of sight, presumably to deal with the urinating Santa. A second officer moved past Mr. Kooper and asked, "Who lives here?"

  Sheila raised a shaking hand. "This is my apartment, Officer."

  The officer eyed her cheek, then muttered into the radio handset that hung at his shoulder.

  “How did you get injured?”

  Sheila indicated Jenny. “The punch bowl fell, and she got splashed, and she got mad at me and started screaming, and when he,” Jenny pointed out Jenny’s date, whose name she hadn’t heard, “tried to calm her down, she got really...physical, and I ended up with this.” She waved her hand in the direction of her cheek. “Could I get a damp towel, please?”

  The officer nodded. “So the red stuff on her gown and the floor is punch?”

  “Yes.” Sheila grabbed a hand towel out of the linen closet and wet it with cold water from the sink, holding it to her aching face.

  “Did you hurt her?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, she did,” Jenny insisted. “She squeezed my wrist. I thought she was going to break it!”

  “Chill out, Jenny,” her date advised. “She didn’t even break the skin. And she didn’t touch you at all until after you grabbed her hair.”

  “I’ll want statements from everyone here on the physical altercation between the two women,” the officer said loudly enough for everyone to hear. The officers still standing at the door nodded. The officer in charge returned his attention to Sheila.

  "So you live here, and all of these people are your guests?"

  Sheila swallowed nervously. "Yes, sir. It's an office Christmas party."

  "And Santa Claus out there is part of your party, I take it?"

  "I…I think he must be, but I didn't arrange for him to come." Sheila looked around frantically. "Miss Jacobson? Is Santa supposed to be here?"

  Miss Jacobson’s sneering voice came from somewhere near the Christmas tree. "Well, who else do you think hands out presents at Christmas, especially when there is a young child at the party?"

  The officer who had taken charge looked around the room. "Your landlord, Mr. Kooper, informs me that this party has violated your apartment complex’s curfew, and that several of the neighbors have complained about the noise. He says he tried to call you, and that you refused to answer the phone, so he called us instead." He checked his watch. "It is also past legal curfew for the city. Therefore, this party is over. I would like each of the guests to gather their personal belongings, leave their name and address with one of the officers at the door, and leave quietly please."

  "Hey! What about our Christmas presents?" Jimmy demanded. "We’re all supposed to get Christmas presents!"

  "Everyone may leave with their present. Pass them out quickly."

  The guests stood unmoving; the shock at having a party they were attending being raided by the police was identical on each face. Anders moved quickly to the corner by the paper Christmas tree, picked up a present, checked the tag, and read the name out. The owner shook off his emotional lethargy and moved forward to accept the gift. He then headed for the bedroom.

  "Where you going, Sir?" The head policemen asked.

  The man whirled to face the officer. "I'm just going into the bedroom to get my wife's wrap,” he said.

  The officer nodded and motioned to one of his officers. "Officer Morgan will oversee the retrieval of outerwear from the bedroom."

  Sheila closed her eyes in agony as the officer accompanied her coworker into her bedroom. The gentleman emerged a moment later with a fur that he placed around his wife's shoulders. They spoke briefly to the police officer at the door, and left. The other guests silently took turns filing into the bedroom to retrieve wraps, and collecting their gifts, while they gave statements and information to the police.

  Miss Jacobson appeared silently at Sheila’s side, and hissed into her ear. “Come into the office tomorrow and clean out your desk.”

  Sheila turned to her in amazement. The woman was wearing her ermine wrap, and clutching a large shiny red foil-wrapped box. “Did I hear you right? You’re firing me?”

  “Yes, of course. What did you expect after a fiasco like this?”

  “On what grounds? You can’t fire me for not throwing a good party, especially when I tried to explain to you that my home wasn’t big enough for entertaining, and you refused to listen.”

  “Watch me.”

  She swept to the door, pushed herself to the front of the line, then gave her name and statement to the police, and left.

  By the time Anders had finished passing out the gifts, paramedics had arrived to treat Sheila’s wounded face. The guests, busy retrieving their outerwear and leaving their information with the officers at the door, ignored her entirely.

  Sheila allowed the paramedics to bandage her face, but refused go to the hospital. She did promise them that if the bleeding continued, she would go to urgent care. She wasn’t in mortal danger, and knew it, but she didn’t feel as though she could leave until the situation had reached its final resolution for the evening.

  As they packed up their equipment to leave, Mr. Kooper spoke to her quietly but with a steely resolve. “Expect an eviction notice. You have damaged the apartment with the holes in the walls from all those pins, and the punch stain in the carpet. You have broken the curfew, and you have violated the maximum occupancy for the apartment, which is against the fire code. Compliance with all local ordinances, as well as with the curfew, are both points in your lease, as is damage to the apartment. By the time we’ve patched the walls, painted over the patches, and replaced the carpet, I expect there won’t be anything left of your security deposit, and you’ll owe the complex for damages as well.” He turned his back on her and left the apartment.

  A quiet voice in her ear startled her as Anders spoke from behind her. “Where are your towels? I can get that punch out of the floor as long as it’s done before it dries.”

  “In the linen closet. But...that’s red Kool-Aid on white carpet. Mr. Kooper is right, it will never come out.”

  Even though she couldn’t see his face, somehow Sheila knew Anders was grinning at her. “Watch me,” was all he said as he moved off.


  He returned moments later with his tuxedo jacket missing, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and carrying Sheila’s largest bath towel and a pitcher of water. He took out his cell phone and snapped a photo of the punch spill, then poured half of the water on the punch, and dropped the towel on it, walking back and forth across the towel until it was sopping wet.

  Anders then took the towel to the kitchen sink, wringing it out as dry as he could, and repeated the process with the second half of the pitcher of water.

  A second towel and a third half pitcher of water had removed nearly every trace of the punch from the floor, leaving only a slight pink cast to the carpet. By the time Anders was finished with the third towel and the last of the water, there was nothing left on the carpet but a slightly damp place.

  “I don’t believe it.” Sheila stared at the spot, even bent down and touched it. There was no trace of the bright red stain.

  “Your towels may stain if you don’t rinse them out before they dry, but...”

  “But you’ve saved my carpet, and the deposit, too. And you’ve ruined your tux in the process.”

  Anders looked down at his pants, which were covered with wrinkles and white fuzz below the knees, then shrugged. “Nothing that can’t be fixed with a good cleaning and an iron.”

  “At least let me pay to have it cleaned for you,” Sheila offered.

  “I can’t do that. It wasn’t your fault it got a little dingy. I was reaching for the punch too, you remember. Listen,” Anders continued, “I’ll come by next week when I’m dressed for it, and we can patch the holes and repaint the walls for a lot less than whatever your deposit was. What day will be good for you?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “What? Helping clean up? Because I helped make the mess.”

  “You didn’t help push pins in my walls though, that’s not your mess to clean up.”

  He grinned again, the dimple on the left side of his mouth playing peekaboo with her. “No, but I heard that witch fire you, and I want to help you out, just to spite her.”

  “That witch started the evening as your date...”

  “It’s all right. If you’ll notice, she’s left without me, and I never plan to see her again. Now. What day is good for you?”

  Sheila’s shoulders drooped. “Any day will work, as I just got fired. I’m supposed to go clean out my desk first thing in the morning, but I don’t have anything there to clean out. What’s your work schedule?”

  “I work evenings. If it’s all right with you, I’ll be here at nine tomorrow morning.”

  Sheila nodded. She knew she was close to tears, and didn’t want to end the evening by crying in front of total strangers, especially ones as nice as Anders.

  Anders rolled his sleeves back down, retrieved his jacket from where it was draped across the half-wall, and spoke briefly with the police officer at the door before he left her alone with the uniformed men.

  The two men who had been doing door duty left as well, taking Santa and Jenny with them. The officer who had been in charge all night returned his full attention to Sheila.

  “Now, there are a good many charges that might be able to be brought against you and your guests tonight, but I think you’re going to get very lucky.”

  “I am? I need some luck.”

  “Your landlord has declined to press charges for disturbing the peace. Because the party immediately quieted and dispersed, I am also inclined not to write you a ticket on the same count.”

  Sheila began to breathe a little easier.

  “The only person who seems to have been damaged in the physical confrontation between you two ladies is yourself. Miss...” he checked his notepad, “Jennifer Cameron decided not to press charges against you after I pointed out that there were ample witnesses in agreement that she started it and that you could press charges in return, and you were the more injured party. Will you be pressing charges against Miss Cameron?”

  “No. But I’m never inviting her to my home again, either.”

  The officer chuckled. “Fair enough. Now, the only property damage seems to be to your personal property, and not to the apartment itself, other than the punch stain,” his eyes flicked to the damp place in the now pristinely white carpet, “which seems to have disappeared. That could be construed as tampering with evidence.”

  “It had to be cleaned up while it was still wet, so it wouldn’t stain, but Anders took a picture of it before he started cleaning. If you need it for evidence, maybe you could get him to email the picture to you.”

  The police officer made a notation in his book. “Do you know his last name, offhand?”

  “Adamson, I think, but I only heard it once, and that was hours ago.”

  He nodded and continued writing. “Well, it’ll be listed in the paperwork I get tomorrow from my colleagues.

  “Now, charges of indecent exposure and exposing themselves in front of a minor will be made against Miss Cameron and Santa, but you don’t come into either of those, other than as a witness in the case of Miss Cameron. As neither of the exposure incidents were planned elements of the party, you as host are not held to be legally responsible for them.”

  “That is good news.”

  “Santa, however, is clearly drunk, so we need to investigate the alcohol content of the punch you were serving.”

  “There wasn’t any alcohol in the punch.”

  “Oh, come now, Miss Everett, there’s always alcohol in the punch at the office Christmas party, and everybody always denies adding it.”

  “There wasn’t any alcohol in the punch. There isn’t even any alcohol in my house. Um, no, that’s not true. Several of the guests brought me bottles of wine as hostess gifts. They’re all in the refrigerator, unopened. But I don’t drink, and I didn’t put any booze in the punch. Furthermore, I spent most of the evening in the kitchen within reach of the punch bowl, and I didn’t see anyone else add anything to the punch either. I’d offer to let you take some of the punch to the lab to prove it, but it all ended up on the carpet.”

  “Do you mind if I search your kitchen for empties?”

  Sheila shook her head, which made her cheek hurt. “Feel free.” She waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen. “While you’re in there, would you mind getting me...there’s a cloth bag in the door of the freezer. I’d like it to put on my face.”

  The officer made quick work of searching not only the kitchen, but the rest of the apartment as well, then returned with the cold bag from the freezer. Sheila placed the soothing coolness gently against her battered cheek.

  “No evidence of alcohol having been added to the punch, either by you or by someone at the party, unless one of the guests carried the bottle away with them. So what was in the punch?”

  Sheila sighed. “Two cups of sugar, two packets of cherry Kool-Aid, two quarts of water, and two liters of 7-up. I made up a fresh batch each time I refilled the bowl. If Santa was drunk, he got that way before he got here. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he actually arrived at the party, other than making it as far as the front porch. I never saw him come inside.”

  The police officer made a few more notes, closed his book, and put it away. “In that case, I think we’re done here, at least for tonight. You’ll be notified if anything else comes up.” He pulled out a business card and scribbled on the back of it.

  “This is the number that will be on the report I’ll be filing. Anything official that comes to you will have this number somewhere on it. The courts are all pretty backed up, though, and it will probably be at least a couple of months before you will hear anything.”

  “Um...Mr. Kooper said he was going to evict me...”

  “That’s between you and him, and depends on the terms of your lease. It’s not a police matter, but do call the number on the front of the card when and if you have a new address. They’ll need to know the report number, and they can update the records.”

  He turned and left the apartment, closing the door behind h
im.

  Sheila followed the officer across the room and locked the door behind him, then closed the window. Without the body heat of the guests, the apartment was now quite chilly. She heard the heater crank on, and turned off the light in the living room. All she wanted to do now was sleep and forget tonight had ever happened to her.

  She flipped off the kitchen light and made a quick trip to the restroom. There was no new blood on the bandage, so she assumed her scratches had stopped bleeding. She’d take a good look at them tomorrow when she changed the bandage, and see how badly she was hurt. For tonight, she just wanted to go to sleep and get this day over with.

  Sheila walked into her bedroom, automatically skirting the bed as she crossed to the window and pulled it closed, then closed the blinds. She quickly pulled her ruined velvet pantsuit off, and draped it across the top of the laundry bag where it hung from the stand in the closet. Maybe a good dry cleaner could save the expensive outfit. It was at least worth a try. She pulled on the favorite oversized sweats she preferred to use for nightwear then made sure her windows were latched and the door had been locked.

  Emotionally exhausted, Sheila went in to her bed and sat down...falling all the way to the floor. Somehow, her bed had gone flat. Too sick at heart to discover the reason, Sheila pulled her pillows and blankets around her and cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Sheila’s cell phone alarm went off, and she reached out to silence it. She forgot that she was sleeping on the floor, however, and her fingertips jammed very painfully into the side of her plastic dresser.

  She reached up and grabbed the phone, shutting the alarm off as she pried her eyelids open for the day. Sheila made quick work of a shower and breakfast, then surveyed the apartment which had been pristinely clean just last evening. It was an utter disaster, and other than the roof still being attached, she didn’t think a tornado could do more damage.