A Gigolo for Christmas

by A M Jenner

  Sheila sighed and pulled out a trash bag and began collecting empty plates, cups, and napkins. Her guests had stacked them on the half wall as well as the windowsill and in the corners of her apartment, as well as on the board where the television usually perched - now in an untidy heap on the floor. Quite a few had been dropped in the bathroom sink and tub.

  She unplugged the television and righted it, but one glance told her it was unrepairable. She was picking up the shards of television screen when there was a knock at the door. Now what?

  “Just a minute,” she called out, setting another piece of glass into the discarded deli-tray lid she was using to corral the viciously jagged shards.

  Carefully moving the deli-tray lid to the low counter of her kitchen, she crossed to the door and opened it, then sucked her breath in sharply. James Bond looked just as good in ratty paint-covered sweats as he had last night in his tux. How had he climbed her stairs without her hearing him?

  "Good morning!" Anders said. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

  "Yes I did, how about you?" Sheila moved aside to allow Anders to enter the apartment. He grabbed two large canvas tote bags, and trooped into her living room, filling it completely with his presence.

  "Absolutely! I would never dream about starting a day’s work without a good breakfast inside me." He looked around the apartment. "I see you you've already been busy cleaning up. Where would you like me to start?"

  "I… um…" Sheila took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I guess the Christmas decorations should be taken down. I haven't really made a plan of attack."

  "Christmas decorations it is, then," he said cheerfully. "Do you want me to save them, or trash them?"

  "I don't really have anything for you to save them in, so I guess you'll have to just trash them. I can't leave them up here, and if Mr. Kooper is really going to evict me, they probably won't be any more popular in my new place."

  Anders' face fell. "That's just sad," he said, "having to trash all of these beautiful decorations."

  "On the bright side," Sheila said, "I can always make more next year."

  "Yeah, just think of the size of Christmas tree you could build with a whole year's worth of paper towel rolls! It would rival the one outside the White House!"

  Sheila giggled. "And it would have the added advantage of never needing water."

  She went into the kitchen and brought back a trash bag and a small plastic container, handing it to Anders. "Here, you can put all the pushpins in this."

  "Thanks."

  "While you take down the Christmas decorations, I'm going to go in my room and see if I can find out what happened to my bed last night."

  "Why, what happened to your bed last night?"

  Sheila shrugged. "I have no idea, but when I went to get into it, it had gone completely flat. I need to find the hole and patch it so that I will have a place to sleep tonight."

  Sheila retreated to her bedroom, and began pulling the bed linens off her deflated mattress. She folded each blanket and sheet neatly before setting it in a pile in the corner of the room. As she considered completely flattened vinyl bag, she decided the easiest way to find the whole was to blow the mattress up and see where it was leaking from.

  She straightened the mattress and placed it fairly close to where she wanted the end of it to be, then retrieved the small electric pump from the shelf of the closet. She plugged pump in, opened the port on the end of the bed, and shoved the nozzle of the pump into the port on the mattress before turning the pump on.

  It made its usual noise, which Sheila considered to be entirely out of proportion to the amount of air pushed through it. It was louder than a vacuum cleaner, and the vacuum would have filled the bed considerably faster.

  She settled herself comfortably on the floor, holding the pump securely in place against the mattress. She would like to have had a regular bed, but this was almost as comfortable, and only cost fifty dollars compared to the nearly thousand dollars she would have had to pay for a frame and mattress set of the same size. She was accustomed to the slow leakage of air, and usually topped her mattress about once a month. However, she had never had her mattress go completely flat in the course of one evening.

  Sheila watched as the air found its way through the folds of plastic and began to give shape to the bed. It bubbled up unevenly, which always made her think of the swamp monster in a low-budget science fiction movie.

  After a couple of minutes, she heard a hissing sound coming from near the head of the bed. Leaving the pump turned on, Sheila carefully set it down and moved to the head area, tracking the sound of the leak. It did not take long to find it. A round hole the size of a woman's high heel had been punched into the seam between the top and bottom sections of the bed. Because the hole was at the seam, it would not be able to be repaired. Her entire mattress would have to be replaced.

  Sheila shut off the pump and returned it to the top shelf of her closet, seething in anger. The damage had to have been deliberate. The hole was too high off the floor for the shoe to have caused the damage accidentally. She tried to think which of the women at the party last night might have been angry enough at her to have destroyed her bed.

  As far as she could recall, it had been mostly men who had gone into the bedroom to retrieve the wraps. Miss Jacobson had retrieved her own, since Anders had been busy giving out Christmas gifts even after the time Miss Jacobson had left the party. She had no proof, but knew in her heart she had discovered the correct guilty party.

  She stalked back into her living room. She would have to help with the painting before she could go to the store to replace her bed. As she entered the room, shock froze her place.

  Her walls, once a pristine white in which the tiny holes from the pushpins were barely visible, now sported a multitude of bright pink polka dots. Anders stood in the corner which had once held the Christmas tree, happily smearing more pink goo across the wall.

  "What on earth are you doing?"

  Anders stuck the plastic spreader into the tub of goo, and turned to face her.

  "Patching all the little holes in the walls. Isn't that what I was supposed to be doing?"

  "The walls were white. Now they are covered with bright pink polka dots. The apartment looks a lot worse than it was."

  "The patching stuff goes on pink so you can see where you've put it," Anders explained, "but when it dries it turns white. That's also so you know when it is dry enough to sand the edges smooth to the wall so that the patches don't show later."

  "You promise the polka dots will turn white?"

  "I promise. And I always keep my promises. Have you never painted before?"

  Sheila shook her head.

  "My dad always hired painters. I lived at home until I went to college, and you're not allowed to paint your dorm room. After I left college, I moved in here, where you are also not supposed paint."

  "Well, then you need to learn how to paint. Come over here and I'll teach you the first step, how to patch small holes."

  The patching went fast, and it was kind of fun smearing the pink stuff all over the walls. Just for good measure, they also patched every hole in the rest of the walls, even though Sheila had never stuck any pins in the walls anywhere else.

  While Sheila finished the patching, Anders carried the garbage bags with the party debris down to the dumpster, making extra trips for the television, its glass, and the destroyed air mattress.

  Once the patching was complete, Anders suggested that they could go to lunch to give it time to dry.

  Chapter Five

  “That’s the last of the paint,” Anders said as he tossed the disposable foam brush into the trash can.

  “Are we out of paint, or out of walls?” Sheila asked, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear and looking around her.

  “Both, actually. It’s kind of strange, really, to run out of both items with the same brush-stroke.” Anders laughed. “At any rate, your apartment looks great.”

 
“Great? I wouldn’t call it great. I will concede that it looks the way it did before we started, and that it’s ready to rent.”

  Anders shrugged. “From a landlord’s point of view, that means it looks great.”

  Sheila finished washing out the roller tray, turned it upside-down in the draining rack, and dried her hands. Painting had taken nearly the entire afternoon.

  She couldn’t believe how many different surfaces there had been in her small apartment, and was amazed at the number of corners that had to be painted by hand. They had taken a lot more time on what Anders had called ‘the brushwork’ than they had needed for running the roller over the middle of the walls.

  She was exhausted, and knew Anders must be also. She didn’t even have enough energy to cook herself dinner. She’d have to go out. She blinked her eyes. Eating out two meals in the same day was something she’d not done since she left school. As a matter of fact, unless she counted the school cafeteria as eating out, she hadn’t ever eaten two meals out in the same day. Unless her memory was faulty.

  “I’m too tired to cook,” she announced. “You bought lunch. Let me buy dinner.”

  Anders glanced at his watch and grimaced.

  “I’ll have to take a rain check on dinner. I’ve got to work tonight, and I have definitely got to go home and wash all the paint flecks out of my hair before I go.”

  “Who’s going to notice a few paint flecks? Does your boss inspect your hair when you get to work?”

  Sheila moved close to him, inspecting his hair for paint flecks.

  “You have a few paint flecks, but not many, and they’re really not noticeable.”

  Anders grinned, showing off his orphan dimple.

  “Believe me, if I show up for work with white paint flecks in my hair, it will definitely be noticed. I’m off tomorrow, though. Can I pick you up at six?”

  “Six sounds good.”

  “Dress?” Anders asked.

  “Hmph. You’re the only male I know who would know or care about asking that. Casual. My budget runs to Denny’s, especially now while I’m out of work.”

  “I’ll see you at six, then,” Anders said, “and I’ll be dressed for Denny’s, but since your budget is tight, I have a better idea.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a surprise. I’ll show you tomorrow.” He brushed his lips against her cheek, and was gone before she could decide whether he’d actually kissed her -- and whether she should have turned her face toward him and kissed him back.

  Chapter Six

  Sheila hurried up the stairs to her apartment as she dug through her purse for her keys. Finding them, she jammed them in the lock and swung the door open, closing it securely behind her. One glance at the clock let her know she was a lot later getting home from the last interview than she had planned on. It was quarter after five, and she would have to hurry if she was going to be ready on time for her date with Anders.

  A quick shower later, she was just pulling her sweater down over her jeans when there was a knock at the door. He must really be James Bond, or at least a near relative, she mused. How else was he managing to climb her stairs without making any noise? She’d lived here nearly a year and still couldn’t manage it.

  She grabbed her purse and opened the door. How on earth could the man make a plain tee shirt and a pair of jeans look like he had a fashion designer on his personal staff? Guys who looked this good should be declared illegal -- it was dangerous for any girl who had a desire to keep breathing to come anywhere near them.

  “Ready to go?” Anders asked. “I’ve got everything in the car.”

  Sheila stepped outside and locked the door behind her.

  “I’m ‘dressed for Denny’s’,” she quipped as she turned to face him. “Will I do?”

  Anders laughed. “You look great!” he said, then kissed her cheek before ushering her to the head of the stairs. Next time he does that, Sheila resolved, I’m going to turn my head and kiss him back.

  “Where are we going?”

  Anders laughed. “You’ll see. It’s a state secret. I could tell you...”

  “But then you’d have to kill me,” Sheila finished the quote.

  “Actually, I was going to say, I could tell you, but that would spoil the surprise.”

  Sheila laughed at her wrong guess.

  The short walk to the parking lot was followed by a quick drive to the park a few miles down the road.

  Anders pulled into the smaller of the two parking lots and shut the car off.

  “We’re here,” he announced.

  “The park? In December? Isn’t it a little cold for a picnic at the park?”

  Anders laughed. “You’ll see.”

  He got out of the car, walked around to her door and opened it for her, then opened the trunk and pulled out a box marked with logos from a prominent paper company.

  “Oh, yum!” Sheila teased. “We’re going to have paper for dinner.”

  “Paper is delicious, and so high in fiber, too,” Anders teased back. “Plus it’s entirely vegetarian, if you’re into that.”

  “I’m a second-hand vegetarian,” Sheila answered.

  “Second-hand vegetarian? I’m not sure I’ve heard that one before. Vegan, yes, lacto-ovo, but second-hand?” His face looked troubled. “I wish I had known this when I planned the menu. What does a second-hand vegetarian eat? More importantly, what does one not eat?”

  Sheila laughed. “Second-hand vegetarian. Cows eat grass, I eat cows.”

  Anders burst out laughing. “And chickens and pigs eat grain, so it works there too!”

  “Seriously, I will pretty much eat anything that isn’t nailed down - providing it’s been thoroughly cooked. I don’t do sushi.”

  Balancing the cardboard box on one shoulder, Anders held his other hand out to Sheila. She took it and allowed him to lead her across the grass and up a hill to one of the park’s picnic shelters.

  Anders set the box on one end of the table, then opened it. Sheila tried to peek inside, but Anders deliberately blocked her view with his body.

  He pulled a small blanket from the box and spread it on the plastic-covered metal grillwork bench, then indicated Sheila should sit on the blanket.

  Once she was seated, the top of the box was higher than her eyes, and there was no chance she would be able to see into it. She would just have to wait and see what items he would pull out of his bag of tricks next.

  The next item was a small space heater and extension cord, which he plugged into an outlet at the corner of the shelter. Anders placed the heater on the ground and pointed it at Sheila’s feet before turning it on full-blast. She could feel the heat soaking through her jeans almost immediately.

  Anders then moved the box to the seat on the far side of the table, and sat down next to it, across the table from her. Reaching into the box, he produced two boxes of Hamburger Helper.

  “I didn’t know what flavor you might like, so I brought stroganoff and lasagna.”

  Sheila burst out laughing. “Hamburger Helper? At the park? How are you going to cook it?”

  “You’ll see,” Anders said. “So; stroganoff or lasagna?”

  “Stroganoff. This I have got to see.”

  He put the lasagna back into the box and opened the stroganoff . He produced a camping pan from the box and poured the contents of the flavoring packet into it. A bottle of water appeared, and Anders slowly added it to the powder as he stirred it into a paste, then finally a soupy mass as the amount of water grew.

  Sheila watched with growing disbelief. “You’re doing that backwards. You’re supposed to cook the hamburger first, then add the water and the flavor mix.”

  Anders grinned up at her. “Trust me.”

  He brought out a small container of pre-cooked hamburger and stirred it into the pot, as well as a small amount of dehydrated onions and carrots. He unfolded a piece of paper and dusted some powder into the mix.

  “What’s that?”

  “A few extr
a spices I like to use to enhance the flavor; my secret recipe.”

  “What’s in this secret recipe of yours?”

  “Ahhh, now that secret is one I’m going to keep.”

  He set two metal camping plates side by side on the table. In the center of each plate, he put what looked like a squashed soda can. He opened a small bottle full of what looked like water and poured some into the depression at the top of one of the cans. Actually, now that she looked closer, it looked like the bottom half of two cans had been smushed together. There were some holes poked around the upper rim, and one larger hole in the middle.

  The liquid ran down the hole into the can, and Anders dropped a burnt penny over the center hole. He pulled out a box of matches and got one ready. Then he added some more of the liquid to the top of the can. The penny kept it from running down inside, and he quickly set the bottle of liquid down and lit a match, holding it near the liquid in the can.

  There was a small popping sound, but nothing else happened. Anders shook the match out and set it on the metal plate. A moment later there was a whooshing that reminded Sheila of her mother’s gas stove in the moment when the burner caught fire.

  Anders held his hand several inches above the can and smiled. He reached into the box beside him and produced a metal tube that looked like it had once been a fat can of tomatoes. He set the tube over the burning soda can, and suddenly Sheila could see slightly visible flames sprouting from the soda can.

  Anders picked up the pan of stroganoff and balanced it on top of the tomato can. A couple of orange flames made a brief appearance through the holes punched in the top and bottom of the tomato can, but otherwise, there was very little evidence that the soda can was burning.

  “That’s a handy little device,” she remarked. “Where do you get them and what are you burning in them?”