What Happens During the Holidays: A Holiday Anthology

by Lucy Gage

  When you’re in a rush, you always miss something important.

  As the black Lincoln rolls to a stop on W 46th street, in front of the Richard Rodgers theater, I offer my uncle’s driver a twenty. He made record time driving here from JFK. That deserves a cash tip.

  “Thanks, Joe. I appreciate all you did to get me here.” He waited while I checked into the hotel, tossed my things into my room, quickly threw on something a little more interesting than the sweats I wear for traveling, and then had rushed me to the theater.

  Oh, and he’d listened to my sob story about losing Nina in college, then pining for years, only to reconnect too late. And here I am, starting over in NYC because I’m done with random moments of seeing my ex happy in her new life.

  “Hey, thanks, Alex. Hope you enjoy the play! And good luck with this reboot.”

  Before I step from the car, I say, “See you around?”

  Joe laughs. “Chances are good.” I shut the door, and he speeds away toward Times Square, probably on the way to pick up my aunt and uncle for the evening.

  A stiff gust of biting wind ruffles my hair. Beneath the sleeve of my wool coat, I glance at my Movado watch, the one I wear to every important meeting and have since my sixteenth birthday. Shit. I need to move my ass.

  Uncle Perry suggested that I pick up the theater tickets he’d reserved for me before dinner, but if it takes too long, I’ll definitely be late for my meeting with Warren.

  Fifteen minutes later, breathless from speed-walking around the block from the theater to the Italian restaurant, I pause near the door to compose myself, and a flash of red hair pops into my peripheral vision. For a moment, I swear, I see the ghost of Christmas Past, a.k.a. Nina.

  Even while she wears a wool coat, I can tell this woman is hourglass shaped. The brilliant red hair, swept atop her head, both casual and elegant, burns brightly in the streetlights. Shapely calves taper to stiletto heels, and I can see her hips sway as she struts away from me, against the flow of traffic, down W 47th toward Times Square.

  I desperately want to run in that direction, but I don’t have time. This is the theater district during holiday season in New York, I’m near one of the hottest plays showing right now, and this is a marquee night. Each second counts.

  Damn it, I should have waited to pick up tickets, but I was sure it would take no time at all. Yeah, right. The line had stretched for half a block behind me.

  In a few days, this guy, Warren What’s-his-name will officially be my employee. Better to appear pulled together, not harried and distracted by sexy redheads. With a gulp of air, I breathe deeply, doing the yoga crap my best friend, Dozer, forced on me in my college days, during my post-Nina, devastated-and-depressed months.

  Okay, so it wasn’t crap. It always worked and still does. My pulse calms, and I open the door, stepping into the Italian atmosphere.

  “Buona sera signore!” greets the host. “Did you have a reservation?”

  Maybe Warren claimed the table. “I believe my uncle made one. Lawson?”

  “Ah, Signore Lawson, si! Unfortunately, your table was given away. You understand, no? We’re very busy on show nights. We could only hold it for so long.”

  “Of course.” Double shit. Late for my very first meeting at the new job, even if it was a social engagement with an employee. “By chance is there anyone waiting for me? I was supposed to meet someone.”

  “I’m afraid not, Signore Lawson. I believe they left a few minutes ago.”

  Right. Because I’d arrived five minutes after I should have. A little too late, I remember that aspect of living in New York—if you’re not early, you risk losing your spot.

  “Thank you,” I say with a nod, then I turn on my heel and push open the door, eager to pass the time, now that the pre-show dinner is a bust. When I stand on the sidewalk, I look right, toward Times Square. What are the chances I’ll find the sexy woman I just watched walk in that direction? One in eight million? Hey, that’s better than zero.

  Halfway down the block, I lose my nerve. On the right, a bar beckons to me. Yeah, I need a little liquid courage.

  Once I vault over the hump of introduction, I’m golden. It’s the first few minutes of talking to a woman that fucks me up every time.

  Inside the bar, a hum of excitement for the night ahead floats through the air. I’ll bet more than one of the groups in here will arrive at the theater with me. Might as well make friends, since my intended companion has abandoned me. Can’t say as I blame him.

  It takes nearly ten minutes, but I finally score an open spot at the bar. A cute bartender, dressed in black, including her hair, catches my eyes with her deep brown ones.

  “What can I get for you, sweetie?” She grins at me. Nice smile. Maybe I don’t need so much help here. Then again, she’s paid to schmooze the customers, and I’d bet her tips show how good she is at the job.

  From beside my elbow, a seductive voice murmurs in my ear, “You look like a craft brew guy.” I turn toward the sound, and there she is, the woman from the restaurant. Up close, she’s fucking beautiful. Bright blue eyes, almost the shade of lapis, are framed by long lashes. Full lips, with a shocking shade of red, perfectly applied, offer a half smile that says she’s appraising me, too. The hair piled on her head spills around her face in shiny waves, and I long to touch it. Her jacket lays over her arm, and I can see her perky breasts peeking from her neckline. The black halter dress she wears lifts and separates. Holy fuck, I don’t think she’s wearing a bra. My dick salutes her.

  Throat a bit parched, I clear it. “You think so, huh?”

  Her eyes rake my body, and I’m suddenly grateful for my Burberry coat wrapped around my torso. I suspect she can still see how it tents, but at least there’s a layer over my slacks.

  “Definitely.”

  “The lady says I should get a craft beer. Whatever you have on tap, surprise me. And she’ll have?” I look at her.

  “Manhattan with vermouth,” she says to the bartender.

  “A Manhattan with vermouth and a craft beer on tap, coming up.” The bartender winks at me as if she’s glad that I’ve found someone to occupy my time.

  We silently assess each other for a couple minutes while the bartender mixes our drinks. When they’re ready, I slip my money clip from my pocket, give the bartender two twenties, and hand my companion her cocktail. She toasts, and I say, “To new friends.”

  A chuckle bubbles from her lips. “To new friends and a better night than the one I had planned.”

  We sip our drinks, and I almost spit mine into the glass.

  She laughs a throaty, joyous sound. “You don’t like it?”

  “Jesus, that’s nasty.” I turn back to the bar, where the bartender is grinning.

  “Want something different? How about Narragansett?”

  “Perfect.” The bartender pours the beer from the tap and hands it to me. “Thank you.”

  I offer her a twenty, but she shakes her head. “On me.”

  I smile at her and return my attention to the woman at my side. “I’ve never seen her give drinks away. You must have some voodoo magic.” She offers her hand. “Meredith.”

  When I grasp her slender fingers in mine, the guy in my pants jumps at the touch of her silken skin. On instinct, I kiss the back of her hand. “Charmed, I’m sure. Alex.”

  “Are you a ladies’ man, Alex?”

  “Not in the least. To be honest, without this,” —I lift my beer— “I don’t usually have much game at all.”

  “Good. I’m bored with suave playboys.” When she takes a generous gulp of her drink, I decide to tread lightly.

  “Would you like another drink?” I ask since she’s making quick work of this one. “Not that I’m trying to get you drunk.”

  There’s that laugh again. “Honey, I’ve had a shitty day, and I need to forget it. Feel free to get me drunk.”

  After I sip my beer, I take the plunge, hoping I don’t have
to hear all about her ex. I don’t want to be someone’s rebound pity fuck. Not that my little friend seems to give a shit. Every time her chest heaves with laughter, he twitches.

  Asshole.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She snorts. “No.” Then she sighs. “Okay, yes.” I tilt my head so she’ll continue. “I lost a promotion this week, and this morning, my boss informed me that, tonight, I had to kiss ass to my new supervisor—the guy who stole my job. And then the asshole stood me up.”

  What a jerk. “Is this someone you’ve worked with for a while?” The venom she’s spitting right now tells me that she needs an outlet, and if I don’t provide it, I’d hate to see what might happen to her tonight. Totally being chivalrous right now. Really. Okay, and I want to listen to her sexy voice.

  She downs her drink, and I signal for another.

  “No. It’s all nepotism. This little fucker hasn’t earned his stripes here. I’ve been working my ass off in the trenches since I joined this company, and he swoops in to take the job that was supposed to be mine. I can’t do anything about that. I can’t make them give me the promotion. But it’s so damn frustrating to hit that glass ceiling.”

  My mouth tips in a sad smile. “I honestly can’t say that I know how you feel, but I can definitely offer my empathy. It must suck to work so hard and be denied what you know should be yours.”

  “Yeah, it does.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, the straw that broke me was him ditching our stupid forced dinner date. They wouldn’t even let me keep the reservation by myself. I’d have charged it to the damn company account and enjoyed a great meal, but they gave the table away. It wasn’t my reservation, they said.”

  “That’s bullshit. I’m sorry this guy stood you up. If it’s any consolation, I was supposed to meet someone, tonight, but he’d already left by the time I had arrived. I wish I’d made it on time, but I had no clue what the ticket lines would be like.”

  “Tickets for what?” She raises her new cocktail and sips with those sexy lips.

  Calm down, boy. Answer the woman. I shake my head clear. “Hamilton.”

  “You’re going, too?” She frowns, her disappointment evident. “The one thing which made enduring this douche bearable was going to that play. I was looking forward to it.”

  “Did he leave you the tickets?”

  “Ha! No.”

  Before I can think twice, I say, “Come with me. I have an extra ticket.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Her expression offers rapturous surprise, and even if I’d been joking, I couldn’t say no to that face.

  “I’m dead serious. On one condition.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What?”

  I raise my hand in surrender. “Nothing sexual. I promise. I’m wondering if you’ll be my tour guide after the show.”

  A light flush washes over her cheeks. Maybe she isn’t as averse to the idea of sexual repayment as she pretends to be. Jesus, and there’s the little prick in my pants, all excited about that possibility.

  “Deal,” she says. An elegant wrist lifts, and she turns her right hand to the inside, where her watch face rests. I haven’t often seen anyone else wear their watch the same way I do. “We should head over there now.”

  I mimic her action on my own arm, and it’s not lost on me that her eyebrows elevate a fraction. “It’s an hour before showtime.”

  “You haven’t been to the theater, have you?”

  “Not since I was a kid.”

  She shakes her coat, and I extract it from her hands so that I can help her into it. In thanks, she smiles at me. “Well, for one, it’ll take me a few minutes to walk there. These aren’t running shoes.”

  “You run?”

  “Sometimes. You?” she asks as we make our way to the door.

  “Every day. I can’t wait to run in the park. Maybe we can run together sometime.”

  Her grin says she’s considering it. “Maybe. Anyway, they’ll open the theater soon. We don’t want to be standing outside when it starts. Better to have a drink in hand while we wait inside the theater.”

  “Good point.” I offer my arm as we exit the bar. “Shall we?” A smile passes her lips as she loops her hand over my elbow while we walk.

  “Where are you from? You’re way too damn polite to be a New Yorker.”

  “Boston.” Close enough. “But I’ve been in Maine for a while. Just moved down here for work. You?”

  “I’m from Brooklyn. And yes, I lived there before it was cool.”

  “You’ll be an excellent guide, then. Promise me one more thing?”

  “Uh oh, what now?” Her cheeky grin has me smiling from ear to ear. This should, hopefully, be an easy request to honor, though.

  “Let’s not talk about work anymore?”

  “I have no problem with that. If you can make me forget this week, I think I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  “No debts between friends.”

  “Is that what we are?” She raises her brows.

  “Time will tell,” I reply, winking. She rolls her eyes and laughs, and I chuckle in return.

  This is going to be a fun night.

  If opportunity knocks, let it in.

  We’re still gushing about the play as we walk toward this club Meredith knows. I’ve never had so much fun in my life, certainly not on a spontaneous date.

  And then she stops short.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Just roll with it, okay?” she murmurs. A couple stops in front of us—a stunner and a GQ model. Once the stylist and tailor work their magic, I’ll resemble him. Right now, this guy makes me look shabby. I hate him for that.

  “Meredith.” The woman smiles as she reaches for my date’s hand to squeeze. “It’s nice to see you. How are you?”

  “Nice to see you, too, Cori. Dean.” The sudden tension in her voice as she says his name is not lost on me. She likes Cori, but she’s not happy with Dean.

  “You look great, Meredith. Who’s your friend?” Dean asks. Something makes me want to wipe his smirk from his face. Is this the jerk she mentioned at the bar?

  “This is Alex, my boyfriend.”

  Oh. This is what she meant by roll with it. I offer my hand first to Dean. “Hi, nice to meet you.” I shake both their hands, then decide it’s time to go. Beside me, Meredith is antsy. “We’d love to chat, but we’ll be late for a reservation.”

  “Of course,” Cori says. “Enjoy your evening. Maybe we’ll see you two around again.”

  My arm wraps around Meredith as we walk away. “I’m sure. Lovely to meet you both. Enjoy your night.” Then, I usher my date quickly in the direction we’d been heading.

  After several blocks have passed, I have to ask, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer. “Was he your ex?”

  She laughs. “Something like that. What gave it away?”

  Her amusement is a relief after that awkward exchange back there. “Your voice changed when you said his name.”

  “Yeah?”

  I lean close and wiggle my brows. “Laced with venom.”

  Her guffaw makes me smile. I’d much rather see her happy. “Thanks for having my back.”

  I nudge her with my elbow. “It wasn’t a hardship.”

  For a beat, our eyes lock, and I swear, time stands still. Then she looks away and huffs a laugh before she returns my gaze again. “He never seemed to know my name. I’m surprised he remembered tonight.”

  “He didn’t. His girlfriend said your name first.”

  She groans. “Right. Figures.” With a shrug, she notes, “She’s not his girlfriend. I heard they’re getting married.”

  “When did you date him?”

  “Earlier this year. We never dated. Fucked. We fucked.” At my bulging eyes, she clarifies. “He always made it clear we were only about sex. He didn’t do relationships then.”

  “But you wanted more.” I hate how that sounds like I’m a j
ealous prick. Jesus, we’re on a first date. We barely know each other. I have no right to feel possessive of her.

  And yet, even in my fratboy college days, I hated when guys used girls for sex, so I’m offended on her behalf. That selfish, manwhore attitude—fuck anyone you find attractive—always annoyed me, even when it came from fraternity brothers I liked otherwise. I’ve never been that guy. Ever. I’m not a prude, but I don’t sleep with girls unless I think they’re relationship material.

  Meredith shakes her head to disagree. “It wasn’t about him. Serial dating was old, and I liked him, so I pushed for a relationship. Dean wasn’t interested in that.” As if she remembers he’s engaged, she shrugs. “Not with me.”

  “Are you over him?” I know what I want her to say.

  She scoffs. “It wasn’t anything to get over. Seeing him made me realize that I’m still pissed at myself. I know the difference between love and sex. It was never going to be a romance with him.”

  “You deserve better.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I could give you better. Fuck, will you stop going that route, brain? Let’s get her phone number first.

  “What about you?” she asks. “Got an ex?”

  How to answer that? Okay, okay. “Yes and no.”

  “Sounds deliberately vague.”

  “I swear, it’s not meant to be. The truth is, I haven’t dated anyone in a while, but the last time I spoke to my ex, it brought up a lot of old feelings.”

  “Like what?”

  Be honest. Start this the right way. “Like wishing we could have a redo?” I wince.

  Meredith drops my palm and spins to look at me with a furrowed brow. “Seriously?”

  As I attempt to grab her hand, she yanks it closer to her chest. I sigh. “It’s not like that. I’m not talking recently. And she’s happily married. Despite us living in the same city for years, I never saw her around until she was with him. It was time to close that chapter, so I left Maine to move forward.”

  She steps closer and raises her eyebrows. “It’s over?”