Love Wins at Christmas

Chapter One

September

“You need a what?” David Merrow stared at his boss.

Donald Stretton flashed his familiar broad smile. “You heard me. I need a homeless shelter.”

David arched his eyebrows. “Okay, maybe I should rephrase the question. Why do you need one?” He chuckled.

“Has Mrs. Stretton had enough of you and is kicking your ass out? Surely there are other options, boss. A hotel? Motel? Hell, even couch surfing.” He knew he was pushing it, but he’d worked with Donald for five years: surely he’d be forgiven for a little levity.

“Yeah, funny guy.” Donald got up from his high backed leather chair and walked over to the window. He pointed to the Manhattan skyline. “See that? It’s a competitive world out there, David.”

“Uh, okay.” David was lost.

“And if you want to make your mark, you have to stand out from the crowd.”

Where the hell is he going with this? And what the hell did a homeless shelter have to do with David’s department? So far his Public Relations work had been straightforward: paint the company in a good light with endorsements, reviews, recommendations, yadda yadda yadda…

“So you are gonna make Stretton, Miles & Kingston look damn good.” Donald beamed at him.

David didn’t bother asking any more questions. He just waited patiently for his boss to get to the point.

Donald began pacing up and down in front of his wide desk.

“I want this law firm to be seen as the firm that cares about its fellow man. The firm that goes out of its way to help those less fortunate. The firm that does more than throw money at good causes.” Donald halted and pointed at David, his eyes sparkling.

“This is where you come in. You’re gonna find a homeless shelter that wants to be affiliated with us.

We’ll give them lots of exposure, but more than that, we’re going to help them in a much more practical way. ”

“And that is how?” David liked the idea. He could do a lot with that.

“You know how all these shelters run soup kitchens? Well, I’m going to stipulate that every member of staff, from the janitor all the way up to me and the partners, works at least one shift in their kitchen.

You get a photographer in there who takes lots of pictures showing our staff helping out.

We buy some space in the Metro, on the billboards, anywhere we can get it.

We get a TV ad made, maybe even a couple, and then buy us some prime time slots.

We can provide links so people can donate if they wanna help out.

That way, the shelter gets a lotta positive press, and we get to look good.

They get more staff and we get to improve our image. It’s a win-win.”

David tilted his head to one side. “You don’t think the guys running the shelter are going to feel just that little bit used by such a campaign?” Okay, so he was a cynic, but that was how he’d see it.

“Then you need to do your homework,” Donald replied dryly. “Make sure they’re completely happy with the concept before we get started.”

“Yeah, but what’s my time frame on this?”

Donald stroked his closely shaved jaw. “I want us good to go by the week before Thanksgiving, to run until Christmas.”

David frowned. “Why not start now? Surely they’re always in need of helpers at any time of the year.”

“Yeah, but the holidays give the campaign an edge, Davy-boy, It’s gonna pull on the old heartstrings. All these down-and-outs, alone on the streets, no family…. ” He gave his chest a thump. “It’ll get people right here.”

Something was niggling David, right at the back of his mind. “And what if you have a member of staff who doesn’t want to help? There are bound to be a few people who don’t give a shit about the homeless, and who resent being asked to do this. How are you going to cope with the dissenters?”

Donald gave him a frank stare. “What dissenters?”

Now David got it. His boss wasn’t going to come right out and say it, but word would get around: you do this or you’re out. Yeah, that’d be right. Donald Stretton, a genuine humanitarian.

“So you need to get your skates on.”

With a start, David realized his boss was speaking. “Sure. I’ll start looking around now.”

Donald nodded. “Draw up a list of possibles, and then visit them. Whittle it down until you have a likely contender. Hell, there can’t be that many homeless shelters in New York anyway.”

It was on the tip of David’s tongue. You haven’t even looked, have you?

Then he thought about it. When was the last time he’d actually paid attention to the sorry-assed people who sat in doorways or begged on the subway?

The ones who sat in the streets, a dog by their side, a crudely written sign in front of them?

He knew it was basic human nature to avoid shit that made you uncomfortable.

That didn’t make it right, however.

“I’ll get on it right away.” David got up from his chair. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“You do that.” Donald retook his high backed chair and perused the documents in front of him. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

David exited his boss’s office and walked along the hall to his own.

Once inside he went over to the window and stared out at the skyline.

It was a great scheme, one that would probably do a lot of good.

Shelters had to be crying out for volunteers, right?

Hey, a shelter would probably jump at the chance to get more bodies to help out over the holidays, right?

And ultimately, this was going to help a lot of people, right?

Then why do I feel so dirty?

* * * * * *

It had not been a good week.

David estimated he’d narrowly missed arriving late at the office every goddamn day, the result of pressing Snooze way too many times.

He’d rushed along Bergen Street, dodging commuters, until he reached his favorite coffee shop.

Then it was just like usual: inside, grab an Americano and a bagel, then dash out to make a run for the subway, where he’d wolf down his purchases.

The rest of the morning was usually him suffering from indigestion.

Thank God for Saturdays.

He strolled along the street, more than ready for his coffee and bagel.

Saturday was when he got to kick back and relax.

His grocery shopping could wait, same as his laundry.

Saturday mornings were for sitting in the window of Garton’s coffee shop and watching the world go by, while he sipped at least two servings of coffee from those giant cups that seemed to be bottomless, and ate his bagel, sometimes accompanied by a delicious pastry or two.

Man, he loved Saturdays.

David pushed open the door and stepped inside, breathing in the wonderful aroma of coffee, freshly baked cinnamon buns, croissants and sweet Danish pastries.

He sniffed the air, catching the scent of bagels and hot buttered toast. His choices selected, David made his way to his favorite seat, a large, squashy sofa in the window from where he could stare out at the world beyond, read his paper and sip his coffee.

The previous week was fast becoming a distant memory…

Apart from the little niggle that wouldn’t leave him be.

A whole week, and what had he done toward his task?

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Sweet fuck all. He told himself there was plenty of time.

September was nearing its end and October was right around the corner, so close that he was ignoring the Halloween costumes and accessories that had been everywhere for the last week or so.

The last thing he wanted to do was rush this.

David took a bite of his bagel and sighed with contentment. His gaze drifted around the interior of the shop, alighting on…

He paused, hand half way to his mouth. Unless he was very much mistaken, the guy behind the counter had just handed a scrawny, unkempt man a cup of coffee and a bagel—and then let him leave without paying. David was sure of it: no money had changed hands.

He watched the scrawny guy leave the shop, before returning his attention to the line of people at the counter. They were paying, that was for sure: David heard the metallic beep as each transaction was rung up.

Then what was wrong with that guy’s money?

When the door chimed on opening. David watched another man enter.

He was tall, dressed in a scruffy, long coat that had seen better days, and his sneakers looked like a strong gust of wind would disintegrate them.

The man shuffled over to the counter, where once again the silver-haired guy poured coffee into a tall take-out cup and placed a couple of pastries into a bag, before handing them to the taller man.

Silver-Haired Guy was greeted with a nod and a flicker of a smile, before his visitor left, keeping his gaze fixed ahead of him.

David’s interest was by now severely piqued.

For the next hour or so, fueled by three cups of coffee and fortified by a cream cheese and bacon bagel, David sat on the corner sofa, ostensibly reading his paper but in reality watching the scene unfolding in front of him.

He estimated that maybe five or six men had come into the shop, all of them making straight for Silver-Haired Guy, and all of them receiving the same treatment.

When another hour passed without another such customer, David figured the breakfast show was over.

What the hell is going on? Is this a regular occurrence?