Chapter 17
CHRISTMAS IN NEW YORK had always been Christine’s favorite time of year. She enjoyed browsing artisanal soaps, candles, and the like at the holiday market in Central Park. The antics of the many street Santas who volunteered for the Salvation Army were entertaining. She liked how even the scaffolding around buildings under construction got the Christmas treatment, decorated with holly and lights. The walk from Erik’s home on West Sixty-First was closer to her office than her apartment, but that didn’t stop Erik from trying to foist Garret on her for her morning commutes. They finally compromised that she’d utilize his services when the weather was exceptionally cold or inclement. Otherwise, she stuffed her feet into her off-brand Uggs and walked to work.
They’d discussed the idea of Christmas presents the night before. She had no major issue with expensive Christmas gifts, even though Christine knew she couldn’t compete with Erik on that front. But she insisted whatever gift was given had to be thoughtful. That meant no flashy jewelry, no cars, nothing a man might give his mistress to make up for the fact that he had to spend Christmas with his family.
This made Christine think of her own pickle—what to buy a man who could get anything he wanted for himself? As a result, she found herself surfing the web on her lunch break, searching music websites for something that screamed Erik.
“This is working?” Cynthia called snidely over her shoulder. Cynthia was more obnoxious than usual lately. Christine was pretty sure it had to do with the upcoming board presentation. Up until now, Cynthia’s barbs had been falling flat. It was kind of hard to mess with a woman in love.
“This is lunch.” She turned in her swivel chair to smile at her supervisor. “What can I do for you, Cynthia?”
“Do you have the draft of the silent auction pamphlet yet?”
“Yes, I finished this morning. Would you like me to print it or email it to you?”
“Printed, please.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
“Are you dating Erik Gardner?”
“I beg your pardon?” Her eyes widened. There’d been talk about her and Erik for weeks, ever since the video from Halloween went viral. Christine had kept mum even when a particularly bold intern asked about it two weeks later. Still, there was an unusual level of caution around her, as if people were sure she was repeating anything they said to their chairman. People were low-level afraid of her, and she didn’t mind the fringe benefit.
“I know you are. Don’t bother denying it. Why else would you speak at the board meeting when I have seniority?”
“My dating life is none of your business.”
“Just never figured you for the type to fuck her way to the top.” Cynthia was admiring her manicure, never more comfortable than when she was being cruel.
“Cynthia, I’m speaking at the board meeting because while you have been wining and dining donors, I’ve compiled the financial models and analysis relating to our returns. And let’s say for a second I am dating Erik Gardner. Do you think the best way to treat me, the person supposedly dating your boss’s boss, is to insult me?” Christine gave her a chiding look. “You have more confidence than I do regarding your inability to be replaced.”
“Let’s just say I have the confidence your ‘relationship’ won’t last the test of time.”
The accusation stung, since Erik’s recent confession and her own lingering fears. She narrowed her eyes at Cynthia. “I’ll get you that printout when I finish my lunch hour. Goodbye, Cynthia.” Christine turned around and continued her Google search, determined not to let Cynthia’s snarky comments hit home.
Erik was dealing with a dose of insecurities when he got a call from his mother. He’d forgotten to call her on Thanksgiving. No, that wasn’t true. He just didn’t want to expose himself to her venom on a day that was promising to be so pleasant. Whatever, the Swiss celebrated Thanksgiving in September. When her number appeared on his phone, he groaned, debating whether to pick up.
Ever the masochist, he did.
“Hello, Erik,” she said frostily.
“Hello, Mother. What can I do for you?” Erik dutifully, if not begrudgingly, called her weekly, but usually, they only spoke once a month about financial matters. Sabrina Gardner wasn’t interested in small talk. Her investments were primarily with Gardner Industries, and occasionally she’d ask him to transfer funds or inquire as to the health of the business. He knew she lived in Switzerland, but he assumed she traveled, although she’d never spoken of it with him. Her calling him was unheard of, and his guard was up .
“My friend Beatrice just shared a video and said it was of you. I told her that couldn’t be possible as you didn’t like to be out and about. Sure enough, I see you playing and singing on the stage of some bar.” She said the word bar as if she’d discovered him in a literal den of iniquity, which, from her point of view, he supposed she had. “What is the meaning of this behavior? Are you trying to embarrass me?”
“No, that’s just a happy side effect.”
“Erik,” she tried in a calmer tone. “I know how hard you’ve worked these last thirteen years to cultivate a low profile for the sake of yourself, our family, and the company’s reputation. Why would you risk that now by exposing yourself to such public ridicule?”
Clearly, her only genuine concern was her friends not finding out her son was a ‘disfigured freak.’ He played dumb. “What kind of ridicule would I have brought upon myself?”
“Don’t be obtuse. Beatrice’s daughter told her your little video was on the news and had been viewed by millions of people. That leads to people asking questions.”
“I’m aware. You’re a little late to the party on this one.”
“I can’t be bothered with viral videos, but seeing my family as a laughingstock bothers me. Most of my friends are curious about you now. What should I tell them? I can’t introduce them to a masked man.”
“I don’t care what you tell them. I assumed you’d already told them I’m dead.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
Don’t be melodramatic. That was her favorite phrase whenever he disagreed with her as a child. His emotions were histrionic. She was incapable of validating his feelings, and the resulting explosions justified her opinion of him and his bad temper—the temper that rose in response. He swallowed down the urge, knowing it was what she wanted.
“Mother, I can’t be bothered to care about this issue. If you have a solution, I’ll listen, but you’ll most likely be disappointed by my lack of response.”
“I was thinking of gracing the New Year’s Eve gala with my presence. I have several friends who are already planning to attend. Perhaps I could go as your guest.” The way she said it made it clear she wasn’t asking. She was instructing.
Erik would’ve been pleased not to see his mother again for the next decade. It seemed a magic trick of hers to appear whenever he had managed to cleave something like happiness for himself. Well—he wouldn’t let her do it this time. For once in his life, he felt content. His home felt like just that, a home. How eleven weeks had given him more perspective than the previous thirty-five years was incredible.
“Are you capable of playing nice with Marie? You know she runs the opera.”
A barely audible hiss came from the other end of the line—the slight dropping of her mask to reveal the foulness underneath. Sabrina Gardner hated Marie Giry, though Erik was never sure why. Marie always sidestepped the issue. He should bring it up again.
“If I must. As the help for the event, I assume Marie won’t be seated at one of the tables anyway. Shall I stay with you at your home, or will you put me at a hotel?”
“You’ll be more comfortable at the Four Seasons.” His tone was insistent; this was not up for debate.
“I’ll have my assistant reach out to your man. Is he still the same?”
“Yes, Garret Dixon will be your point person. I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve.” There was no question of seeing her otherwise. She didn’t want to spend time in his company any more than he wanted to spend time in hers. He didn’t want to subject Christine to her cruelty. A four-hour event with loud music would ensure the image of family harmony with minimal interaction between them.
“Very well, goodbye.”
The entire call made Erik feel vaguely dirty, like a grimy, oily slick covered his skin. Unconsciously, the muscles in his back and neck tightened as his body revolted. She disgusted him. It was unbearable. He needed something to bring back the light. He looked up the weather, and after seeing the temperature, he texted Christine.
Erik: What time will you be off work tonight?
Christine: Around 6—why?
Erik: Do you want to meet me somewhere?
Christine: Is this a surprise?
Erik: A good one.
Erik spotted Christine as he approached Central Park West, leaning against the shops at Columbus Circle, alternately looking at her phone and the traffic driving by—she likely assumed he’d be coming by car.
“Waiting for someone?” Erik’s low voice broke her out of her reverie, and she turned to him in delighted surprise. Erik was wearing a dark red ski mask and navy winter coat. His hands were in his pockets, and he met her eyes warmly, if not a little guarded.
“Erik, you’re out!” Her joy could’ve powered the Rockefeller Christmas Tree. She pounced on him and kissed him enthusiastically.
“It’s twenty-five degrees out, perfect outdoor mask temperature. Are you warm enough to go for a walk?”
“Yes! Where are we off to?”
“Thanksgiving was more fun than I expected, and it occurred to me I haven’t had a Christmas tree in over a decade. I thought we might handpick some ornaments at the market and choose a tree from one of the streetside stands on the way home—I mean—back to my home.”
She gave him a gentle smile. “I love this idea. Can we get hot cocoa?”
“Don’t see why not.”
Erik held Christine’s hand as they explored the different stalls in the Central Park holiday market. It was crowded but not overwhelming. The different booths were covered in clapboard striped in red and white, lit up from within by holiday lights. Tourists and locals alike explored the overwhelming Christmas-themed wares—that’s why they were there. Walking amongst the crowd felt awkward after so long hidden in the shadows, but holding Christine’s hand helped uncover a well of strength. It was as if her beauty transformed him into just another man enjoying New York City at Christmastime.
“How did you and your father celebrate Christmas?” he asked as they browsed.
“On Christmas Day, we’d get together with some of his fellow musicians from the club. Sometimes, the owner of the Blue Note would host a big party for everyone to celebrate with their families. We’d have music and presents. A couple of the other musicians had kids. Everyone would play Christmas carols, and we’d sing and dance. But Christmas Eve was always just the two of us. Dad made pasta, and we’d watch a cheesy Christmas movie—usually Home Alone or A Christmas Story . When I got older, I asked for Love Actually . ”
“Ugh, really?”
“What’s wrong with Love Actually ?” She gave him a mock-horrified look.
“I mean, how creepy are some of those stories? That one guy in love with Keira Knightley is practically a stalker. Also, she was only nineteen when the film was made.”
Christine laughed and looked at him, seeming to say, Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, stalker?
Erik looked chagrined. “Okay, okay—fair enough. But what about the girl with the mentally ill brother? If that guy was so into her, he would’ve been supportive, not scared off. That’s not love—that’s a guy pissed off by a case of blue balls.”
“What do you think he should’ve done?”
“He should’ve waited for her. Helped her. Not acting like this was a dealbreaker in the relationship.”
“Maybe he does help her—maybe that happens in the sequel to their story.” Christine blithely replied.
“The sequel? Love Actually 2 ?”
“Did any of the relationships pass muster?”
“The one with the stepfather and his son. That was a true love story.” Erik admired a Christmas ornament of Santa playing piano and thought of his friendship with Gus. He put it in the basket for purchase along with the others they’d selected. “Do you have any favorites?”
“I liked the Colin Firth story—where he learns a new language for the woman he loves and she did the same.”
“I’d still argue that’s lust—not love. They hadn’t even had a real conversation.”
“But they were soulmates!”
The pleasant back-and-forth continued as they filled up two baskets with decorations for their tree. They chose the musical Santa, some crystal snowflakes, and several kitschy ornaments with a New York theme—a taxicab, a large apple, and the Empire State Building. Erik also picked out a large package of traditional ball ornaments in white and red to fill out the spaces in between. They debated over the tree topper for twenty minutes before finally agreeing on an angel dressed in red and gold robes.
“Do we need lights?”
“Taken care of.”
“Garret?”
“He’s my own personal Amazon.com.”
“Speaking of which, why don’t you use Amazon?”
“Why wait one to two days when Garret can get me everything I need the same day?”
“Poor Garret.”
“Poor Garret lives in his apartment rent-free and makes a six-figure salary. Don’t feel too bad for him.”
“I should’ve known better—you’re everyone’s fairy godmother.” She gave him a good-natured side-eye.
“Only for the people I care about.” He put an arm around her and smiled down at her, already feeling better—the tension from his conversation with his mother melting away. Just being in Christine’s presence and talking with her made him feel more alive. “Shall we go pick out a tree?”
Across the city, farmers brought down their wares while residents found their favorite streetside lots to pick out their preferred trees. Three blocks from his apartment, he and Christine admired a nine-foot white pine. The young man monitoring the booth was enjoying his easy job and, by the smell of it, had been visiting the local marijuana dispensaries.
“How much is this one?” Christine asked, trying to get him to focus.
“That one—uh—is $800. ”
“I had no idea real trees were so expensive.” She looked at Erik. “Should we get something smaller?”
“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”
She looked down at their market acquisitions. “We should get more ornaments.”
“We’ll take it.” Erik pulled out his credit card and gave it to the idiot looking at Erik with bleary eyes.
“Great—let me run this. Uh, can you help me put the tree in the baler to wrap it?”
With a groan, Erik lifted the tree off its stand and helped put it in the baler. A branch of the tree caught on the bottom of his knit mask, stretching the garment until it came off and folded into the branches and netting of the tree.
“Shit,” Erik said as the cold air hit his face. He reached into the branches to get it back but was disrupted by the salesman’s shouts.
“Gah—ahhh—dude— what happened to your nose ?”
Christine was there before he could react, taking off her scarf and draping it around him, staring daggers at the idiot calling attention to them.
“Go home,” she whispered, low and urgent. “I’ll be right there.”
“He doesn’t have a nose! What the fuck happened to his face?”
People were looking and pointing at the crazed shouts. Erik ducked into the nearby alley. In the distance, Christine was yelling.
“You fucking idiot. What’s your problem? You get stoned, and you have to scare people?”
“He didn’t have a face!”
“Or maybe you’ve smoked so much you don’t know your ass from your elbow. Wrap the fucking tree before I shove it somewhere really uncomfortable for you.” The fury in Christine’s voice was crystal clear.
“Yeah, yeah, okay, okay.”
Erik peeked out of the alley. Christine glared at the stoner as she picked up her phone. “Garret, we need you.”
Assured she was safe, Erik wrapped the scarf around his face and sprinted home.
Erik was waiting at home when Christine arrived with Garret hauling the tree. He was playing “Presto Agitato” from Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The music’s vitriol resonated in the main chamber, echoing alternating currents of anger and anxiety.
“Where do you want this thing?” For once, Garret’s tone wasn’t surly. He was looking at Erik with naked concern.
“Let’s put it by the fireplace.” She motioned with a nod of her head, going over to Erik and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He moved away from her touch and shook his head.
Christine nodded. “Thank you for the help with the tree.”
“You would have figured it out. Glad I was home.”
“Tell Wendy I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner.”
“Her leftovers are good too. I’ll speak with you both tomorrow.” He gave Erik a sad look and left.
Erik continued to play, and Christine questioned what to do. The desire to give Erik his space battled with the urge to comfort him. She opened a bottle of red wine and poured them both a glass, leaving his on the piano. After a few moments, she began unpacking the ornaments, looking over at Erik as he vented his frustrations. He had never played like that in front of her, so dark, so infuriated. Had he played like that the night she first saw his face?
When the piece ended, Erik looked up as if coming out of a trance. Christine was sitting, watching him.
“Welcome back.” She gave him a sad smile. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes. No. A little.”
“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”
“My mother called today. She’s coming to the gala.”
Christine’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I was going to tell you later. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation, and I just wanted to enjoy our outing.” His fingers absently played a light melody with one hand.
“Oh, Erik.” She sat beside him on the bench and took one of his hands as she had the night they first made love. “It was a wonderful night. I wish I could tell you to ignore that idiot, but I know it’s not so simple. I wish I could tell your mother what I think of her…”
“What—what would you say?” His eyes met hers. He needed reassurance, and she would give it to him—anything he needed.
“I’d tell her that her son is the most amazing man I’ve ever known—so inherently good and kind and generous. He’s brilliant and talented. I would tell her she’s a fool for letting anything keep him from her life. And I’d slap her for good measure.”
During her rant, Erik’s head came to rest against hers. He was breathing deeply, letting her words cast a healing spell upon him.
“You didn’t say anything about his lovemaking.” His smile came through in his voice.
“To your mother? Really?”
“Indulge me.”
“Dear Playboy , let me tell you about my fabulous lover and how he takes such good care of me. I’ve never had orgasms like these before. I’ve thrown out all my vibrators because they can’t possibly compete with his massive cock and his tongue and— ”
Erik pulled her close for a desperate kiss. His hold was tight as she gentled him with caresses on his face and arms before pulling him off the bench.
In their shared room, she gently pushed him down, continually kissing him as she undressed him. He let her take charge, lying passively as she kissed his chest. Erik’s chest had a fine dusting of hair. She flicked her tongue around his nipples and down to his navel. His hands loosely tangled in her hair, but there was no pressure, just a seeking of sensation. She slowly removed his pants and explored his long legs with her fingers and mouth. By the time she rested between his thighs, she chanced a look up at him and saw the desperation in his eyes.
“Please…” he whispered.
She took him in her mouth, his hard, velvet-covered length. Her tongue caressed him while she showed how much she loved him with every kiss. He cried out in pleasure with that voice that always made her aroused—as it did now. She focused on the head of his cock while her hand encircled his length.
“Christine, please, I’m going to…”
But she wouldn’t stop. She’d show him the love he needed. If this went anywhere toward healing him, she’d pull him from the depths. Every kiss and every touch would convey love and worth.
When he came, she swallowed him, taking in the salty flavor, but more concerned with him. His cries were hoarse as he finished. As he settled, he pulled her up, his arms holding her tightly. She could’ve continued the saucy language that brought them here, but there was sanctity in his silent hold, and they laid there, wrapped in the silence and each other.