Spinning (24 page)

With snow on the ground and Christmas just a week away, if people weren’t horribly Scrooge-like or suicidal, they were quite festive and ready for another day off. While neither Scrooge-like nor suicidal, I was a whole lot more reflective than I usually was at this time of year.

At Mason Brand, I specialized in image makeovers. If I could do this for others, maybe it was time to concentrate on my own life. The way it worked, I would tell my
clients that I didn’t need all the details, the weeds, just the information that I deemed to be relevant. So, I took an inventory of the things going on in my life: almost 30, single, Spring, promising career, pink urn, and Billie. Instead of booze, babes, and season tickets, I learned to think sippy cups, babies, and pay-per-view. Instead of Playboy’s “Night Calls,” it was “Rudolph’s Christmas Special.” I was okay with this.

“Ho, ho, ho!” I hollered to Hank, as he limped through the office looking like he had a midweek hangover. “Hank! How’s that shopping?”

“Hey, D-Man. The shopping is slow. There’s still time. I’ve got a week.”

“You look like s-h-i-t.”

“Well, I feel like s-h-i-t. It’s my back again. And my cojones have shrunk down to raisins.”

“Maybe Santa will bring you a new pair?”

“Sometimes, I wish I didn’t have any. Last night, we were doing a Flying G when…”

“What’s a Flying G?” Surprisingly, I had never heard this Hank story before.

Hank looked around the hall, then whispered. “You know…a flying G? Where you’re in the missionary position and you lock ankles. Then you put your hand like this on the outside of her g-spot and apply a little pressure. If you do it right, you can tip her g-spot downward and move it around while you’re…”

“Yeah, I get the picture.”

“Well, I kept nailing the flying G and that’s when she had the big O.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s yelling ‘oh, Hank, oh, Hank!locked her legs, and almost blew out both of my kneecaps.”

Now I checked the hall for eavesdroppers.

“I was lucky to make it out of there with my spine still in one piece. When we were done, I chugged some aspirin and scotch, and packed my ass in ice. I still can’t really walk.”

“How long you been married?”

“Coming up on six years.”

“Has it always been like…” I pointed at his damaged body, “this?”

“Oh, no. Before I learned what she liked, we only had sex two maybe three times a week. Since then, we’ve learned, and that’s why my cojones…”

“I meant, have you always known you were meant for each other?” Though Hank openly leered at other women, his was the only rock solid marriage I knew of.

Hank whispered, as if he were still talking about his sex life. “I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure until after I was married. Once I let go of all those dreams of getting laid by centerfolds who only wanted me for sex, my energy went into Elise. That’s when it really got good. Now I don’t worry.”

“What about the horny centerfolds?”

“They’ll have to make due with second best for the rest of their lives. Besides, with this back and these knees, I don’t need any more women just aspirin, scotch and an occasional ice pack.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

I went to my office and stared at Diane and Spring’s picture. Like my memory of her, Diane was a little blurry and out of focus, but I could fill in many of the fuzzy details if I wanted. In my briefcase, I carried a new photo of Spring and Billie on Santa’s knees. Unlike Hank, Santa didn’t seem to have any problems with his back, as Mrs.
Claus probably went easy on him during the holiday season. I begged Billie to sit with Santa. I meant for her to sit
by herself
with Santa, but she grabbed Spring for the session. Now I had one picture of Spring and Santa on the fridge, and another of the festive threesome at work. I was lucky to escape sitting with the fat guy, although, one of Santa’s elves kept winking at me.

With the two pictures sitting next to each other, Spring didn’t look any different. Maybe I didn’t look any different than I had a couple of months before either, but I certainly felt different. In fact, if I looked as different as I felt. My image would have been a lot closer to Santa’s or Mr. Jimmy’s than the one in my corporate headshot.

Mr. Mason knocked on the door. “Dylan, good news. The Magenta Martini account. With what we’ve got to do for them, it looks like they’ll be paying for Christmas this year. Try to talk to them in the next few days before they disappear until January.” He stared at my desk. “That’s a nice picture.”

“This, oh, well, it’s…” I wondered what he thought of seeing Billie holding Spring. He knew that Billie and I were close friends, but I had no idea whether or not he knew that we were close out-of-the-office friends.

“A nice picture.” He smiled. “Looks like Spring is doing okay.”

“I hope so. It’s so hard to tell. I think she’s getting by all right, though.”

“You should be very pleased with yourself. It isn’t an easy thing that you’re doing.”

“No, it isn’t, sir. And to be honest with you, I’m not so sure I’m at the point where I can be pleased with myself.”

“It isn’t like doing a campaign, Dylan. You never know for sure whether you’ve done a great job.” He looked at
the picture again. “But if this little girl can smile like this after everything she’s been through, you have to be doing okay.”

“Thanks for saying that, Mr. Mason.”

There was another knock on the door. I slid the picture into my hand as Billie joined us.

“Dylan, Mr. M.”

“Billie, we were just admiring your photo session with St. Nick.” Mason said. “Catch up with Dylan on the latest with the Magenta Martini. You two did a great job with the pitch. You make quite a team. It’s too bad I can’t afford both of you.”

He slipped past Billie and she closed the door.

“What was that all about?” she said.

“I’m not sure. I think he loves us and he’s going to fire us.” I put the picture on my desk. “Ho, ho, ho.”

“That’s very festive.” She smiled. “Did you get laid last night?”

“You must have me confused with Hank… Mr. Cojones. Besides, I would never kiss and tell.”

“Are you sure?” She sat and crossed her legs.

“Utterly. Dinner tonight, Ms. Daniels?”

“I think I might be able to shoehorn you in, Mr. Hunter.”

“I need to pick up Spring first and then…”

“I’ll bring the wine. I don’t want you to open the Côte de Beaune just yet.”

“The Côte de Beaune?” I’d mentioned the ’69 to her a long time ago, though I couldn’t remember ever explaining what my intentions were with it.

“Don’t waste it. Wait until one of gets a promotion…”

“Can we still drink it if one of us gets fired?”

“We’ll have to then. We’ll toast to new beginnings.”

I smiled.
New beginnings.
“Hey, come over early. Spring wants to show you…”

“Can’t. I have an appointment, but tell her I’ll be over for dinner. See you tonight.”

“Tonight.”

Billie seemed a little mysterious about her appointment, but whatever it was, it wasn’t my business. Though I had to admit, it was getting harder to feel that way my mistake.

Spring liked making tracks in the falling snow. She was wearing her red duck boots, and since the first snow of the season, she rarely took them off, even in the apartment. Spring held my hand and we swung our arms, as we walked.

Spring liked the walk home with the Christmas lights and the snow although after a few blocks, she had seen multiple Santas ringing bells and asking for donations. She had a confused expression on her face and I thought she was going to ask me about them.

“Hey D? What can I get Mommy for Christmas?”

“I don’t know, Spring. What would she like?”

“To see me.”

I considered it to be a testament to my emotional fortitude that I was able to continue swinging her arm after she said this.

“Do you remember when you told the taxi driver you wanted your mom to be happy?” She’d done this when she was chatting up the man in the second cab we’d ever been in together.

“No.” She stopped.

“Yeah, when we went to the zoo. You said you wanted your mom to be happy.” I took a deep breath and didn’t dare make eye contact. “I think you got your wish.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, I think you did. Because you’re getting a little bigger and a little smarter every day, and you’re doing lots of things that would make her proud.”

“I am?”

“Definitely. Every day. And you feel okay, right?” I pointed to my chest. “You know, in here.”

“Uh huh,” she said, making a circle in the snow with her boot.

“You sure?”

She looked up at me. “Yeah.”

“Then I know your mom is happy. Because you make her very happy.”

“I do?”

“No question about it.”

We traveled a few more steps, with Spring dragging her feet and leaving a small continuous path. I tried to get her arms swinging again, but she was focused elsewhere.

A couple of blocks away from our apartment, a group of hip-hop carolers were performing on a street corner. There were about a dozen people standing there listening to them. We stopped to join the crowd. Spring seemed fascinated to hear some familiar songs with these new arrangements and inched toward the front, ultimately and perhaps unwittingly moving between the crowd and the singers. When one of the rappers noticed her, he scooped her up to join their group. At first, Spring seemed alarmed and I thought I was going to have to go in to retrieve her. But as the group launched into what was unquestionably
the coolest version of “Frosty the Snowman” I’d ever heard, Spring was smiling and waving her arms with the rest of the singers. The crowd was charmed, the singers grew more animated and I was disproportionately pleased with the entire thing.

When the song was over, the crowd applauded, the lead singer kissed Spring on the cheek, and she ran back into my arms. We stayed for a couple more songs before we made our way home.

“That was fun, huh?” I said to her. She offered a huge nod as confirmation.

When we entered the building and headed to the elevator, Spring waved hi to security guard Vanderhoof. He returned the wave, as we walked by and stepped into the elevator.

Spring hit the button for our floor and moved toward the corner of the car. “D? Would Mommy be mad, if I wasn’t okay?” She pointed to her chest. “You know, in here?”

I was pretty thrown off by the question, having just seen her partying outside a few minutes earlier. There was so much more I had to learn.

“No, Spring,” I said. “She wouldn’t be mad at all. But I think she’d want you to tell me if you weren’t, so I could help make you feel better.”

“Really?”

I nodded. Her cheeks were rosy from the walk. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

She shook her head.

“You’re sure? We can talk anytime you want.”

She shook her head again. I assumed this meant that she didn’t want to tell me anything and not that she didn’t think we could talk if she needed to.

We arrived at the apartment just ahead of Billie. I poured some wine in a plastic cup for me, white grape juice in a sippy cup for Spring, and grabbed an Anjou pear for her snack. By the time I removed my tie, Spring had relocated the cups to the cover of my laptop, thinking it would make a nice tea set. Fortunately, there was a knock at the door.

“Billie!” Spring said, running to open it.

“Ho, ho, ho, little girl.”

Spring turned to me with a smirk and Billie walked in. She was wearing a Santa hat and beard. She crouched down next to Spring and offered another “Ho, ho, ho.” Spring laughed. Billie did look silly, but that wasn’t what made me smile.

“Nice facial hair,” I said. “I told you those supplements you were taking were going to backfire on you.”

“When Spring’s not around, I’ll tell you what the supplements have really done for me,” Billie said, standing up. “I have Santa hats for everybody.”

“Why?” Spring said.

“It’s Christmas.”

“Why?”

Billie wasn’t biting. “Because I thought it would be a good thing to put over your mouth,” she said, chasing after Spring. Spring laughed and retreated to a corner. Billie turned back to me. “Sushi here yet?”

“Just ordered it. They’re pretty quick, though.”

“I hope so. I’m ravenous.”

“And in that beard, you’re ravishing, as well.”

“You’re such a flatterer, Mr. Hunter.” Billie took off the beard and kissed me on the cheek.

The sushi arrived ten minutes later. I gave Spring some roast chicken from the previous night’s dinner, but
she seemed much more interested in watching us eat the sushi than she had on previous occasions.

“Do you think you’d like to try some of this?” I said to her. “You can have part of this roll if you want. It’s cooked shrimp and asparagus.”