Regifted

by Declan Rhodes

  “You crack me up sometimes little brother. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  I nodded. “I guess I am, but I’m still angry over what happened at the auction. I think Sal—fucking—Whetstone bruised my ego.”

  “Just a little bit.”

  “A whole lot! I still might call the center and complain. It doesn’t have anything to do with Desmond, but they should have rules for things like this.”

  Ciel asked, “Are you sure they don’t?”

  “I don’t remember anything, and I think I would have noticed that. By the way, do you have a date for New Year’s Eve?”

  “I do.”

  My eyes opened wider. “Have you been holding out on me? Who’s the lucky man? I have to keep an eye out for my sister.”

  “It’s my best friend, Eva. She’s a guaranteed fun date. I don’t have to worry about nerves or how to kiss appropriately when the clock strikes twelve.”

  My shoulders dropped. “You really should look for a romantic partner one of these days.”

  “Been there and done that. For now, I’m happier without, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t put yourself out there. So what are you doing for the rest of the evening? Are you taking good care of yourself?”

  I shifted the phone around giving Ciel a 360-degree view of my living room. “I’m curling up with the TV remote control. I stopped at the grocery store and bought some eggnog on the way home from the gym.” I held two fingers up to my lips. “And shh, don’t tell any of my clients about it. I have sugar cookies from Maeve, and I might watch a sweet Christmas movie or two.”

  “Ahh, my brother the incurable romantic. I’ll let you go for now, but keep me posted about Desmond. I hope he realizes he’s getting a chance at the best guy in the world.”

  I tuned in a Christmas romance and settled on the sofa with a spiked mug of eggnog and a plate of three sugar cookies. I felt like Santa relaxing after a long night of package delivery.

  The movie was that one where a successful, but buttoned-up-too-tight businesswoman meets a free-spirited man that she can’t take seriously. She dutifully follows the guy around who is the heir to a family fortune. Unfortunately, he’s no fun at all, and he’s so moody that sometimes he almost kicks the dog. Meanwhile, the free spirit selflessly cares for everything she needs. In the last fifteen minutes, the heroine comes to her senses, and the world is turned right side up for a sappy, merry Christmas.

  Of course, I’d never seen the particular movie on the screen before, but that’s how they all go. I love every single one of them. If it were up to me, I’d do nothing in the evenings from Thanksgiving to Christmas but watch holiday romance movies.

  The only thing better would be replacing the woman with a man at least once in a while. As the two leads stood outside with snowflakes artfully falling past the light of a street lamp, my thoughts drifted away from the movie.

  I didn’t realize that I’d closed my eyes. I saw myself walking down the Main Street of the perfect small town that exists only in everyone’s dreams. I walked past the bake shop inhaling the scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger. The man running the pet shop was closing up, and he waved, “Hi, Vincent!” A few other residents hurried from place to place behind me, and they pulled their collars up as a buffer against the cold. Despite the bitter breeze, I could barely feel it.

  As my eyelids fluttered lightly, I saw a man in the distance, and he looked back at me. He had black-framed glasses and a compact, slim body. He wore a long black overcoat and walked with a sense of purpose in my direction.

  When he drew close, I realized I’d seen the face before. It was Desmond. I smiled from ear to ear as I threw my long, strong arms around him. He had a deeper voice than I remembered from the Holiday Extravaganza as he exclaimed, “Vincent!”

  We kissed. If it were a cartoon, little hearts would have drifted in a silent stream above our heads. Speaking breathlessly in the wake of the heat of the kiss, I whispered, “Desmond, let’s go inside. We’ve got all evening together.”

  My cell phone rang and pulled me out of my waking dream. I drew it out of my pocket. It was a call from the community center. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Vincent, this is David Underwood from the LGBTQ Community Center. How are you this evening?”

  My frustration started to well up in the back of my throat, but I fought it back to maintain my civility. I said, “I’m doing well.”

  “Oh, that’s very good. I suppose you can guess why I’m calling. I spoke with some concerned board members while I was in the office today. We all want to apologize for the unfortunate events at the Holiday Extravaganza.”

  I was careful about choosing my words. “I do accept your apology, but it was frustrating.”

  “I spoke with enough board members to amount to a majority, and we all agree that we can keep arrangements in place if you wish for your date with Desmond Hollingsworth to proceed. Alternatively, you can decide to withdraw from the specifics of this situation. It seems like the least we can do to right the unprecedented situation.”

  I contemplated the possibility of dismissing Desmond for a moment. Then I remembered my thoughts during the movie. I glanced at the TV screen and saw that it was winding its way toward the gloriously happy ending.

  Satisfied that the community center board ate enough crow, I said, “No, that will be fine. I’m looking forward to getting to know Desmond better. I hope he feels the same.”

  I heard the relief in David’s voice. He said, “Yes, he agrees. I’ve spoken with him already. I didn’t want to make this sound like you were personally rejecting him if you chose to dismiss the date. Would you like me to call him again, or would you like to share the good news?”

  The prospect of making David squirm a tiny bit more put a smile on my face. “I’d be happy if you let him know. Tell him that our original plans are in place, and he can feel free to contact me if he has any questions.”

  David’s short-lived joy and relief were apparent as he said, “Consider it done, and Vincent, Merry Christmas!”

  10

  Desmond

  For the past three years in a row, I satisfied myself with bare-bones holiday decorating in my apartment. I had a small three-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree that I placed on the mantle of my fireplace, and I strung garland below. Other than a few other little trinkets, that was the limit of the festive nature of my home.

  The prospect that I might have a reason to invite a man like Vincent into my home during the Christmas season nearly sent me into a panic. David Underwood called from the community center to confirm that my date with Vincent was full steam ahead. When I glanced at my personal calendar, I noticed that our first date would take place just two nights before the Nutcracker performance. I smiled and crossed my fingers as I tucked the phone back into my pocket.

  To prioritize my holiday decorating efforts, I canceled a meeting with a fellow faculty member about a collaborative research project. Instead, I rushed to a local home decor shop desperate for holiday gleam and glitter.

  The store was full of pretty things, but most of it was far too precious for my taste. I turned my nose up at intricate yarn-woven ornaments and tiny faceless children linking arms around a Christmas tree. Finally, I discovered a small corner of the shop with all things clean, sleek, silver and gold. I returned to the front of the store to retrieve one of the in-house shopping baskets.

  After I finished loading up the basket with goodies for an apartment that would make the editors of Architectural Digest proud, I struggled to the checkout with my intended purchases. I held the basket close to my body to avoid dropping anything and balanced three boxes in my opposite hand.

  A slightly older woman waiting in line glanced at me and gasped, “Oh, young man, let me move out of your way. It’s so exciting to see a member of the younger generation excited about Christmas.”

  Although I’m not Scrooge by any stretch of the imagination, I would hesitate to call myself the embodiment of the spirit o
f Christmas either. I had little room in my life for the commercial frenzy that swirled around the Santa Claus legend, but I loved twinkly lights and golden stars.

  After closing the transaction with the customer directly ahead of me, the shop clerk spread all of my purchases out on the counter before ringing them up. She looked at me and then perused my collection of decorative items. “Oh, my, what a beautiful selection. Did somebody send you with a list?”

  I swallowed hard and tamped down a stammer before I replied with a challenge. “No, I selected these all on my own. Were you trying to imply something?”

  I stared at the clerk daring her to make another inappropriate remark. “Why, no, I mean…uh, well, it’s just usually…Happy Holidays, Sir!”

  The older woman behind me whispered in my ear, “I wish you were my boy. Harold doesn’t have a decorative bone in his body. If it were up to him, the Christmas tree would hold nothing but a mug of beer and a cocktail shaker.”

  I closed one eye so that I couldn’t see the total cost of my purchases while I signed the credit card receipt. I’d see it on my monthly statement soon enough. Fortunately, I’d scored an outstanding parking spot and didn’t have far to walk to drag the load to my car. As I turned the key in the ignition, I sighed, “The things we do for love. At least that would be potential love.”

  The gentle irony of the song, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” wasn’t lost on me as it drifted out of the car radio on the drive home. I didn’t see the sugarplums dancing in my head yet, but my unexpected good fortune from the Holiday Extravaganza brightened my view of the holiday traditions.

  While I busied myself stringing silver tinsel from one end of my apartment to the other, my phone rang. It was Jerry. It was only two days from his departure for his holiday cruise, and he was nearly hyperventilating.

  “Desmond, please, I need you to go shopping with me! I’ve got nothing to wear. Who knew that you would need summer clothes in winter? I packed up my whole collection of short sleeves and walking shorts in October and sent them to a local charity. I do that every year.”

  I asked, “What? Run that by me again, Jerry. I’m not sure that I heard you correctly.”

  “Isn’t that what you do? Otherwise, the clothes all pile up in a thoroughly unnecessary amount of clutter. I’ve scheduled a weekend full of shopping in early March, but I need summer clothes now. The weather will be warm on the cruise.”

  I scratched my head. I’d never heard of such a thing. Jerry scrapped his seasonal clothes each year and bought an entirely new wardrobe. It sounded like a dream come true for a man like me. I needed to make a note about considering his plan in the New Year.

  I said, “Jerry, I’d love to, but I’ve got my own emergency to address.”

  “Emergency? Mold in your walls? Did a water pipe burst? Is your furnace pumping wicked green gas into the atmosphere?”

  “Wicked green gas? No, I don’t want to know. I’ve got a date, and I need to decorate my apartment for Christmas. I might invite him inside after all.”

  Jerry said, “Desmond, I’m confused. Christmas decorating was on my schedule for the weekend after Thanksgiving. It’s all complete now. What were you doing then?”

  I sighed and hoped that Jerry could hear. A strange affliction possessed him. If he performed a specific task in his life, he assumed everyone else did it then, too. When I reported that I did something differently or didn’t execute the chores that he did at all, instant confusion was the result.

  I’d seen Jerry’s home at Christmas in the past, and he was a skilled decorator. Understanding how he succeeded at making his home look like a winter bed and breakfast complete with burning logs in the fireplace and stockings for himself and his dog on the mantel was beyond me. All that I knew was that I could use his assistance.

  I said, “Jerry, let’s make a deal.”

  “A deal. What do you have in mind? I’m not sure that I have time for some esoteric insider gambling. I really need to buy new clothes.”

  “The clothes are part of this. It’s not gambling. It’s an agreement. Now listen closely.”

  “Oh, does the deal involve my clothes?”

  I snickered into the phone as I said, “Yes, it does. Let me explain this deal. We have approximately 48 hours before you leave for Fort Lauderdale, and I go out on my date that night. If you cover for me at work, I’ll cover for you, and together we’ll buy your new wardrobe and decorate my apartment.”

  “Desmond, if you’d decorated your apartment after Thanksgiving as everyone else did, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

  I wanted to reach through the phone and throttle one of my very best friends. Instead, I mustered sweetness in my voice and said, “You would have clothes, too, if you kept them like everyone else. Let’s put two heads together as one and solve both our problems.”

  11

  Vincent

  I read the disbelief written across Maeve’s face. “You’re far too easy on me today, Vincent. The last time you were like this, you were worried that your lease renewal on the gym didn’t go through. What’s up?”

  “The date’s tonight.”

  “The date?” Maeve closed her mouth and performed ten more oblique crunches.

  “You know what date. The date. It’s tonight. I’m in a panic. I don’t know what to wear. After we eat, I don’t know what we should do.”

  Maeve huffed and puffed as she completed her set. “Oh, the date with Desmond. I wasn’t at all confident that you were going to go through with it. I’m proud of you, and I’m confused. What would you wear to any other date?”

  “But this one’s important.” I thought about Desmond and conjured up a picture in my mind. One part was what I saw at the Holiday Extravaganza, and the other part was pure fantasy. He wore perfectly constructed and well-chosen clothes with a sweet, almost shy, smile. Desmond greeted me with an enthusiastic hug, and both of our hands started to wander. The hug morphed into a kiss, and…

  “Vincent!” I snapped back to attention. “You are distracted. This is quite a change of opinion about Desmond.”

  I squatted down and then sat cross-legged by Maeve on her mat. Leaning forward like I was planning to share conspiratorial secrets with an undercover spy, I asked, “Can I share a little secret?”

  “Who am I to stop you? I’ve brought plenty of my little closet skeletons out and rattled them in your face.”

  “Do you think Desmond is a nerd? Or at least a little nerd-like?”

  Maeve laughed. “Oh, whoa! Yeah, boy, yes, he’s a nerd alright. I’d say he’s a card-carrying member of the society. That doesn’t mean he’s any less sweet.”

  I poked at her shoulder. “See, when you said that, I felt it like…you know where. It’s like a bolt to the…well, you know.”

  A wicked smile filled Maeve’s face. “Vincent, you devil you, I never knew. No wonder things have fallen apart with all those other hopeless guys you’ve dated. Your long list of gym bunnies and former jocks. I’ve never known you to go out with a Desmond at all.”

  “It freaks me out to think about it. Frankly, I’m scared. It intimidates me. I’ve thought those smart guys in those slim little bodies were hot since I was in junior high. It’s probably like you dating a massive man made of chocolate. Wouldn’t people ask questions?”

  Maeve sat up. “Hey, now you’re getting personal!” We both laughed. “Do you need a pep talk in the romance department? Do you I need to remind you of what’s blatantly obvious?”

  “Maybe you do. But I need to know what to wear, too, and I need to know what to say. Isn’t your brother a little like Desmond? I mean the nerdy type.”

  “But he doesn’t date guys.”

  I waved a hand. “I don’t care. What’s a guy like Desmond talk about? Does he drop huge nuggets of wisdom, or is he a little quieter than that? I wouldn’t think he cares much about the finer points of steppers vs. ellipticals or the latest workout fabrics and sustained vs. interval training.”

/>   Maeve shook her head. “Oh, that’s the ideal way to have him fall asleep. I guess it wouldn’t be all bad if he nodded off. You could have the nerdish guy of your dreams with his head on your shoulder.”

  “Shit, yeah. Wrapped in my arms.” I grinned. “I feel like such an ass that I’ve kept this all inside. Why does he make me so damned nervous? I don’t care what I talk about with you. I just let it out and yammer on about anything.”

  Maeve sighed. “And I still love you.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that. I let you talk about anything with me, too. Remember when you told me about drug dealers, deadbeat dads, and the stupid guy who walked out of the Sav-Mor Department Store with a cart full of unpurchased merchandise?”

  Maeve grinned. “Happy days.” She started into another set of crunches and suddenly stopped. “Wait, did you say let me talk?”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t you? I hope so. We’re just teasing, right?”

  Maeve laughed. “I am teasing. So, since you’ve decided to be more like a pussycat than a demanding lion today, should I do more crunches?”

  “Yeah, one more set before we move to the plank.”

  “How about two more sets of crunches?”

  I let a growl underline my words. “I said plank. Are you starting to complain? What did I say happens to whiners and complainers?”

  Maeve scanned the look in my eyes. She saw the hard trainer mode coming back. “Soft bodies and flabby elbows. Shit, I should have let you the panic mode about your latest dating adventure. You were starting to be nice about this.”

  I watched as Maeve launched into the next set of crunches. She was one of my very best clients. She rarely ever complained. Actually, I should clarify that she rarely ever complained about me. She barked at her own body on occasion when she came close to failing my orders, but it was never about me.