My Christmas Darling

by Vivien Mayfair

  Sick.

  Yeah right.

  About as much as an actor who fell off the Oscar stage while accepting the little gold man and later didn’t show up for the Governor’s Ball for his accolade. Lucy didn’t buy it for a second.

  Still sick or avoiding me? I should’ve checked on him.

  The vocals moved onto Here We Come A-wassailing now. Half the employees held up chilled champagne glasses or hot wassail mugs for a cheer as they sang along like they lived in Victorian England and took Christmas a little too seriously.

  Lucy didn’t hear the music.

  She stared blankly at the hot chocolate buffet while holding a spoonful of red sugar in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. Despite the whoops, her mind buzzed around one painful fact; he didn’t come. It was an hour into the party and no sign of William Harcourt. All she could think about was the last time she saw him at the arcade.

  The infamous kiss.

  When she ran out of ideas on what to do for that crisis, she had called Iris, who promptly sent a car. Since Lucy knew where he lived, she accompanied his failing body all the way home, deciding it best to monitor him in the case that he would need a doctor.

  The doorman lugged him to his condo.

  Nothing since.

  “Are you measuring those for weight?” a male voice prompted.

  Lucy looked at her favorite male intern whose eyes devoured crystal bowls full of toppings for hot cocoa: marshmallows, cherries, sprinkles, dark and white chocolate chips. A diabetic’s worst nightmare.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked, dashing chili powder on his drink.

  “The music, you know.”

  “Yeah, they’re fantastic. Nice job on that one.”

  She dolloped strawberry whipped cream on her cocoa, shaking the crystallized sugar on top. Nice job on that one but a bad job at the arcade. She nearly cuddled up with the man right there on the pool table. His passing out moments later made her painfully aware that it was nothing more than Irish coffee and viral delirium.

  Not a call since.

  The intern wandered off as Lucy sipped. She turned around and surveyed her hard efforts. The Imperial Winter Ball would have made Queen Victoria envious. Festive vintage cocktails, delicious period cuisine, and decadent entertainment graced the top floor of Big Apple Books used for press receptions.

  “Great party, Lucy!” the receptionist called out.

  The room shimmered in traditional yuletide shades turned into a snowy scene. The carolers wore vintage Victorian suits and dresses with top hats and hand muffs. One even held a swinging black lantern.

  Evergreen garlands graced the tables, hung over doors, and framed windows. Table-top flower arrangements looked frost-kissed intentionally and sparkled next to sweet honey-wine candles.

  In the center of the room stood a tall table with an expertly handcrafted gingerbread house the size of a preschooler. People walked by and plucked candy pieces from the décor, since the sign said “Snack on Me.”

  Not Lucy’s touch.

  The event turned into a genuine winter wonderland since William told her no limitations. He wanted to make up for the years he forbade a party. No more running his company like a military operation.

  A lovable quality.

  One thing he confessed in an email to her as Bibi was his holiday regret. Not just work, but for not pushing his father harder to uphold Adele Harcourt’s holiday traditions.

  Lucy moved to the food table and kept to herself. All eyes in the room fixed on the carolers. Sweets and savories topped tables draped with white and blue-lace tablecloths lined with safety candles.

  All the traditional dishes were there: an English Christmas pudding, Italian panettone, French bŭche de noёl, and hot Swedish saffron buns. The Yorkshire pudding and pineapple-glazed ham were now gone.

  She popped a cheese croquette in her mouth, feeling warm and toasty all over as the gathering chased off her winter chill. It was a true evening of cheerful merrymaking with clever company that she would have preferred any day of the week over a stuffy book launch party.

  One more problem to fix. One more disappointment.

  Then that man – her future boss.

  Maxwell Harcourt III approached with a half-smile. It was the first time Lucy had seen him in anything more than a suit. Instead, he wore a crisp cranberry sweater and grey slacks. Lean and regal like his son.

  “Ms. Carpenter,” he said over the carolers. “Wonderful party.”

  Lord, she loathed this man. Or, did she?

  He asked matter-of-factly, “I presume you’re about to start the cookie contest? Since people are waiting”

  Yep.

  Loathed entirely.

  He was the kind of man to pose a question that sounded more like an order. This was the man that caused William so much grief and prompted him to kiss her in an arcade like a two-bit tramp stamp.

  “Have you seen William?” she asked.

  “Sorry to say, I have not. I imagine he won’t come.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he knows it’s the last time his company will be together as Big Apple Books, since after Christmas everything moves to my building. Yet, I know my son; he’ll recover soon enough.”

  “And, if he doesn’t?”

  “William has it in his mind to impress me.”

  “Which, it seems, you make hard for him to do.”

  The man pressed a hand on her shoulder with the other in his pocket. “My dear, my son has impressed me every day since he was born. If only he could see the same about himself.”

  Then he sauntered off.

  Okay, so not loathed. Regarded curiously, was more like it. Could it be the baggage William had with his dad had some other explanation that Lucy had no privy to?

  She lingered by a fresh Douglas Fir Christmas tree decorated entirely in gold: lights, ornaments, ribbons, even the tree skirt. Pulling out a note script from her pocket, she grew aware that it was time for her speech.

  “Did you do the snowflakes?” The intern passed again, pointing at the ceiling.

  “Only took me all night.”

  He gave a thumbs-up headed for the secret Santa pile of gifts. Lucy gazed over the paper snowflakes she and her mom spent all night cutting. They swung from the ceiling by curly ribbon. It still amazed Lucy how much her mom could do by feel without hurting herself.

  The mic crackled.

  The carolers announced that they were stopping for a break.

  This was it.

  Her duty.

  Her task.

  Something to focus on other than her crumbling life.

  “Here goes nothing,” she uttered, approaching the microphone on a makeshift step. “Good evening everybody, thank you for coming to our party. Thanks to those who volunteered for the cookie baking contest.” She pointed to a table lined with cookies on cheerful plates. “Voters, please line up with your cards.”

  Even though she stood in front of sixty people in her red and gold holiday dress with bell sleeves and a train that flowed behind her, all she could think about was tending to William and his flu in his apartment that night. She cared for him like any loving nursemaid.

  Did he know?

  Once the bellman situated him in bed, Lucy had removed William’s shirt and sponge-bathed his face and chest. She searched his place for aspirin, placing a bottle next to his bed with water, salty snacks, and his phone. At first, she watched his chest rise and fall to make sure he breathed. Afraid to leave, she spent the evening making voting cards for the cookie contest at his dining room table, finishing off with a good read over the Hoobub and the Grinch.

  Aware everybody stared at her despite a deafening silence, she wondered why he left the book out. Did he read it regularly? And, what was with the sad excuse for a holiday shopping list tucked inside? When she saw calico potholders and voice-activated light switches for Iris, she had to do something.

  She made him a list.

  Then left it.

/>   Iris released her of duty and sat with him all night. Not a word from the man since. He didn’t show up to work the next day or respond to Lucy’s voicemails checking on him. Besides, what was there to say?

  “Lucy!” somebody tapped her arm.

  Her eyes snapped back to the group. “Let the judging begin.”

  She nearly dove off the stand for the cookie table, picking up her voting card before lining up next to nine others already working their way down the tasting table. She closed her eyes and bit into a Lebkuchen German gingerbread cookie that twizzled like a party on her tongue.

  She jotted a note.

  Tasted a Swiss chocolate spice cookie, then an allspice and clove madeleine that dissolved like fluff in her mouth. She thought she heard somebody mutter “the ice-fish” and looked up from her notes.

  There he was.

  And, not alone.

  William Harcourt entered the party in a gorgeous black suit with a crimson shirt and holiday tie. The last thing she expected to see was a tie with dancing snowmen on it. The worst part was the woman on his arm.

  Heather.

  Lucy’s hand went limp and sent a frosted cranberry cookie splat on top of her shoe. “Oh dear!” One of her coworkers handed her a napkin. Lucy kicked off the cookie and left it on the ground.

  William introduced Heather to a man who complimented her on her dress; a slippery green mermaid sheath made of silk and covered in sequins that had no business appearing at a company Christmas party.

  Lucy charged their way.

  So that’s what the five voicemails were about. She cursed herself while heading straight for them, barely able to contain her nerves that threatened to explode her brains out from a crazy ache longing for William Harcourt. He was all she could think about day and night, and every realm in between.

  “Hello, Bibi!” she said on approach.

  Heather’s head whipped around, eyes stretching in surprise. “Oh, Lucy, your dress!”

  “I could say the same about yours.”

  William walked right past Lucy without so much as a hello. He shook hands with two of the company accountants at the hot cocoa bar. Of all the things that currently hurt inside, not seeing her was the worst.

  He hates me. Regrets what we did. Probably embarrassed.

  Anger simmering in her chest, she grabbed Heather by the elbow. “Are you crazy?”

  “I called you like five times.”

  “I’ve been busting my buns hosting this party. What are you doing here?”

  “He called and asked me.”

  “That’s impossible. He doesn’t have your phone number.”

  “That night we called him from my apartment was from my home phone. I guess it showed up on his caller ID. Don’t worry, I don’t have an answering machine for that phone with my name.”

  “He called and asked you to the party?”

  Heather beamed a smile at two ladies who admired her dress. “Why do you say it like that?”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “When yesterday?”

  “What does it matter? I figured you want to further my image in his mind as Bibi.”

  “You can’t be making plans to be me without talking to me.”

  “I tried to call you a zillion times,” Heather complained.

  An ill feeling consumed Lucy’s body; like a serpent eating her kneecaps. Yesterday. After the kiss. After the arcade. After he held her. After she cared for him without him knowing it. Yesterday, and he still wanted Bibi.

  “I thought you told him no, when he asked you in email,” whispered Heather.

  “Not convincingly enough, it seems.”

  “I’m going to have to be Bibi at the launch party. At least this way people know me. Oh Lucy, I’m just doing what I thought you wanted me to do. I really am trying to help you.”

  “I know, but you can’t speak to anybody.”

  “Come on, it’s a party.”

  “You have to get out of here. Do you hear me?”

  “But, I’m already here. What’s the big deal?”

  “Did he pick you up? Oh jeez, please tell me he doesn’t know where we live.”

  Heather gave a disregarding flick of her wrist. “Don’t be silly. I took a cab.”

  “Are you dating him? Is this a date?”

  “No, you told me he’s an ice-fish, which he isn’t. Besides, this is all business, right? I thought you wanted this. Please, I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  Each time Lucy glanced toward William chatting with staff, he looked away. Tears pooled in the back of her eyes from his disregard. At least now she knew he believed their night was a mistake.

  “Anyhow, listen…” said Heather, pulling her to the wall. “It’s done, you’re rich.”

  “This is no time for jokes.”

  “No, I mean your money, our money, was deposited today. A hundred-thousand dollars.”

  Lucy gasped, head reeling. “That can’t be. I haven’t set anything up.”

  “Remember, I told you that I added our fake name to my account after we did the paperwork? Well, I called the publishing house accounting office and gave the direct deposit number. It was so totally easy that you wouldn’t believe it.”

  Dynamite shooting arrows out of the floor would have been less surprising. Lucy closed her eyes as the reality hit in a mixed wash of emotions. It all happened so fast. When the shock wore off, a gargantuous weight lifted off of her shoulders that made her feel ten pounds lighter.

  She was rich.

  Paid.

  It was done.

  Shivers crept up her back like slippery eels. Suddenly, her great hoax didn’t feel so great anymore. In fact, it felt downright rotten to the center of her bones. Surely, Rikers would come calling, if not the morality police. She collected money on a hoax that would change lives if the truth emerged.

  Heather shook her by the arms. “I’ll take out my ten percent, then transfer it to you.”

  “Five percent.”

  “Well, but if I’m doing all this work as you, shouldn’t I get more? This could go on a long time.”

  It would still be more than enough for her mom’s surgery.

  Gee willikers.

  Mary Carpenter would get her eyesight back based on a malicious and deceitful lie that now included hurting a man who wasn’t at all an ice-fish. Lucy’s feelings for him ran deep.

  “You’re right, that’s fair. Of course.”

  “Now, I have a performance to give,” said Heather, fluffing up her hair. “I’m at work, after all.”

  William waved Heather over to his spot by the bar. Didn’t notice Lucy, which at that point seemed intentional. Maybe it was time to reconsider having removed the title of ice-fish.

  “Heather, you can’t date him.”

  “Look, if he wants to take me home, it’s all in the name of business.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “It’s for your mom we’re doing this, right? I mean, you did give me an acting job. But of course I’m not serious. Not really.”

  “So long as you’re not trying to be Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. He’s not on the menu.”

  “Oh, he’s certainly on the menu. Besides, it’s part of the job.”

  “He’s my boss. We’re already in a host of trouble.”

  “If he’s enraptured by me, it’ll distract him from the truth for as long as it takes to help you.”

  “I have feelings for him. Can’t you see that?”

  Her friend’s painted face balled up. “Oh, well, since when? You never said anything.”

  Of course, she didn’t. What could she say?

  I’m in love with my boss who thinks I’m a nobody, and who brought you to the party.

  Nope.

  Heather would roast in a fire of a thousand torments for this. Lucy scrambled inside of herself for a beacon to cling to before losing her skull to the green-eyed monster, who looked i
n her mind like the Jolly Green Giant on a can of green beans. She struggled for a thought to keep her calm.

  There were two choices.

  The first, to relinquish her defensive boon and enjoy herself as they were doing. She could fall into the rhythm of yuletide cheer and holiday music, while pushing aside questions about why William wouldn’t so much as look her way.

  Why should he?

  It wasn’t as if she was beautiful like the women at the party. As it was, she ate like an anorexic bird, and still had the padding to show otherwise. She wasn’t graceful like Heather, who laughed so hard that her head threw back with a mouth open wide enough to catch a falling star.

  “Ms. Carpenter.” A first-floor receptionist tapped her shoulder. “Somebody’s in the lobby for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Maybe it was spite.

  Maybe it was guilt.

  William wouldn’t be with Bibi if it wasn’t for her stupid lie and stupid guilt and stupid moral compass. His father wouldn’t have gone after the company if it wasn’t for her book. William wouldn’t have been passed out on an arcade floor if it wasn’t for her hoax. The ice-fish wouldn’t have come back.

  It was her fault.

  The invention of Bibi Roquette ruined it all. The dilemma dawned on Lucy that the solution could be simple if she wanted it to be. Come clean to William’s father, and the truth would render the contract null and void. All publishing steps would cease. The launch party would be cancelled. Lucy would be fired.

  His father wouldn’t want the company.

  Or.

  Maybe it would give her a bargaining tool. If he still wanted what her book phenomena could offer, he could take her as Lucy and, in exchange, halt all legal steps to finalize the purchase of the company. William would keep his job and be happy again. She wouldn’t be responsible for ruining a man’s dream.

  Or, a relationship with a father.

  No.

  She was dog tired of the self-imposed exile from happiness and exhausted from the emotional damage festering inside of her from the night her mom got hit. It was time to disinfect the wound and heal it up.

  But, how?

  Taking the money and running would be easy. Could she live with easy? As she worked her way down three floors of winding staircases to the lobby, she knew William Harcourt was meant to run Big Apple books. The company sale was a mistake, and Lucy couldn’t live with herself for participating.