Mrs. X grabs a few more bags in each hand, tightens her arm around the Tiffany's package, and heads back toward her office. "Oh, Nanny, the tree's been set up. Why don't you and Grayer go down to the basement andbringuptheornaments?"
"Sure!" I call after her asI walk tothe living room. Thetree is a magnificentDouglasfir thatlooks asif it were growing rightout of thefloor. I closemyeyes and inhalefor a secondbefore addressingGrayer, who's having an animated exchange withAl, the lone tree decoration teetering on the very tip of a low branch.
"Hey, looks like your man Al is getting ready to jump." I reach for the bent paper clip serving as Al's lifeline.
"DON'T! He doesn't want you to touch him. Only me," he instructs. We spend the next fifteen tedious minutesrelocatingAl
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while ensuring that only Grayer's hands do all the work. I stare up at the many feet of bare greens towering above us and wonder if anyone would notice if the rest of the Xes' ornaments didn't make it onthis year.Attheratewe're going,itmightconceivablytakeGrayerwell
intohis twenties.
I lookdownathimashewhisperstoAl. "Okay,buddy,"I say, "let's gotothebasement andbringup the rest of your ornaments so they can keep Al company. They'll be there to talk him down if he gets too closetotheedgeagain." "To thebasement?" "Yup. Let's go."
"1 got toget mystuff.Got togetmyhelmet andbelt.You go tothedoorNanny, I'll meetya ... got toget theflashlight.. ." Herunstohis roomasI ringfortheelevator.
Grayer glides back out into the vestibule just as the elevator door opens. "Oh, my God, Grove!All this for the basement?" He puts one sock-covered foot down to stop his skateboard in front of the elevator door. His bicycle helmet sits slightly askew and he has shoved a huge flashlight into his waistband, along with a yo-yo and what looks to be a monogrammed washcloth from his bathroom. "Okay, let's go,"hesays with completeauthority. "I'm thinkingwe shouldatleastbewearingshoesforthis
adventure."
"Nah,don't need 'em."Herolls insideandthedoor closes behindbothof usbeforeI cancatch it. "It's so cool down there, Nanny. Oh, man, oh, man." He nods his helmeted head in anticipation. Grayer has taken to peppering his commentary with "oh, mans" as of late, thanks to Christianson, a four-year-old of remarkable charisma who has a good foot in height over the rest of his classmates. In fact, when Al first made impact with the fateful orange glitter both Giselle's and Grayer's first utterance was a simultaneous "Oh,man."
The elevator stops at the lobby and Grayer rolls ahead of me, propelling himself with one foot, while keeping both hands on his waistband so that his packed pants don't succumb to gravity. By the time I catch up, he's already gotten Ramon to lead the way to the caged service elevator. "Ahh, Mr. Grayer. You musthaveimportantbusiness downthere,huh?"
Grayer isbusyadjustinghis toolsandoffersonly adistracted "Yup."
Ramonsmiles inhis directionandthenwinksconspiratoriallyatme. "He's veryserious,our Mr. Grayer. You got a girlfriend yet, Mr. Grayer?" The elevator jerks as we reach the basement. He slides the gate open and we step out into the bright, cold corridor, rich with the aroma of dryer sheets. "Cage 132. own to the right. Be careful now, don't get lost, or I'll have to come find you..." He winks again and, with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, pulls the door closed, leaving me beneath a dangling lightbulb.
"Grayer?" I yell downthecorridor.
"Nanny! I'm waiting. Come onnnn!" I follow his voice around the maze of floor-to-ceiling cages lining the walls. Some are more packed than others, but each has the requisite luggage, ski equipment, and random pieces of bubble-wrapped furniture. I round the bend and see Grove lying on his stomach atop his skateboard under a sign that says 132, pulling himself along the wired wall by his hands. "Oh, man, it's gonna be so fun when Daddy comes home and does the tree. Caitlin gets us started and Daddy does thehigh-ups andwehavehotchocolateinthelivingroom."
"Soundspretty cool. Here, I have thekey," I say, holdingit out toward him. He jumps up anddown as I unlock the cage and then proceeds to deftly make his way in around the boxes. I let him lead as he's clearly madethistrekbeforeandI wouldn't know astoragelockerfromanEasy-Bakeoven.
I sitdownonthecoldcementandleanbackonthecagedoor
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facing that of the Xes. My parents used to daydream about storage space, sitting with both feet up on the trunk packedto bursting with our summer clothes thatserved as our coffee table. On occasion, we'd allow ourselves to talk about what we could do with one extra closet. uch as a family in Wyoming mightfantasizeaboutwinning thelottery.
"Do you know what you're looking for, Grove?" I call into the piles, as I haven't heard anything in a few minutes. Loud clanging noises break the silence. "Grayer! What's going on in there?" I start to standupashis flashlightcomes rollingoutofthedarknessandstopsatmyfeet.
"Just getting my stuffout, Nanny! Turn the light on me, I'm going to get the blue box!" I click the high beam on and point it into the cage as directed, illuminating two dirtied socks and a little khaki rear end tunnelingintothemiddleofthepile.
"Are yousurethat's safe,Grayer? I thinkmaybe I should ..."What,crawlinbehindhim?
"I got it. Oh, man, there's lotsa stuff back here. My skis! These are my skis, Nanny, for when we go to Aspirin."
"Aspen?"
"Aspen. Found it! Going to pass 'em out. Get ready. You get ready, Nanny, here they come." He is far into the boxes. I hear fumbling and then a glass ball comes flying out of the darkness at me. I drop the flashlight and catch it. It is handblown and has a Steuben mark on it, along with a red hook. Before I canlookup anotheronecomes flying out.
"GRAYER!FREEZE!" Withtheflashlightrollingaround onthe floor,casting a weird lighton Grayer'boxes, I realize I've been letting Mickey Mouse run the show. "Back it up, mister, back it right on up.sIt's yourturntoholdtheflashlight."
"Noooooo."
"Gray-er!" It's theWickedWitchvoice.
"FINE!" Hetunnelsbackout.
I handhimtheflashlight. "Nowlet's trythisagain,onlythis timeyou'll bemeand I'll beyou."
When we get back up to the apartment Grayer marches ahead to establish a plan of attack while I gingerlysettheboxofornamentsdowninthefronthall.
"Nanny?" I hear asmall voice callforme.
"Yes, G?" I follow him into the living room where a flamboyant JohnnyCash is on a ladder, decorating
Grayer's tree.
"Passme thatboxof doves," hesays, noteven turningtolookatus. Grayer andI, standingsafelybythe
door, survey the living room floor, which is littered with doves, gold leaves, Victorian angels, and
stringsofpearls.
"Get down.Mydaddoesthehigh-ups."
"Holdon asec,Grayer,"I sayasI pass offthebirds tothemaninblack. "I'll berightback."
"You better get down or my daddy's gonna be mad at you," I hear Grayer challenge as I knock on Mrs.
X's officedoor.
"Come in."
"Hi, Mrs. X? Sorry to bother you? The room, ordinarily pristine, has been taken over by her "elfing"
andstacksandstacksofChristmas cards.
"No, no, come in. hatis it?" I open mymouth. "Have you met Julio? Isn't he a genius? I'm so luckyI
gothim. eisthethetreeexpert.You shouldseewhathedidattheEgglestons. twasjust
breathtaking."ttj_?
"While I've got you, can I ask? Is a plaid taffeta skirt just too cliche for a Scottish Christmas party? I
can't decide?
UT___)>
"Oh!You shouldsee. boughtthecutesttwinsets todayforMr.
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X's nieces. I hope they're the right color. Would you wear winter-weight cashmere pastels?" She pulls
out aTSEshoppingbag. "I mightexchangethem?
"I was just wondering," I cut in, "Grayer was really looking forward to decorating the tree. He said it
was something he did with Caitlin last year and I was wondering if maybe I could just get him a small treeforhisroomthathecouldhang acoupleofornamentson, justforfun? "I really don't th
ink it would be a good idea to be traipsing needles all over that part of the house." She
searchesfor asolution. "If hewants atreeactivity,whydon't youtakehimtoRockefellerCenter?"
"Well...Yeah, no,yeah,that's a greatidea,"I sayasI openthedoor.
"Thanks.'m justsooverwhelmed!"
When I get back in the living room Grayer is holding a silver baby spoon on a string and tapping on
Julio's ladder. "Hey! Howaboutthis?Wheredoesthis go?" heasks.
Julio looks down in disgust at the spoon. "That doesn't really gel with my vision? Grayer's eyes start to
well up. "Well, ifyoumust. Intheback.Onthebottom."
"G,I've got a plan.GrabAl, I'll getyourcoat."
"Grandma,Grayer. Grayer,this isGrandma."
My grandmother crouches down in her black satin pajama pants, her pearls clicking together as she
extends her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Grayer. And darling, you must beAl." Grayer blushes deeply.
"Well, arewedoingChristmas orwhat?Everybody inwhowantsrugelach."
"Thanksso much,Gran. We were in desperate needof a surface to decorate."The doorbellrings behind
usasI reachtotakeoffGrayer's coat.
"Asurface!Don't beridiculous."Shereachesover Grayer's head
to open the door and there stands a huge tree with two arms wrapped around it. "Right this way!" she
says. "Now, Grayer," she whispers, "you cover Al's eyes. It's all about the surprise." We kick off our
boots and follow closely behind them into the apartment. I've got to hand it to her. he has the
deliverymanplaceitsquarelyinthemiddleof thelivingroom. Sheseeshimoutandreturnstojoinus.
"Grandma,youreallydidn't havetogeta?
"If you're going to do something, darling, then do it all the way. Now, Grayer, let me hit the special effects and we'll get this soiree started." Grayer holds his hands carefully over Al's eyes as my grandmother turns on Frank Sinatra?Can't find Bing," she mouths?and hits the lights. She's lit candles all about the room, setting a beautiful glow around our family pictures, and as Frank croons "The Lady Is aTramp,"it's breathtaking.
SheleansdowntoGrayer. "Well, sir, wheneveryou're ready,I believeAl shouldmeethis tree."We both make drum-roll noises as Grayer takeshis hands offAl's eyes and asks him exactly where he wouldlike tohangoutfirst.
An hour later the two of us are lounging on cushions beneath the green boughs, sipping hot chocolate, while GrayerrelocatesAl atwhim.
"So,how's thedramawith your H. H.?"
"I can't get a read on him. I want him to be different from those boys, but there's really no good reason whyhewouldbe. Ofcourse,if1 never seehimagainit's prettyirrelevant."
"Keep ridingtheelevator, dear. He'll showup.So,howarefinals going?" sheasks.
"OnlyonemoreandI'm done. It's beeninsane. heXeshavebeenout atChristmas partiesevery night. I only study after Grayer goes to sleep, which, ultimately, is probably better than trying to concentrate over thesoundsof Charleneandherhairyboyfriend?Shelooksatme. "Don't evengetme started."
"Well, justdon't wearyourself out. It's notworthit."
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"I know. Butthebonusisboundtobegoodthisyear. he's mentionedParis."
"Ohlala,tresbien."
"Nanny, Al wants to know why Daddy isn't doing the high-ups," Grayer asks quietly from behind the tree. I lookover ather,unsurehowtoanswerhim.
"Grayer". hesmiles atme reassuringly?hasNantoldyouaboutwassailing?"
Heemerges. "Whatdidyousay?" Hecomes up closetoherandputshishandonher knee.
"Wassailing, darling.Whenyou wassail. ou make Christmas! You, little Grayer,are the very best gift you can give. All you do is knock on someone's door, someone you want to share the joy of Christmas with, and when they open it you sing your heart out. Wassailing. ou've got to try it!" He lies down nexttomeandwe lookup throughthebrancheswithour headstogetheron apillow.
"Grandma, you showme. Sing something," hesays. I turnmyheadandsmile at her. Fromwhere we lie sheseems tobeglowingassheleansagainstthechaisesurroundedbycandles. Shebegins tosingalong with her Frank to "The Way You LookTonight." Grayer closes his eyes and I fall just a little bit more in lovewith her.
A weeklater,inexcitedpursuit of Mr. X, Mrs. Xand Grayer marcheagerly aheadof me along thesame corridor I chased Grayer down at the Halloween party. Boughs of greens and twinkling colored lights nowhangwherefakecobwebshadbeen.
Mrs. X pushes Mr. X's heavyofficedooropen.
"Darling, come in." He stands, backlit by the setting sun, which pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windowsbehindhis desk.I am immediatelystruckbyhis capabilitytoexuderelaxedpower inthis
roomwith thelightsonaswellas off. HelooksthroughmeinGrayer's generaldirection. "Hey,sport."
Grayer tries to hand off the bag of Christmas presents we've brought for the charity his father's companysupports,but Mr. Xhas alreadypickedup theblinkingphone.
I takethepresentsandleandowntounbuckleGrayer's togglecoat.
"Justine said something about cookies in the conferenceroom. Why don't you take Grayer down there? I have to take this call and then I'll join you," Mr. X instructs, his hand over the mouthpiece. Mrs. X drops her mink on the couch and we file back out toward the sound of Christmas carols coming from behindthedoubledoorsattheendofthehall.
Mrs. X is a sugarplumvision inherMoschinogreensuitwith redholly-berry trimandmistletoe buttons. To top it off, the heels of her shoes are miniature snow globes with a reindeer in one and Santa in the other. I am just grateful not to be dressed up as Frosty the Snowman, and wear my Christmas-tree pin with pride.
With a grand smile she pushes the doors open into the conference room, at the far end of which sits a small gaggle of women, whom I assume to be secretaries, opening a tin of cookies and playing Alvin andtheChipmunkson atapeplayer.
"Ooh, I'm sorry. I'm looking for the Christmas party," Mrs. X says, Stopping short at the head of the table.
"Would you like a cookie? I made them myself," a jolly-looking robust woman with Christmas-tree!
lightearringscalls back.
"Oh."Mrs. Xseems confused.
The doors swing open again, narrowly missing Grayer and me. I inhalesharplyas Ms. Chicagosteps in
tojoinour cluster. Shemaneuversaroundustogetto Mrs. X,her tightflannelsuitleaving littlemore to
theimaginationthanherHalloweencostume did.
"I heardtherewere cookies,"shesaysas asturdy-looking
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brunettecomes flyinginbehindher,pushingus all forwardagainstthetable.
"Mrs. X,"thebrunettesays,slightlyoutofbreath.
"Justine,MerryChristmas," Mrs. Xgreets her.
"Hi,MerryChristmas, whydon't youcome with metothekitchenandwe'll getsomecoffee?"
"Don't be silly, Justine." Ms. Chicagosmiles. "There's coffee right here." She walks over to the chrome
potandpulls out aStyro-foamcup. "Won't yougoseewhat's takingthemsolongwith thosenumbers?"
"Are yousureyoudon't wanttocome with me,Mrs. X?"
"Justine."Ms. Chicagoraisesaneyebrow andJustinewalksslowlybackoutthedoubledoors.
"Are weearly?" Mrs. X inquires.
"Earlyforwhat?" Ms. Chicagoasks, pouringtwocupsofcoffee.
"Forthefamily Christmas party."
"That's next week.'m surprisedyour husbanddidn't tellyou.Shame onhim!" Shelaughs,handingthe
coffee to her. Grayer squeezes past Ms. Chicago's exposed knees, swaggering down to the other end of
thetabletowowthesecretariesoutof acookie.
Mrs. X stammers, "Well,um, myhusbandmust havegottenthedatesconfused."
"Men,"Ms. Chicagosnorts.
Mrs. X shiftstheStyrofoamcuptoherlefthand. "I'm sorry,havewe met?"
"Lisa. Lisa Chenowith,"Ms. Chicagosmiles, "I'm ManagingDirectoroftheChicagobranch."
"Oh,"Mrs. Xsays, "nice tomeetyou."
"I'm so sorry I couldn't get to your dinner party. heard it was lovely. Unfortunately,that slave-driver
husband of yours in
sisted I hightail it back to Illinois." She tilts her head to the side and smiles
brilliantly like a canary-filledcat. "Thegift bags wereadorable?everyonejustloves thepens."
"Oh, good." Mrs. X raises her hand protectively to her collarbone. "You work with my husband?"And
with thatI decidetomakehelpingGrayer pickouttheperfectreindeercookiemypersonalmission.
"I'm heading up the team working on the Midwest Mutual merger. Isn't it awful? Well, I'm sure you
know."
"Truly,"Mrs. Xsays, buthervoice rises,betrayingher uncertainty.
"Getting them down to eight percent was such a coup. You must have had some sleepless nights over
that one," she says, shaking her Titian hair in sympathy. "But I told him if we push the sell date up and
savethemtheliquidationcosts, theymightbend. ndtheydid.Theybentrightover."
Mrs. X stands very straight, her hand clenched tightly around the Styrofoam. "Yes, he's been working
veryhard."
Ms. Chicagostruts to our end of the table, her lizard-skin pumps silenton theplush carpet. "Andyou're
Grayer. Doyouremember me?" shebendsdowntoinquire.
Grayer places her. "You don't wearpants." Oh,sweet Jesus.
Just then the door opens and Mr. X strides in, his broad frame towering in the doorway. "Ed Strauss is
onthephone. ewantstogoover thecontract," hecalls downthetabletoMs. Chicago.
"Fine," she says, smiling, as she walks slowly back up the room past Mrs. X. "Merry Christmas,
everybody."Asshereaches Mr. X sheadds, "It wassolovely tofinallymeet yourfamily."
Hisjaw clenched, Mr. Xcloses thedoorswiftly behindthem.
"Daddy, wait!" Grayer attempts to follow him out of the room, but the Dixie cup of grape juice slips
from his grasp, staining both his shirt and the beige carpet a deep purple. Mercifully, we all turn our attention to the spill, gathering paper napkins and seltzer. Grayer stands whimpering while multiple manicuredhandsdab athis front.
"Nanny, I'd really appreciate it if you kept a closer eye on him. Just get him cleaned up.'ll be waiting inthecar,"Mrs. X instructs,placingheruntouchedcupofcoffeeonthetable,likeSnowWhite
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