by Volley, Rue
I laughed. “I say that’s a great idea Santa, lead the way.”
And Santa took my hand and led me to North Pole
Hired for the Holidays
Josephine Ballowe
Chapter 1: Fiona
Fiona would speak to her staff and hardhats about public safety, she would remind herself and great-uncle Albert about the necessity of time management. Should she give their newest accountant that brand new guide to cost management for Christmas? Christmas! Her short, rotund, efficient assistant bundled in just now to remind her about the office Christmas party now five days away. He told her that Christmas day, which followed, was a holiday. “Get yourself a break, Fiona, even if it is for a day – or a short break weekend,” was what he said. “But get yourself a date for the party.”
Fiona Cunningham would have to admit, even to herself, that this was not going to be any Christmas party. It was going to be their company Christmas bash, the only socially active exercise her family concern put in during the year. Cunningham’s Constructions did not have a great many of them in the business, and possibly not a great many productive Cunninghams, barring Fiona and great uncle Albert, but it was headed all right with the Cunningham family in top positions. But right now, one architect was waiting on the other side of the glass wall, the working drawings for Riverside8 in hand. And even as Fiona Cunningham glanced up, she could see that the new girl was running in to join him in the queue to see her, Fiona. And Fiona would definitely be interested in knowing whether she had come up with any ideas for the too-small car park on the commercial complex near Broadway Avenue.
Mervin, the tiny man, whom Fiona could think of as her assistant, but no more, left, leaving her to her own and to the work on hand. He was back two hours later, to remind her of his earlier reminder. He said that he had ordered the champagne and wines, the finger foods and the buffet dinner for the day. He placed before her the printed wine and food menu, in adequate numbers to present to the staff and more for the dinner. It was embossed on ivory card on the front. Mervin would have taken care of the inside details similarly with a traditional Christmas dinner and more. No, she did not wish to flip it open to review the order, as she normally would have. Something had just entered her head.
“Got a date for the dinner, Mervin?” Fiona asked him. As was his wont, Mervin blushed red at the thought and said that he would bring a friend – a man friend. Fiona was careful not to take too much cognizance of the fact, because she was ruminating furiously in her mind, in the meanwhile. She absent-mindedly asked Mervin what his name was, then forgot it the next instant. She was busy thinking of something else. The fact was, Fiona Cunningham had not asked, or been asked by any of her colleagues or family or negligible friends in the outside world, for the Christmas party. She had to dismiss Mervin for the time being, before he got around to asking the same about her. What would she come up with, at this instant, if he did? She would have to think of someone in the very little time of five days. She would have to think of someone today, if possible.
Fiona ran the lists through her head, as she would, with any other matter at work in the family construction business. There were the 44 members of staff, including a couple of good-looking draughtsmen. No, she might even consider them unclothed, but right now, she dismissed the idea of them as would-be invitees. The men would all be embarrassed and squirm at the thought of being asked by the lady boss, the one-but-next CEO to Albert Cunningham. Most of them considered Cunningham’s Construction to be a steady, secure job, anyway, one with which they could support a family. Most would, therefore, bring their wives.
Cousin Al flitted past her open door, smirking as he looked across at her. He could have very well asked her to accompany him and his parents – great uncle Albert among them, but had not. Fiona frowned at her diary. Was that smirk a sign that he was waiting to be asked, and if she did, would he extract another concession for the Ladies Lodge, which had been her pet project for the elderlies? A project that cousin Al had said he would love to get a toehold on? Probably. She would shed the thought. Sadly, of friends, it was too last minute. They must have firmed plans for a Christmas party, given that the Cunningham’s bash was scheduled for the day before Christmas. If they had not said anything till now – five days before, they were bound to be out and they would be bound to be booked.
Nor could she turn up at the special do on her own. Fiona stamped her feet under the vast office desk, large enough to unroll a couple of meters of drawings. What did people in her place do? Fiona Cunningham had no answer to that, unlike all the other planning and chores she would not flinch from, at Cunningham Constructions. And then it came to her. Fiona reminded herself never to doubt her capabilities. She could ask Avery Haakensack, long-standing school friend who had married and gone to live on a farm, but knew about matters of this sort. Fiona knew, because they had been girlfriends together in the days before Avery’s self imposed banishment to the farm
As pointed out by Mervin, there was not much time. On this day, by the time Fiona had decided to do something, it had grown dark outside, the offices of buildings across emptying as everyone joined the stream of office workers on 67th Street, on their way home. Fiona looked up Avery’s number and rang through. Avery wanted to know what this was all about, as Fiona knew she would. When she finally figured it out, Avery came up with a throaty laugh, as also Fiona knew she would. Fiona could not fume at the joke at her own expense. She had to know.
Yes, Avery did know about what to do. And she did know how someone like Fiona should go about it. “Simple, Fi, you have to get in touch with an escort service.” Now, why had Fiona Cunningham not thought about that one? She knew why. It was because she could only think office work in terms of construction and construction planning, and because this was something she had never considered for herself. But Avery was carrying on. “It is as professional a line as what you do, so don’t think about it in terms of what you have to resort to.” And Avery had still more advice. “Go to the best one, Fi. Escort services are a dime a dozen, and I would say that you need something special, even classical.” Sane advice this, thought Fiona, but asked why, all the same.
“Because they have the better looking men. Someone to match your looks, your brains, and maybe – if you are still more lucky, your background,” was the reply. Avery laughed again, just a tiny bit, then said goodbye.
Fiona, wise girl, did as she had been asked to.
Not-so-far away, in a millennial office between 63rd and 62nd street, one man, rugged in looks and someone who had seldom been at a loss for architectural and construction solutions, was eating his heart out and racking his brains. Charles Beaufonte was set on the contract to be awarded to build their local library. There was not the sort of money in it, as, for instance, private commercial space, but it was something he had set his heart on – just one of those things, which he rarely did. The one main contender for Beaufonte and Latymer, besides, he knew, was Cunningham’s Constructions over on 67th.
Charles thought long and hard, and decided to walk home to his brownstone on 8th. He rang downstairs, asking his chauffeur to carry on home to Greenwich Village and park in his parental home there, lock up and go home for the day. Winter had set in and Charles quite enjoyed the brisk walk though small patches of snow and ice before January arrived and he could no longer walk, but drive through the cleared snow and ice. Besides, it was not snowing just now. He could have, of course, done without the wind chill at this time of night.
And so Charles turned up the collar of his greatcoat, wound his scarf around his handsome neck, donned his hat and walked down, turning occasionally to look at the many shop fronts and restaurants for warmth. That was when he saw her. It took him a minute to come up with who she was. When he had it, he knew that she had to be the Cunningham girl, not bad looking at all, - no beautiful, he would say. What else would you call a girl with long legs, long hair, which could easily become unkempt, a delicious figure and a face like an angel? But she was
turning into what seemed like a very private entrance. He would not mind knowing where this girl went and what she did, if it gave him a chance to get within a couple of yards to her, maybe closer? And give him a small insight into the matter of Cunningham’s Constructions and the business of the local library. Charles Beaufonte walked right upto an anonymous seeming entrance and turned to look at the small glass and wood panelled frontage of Knight Escorts.
For a second, Charles was befuddled. Charles, however, as was his nature, did some quick thinking on his feet. He had to, to figure out this particular girl. Why would she – he believed her name was Fiona, want to go to a male escort service, even if it was obviously frightfully upmarket? Besides, Charles also had to do some quick thinking about himself. What would Fiona think of him? Charles was sure that Fiona had not seen him, and even if she had, had never really had a good look at Charles Beaufonte of Beaufonte and Latymer, Architects and Construction Company, in job related matters. Simply put, she did not know him, though he was aware of her, - and more. He was safe in that sense. The only thing on his mind now, was – whether his looks would pass the Knight’s male escort test, Just a tiny step towards the local library building contract?
Unlike himself, Charles bid his time between a lamppost and a mother busy with bundling up her children till Fiona Cunningham re-emerged on the pavement, hailed a cab and disappeared.
__
Like a great many matters at work, Fiona, once informed, had decided on what she wanted and how to go about it. She would find the best male escort agency, she knew. Then, she would find the best man to hire for her little holiday through that agency. After all, the day after the party was Christmas. As she had been reminded by her assistant, it was a holiday. One that she needed to think about in terms of R&R, though the recreation would have to be well thought out.
When she got down to the offices of Knight Male Escort, just a couple of blocks away, she could swear that the Adonises – there were two of them at the reception counter, had jumped to attention. But notwithstanding this sort of attention that she was used to by now, Fiona had work to do. They asked for her requirement and when they found out, quickly asked if any one of them would do. But theirs was not the looks she was comfortable with. Nor could she go for their jump-to-attention stance. Fiona had politely and firmly declined the offer.
***
Unlike his usual self, Charles Beaufonte, partner at Beaufonte and Latymer, Architects and Construction Company, bid his time between a lamppost and a mother busy with bundling up her children against the New York December weather in all the time that Fiona was at the offices of Knight Male Escorts. He waited till Fiona Cunningham re-emerged on the pavement, hailed a cab and disappeared. He had had a little time to think about how to present himself. Then, he entered, and offered his services as a very able male escort. The two capable men behind the reception had at first looked a little distracted, and it was as though they had suddenly caught sight of him.
When they did, they sprang to, gave him a keen look and asked him to report to the studio photographer at the back of the office. The photographs came through soon enough, and Charles was informed that he would be booked for a very high class lady, to accompany her to an office Christmas party barely five days away.
Charles thought they gave him enviously sharp looks – though he may have been wrong, but Charles was busy thinking about how very clever he had been, and that much closer to a better hold on the library contract. He wrote down the instructions of where and when he was to collect Fiona Cunningham on Christmas Eve, and was advised to make sure that he did so in an above average make of car. Charles smiled inwardly and out, thanked the two receptionists, and assured them of his best, most cordial services.
Chapter 2: The Christmas Party
The very staid foyer of Cunningham Constructions smelt ever so slightly of beeswax. The mahogany reception had been cleaned again and again and polished just the day before by a platoon of cleaners and the high ceiling festooned with glittering decorations by the decorators. A tall fir Christmas tree – which reached nearly to the ceiling, remained in place with the many gifts for the staff and their departmental head colleagues arraigned on the marble floor around it. The gift-wrapping were in glitzy green and silver, red, blues of every hue and even purple and gold, as might have been needed for Christmas. Fiona and Charles took it all in as they entered. Fiona thought she had seen signs of her authority and carefulness in all the arrangements from years before. ‘Her’ people had taken care to carry on party details according to what Fiona had laid down all that time ago.
Mervin had purchased and carefully gift wrapped the new guide to cost management for Christmas for the Cunninghams’ newest accountant, as Fiona had suggested. It lay there with all the other gifts as everyone streamed in, chattering excitedly and heading for the escalator, waiting to see the transformation that had been wrought on their normally normal dining hall on this night, and the goodies that lay within. As was the custom, the family were there early, to welcome their guests. But as was not the custom, Fiona tripped in breathlessly late tonight, talking of having broken one of her pair of heels just before and having to change it.
But everyone had taken note of Fiona’s grand entrance – with the most wonderful looking, amiable natured man they had never seen or heard of, earlier. Well, she sure had good taste, that girl. She sure was on the right path. She had to be. Everyone turned to look at Fiona – and then, at the man next to her. Fiona turned to look at him too, again – she told herself that she had not got much of a glimpse of her ‘male escort’ (except that no one should know), and did not mind looking at him again and again. That was because with whiskey-coloured eyes and a killer smile, Charles was one gorgeous hunk who really knew how to fill out a tuxedo as required for this party, she had decided at first glance.
Then, she got another chance to look at just the suit – and drew her breath, for she, Fiona Cunningham, knew about these things. This had to be tailored by one of the finest tailors that Manhattan had to offer, and cut from the finest serge. And the shoes were handmade. In a similar manner to Charles from a couple of evenings ago, when he had been astonished at her quick entry into Knight Escorts, Fiona was now puzzling over the fact of this gorgeous, well clad and shod man who had decided to be a male escort. Knight Escorts obviously paid him well. But then, she had settled on the best fees, too. Fiona’s ruminations were fleeting, before she gave herself up to the joys of the evening among colleagues and her date.
There was Mervin, looking at no one else but Fiona’s date appreciatively. There was Mervin’s date, looking at Mervin looking at Charles and overall, looking a trifle jealous. And there was cousin Al, looking down-in-the-mouth no doubt, about his dateless status. He managed to look amazed as well, no doubt because he thought that Fiona was bound to land up on her own, as he had. His parents beamed at his elbow. Aunt Augusta swept forward in her floor-length gown and drew Fiona and Charles to the front of the dining hall. She and great-uncle Albert were going to have a chat with Charles Beaufonte. After a bit, Albert told Fiona what a nice young man she had brought, one who seemed to know a great deal about the construction business. Fiona thought she could be proud of her choice, not knowing that it was, in truth, the other way around. Charles thought the same.
A waiter came around with tall glasses of champagne. Fiona took a sip and looked demurely at Charles. She received a jolt when she noted that he, too, could not stop giving her the once-over. She’d caught him in the act, but was he laughing at her? “Wonder what it will be like when we get home?” she wondered. But before that, there was champagne to be drunk with caviar nibbles on the side, turkey to be sampled with gravy and cranberry sauce and petits pois, and as aunt Augusta had suggested, a variety of salads with dressings.
Considering that he was her date, Charles Beaufonte and Fiona Cunningham did not get to know each other, though they did get to talk a bit to each other. Fiona was careful not to ask him what he did for a li
ving, because it would be impolite, she thought, especially when she already knew that he was kind enough to escort ladies like herself, around. The next question on her mind was – did he do more? But being a Cunningham and a well brought up girl, she could not ask outright. Not so, cousin Al. He asked Charles what he did for a living, casting a sidelong glance at Fiona when he loudly wondered why they had not met through Fiona, earlier?
But Fiona had caught the hesitation in Charles before he told cousin Al that he was a book publisher. She was mortified on Charles’ behalf How could Al put Charles in such a spot? Fiona’s hackles were raised in favour of her man. But then, he must not know – not now, not ever, what Charles really did, or the manner in which Fiona had asked for him to accompany her here to their Christmas party. Still, she would have to be more protective, steer him away from curious eyes.
After dinner Fiona Cunningham led Charles away, to the balustrade outside, to where the snowflakes were falling. She led him away from the warmth of the hall and people she knew. A great many pairs of eyes followed the two of them. Charles was actually putting an arm around her waist, drawing the heavy drapes apart with the other, – the thrill of that touch! Fiona was busy too, making Charles feel more at ease, with all the girly ploys she could muster on a balustrade. After all, he was a hunk, even if he knew a great deal about construction – and possibly, about publishing.
But efficient Mervin was here, popping his head in through the curtain drapes. “Time to go downstairs. Time to unwrap the gifts!” he was saying. “Fiona, we have something for you, too.” Fiona could have shooed him away. She turned to Charles, instead, and said what was foremost on her mind – that she was dying to unwrap him like a present . . . Mervin bolted off, and Charles was saying something. He was saying something strange. Could he be saying, “Yes, I do too, but the local library…” Then, her handsome hunk turned beetroot red, as Mervin had, a few days ago, when he had informed her about his date.