This Christmas

by Jane Green

  “You heard me,” he said defiantly.

  I glanced over at the table next to Ron and saw a preschooler coloring his place mat. I decided not to challenge Ron to repeat himself. And yet, I felt physically unable to leave the coffee shop without doing something to defend myself. I’d spent a lifetime doing the whole Katharine Hepburn thing. I knew how to deliver smart one-liners and leave a man disarmed by my coolness. But on this day, I decided to give myself the early Christmas gift of complete emotional freedom. I knew I’d maintained an ounce of sanity because I remember thinking that throwing hot coffee at Ron was definitely crossing the line. So I reached at the closest cold drink I could see; which was the child’s milk; tore off the plastic lid, and drenched Ron in a tidal wave of years of repressed anger. It was so liberating that I picked up the kid’s half-eaten biscotti and threw it at Ron like a dart. I was pleased with my aim.

  The little boy was overjoyed with my outburst, but no one else in the place seemed to understand the therapeutic value of splashing an imbecile with milk. Sure, my actions were extreme, but so what?! The man called me a stuck-up bitch. I had reached my limit on how much I could swallow and just walk away from.

  “What’s wrong with you?!” the boy’s mother shrieked. A twentysomething came rushing out from behind the counter with a mop.

  “He deserved it!” I told her. “He’s an obnoxious jerk.”

  I’d hoped she’d take my side, but instead she was annoyed with me. “They’re all obnoxious jerks, lady. Deal with it.”

  “You should call the cops,” Ron said, capitalizing on his public approval rating. Instead, Ron’s comment turned the tide.

  “What are you going to charge her with, assault with a cookie?” she snapped.

  “Biscotti,” the mopping clerk chimed in.

  Gwen couldn’t believe what I’d done, but Sophie seemed thoroughly unimpressed with my lactose revolution. “The guy was a jerk,” she said, shrugging. “He had it coming. Good for you, Sarah.” Then she took out a sleek notebook with an abstract design on the cover and continued, as if she heard stories of biscotti pelting every day, “So that guy’s definitely off the list. Who’ve we got next?”

  “I met a wonderful man at the ballet last night,” Gwen said.

  “Straight?” Sophie asked.

  “With his mother,” Gwen explained. “I love this assignment. It gives me an excuse to approach all of these great guys I would’ve only admired from afar.”

  “So is he single?” I asked.

  Gwen nodded. “He’s going out with Rachel tomorrow night.”

  “Rachel?” Sophie asked.

  “Rachel, your sister Rachel?” I asked. She confirmed. “What about Prudence?”

  “No, no, no, this is Rachel’s future ex-husband, trust me on this one.”

  Sophie threw her hands in the air and suggested we just host a party. “We haven’t found a single good one out there. Jennifer went to this speed-dating thing last night and said it felt like she was visiting inmates in prison. They had to face off at these school desks and spend four minutes chatting while in a crowded room. The only thing missing was the glass window between them.” She continued. “I screened this guy this morning who was trying to impress me with all of the deals he was making on his cell phone, until guess what happened?” We waited. “His cell phone rang.”

  “What? I don’t understand,” I said.

  “He wasn’t really on the phone. It rang because he wasn’t really talking to anyone on the other end. Get it? Big deals were not happening.” Sophie sighed. “I liked him, too. They’re not the most trustworthy lot, are they?”

  “Maybe we should have a party,” Gwen conceded. “It seems an efficient way to go.”

  “First of all, men aren’t going to show up at a party to meet their soul mate. They don’t put as much effort into relationships as we do,” I said. “We all knew that when Prudence said she wasn’t looking for a guy, we’d need to do it for her because he wasn’t going to put out the effort. The lazy bastard is probably at home right now watching some stupid college bowl game.”

  Sophie grimaced. “She has a point. Hey, what if we don’t let them in on it? What if we simply bill it as a party with free drinks, sports on big screens, and strippers?! And we can hire dancers who all have short black hair like Prudence and put them in little cages?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” I asked. “You want to put dancing naked women who look like Prudence in cages?”

  “Yeah, why not?” Sophie asked.

  Finally Gwen came to her senses and remembered that we are cut from a different cloth from that of Sophie. “I have to agree with Sarah on this one, Soph,” she said. “Why limit ourselves with dark-haired girls? Let’s mix it up and throw in some blondes and redheads.”

  “What?!” I gasped.

  “Don’t be so uptight, Sarah,” Gwen chided. “Stripping is very in now. We’re taking a class at the Y next month.”

  “We are?” I asked.

  “Soph and I are. You’re welcome to join.”

  “What type of guy are we trying to attract with strippers?” I asked, hoping to return the conversation to a rational one.

  “Guys with dicks,” Sophie said plainly, jotting something in her notepad. “Come on, Sarah. We want to get a lot of guys in. What better way than to promise sports, free booze, and naked women?”

  “What about promising them the possibility of meeting the woman they’re going to spend the rest of their lives blissfully in love with?” I asked.

  Sophie and Gwen laughed before realizing I was serious. “I’m sorry to laugh,” Gwen said, patting my thigh. “But you’re in a state of marriage-induced delusion. No men are going to come to this party if we’re honest with them. I say we go with the strippers.”

  “I say we nix the idea of a party entirely. Let’s stick to our plan and we’ll find a great guy for Prudence.”

  That afternoon I was stood up by Bill Tourmaline, a man who said he was really looking forward to meeting me when we spoke on the phone. I wondered if he had an accident on his way to meet me.

  When I arrived home it was already dark. The stillness of the apartment was soothing, not lonely as I’d feared it would be. The answering machine light was blinking with a message from Reilly and Hunter, who had arrived safely at their cabin. Hunter said he saw reindeer on the road.

  After dinner, I checked my e-mail. As I thought about my day, I laughed at the image of my sole date drenched in milk. My only regret was that Rudy wasn’t alive for me to throw drinks at. The outburst really was like hitting a reset button, one I wished I’d discovered years ago.

  I heard the familiar chime of an instant message and saw that it was Dr. Jay. When will technology allow women to throw drinks at their computer screens and have it splash out at the jerk on the other end?

  DrJay: Hi Prudence!

  Prudence: No.

  DrJay: No to what?

  Prudence: Whatever it is you want.

  DrJay: Why so angry at me?

  Prudence: I find you irritating.

  My heart raced with excitement as I typed such rudeness. It was freeing to be so unabashedly blunt. It was nice to finally tell the truth after a lifetime of making excuses, like “I’m not angry,” or “I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’ve just had a hard day.”

  DrJay: Why is that, Prudence?

  Prudence: Because you ask too many questions. You are presumptuous and generally pesky.

  I got up and walked around my desk, unable to contain my energy.

  DrJay: I apologize. I’m trying to get to know you.

  Prudence: Isn’t anyone else out there interested in you? Why do you keep coming back to me?

  DrJay: I find you interesting. I get a lot of bland responses from women on the Internet. I must say, that is not the case with you.

  Prudence: Guess what I did today?

  DrJay: Tell me.

  Prudence: I threw milk at my date. Then I nailed him with a biscotti.


  DrJay: Why did you do that?

  Prudence: Because if I can throw milk at just one person, my day is complete.

  DrJay: I’m not sure what you mean.

  Prudence: Look, Dr. Know It All. I have spent a lifetime politely dealing with whatever crap has come my way, and you know what? I’m tired. Throwing milk at this moron today was such fun, I think I’m in danger of becoming a serial milk thrower. You’re a shrink so you’ve got to maintain confidentiality, right? So if you hear about random guys in Manhattan being hit by milk-filled balloons, you can’t turn me in.

  DrJay: Well…you’re not a patient, though the more I talk to you, the more I think you should be. I’ll refrain from any bad puns about your serial milk hits.

  Prudence: Very funny.

  DrJay: Tell me more about the milk throwing. What led up to it?

  Prudence: I simply told the guy that I didn’t think we were a good fit and he called me a stuck-up bitch. My dead husband used to call me that. I wish I’d thrown milk at him!

  DrJay: You did.

  Prudence: No, this happened today. I threw it at some guy named Ron who came in with a string of cheesy jokes.

  DrJay: Prudence, I really want to meet you. What are you doing tomorrow?

  Prudence: Sorry, Doc. I have a ton of shopping to do. Would you believe I haven’t done any shopping yet?

  DrJay: Is that unusual for you?

  Prudence: Everything that’s happened this week has been unusual for me. Do you mind if I ask you a question?

  DrJay: Not at all.

  Prudence: Have you ever heard of a person freaking out when everything in her life is going perfectly?

  DrJay: Yes. People who are extremely organized.

  Prudence: What do you mean?

  DrJay: Have you ever heard of mothers who get sick only after they’ve taken care of every other ailing member of their family? It’s good planning. Their bodies finally say, “Okay, everything’s taken care of; now it’s time for me to break down.”

  Prudence: That’s how I feel. Like I’m breaking down. But it makes no sense because things are better than they have been in years.

  DrJay: It makes perfect sense, Prudence. I’d really like to meet you.

  Prudence: Maybe, but tomorrow is out. I really have to do some shopping.

  DrJay: If you change your mind, please e-mail me.

  The next morning I woke up feeling like my old self again. A good night’s sleep can be incredibly transformational. Plus, I had a naughty dream that I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by. Who else had to know that in the wee hours of the night, I was Paris Hilton dancing naked in a cage? When I burst out from behind the bars, everyone was cheering wildly for me. Sophie and Gwen were there. Prudence was in the back capturing the whole spectacle in silver wire. Reilly was among the cheering masses.

  “Looks like you’re having fun, honey!” he shouted above the roar of the club. Even Dr. Jay was there, asking how I felt.

  “Free!” I shouted to him. The truth was that I felt more than just free. I felt alive. I was beaming as I looked into the mirror and saw that I had Paris Hilton’s lean, youthful body. Who knew I could dance like this? Suddenly, that idiot Ron appeared and threw milk at me. But in our dreams we can be victorious even in the face of attempted humiliation. The cold milk splashed against my skin and glowed under the black light of the club. Much to the chagrin of Ron, the Borscht Belt reject, the milk made me look even hotter. I was glow-in-the-dark sexy.

  It’s a given that I would never do something this brazen in real life, but until last night I hadn’t had the nerve to even dream about it.

  After I showered, I blew out my hair and put on makeup for the first time in weeks. I was ready. Not for my next date, but for something more important.

  As the doors opened, I heard a choir of angels singing. This time, I wasn’t dreaming. It was a Madrigal group performing in the lobby of Saks Fifth Avenue. My husband and son would be home tomorrow evening and I hadn’t purchased a single gift for either of them yet.

  Five hours later that had changed. My taxi driver actually had to help me carry all of the bags from the car to my front door. I rushed in to the ringing of the phone and a blinking answering machine. I dropped a pile of holiday cards on the kitchen counter and picked up the telephone.

  “I found him,” Gwen said, without introduction.

  “Found whom?” I asked.

  “Mr. Right. The perfect guy for Prudence,” she explained. “I don’t know if you remember Ken Wenrich from the Snow Ball last weekend?”

  “The Snow Ball?”

  “Sarah, you and Reilly were there. The fundraiser that makes it possible for underprivileged kids to go on ski trips.”

  “Oh, yes,” I recalled. At the event I made the mistake of questioning the wisdom of an organization that takes poverty-stricken children from their freezing roach-infested tenements and sends them to Vail for the weekend. Not only did it seem like an imprudent use of funds; it seemed downright cruel. It was like saying, Hey, kiddies, in case you hadn’t noticed the depressing conditions you’re currently living in, let us pose the most stark contrast to make you painfully aware. Happy holidays! But, as Reilly said, half of all business contacts are made on the ski slopes and golf courses. So, in a way, this was an economic affirmative action program. It just seemed that the money would have been better spent on scholarship funds or the neighborhood library.

  “Ken was on the committee with me,” Gwen finished. “I think he’d be perfect for Prudence.”

  “Why?”

  “I just do,” Gwen said. “Anyway, Sophie brought up a good question the other day. When we find these guys, how are we supposed to get them together with Prudence? Sophie said she and Jennifer have been trying to set her up on blind dates for months, but she won’t go.”

  “Oh,” I said, pondering the question. My effort to find Prudence a new husband was so poorly planned, I had to wonder if finding her a man was ever really my real focus. Or if fretting about Prudence was simply a convenient way for me to avoid what was going on with me—a downward spiral into neurosis and rage. After all, Prudence told Reilly that she’d “dated” over eighty women before she found me. I had one “date” and I threw milk at him. Then there was Dr. Jay, a therapist with a seemingly endless tolerance for my hostility. Perhaps he would be a good match for Prudence. If anyone had more issues than I did, it was Prudence Malone.

  “Maybe we should just have a party,” Gwen suggested. “How ’bout a New Year’s Eve party.”

  “I think a party is in poor taste,” I said, as the image of myself dancing in a cage flashed before my eyes. “Gwen, I’ve got another call. Let’s talk later about Ken. Keep up the good work.”

  “Hey, hon,” Reilly said.

  “Hey,” I said, extending the word to show my elation. “How are you guys doing up there?”

  “Sarah, the boy’s a natural,” Reilly said. “He skied a black diamond today. Are you sure the kid’s never been on skis before?”

  “He’s really doing black diamonds? How’s his form?” I asked. “I’m going to come with you guys next time.” Then I had a wonderful idea. My staying home while my family was off skiing was ridiculous. I belonged with Reilly and Hunter, not being Prudence’s secret proxy date. “Reilly, I’m going to drive up there tonight. We can ski all day Christmas Eve and maybe even stay up for Christmas Day if there’s room at the inn.” I giggled with giddy anticipation. “I bought presents for you guys today. I can wrap them, pack, and be on the road in an hour, two at the most.” My heart raced at the thought.

  “Roads are closed, hon,” Reilly said. “That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. There’s a chance we won’t be able to get down the mountain tomorrow.”

  “What?! But tomorrow’s Christmas Eve!”

  “Yeah, well, tell that to the snow,” Reilly said. “I’m sorry, Sarah. You know how much I want us to have Christmas Eve together. They haven’t said for sure that the roads will be closed, so keep
the faith. Worse case, we’ll be back to the city just after noon on Christmas.”

  I was such a fool not to have gone with them. A good ski vacation was probably all I needed to chase away my holiday blues. After hanging up the phone with Hunter, who was utterly nonplussed by the potential itinerary change, I sat down at my computer and made a list of my New Year’s resolutions. This year I would have more fun with life. I would go skiing with Hunter and Reilly. I would sign up for poetry class at the New School. I would snap out of my funk once and for all. And I was on my way. Throwing milk at Rudy was a christening of my new life.

  I meant Ron. Throwing milk at Ron was exhilarating.

  I decided to get to sleep early. The shopping wore me out. All the pushing through crowds. The tug-of-war for sale items. The flying elbows working their way through couture. I hope I didn’t hurt anyone.

  But before I turned in for the evening, I wanted to check if Prudence’s personal ad had generated any more response.