Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Quote
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
EPILOQUE
THE DATE BEFORE
CHRISTMAS
by
ELYSE DOUGLAS
Copyright
The Date Before Christmas
Copyright © 2017 by Elyse Douglas
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The copying, reproduction and distribution of this e-book via any means, without permission of the author, is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and refuse to participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s intellectual property rights is greatly appreciated.
Dedication
To my dear, Constance, who loves to travel.
Quote
Travel brings power and love back into your life.
—Rumi
PROLOGUE
It was the dinner rush at Gallagher’s Restaurant, and the place was boiling with energy and loud conversation. Every booth and table was full. Kids hopped and yelled. Dishes rattled and silverware fell, clanging on the tiled floor. Inside the bloated bar, a jolly group buzzed in animated celebration. The beer mugs were frothy, the drinks were strong, and the ice in the cocktails being shaken sounded like maracas.
Even though it was only the Saturday after Thanksgiving, staticky Christmas tunes struggled from above, trying to deliver cheer over the cacophony. Near the hostess stand, a modest Christmas tree winked erratic white lights that sparkled and flashed off the red and green bulb ornaments. At the crown of the tree, an angel with a white robe and long golden hair leaned precariously, as if longing to fly away to seek a place where there really was peace on Earth.
He sat alone at a table for two, tucked into a corner, with a clear view of the frantic dining room. He stared at it all in mild fascination, with a dominate expression of hypnotic ennui. He sipped a mediocre glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, which he despised, and he cut into a steak that was overcooked and salty. The baked potato was okay, the bread soft as a marshmallow and the salad that had come with the meal was drowning in thousand island dressing, a lone wedge of tomato peaking up, as if pleading for help, about to go down for the third time and perish.
She had not been his waitress when he’d ordered. Another young woman, brisk, brusque and bouncy, had taken his order. She’d mentioned that she was not his server—just helping because Dina, that was his waitress’s name, was busy with two large tables.
When Dina appeared, a tall blonde with sparkling blue eyes and an attractive full mouth, he felt a lift of spirit. Her hair, tied back into a ponytail, flopped from side to side as she covered the dining room. She possessed a friendly manner, a warm smile and a genuine courtesy that was refreshing. It caught his attention. Hers was not a flirtatious smile or a calculated one, it was a unique and distinctly generous smile. It was a real smile that made the world seem lighter and better, even more hopeful.
He had a talent for spotting the genuine from the false. It was one of the skills that had helped make him the success he was. It had helped make him a very rich man.
“How is everything, sir?” Dina asked. She had previously introduced herself at the hostess stand when he’d entered. Since the hostess was involved somewhere else in the dining room masses, seating other guests, Dina had plucked a menu and ushered him to his table. Now she’d come to check on him.
“Is the steak medium rare, as you requested?” Dina asked. “They sometimes overcook it, especially when we’re really busy, like tonight. I can exchange it if you want.”
He studied her. “No… No, it’s a little overdone, but it’s fine.”
“Would you like another glass of wine?”
“No, no,” he said, not wanting to add to her burden, which was highly uncharacteristic of him. Normally, he’d have told the waitress to take the offending swill and pour it down the toilet, where it belonged. But not tonight, and not to this waitress, Dina. No, there was something about her that interested him.
“No, thanks,” he said, mildly.
Her eyes fell on the swimming salad, and they enlarged with mild alarm. “I can get you another salad. Do you like that much dressing?”
“Normally not. Tonight, it’s okay. Thank you.”
Again, this was not like him. He should have told her to throw it out the back door, with his compliments to the salad chef.
“Let me know if I can get you anything else, sir. I can get you another glass of wine on the house, if you like. I can see that the steak is a little overcooked.”
“Thank you, Dina, but I’ll just have the one for now.”
Again, she smiled, and again he thought it was one of the most lovely, warm and authentic smiles he had ever seen. It was a smile that touched him somewhere deep, and it stirred him, reminding him of something his father, a lover of the mystery author Raymond Chandler, often quoted.
“She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket.”
The quote’s memory brought a smile, and he didn’t smile easily or often. A smile did not come naturally to him, and it never had. His mother once said of him, “You’re much too serious, and much too old to be so young.”
He’d never thought about smiles all that much. In business, he’d observed that most smiles were calculated for gain or to impress, or to achieve status. He didn’t trust smiles in business and he didn’t trust them in his personal life, not that he had a personal life. Not in eight years anyway. Who had the time for such things in this knockabout competitive world?
As he chewed the leathery steak, he observed Dina at work. What struck him profoundly was her easy manner and warm concern for her guests, even though she was obviously over-worked, perspiring and stressed. And through it all, her engaging smile remained, even when a guest was rude or arrogant, even when her manager—a slouching, overbearing man/boy—pointed and criticized instead of offering to help or to assist, like any effective manager would have done. Through it all, Dina was efficient, attentive, focused and non-reactive.
He struggled to swallow the last of the stubborn piece of meat that he should have flung outside for the nearest backyard dog, with his sincerest apologies.
He continued watching Dina, increasingly impressed by her style and calm presence. Yes, this young woman—this attractive young woman—was rare. Didn’t anyone else see that? Didn’t her manager or the owner see that?
He declined dessert and asked for the check. Dina returned with his credit card and the slip, and thanked him for coming.
“I hope you’ll come back,” she said. “Please give us another try. Things are always so hectic in November and December, before the Christmas holidays. Are you from out of town?”
He slid his credit card back into his wallet and picked up the pen to sign the credit card slip. “Yes, I’m from out of town, but I often come to ski.”
“Has the skiing been go
od? We haven’t had much snow yet.”
“It’s been fine.”
“Well, thank you again,” Dina said. “And happy holidays.”
Again, came that magical smile—that smile that produced a soothing, healing effect on him. That smile that somehow awakened a forgotten pleasure. Again, he mused that this one—this young woman—was definitely special.
To his surprise, as he approached the toothy hostess to retrieve his coat, he smiled at her, uncharacteristically. She smiled back—an automatic smile, a nervous smile, a distracted smile.
He even smiled at the manager, whose stomach sagged over his belt and who was blundering his way toward the hostess stand, searching for additional menus to hand off to impatient, reaching guests.
“Thanks for coming, sir,” he said, his eyes wandering the room, not alighting on him and not really seeing him. To this manager, he was just another faceless guest.
But he hadn’t been faceless to Dina. She’d focused on him, related to him, as if he were the only person in the room. But yes, he had even smiled at the manager, although the manager didn’t notice.
Outside, he pulled up the collar of his cashmere topcoat and shouldered into the busy wind. He smiled at the high school kid who retrieved his car from the rear parking lot. He tipped the boy, generously, noticing white Christmas lights were strung in the pine trees that surrounded the restaurant. The sight suddenly made him feel unusually festive. Christmas was coming. Normally, he didn’t care. He hadn’t cared for many years, not since the death of his wife, Olivia, who’d also had an easy smile and a kind and gentle nature. Olivia, who had died eight months after they were married.
No, for years now, Christmas had been just another day—a day like any other day really—except that few people worked, and the world seemed to stop and hold its breath for a time, trying to recover from too much eating, drinking and spending.
But tonight, he felt a small measure of holiday cheer, and he concluded that it was all because of Dina’s smile. He slid behind the wheel of his silver-gray Mercedes, closed the door and cranked the engine. He glanced back once more at the restaurant and, as he did so, he realized something: he felt good. He actually felt good. Despite that awful meal and his previous, persistently low mood, he genuinely felt a small measure of happiness, and it had been a long time since he could honestly say that.
He smiled to himself, thinking Isn’t it interesting what the power of a genuine smile can do? How does one obtain such an opulent and cheering smile? Is it a gift? Is it cultivated? His mind pondered this as he drove along the quiet, charming streets of Pine Village, Colorado. It was a good town, a lovely town, all decked out with twinkling lights and Christmas decorations.
His thoughts shifted again and circled back to his experience at the restaurant. It had been a cheerful place, and most of the guests had seemed to be enjoying themselves. He was sure the place was making money, and it was located near a ski resort. He nodded to himself.
And who was this Dina, and where did she come from? As he pulled into his hotel parking lot, a plan was already taking shape in his head. He was good at planning. He had a head for it. He had a talent for numbers, logistics, and bold, calculated preparation.
He shut off the engine and sat still, allowing his imagination to awaken and strategize. He stared into the rearview mirror and grinned at himself in self-satisfaction. It was an audacious plan and an eccentric plan, and yet the core idea pleased him greatly. It filled him with a new wave of happiness.
It had been years since he himself—and not his secretary—had given anyone a real Christmas present. Wouldn’t it be fun to do so? A Christmas present? A Christmas surprise like no other? Was it a careless extravagance that he was contemplating? Many would say so, but he didn’t care.
Yes, he would make it happen, without too much difficulty. He’d have to work out the details, of course, but he could arrange it in a rather short amount of time. He smiled again. The more he considered the plan, the more pleased, confident and determined he was to plot it, and then carry it out. And what made it all the more fascinating and enjoyable was the realization that the idea had germinated from one simple thing: from a smile—one sincere and warming smile.
CHAPTER 1
On December 7th, Dina Lee and Patti Clifford paused from their frenzied night at Gallaher’s Restaurant to meet at the back server station. They were about to enter new dinner orders into the computer, which would then spit them out from a rapid-fire kitchen printer to the awaiting chef, who’d call out the orders to the busy cooks.
Patti was a plump 26-year old brunette with spiked hair, a rose tattoo on her neck, and a no-nonsense manner. Dina, a 28-year-old tall blonde with large, intelligent blue eyes and a dazzling smile, maintained the appearance of calm, but she was, in fact, highly stressed. During any hectic night, they often paused to catch a breath and squeeze in a minute or two of gossip or silly conversation, to help them break the tension.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” Patti asked.
Dina placed a thoughtful forefinger to her lip and stared up at the pale-yellow ceiling, suddenly lost in dreamy thought. “Hmmm…Well, let’s see. I’m flying to Paris, where I’ll have dinner with a very handsome French Count, named Pierre or Claude. Then I’m off to Rome, where I’ll meet up with some hot guy named Vito or Marco, and we’ll have pasta and Chianti and then share a tiramisu. Then I’m off to New York to ice-skate at the Rockefeller Center Rink, under that beautiful Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, with a billionaire named Andrew or Howard. We’ll have cocktails at some rooftop bar and then…”
“Why do you always give these guys names?” Patti asked.
“It makes the whole thing seem more real. Anyway,” Dina continued, batting her long eyelashes, “then who knows, maybe we’ll wind up back at his palatial, towering suite that overlooks New York City, we’ll make wild and crazy love, and…”
“…And?” Patti asked, hanging on every word.
Dina frowned, turning her attention to the computer. “Then I’ll return to Gallagher’s, enter my dinner orders and live happily ever after.”
Patti rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry I asked. Hurry up, I just got another table, and I haven’t gotten the drink order for the last table.”
It was after eleven when the restaurant emptied out and Dina and Patti finished their checkouts. They grabbed their coats, grateful to flee the place, and started for the front door. They were stopped by the 30’s something manager, Charlie Taylor, the owner’s only son. He called after them.
“Hey, girls, wait up.”
He approached, glowing with importance and a lusty eye. His ill-fitting suit was tight about his round belly, his pants were too long and baggy, and his boot camp haircut with long sideburns added an almost comic flair.
He rubbed his hands together with vigorous delight. “How about you two and me go out for a drink and some snacks?”
Patti spoke first. “Can’t tonight, Charlie. Both my dog and my mother are sick. Really sick. I’m talkin’ throwin’ up and stuff sick.”
Charlie grimaced. “Oh…not good. Not pretty, and not good.” He turned a hopeful, gleaming eye toward Dina. “How about it, Dina? Let’s take that winning smile all the guests rave about to The Busy Bee Bar and flash it at Ben the bartender, so we can get some free drinks. I’ll pay for the drinks, and you the snacks,” he said with a wink and a hearty laugh.
The girls waited, forcing half-hearted grins.
Charlie continued. “How does that sound?”
Dina frantically searched for an excuse. She flashed one of her winning, sunny smiles. “Wow, Charlie. Wow. I mean I’d like to, but you know, tonight is just not good for me.”
“Why not good? It’s December 7th, only a little over two weeks before Christmas. ‘Tis the season to be jolly and go out and drink things, and have fun, Dina. Why not good?”
Dina nodded, her mind a blank page. “You’re right about being jolly, Charlie. You’re definitely right a
bout that. It’s that time of year for that and everything, but it’s just that tonight, of all nights…well, I’m waiting for a very special telephone call.”
Patti gave Dina a side glance, eagerly waiting to see what Dina would come up with. Dina was a terrible liar. With Dina, what you saw was what you got.
“Well, what kind of special phone call?” Charlie asked.
Patti turned, folding her arms, enjoying Dina’s awkward stance and moving eyes. “Yeah, Dina. What kind of special phone call?” Patti asked.
Dina licked her lips, her eyes searching the air for an answer. “Well…actually, a very special guy. Yes… a guy.”
“Really?” Patti asked, not convinced.
“A special guy?” Charlie asked, surprised. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“Me either,” Patti said.
Dina shot her a dirty look, and then instantly, her bright smile returned. “That’s because it’s a secret. Yeah. It’s a secret. I mean, I don’t even know who it is.”
Charlie squished up his face, trying to understand. “Well, I don’t get that. I mean, what is that, some secret guy?”
“Yeah, me either,” Patti said. “I don’t get that either.”
“No… No, you don’t get it because it’s a secret. Yeah, a secret guy, and a secret guy means secret. Right?”
“Like a Christmas present, secret?” Patti asked.
Dina gave her friend a dark glance, and a false, syrupy stare. “Yes, that’s right. Like a Christmas present. He’s like a Christmas present.”
“And I bet he’s taking you to Paris and Rome and New York, isn’t he?” Patti asked, with a little, crooked grin.
Charlie’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “Paris, Rome and New York? I mean, wow, Dina. Well, you know, you can’t take any time off before Christmas because we are completely booked every night through New Year’s Eve. Nobody gets off on New Year’s Eve.”
Patti seized Charlie’s arm, dramatically. “Don’t worry about that, Charlie. I’m sure this secret rich guy will slip you a nice Christmas bribe to let Dina off, won’t he, Dina?”
The Date Before Christmas: A Novel Page 1