by David Connor
“This might sting a little,” Dudley warned, once again stopping just short of touching Deke’s fuzziness.
“Just do it,” Deke hissed.
“All right. Jeez.”
“Sorry. I’m kind of a baby.” Deke chewed on one side of his mouth at first as Dudley gently touched the red spot.
“I’ll stop…” He spread out the cream with really slow circular strokes, matting the hair all around it. “…if you want me to.”
Deke allowed it to go on awhile but eventually took Dudley’s wrist. “You, uh… enjoying yourself?”
Their eyes met. “A little,” Dudley admitted.
Deke smiled, or maybe snarled. “I think that ought to do it.”
“Cool.” Dudley kept three fingers in Deke’s chest hair, on the warm skin, counting the thumping heartbeats in his head.
“If you get a hard-on, I’m never coming here again.”
“Too late.” Dudley grinned and finally removed his fingertips from Deke.
“I listened for sex noises.” Dudley’s Gramps was on the kitchen stairs. “I guess I should have paid more attention to dialogue.” He grabbed a handful of cookies. “No sense letting these go to waste. Carry on with what you were doing.”
But Deke made his excuses and headed home for the night before Gramps and Blitzen had even finished a second snickerdoodle.
“SO THE whole Christmas display thing turned out to be a big bust, huh?” Deke asked on air after headlines the next morning.
“A little glitch,” Dudley said. “I’ll get it all figured out by tonight. No worries.”
Except he was worried. The next twenty-seven days—wait, down to twenty-six now—were scheduled almost to the second, not just with holiday stuff, but also trips to Manhattan twice a week for Gramps’s treatments. Dudley planned a little fun down there as well, like visiting the Rockefeller Center tree, checking out store windows… all the touristy stuff. They even had tickets for the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. Gramps suggested that morning they invite Deke. Dudley hadn’t yet summoned the courage.
With his lists out in front of him right then, he was too busy stressing about the lack of room for glitches. “Or maybe I’ll fix the lights tomorrow. I have an audition this evening.”
“An audition?”
“A Christmas chorale… Handel’s Messiah. One tenor and one soprano get to sing certain parts solo.”
“More Christmas bull. Shoulda figured. How tight do your undies have to be to sing tenor?”
“I was a soloist every single year back in Nebraska.”
“That oughta carry a lot of weight here in New York.”
“I hope so.” Dudley knew it was sarcasm. “I’ll have some pretty stiff competition.”
“Stiff.”
“Boys…,” Mindy said.
“Well… good luck, I guess. And as long as we’re diving deeper into all things yuck-tide, why don’t we check into who’s already way ahead in the ‘Christmas crap’ or ‘Christmas crazy good’ showdown?”
“If you’re so anxious to get to that, I can only assume your side’s in the lead.”
“You got it, Elf Ears.”
“Huh?”
“Like you never noticed.”
Dudley touched his left one. Did he feel a point?
“One day in, the Christmas haters are kicking your ass twenty to one. Here’s one sample.” Deke hit a button.
“So this one time,” a female voice said, “I was having thirty people to Christmas dinner. I went to the supermarket and bought two huge turkeys about a week before—planning ahead. I figured that would give them just enough time to thaw before the big day. I was coming out of the store with my cart full, the turkeys perched on top, when suddenly some jackwad—”
“That’s nice talk,” Dudley commented. “He sees you when you’re profane, you know.”
“Cork it, Hermey,” Deke told him. “We’re in the middle of a story here.”
“Some jackwad, jackwad, jackwad, jackwad”—Deke replayed the woman’s possibly objectionable word several times before letting the tale continue—“looking at her phone smacks right into my cart with hers, and sends both rolling toward my car. Mine hits hard. One of the turkeys flies right out and crashes through my windshield. Never again. I said fuck this Christmas bullshit.” Deke had previously censored the swear words, substituting the foghorn sound. “I haven’t celebrated it since.”
“Wow. But… with all due respect,” Dudley said, “though I’m sorry about her car and all, I don’t think what happened is… Christmas’s fault.”
“It is, though. That’s what you’re not getting, Dud. People go nuts. They act stupid. Everyone is rushing, not paying attention, thinking about and trying to do a thousand things at the same time, like you and your lists, because that’s what we’ve been brainwashed to believe the one day is all about. She sent in video of the turkey in her driver’s seat, by the way, both covered in shattered glass. Be sure to check it out.”
“We’ll be back in a bit, maybe with a happy story.” Dudley still refused to give in. He pulled out his wallet once they cut to commercial. “Before I forget, who’s collecting for the office party?”
“Me,” Mindy said.
Dudley got up from his swivel chair to hand her a twenty.
“Good luck at the audition,” she told him.
“Thanks. I’m doing a few measures of ‘Glory to God in the Highest.’”
“I’d love to come to the show.”
“It’s in Poughkeepsie… a good hike back and forth for rehearsals, but I think I can do it. I’ve been working on getting Gramps to come, too, but I haven’t talked him into it yet. He’s nervous something might… go wrong.”
“Aww. Forty-five seconds,” Mindy said with a frown.
“We’ll see. I’ll keep trying.” Dudley headed back to his seat. “Now… where’s my wallet.”
“On the floor… under your chair,” Mindy said through the PA.
“Ah. Thanks.”
“Someday you’re going to lose that thing for good.”
Doomsday Deke was right. Dudley had the worst habit of setting down his wallet, then walking off without it. He’d done it at work, in a restaurant in the city, and at the mall the day before. He’d spoken to one of his grandfather’s doctors recently, worried about his own brain.
“I’d guess you’re simply scattered,” the doctor told him with a chuckle. “Always thinking of the next thing while doing the current one. Breathe. Relax. Focus on now. Maybe cut back on the holiday rush.”
Another Deke Sucker. Christmas was supposed to be hectic. Still Dudley tried to remember that advice as he stuffed his wallet back into his pants.
Was Deke watching? Did he enjoy seeing Dudley’s hand root around in there? Was skin showing—maybe some hair—as the top of his jeans slid lower and lower and his crimson-and-white striped hoodie rode up? Dudley stretched just in case before sitting down. He raised his hands high over his head and then rubbed his bare, hard gut.
“I think I already gained ten pounds. I ate a lot of those cookies last night after you left. You should have taken some home.”
“You didn’t offer.”
“No? I guess I’m a lousy host. How’s the chest?”
Deke pulled up his orange sweatshirt. His attire, as usual, was not the least bit holiday inspired. “Almost gone.”
“Nice.”
“You should see the rest of me.”
“It’s on my list to Santa.”
“In five,” Mindy said. “Four, three….”
BY THE next morning, Dudley was high with holiday enthusiasm. His audition had gone quite well. Not a pitchy note throughout. He heard some of the others and—“Not to toot my own horn,” he said during the show, “but I sounded pretty good.”
“When do you find out?”
It was Mindy who asked, because Deke seemed more irate about the whole Christmas thing with each passing day. He’d started the show with a three-minute tirade
about holiday newsletters. “All bs where people you never hear from the other fifty-one weeks out of the year pile it on and only give you half the picture. Sure, little Martin got into college. Lots of prisons offer continuing education.”
“A text should come in midmorning, probably while we’re still on the air,” Dudley said, answering Mindy.
“We’ll be sure to cut in with a special report.” Deke played the “breaking news” music for added sarcasm.
“And even better… I fixed the display. The outlet thingy was just old, I guess. Got a new one, and—voila!—let there be light.”
“Get to a certain age, Dud, your thingy’s the first to go. Guess what I got. Thirty-eight more anti-Christmas videos.” Deke held up three fingers and then eight. “Three, eight.” For those keeping track, that’s, like, a hundred for the Deke Suckers, and twelve, if he’s lucky, for Santa’s little helper with the worn-out thingy.”
“I’ll catch up. I guarantee.”
“I wonder if Red Lobster would let in a goat.”
They were partway through the next segment, talking with Broadway actress Laurie Bennet about her new Christmas CD, when the text came in from the choir director. Dudley’s phone vibrated right in the middle of her sentence. He wanted to check it but knew that would be rude.
“Is it the message you’ve been waiting for?” Laurie asked. “The one you mentioned at the top of the show?”
“Sorry. Yes. It’s about the audition.” Dudley continued to ignore the call.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” She seemed genuinely interested.
“It can wait. Tell us about—”
“Come on! I’m excited for you.” Either she really was or she was talented enough to earn herself a spot in the exclusive EGOT club. “Please. See what they said. I want to know.”
“Me too.” Deke rubbed his sexy, cynical eyes like he was sleepy. “I can barely stand the suspense.” Then he faked a yawn—unless none of it was playacting. “You know you want to look.”
Dudley glanced at the screen. “Oh.” Why had he gotten his hopes up? Why was he so sure? He was an optimistic, glass-half-full kind of guy, that was why. Dudley believed in himself and also that good things happened. They just didn’t happen all the time, he figured.
“Uh-oh. Someone doesn’t look happy,” Deke singsonged.
“Bad news?” Mindy asked.
“Maybe next year,” Dudley said. It was his first time trying out with the group. He was new. Of course he wouldn’t get the solo, not right away. “It’s probably for the best anyway. A solo would mean twice as many hours of practice, not to mention travel time.” Still he was disappointed.
“I had to audition ten times before I got my first really small part,” Laurie said.
“Let’s get back to your holiday CD.” Dudley tried to put on a smile. “Do you have a favorite track?” It seemed he couldn’t quite pull it off because Deke brought his hand across the console and rested it atop his. He smiled then and Deke returned it as Laurie spoke of the song she’d written about an unlikely pairing who unexpectedly fell in love amongst the chaos of the season.
3
“WE’RE GOING to try this again,” Dudley said, standing with Allen behind the switch. The crowd was smaller, but there were still quite a few people there. The food box was almost full again.
“You sure it’s going to work this time?” It was Deke. Once again his sudden appearance, as he stepped from behind a plywood snowman family four feet wide and six feet tall, left Dudley with a flutter in his heart.
“Hi.” Dudley wondered how someone so large was so sneaky.
“Again with the surprised face? I showed up last time, Dud. Why wouldn’t I come back?”
“Well, most guests greet the host upon their arrival. You lurk.”
“I’m shy, and more here for the after-party. I figured you might need help with the urn again.”
Dudley smiled. “Thanks. Okay,” he said loudly, now addressing everyone. “With no further ado… three… two… one….”
Allen pushed the button, and this time the lights came on—all of them: the figures, the animals, the gingerbread house, the sleigh, and Santa’s workshop. Every bulb around the roofline, the doors, the windows, and the railing on the front deck flashed in time to “Joy to the World.”
Almost every light.
“Crud.”
“What’s up?” Deke asked.
“A section is out. Dammit.”
“Little ears.” Deke’s smirk signified he wasn’t really concerned about Allen hearing curse words. “You know how Christmas lights are. One bad bulb throws off a whole row. No one will probably even notice.”
“Some are out, you know.” The burly, tatted guy with all the piercings, who walked a tiny teacup poodle, noticed.
“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll check them out later,” Dudley told him.
Before later came, a dozen others pointed out the malfunction: the lady who hung her granny panties on the front rope on her clothesline instead of in the middle, the teenager who played with himself where anyone could see, and the couple who always spoke as if playing verbal tennis.
“Did you know—”
“—one row—”
“—of lights—”
“—isn’t working?”
Dudley really needed to learn his neighbors’ names.
“Let it go,” Deke suggested, “like you did with the solo. It’s just more of that ‘Christmas has to be perfect’ bullshit that drives people nuts. It’s kind of… unique… the way No-el has only half of one.”
They strolled around the display. “Doing all this is fun, not stressful.” Although the L thing Deke had just pointed out was now driving Dudley nuts. “And as for the choir show, the people who got the solos… they were better.” Dudley shrugged.
“Or something else.” Deke took a bite of a Christmas tree cookie. “Your homemade cookies are better. Even if they do look like schlongs.”
“What else? What do you mean?”
“Schlong? It’s another word for dick, penis, cock….”
“Shh. For someone so worried about being outed, you’re awfully free discussing male genitalia.”
“Eh. We’re just the right amount of famous, I figure. I’m no Howard Stern. You’re certainly no Elvis Duran. How many of your neighbors even know your name, let alone what you do?”
“Not many, I’m finding out—even after ten months.”
“People only get excited to see us when we’re sitting under a sign with the station call letters on it or in a dunk tank next to a poster with our picture and our names in large print.”
“I’m no Elvis Duran?”
“You’re way sexier.” The declaration came with crumbs. Deke was shoving the cookies he didn’t really like down pretty fast. “‘Fans’”—he put the word in air quotes—“are more apt to recognize our voices than our faces. I’m not talking as loud as you think I am, and once the lights are lit, even though they’re still standing in your front yard, everyone sort of lost interest in you. Look, most of them are on some sort of device.”
“True.” That still bugged Dudley, but he guessed it was the way of the modern world.
“As for me, I was just curious to see if the shit would come on.” They stood in the street facing the display, so close they almost held hands. “They did.”
Dudley smiled.
“Most of them, anyway.”
The smile fell.
“Either way, I still hate Christmas, so I guess I’ll take off.” Deke turned away.
“No.” Dudley grabbed his sleeve. “Wait. What… what were you going to say about the soloists?”
“Oh. They’re a husband-and-wife team.”
“Yeah.” Dudley knew that. He also knew he was still holding on to Deke. He didn’t want to let go.
“And they own a Christmas-tree farm.”
“Yeah. How do you know?”
“One phone call. Just because I’m… nosy, I guess. I heard
you singing in the bathroom. You’re good.”
“Everyone’s good in the bathroom. It’s the acoustics. So what?”
“Did you know Mr. and Mrs. Paley donated the trees that decorate the town square, like, a dozen in front of and inside the venue where the concert takes place, and a bunch more outside shops up and down the street?”
“I did not.”
“No one does. I put on my old reporter hat and asked a few questions.” Deke and Dudley walked now, looking at some of the other houses on the block. “The Paleys asked that it be kept anonymous.”
“A lot of people prefer to do charity that way. It’s part of the season,” Dudley said proudly. Deke made a sound. It was meant to be derisive, Dudley assumed, but he found it arousing.
“Charity? Or some sort of… bribe, maybe? An underhanded quid pro quo kind of thing?”
Dudley shook his head. “It’s a nice gesture, maybe even a tradition. I doubt it means anything either way.” He finally let go of Deke’s shirt as they turned to head back.
“I guess it all depends on one’s outlook. Some of us see the good in people. Some of us think people suck as much as Christmas.”
“You don’t, though. Not really.” Dudley brushed the back of Deke’s hand. “It’s mostly an act, right?”
“Dudley?” Gramps called then, interrupting the moment. “Where are you?”
“Right here, Gramps. In the driveway. By the wise men.”
“By the wisest one of all,” Deke said, “who’s telling you you’d be a whole lot better off if you just gave up on this whole spectacle.”
“Hey, Gramps.” Dudley was looking at the unlit row of lights, not his grandfather, when he joined them.
“You again,” Gramps said to Deke.
“Me again.”
“You don’t live around here.”
“Nope.”