by David Connor
“And yet….”
“We’re friends, Gramps… from work,” Dudley told him.
“I know. I remember. It’s just… you’ve been friends from work a whole year almost and I’ve never seen him here. Now it’s twice in three days.”
“So?”
“So….” Gramps was smiling, the crinkles at his eyes deep, the ones around his mouth well defined. Deke was smiling, too, a little less obvious, but there was definitely something there.
AS THE days went on, Dudley kept to his lists. He finished the indoor decorating after scrubbing every inch of the house and washing all the curtains, rugs, and linens. He put a few more things on layaway, not so much for financial reasons, but so he wouldn’t have to bring it all home and find a hiding space Blitzen wouldn’t discover. The dog thought everything was a chew toy.
One night Dudley spent hours writing out Christmas cards, one to every distant relative with whom he shared even a drop of DNA. He sent a greeting to all of his high-school friends still, many of his grandfather’s friends as well, and old neighbors, back in Nebraska. The cats’ vet there and the one they and Blitzen saw in Westchester, the local librarian, the mailman, Randy the UPS man, Gramps’s barber, and the girl who put the color in Dudley’s hair made the cut, too, as did business associates—interns to corporate—plus soldiers he had never met, and of course, the new neighbors. Dudley mostly used street numbers for those, still hoping by next year he’d know their names. He made out two hundred and twenty-six cards in all. It took forever—several nights, not just one—because he had to stop and look through the ones he and his gramps had received in years past. Dudley never threw out a single one.
He took the cards in to work to stamp. They sat in his car an extra day because he had to swing by a second post office for Christmas stamps. The one he usually went to had run out. Sending holiday cards with regular stamps was unthinkable.
“Sounds like a lot of effort for no reward,” Deke said as they discussed the situation during Holiday Hot Topics. “I mean, the cards people send me end up in the trash three seconds after I read them.”
“That’s because you’re some kind of barbarian.”
“Me and most of our listeners. The insta-poll is, once again, coming down on my side. Give it up, Dudley. The stupid holiday has just become way too much. We’ve descended into Noel hellllllll.” He added the reverb again like he had that first time weeks ago.
“Never. You just have more fans. You’ve been here longer.” Dudley smiled.
“People like your feet, at least.” Deke hit the “wha-wha” downer button. “The sock thing is really booming. We’ll write that off to greed.”
“Or sexy feet,” Mindy offered. “What ya wearing today?”
Dudley took his shoe off and stuck out one foot. “It’s a snowman…. See?” There was a band of black at the top to be the hat. The button eyes were real buttons. The nose was 3-D, a triangular piece of orange fabric stuffed with batting. They even had twig arms made of felt.
“Wow. Makes me wonder what you got on for underwear.”
“They match.” Dudley grinned. Only the Snowman’s nose isn’t a carrot. Wanna see? Dudley wished he was brave enough to ask Deke aloud—not on the air, of course. He wanted to take him into the john after the show and whip out Frosty’s proboscis. He wanted to lick Deke’s freeform candy cane and toy with each other’s dangling Christmas balls. Dudley dreamed of working Deke’s knot with his tongue and his finger until he opened the gift of his hot, sexy ass.
“Dudley?”
“Yeah?” He wondered how long he’d been silent.
“You, uh, have an opinion on anything political, or you just want to stare off into space and daydream?”
“Poli-dicks… tics….” Dudley’s mind was still in Deke’s pants. “Politics…?”
“We’ll be right back.” Deke cut to break.
“And we’re out,” Mindy told them.
“Sorry,” Dudley said.
“Something with your grandfather?” Mindy asked.
“No. He’s doing aces. Perfect. The protocol this research group has him on…. After just a few weeks, he’s closer to his old self than he’s been in years.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mindy said.
Even Deke was smiling. “He’s a cool dude.”
“He likes you too.”
“A little desperate to get you laid, but I can’t hold that against him.”
“You’re an angel, you are.”
Deke picked up Dudley’s monogrammed, red Christmas coffee mug. It had a bell on the handle that Deke rang. Then he stood and pulled his pants partway down in the back. There was the ass—part of it—all pale and perfect, covered in dark hair Dudley wanted stuck in his teeth. “Did I get my wings?”
AS THE show continued, Dudley stamped his Christmas cards while chatting and picturing Deke fully nude. He carefully placed the envelopes into piles that wouldn’t topple over. It was kind of an on-air game. Some mornings three hours was a lot of time to fill.
“Why you wasting stamps on some of these?” Deke held up one for a secretary right downstairs.
“It’s just what you do.”
“Says who?”
“Hey! We rhymed.”
“Whoop-de-do.”
There’s nothing wrong with having a card handed to you,” Dudley said, “but isn’t it kind of fun to get a big stack in your mailbox?”
Deke licked his lips. Suddenly the question sounded sexual. “Thrill of a lifetime. How many you get back?” he asked Dudley. “As many as you send?”
“Not quite. But a lot.”
Deke grunted.
“What?”
“Because people feel obligated.”
“Not all of them. Is it that hard to believe people might actually like me?”
“You ever send one to someone just because they sent one to you?”
“Shut up.”
Deke laughed. “You know what kind bug me the most?”
“The ones with puppies, kittens, or cute little children?”
“Those… and also the kind with preprinted signatures, where, like, with those damned newsletters—”
“Here we go again.”
“—there’s nothing personal or heartfelt involved.”
The word “heartfelt” came from his lips like he’d uttered “Dandruff” or “Ebola.”
“I sign every one myself,” Dudley said, “and write out the addresses—return and delivery—and always include a personal message.”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“Because…. So people know I care.”
“Card companies have a setup now, right? Where not only do they print your name for you, they’ll even fold the damned card, seal the damned envelope, and mail it. All you have to do is punch in your sixteen digits and expiration date. How meaningful is that?”
“Someone still has to tell them who to include. That means you’re in the sender’s thoughts, and it’s the thought that counts.”
“Then just think about me—” Deke pulled his envelope from atop one precarious pile, creating a green-and-red avalanche. He tore his card in half. “—and save yourself a stamp.”
“Well, we just wasted one now, didn’t we?”
“And that’s our show,” Mindy said. “Make it a great day, all.”
A COUPLE evenings later, Dudley was fiddling with another uncooperative light strand outside when Deke drove up in his orange Jeep.
“Problems?”
Dudley approached Deke’s open window. “It seems like a different section is going out every night. It’s getting to be….” Dudley stopped himself.
“More trouble than it’s worth? Annoying? A huge pain in the ass?”
Dudley refused to give in, even as the chart Deke had made at work to illustrate the score for their “Christmas Yay or Nay Contest” had a lot more red on Deke’s side. A lot more. “Speaking of—”
“Asses? Still thinking about mine?”
&nb
sp; “Constantly.” Dudley offered a flippant yet truthful response. “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to drop off some food.” Deke held up a grocery bag filled with cans. “My heart isn’t completely empty.”
“Never thought it was. Thanks.”
“How was choir practice? You’re home early.”
“Never got there tonight. Gramps had… an episode.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“He’s watching TV now. All is well. Moving him most of the way across the country might not have been the best idea, considering.”
“His doctors say that?”
“No. Not really.”
“Then don’t you. Give yourself a break. How bad was it?”
“Nothing too major, I guess. I’m not even sure it was an episode. He wanted a particular shirt.” Dudley shrugged. “I don’t know where it is or if I’ve seen it since we moved—or for years before. It’s possible he doesn’t even own it anymore. It’s also possible Blitzen carried it off somewhere. Gramps got all upset, but then just… seemed to forget about it. I mean, all in all, I threw a similar tantrum when I couldn’t find the camel for the indoor nativity scene, so….”
“Sounds like me every morning looking for clean underwear.”
A second intimate reference in a matter of seconds…. Was “underwear” and “ass” Deke’s idea of flirting? “You need someone to take care of you,” Dudley told him.
“Naw. I just go commando.”
Dudley forced a smile. Deke’s one word—“naw”—what a mood killer, even followed by the thought of him without his tighty-whiteys. “Maybe the outburst didn’t have anything to do with the Alzheimer’s. I don’t know.” He sighed. “You want to come in? I started baking. There are cookies and cranberry bread.”
“Hmm. I shouldn’t.”
“Someone waiting at home?”
“Just the cats.”
“Felix and Garfield.”
“That would be them.”
“I remember.”
“I got them one of those automatic feeders last year.”
“For Christmas?”
“Yeah, Dud. I get my cats Christmas gifts. And the mice in the garage, too, like in a cartoon.” Deke’s sarcasm was as thick as his chest hair. “I bought it in August, I think. The point is, as long as the thing’s not empty, they could care less where I am.”
“Then come in for cookies and coffee. Or eggnog.”
“Gross. I hate that shit.”
“I could whip up some wassail.”
Deke got out of his Jeep. “Sounds kinky. That what you’re into?”
“Wassail is—” Dudley started to say.
“I know what it is.” Deke touched him on the chest, and even through several layers, Dudley felt the heat of it. At least he thought so. “But I think I’ll stick to coffee, Dud.”
A few hours, lots of dog petting, several cups of coffee, plenty of stories about Nebraska from Dudley’s grandfather, way too many cookies, and a whole loaf of cranberry bread later, Deke stood to go. He made a sound—another grunt, a moan—one Dudley immediately associated with sex. “I ate way too much. You’re going to have to bake more cookies.”
“There are plenty more in the freezer. Literally hundreds. I was at it all day after work.”
Deke shook his head. “You really are a holiday overachiever.” He brushed some crumbs off the gingerbread-men table cloth into his coordinating paper napkin and then took it over to the trash can beneath the window. Poinsettia curtains were hung there, and a battery-operated candle flickered against the glass. Deke gently put his Twelve Days of Christmas coffee mug in the sink beside Dudley’s, two calling birds, which sat next to the one with five golden rings Gramps must have used earlier in the day.
“I guess I am.” Dudley stared at his shoes.
“Hey.”
Deke made him look up. Dudley studied his reflection, first in Deke’s glasses, and then behind the lenses, in Deke’s beautiful eyes.
“Everything looks nice,” Deke said.
Those eyes, they seemed to be seeing right into Dudley’s heart, which needed the affirmation. “Thanks, Deke.”
“You two want to kiss good night?” Gramps broke the mood. “I could turn my head.”
Deke offered Dudley one on the cheek. “Thank you… for the holiday hospitality.” He turned away and put out his hand for a shake. “Mr. Moss, always a pleasure.”
“No kiss for me?”
“Gramps!”
Deke gave Dudley’s grandfather one atop his head.
“That’s how you kiss an old person,” Gramps huffed. “Or the pope’s ring.”
“I’m saving tongue for your grandson. Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”
Dudley’s heart was quickly filled with more than Christmas spirit. Was it possible Deke was actually developing feelings for him?
Blitzen bounded in then, skidding to a stop on the tile. He’d headed upstairs partway through the evening, but now returned, with something in his mouth. “Hey, boy.” Dudley greeted him with a pat. “What you got there?” Suddenly, he knew. “Oh.”
“What is it?” Gramps asked. “Some sort of garland?”
Deke was grinning ear to ear as the dog turned around and sat at his feet. “Did it fall off the tree, Dud?”
The mystery object, a mystery only to Gramps, was festive in color—bright red—like Dudley’s cheeks. It did have balls on a string, like the pine rope twisted with bright, reflective orbs around the archway. The ones on the strand Blitzen had pilfered were silicone, though, not shiny glass, and slightly smaller in circumference. Dudley had gotten it at an online sex shop, not the Christmas section at Macy’s.
Gramps reached out. “Let me see, Blitzen.”
“I’ll take it, Gramps.” Dudley tried. “Drop it!”
The dog clamped on tighter.
“I think he wants to give it to Deke,” Gramps said.
Dudley stood there, frozen, one hand on the beads.
“So… let him,” his elder insisted. “I’m sure you have more.”
Deke’s grin became a full-on chuckle. “How many more?”
“A lot,” Gramps said. “Way longer ones, much prettier. Some from the 1950s.”
“Wow.” The more Deke enjoyed the show, the redder Dudley got. “Vintage.”
“Mercury glass ones,” Gramps said.
“You don’t say.”
“This big.” Gramps made a fist.
“Pretty please, Blitzen.” Politeness failed Dudley as well. The dog still refused his master. His grip was like a bear trap as he thumped his tail and stared lovingly up at Deke.
“For me?” Deke held out his hand. Immediately, Blitzen released his slobbery gift. “Thanks, buddy.” Deke looked right at Dudley, but Dudley looked away. Deke waited him out, though. He didn’t speak again, until Dudley’s gaze returned to him. “I know just where I’m gonna put it.”
Dudley’s cock started to grow. He had to get out of there. He was wearing pajama pants, like he often did in winter when hanging around the house, and the colorful printed pattern, old-fashioned Christmas bulbs and those paper chains everyone made in elementary school, was only so distracting.
4
“DEKE… YOU look like hell,” Mindy told him on the air as they started the show the next morning. “Doesn’t he look like hell, Dud?”
Dudley wouldn’t know. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at him yet.
“Rough night,” Deke said.
“Can’t party like you used to, huh?” Dudley glanced up then. “Yikes.” Deke was a bit busted.
“Something didn’t sit well last night. The doctor says it could be food poisoning.”
“Doctor?”
“WebMD.”
“We better cut to break early,” Mindy said. “You’re greener than Dudley’s elf shoes.”
“They go with my socks.” Dudley raised a pant leg to show off the stripes.
“They’re making me dizzy.”
Mindy gave her voice an echo. “Will Deke toss his cookies?”
“Don’t say cookies.” Deke grabbed his gut.
“It’s a radio cliffhanger, folks, our own ‘Who shot J.R.?’ Don’t shut us off,” Mindy said. “We’ll be right back.”
Once they were clear, Dudley tried to defend his baked goods as Deke leaned over the wastebasket, heaving. “It wasn’t the snickerdoodles, was it?”
“I don’t know. Which ones were they?”
“You don’t know what a snickerdoodle is?”
“Dude. I’m dying over here. And we don’t know it was your fault. I’m not going to say so over the airwaves, don’t worry.”
“What if it was, though? I baked, like, dozens and dozens of cookies I plan on handing out to everyone.”
“Everyone you sent a card to?”
“No. Some. Different people too. Gramps and I aren’t sick.”
“You sure?”
Suddenly Dudley wasn’t. “Did you have anything else?” His gut rumbled. “Before you came over? Or after you got home and….”
“And what? Put your ‘garland’ up… where it goes?”
“What about garland?” Mindy asked.
“Never mind.”
“I didn’t eat anything out of the ordinary,” Deke said. “A couple doughnuts here at breakfast, three hot dogs for lunch, spaghetti and pork chops for dinner, a bag of sour-cream-and-onion chips I stopped for on the way to your place and finished on the drive home….”
Dudley almost barfed.
“It hit about an hour after I walked in my front door.”
“Crap.”
“We’re running out of commercials, guys. Back in sixty.”
“I’m not sure I can—” Deke got up and bolted from the room.
“He’ll be back,” Mindy said.
“I better call Gramps before we go live again.”
“Try a text,” Mindy advised.
It was one of those things. The moment the word queasy arose, the suggestibility of it, both Dudley and his grandfather suddenly were. Neither of them got sick, not to the extent Deke had, but just in case, Dudley decided he’d throw away all of the cookies in the freezer the moment he got home.