Scrooged

by Keeland, Vi

  He winked. “That’s okay. I have a few ideas.”

  The car slowed to a stop. Adam wouldn’t tell me where we were going, but we definitely weren’t heading to the airport or back to my apartment. But, I didn’t care. I never wanted to get out of this Uber. Not only was I sitting next to a hot guy who smelled good, but he’d saved my ass from being homeless on Christmas Eve—from Ebenezer Scrooge, of all people. I had no doubt that the judge would have evicted me had things not worked out the way it did.

  Adam opened the door, and I looked up at where we were. “Rockefeller Center?”

  “You said you loved the tree. Figured our flights were probably delayed anyway.” He shrugged. “And if we miss them…that wouldn’t be such a bad thing either, would it?”

  I beamed from ear to ear. “No, it definitely wouldn’t be.”

  Adam exited the Town Car and held out his hand to help me out. He didn’t let go even after the Uber started to pull away. His hand was warm and so much bigger than my little one. We walked side by side to the tree. I really did love it here. Rockefeller Center at Christmas was a magical place, even if I didn’t get my proposal.

  Adam and I stood and stared up at the tree. He looked at me and then stopped a couple walking by. “Excuse me. Would you mind taking a picture of us in front of the tree?”

  They both smiled. “No, not at all.”

  Adam fiddled with his cell and handed it to the woman.

  “You ready, beautiful?”

  I’d assumed he meant to smile big for the camera. So I did.

  But obviously he had something else in mind. He grabbed me into his arms. “Meredith Grab-my-junk Eden, you stole my Uber, snapped photos so I can lie to my mother, and made me commit perjury to a judge today, and yet I haven’t smiled this much on Christmas Eve in years. Will you do me the honor of putting this picture in the empty frame on your desk?”

  I laughed. “I’d love to.”

  With a big smile on both our faces, Adam bent me backwards into a deep dip, and planted his lips over mine.

  It just goes to show that with a little luck, fairy tales can come true, despite Ebenezer Scrooge.

  Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

  Much Love,

  Vi & Penelope

  Piper

  It was a lazy Saturday on the Upper West Side. Christmastime in New York was always my favorite time of the year. From the hustle and bustle of passersby with their shopping bags, to the lush wreaths on the doors of the brownstones in my neighborhood, I just loved every bit of this season. The air was so cold today that it felt like a true cleanse of my system every time I breathed it in.

  I’d just left one of my favorite cafés, where I’d spent the afternoon sipping hot cocoa and looking through some catalogs to get ideas for an apartment I was re-doing. As an interior designer, browsing for décor was one of my favorite things to do, even in my spare time when I wasn’t on the clock; I really didn’t even consider it a chore.

  As I approached my apartment building, I noticed a man sitting down on the ground right in front of it. From time to time, the homeless would choose a spot outside of my building, probably figuring that it was a nice, safe area. Unfortunately, all too often, residents would complain, forcing those poor people to move. I never had an issue with the homeless parking themselves outside our building. It wasn’t like they were hurting anyone.

  Rather than approach this man, I had an idea. Turning back around, headed in the direction from which I came, I walked toward my favorite delicatessen. My plan was to buy the man a damn good lunch and give him some cash. After all, that gesture would be right in line with my decision this year to forego Christmas gifts to my friends and family in favor of good deeds. Rather than spending money needlessly on a scarf or Broadway show tickets, I’d help someone in need and let each friend and family member know exactly what I’d done for someone else in their honor. So, who was going to be the lucky recipient of today’s good deed? I figured helping this homeless man, buying him lunch, and giving him some cash might be the perfect present for my Aunt Lorraine.

  When it was my turn in line at the deli, I said, “Large pastrami on rye, please.” After placing my order, I grabbed a bottle of Coke from the refrigerator, a bag of sour cream and onion chips, and a large chocolate chip cookie from the counter that was covered in Saran wrap. Not knowing what the man liked, I basically just ordered all of my own favorites. You couldn’t go wrong with anything from this place.

  Returning to the sidewalk and feeling good about myself, I headed back toward my building. I’d also slipped a fifty-dollar bill into the paper bag.

  Luckily, the man was still sitting in that same spot on the ground when I returned. From a distance, I could see he was wearing a flannel shirt. Or was it a jacket? As I approached, I also noticed ripped jeans. A baseball cap covered his face.

  Now standing right in front of the man, I bent down and cleared my throat. “Hello…I’m Piper. I, uh, thought you might be hungry,” I said, reaching the bag out to him.

  He didn’t immediately say anything as he lifted his hat a bit so he could see my face through the sun. Even though it was a cold day, the sun was shining brightly.

  I added, “There’s also a fifty-dollar bill inside the bag. All I ask is that you don’t spend it on alcohol.”

  He opened the bag and took a whiff, then said, “Then it’s okay to spend it on strippers?”

  Not knowing how to answer that, I stammered,” Uh...I’d prefer you didn’t, but whatever makes your Christmas merry, I suppose.”

  He abruptly lifted his hat off his head. That was when I noticed his striking blue eyes, head full of thick, beautifully tousled copper hair, and really handsome face.

  His eyes seared into mine as he said, “What are you smoking, lady?”

  I swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You think I’m homeless?”

  Oh.

  No

  What?

  He’s not homeless?

  In an attempt to defend myself, I cringed and said, “Why else would you be sitting on the ground outside of this building?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…maybe I’m doing some work inside and came out for a smoke?” He scowled. “Any number of things.”

  It was then that I really took a moment to look at him. He wore one of those heavy flannel shirts that were more padded like a jacket, the ones I’d always see construction workers donning. Of course. From a distance, he somehow looked like he might be homeless, but up close he looked like something out of an L.L. Bean catalog. He wasn’t just handsome; he was gorgeous. He had the perfect amount of chin scruff and large hands that looked like they’d seen their share of work. He looked…sexy. Not homeless. Not homeless at all, you idiot, Piper.

  With every second that passed, I started to realize just how much of a mistake I’d made. The rips in his jeans were intentional, not a result of tattered wear. He was clean and didn’t look anything like someone who lived on the streets with limited access to a shower. Rather than smelling bad, he smelled quite good in fact, like cologne with a hint of cigarettes.

  “Clearly, I made a mistake. But you were sitting on the ground…I jus—”

  “So, if someone takes a rest on the ground, they’re automatically homeless?”

  “We’ve had homeless people camp out in this very spot before, so it seemed plausible.”

  He scratched his chin. “Let me ask you this, Piper...if a hooker walks the streets in heels, bending down talking to strangers, does that mean that every woman walking the sidewalk in heels—such as yourself—who bends down and talks to strangers is a hooker?”

  Is he indirectly calling me a whore?

  Plain and simple, I’d tried to do a good thing. And I fucked up. But that was no reason for him to be so mean.

  “Look, I’m sorry. Clearly this was a huge misunderstanding. I was just trying to do something good for someone.”

  “So you could feel better about yourself...”
/>   I squinted. “Excuse me?”

  “By labeling someone you perceive as beneath you, it makes you feel better about yourself. Further solidifying the entitled rich girl that you are.”

  No, he didn’t.

  Despite the frigid air, my body temperature started to rise.

  “I’ll have you know, I work very hard for my money. There’s not a spoiled or ungrateful bone in my body.”

  “Perhaps, then, you should do your research before handing your cash out to random people on the sidewalk. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t care who you were handing it to, as long as you were getting your fix of self-righteousness.”

  This prick was getting on my last nerve.

  “I don’t know who you are, or what you’re even doing outside of my building, but—”

  “Finally...she asks who I am!” He stood up. “Might that have been a good idea before you handed me fifty dollars and a bag of food?”

  “You know what? I am sort of wishing now that it were a bag of dicks instead, because that’s what you deserve…to eat a bag of dicks!” I huffed, “I’m done with this conversation. Have a nice day. Stuff the sandwich up your ass and use the money to buy yourself some manners!”

  It had taken me hours to calm down from that infuriating encounter.

  Later that evening, I was headed out with a friend when I stopped at the sight of something at my feet just outside my apartment door.

  It was a paper bag. Upon closer inspection, it looked like the same paper bag I’d given to that guy earlier—because it said Rick’s Delicatessen on the front.

  Hesitantly, I picked it up and opened it.

  I gasped at the sight of what looked like seven rubber dildos inside in various colors.

  What the fuck?

  There was a note.

  Per your suggestion, I went ahead and bought a bag of dicks. Actually, technically, you said you wished you’d given me a bag of dicks and that I should buy some manners, but they don’t sell manners on 8th Avenue. As luck would have it, they do sell dicks. So, wish granted. While I’m unable to “eat” them as you so kindly suggested…(because, you know, you’re such a nice, giving person who cares about your fellow man), I figured you might get more use out of a bag of dicks than me. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

  P.S. The food and the fifty you left me with went to an *actual* homeless person as per your intention.

  Piper

  I smiled looking in the mirror.

  It had been a long time since I looked at my reflection and saw someone I liked.

  This emerald green cocktail dress had been in the back of my closet with the tags on it for the better part of two years. Last week I’d gone to Second Chances, a luxury resale consignment shop here in the city, to sell the last of my designer purses. Since they bought anything name brand, I brought along some of my gently worn designer clothes and also this fancy, never-worn dress. I couldn’t remember how much Warren had paid for it, but then again, I didn’t look at price tags back then, not even when we shopped at Barneys where we’d bought it. But when the consignment store offered me a whopping thirty dollars for a Limited Edition Valentino, I’d decided to keep it. I could wear it once and sell it on eBay for ten times what they were willing to pay. This dress was not leaving my hands for less than a few hundred dollars, even if I could use the money to put toward next month’s rent.

  Tonight I was going to my friend Avril’s annual Christmas party. I’d been looking forward to it for weeks. Since I was broke, I didn’t get to see my friends too often. My days of paying eighteen dollars for a glass of wine in a Manhattan bar were over. Avril would undoubtedly have three-hundred-dollar-a-bottle champagne and Beluga caviar, and I was honestly looking forward to a little indulgence.

  I lined my lips in blood red and grabbed a wool cape from the closet. But then on second thought, I traded the pretty cape for a heavy parka. It was freezing out, and since I wasn’t about to pay for an Uber, I could be standing at the bus stop for a while. Side note…when I often told people how much happier I’d been since I started shedding the ‘extras’ in my life, I hadn’t been referring to Uber. I missed Uber something fierce.

  I took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped off ready to take Manhattan on.

  “Wheet-whoo.” A whistle from behind me turned my head. I found my elderly neighbor sitting in his wheelchair.

  “Mr. Hanks? What are you doing down here?” My brows drew together. “And in your pajamas?”

  “Waiting for pretty girls. I guess I can go back up now.”

  I laughed. “Well, thank you. I’m heading to a Christmas party. Do you need some help before I go?”

  “Nah. You go on and have a good evening.”

  “You, too, Mr. Hanks.”

  I walked through the lobby and exited the door. My phone buzzed as I hit the cold air, so I paused to dig it out of my coat pocket and tugged off my gloves to text.

  Avril: Why aren’t you here yet?

  Piper: Ummm… because it’s only seven o’clock.

  Avril: The party starts at seven.

  Piper: Yes, but who comes on time?

  Avril: Finn Parker…that’s who.

  Oh wow. I hadn’t even realized he would be there. I’d met Finn last year, and we’d really hit it off. He’d given me his number, though I’d never called. It had been only a few days before my surgery, and I’d been in a dark place after I got out of the hospital…definitely not ready to jump into anything new—no matter how deep his dimples were. Plus, I’d just broken things off with Warren, and dating was the last thing on my to-do list. Though, now…it had been a long year of celibacy. I typed back.

  Piper: On my way!

  Avril: Hurry. He said he can only stay for an hour or two.

  As I yanked my gloves back on, I turned around to look into the lobby. Mr. Hanks was still sitting there in his wheelchair. I looked at my phone again, then at the elderly man in the lobby, then my phone. Sighing, I tucked my cell into my pocket and opened the door to go back inside.

  “Mr. Hanks. Is everything okay?”

  He put on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure. Everything’s just fine.”

  I noticed a yardstick a few feet away from his chair.

  Narrowing my eyes, I asked. “Did you…drop that stick?”

  Mr. Hanks frowned. “Oh, yeah. I guess I must’ve.”

  I picked it up and handed it to him. Two months ago, Mr. Hanks suffered a pretty bad stroke. It left him with limited mobility in both his arms, and one weak leg. I thought the stick might’ve been the only way he could reach the elevator button. I’d been so worried about getting to my party, that I hadn’t even stopped to think that maybe he wasn’t choosing to sit in the lobby with his mail on his lap. God, I was an idiot…leaving a nice neighbor in his pajamas in the lobby to run off to a party.

  I pushed the button on the wall. “I actually forgot something, so I’m going back up to our floor,” I lied. “Why don’t we ride up together?”

  The elevator arrived, and I got behind Mr. Hanks’s electric wheelchair and pushed, even though there was a little remote on the arm of it he could’ve used. “So what are you doing for the holidays this year? Any big plans?”

  “My son wants me to come to his place. He says he’s cooking, but I got my money on that he takes the stickers off the food trays before I get there so I won’t know he catered Christmas. My wife Mary Jean always made a big meal on the holidays…fish on Christmas Eve and a ham and lasagna on Christmas day. She tried teaching the kid how to cook, but he was always too busy conquering the world when he got older. Mason’s a good kid, don’t get me wrong, but he works too much.”

  I frowned. “My mom used to make lasagna, too. And fresh baked bread and pumpkin pie. Some kids loved waking up on Christmas morning to see what Santa brought. I loved waking up to a house that smelled like pie.”

  The elevator doors dinged on our floor, so I pushed the wheelchair out and down to Mr. Hanks�
�s apartment. We lived on opposite sides of the elevator. When I arrived at his door, it was already open.

  “Did you leave it this way?”

  “Yeah. I can push it open with my foot, but getting the key in can still be a bit tricky.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I would imagine.”

  I wheeled Mr. Hanks inside and stopped at the kitchen doorway. The room was a disaster. It looked like robbers had ransacked the place. Two cans were on the floor, along with a few utensils, a roll of duct tape, cookies, and a gallon of milk that had spilled into a giant white puddle on the floor. And the kitchen sink water was running. I sidestepped the spill and twisted the faucet off. Glancing around at the mess again, I frowned at the two soup cans on the floor.

  “Mr. Hanks, did you…eat dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m just a little messy. Ignore it in here. The aide that my son makes hang around here all day made dinner before she left. I’m just living the life of a bachelor.”

  Something told me he was lying. “What did you eat for dinner?”

  “Soup.”

  I bent and picked up the empty plastic milk container and then walked over to the garbage. Using my foot to press the pedal to open the lid, I took a look inside before tossing the container in. No soup can. Mr. Hanks was a proud man. One who would rather sit in the cold lobby than ask me to pick up a stick so he could reach the elevator button.

  “Mmm. I haven’t had soup in a long time. Would you…mind if I had some?”

  He squinted at me, but I smiled and he seemed to forget his suspicions. “Sure. Help yourself, kiddo.”

  I went back behind his wheelchair and brought him into the living room. Picking up the remote, which was also on the floor, I placed it into his hand. “Why don’t you relax, and I’ll I check out what my soup choices are, if you don’t mind.”

  He nodded. “Help yourself.”

  Back in the kitchen, I took off my coat, collected the paraphernalia from the floor, and cleaned up the spilled milk. When I finished, I took out a pot and yelled to Mr. Hanks. “I can’t decide between chicken dumpling and beef barley. They both sound so good. What do you recommend?”