Christmas in LA

by Herb Scribner

  Ryan sighs again and stands up. He steps quietly out of the room, heading out of the living room and into the back hall of the apartment. His feet shuffle against the ground until he has gone completely to his room. The air is still. Nothing penetrates the silence. I’m alone now on the couch, listening to the light ticking of the clock around me.

  The thin and razor-sharp buzzing I’ve grown accustomed to slices through the quiet. Chives floats into view, his propellers whipping this way and that.

  “Sorry you had to hear that story,” he says. “But Master Ryan has been holding that story back for a long time.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I’ve been with Master Ryan for close to three years now in different forms. I went from being just a listening voice on a computer to something like Alexa or Siri. And now I’m in this current form. He’s only told that story twice.”

  “To who?”

  “Himself, so that he’d always have it recorded. And then once more to another woman he met not too long ago. Her name was Ciera. He doesn’t talk about her.”

  “Why not?”

  “She was as close as he got to love again.”

  “What happened?”

  The silence returns, budging its way into the room like an aggressive predator seeking its prey. The hovering drone and I exchange glances, looking eye-to-eye, waiting to see if the other will budge. Neither does. We’re in a holding pattern, just waiting to see what happens.

  “That’s a story for another time,” Chives says. “Master Ryan should explain.”

  That’s all I need for the night. No more answers will come my way, at least not tonight. I say goodnight to Chives and walk back to my room. Darkness grabs ahold of me before I can turn out the lights.

  DAY THREE: DECEMBER 23

  19,

  The sun’s wide grin wakes me up the following morning. The bright sunlight illuminates the puffy white-gray clouds of winter, shoving a wide glow of morning light onto the window shade. The light’s slanted pattern gently creeps toward me until it rakes across my eyes, dragging me out of the darkness and into the daytime. The air in the room is remarkably fresh. Not too hot, not too cold. The hint of Christmas music lingers in the air. Must be from a speaker out in the living room. Songs about jingle bells and winter wonderlands puff out like breath in winter.

  I wrap myself in a robe hanging on the back door of the guest room, adding another layer to my red-and-green striped pajamas pants and plain black t-shirt. Sometimes it’s best to remain as comfortable as possible, even when you’re staying in someone else’s home.

  The music grows louder as I walk into the common room. I wonder what Ryan is up to this morning. Probably sipping on some of his pre-ordered coffee, cooking a scrumptious morning meal of eggs, bacon and sausage, scanning through his latest purchases in cryptocurrencies. A normal morning for the tech exec. Nothing that I’m used to.

  The living room and dining room and kitchen are all bare. Empty and still. The only thing that sticks out is the cardboard drink carrier stuffed with Starbucks drinks sitting on the kitchen island counter. All three cups must be for me, or at least for Ryan and I to split during the day.

  I walk over and pick one of the cups. Or maybe I choose it. Whatever. It’s still the delicious holiday drink that Ryan handed me yesterday morning. If this is going to happen every morning, I can easily get used to it. In fact, there’s ridiculously little reason to go home if I’m going to get free coffee every morning while I’m here.

  Sipping it slowly will do the job of extending its stay in my life. Yes, coffee is life. Nothing comes before coffee. It’s the lifeblood that fuels me every day. I need this stuff, okay. I need it!

  Guess I’m going to have the apartment alone for the day. That doesn’t sound perfect, but acceptable. I can probably just lay out on the bed and scroll through my iPad again. Maybe now I can do some research on Ryan, see if there’s anything I need to know about him that I don’t already. Some people with fame tend to have shady pasts, or at least participate in actions and moves that paint their stardom in a different light. Might not be such a bad idea to research him a little bit.

  And when I get bored of all that, I can just watch a Hallmark movie. That sounds like a solid way to spend the day.

  All my plans are interrupted at the sound of a buzz. I know that buzz all too well now. Chives emerges from around the corner, his propellers spinning in quick circles, allowing him to hover in the air as he inches closer and closer to me.

  “Good morning, Ms. Cole.”

  “Morning, Chives.”

  “I see you’ve received your morning coffee.”

  I raise my cup. “So good. Thanks for getting it.”

  “I didn’t actually get it this morning. Mr. Rain did.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Yes. Mr. Rain walked to the Starbucks across the street and brought those cups home with him. He wanted me to tell you that so you don’t think he’s a jerk that just uses his robot for free coffee.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice.”

  “It is, ma’am,” the drone says, soaring in the air closer to the kitchen. “Mr. Rain also wanted me to tell you that he is currently outside and should be back shortly.”

  “Okay, great. Why’s he outside?”

  “He’s taking a breather. Apparently all that talk last night really messed with him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not you’re fault. He spends a lot of time alone. Sometimes he’ll have one of his coworkers with him. Other than that, he’s all by himself. I’m the most amount of company he gets. So, I apologize if he doesn’t seem accustomed to social norms and cues.”

  No kidding. His arrogant attitude mixed with the gate guarding his emotions have created a difficult person.

  “But you know, you might want to go outside and catch some fresh air. Maybe chat with Mr. Rain.”

  Is this robot trying to hook us up?

  “You’ve got a point there Chives.”

  “I reviewed your luggage when you first entered the apartment. We did an x-ray scan, as security often does in this building. We just don’t make a show of it. Based on your clothing preferences, I ventured out to one of the grocery store across the street and bought you a pair of snow pants, a new jacket, hat and gloves.”

  “My clothing habits? You looked through my clothes? That’s creepy!”

  “I’m a robot, ma’am.”

  “Still. Ew.”

  “Well, I didn’t see anything I’ve seen before. Mostly neutrals. Gray shirt, black pants, a black jacket. Red scarf and gloves in tune with the latest fashion. I’m not much of a shopper so hopefully you will enjoy them.”

  Is it a crime to assault a drone? I really want to beat this thing up.

  I do end up enjoying the clothes though. Privacy doesn’t exist here, apparently. But then again, it was for security reasons. I can’t be too upset about that.

  The clothes are soft as a pillow cloud, but thick enough to keep me warm from the frigid temperatures outside. I dress quickly and then follow Chives’ lead out the door. I couldn’t stand being in that place one more second with all of this gear on. I’d be sweating until the end of time if that were the case.

  The elevator shuttles me down into the lobby, which still glows with a golden light meant for royal authorities and the upper class. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling beams with bright lights, raining down a slanting off-white glow. A hum of Christmas music floats around us like the wind. Once again I can easily pick out each song.

  I’m not even outside and I can see Ryan already working on his latest project. He’s dressed in a thick orange and puffy jacket with dark blue snow pants. A gray beanie sits atop his head, flowing in sync with the wind. He’s on his knees, padding down lumps of snow onto a boulder-shaped size of white powder. I’ve seen that action way too many times to not recognize what he’s building.

  I step outside into the cold, the door sending a waft of biting cold air my wa
y as I walk outside. When I’m fully out in the cold, I take note of the world around me. The sky is an empty gray, nothing too spectacular about it at all. The streets are dusted with white powder, with few footmarks peppered along the sidewalk. The temperatures are snipping at my skin and bones, threatening me to return to my room where I can warm up.

  “So you’re building a snow man?” I ask Ryan, walking closer to him.

  He picks up his head because he finally notices me.

  “Oh hey, nice to see you.”

  “Nice to see you.”

  “I see Chives explained everything to you. About the clothes,” his eyes frame a look of innocence.

  I cross my arms. “It’s a little invasive.”

  “Security measures of the building, not me. He deleted the files, if it makes you feel any better.”

  “Well, I want proof.”

  “And proof you will receive.”

  “Good. I’m surprised you came outside.”

  “Your boy Chives is super creepy. But he has a really good way of convincing people.”

  “I wish that I could convince you on my own, but I understand the allure of anything Chives says.”

  “He’s sort of better than you in every way,” I tell him, smiling from ear-to-ear.

  “Aren’t you funny,” he snarks back, a beguiling smirk on his face. “So are you going to help me?”

  “You need me to help you build a snowman?”

  “Yep. You bet. I can’t do this on my own.”

  “Why are you even building one?”

  “I don’t smoke cigarettes. I don’t run on jogs. I normally play basketball, but there’s no court here. So I build snowmen. Sort of a therapy, stress reliever.”

  He can tell I’m not convinced.

  “Let’s do this and then we’ll run back inside and finish off those coffees,” he says.

  “Well, that sounds great. Count me in,” I say.

  Though, truth be told, I need a little bit more of that coffee. It’s the only way I’m going to make it through the day.

  And so we begin our work. I package the snow into trapezoids and thick bulbous formations, layering them into the fluffy boulders of snow that Ryan’s already made. Soon our rocky formation balloons into something as large as boulder you’d find in the Rockies. We roll that ball closer to the wide windows of the building. We walk back over to the mounds of snow close to the road and begin rolling up another ball. We know that this one will be shorter, and it’ll take less time to build since we’re both busily working on it.

  I sneak a glance over at Ryan and he sneaks one back at me. Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments. And despite the cold weather, a feather of warmth tickles inside of me. Blood rushes up my body and sprays along my cheeks. His eyes turn away and mine do too. It’s all I can do to stop myself from looking at him again. He’s so adorable in his little hat and his winter outfit. What a little kid, wanting to make a snowman of all things on this winter day.

  “Any fun Christmas memories you want to share?” he asks.

  We haven’t spoken in a little while, so I guess it’s to try spinning the wheels again.

  “I don’t think anyone has any really fun Christmas memories when they’re older. Maybe when you’re a kid, but not so much nowadays.”

  “You’re not having fun right now?” Ryan asks.

  “Not at all.”

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “I just want some of that magic back. Just not knowing what was going to happen on Christmas Day. The anticipation that something miraculous was going to happen to your world. The one gift you’d want would come your way. The one present you always wanted would finally be under the tree. I mean, is it that much to ask for — a little magic?”

  “Yeah, Christmas magic goes away when you get older.”

  “Ah, so you’re a cynic.”

  “You might say that. I don’t know. My heart’s been broken a few times in the winter. You heard about Cate the other night, and that one still bums me out even to this day.”

  “Who was the other one? Ciera?”

  This is the first time I’ve brought up the other girl, the one who also broke his heart, the one he also loved. There’s never just one story when someone’s talking about their failures with romance. Typically there’s a handful of broken relationships that leave scars. Heartbreak is body art.

  “What about you?” Ryan asks, avoiding my question entirely. “Any horror stories from Christmas with the people you were dating? Any miserable gifts or experiences?”

  I shrug. “This year’s sort of like that.”

  “This year?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry, but, I haven’t accepted your invitation for a date yet,” he jokes.

  “Har-har,” I joke.

  This would be an ideal moment to tell him about Derek. He hasn’t come up naturally in our conversations, and it’d probably be good to know that I’m dating someone so we can build a boundary between us. And yet my lips can’t find the words. I don’t want that wall to exist between us. I want to build something together where we mix discussions, like rolling snow together into formations that become a beautiful snowman. I want this to continue. Flirty, fun and full of holiday festivities. Barrier always divide.

  Plus, it’s only for a few more days. What’s the harm in keeping this secret to myself?

  “So, wait, were you serious?” he asks. “About this year sucking?”

  “No, it’s alright.”

  “Oh, that’s good to know. I guess I’m not horrible.”

  “No, not horrible,” I say, stretching out horrible so that it has a handful of eeeeees at the end.

  He smiles to himself, collecting a little bit more snow. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea, but I still don’t want to tell him about Derek. What is this problem? Why am I feeling this way? Maybe it’s the coffee. Ah, yes! The coffee. Or the West Coast air.

  “Just keep giving me coffee and we’ll be fine,” I tell him.

  “You got it. We only have another day. I hear the airports are going to be open and ready to go tomorrow.”

  “Well, I expect another cup tomorrow morning before I head off to the airport.”

  He’s quite for a beat longer than our conversation normally flows. Why? Did he think I was going too stay? Did he think I was going to ask for something else?

  “Sounds good,” he says at least, looking up at me to smile.

  Our eyes meet again, looking together amid the cold weather. We break apart like a snapping icicle and return to our duties of building our own little frosted snowman.

  20,

  It’s like a rock colliding with my gut.

  I keel over, and a second thick white ball of snow splashes against my chest. Stumbling backward, I lay my hands flatly outward to regain my balance. Ryan’s already packed another. With a focused eye, he aims and throws, and the ball splashes against my leg.

  “Oh no! You didn’t!” I yell at him.

  Bending down, I scoop up my own ammunition and toss it his way. The fuzzy and misshapen ball of snow soars into the air before it bounces off his shoulder, leaving a puffy spray in its wake. I’m already collecting my next one when I hear the arm of his jacket scrape against his side, and so I duck, lifting my arm to avoid the block. It dusts down on me, catching my shoulder and exploding in a puff of froth.

  We toss shots back and forth like two soldiers in a battle. My hat takes a brunt of the blows, moistening with each hit. My artillery collides twice into his backside, and another right into his thigh. Neither of us aim for the face. That would be too much pain. And this is playful after all.

  The fight is winding down. Neither of us have the arm strength to build our weapons. I roll up a snowball as thick as dough and chuck it toward him. It sails into the air — on and on and on — until it finally strikes something.

  His face bursts with redness as he falls back from the strike. Grunting in pain, he trips backward until he crashes into the moun
ds of snow collecting on the floor. His body lays out flat, like a deadpan’s float, his breath escaping in a thick fog from his lips.

  “Ryan!” I call.

  Oh no. This is it. I’ve finally done something wrong. I knew it would happen. I slapped his face with a snowball and knocked him out cold. Now he’s going to be all fussy and upset with me for what I did. Great. Way to go Noelle! Way to ruin the best thing that could have happened to you for the holidays. Now you have to deal with the consequences.

  Like a foreigner in a strange land, I creep over toward him, tip-toeing in the snow. The breath from his lips escapes in thick patches intermittently, like he’s searching for each breath and struggles to get them out. His chest moves in and out slowly, like each breath will be the last one he will ever give. It can’t be that way. Can it?

  The thought of blood sickens me. Just imagining his face caught with a red soup, which would surely create a pink slushy in the ground. Jeez. Did I really hit him that hard?

  Something escapes his lips when I reach him. Not a grunt, not a sigh, not a cry. Something much worse.

  A laugh!

  He’s chuckling and giggling and laughing like someone’s tickling him, his mouth wide open and his teeth shining with the snow. He holds his gut to hold back the outburst, but that only works so long before his laughter erupts like ash from a volcano.

  “Stop being a jerk!” I whine.

  He’s still laughing as he sits up. The bees have already started floating in my stomach again. What are these feelings that have come to me all of a sudden? Why am I feeling so many emotions for this random guy? What is it about him that draws my attention?

  “Sorry, sorry,” he says, barely able to release the words. “I’m really sorry for this. I just thought that was hilarious. You hit me right in the face.”

  “Don’t act like you’ve never been smacked in the face with a snowball.”

  “Oh, I totally have, but that was too damn funny.”

  We latch arms as I help him to his feet. He’s still laughing even as we stand and face each other. Our eyes lock amid the wintry weather. Pecks of tears have escaped the corner of his eyes. Surprised they haven’t frozen over into ice just yet. Maybe if we’re out here for a little longer they will, though I hope they won’t.