Holiday Greetings
By Kiernan Kelly
Christmas Eve found Evan E. Zers-Crewdge at his desk, sitting behind stacks of paper. His fingers made soft taps on the keyboard as he entered the strokes to bring up the year-to-date reports. Although the economy was in crisis, it hadn't affected greeting card sales. His company, Holiday Greetings, was showing its strongest quarter yet.
A soft knock at his office door was nearly enough to set him off into one of his infamous rages. He'd specifically instructed Gloria, his secretary, that he wasn't to be disturbed. He supposed she wanted to knock off early to get home to her family, to cook the Christmas squash or decorate the holiday cactus, or whatever it was her family considered traditional.
Personally, he thought all of it -- the carolers, the gifts, the lights, the hokey holiday television specials -- ridiculous, and a supreme waste of money, except, of course, for the greeting cards. His lips tilted in a small, avaricious smile as he watched the numbers scroll over his computer screen. Definitely, the best quarter they'd had to date.
Another knock sounded at the door, this one a bit louder than the last. Evan slammed his hand down onto his desktop, disrupting the neat piles of paper. "Come in!" he yelled, although the tone of his voice said exactly the opposite. It said, "Get lost if you value your job!"
The door cracked open, and a pair of big, blue eyes, amplified to the size of saucers by thick eyeglass lenses, peeked in. "Evan? I was wondering if I could get a deadline extension for the new artwork. There've been so many changes, it's taking me longer than I expected, and tomorrow is Christmas..."
The name attached to those big, blue eyes was Carter Davis, one of the company's in-house artists. Hired three years ago based on his impressive portfolio, Carter was kept on because he worked overtime, weekends, and holidays whenever necessary without griping.
Carter was also in possession of a rock-hard ass and thick cock, both of which Evan had sampled in this very office during last year's holiday party. Their quick, drunken tryst was also the reason Carter felt empowered to use Evan's first name when addressing him, no matter how many times Evan corrected him. If it weren’t for the sales Carter's artwork generated for the company, Evan would've booted his fine ass to the curb months ago... well, that and the fear of a sexual harassment suit.
"It's Mr. Zers-Crewdge and, no, I need them ASAP. Get back to work," Evan growled, turning his attention back to his computer.
To Evan's annoyance, instead of leaving, Carter slipped fully inside the office, closing the door behind him. "You missed the holiday party, Evan. You work too hard. You're going to put yourself into an early grave if you keep this up."
Evan's head snapped toward Carter, eyes blazing. "For the last fucking time, it's Mr. Zers-Crewdge to you, and my work habits and health are none of your business!"
Carter didn't even blink. Instead, he planted his palms on Evan's desk, leaning forward, until scruffy cheeks and huge, blue eyes took up Evan's entire field of vision. "Bullshit! How much longer do you think you can ignore the chemistry between us, Evan? What happened last year at the party was great, but we have more going than just a quick fuck. I can see the yearning in your eyes every time you walk through the art department, or pass me in the hallway."
"You're crazy! I never even thought about you after the party," Evan sputtered. He did think about Carter -- all too much, actually. Whenever his physical needs got the best of him and he jerked off, he thought about Carter's silky skin, and hot, delectable mouth. Carter was definitely tempting, but Evan had no room for romance in his life. There was no time for hearts and flowers, except for those gracing his new line of Valentine greeting cards. Numbers, Evan thought. Numbers are real. They're what matters in the end. Romance is fiction, a lie losers tell themselves when they get horny. "I don't need anybody complicating my life."
Carter straightened up, shaking his head. "I don't know how you can lie to yourself like this, Evan," he said softly. "I feel sorry for you, if you really believe that."
Evan's eyes snapped fire, his pride dented, his temper boiling over. "You feel sorry for me? Why? I have it all -- a six-figure salary, a penthouse apartment, and a hundred people ready to lick their own asses at the snap of my fingers. Get back to work before I lose my Christmas spirit and fire you! Oh, and Carter? I expect the new designs on my desk by tomorrow night."
Carter's face crumpled, but he turned away and walked to the door without another word, shutting it behind him.
Evan felt an instant stab of regret and a strong urge to call Carter back into his office. He pushed it aside with a swift, mental shove.
I don't need anyone. Never have.
He turned his attention back to the report glowing on his desktop monitor and lost himself in the wonderfully unemotional numbers.
***
By the time Evan finished running his reports and crunching the numbers, it was nearing midnight. He blinked grit from his eyes as he powered down the computer. It was time to go home to his ultra-modern apartment, down a quick glass of something strong and alcoholic, and get some sleep. He wanted to be in his office by seven a.m. the next day to prepare a report for the shareholders.
Evan shrugged into his cashmere coat and switched off his office lights. Just as he was about to step out into the outer office, he noticed a flickering glow dancing in his peripheral vision. He turned, surprised to see his computer monitor casting light over his desk. He could've sworn he'd turned the damn thing off.
As Evan rounded the desk, intending to power it down, a face appeared on the screen, stopping him in his tracks. It wasn't the oddly three-dimensional look to the face on the flat screen, the brilliantly natural color, or the clever computer-generated laughter that seemed to mock him.
What shocked Evan, and caused fingers of unease to massage his scalp, was the fact that he recognized the face. It was one he'd last seen over twenty years ago, and had never thought he'd ever see again.
Johnny Petrolli? What the hell?
Johnny Petrolli, the first man ever to touch Evan sexually. Johnny, with his quick laugh and twinkling brown eyes, who loved pizza, loathed country music, and was far too fond of illegal drugs and robbing convenience stores... had been dead for the last twenty-two years.
"No," Evan whispered to the flickering image. "It can't be."
The screen suddenly went dark. Evan almost convinced himself he'd been seeing things until the overhead lights switched on, and Evan found Johnny Petrolli sitting in his chair, in the flesh.
Johnny wore a mullet, the torn, stonewashed jeans he'd always favored, and a long-sleeved Iron Maiden T-shirt. His feet were clad in bright red high-tops, laces untied and trailing to the floor. He looked no different or older than the last time Evan had seen him.
"Hello, Evan. Long time no see, huh?" Johnny said with a wide grin.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Evan asked, taking several involuntary steps backward. It can't be Johnny. It can't be!
"Come on, Evan. Don't tell me you don't remember me," Johnny said, his smile growing even wider. "Maybe I should be down on my knees. That's the position you usually saw me in."
Evan refused to be suckered in, even by an outrageously good look-a-like. Someone must be trying to set me up, maybe for blackmail, he thought. Sure, that's it. They found out about me and Johnny, and think they can use it against me. "I don't know who you are, but Johnny Petrolli's been dead for almost a quarter century. I remember reading his obituary. Get out before I call the police!"
Johnny's smile melted from his face, and his voice dropped into a low, dangerous tone. "You just about destroyed me, Evan. Gave me up without even the courtesy of a fucking phone call."
"No, no, no. Not happening," Evan repeated, as
though he could convince himself if he said it enough. "Not. Happening."
"Why, Evan? I loved you. I fucking worshiped the ground you walked on, and we were good together. Why did you stop talking to me? Why did you pretend I didn't exist?"
"We were stupid kids. We didn't know what love was," Evan said. It sounded like the lie it was.
"I was lost for a long time after you dumped me. Got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Did hard time. Do you know what they do with pretty boys like me in prison?" Johnny asked with a sneer. "It sure as hell wasn't a slumber party in there, but I got out eventually."
Evan gasped and screwed his eyes shut tightly, still refusing to believe his eyes and ears. "I've been working too hard. I ate a gyro for dinner that didn't agree with me. I had an aneurysm. Something, anything, but this is not happening! I'm going to count to five, and when I finish, he'll be gone. One, two, three, four... five."
Johnny's mocking chuckle sounded like a spade biting into graveyard dirt. "Good try, Evan, but I'm still here. I don't want to be, but I am. So, you're going to pay attention, or I swear to God I'll rip your fucking arm off and beat you senseless with it. Got it?"
"No. This isn't happening," Evan insisted again.
He felt a hand, icy cold and strong, clamp onto his arm. "Beep! Wrong answer," Johnny said just before the room spun away.
***
It was bitingly cold. Evan shivered despite his heavy, cashmere coat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Fat snowflakes rode the wind, twirling like tiny white dancers, coating his hair and eyelashes.
He was standing in the skeletal remains of a winter-killed garden. Knee-high ceramic gnomes, blue and red stocking caps dusted white with new-fallen snow, were scattered between the bare branches of a few rose and azalea bushes.
The gnomes were familiar, as were the white lattice boards supporting the rose bushes. It was his mother's garden, the one she'd tended so faithfully until her death. The roses were her pride and joy, unlike her baby boy, whose lifestyle, no matter how successful, always embarrassed her.
Evan still hated roses.
His eyes caught movement beyond the window glass. He looked into a bedroom and saw two young men sitting side by side on a twin bed, their arms around one another, locked in a deep kiss. One wore a mullet; the other had short, dark hair.
The bedroom and the two young men in it were as familiar to Evan as the garden. It was his own room, or had been a long time ago, and the men were himself and Johnny. He rocked on his feet under the unexpected assault of memories, including the sweet taste of Johnny's mouth and the warmth of his touch.
He watched as the couple broke apart, saw himself lift a gentle hand to cup Johnny's cheek as the other slid along his thigh.
"Remember this?" Johnny's voice rasped in his ear, reminding him that, as incredible as it seemed, Evan wasn't alone. "This was the night, Evan. We made love for the first time, right there on that bed."
"I remember," Evan whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from his younger self.
"Do you remember what you told me?"
"We were only kids, Johnny! I didn't know what I was saying!"
"You're lying to yourself, Evan."
"No, I'm not!" Evan insisted. He watched his younger self trail kisses over Johnny's neck, and read the words forming on his lips. I love you, Johnny. He gasped, remembering with startling clarity how he'd felt at that exact moment, so full of love, eagerness, yearning, and need that he'd thought the slightest touch might make him pop like an overfilled water balloon. Oh, God, had he ever felt the same way since? So excited, so hungry, so happy?
"You dumped me because you went to college, and I went to work at the steel mill."
Evan couldn't deny it. He had, and he knew it. Johnny had become an embarrassment, unrefined, uneducated, out-of-place at the college keggers, but rather than talk it out, Evan simply stopped returning his phone calls.
He tried to push the memory from his mind and concentrate on the scene unfolding beyond the windowpane.
"Come on, we've got more to see," Johnny said, his claw-like fingers digging again into Evan's arm.
"No, wait! Not yet!" Evan demurred, but the world spun away again in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color.
The temperature was still freezing, but it was a gray cold, sterile and hard. There was another window, unfamiliar this time, the view obstructed by a steel grate. Beyond the window, Johnny lay on a narrow bunk, garbed in a horrid orange jumpsuit. Another man lay on the bunk above him, asleep.
Evan watched with horror as Johnny reached under his thin mattress, pulling out a jagged piece of glass. The bitter wind stole Evan's scream as Johnny sliced open the skin on his wrists without warning. Bright red blood sprayed his jumpsuit, darker against the ugly orange color.
"See? I told you. I got out, no parole necessary," Johnny said.
There was recrimination sparking in Johnny's eyes, and Evan felt guilt wrap his heart in an iron fist. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Enough, Johnny. Please. Enough."
Johnny's chuckle sent a new chill through him, but Evan felt the world tip away again. The air grew warmer; the wind was gone. When he opened his eyes, he was in his office, and alone.
***
Evan took a tumbler from the cabinet in the corner of his office, and poured himself two fingers of good scotch, taking both the glass and the bottle to his desk. The liquor burned his throat and warmed his stomach, but he couldn't stop trembling.
"Get hold of yourself," he whispered, sitting behind his desk. The overhead lights were on, but the computer screen was mercifully black. "You had a dream. That's all. You blacked out from all the stress, and had a nightmare."
Then why was his coat and hair still wet with melting snow?
He drained his glass, and refilled it.
"Booze isn't going to help, Evan. Believe me, I know."
Evan started at the new voice, coming from just behind him. He swiveled in his chair, scotch sloshing over the rim of the glass, wetting his pant leg. He blinked up at the man standing in front of the window. He was older than Evan by at least ten years, gray-haired, slight and stooped. "Bill? Bill Hopkins?"
Bill was dressed in an old, plaid flannel shirt and a pair of work pants worn thin at the knees. His feet were bare and looked dirty, as did his face and hands. "I'd say it was good to see you, Evan, but I'm afraid I'm not that magnanimous."
"What are you doing in here? You left the company five years ago!"
"You mean you fired me five years ago -- almost to the day, in fact. After fifteen years of service, you gave me my pink slip tucked inside my company holiday card. Very nice gesture, you prick."
Evan stood up and walked on shaky legs to the other side of the desk. "Your work wasn't up to par."
"Bullshit. That's not the reason you got rid of me, and you know it. It was the office gossip you were worried about, not my productivity."
"Your behavior was inappropriate."
"If by that you mean I refused to deny my sexuality, then yes. I wore a rainbow pin on my lapel. I collected donations for the local AIDS clinic. I had the audacity to go over your head and write corporate, asking for partner benefits."
Evan felt his cheeks burn, remembering what had happened shortly after he'd gotten the email from corporate informing him about Hopkins' letter. The letter had both frightened and infuriated Evan. It was soon after that he'd terminated Hopkins.
It'd been one of the rare times Evan went to a bar, looking to hook up. He'd been desperate; stress was wreaking havoc with his blood pressure, and he'd wanted a little relief. A warm body to take the edge off, no strings, no attachments.
Hopkins had been there that night, too. They hadn't spoken, but knowing Hopkins had seen him in a gay bar was enough to send a bolt of fear zinging up Evan's spine. Blackmail, Evan remembered thinking. He'll use it against me if he doesn't get a raise or promotion.
He'd fired Hopkins the next morning. It was a right-to-work state. Hopkins hadn't a leg to stand on, and E
van made damn sure he couldn't get back into the building after he was escorted out.
"I didn't care who knew I was gay, Evan, but I knew you did. I would never have outed you."
"What do you want, Bill? Money? I always knew you'd try to blackmail me. I'm just surprised it took you this long," Evan spat.
"Oh, it's much too late for that, Evan," Bill said with a smirk. "No, you're not getting off the hook so easily."
Fire snapped in Evan's eyes. "Is that a threat?"
"Nope. It's a promise. Come with me," Bill answered, walking toward Evan.
Evan tried to evade him, but Bill's hand latched on to his arm, and the room began to spin.
***
The cold assailed him once more, although it wasn't snowing. They were standing in an alley, a long, narrow stretch of bare concrete between two older, brick buildings. The freezing wind howled through the alley, picking up bits of garbage and flinging them at Evan and Bill.
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