Ms. Scrooge

by Annabelle Costa

  He stares at me, waiting for an answer. “No,” I finally say. “I don’t want that.”

  “Good.” He goes back to kissing my neck. “This is exactly what both of us want. No strings attached. Perfect.”

  The screen fades to black before I have to watch Richard fuck me on the hard, cold surface of his desk. I remember that night. I remember how right after he got off, he pulled up his pants, zipped up, and hurried home to his own apartment. Richard and I never shared the same bed for more than an hour or two. No strings attached, like he said. At the time, I convinced myself it was a perfect relationship. Or non-relationship.

  But I could see my face when he refused to come over to my apartment. I wasn’t happy. I wanted more.

  Maybe I still want more.

  I stare at the screen, waiting for it to display another horrible memory of Christmas past. But it doesn’t. It stays dark.

  I’ve got to get out of here. Before I totally lose it.

  Chapter 17

  Nobody says anything when I rush out of work early. Word has already undoubtedly spread about the disaster presentation I gave. About the fact that I screwed up my shot at being CEO. They all think that’s why I’m leaving. They have no idea.

  When I get out onto the street, a few snowflakes are falling from the sky. Christmas snow. I remember when there used to be nothing more wonderful. I remember holding out my tongue to catch those first few flakes falling from the sky. I remember the snowball fights with Polly. That snowman we built together. Snow was just about the funnest thing there was.

  These days, all I can think about is what the snow is going to do to my shoes and my coat. But right now, all of that is the last thing on my mind.

  I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. I look at my recent calls and select Tim’s number. I’ve got to talk to him about that video I saw. He’s going to think I’m nuts, but there’s no one else I could tell.

  “Ebbie?” He sounds really surprised to hear from me. I don’t blame him. I thought when we hung up earlier, it would be the last time we’d talk for the rest of our lives. “What’s going on?”

  “I need to talk to you. Please.”

  “Okay. What about?”

  I start to explain about the video, but when I hear the words in my head, it sounds ridiculous. This is not going to be a quick story. “Can I meet you somewhere?”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “What’s going on?”

  “Please. It’s important.”

  He must hear the urgency in my voice, because he finally says, “All right. How about if I meet you at your place in an hour?”

  “Okay.”

  I load up the Uber app to get a ride home. It’s rush-hour, right before the holidays. There aren’t a lot of cars available. The app tells me my driver will arrive in fifteen minutes.

  My coat is expensive but totally impractical, as usual. How could a coat cost this much yet not even serve the basic function of a coat, which is to keep you warm? Yes, it looks nice. But so what? It’s not like I have business meetings in my coat.

  I hug my arms to my chest, remembering that purple puffy coat I used to wear when I was a kid. Damn, that coat was warm. It’s funny how when you’re a kid, your parents have to tell you to do smart things, like wear warm clothes. Then you grow up, and even though you’re supposed to know better, you still make stupid decisions. Like buying stylish but flimsy coats.

  I bounce up and down, trying to keep warm. I step closer to the building, figuring that will block some of the wind. But I’m far too close to a homeless woman who has made herself comfortable on the ground next to the building. She has formed a makeshift shelter against the wind by using pieces of a cardboard box.

  Maybe I should give her some money. Maybe that will make me less of a horrible person. Maybe that will make all this nonsense stop.

  “Watch your step, missy!” the homeless woman snaps at me.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “I… I’m having a rough day.” I reach into my purse, fumbling around for some bills. “Here, let me give you—”

  “You think you’re having a rough day today?” the woman cackles at me, revealing a mouth full of rotting yellow teeth. There’s dirt ground into the creases on her face. “Just wait till tomorrow. Tomorrow she’s got a doozy for you.”

  I stare at her, my stomach sinking. “Who’s got a doozy for me?”

  “Who do you think? Your buddy with the cigarettes. Marley.”

  My mouth falls open. What is this woman talking about? She can’t possibly know about the call I got in the early hours of the morning. She’s just a crazy homeless woman with schizophrenia or something. Look at her. She’s got filth embedded in her fingernails. Is this the person I’m listening to now?

  But she said the name Marley. How did she know that name?

  “What did you just say to me?” I say.

  The woman mumbles something under her breath, then looks up at me. Her eyes are blank.

  Did I just imagine that whole thing?

  I don’t care if it’s snowing. I don’t care if my coat is as warm as a piece of toilet paper. Or that my heels are far too high. I can’t wait here one more second.

  I make a run for the subway.

  Chapter 18

  The snow is coming down much harder by the time I get to my building. Part of me wants to call Tim and tell him not to bother going out. I feel bad making him drive out in the snow. But on the other hand, if he didn’t want to come, he could have called me and told me that himself. He’s a big boy.

  I know it’s selfish, but I want him here.

  No, I need him here.

  I pass the alley on the way to my building. The cats all recognize me now. I hear them meowing—no matter how much it’s snowing or how cold it is, I can’t skip out on feeding them. They’re counting on me. Fortunately, I have a few cans in my bag, as I always do. No, I am not a crazy cat lady just because I have cat food in my purse.

  The cats all gather around while I open the cans. They’re so excited by the food. It sort of reminds me of how I was in those old videos. I had nothing, but I was so happy. I was happy just playing in the snow. Drinking some hot chocolate. Opening a few cheap presents.

  Alexander rubs his body against my leg, like he always does. The other cats are gobbling up the food, but he wants to be close to me. He wants to cuddle more than he wants food. I stroke my hand against his soft black fur. Yes, he’s a black cat. But I’m not worried—I’ve had enough bad luck for one day.

  “Hey, buddy.” He rolls onto his back, presenting his belly to me to rub. Cats only do that when they trust you. “Are you cold?”

  Of course he’s cold. What kind of stupid question is that? But I guess any question is sort of stupid when you ask a cat.

  And that’s when I do something really stupid.

  Five minutes later, I am unlocking the door to my apartment with Alexander’s warm body bundled under my coat. I can feel him purring against me. My building doesn’t allow cats. I have no room in my life for a cat. There’s a chance I could be allergic. Yet for some reason, I am smuggling a cat into my apartment.

  I may have really lost it this time.

  I’m not at all equipped for a cat either. I don’t have any cat food bowls. No litter box either, which is especially troubling. Maybe I can train Alexander to use the toilet? Don’t some cats do that? I think I’ve seen it on YouTube.

  The good news is, at least I have plenty of cat food. I empty a can of beef for him into one of my salad bowls. Then I fill a mug with water for him. He laps at the food happily, overjoyed with these simple gifts, while I stand in the middle of my living room, contemplating what I have just done.

  I just took a cat off the street and brought him into my home. Where cats are not allowed.

  I’ll just have to return him tomorrow. It’s as simple as that.

  I’m in the middle of googling how to make a litter box out of things in your apartment when the doorbell rings. Alexander lets out a lo
ud meow and dives under my sofa. God, he’s such a fraidy-cat.

  I race over to the door as fast as I can in my blistered feet (stupid stylish but uncomfortable Christian Louboutin pumps). I throw it open, and Tim is standing there, wearing a black hat that is damp from the snow and a coat that looks a hell of a lot warmer than mine. He adjusts his grip on his crutches. “I came as fast as I could.”

  “No umbrella?” I ask.

  He stares at me like I’ve got two heads. “How do you think I would hold it?”

  Oh. Right.

  I take a step back so he can come inside. His sneakers are slick with moisture, and they darken my plush white carpet. “Usually I have people take their shoes off…”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Really, Ebbie? That’s the first thing you say to me when I come in?”

  I lower my eyes. “Sorry.”

  “I can’t take my shoes off.” He averts his own gaze. “Not unless you’d like me to crawl across the living room.”

  “Sorry,” I say again. “Why don’t you… come on in?”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He limps into the apartment. He’s totally staining my carpet with his shoes, but I don’t even care that much. I’m just glad he’s here. Anyway, I’m sure the cat will have wrecked my carpet by the end of the day.

  He’s almost at the sofa when Alexander emerges from his hiding place. Tim blinks a few times then looks up at me. “Did you have a cat yesterday?”

  “Um, no. He’s new.”

  “Where’s his collar?”

  “I don’t have one yet. Like I said, he’s new.”

  “Didn’t you say your building didn’t allow cats?” His eyes widen. “Ebbie, is that one of the cats from outside?”

  Oh my God, why is he giving me the third degree about the cat? The cat is the least of my problems. “Look, I need to talk to you.”

  Tim completes his journey to the sofa and collapses into the same cushion where he was sitting this very morning. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a guy in my apartment three times in two days. I always thought if I did, it would be under different circumstances. Oh well.

  “You don’t look so good.” He shrugs off his coat. “What’s going on?”

  I sink down beside him on the couch. As soon as my butt touches the cushions, I feel a little better. I’ve been standing for a long time. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe if I get one good night’s sleep, everything will be better.

  Tim pulls off his glasses and wipes the moisture off with his shirt. His eyes look so blue with his glasses off. I remember that freckle-faced kid in the video. I wonder when his freckles faded. I don’t see any right now.

  “Did you have freckles when you were a kid?” I blurt out.

  He blinks at me. “Is that what you brought me here to ask me?”

  “No, I…” I squeeze my hands into fists. “I was just… wondering.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Ebbie, what’s going on here?”

  I let out a long breath. “Something else… happened.”

  “Okay…”

  “Something… really odd.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Did you get another fake call from Marley Jacobs?”

  I wish that’s what had happened. “No. I was at my presentation today when this movie started playing. I mean, the movie was supposed to play, but it wasn’t the movie I wanted. It was something different.”

  “Different how?”

  “It was a video from a long time ago. From back when I was a kid. Except it wasn’t a home movie or anything like that. It was like I was watching my past from afar. Like, stuff that happened to me when I was a kid.”

  Tim is just staring at me. “Okay…”

  “When Marley was talking to me, she said I would be visited by the spirit of the past. Do you think that…?”

  He shifts on the sofa. “You mean, you think this is part of the prank?”

  “Yes, but… the thing is… if this is a prank, I don’t see how they’re doing it. I mean, how could they get a movie of me when I was a kid? It doesn’t make sense. Also…”

  Tim frowns. “What?”

  “There was a video of you too.”

  “Of me?”

  “That’s right. From back when you were a kid. You were coming home from school or something and some older boys were throwing snowballs at you.”

  He snorts. “Well, that could happen to any kid, right?”

  “Right.” I grab at my knees with my fingers. “But the kid in the video had…” I nod in the direction of his crutches, laid out across the ground. “And he looked like you too... or at least a younger version. Except you had freckles. And then Roberta came out after you fell—”

  “Hold on.” Tim raises his hand. “Are you seriously telling me you think you saw video of me when I was a kid?”

  “Well… Yes.”

  He studies my face a moment. “What’s your game here?”

  “What are you talking about? This isn’t a game.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t honestly believe those videos are real.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, but I really don’t appreciate it.”

  “I’m not trying to do anything! I just want to know what’s going on!”

  “So there are only two explanations for the things you’re describing.” He cracks his knuckles. “You know that, right?”

  I swallow. “Tim…”

  “The first is that you’re making the whole thing up.” He pauses and looks me straight in the eyes. “And the second is that you’re out of your mind.”

  “What kind of person would make something like this up?”

  “I don’t know. The same kind of person who would fire my mom right before Christmas?”

  He’s reaching for his crutches on the ground. He’s going to leave. He thinks I’m either a liar or out of my mind. And the scary part is, he might be right.

  “Please don’t go,” I say. “Please. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  He looks up at me, shaking his head. “I should never have come in the first place.”

  “So why did you?”

  He lowers his eyes. “You know very well why I came.”

  I get a warm feeling through my body. “No. Tell me.”

  “Tell me the truth about what’s going on.”

  “The truth is…” The truth is, I can’t tell him the truth. I realize that as I stare into his blue eyes. If I do, he won’t believe me, and then he’ll leave. I have to lie. “The truth is, I’ve had a horrible day. The worst. I just blew the biggest account of my career. I still can’t believe it happened.” I swallow hard. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am imagining things.” Alexander rubs against my leg and I reach out to stroke his fur. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “Fine, you want the truth?” He leans back against the sofa, his head dropping against the cushions. “I don’t know what it is about you, Ebbie. I’m furious at you for what you did to my mother. But for some reason, the whole goddamn day, I kept looking at my phone and hoping you’d call me again. And then when you did, I raced out here in the snow, even though I’m probably going to fall and break my leg when I leave here.” He rakes a hand through his still damp hair. “So in summary, I’m an idiot.”

  “At least you’re not the one imagining things.”

  He snorts. “Don’t be so sure.”

  “No. You’re definitely not.”

  He hesitates for a moment, then reaches out and gently runs his fingers along the length of my arm. I shiver, and my whole body starts to tingle. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he says.

  “Will you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  And then he leans forward to kiss me.

  Chapter 19

  In case I had any thought in my head that our spectacular lovemaking session last night was a fluke, the second time around with him is just as good. Maybe even better. Because I know who h
e is, and he knows who I am. I’m not faking anything this time.

  I’m definitely not faking the screams. But I wasn’t last time either.

  Last time was hungrier. This time is slower and more gentle. Tim really takes his time. It gives me a hint at what things might be like if we lived in the universe where there was any chance the two of us could be in a relationship. A universe very different from this one.

  After another six incredible orgasms, I find myself again lying in his arms, both of us sweaty and smiling like a couple of idiots. For the first fifteen minutes or so, we just lie there, too tired to even talk. Tim lays one kiss on the top of my head, which is oddly sweet.

  “God,” I murmur into his shoulder. “That was nice.”

  “I hope it helped relieve some of your stress.”

  “Among other things.” I let out a long sigh. “Usually it’s not that good. I mean, it’s fine. But it’s not like that.”

  “For me either.”

  I run my fingers over the dark hairs on his chest and the taut muscles in his abdomen. “I wish I could lie here forever, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I’m starving. And kind of dehydrated too.”

  Tim laughs. “I was actually thinking the exact same thing. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

  “But I don’t want to leave this apartment.”

  “God forbid. Pizza?”

  My little fling is not doing good things for my cholesterol. But the truth is, pizza sounds amazing. What is it about sex that makes you crave fatty foods? “Extra cheese?”

  “Hell yes.” He reaches for his phone that he dropped on my nightstand. “I’ll call for it. You got a place you like?”

  “Andrina’s. It’s two blocks away. They’re fast.”

  Tim orders a large cheese pizza with extra cheese. It seems like a lot of food for just the two of us, but right now, I could devour entire pizza all on my own. But I shouldn’t. I’ll eat two slices, and anything that’s left over, I’ll freeze it.