Totlandia: Winter (13 page)

Starting with booze.

Jillian had set herself a gift budget of ten dollars for each of the girls. Yesterday she had gone on a shopping spree at a bargain store in the Mission District while the girls were at a play date with Zoe and Ally. This allowed her to grab enough cheap trinkets to put under the tree.

Now she just needed a tree.

There had to be some Scotch Pine or Douglas Fir or something left on one of the city’s many lots that might be had at a fire sale price.

She loaded the girls up in the car. Time to hunt for a bargain. Or better yet, a freebie.

***

“Sorry, lady,” the lot manager gave an adamant shake of his head. “We ain’t giving them away, even tonight.”

Jillian couldn’t believe her ears. It was almost ten o’clock at night and not another buyer in sight. She looked around the lot. Only a few trees were left. They looked forlorn, tossed sideways in a pile. The man and a helper were throwing them into the back of a large flatbed truck.

“I—I can give you five dollars for that little one, there. Please.” Her hoarse plea came out in fogged breath that hung between them in the cold, damp air.

He thought for a moment, but then shrugged. “We can chip them up, bag it and sell it for more. I got to put presents under my kids’ tree, too.”

Jillian stumbled back to her car. The girls were sleeping in their car seats. She had wrapped an extra blanket around them, which they had pulled up tight around their necks. They breathed in and out in tandem.

She was glad they were asleep, so that they wouldn’t see her crying. About losing her job. About having a tough Christmas—

In desperation she thought, maybe I can cut down a tree.

But where?

There were plenty of trees in Presidio Park.

She had remembered something Caleb had said as they ate her pie in his large house off Lover’s Lane: How budget cutbacks had left the Forestry Department shorthanded. People were always fishing and hunting illegally, even digging up plants growing wild in the forests. It was up to him and a handful of other rangers to catch them, not to mention all their other work in monitoring local wildlife, watching for forest fires and catching the occasional pot grower.

She hadn’t seen much of Caleb in December since his schedule placed him across the Golden Gate Bridge, in the Marin Headlands. His crew would be even more sparse this week, since one had gone back East for the holidays.

The eucalyptus grove outside of Lover’s Lane was dotted with small evergreens.

She drove back over to the house to get a hatchet, a rope and flashlight. She parked her car in the small deserted lot adjacent to the start of Lover’s Lane. A cluster of evergreens just steps away. She’d work fast, and the girls would have their proper Christmas after all.

***

In moments, she saw the perfect tree: a Noble fir, a foot taller than Jillian. In fact, she could see the shadow of Caleb’s house from where she stood.

The first thwack of the hatchet on its base seemed to echo through the woods. Birds flew out of the branches of a Redwood tree that swayed wildly above her. She stopped to listen for the siren of the police car that was surely on its way to arrest her, but other than a barking dog and a shrieking wind, there were no other sounds.

Well, that and her pounding heart.

I have to work fast
, she thought.

With each whack, another damp bead of sweat rose out of her skin and rolled down her spine. By the time the tree tilted and fell, she was soaking and had stripped off her coat.

She was certainly too busy to hear the footsteps of the man who now stood behind her. “Theft of park property is a Federal crime. Did you know you can get five years for that?”

She froze at the sound of Caleb’s voice.

His mouth dropped open when she turned around and he saw who it was.

“What the hell, Jillian? What do you think you’re doing?”

Did her explanation make sense to him? She couldn’t tell because it rushed out of her on a wave of guilt and tears and choking gasps. Somewhere between her babbling about losing her job, the fact there was now less than thirty bucks in her bank account, and that she was tossing every cheap paperback into the fireplace to heat the house, he had grabbed her, her ax and the tree and tossed them into her car and drove her and the twins up to her place.

She was still sobbing out an apology as he pulled up to her house. He hauled the tree while she picked up the girls and took them upstairs to bed.

The moment he walked through the door with it, the smell of evergreen filled the cold dark house.

He cursed as he planted it into the tree stand, not because the damn thing was lopsided, but because he hated being privy to her crime.

But he also made it clear to her—through his ranting and kisses and pacing to and fro—that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the last time he saw her.

“So…you’re not going to turn me in?” she asked between sniffles.

“Nope. But only because Folsom Prison is too far away for me to visit you.” He said it so seriously that she thought he meant it. But she figured out he was kidding when he added, “And orange isn’t your color.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She kissed him as if she’d never let him go.

“Merry Christmas to you, too.” He sighed.

Then, after they made love on the rug in front of the fireplace, he helped her decorate the tree.

Tuesday, 25 December

5:24 a.m.

“Our living room looks like Toys R Us,” Jade murmured.

“Nope. We’ve got way better crap,” Brady declared. “More like FAO Schwarz.”

“But Oliver won’t know that.”

“I will. Call me a snob.”

“I do. Often. Behind your back, though, so it doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

Oliver’s toy bounty was in fact a sight to behold. A Fisher-Price obstacle course surrounded a mountain of Lego Duplo sets, which included a Little Tikes Sandy Lagoon Waterpark, a Playskool Explore ‘N Grow Busy Ball Popper, and a Laugh and Learn Playset. An army of super hero action figures stood guard over a menagerie of stuffed animals.

She’s right
, thought Brady.
Oliver will outgrow most of this booty before he knows he has it. But isn’t that what Christmas is all about–spending more than you need just so you can enjoy watching your kid’s eyes grow large at the sight of it all? This will be the first of many overindulgences for my little guy.

Oliver had been in awe of the giant tree since it went up three weeks earlier in the two-story-high living room. His biggest joy was pulling off the ornaments within reach of his tiny fists. Once, Jade had caught him trying to climb the tree. Her shouts of “No, no, no, Oliver!” did nothing more than make him laugh and run away.

He only listened to Brady, who was like a baby whisperer when it came to calmly and slowly explaining the Do’s and Don’ts of Life. To make his point about the tree, Brady allowed Oliver to touch the tree’s needles, to roll them around his fingertips. The little boy didn’t like its stickiness. He put his fingers to his mouth to suck off the sap, but the bitter taste had him spitting it out.

“No more hurting the tree, Oliver, okay?” Brady waited until Oliver nodded. “If you hurt the tree, the tree will hurt you, too. It will fall over and poke you.”

Again, he kept eye contact until his son nodded and muttered, “No hurt, Dada.”

Brady has us both in his spell
, Jade thought.

It had been her idea that they wake up early, even before Oliver, in order to photograph the tree before the presents beneath it were scattered throughout the house. She had another reason, too. She crawled behind the tree where she found the gift box she had hidden there.

“This is for you,” she said, handing it to Brady. “I want you to have it now, before Oliver wakes up.”

Brady stared down at her and then at the box. “Sure, okay.”

Slowly he stripped the wrapping paper off the box. Inside was a photo album. The cover was quilted in a scene of stick children dancing on a field. Embroidered were the words: OLIVER AND FRIENDS – YEAR ONE.

Brady cocked his head and smiled. Then, very slowly, he flipped the gilt-edged pages, each of which held six four-by-six photos of Oliver and his friends. Sure, all of the other Onesies were in the pictures, but the hands Oliver held onto most were those of Dante, Amelia and Addison, and of course, Zoe. In the pictures the children were hugging, laughing, and stealing each other’s toys. Their smiles were wide as they swung high, or as they picked flowers off bushes, and as they rolled down the park’s velvet lawn.

“You’re the reason Oliver has so many friends,” Jade explained. “If you hadn’t thought of joining the club, he wouldn’t be having so much fun this year. Since you’re not allowed to be there, I thought this was one way you could share in our fun.”

“This is…it’s perfect.” The lump in his throat seemed so large that he could barely get his words out.

In some of the photos, the legs and arms and partial profiles of the children’s mothers could also be seen. Brady recognized Jillian’s straight blond ponytail in one. Lorna’s long khaki-clad legs were never far from where Dante sat.

In another shot, he recognized Ally’s slim, freckled arm. It was wrapped around Zoe, who was looking up adoringly at her mother, oblivious of Oliver’s courtship offering: his pacifier.

Brady tried hard not to linger on that page because he knew Jade was watching him. As he moved through the album, he realized that Ally wasn’t in any of the other photos. Jade still suspected his love for her friend. That was clear by what was missing in the album.

He looked over at Jade. Her face was serene, but was it the reflection of the tree’s light in her eyes that made them sparkle? No. It had to be tears.

“I can’t think of a more thoughtful Christmas gift. I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” he murmured.

Her kiss caught him off-guard at first. He could have pulled away from her. By all means, it would have been the smart thing to do. But the part of him that still loved her refused to listen to reason, even though he knew sharing this precious moment with her would fuel her hope that he still loved her.

Since she’d come back to him, their lovemaking had always been at her behest. Yes, it was easy to get a rise out of him. But despite the expertise of her hands and mouth and groin, his responses were usually fast and perfunctory.

This time, though, it was Brady who responded ferociously. His lips and hands roamed, slowly and methodically, from Jade’s lips to her plush breasts, then down onto her taut stomach, before he plunged deep inside her.

The wave of moans that woke Oliver weren’t hers, but his.

Brady realized it wasn’t their son’s shrieks of “Twee! Twee! Twee!” weren’t what put the jubilant smile on Jade’s lips. It was the knowledge that he still felt something for her.

Still, knowing she’d always mistake his lust for love broke his heart.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered after him, as he tried to hop into his jeans and climb up the stairs at the same time.

Then she readied her camera phone to record this most memorable day of all their lives.

Monday, 31 December

10:25 p.m.

“My whole life should be a Stanlee Gatti production!” Bettina rhapsodized about San Francisco’s premier event planner whenever any of her guests asked how she was able to pull off this year’s theme to her annual New Year’s Eve party,
Paradise in Paris
. “You know, he stages our party every year. Says it’s the highlight of his year. I feel the same about him. If Stanlee staged every day of my life, I’d never have a cross bone in my body because my world would be all sweetness and light!”

Some of the guests within hearing distance chuckled uneasily. While the Crosses’ party was filled with San Francisco’s best, brightest and most socially noted (all of whom sat with the Crosses on the city’s numerous cultural and charitable boards), too many of them were women whose lives were made miserable by Bettina’s silly club rules. They would have gladly chipped in to any fund that kept Stanlee at Bettina’s beck and call, if it made her human in any capacity.

Bettina and Art’s condominium was located in the stratosphere-piercing Summit Tower on Russian Hill. While showing guests around their spacious and grandly appointed abode, Bettina never failed to mention that they lived on the floor directly above one of the city’s most revered couples: the former Secretary of State George Schultz, and his wife, Charlotte Mailliard Schultz.

“I wonder what she’d do to Art if she knew he had once warned the Schultzes, ‘If the ceiling is a’rockin’, don’t come a’knockin’,’” Matt murmured to Brady.

Brady doubled over with laughter. “You’re joking, right?”

Matt shrugged. “You’ve met Art, right? What do you think?”

Brady’s only thought was that he would never agree to invest his money with Bettina’s husband. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the dude gave him the creeps. Still, he would string Art along until the Onesies’ final cut was made in a few days. Then he’d find a gentle way to let Art down and pray that Bettina didn’t take it out on Jade in the coming years.

He was in a great mood. Kimberley was out of his hair because of her family’s New Year’s Eve ski trip to Tahoe.

“Will you miss me?” she asked him.

It was pathetic that she was still hopeful about them. Still, he had pretended to be disappointed that she wasn’t going to be at Bettina’s party. She didn’t believe him. Her parting shot, a jab to the kidney, left him wincing, along with three words, “
every
vote counts.”

But tonight she was too far away to get under his skin. Brady spotted Barry, who was standing next to a very handsome man whom Brady had never seen before. That meant Ally had to be somewhere close by. He excused himself from Matt and walked over to the two men, who were enthralled with a Jasper Johns painting hanging in the Crosses’ music room, and nodded.

“Apparently it’s real,” Brady informed them. “Bettina pointed that out when she took Jade and me on the grand tour.”