Regifted Page 5

  “Not scared. Squeamish is more like it.”

  “Sex is sex. I think it’s all hot. At least hearing about it is.”

  “Does the county prosecutor know you’re such a horn dog?”

  A sly grin played across Maeve’s face. “She’s worse than I am.”

  For the first time, I started to envision the county prosecutor’s office as something like a modern-day brothel. Before letting my ideas slide too much further down that rabbit hole, I asked, “So, what happened with this blind date?”

  Maeve tossed her long hair to one side and raked her fingers through it. “Honestly, it’s still one of the most fun evenings I’ve spent with someone who started out a total stranger. Once we both acknowledged the mismatch, we had one hell of a good time.”

  “And you think I could do that with Desmond? Damn, even that name. You’d think he might go by Des or his middle name or something. It makes me think of that Beatles song. Ugh.”

  Maeve said, “I know you could do that. Show him what you like about the city. Maybe you’ll make a new friend. It couldn’t hurt to try. The funniest part of the night was Mac and I had so much fun that we decided to kiss each other goodnight.”

  “And how was that?”

  “Hilarious. She hated my style of kissing as much as I hated hers. We ended up staring into each other’s eyes and wiping the kisses on our sleeves. I wish someone had a video camera for that. I giggled about it for days afterward.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I think I’ll call the Center and complain. Sal won the bid fair and square. He could at least take me out for dinner. How could a man like him not know that he had an aunt’s funeral to attend and would be tied up on the West Coast for the next month?”

  “Do you want my advice?”

  “I don’t know that I want it, but I’m always willing to hear it. Do I need to remind you that you were one of the main voices that got me into this mess in the first place?”

  “This whole snafu is building character. I can already hear the gears grinding away.”

  I rubbed my right bicep with my left hand. “Do you think I’ve got a character problem?”

  “Oh come now, Vincent. Let’s not get distracted and run down a blind path. You’re a good man, and I think in this situation, you should show your true colors. Maybe you have more in common with Desmond than you know. After all, you both support the community center. You can start there.”

  “I still think I should call the center and complain. It’s done nothing but gone downhill since they hired David. Did you know that he leaves early by half an hour a day but makes most of his staff stay until 5:00 p.m. on the dot?”

  I saw the look of utter confusion on Maeve’s face. She asked, “And who did you hear that little nugget from?”

  “The guy he fired a month ago. You know, the one working on writing grants. What was his name.” I snapped my fingers trying to bring it up. “Stanley, Stuart, Sterling…that’s it, Sterling.”

  “Oh, right. He’s the guy that missed three federal grant application deadlines. I know about him. He was also planning to apply for a state grant with our office, and he missed the first two attempts at meetings.”

  I sighed. “I’m just a petty bastard, right?” I held out my two hands. “I think it’s that I had this dream in my head. When Sal won the bid, like a thousand other guys in the city, I had this dream of walking down the aisle hand in hand with him. He’d say, ‘I do,’ and I’d say, ‘I do,’ and we’d vacation in Monaco for the rest of our lives with a little vacation villa in the mountains in Italy, too. Maybe I was a bit too selfish.”

  “Maybe just a little bit.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “You can call me an ass if you want to. I’ll permit that. No workout repercussions.”

  “I’m not worried about that. I want to hear what you’re going to do. You’ve got the first date in place with Desmond, and the center will foot the bill for your dinner together. Where are you going to go? And will you dig deep inside your heart and show Desmond an open mind for the holidays?”

  I rubbed my thighs with both of my hands. “I guess I’ll do my best. It’s the spirit of Christmas. Did you see my Santa hat at the auction?”

  “Who could have missed that? It was fantastic. I don’t suggest wearing it to dinner. Maybe keep it for an intimate moment in the car afterward.”

  I turned to look at her with disgust on my face. “Do you think I’m going to kiss him?”

  “Okay, we’ll back off on that. Baby steps. I’ll take the spirit of Christmas. And what were you going to say about the Santa hat?”

  “It belonged to my grandfather. He played Santa Claus at a lot of different events. Before he died, he specifically said that it should pass to me. He said there’s magic in it every time you keep it close by. It’s even stronger when you place it near your head or your heart.”

  8

  Desmond

  Claire stopped me on my way into the office on the morning after the Bachelor / Bachelorette Auction. My head was throbbing. I’d barely slept two hours the night before. My mind was still buzzing about the prospect of a date with Vincent and my hush-hush private deal with Sal Whetstone. He promised a six-figure contribution to the music department in exchange for my silence about the real reason for his regifting scheme.

  Claire looked up at me with a sympathetic expression. “Pardon me for using this language, but you look like hell, Mr. Hollingsworth. I thought you had the community center event last night. It sounded festive and fun. You look like you attended a street fight.”

  I offered a wan smile in response. “It was that festive, and I suppose it was fun, but I couldn’t sleep overnight. I’m nervous as hell about what comes next. I’ll need to drink some herbal tea tonight. I can’t do this night after night, and I have the first symphony concert of the holiday series tomorrow.” I held a hand to my forehead, “Aargh. Hurts.”

  Claire spun her chair around and pointed at the coffee maker. “Would a stiff, black mug of this help? Let me get that for you.”

  I spoke softly in measured tones. “It can’t hurt.”

  “And what happened that was fun? I imagine all the high muckety-mucks linking arms and singing Christmas carols before eating a fancy meal laced with caviar.”

  “Mind if I have a seat?” I reached out for the chair opposite Claire’s desk and slowly lowered myself into the seat. I groaned like my grandfather with his arthritis acting up.

  “I think you’re the boss around here. Sure, have a seat.”

  “On a morning like this, I don’t feel like I’m boss. Anyway, I should be happy. I’m going out with the most handsome man I’ve ever dated. That should make me happy, shouldn’t it?”

  Claire handed me a mug of black coffee and retreated behind her desk. I lowered my face and basked in the steam drifting upward. It relaxed my taut nerves.

  “I think that should make you ecstatic, Mr. Hollingsworth. Did you win one of the auctions? That’s exciting.”

  I sipped the coffee and concentrated on Claire’s face. I tried to block out everything else as distractions. The caffeine was quick to act, and I was starting to shake the cobwebs from my consciousness.

  “I did bid against my better judgment, but I didn’t win any auctions. That’s not what’s exciting.”

  “Did a man of quality come to his senses and ask you out?”

  I tried to wrack my cotton-stuffed mind to figure out how to explain. I didn’t want to mention the sojourn in the men’s room, but the regifting itself was an amusing tale to share. I said, “A wealthy man regifted the handsome man to me.”

  “Regifted? Isn’t that what you do with fruitcake? I don’t understand.”

  I watched Claire fiddle with a small stack of papers on her desk while I continued my story at a snail’s pace. “Do you know who Sal Whetstone is?”

  Claire didn’t look up from the papers. “Oh, yes. He’s the sausage guy. He’s the one that shouts, ‘The whole world wants a Whets
tone sausage!’ on the TV commercials while he runs his fingers along a bratwurst.”

  I tried to laugh softly, but it hurt. I said, “Yes, that’s the man.”

  “He’s handsome, but I think, well, a little full of himself if you don’t mind me saying.”

  I nodded slowly to acknowledge her comment before continuing my story. “Well, he bid on a date with Vincent, a strikingly handsome, muscular guy who runs a gym in the city. Unfortunately, there was a mixup, and Sal couldn’t follow through on the date. So, he regifted Vincent to me.”

  Claire pushed the papers to the side and focused her attention once more on me. “That’s sweet. It sounds like the perfect solution to the problem. Is Vincent happy, too?”

  I took two more sips of my coffee before answering. “Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t spoken with him since exchanging contact information at the auction. The crowd was buzzing about the switch and a lot of other things. Then there was dancing, and more drinking, and…damn, I need sleep.”

  I watched Claire tilt her head to the right and purse her lips in sweet concern for my wellbeing. “I’m sorry to get in the way of going home to bed, but you do have a lesson with one of your students in the audition room in about ten minutes. That’s the one you rescheduled a week ago.”

  Groaning, I said, “Damn, now I remember. It’s not a university student. I volunteered to work with with a high school student. I didn’t really have room in my schedule, but this is sort of payback for a past favor. I already rescheduled once?”

  “That you did.”

  I stood up from the chair and wavered slightly. Turning toward the corridor to my office, I said, “Pray for me, Claire. I need your help this morning.”

  The student was a cheerful, chipper girl named Betsy. She sat eagerly waiting with her viola and bow in hand. I tried to open my eyes as wide as possible as we shook hands. She said, “I’m so happy to meet you, Mr. Hollingsworth. It’s like meeting a celebrity. You’re like the Justin Timberlake of the viola.”

  “Ah, yes, well thank you.” I’d brought with me a small bundle of sheet music. I needed to assess Betsy’s skills and get her started on the best line of lesson plans for her level of achievement. Some high school players performed at an exceedingly high level.

  She told me much of the information I needed without having to ask. For that kindness, I was grateful. Then she dropped the bomb. “I only started playing the viola last year. Earlier, I tried the violin, and for a while, it was the cello. My orchestra director at school this year looked me in the eye and said…”

  I interrupted her. “So you’ve only been playing the instrument for a year?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I suppressed a groan. I hadn’t worked with a rank beginner for more than five years. I tried to wipe the exasperated expression from my face and look engaged and encouraging. “Okay, I understand. Continue.”

  “Well, he looked me in the eye and,”—she adopted an imitation of a low-pitched masculine voice—“Betsy, my dear, you should play the viola.”

  A frustrated orchestra director added one more lost soul to our ranks. I nodded. “Ah, yes, and do you like the instrument?”

  Betsy’s voice remained effervescent in tone. “I do, Mr. Hollingsworth. We only have four viola players compared with more than a dozen violins. So that means I can be the fourth chair instead of the tenth or below.”

  “Four out of four?”

  “Yes, but I’m working on moving up. I think that’s why my mom suggested that I come to you.”

  I set a single sheet of music on the stand in front of Betsy. “Let’s hear you sight-read through this. It’s seasonal, and I’m confident you’ve heard the song before.”

  Betsy reached down by her chair and opened her viola case. I reached out a hand to try and stop catastrophe when her instrument nearly tumbled onto the floor. “Oh, sorry about that.” She pulled a pair of glasses out of the viola case and put them on as she looked at the music. “Oh, I know this one!”

  I closed my eyes as she launched into a slow, almost dirge-like, slightly-out-of-tune and screechy version of “Jingle Bells.”

  When Betsy reached the end of the song, she lowered the instrument to her lap and peered at me with a hopeful expression on her face. “How was that?”

  It was a very long day, and it only lasted until lunch hour. I sent a text message to Jerry letting him know that I would miss our scheduled lunch together in the campus coffee shop. Instead, I stumbled out of the music department building and searched for my car in the massive university parking lot. It wasn’t usually tricky, but my head still ached, and my body craved sleep. I stood outside of three different cars pushing the key fob button in vain before I found the right vehicle. I drove home without remembering much about the drive.

  I took two over-the-counter pain relief tablets from the bathroom medicine cabinet and fell into bed. Without removing any clothes or even climbing beneath the blankets, I fell into a fitful sleep.

  One of those bright technicolor dreams unfolded and blurred the distinctions between reality and imagination. I was eating dinner with Vincent at a fancy restaurant. We shared foie gras, filet mignon, and caviar, and the meal was over almost before it began. Neither of us was patient about the evening’s later activities. Vincent invited me up to his luxury apartment on the 135th floor, and, of course, I said yes.

  While Michael Bublé singing “Silver Bells” played in the background, Vincent dispensed with most of the formalities and said, “You drive me crazy, Desmond. I mean really incredibly insane. Oh, fuck, we can’t keep talking.”

  Vincent gripped my face in his two big paws that functioned as hands and planted a feverish kiss square on my lips. I kissed back hard and was startled when he suddenly lifted me from the ground.

  I wrapped my arms around my knight in shining armor’s neck as he carried me down a hallway toward the bedroom. The walls held displays of blue ribbons, medals, and photos of Vincent with famous athletic celebrities like Greg Louganis and Adam Rippon. I leaned my head against his shoulder when he kicked open the door to the room.

  What followed was a frenzy of buttons flying, shoes kicked off and zippers unzipping. That moment was drawing close when I suddenly awoke. My body dripped with sweat, and my shirt clung to my body.

  I was confused for a moment as I looked around my bedroom. As everything came into focus, I realized where I was. Fortunately, the headache was gone.

  9

  Vincent

  Ciel showed me a pan full of gingerbread men she’d baked herself. She decorated them with icing that looked like she painted it on their bodies with the skill of a practiced artist. She said, “You know I’m not the kind to share what I had for dinner or my cooking projects on social media, but I had to show you these. I’m so proud.”

  “They’re adorable, but they aren’t anatomically correct. You could add a little something here and there.”

  “You would think about that with gingerbread men, little brother.”

  I grinned. “Honestly, I’m impressed I could never do anything like that. I’m lucky to pull a passable sheet of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, I’ve seen you do better than that. Tell me, are you feeling better about the date auction thing? You were pretty twisted up sad about it last night. I don’t understand how it can be that bad. Of course, you did say he was a viola player, and I know all about those.”

  I felt my shoulders tense. “I don’t think you told me about that. What about viola players? You didn’t play that long, did you?”

  “Long enough for all the jokes.” Ciel set the pan of cookies down and pulled a chair up to her kitchen table.

  “Jokes?”

  “Oh, we were the butt of the orchestra. None of it was fair, but you know, you can bet that…what is his name again?”

  “Desmond.”

  I watched her let the name roll around her tongue for a moment. “You can bet that Desmond’s heard t
hem.”

  I leaned closer to the video screen and asked, “Can I share a tiny little weakness? I know when everybody sees me they don’t expect it, but I have to be honest in this case. I can’t keep secrets from you.”

  “My big muscular little brother has a weakness?” Ciel grinned. “Of course we all have them. Mine’s chocolate ice cream with caramel topping. What’s yours?”

  “Nerds.”

  I watched Ciel let the word sink in. “Nerds? I don’t remember you ever dating a guy like that.”

  “I’ve been too scared to do that. It doesn’t fit. And they’re usually so freaking smart. I think that’s part of the attraction. I love that smart look. Of course, everyone would think I’d gone a little nutty in my head, but yeah, there’s something. I don’t know. I can’t explain it all.”

  Ciel pointed at the screen. “Oh, I get it! It’s like me and the construction worker thing. I swear those guys who work with their hands smell different. Most people would think it’s the muscles they have from the work they do or the way they stand in those worn blue jeans, but it’s the smell. Seriously, I’m not kidding.”

  I chuckled softly. “You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?”

  Ciel’s face grew a little larger on the screen. “Like you’ve thought about your nerds. Do they smell better?”

  I laughed out loud. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve gotten close enough to one to catch the aroma drifting through the air. Oh, wait! I was probably close enough, but I don’t remember how he smelled. It was one of those you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine moments back when I was in eighth grade. He was captain of the chess team. Damn, I remember thinking how hot he was, and he was a skinny little guy, but he had those glasses.”

  I loved hearing my sister laugh. Often, she combined giggles with louder snorts. “So, are you a little excited now about this date with Desmond?”

  “Yeah, you know, I think about kissing him, and then he pushes those glasses back up his nose when we pull back. Hot!”