Authors: Danielle Steel
"Maybe." She stood very still and kept her eyes on his. "Maybe this one time could make the difference between revocation and freedom. Or between living and dying."
"Bullshit And anyway ... I have to, that's all." He slammed the door to the bedroom and she wondered how close she was to the truth. He had no right to do this to her, jeopardize his own life and hers with it. If this trip cost him his freedom, or his life, what did he think it would do to her, or didn't he think? The bastard. . . .
Kezia followed him into the bedroom and stood looking at him as he pulled a suitcase out of his closet.
She watched him with fire in her eyes, and a lead weight on her heart
"Lucas . . ." He didn't answer. He knew. "Don't go . . . please, Luke . . . not for me. For you." He turned to look at her then, and without exchanging another word with him, she knew she had lost.
It was the twenty-third before Kezia got the call she had feared. He would not be home for Christmas.
He'd be gone for at least another week. Four men had already died in the Chino strike, and the last thing on his mind was Christmas, or home. For one brief moment Kezia found herself wanting to tell him what a bastard he was, but she couldn't He wasn't. He was simply Luke.
She didn't want to admit to Edward that she was going to spend Christmas alone. It was such a lonely admission, an admission of defeat. He would have tried to be sweet to her, and insisted she spend it with him in Palm Beach, which she would have hated. She wanted to spend the holiday with Luke, not with Edward or Hilary. She had toyed with the idea of flying out to California to surprise him, but she knew she wouldn't have been welcome. When he was involved in his work, that was ft. He wouldn't have been amused or pleased by the gesture, and he probably wouldn't have been able to spend any time with her anyway.
So she was alone. With a stack of engraved invitations, and red and green inked notes suggesting she stop by for a drink, or drop in on the city's "best" holiday parties, the sort of invitations people would have given right arms and eyeteeth for. Eggnog, punch, champagne, caviar, pate1, amusing little stocking gifts from Bendel's or Cardin. The cotillions were in full swing, if she wanted to check out the season's debs, which she didn't There was a rash of charity balls, a white tie party at the Opera, and a skating fete at Rockefeller Center to celebrate the alliance of Halpern Medley and Marina Walters. The El Morocco would be alive with the holiday spirit. Or there was always Ostaad or Chamonix . . . Courchevelles or Klosters . . . Athens . . . Rome . . . Palm Beach. But none of it appealed. None of it After mulling it all over in cursory fashion, Kezia decided it would be less lonely to be alone, than to be lost in the midst of empty hilarity. She was not feeling very festive. She thought briefly about inviting some friend over to help her spend Christmas day, but she never got up enough steam to ask anyone in particular, and could think of no one she really wanted to ask ... only Lucas. And the others would be busy with whatever they had planned, just as right now they were busy at Bergdorf s and Saks buying shocking pink slippers and parrot green robes, or drinking rum in the Oak Room, or helping their mothers "get ready" in Philadelphia or Boston or Bronxville or Greenwich. Everyone was bound to be somewhere, and she was actually alone. She and an army of doormen and maintenance men, each of whom had received his Christmas dues. The superintendent discreetly left a mimeographed sheet in the mail around the fifteenth of December. Twenty-two names, all waiting for bribes. Merry Christmas.
It was the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, and Kezia had nothing to do. She walked the length of the apartment in her cream satin robe, and smiled to herself. There was a mist of snow on the ground outside.
"Merry Christmas, my love." The whispered words were for Lucas. He had kept his word and called every day, and she knew he'd call again later. Christmas by telephone. It was better than nothing. But not much. The silver-wrapped boxes on her desk were for him—a tie, a belt, a bottle of cologne, a briefcase, and two pairs of shoes. A collection of mundane gifts, except that she knew they would all make bun laugh. She had explained all the "hi" symbols to him when they first met, like translating the language of the country she lived in. Status-ese. The Dior ties, the Gucci shoes, the Vuitton luggage, and its ugly LVs plastered all over the mustard and mud colored surface. It had made him laugh when she told him. "You mean those guys all wear the same shoes?" She had laughed back, nodding, and explained that the women wore them too. One style for the women, and one for the men. Varied styles would have created insecurity, so there was just one. One had a choice of colors, of course. It was all terribly, terribly original, wasn't it? But it had become a standard joke with them, and neither of them could keep a straight face anymore as they passed a pair of Guccis on the street, or a Pucci dress on a woman. The Pucci-Gucci Set It was something else they shared from then- private vantage point So that's what she had bought him for Christmas. A Pucci tie, a Gucci belt, Monsieur Rochas cologne (which she actually decided she liked quite a lot), a Vuitton briefcase, and the indomitable Gucci shoes in black leather, standard model, and of course, a duplicate
pair
in brown suede. She smiled to think of him opening them all, and the look on his face.
But her smile deepened as she thought of the real presents she had bought him, the ones hidden in the pocket of the Vuitton case. Those were the ones that mattered to her, and would undoubtedly matter to him. The signet ring with the dark blue stone carved with his initials, and her initials and the date engraved in tiny letters on the inside of the setting. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper was a leather-bound book of poems that had been her father's, and had occupied a place of honor on his desk for as long as Kezia could remember. It made her happy to know that now it would be Luke's. It meant a great deal to her. It was a tradition.
She drank a cup of hot chocolate as she stood looking out at the snow. It was cold out, very cold, the way only New York and a few other cities can be. The kind of chill that makes you feel as though you've been slapped when you walk out the door. The freezing winds swept your legs and brushed your cheeks like steel wool, and the ice on the windowsill was frozen in patterns of lace.
The phone rang as she stood alone in the silent room. It could be Luke. She dared not ignore it.
"Hello?"
"Kezia?" It wasn't Luke's voice, and she wasnt quite sure whose it was. There was the merest hint of an accent "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, Alejandro!"
"Who were you expecting? Santa Claus?"
"In a way. I thought it might be Luke."
He smiled at the comparison. Only she could come up with that. "I had a suspicion you'd be here. I saw the papers, and have an idea of what it must be like in Chino. I figured he wouldn't want you out there.
So what are you up to? Ten thousand parties?"
"No. Nary a one. And you're right He didn't want me out there. He's too busy."
"That, and it's not a cool scene." Alejandro was grave.
"No. But it isn't a cool scene for him either. He's a fool to get sucked into that now. It'll just add more fuel to their fires at the hearing. But Luke never listens."
"So what else is new? What are you doing for Christmas?"
"Oh, I think I'll hang my stocking up on the fireplace and put out cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, and ..."
"Milk?
Qu6
horror!"
"And what would you suggest?"
"Tequila, of course! Jesus, if that poor sonofabitch has to drink milk all over the world, it's a wonder he bothers with the trip."
She laughed at him and switched on some lights. She had been standing in the early darkness of the winter dusk.
"Do you suppose it's too late to pick up some tequila?"
"Baby, it's never too late for that!"
She laughed again at the earnest sound of his voice. "And what are you up to for Christmas? More work at the center?"
"Yeah, some. It's better than sitting at home. Christmas with my family is always a big deal. It kind of depresses me to be away from all that, unless I keep busy. How come you're not going to all those big fancy parties?"
"Because that would depress me. I'd rather be alone this year." She was thinking of the hearing on the eighth again. It was strange though, lately things with Luke had seemed nearly normal. The first shock of the hearing was gone. It almost didn't seem real. Just a meeting they would have to go to, nothing more.
Nothing could touch the magic circle around Kezia and Luke. Certainly not a hearing.
"So you're sitting around there all by yourself?"
"Sort of."
"What do you mean 'sort of?"
"Well, okay. Yeah. I am all by myself. But it's not like I'm crying my eyes out. I'm just enjoying being peaceful at home."
"Sure. With presents for Luke all over the house, and a Christmas tree you haven't bothered to decorate, and not answering the phone, or only when you think it might be Luke. Listen, lady, that's one stinking way to spend Christmas. Am I right?" But he knew he was. He knew her by now.
"Only partially. Father Alejandro. Boy, you sure like to lecture!" She laughed at the tone of his voice.
"And the presents for Luke are not 'all over the house,' they're neatly stacked on my desk."
"And what about the tree?"
"I didn't buy one." Her voice was suddenly meek.
"Sacrilege!"
She laughed again and felt silly. "All right. I'll go buy one. And then what do I do?"
"You don't do anything. Do you have any popcorn?"
"Hmmm . . . yes. As a matter of fact, I do." There was still some left from the last time she and Luke had made popcorn in the bedroom fireplace at three in the morning. "Okay. Then cook up some popcorn, make some hot chocolate or something, and I'll be there in an hour. Or do you have other plans?"
"Not a thing. Just waiting for Santa."
"He'll be on the subway and down in an hour."
"Even if I don't have tequila in the house?" She was teasing him; she was glad he was coming.
"Don't worry. I'll bring my own. Imagine not having a tree!" Friendly outrage crept into his voice. "Okay, Kezia. See you later." He already sounded busy as he hung up the phone.
He arrived an hour later with an enormous Scotch pine dragging behind him.
"In Harlem, you get them cheaper, particularly on Christmas Eve. Down here this would cost you twenty bucks. I got it for six." He looked chilled and ruffled and pleased. It was a beautiful tree; it stood a head taller than he, and its branches reached out furrily when he pulled off the ropes that had bound them.
"Where'll I put it?" She pointed to a corner, and then unexpectedly reached up and kissed his cheek.
"Alejandro, you are the best friend in the world. It's a beautiful tree. Did you bring your tequila?" She hung his coat in the closet and turned back to look at the tree. Now it was beginning to look like Christmas. With Luke not planning to come home, she hadn't done any of the things she usually loved.
No tree, no wreath, no decorations and very little Christmas spirit.
"My God, I forgot the tequila!"
"Oh no ... how about cognac?"
"I'll take it." He smiled at the offer with obvious pleasure.
She poured him a glass of cognac, and went to ferret out the box of Christmas tree ornaments from the top shelf of a closet. They were old ones, some of which had been her grandfather's. She took them out tenderly, and held them up for Alejandro to see.
"They look pretty fancy to me."
"No, just old."
She joined him in a glass of cognac and together they strung lights and hung baubles until there were none left in the box.
"It really looks beautiful, doesn't it?" Her face lit up like a child's, and he reached over and gave her a hug. They sat side by side on the floor, their cognac glasses and a huge crystal bowl full of popcorn beside them.
"I'd say we did a damn good job." He was a little merry from the drinks, and his eyes looked soft and bright.
"Hey . . . you want to make a wreath?" She had just thought of the ones she had made every year as a child.
"Make one? With what?"
"All we need is a branch from the tree . . . and some fruit . . . and . . . let's see, wire. . . ." She was looking around, getting organized. She went to the kitchen and came back with a knife and some scissors. "You cut off a branch, one of the lower ones in the back so it won't show. I'll get the rest"
"Yes, ma'am. This is your show.**
"Wait till you see." The light in his eyes had been contagious and now hers shone too, as she gathered what they would need. They were going to have Christmas! In a few minutes, it was all spread out on the kitchen table. She wiped her hands on her jeans, rolled up the sleeves of her sweater, and set to work, as Alejandro watched, amused. She looked a lot better than she had two hours before. She had looked so lost and sad when he arrived, and he hadn't liked the sound of her voice on the phone. He had canceled a date, a dinner, and two promises to 'drop in,' but he owed this one to Luke. And to Kezia. It was crazy; there she was in her fancy apartment with all her millionaire friends, and she was alone on Christmas. Like an orphaned child. He wasn't about to let it stay that way either. He was glad he had canceled his plans and come down. For a moment, he hadn't been sure she would let him.
"You going to make a fruit salad?" She had apples, pears, walnuts, and grapes spread out near the branch.
"No, silly. You'll see."
"Kezia, you're crazy."
"I am not ... or maybe I am. But I know how to make a wreath anyway. I used to make ours every year."
"With fruit?"
"With fruit. I told you, you'll see." And he did. With deft fingers, she tied the branch together with wire, and then carefully wired each piece of fruit and attached it to the wreath. The finished product looked liked something in a Renaissance painting. The thick pine branch was covered with a neat circle of fruit, the nuts scattered here and there, the whole thing held together with an invisible network of fine wire. It was a handsome ornament, and Alejandro loved the look on her face. "See! Now where'll we put it?"