Chistmas Ever After (15 page)

She stood, slapped the snow from her coat, and stared in wonder at the delightful chaos of children rushing, shouting and romping in the snow. Parents pulled up the collars of coats, held back the barking dogs and poured and passed around hot chocolate from thermoses. The sight of it comforted her and gave her a sense of peace. She folded her arms to warm herself while she watched.

Moments later, Jennifer saw her little guide coming toward her, tugging a 60” Flexible Flier Sled—made of solid oak—one she hadn’t seen since she was a girl! She stepped toward it and leaned over to examine the multiple ribs and steel runners.

Her eyes lit up. “It’s beautiful. I used to have one of these!”

His face was alive and eager. “Are you ready?”

Jennifer locked her eyes on him. Just the sight of him warmed her. It was an inexplicable feeling that captivated her. She felt the urge to hold him, to play with him, to protect him. “Okay. Let’s go!”

He reached for her hand. She looked down and smiled uncertainly before taking it. The little man pulled her to the edge of the hill, where sleds and riders lay perched in their snow gear, looking like little gargoyles, steely gazes focused on the expansive scene before them.

“I’ll sit in front and you can sit behind me,” the boy instructed.

He nudged the sled forward, sat and waited for Jennifer. She craned her neck and ventured a look down the long hill, with its furrows, slopes and dips. It was steep, and stretched out into the distant darkness of Central Park, beyond the distant park lights.

“It’s a long ride,” Jennifer said. “Where are your parents?”

“Are you afraid?”

Jennifer lifted her eyebrows. “Well… no… but…”

“Come on. Get on!” the boy commanded. “I won’t make it if you don’t come with me.”

“What?”

“Come on!”

She gently lowered herself into the sled and arranged her legs around him, so that he could lean back and rest against her.

He looked back at her and smiled. “I’ll be okay now. Are you ready?”

She nodded, apprehensive. “Okay…”

He planted his left hand into the ground and gave a little push. The sled inched forward, teetered on the edge, resistant, as if it, too, had suddenly seen the sharp slanting hill before it and was having second thoughts. The boy leaned and rocked it, relentlessly, until the sled finally inched forward and started its descent.

Jennifer held her breath as they shot off, gathering speed. She could hear cheers behind them, as if they were competing in the Olympics for a Gold Medal. The brisk wind numbed her face.

The first bump jolted them, nearly pitched them off the sled, but they managed to hold fast as they went plunging off into the night, past other sledders who had paused to watch them race by.

The boy squealed in ecstasy as he clumsily steered the sled across the snow that sparkled around them like scattered jewels. Jennifer gripped his little shoulders, teeth clenched, and observed the playful tug-of-war going on between the boy and the sled, as he struggled to change course to avoid approaching trees and mounds of blowing snow. As the sled bounced and sailed, she felt the pit-of-the-stomach sensation of free fall, and couldn’t resist a smile at the dangerous exhilaration that she hadn’t felt since she was a child, sledding down the winter hills of Tennessee.

There was a wild rush of adrenaline as they approached a fresh mound of snow, piled high by a snowplow. They braced for impact, then exploded into it, screaming, shooting into the air on the other side, landing hard and charging on, bodies tucked and close, snow fleeing from their bodies in wisps and spirals.

It was the thrill-ride of a lifetime. Snow, sky and speed held them in an unraveling timelessness, where old actions, inevitability and possibility coalesced and were about to collide, like whirling out-of-control planets.

They were near the bottom of the hill, now, and Central Park lay all around them in shadows and eerie movement. Then, from the corner of her eye, Jennifer spotted a beautiful silver sleigh, drawn by two chestnut horses, winding its way along a lower path. Their sled was closing in on it fast! If they didn’t turn the sled, they would surely collide—with the horses or the sleigh! She heard the sleigh’s ringing bells. Saw the white vapor puffing from the horses’ nostrils. Saw the horses’ wild eyes as the little sled charged.

“Look out!” Jennifer shouted, struggling to grab the rope to yank the sled away from the crash. The boy was confused and frightened.

With her right foot, Jennifer kicked the right steering bar as hard as she could. The sled jerked left, bulleted past a bank of dark trees, perilously close to the path of the sleigh. She gave the steering bar another hard kick, then wrapped her arms tightly around the boy, pulling him in close to her and enclosing him. At all costs, she had to protect him! Even if it meant losing her life, she had to protect the boy!

The sled rocketed past the sleigh, just missing the horses’ front hooves. Alarmed, the horses whinnied. Their front legs kicked high into the air.

A 3-foot drop-off lay directly in the sled’s path. Jennifer was helpless to avoid it. She braced, arms tightly wrapping the boy. The sled sailed, dropped and struck the ground, hard. It bounced and went spiraling out of control. Jennifer clasped the boy firmly, as they spun off wildly into the chaotic night.

CHAPTER 11

Jennifer’s eyes flashed open, bold and scared. She was in the dark, lying in snow, shivering, shocked by the cold. She sat up, throwing darting glances, slapping the snow from her back and legs. Where was she? What had happened?

In a sudden flash, she remembered the sled ride! The near-miss collision with the sleigh, and the boy! She jumped up, blinking fast. She was alone in a light snowfall, under a cluster of trees, snow banked high to her right.

She glanced around anxiously, searching for reason and reality. Perplexed and freezing, she set off to look for the boy and the sled. She re-examined the area. She circled the trees, scanning the hill they’d just descended, but it was quiet now. No sleds! No kids! Nothing! Not a trace! Just silence.

She placed her hands on her hips and shouted, “Hello! Hello… Little boy! Anybody! Hello!? Where’s the boy?” she asked aloud, hearing her voice swallowed by the endless night. She shook her head in a slow wonder, unsure what to do. Call the police? And tell them what?

One thing was clear: she needed to get out of the cold. She was shivering! She saw distant lights. She gave the area a final, thorough search, and then reluctantly trudged off toward the lights, crunching through the snow with tingling toes, damp stringy hair and wobbly legs. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself for warmth, still confused as to what had happened and where the child was. She was so cold! Her teeth chattered.

She spotted a path. Hopeful now, she scrabbled up a narrow slope, reaching the path with straining effort. She planted herself firmly on the snow-covered path and stamped the snow from her boots. Struggling for direction and clarity, she hurried along under the amber glow of park lights. Ahead, bathed in a soft yellow light, she saw stone steps climbing toward the street. She passed a final glance over her shoulder to see if the boy was there. Eerie shadows moved in the wind. She took the stairs, puffing out clouds of vapor, her throat dry, her chest heaving.

Out of dim night, Jennifer emerged onto the lighted sidewalk. People passed but they didn’t seem to notice her. They stepped by her, around her, lowering their nervous eyes, mumbling back at her. She looked down at her clothes. She looked a mess! She looked like a street person! No wonder people ignored her.

Yellow cabs and limousines passed. She hailed a cab; it rushed by, spraying snow. She leapt away, shaking from cold. She flagged another cab, but it shot ahead, horn blaring. Jennifer cursed it.

Disoriented, she turned in place, on the verge of tears. What had happened? What was going on!? Where was she? She was in some kind of nightmare and she couldn’t wake up!

Her only goal was to escape from the punishing cold. She had to get out of the cold. Now! She darted across the street, edging toward midtown, desperate to duck into the first shop she came to, hoping to warm herself. She’d make up her mind what to do then.

Peter S Hair Salon was the first store that came into view. She passed the full-length window and caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the glass.

“Oh, my God!” she whispered, horrified by her appearance. She had the face and hair of a witch! Too cold to care, she pushed open the door and entered, a wistful, wearied creature embarrassed by her shabby appearance.

The warm breath of the heat soothed and relaxed her. She exhaled tension and fear, standing near the door, rubbing her arms and stamping her ice-cold feet. Gradually, as if waking from sleep, she began taking in the shop’s Christmas decorations: a small tapered Christmas tree, several red poinsettias, and green wreaths with blinking white lights and ruby red ornaments.

A sensual blue-haired receptionist, about 25 years old, with a dramatic crinkly hairstyle, stood watchful at a shiny metallic podium. She gave Jennifer the once-over, and her eyes enlarged in concern and surprise. “You look a bit stunned,” the young woman said. “Are you all right?”

She was dressed in black—tight black everything—and it all clung provocatively to her yoga-esque thin body. But the single red scarf tied stylishly about her neck matched her glossy red lipstick, and was surely meant to suggest an inclination to blend her own dark style with the color of Christmas. Her practiced sophistication was aided by polished speech that made Jennifer self-conscious of her own slight Southern accent.

“Yes… just very cold.”

Three hair stylists, also dressed in black, turned in unison, and viewed Jennifer curiously. The single woman stylist had short platinum blond hair and copper eyeliner that suggested a love of the nightlife. The two men looked nothing alike: one had short shocking red hair and, the other, blond shoulder-length locks that reminded Jennifer of old photos of General Custer.

When Jennifer stepped forward, the young receptionist took a step backwards.

Jennifer cleared her throat, desperate for a place to warm up. “I just need…”

The receptionist cut her off, “Yes, ma’am, I can see that,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. “Well… Congratulations…,” she said, uncertainly. She called to the three hairstylists. “This is it! She’s the winner!”

She turned back to Jennifer, explaining. “Since you are the five thousandth customer to come in since the salon opened, you can receive a free hairstyle, courtesy of Peter S Salons, and a new designer evening dress, courtesy of Tony Este Fashions. Merry Christmas!”

Jennifer opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out except, “Do you have anything hot to drink? Coffee, tea, anything?”

The receptionist scratched her head. “Okay… Sure. You don’t have to have your hair done now. You can come back some other time, as long as it’s in the next month.”

Jennifer was grateful for the shelter, still chilled to the bone. “No, now is fine.”

The receptionist led her to a chair and Jennifer collapsed into it, happy to sit. A moment later, the receptionist returned with a red mug of hot coffee and an almond croissant. Jennifer took them thankfully and held the steaming mug up to her face, beginning a slow descent into relaxation and warmth. She ate the croissant hastily, surprised by her hunger, and she had almost drained her mug of coffee when her hair stylist appeared.

Dale Bailey had a touch of baby-cheeked deadpan innocence that was disarming, and the reddest hair Jennifer had ever seen. He examined her carefully, assiduously, studying her face, hairline and eyes.

“I think I can do something here…but you’ve got to leave it all to me. No Ifs, ands or buts, and definitely, no arguments! No, ‘but the last time’, and, No, and I stress, with big capital letters, NO suggestions!”

Jennifer turned. “I usually just have it trimmed on top and…”

He threw up a hand. “Stop right there! What did I just say!? NO! Leave it to me. You, girl, need something entirely new! Trust me when I tell you! NEW is the word!”

Jennifer shifted, uncomfortably. “New?”

“You’re not from New York, are you?” Dale asked.

“No, I’m not.”

“Where are you from?”

“I don’t know, really. I don’t really know where I’m from anymore.”

“Well, you sound like a New Yorker. Most New Yorkers aren’t from New York, and, after they’ve been here awhile, they forget where in the hell they came from. It’s that kind of place.”

Before beginning, Dale grabbed a digital camera and took a “before” picture, which would be hung in the Salon, along with an “after” picture. Then he sent her to have her hair washed.

When she returned to his chair, he went to work, snipping, patting and fussing.

“Were you in a snowball fight?”

“Actually, I was sledding…with a little boy.”

“Your son?”

“No.”

“A friend’s boy?”

“No.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is he?”

“I haven’t any idea.”

Dale nodded, looking at her with prying eyes. “You’ve just got to tell me how you wound up in New York, girl. Mysterious clients always enhance my creativity.”