The Holiday Games

Chapter 12

twelve

. . .

Leo

H overing outside the ladies’ locker room, I feel like a creep, but the clown college is mostly deserted at this early hour on a Sunday, and Caroline has been in there a very long time.

I sent the rest of the cast home half an hour ago and the crew is nearly finished packing up the equipment van.

“Caroline?” I ask, after a good five minutes have passed with no sound from inside. “Hello?” I wait another beat before adding, “Are you all right?”

“Define…all right,” she finally responds, her voice halting and thin as it echoes off the tiles.

I wince. “Is there anything I can get you? There’s a convenience store a few blocks away. Maybe some soap? Shampoo? A blow torch?”

“Yes. Blow torch. I’ll burn my hair down to the scalp and start fresh. Clean slate.”

I huff out a soft laugh, grateful to hear that she hasn’t lost her sense of humor. “I hear you. I’m so sorry. That was gross.”

“It was way more than gross. I’ve washed my hair five times. Five , Leo, and I still don’t feel clean.” She sighs. “But it’s nice that the clowns have shampoo and conditioner in their locker room showers. It’s good quality, too. Smells like bubblegum.”

“Bubblegum is a very clown-friendly scent,” I observe, feeling like an idiot. But nothing in my background has prepared me to comfort a woman I’ve injured in this particular manner. And no, I didn’t toss the turd myself or buy the cheap doodie bags, but I put her in the path of disaster.

I can’t help feeling responsible.

And awful. And desperate to turn her day around.

“But on the bright side,” I add, “you won immunity, and a private performance of Bingo the Clown’s Downhome Doggie Jamboree this evening. It’s supposed to be a fun show. Lots of jokes and dogs and…jamboreeing. Whatever that is. I think it’s a southern thing.”

“If you make me watch a man in a clown suit jamboree with dogs right now, I may have an aneurism,” she shoots back, her voice wobbling again. “I know being afraid of clowns is cliché and ridiculous, but I’m afraid of them. I really am. Now, I think I’m afraid of chihuahuas, too. And plastic bags. And astroturf. And anything else that reminds me of this morning.”

“Understood,” I say, my producer wheels spinning. “Then, with your permission, I’ll pass the ticket to the private show on to Eduardo. He has a background in theater. He’ll probably enjoy it, and we’ll be able to get some B reel to pad the episode. It might turn out to be interesting. He said he’d met Bingo once before, back in the nineties, when he did a performance at Eduardo’s acting school in Miami.”

“Really?” she asks. “That’s strange. He acted like he hated clowns, too.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure. I thought he seemed interested when Ainsley said Bingo was involved, but I could be wrong. I was a little distracted,” I admit. “My challenge winner had just tossed her cookies and made a run for the bathroom.”

She groans. “Don’t remind me. Thank God I always carry toothpaste and a toothbrush in my purse. I’ve brushed my teeth five times, too. And used their mouthwash. It also tastes like bubblegum.”

I smile, charmed by her even when we’re talking about mundane things like toothbrushes and mouthwash. “Then I’m clear to set Eduardo up with the ticket? If he wants it?”

“Yes, please,” she says with a relieved sigh. “That’s part of why I was hiding in the bathroom. I wasn’t sure when the show started and wanted to make sure I missed the opening curtain.”

“And the other part?” I ask, pushing on when she hesitates. “Tell me what you need to make this better, Caroline, and I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen. I promise. I feel awful.”

“You don’t have to feel awful,” she says, moving closer. She sounds like she’s right on the other side of the door, as she adds, “But if you’re in the mood to grant special favors, I can think of something that would make me feel a whole lot better.”

“Name it,” I say, without hesitation.

“I was scrolling through the What’s On this Weekend listings last night, and there’s a huge craft fair on Governors Island today. Handmade goods and vintage finds and food trucks featuring ethnic holiday food from all over the globe. I mean, maybe I’m kidding myself, but I think an Icelandic mulled wine, a German schnitzel, and the perfect pair of handcrafted earrings might make all my troubles disappear.”

I nod, relieved that easing her pain is going to be so relatively easy. “I’ll order a car and book a ferry ticket for you.”

“How about…two ferry tickets?” she says, with a hint of shyness. “I mean, a craft fair is always more fun with a friend, and it is Sunday. Do you have to work more, or can you slip away?”

“I can slip away,” I say, the eagerness in my tone embarrassing.

Or, it would be, if Caroline didn’t sound every bit as eager when she cheers, “Oh yay! Good. We’ll have fun! And we can talk about the logistics of moving Greg to Vermont while we’re at it. I talked to my business partner, Kayla, last night about it, and she’s over the moon. She’s always wanted an inn cat, but her kitten isn’t litter trained yet.”

“Greg is good at using his litter box. He isn’t good at much else, but if you’re still up for giving him a new home, I’ll happily drive him up to Reindeer Corners for you. I could deliver him the day after we finish filming, even, if that works.”

“But that’s Christmas Eve Day.”

I shrug. “That’s all right. I don’t have any plans. I’m Jewish.”

“Oh. Congratulations.”

I laugh. “Thanks. Just culturally, on my mom’s side, I’m not religious. But I like it, and my dad was a lapsed Catholic turned hippie solstice celebrator. As a kid, I got the best of all worlds. Hanukkah gifts, Christmas presents under the tree, and a big bonfire in the backyard on the longest night of the year.”

“Sounds awesome,” Caroline says. “Won’t your parents want you home for the holidays, then? I don’t want to keep you from your family.”

“My parents passed away in a car accident when I was a freshman in college,” I say, the words not hitting as hard as they usually do.

Maybe it’s the door between us that makes it easy to talk to Caroline. Or maybe it’s just…her. From the moment I met her, she’s felt like someone I could confide in.

“Oh, Leo.” She cracks the door and peers out at me, the one blue eye visible through the space filled with empathy. “I’m so sorry. What a hard time to lose your parents. I mean, not that any time would have been easy, but that’s such a rough stage of life. There’s so much change and upheaval going on already.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “It was rough. But I’m okay now, I promise.” I smile. “And I would love to spend Christmas Eve Day driving my demon cat to Vermont. It would be a holiday present for both of us. He’ll get a new home, and I’ll get to go back to living my life without fear of my pet slicing me open while I’m sleeping and selling one of my kidneys on the black market. We all win.”

Her eye crinkles at the edges. “Sounds like it. Though you can’t blame Greg for trying. I hear kidneys fetch a pretty penny these days.”

“Especially prime, middle-aged kidneys like mine.”

“You don’t look middle-aged,” she says.

“No?” I arch a brow. “Could I pass for thirty-five?”

“Absolutely,” she says. “Maybe even thirty-two if the room was dark and a person had a glaucoma in at least one eye.”

I laugh, enjoying her gentle roasting more than I probably should. But then, teasing and jokes are my love language. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome.” She sighs and taps her chin. “Now, there’s just one problem.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

She opens the door, revealing her soaked form. She looks like she jumped into a pool fully clothed. Her dark hair is slicked down on either side of her face and her coveralls stick to what looks like a sweater and leggings underneath. A small puddle has formed beneath her on the tile and her shoes make a squishing sound as she shifts from one foot to the other. “I have to go back to the hotel to change before we can go have fun. I accidentally jumped into the shower with all my clothes on and couldn’t find a towel after. Apparently, I have trouble thinking clearly with a moist turd on my head.”

I pull a face. “Never use that phrase again.”

Her eyes light up. “Which one? Moist turd?”

I gag and clutch a dramatic hand to my throat.

She laughs, wickedly, wonderfully. “Which one bothers you more? Moist? Or turd?”

I shudder. “Both. All. Stop. Seriously. Or you aren’t getting dry clothes at the Brookfield Place mall on our way to the ferry, courtesy of the Innkeeping with You emergency fund.”

She mimes zipping her lips, but unzips them a second later to ask, “Can I stop by the makeup counter, too? I have red lipstick in my purse, but my lashes are sad without mascara.”

“Your lashes are not sad,” I say, admiring the thick black spikes still damp around her eyes. “They’re luscious. Like a baby cow or a llama or a drag queen out for Sunday brunch in their short set of falsies.”

She giggles so hard she snorts, and I instantly know I’ll never get enough of that sound. I’m going to be thirsty for her snort-giggles until the day we go our separate ways, likely never to exchange more than likes on social media and a holiday card each December.

But I’m not going to think about that now, not when I have at least eight hours of Caroline time stretching out in front of me. I’m not the kind of man who wrecks the present by worrying about the future.

I’m the kind of man who seizes the day.

With that in mind, I tell Caroline, “Stay here. I’ll grab a towel and something dry from the prop department for you to wear while we go shopping. Then, we’ll blow this clown college.”

She claps her hands. “Amazing!”

I start to leave, but spin back to add, “And if the craft fair doesn’t keep us busy all day, I have a few other things I could show you. I have a secret New York tour I only share with the most discriminating friends and relatives.”

She cocks her head and arches a flirty brow. “Oh yeah? So, you think I’m discriminating? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Very.” I bob a shoulder and add, “I mean, aside from last night, when you let Greg pull the wool over your eyes. But no one’s perfect.”

She grins. “He didn’t pull the wool over my eyes. He’s obviously got beef with you for some reason. Maybe he just prefers women. Some animals do.”

This animal certainly does.

Especially this woman.

And for the rest of the day, she’s mine.