Acts of Grace

"Tim?"

He looked up. Claire Bennett looked even lovelier than usual. She was wearing an electric blue blouse that stretched and bunched in all the right places. It topped a pair of black pants that appeared glued to her shapely legs. He jumped to his feet.

"Claire."

"Hi. Um, this is my mom and dad. This is Tim Clarke."

"The Mr. Clarke who gave you the B-minus?"

Tim and Claire couldn't resist smiling at each other.

"Never let that go, did you?"

"I never did."

"Even though I called Juilliard and explained it."

"You called them?"

"Sure. And that was the only phone call I've ever made.

Claire's mouth dropped open.

"Oh, God. Of course it was. That was the phone call Grace was talking about. Fuck."

"Claire," Mrs. Bennett said with disapproval.

Claire turned to Tim and rolled her eyes out of her parents' sight.

"Dick told me last week that you hadn't called him to lobby for me getting the part. The minute after I left the play last weekend. Why didn't you tell me?"

Tim shook his head.

"You were too good. You got a Tony Award. I . . . I couldn't."

He could see tears welling in Claire's eyes.

"Claire!"

Grace's shout caught the attention of every other customer in the restaurant. She was standing at the door, holding Michelle's hand.

At Grace's insistence, all six of them had dinner together. It was as uncomfortable an evening as he could remember. At the end, Claire went home with her parents, he went home with Grace, and Michelle went home by herself.

* * * *

"Did you have fun?" Tim asked Grace.

She nodded vigorously. For her late October birthday, she had asked to be allowed to spend an entire weekend alone with Sarah's parents down in Westchester County. He had driven her down there on Friday afternoon and they had driven her back on Sunday. They had just driven off after an early supper and left Grace and Tim alone.

"It was great. We went into New York and rode a ferry and went to the Zoo and --"

She stopped abruptly, her eyes wide.

"Honey, you can tell me," Tim said. "You went to Claire's show, didn't you?"

Grace nodded again, much more slowly. Claire Bennett was the star of a brand new musical, Stepsister, which had opened to rave reviews a month earlier.

"You're not upset?"

"Honey, of course not. I was the one who called her to get the tickets for you. She's our friend. Was it good?"

More nodding followed.

"Oh, Dad, it was so good." The words rushed from her mouth. "She plays Cinderella's stepsister and she sings and dances and everything. An' we got to go back to her dresser room and see her costumes and Grandma and Grandpa thought she was great an' we talked about it and sang the songs all the way back home.

"So did Michelle come over?"

It was such an abrupt change that it took Tim a second to answer.

"We decided to see other people, Mouse. She thinks I like somebody else."

Michelle had been waiting for him when he got back on Friday, dressed in a white nightie that was transparent enough to hide none of her young charms.

"It's been months," she moaned as he peeled it over her head and began to kiss her boobs. She was an extraordinarily well-endowed young lady, with large red areolas and equally large nipples.

"It seems like years," he agreed, working his way up to her neck.

"Years," she purred. He continued to kiss her until she pulled him back down to her breasts. "Suck them, baby. I love it when you suck them."

His hand went down, sliding over her clean-shaven snatch, finding her wet and waiting. She slid herself back and forth against her fingers, making herself hotter and hotter.

After a minute she pushed herself off.

"This isn't going to work," she said.

"It's not?"

"You're just really not into me, are you?"

"I am," Tim protested. "I've been thinking about getting into you for a month now. Ever since I knew Grace would be away."

He reached for her again and she stepped back off the bed.

"Michelle, what's bothering you?"

"You want to know what's bothering me? It's your actress friend, Claire. I saw the way you guys were looking at each other at that restaurant."

"Michelle, that was two months ago."

"And you haven't spoken to her since?"

"Well, no. I called her to get tickets for Grace and Sarah's parents to go to her new show."

"You couldn't just buy them off the Internet?"

"Michelle, what's wrong?"

"You're in love, Tim. And not with me. And God knows I've screwed plenty of guys that I knew didn't really love me, but not any who I knew loved another woman."

Tim was dumbfounded. By now Claire was a lovely memory, not to mention a wonderful fantasy. But the woman was a Broadway star, dating who knew what athlete or actor. But he was aware that the moment to protest that no, of course he wasn't in love with Claire Bennett had already passed. Michelle began pulling on the clothes she had brought with her.

"Michelle, I --"

"Spare me, Tim. Spare both of us. I had a good time over the summer. What with school and your daughter and everything, we both knew it would be tough to keep it going this fall. Your actress friend's still there in your mind. I hope she's there for you in real life, too. You should ask her, you know? I saw the way she looked at you.

"That's silly," Tim protested.

Michelle shrugged.

"So was that story of her showing up at your house last Christmas, Tim. But it was true, right?"

She had finished dressing and was out the door with a quick kiss on his cheek. The memory was fading already.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Mouse said, interrupting his thoughts. "I know you liked her."

"That's okay, Mouse. She just wasn't the right girl."

"So who do you like?"

Tim smiled at his daughter.

"Nobody, Grace."

"Do you like Claire?"

Tim felt himself blushing, something he hadn't done in a long time.

"Of course I do, sweetie. She's our friend. I'm glad you had a good time."

"It was wonderful. Only . . ."

"Only what?"

"We met her boyfriend," Grace said.

"Claire's boyfriend?" Tim said. He felt a shiver run through him.

"Yeah. He's nice. He's got like a kabillion dollars or whatever and his own plane. He does some kind of vestments."

"Investments?"

"Yeah. Anyway, he really likes Claire."

"Well, of course. She's a wonderful person."

"I wish you were her boyfriend, Daddy."

"I guess I'm just not the right guy for her," Tim said with a sad smile. "Now, someone needs to get ready for bed. Because someone has school tomorrow morning."

Grace threw her arms around his neck.

"Thank you for my birthday present, Daddy," she whispered.

"You're welcome, Mouse."

* * * *

The snow returned in mid-December. Flurries were swirling outside the grocery store on the twentieth as Tim and Grace stood in line to buy the ingredients for their Christmas feast.

"Daddy, look!"

Tim followed his daughter's pointing finger across the store but saw nothing that should have produced the horrified look on the little girl's face.

"No, Dad. Right here."

She poked the tabloid on the stand directly in front of her.

It wasn't the main headline, but a small picture of Claire and a good-looking guy in the bottom right-hand corner of the cover was plastered with the headline Stepsister to Marry!

"Claire's getting married?" Grace asked in a small, hesitant voice.

"I guess so," Tim said.

"Can we buy it, Dad? So I can read it in the car?"

"Sure, Mouse."

Grace wasted no time in finding the article -- in truth a mere squib in a gossip column -- after she was buckled into her seat for the trip home.

"'Nancy Adler, the public . . . the publicits --'"

"Publicist."

"'Publicist for Stepsister star Claire Bennett, confirms that the Tony-award winning actress plans to marry over the Christmas vacation. "She's going to take a week off from the show for the honeymoon," Adler said. "What can I say, she's in love!" Neither Bennett nor her boyfriend, playboy Martin Causewit, was available for comment. Their wirewind romance --'"

"Whirlwind, I think, Mouse."

"'Whirlwind romance has been the talk of Broadway for the last two months.'

"I can't believe it," Grace said.

"Why not, honey?"

"She didn't tell us or anything," Grace whined.

"It's not like we're her family, Grace."

"We should be."

At eight, Grace hadn't yet learned how to mutter under her breath so that no one else could hear. Tim found that he too was wondering what would have happened if things had worked out differently. He took a quick look over at Grace, resolving then and there to buy her the one present that she had been asking for and that he had so far been able to resist buying.

* * * *

"Okay," Tim said, "you go first."

"No, Dad, this year you go first."

Tim closed his eyes for a moment. His little girl was growing up. In the coming year she would probably learn the truth about Santa Claus.

"Well?" Grace asked. "Are we gonna start?"

"Sure. 'Twas the night before Christmas . . .'"

"'. . . and all through the house."

"'Not a creature was stirring . . .'"

" '. . . not even a mouse!' Yes!"

"'The, um, stockings were hung . . .'"

"'. . . by the chimney with care.'"

"Are you sure you don't want to put up our regular stockings, Grace?"

Together they looked at the fireplace. In place of the usual red felt "boots," Grace had insisted that Tim hang two fishnet thigh-high stockings that she claim to have borrowed from Tim's sister the week before.

"Aunt Kay said the bigger the stockings the more presents you got," Grace said.

Tim smiled as they continued reading. Fortunately, he had purchased a number of small presents this year. With luck, he would be able to fill Grace's stocking without having her think that Santa had cheated her on the presents under the tree. When they were finished reading, Grace took her place on the landing and was asleep within minutes. A few minutes later, Tim stepped over her and climbed the stairs to his own room.

His alarm went off at eleven and he was stunned not to see Grace where he had left her. Sure that she had simply crawled back into her room, he descended the stairs.

And there she was. Sitting on the hearth, wearing the stockings. Along with the same red negligee and panties she had been wearing last year. A cheery fire crackled behind her. Tim walked over to stand in front of her.

"Claire," he said with disbelief. "Claire Bennett. But you're . . . you're getting married."

She gave him a sexy smile.

"I am."

"But . . ."

"But what about Martin?" Claire asked. "Martin realized that I was in love with someone else."

"But the article . . ."

"Never said I was marrying Martin," Claire said with a giggle. "You need to read more carefully, professor."

"I didn't read it. Grace did. She read it to me while we were in the car. She was devastated.

Claire laughed and patted the hearth beside her. Tim sat down and Claire gave him a long, lingering kiss.

"Silly man. She set this up. She called me on Thanksgiving and told me that you liked me and I liked you and we should just stop seeing these stupid other people and get married. And I couldn't think about anything else. That's when Martin and I broke up. So I called Grace and made some arrangements for Christmas Eve."

"You mean she knew the article was a fake?" Tim asked.

Claire nodded.

"So I bought her that PlayStation for nothing?"

Claire laughed again.

"I guess acting runs in the family," she said. "By the way, she's at my parents tonight. My mom drove me over here and took Grace back with her after she let me in."

"But what about Santa Claus?"

"Tim, she knows about Santa Claus. She was the one who suggested lighting the fire. And she told me it was more fun getting your present herself."

"My present?"

Claire held out her arms.

"Would you like to unwrap it?"

It was Tim's turn to smile.

"You took quite a chance believing Grace, didn't you? About my loving you. Coming here. And waiting for me."

"Sometimes you have to take the chance, Mr. Clarke."

"I do love you Claire."

"I love you too, Tim. I only have one question."

"What's that?"

"When Grace was leaving tonight she told me it was my poem now. What was she talking about? Does she know any poems?"

Tim shook his head.

"Other than the one we read earlier tonight, no."

"Which poem is that?"

"The Night before Christmas. I always read it so that it was not even the Mouse that was stirring."

Claire started giggling. A moment later, she rolled off the hearth onto the floor, clutching at her stomach.

"What?" Tim asked.

"Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse," she prompted.

"The stocking were hung by the chimney --" Tim continued.

"--with Claire," she blurted out.

He joined her on the floor. When they finished laughing, they made love under the glow given off by hundreds of tiny multi-colored lights.