From Christmas to Christmas

"Well, Roberta," Jeff said easily.

"DOCTOR Stitwell," the woman snapped.

"Oh. Then, I am Mr. Landry," Jeff reiterated. "But, I am recording these sessions. When we appear in front of Judge Howard, I want proof positive that I did participate. That I did accommodate all reasonable requests."

"You may not record these sessions," Roberta shrilled.

"Um. Bull shit. When you are the one paying me two hundred and ten dollars an hour? Jesus, Donna, really? Did you go out of your way to find the most expensive counselor in Commonstead? But, when you are paying me? Then you can tell me whether or not I can record these sessions, Jeff stated firmly.

He gave the apoplectic woman another benign smile. Donna waited until the showdown between her husband and the doctor concluded.

"Besides, who knows? Your words may prove to be so inspiring, so beneficial I'll want to hear them again and again," Jeff offered, smiling widely.

"Go ahead, Donna," Roberta snarled, conceding this confrontation to Jeff Landry.

For the next thirty minutes, Donna sniffled and sobbed her way through her side of the story. She detailed that she hoped for a chance for her and Jeff, the absolute love of her life to find their way back to loving one another again.

"I mean, after all, we, we're expecting our first grandchild," Donna sniffed.

"Jeff? Mr. Landry?" Roberta asked as Donna blew her nose into a very cheap tissue Roberta provided.

"Yes Roberta? Dr. Stitwell?" Jeff asked.

"Your goals?" Roberta snapped, annoyed that Jeff had picked up on her intentional use of his first name.

"Oh. To get a divorce from this willfully unfaithful woman," Jeff said.

"And?" Roberta said, face red with anger when Jeff sat, regarding her silently.

"And?" Jeff prompted.

"Have you nothing else to add?" Roberta ordered.

"Hmm? Oh. Oh, okay," Jeff said. "Your waiting room sucks. Your office is even worse. Neither room is warm, welcoming; there is no thought put toward making your clients feel at ease, comfortable."

"I meant..." Roberta snarled.

"Then when someone meets you for the first time? Rather than welcoming them, establishing a rapport of any sort? You attempt to overwhelm them, subjugate them by listing all of your degrees and the numerous theses and opinions you've published. So, after intimidating your clients, forcing them to accept that you are some sort of expert, an authority, you force your clients to address you by your bought and paid for title, again, rather than establishing any sort of connection or mutual understanding, empathy," Jeff continued his assault.

"Je...Mr. Landry, that will be enough," Roberta shrilled.

"And let's talk about you personally," Jeff continued. "Jesus Christ, have you ever heard of cosmetics? I'm not telling you to put on whore paint, but good God Almighty. Make some effort. A little cover stick under those eyes, do away with those circles. A little foundation, okay, in your case, a lot of foundation, just even out that splotchy skin. Remember, we have to look at you. A little eye liner, a little mascara, try to do something with those flat, mud brown eyes of yours."

"Mr. Landry, that is more than enough," Roberta thundered.

"And that hair. You know, my sister would put her hair in a bun or a French braid when it needed washing but she didn't have time. But, you get that bun any tighter? Your eyes will look Asian, I swear," Jeff continued. "And let's talk about those clothes. Did you intentionally go out and look for the most unflattering clothes you could find? Good job. I honestly did not know they still made polyester leisure suits anymore. Oh, that's right. For women, they're not called leisure suits; they're called pants suits. But, if you're dressing like that in order to make yourself look serious, professional? You failed. If anything you look like a clown."

"Leave. Leave my office. Now," Roberta growled.

"And...That's why I recorded this session. You're making me leave this session ten minutes early," Jeff smiled, getting to his feet.

"Oh my God," Roberta snapped bitterly when the door quietly clicked shut behind Jeff. "You, you're sure you want to stay married to that, that, that man?"

Donna said nothing as she got to her feet. She left the office and was just in time to see the elevator door slide shut, Jeff standing rigidly in the small box.

In the next session, Jeff asked Dr. Stitwell if she was married. She refused to answer so Jeff did a quick search on his cell phone even as Roberta demanded he put his cell phone away.

"The answer is 'No' you are not married. Nor have you ever been married," Jeff read aloud. "And, your thesis on living in an asexual society? Hardly endears any confidence that you know anything at all about relationships."

Jeff turned to Donna. Donna waited, head hanging low. Jeff shook his head sadly.

"Again, Donna, why did you pick this woman? I mean, is this some sort of joke?" Jeff directly addressed Donna for the first time since the fateful Thanksgiving dinner at her parents' home.

"I am qualified to..." Roberta snarled.

"Are you? Are you really?" Jeff addressed the doctor. "Tell me, Dr. Stitwell, how many of your clients actually manage to salvage their damaged relationships after coming to see you?"

"I am not at liberty..." Roberta said.

"Less than twelve percent," Jeff answered for her. "Eleven point six, according to the Souladou County records."

"Are you done?" Roberta snarled.

"Yes. I was done long before I came here last week. But I guess the courts want proof of that," Jeff smiled his irritating smile.

At the end of the session, Jeff made Dr. Stitwell's blood boil as he wished her a Merry Christmas. His chuckle as he regarded her hateful glare further infuriated the woman.

On the bitterly cold Christmas morning, Donna must have used Daisy's cell phone. Jeff stoically listened to the voice mail as Donna tearfully wished him a very Merry Christmas and declared her undying love for him. Then he deleted the message.

Jelly's baby bump was very noticeable now. Jeff hugged her and kissed his daughter on the top of her head as he wished her a Merry Christmas. Then he hugged Belly and wished her a Merry Christmas as well.

The Christmas Mass at St. John the Baptist's Catholic Church was packed to the rafters. The priest was a young Vietnamese man that truly seemed to love his calling, his profession. He promised the celebrants he would be quick; he had a cup of hot cocoa waiting for him back in the rectory.

"And you don't worry if there's maybe a little Iron Barrel Whiskey in it, okay?" he said, eliciting a few knowing chuckles from the congregation.

Back at his own apartment, Jeff and Jelly and Belly unwrapped their Christmas presents to one another. Jeff looked up when Belly quietly asked him if he missed Miss Donna.

"I, no, no Belly," Jeff said thickly. "Once, once that trust has been broken, shattered? Really? I was just waiting for the next Big Bill Carter to come along and steal her away."

In the third session scheduled on Tuesday, January fourth, Jeff allowed Donna to vent her frustrations. He allowed Dr. Stitwell to conduct the session, politely answering Dr. Stitwell's questions, but not elaborating on his answers unless prompted.

"But, Je...Mr. Landry, you knew of Donna's affair but continued your relationship with her," Dr. Stitwell prompted, losing patience with the tedious man.

"Well, Ro...Dr. Stitwell, before I go any further, may I ask Donna a question?" Jeff said, smirking at the woman's sudden flash of anger.

"Yes, yes, of course," the woman conceded.

"Donna? Why did you end the affair with Big Bill?" Jeff asked.

"I uh, I realized I, it was wrong," Donna stammered. "I mean, I realized I was a married woman, married to the man of my dreams and no amount of money or power, I mean, Big Bill Carter was a force to be reckoned with; he was just this physical presence, you know? But in the end, I decided that no matter how exciting it was, it just wasn't worth losing you over."

"Jeff, Mr. Landry, who are you calling?" Roberta shrilled.

"Hi, Mrs. Carter?" Jeff asked into his cell phone.

Roberta did not miss Donna's gasp or sudden loss of color. She swiveled her head to stare at the horrified client, taking her attention from Jeff Landry.

"Mr. Landry, I said..." Roberta said, still looking at Donna.

"Sorry, yes ma'am, Minnie," Jeff smiled. "So, Minnie, I'm going to put you on speaker here, okay?"

"That's fine," Minnie Carter's amused voice came through the speaker. "Hello Donna; how are you?"

"Mr. Landry, turn that off. Right now," Dr. Stitwell snapped, urging herself out of her wobbly office chair.

"So, Minnie, why did Donna stop her affair with your husband?" Jeff asked, hard eyes looking right at the defeated Donna Landry.

"Because she knew I would kill her if she didn't," Minnie said, no hesitation in her voice.

"Oh? Could you elaborate?" Jeff asked, standing and holding the cell phone out of Roberta's reach.

"Yes. I walked in on her and my husband rutting like little animals on his Italian leather couch. When I stuck that huge butcher's knife against her throat..." Minnie chuckled.

"Mr. Landry! I said turn that off!" Roberta demanded, trying to reach the cell phone.

"Yes, she still has that little scar from where you cut her," Jeff said, stretching his hand overhead to keep the phone out of Roberta's flailing reach.

"Turn it off," Donna sobbed. "Just, just turn it off."

"Little tramp loosed her bladder and bowels all over that couch," Minnie giggled, delighted to recount the story. "Think Bill was more upset over losing that couch than he was at losing his little fling."

"Oh, hey, Minnie, let me send you a picture," Jeff said, turning away from Roberta. "Oh, by the way, thanks for the pictures you sent me. They might come in handy; you never know."

"Huh!" Minnie said. "Who is this, Jeff?"

"That's Donna and her Daddy," Jeff said. "Notice any resemblance?"

"Huh! Can you say 'Elektra Complex?'" Minnie agreed. "Looks just like Big Bill, doesn't he?"

"You win," Donna sobbed, huddling against herself. "Okay? You win."

"So, Roberta, Dr. Stitwell, now that we've established that Donna is a liar..." Jeff said, glaring at the huffing, puffing counselor.

"Out. I want you out, I want you out of this office right now," Roberta screamed, infuriated.

Judge Shirley Howard was not amused when she read Dr. Roberta Stitwell's report. Despite thinly veiled threats from Judge Buschold, Shirley signed the documentation issuing a divorce for Jeff and Donna Landry.

Reading the file Shirley had couriered to his office, Robert bit down on the inside of his cheek. Then, wincing in pain from his bleeding cheek, Judge Robert Buschold cursed Jeff Landry again. Donna, his beautiful little girl looked haggard, defeated. She'd lost twenty pounds, twenty pounds she could ill afford to lose since that Thanksgiving Day meal.

"And only God knows why you'd want to stay married to that little coon ass anyway," Robert snarled, tossing the paperwork onto his cluttered desk.

Picking up his phone, Robert punched in the phone number of Patrick Turner. He let Patrick know it would be in his best interest that Jeff Landry would lose his job now that Jeff could not come back and demand spousal support from Donna.

"Yeah? Fuck off Buschold," Patrick laughed. "Like I'm going to lose my best employee just because your little feelings got hurt."

"You know, I don't think you can afford to go up against me, Turner," Robert snarled.

"What the fuck ever," Patrick laughed.

"Be a real shame if you lost the County account, Turner," Robert threatened.

"Oh. Damn. Did I forget to tell you? You're being recorded, dip shit," Patrick chortled.

"You, you can't use...that's inadmissible..." Robert blustered.

"Who said anything about using it in court? I just 'accidentally' give it to a certain Souladou Crier reporter we both know?" Patrick stated.

"God, Robert S. Buschold? You are a dumb ass," Patrick told himself later that evening as he saw he now had a police tail.

At the next turn, the squad car hit their lights. Patrick pulled to the side of the road and pulled out his cell phone. The swaggering police officer approached the driver's window, smirking.

"Good evening, hmm Sergeant Parnell," Patrick said amiably. "Why am I being pulled over?"

"License and registration," Sergeant Parnell barked out.

"Sure, sure. Sergeant Parnell, I am reaching into my glove box to get the vehicle registration," Patrick said as he reached over to the passenger side of his car.

"I'll be back," Sergeant Parnell barked, roughly grabbing the documents from Patrick's hand.

Sergeant Parnell took his sweet time sitting in his squad car. When he finally bored of making Patrick Turner wait, he again got out of his warm squad car and approached Patrick's car. He frowned when he saw that Patrick was on his cell phone.

"Well, think your lawyer's going be able do anything for you?" Sergeant Parnell asked himself, glowering.

"Here he comes now," Patrick said as he again lowered his driver's window.

"Sir, put the phone down and step from the vehicle," Sergeant Parnell barked.

"You heard him?" Patrick asked the cell phone.

"Yes I heard him," Captain Al Begnelli said, voice coming through the car's speakers as Patrick switched the call to his blue tooth. "This is Captain Al Begnelli. Officer Parnell? Why is Mr. Turner being ordered from his car?"

"I uh, it's Sergeant Parnell," Sergeant Parnell stammered, losing all bravado.

"Unless you can give me a satisfactory answer to my question? It will be OFFICER Parnell," Captain Begnelli snapped.

Robert Buschold felt no remorse for Sergeant Parnell's misfortune. People like Sergeant Parnell were expendable. He did manage to have the County switch their service contract to a fledgling service company. The loss of revenue did hurt Patrick Turner somewhat, but the loss of the account only lasted until the cable network failed in the courthouse itself and the smaller company was unable to repair the network. The new company was also unable to retrieve any of the information from the old file system, jeopardizing decades of records dating from 1985 until present day.

"Jeff, I know if I send you, it will really ruffle some feathers," Patrick smiled as he negotiated a renewal bonus for his company. "No, no, Ms. Varney, you heard me. Twenty five thousand or hey, good luck with your system. I've been telling you for years you need to upgrade."

Putting his hand over the mouthpiece of his desk phone, Patrick reminded Jeff to be on his best behavior, even if he did happen to run across Judge Robert Buschold. Then he returned his attention to the County Comptroller. He refused to budge, even as he waved Jeff out of the office.

On April fifteenth, while many people scrambled to finish their paperwork, labored to figure out how much to give to the IRS, Angelle was admitted to Souladou General Hospital in Carlton, New Jersey. The petite woman was given a C-section; her Ob/Gyn had determined it was the best solution for mother and child.

"Andrea Michelle Landry-Hall, you are the most beautiful little girl in the world," Jelly declared, holding the little red headed bundle.

"And you are the most beautiful mommy in the world," Belly declared, sobbing as she stood next to Jelly's bed.

"Well, of course," Jeff agreed, wiping at his own tears of joy. "After all, they've got the most beautiful Daddy and grand-daddy in the world."

"Oh? Is he coming later?" the Ob/Gyn asked, lively brown eyes dancing with merriment.

"Oh, that is cold. That is just so cold," Jeff laughed, taking another cell phone photograph of his granddaughter.

"I am too young to be a grandmother, Jelly's mother Michelle responded to the cell phone pictures Jeff sent to her.

Somehow, Donna heard about Andrea's birth. Jeff deleted the voice mail she left on his cell phone congratulating him. Jelly did show her father the beautiful ballerina doll and the silver brush and comb set Donna sent for Andrea.

"What you want me to do, Daddy?" Jelly asked.

"Sweetheart, I want you to do what is best for your Andrea. In all things, always, always, always do what is best for your little girl," Jeff said.

"I love you so much, Daddy," Jelly declared, pulling the now sleeping infant from her breast.

"Yeah," Belly said.

On October 15th, Andrea's six month birthday, Jelly reminded Jeff that his own birthday was coming soon. Belly teased Jeff by pointing out all of his gray hairs woven through his short cropped brown hair. She squealed then laughed when Jeff grabbed her hand and bit her finger.

"Don't worry, Mr. Jeff," Belly said, snuggling up against him. "Seventy two's not THAT old."

"Oh, you little snot!" Jeff laughed, squeezing Belly in a fierce hug. "I'll be FORTY Two. Forty two, not seventy two."

"Really! Wow, um, time hasn't been very kind to you," Belly said, giggling.

"Oh, that is it. You are no longer my sugar booger. You are now snotty potty," Jeff declared.

"So, seriously, Daddy, what you want for your birthday?" Jelly asked, slapping Belly's arm for being so disrespectful to her father.

"Honey Bunny, what could I possibly want?" Jeff asked. "I have a beautiful daughter..."

"Two. Two beautiful daughters," Belly reminded him.

"...and one snotty daughter," Jeff continued, eliciting a squeal from Belly and a giggle from Jelly.

Leaving their third floor apartment, Jeff made his way down to his ground floor apartment. He let himself into the two bedroom unit and hung his lightweight jacket on the antique coat stand next to the front door. Looking around his apartment, Jeff nodded with satisfaction.

"Not bad for a bachelor pad," Jeff decided, grabbing himself a Gratchely's Beer from the refrigerator.

The combination living room dining room had a small sofa and recliner. The light brown leather sofa and the hunter green velour recliner complimented one another. The free standing floor lamp in the corner was an antique brass and went well with the sofa and chair.

The dining room table and four chairs were a light brown wood with antique brass appointments. Jeff had not been conscious of that fact when he'd bought the set from the consignment shop; Belly had been the one to point out that the table and chairs and the floor lamp tied the two rooms together perfectly.

His kitchen was small, barely functional, but since he mostly cooked for one, it was suitable. When he had moved in, Jeff had thought Donna would have immediately nixed the apartment based on the kitchen alone.

The bathroom was also miniscule. There was hardly room to turn around in the cramped room. But since Jeff used the room for the most basic of needs, it was fine for him. He would not be soaking in a bubble bath, or doing his makeup, or styling his hair.

The first bedroom, Jeff thought it would have been better suited to be a large closet. He'd bought a crib and changing table and matching toy box from a garage sale. There was a playpen in the closet; Jeff deduced he would need to use it sooner rather than later now that Andrea was already six months old.

His own bedroom had a queen sized bed with a tempurpedic mattress. Patrick Turner, his boss and friend accused Jeff of being a giant girl for liking the plush, comfortable bed. Jeff asked Patrick what he and his boyfriends slept on.

A matching tall dresser and low dresser with attached mirror Lined the north and east walls. The nightstand was the perfect size to go next to the bed on the south wall. One inch wider and the night stand would have interfered with the ability to open the door of the closet.

The rent was a little steep, but since he was just down the stairs from his daughter and his granddaughter, Jeff did not mind paying his rent every month, dutifully, on the first day of the month. He smiled as he reminded himself; he had two daughters and a granddaughter. And, being right down the stairs, Jeff was the go-to babysitter whenever Jelly and Belly needed to run an errand, do some grocery shopping, or even go on a date.