The Perfect Holiday Gift

Next, I brought out my eyes. I'd always wanted to try a smoky shadow, and now was my chance. I opened up the make-up palette. All the primary colours were present as well as a variety of metallics. I decided to go with a steel gray with a hint of turquoise. I used the mascara and eyeliner to bring out my eyelashes. There were a variety of different lip sticks to choose from. I chose a cherry red, puckered my lips and slathered it on.

All that remained was the wig. I fished it out of the large box. It felt natural. the long curly locks bounced as I admired it. My natural hair was cut short and was still damp, so it was easy to slip it on.

I felt a long wisp of hair fall in front of my eyes. I brushed it aside and looked up into the mirror. It was as if I was peering into a portal. Any trace of the reflection I recognized was gone, in its place was the living embodiment of International film actress Gillian Ash.

She was there, actually there, staring back at me. I tilted my head to the side and so did she. I pulled my shoulders back, arched my back, and so did she, her black corset tightening around her slender form. I was hypnotized, lost in her eyes.

What time was it?

I checked the corner of the reflection. I had less than ten minutes to spare. How had an hour almost passed by? I stood up, walked back over to the bed, picked up the black sequin dress and stepped into it, careful not to snag the stiletto heels on the fabric. It was tight. I took my time pulling it up, afraid I might accidently tear it. It slipped over the lingerie, concealing the strapless corset and panties. I pulled the two thin spaghetti straps up and over my shoulders and turned to look at myself in the mirror.

Gillian Ash stared back, her eyes harboring a devilish thought. The slit of the dress rose all the way up to her hips. I could see the hem of the thigh high stockings and the garter belt poking out. The neckline plunged like a knife. Although impossible, the corset had somehow conjured up breasts, because I swore I could see them peeking up above the bodice.

Five minutes ...

The note was still on the dresser. I picked it up, curious if I'd missed any other details. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except a small arrow on the bottom. I turned it over.

"Before you leave ... check the closet."

I set the note down, turned and opened it.

How thoughtful, a winter coat.

It was white, fur ... real fur? I checked the tags. Thankfully, it was fake. I pulled it off the hanger and wrapped it around myself. It felt like an impenetrable barrier and helped calm the growing storm of butterflies in my stomach.

One minute ...

Times up, I thought. I need to leave ... now. I still didn't have a plan. All my focus had been on getting ready, and not on what happened after that. Where exactly was the limo taking me, and would it return me afterwards? Should I bring my clothes with me? I pocketed my phone, wallet, keycard and headed to the door. Worst case scenario, if I got into a jam, I had some wiggle room on my credit card.

I stepped into the hallway and let the door lock behind me. The artificial air was cool, infused with the scent of laundry detergent.

I was alone. There was no sign of any of the other guests. I floated down the hallway, my hips rocking back and forth under the thick faux fur coat. I reached the elevator, pressed the button and waited. Every second lingered. Finally the heavy doors opened.

Occupied, the elevator was occupied.

My eyes darted down, avoiding eye contact. I stepped into the elevator, turned and pressed the button for the lobby. The coat was like a protective barrier, shielding me from their leering eyes.

We reached the ground floor and I stepped out. As I crossed the lobby, my heels echoed off the marble floor. I weaved through the small pockets of guests and headed to the front door.

The limousine was already there. The driver, who was as thick as a bulldozer was waiting beside the passenger side door. This is madness, I thought as I approached him. There's no way he's going to mistake me for ... he smiled and opened the door.

"Good evening Mrs. Ash," he said.

I smiled back, but didn't speak and slipped into the car. The interior was spacious. The backseat was leather, real, from the feel of it. It was stitched together with purple neon which reflected off the polished surface like a disco ball. It was large enough to accommodate a large wedding party or a small football team.

The limousine pulled out into traffic.

I looked out through the tinted window. The sidewalks were packed with people sprinting, shuffling or meandering, yet rarely colliding.

The store fronts were brightly illuminated, like pages torn out of a glossy holiday catalog.

I carefully crossed my legs and sank into the soft leather, savoring every second. It was such a departure from my regular routine. By this time in the evening, at the end of yet another draining week, I'd be spread out on my battered old couch, a pillow jammed uncomfortably under my neck, mindlessly flipping through the TV channels for something, anything to watch that didn't require much attention.

If this was how celebrities lived, it wasn't a bad deal.

The limousine started to slow down, and I was pulled out of my trance. The scenery had changed. The wall of concrete and glass was replaced by rolling waves that stretched to the horizon. We'd arrived at the docks. It was a harbor for yachts, by far the largest of which, was the one the limousine stopped in front of. I listened as the driver opened his door and walked over to the passenger side door.

"Thank you," I whispered softly as he held the door open for me.

I stepped outside. The dry air stung. I could taste the sea salt.

I was mesmerized by the scale of the yacht. It was like a glass skyscraper had been water sealed and tipped over on its side.

"Is there anything else I can do for you this evening Mrs. Ash?" he asked.

"No ... no thank you," I said softly.

He nodded. "If you need anything, just call," he said and returned to the limousine. As it pulled away, I realized I had no way of calling him. Not that I seemed to care. My eyes were locked on the gangway.

So Mr. Walker owns a yacht. That about checks out, I thought. If I had more money than god I'd probably buy a few big toys too.

It was a challenge walking up the gangway in heels. I used the railings for support. When I reached the main deck, there was no one there to greet me. I was at a loss, should I announce my arrival? leave?

I listened. I could hear the low mechanical hum of the engines, as well as something else, faint, from below ... voices. I stepped out onto the deck, and looked around, there was no one there. Where was the crew?

I saw a flight of stairs leading below. I crossed the deck, descended and found myself in a narrow passageway lined with small cabins. Through the portholes I could see the city, lit up like an amusement park.

The audio grew louder. I pin pointed the source; a door, three from where I was standing. I approached it and gently pushed on the thick metal hatch.

The room inside was deceivingly large. It was the size of a movie theatre. No, it was a movie theatre! It was almost pitch black except for the flickering light from the projector. There were rows upon rows of reclining seats. My eyes were drawn to the big screen. I looked up and saw myself, well ... not myself, but the person I was impersonating, Gillian Ash. She was starring in one of her earliest successes "The Atomic Feud," a drama set near the end of the cold war. I'd seen it several times. Her accent was atrocious.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I surveyed the room. All of the seats were empty ... except for one. It was dead center, lined up perfectly with the projector and speakers. The person occupying it was slumped forward, head tilted down. I stepped closer, focused.

It was Mr. Walker and he was fast asleep.

I slowly crept up on him. I had no escape plan, so forward felt like the only direction to go.

There was a loud bang. A red and white blob scurried across the floor and under the seats. A rat? no, not a rat, it was an empty soda cup and I had accidently kicked it. Mr. Walker jolted upright and looked directly at me ... then at the big screen, and then back at me.

His expression was unfiltered, a mix of utter confusion and pure shock. He brought me into a tighter focus and stared while his other hand fumbled around in the dark for something beside him. He found it, clicked it and the movie froze. Finally, he spoke

"Am I ... am I dreaming?" he asked softly.

I smiled and looked over my shoulder. The film had frozen on a still of Gillian Ash as she was about to detonate a nuclear war head unless both super powers agreed to her conditions for world peace. It was a great scene, one they'd played when she'd been nominated for several acting awards.

"No," I said as I turned back to face him. "You're not dreaming."

He pried himself out of the chair and brushed off the loose popcorn that had fallen into the folds of his button down shirt.

"I ah ... sorry for the mess, I wasn't expecting company ... I mean, I really wasn't expecting your company. How is it ... how is it you're real, you are real right?"

He was about to reach out and touch me, then hesitated.

"I already asked that question, didn't I?"

"You did, and I can assure you ..." I pointed back at the screen. "Unlike that phony accent, I am very real."

He laughed. "Sorry, it's just ... I'm still trying to wrap my brain around this. Not that I don't appreciate that you're here. I mean who wouldn't ... I ah ..."

He was stumbling over his own words, it was comically amusing to watch, but I decided to put him out of his misery.

"I hope I'm not interrupting. It's not often I get to make an appearance at a film festival in my own honor."

He looked past me at the screen again.

"Oh yea, that. Yea, it's one of my favorites ... one of your best. I mean, they're all ... the best."

He blushed, his cheeks turning a bright festive red. As I stood there, it occurred to me this was the closest I'd ever been to him, in fact, it was possibly the first time we'd met. He was younger than I'd expected. His features were sharp, his short black hair stylishly messy. In my mind I'd always pictured a gin hardened business man with battery acid coursing through his veins. But, if I was to guess, I'd say he wasn't much older than me. How? How could anyone have amassed such a vast fortune in such a short time. Was it all handed down?

"Joy ..." he said softly. "It was Joy who put you up to this, wasn't it?"

"Happy holidays," I said with a devilish grin. "I'm told you're in need of a plus one for your companies holiday party, and I just happen to be free this evening."

"Oh right ... that. I'm not going."

"You're not going. Really?" I said, surprised. "Aren't you footing the bill for the entire thing?"

"Yea, it's fine. Everyone seems to tense up whenever I'm around anyway. I'd rather let them enjoy it. I'd only ruin it by turning it into yet another meeting that could have been an email. That is ... unless you want to go."

"Well I am wearing sequins."

He smiled. I was stunned by how easily I'd fallen into this new role. I'd just spoken more words in a single minute than I would have normally spoken during an entire day. And this confidence, where was this confidence coming from? I was witty now? I'd never been witty before. It was as if I'd borrowed a personality along with the dress.

he checked his watch.

"Well, we'd be fashionably late, but I still think we can make it. Should I change?" he asked.

I did a quick scan. If this was his idea of slumming it, it was on a budget larger than my monthly rent.

"Throw on a sports jacket and I think you'll be fine. If it's the sophisticated, globe trotting playboy look you're going for, I think you've nailed it."

"Always. All set?" he asked.

"Of course."

Then I remembered, the limousine, I had no way of contacting it. "Should we call a taxi?" I asked.

He smiled a smile that could melt an iceberg.

"I have a better idea."

Chapter Three

I closed my eyes and listened as the water rushed underneath the bow of the yacht. The air was frigid, pawing at my sequin dress. I turned back, looked up at the bridge and saw Mr. Walker standing behind the helm.

"Please, call me Aaron," he'd said as we'd walked through the passageway towards the bridge. "Mr. Walker sounds too formal, like I'm in trouble for something."

"Alright ... Aaron. Are you sure you want to go to all this trouble. I mean, on my account?"

"Of course. I'm the boss. I should make a splashy entrance, and what better way than by rolling up in a fancy yacht with a famous celebrity?"

We'd stepped onto the bridge. It was like the heart of a nuclear power plant. There were lights and dials on every surface. Everything looked like it required a manual as thick as a phonebook to operate.

"Is it the crews night off?" I'd asked.

"Yea, something like that."

I knew nothing about how to operate a yacht, but I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't something you could do solo.

"Alright, lets see ... we just. No, not that one ..." he said as he started to jab at the buttons. Eventually one responded and the entire room lit up like a carnival ride.

"Do you sail ... often?" I'd asked as I made a mental note of the locations of the escape rafts.

"All the time. It's as easy as riding a five million dollar bicycle."

After he'd silenced several ominous alarms, the yacht lurched forward.

There was a loud tearing sound from behind us, like a tree was being uprooted, followed by indistinctive shouting.

"That happens a lot, don't worry, I'll write a check."

We'd sped off into the night, wrapped under a blanket of twinkling stars. I'd stepped out onto the deck, my heels ringing off the polished surface. I wanted to bottle the moment, tuck it away and let it age like a fine wine. I'd so few memories I could savor. Everything bled into one big unpleasant congealed mass. But this, this was special.

Time stood still.

The yacht started to slow down and eased into the dark waters. I turned and looked back at the Bridge, Aaron wasn't there.

I checked my bearings. It was pitch black in all directions. There was no sign of the shore or any other lights on the horizon. The engines stopped and we started to coast, the only sound the steady howl of the feral wind and icy waves beating against the side of the yacht.

Then the lights went out.

My heart skipped several beats as my eyes darted around, looking for Aaron.

"Aaron," I called out. "If this is a joke, it's not very funny."

Nothing.

There was a loud pop as hundreds of small lights burst into life. They were dazzling, woven along every seam of the ship, illuminating it like a celestial comet, floating through the cosmos.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Aaron said as he emerged from the shadows.

He'd changed and was now wearing a gray suit. It was tailored to every line, hugging his surprisingly athletic build.

"I have a confession to make. I may not have been entirely forth coming with you."

"Oh," I said. "How so?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, a gold envelope, a crumpled up gold envelope.

Why did I recognize it?

Then it hit me. It was the gold envelope that had been awarded to me for winning the costume contest, the one I'd thrown away, which meant ...

I suddenly felt painfully transparent, like I was under a hot spotlight. I pulled the thick fur coat around me, trying to use it as a shield.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. it's just ... "

He held up his wrist, pulled his sleeve down to reveal a silver watch.

"For the record, this is what Joy actually spent everyone's money on."

He slid it off his wrist, held it up in the star light, admired it, then threw it over the side into the ocean.

"Junk ... trash, compared to what I actually wanted."

"I don't understand," I whispered. "The hotel room, the box, the note ..."

"It was my doing, all of it, right down to the authentic handwriting."

"But why?" I asked, as I started to tremble.

He took a step closer. The wind whipped through his thick black hair. His eyes were locked on me, hands raised.

"Ever since Halloween you've haunted me. I tried distractions, new toys, designer clothing, anything and everything that money could buy ... and it failed, all of it."

He took another step closer.

"I thought of a thousand ways to approach you, thought of a thousand words to say, but I was never able to build up the nerve. Then Joy accidently emailed me about my own holiday gift. I don't know when the idea formed. But once it had taken root, I couldn't shake it."

"But the email ... it was written by Joy ..."

" ...telling you to pick up a gift at the Regency Royal, which was true. What she didn't know, was I'd already picked it up. I arranged everything after that."

My brain felt like it was swimming in a fish bowl.

He took another step closer.

"I know how strange this must all seem, but hear me out. I know what it feels like to hide behind a mask. I do it every day. This company was a happy accident, a start up that caught on like a brush fire. I had no idea it would grow this big nor this fast. And I'm not complaining, it's hard too when it's made me a fortune. It's just ... I've never walked into a room I felt comfortable in. Every one has this idea ... this ... rigid box you need to fit into, and if you step out of it, they just ...

"Shove you back in ..." I whispered.

"Yea, exactly. it's like you can read my ..."

I leapt forward and kissed him. None of my pesky thoughts intruded, they were all onboard. His lips were magnetic. When I tried to pull away, they drew me back in.

He reached out, and grabbed me by the waist and pulled me forward. Our bodies pressed together, the cold frigid night melting away. I leaned back and looked up into his eyes.

"Was that wrong?" I whispered.

He smiled. "Did it feel wrong?" he asked softly.

I replayed the events of the day, the office party, the subway ride, the discovery at the Regency Royal, the limousine ride and the movie theatre. They were ingredients of a fairy tale, one I'd been swept up into. I tried to picture myself, my old self, but the spell was too strong. Whoever they were, whoever they had been, they were gone, cast away, lost forever in the dark sea.

I looked again at his lips, at the way they reflected the glittering stars.

"No, no it didn't, and thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

"For the perfect holiday gift," I said and kissed him again.

The End.