whenever he sold a large, expensive piece of merchandise.
Helena was standing beside him. Her bright red coat with white fur trim popped
from the shadows. Carl lowered his eyebrows and said, “I don’t see what this place has to
do with anything.”
“This is how you usually spend Christmas Day, Carl,” she said. “And it wouldn’t
be complete if we didn’t visit this place, too. You were especially excited to come here
after you sold the chair this morning.”
Carl lowered his head and sighed. “Very well,” he said. “I really don’t care. I’m
over it.”
When he lifted his head a minute later, he saw his image walking down the
hallway. He watched his body move into a dark, narrow doorway next to Helena.
Helena said, “Let go inside, Carl.”
Carl followed her into the room. There was a chair, a long narrow table, and a
short dresser. A small lamp on top of the dresser created enough light to see things clearly. There was a stack of dingy towels on the chair. Above the chair, there were two
metal hooks. Carl folded his arms across his chest and leaned into a dark corner.
The image of Carl removed his clothes slowly, casually. He hung them neatly on
the hooks above the chair and wrapped one of the towels around the lower half of his
naked body. Then he climbed up on the long, narrow table and stretched out on his
stomach. He rested the left side of his face on his hands and closed his eyes.
Helena turned to invisible Carl and said, “You are bold, Carl. I have to say that.
This place isn’t exactly what I’d consider safe.”
Carl made a face and said, “It’s just a cruise spot. It’s perfectly safe. I don’t even
know why we’re here. This is ridiculous. If you wanted to embarrass me, you’ve
succeeded.”
A few minutes later, a young man in his early twenties stopped in the doorway.
He was wearing baggy jeans, black boots, and a gray hooded sweatshirt. The hood was
over his head; his eyebrows were thick and dark and his facial features were strong and
pointy. When he saw Carl lying on the table stark naked, he shoved his large hands into
his pockets and licked his lips.
Invisible Carl, standing in the corner, took a quick breath and frowned. And the
image of Carl on the table opened his eyes and slowly removed the towel from his naked
body. He dropped the towel on the floor and smiled at the young guy. He stared at him
with glazed eyes. Then he spread his legs wider, arched his back, and said, “Why don’t
you come inside?”
The young guy pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed into the room.
While he was walking, he lowered his zipper and yanked out a long, thick penis and lowhanging testicles. The uncircumcised head was covered with smooth skin. His dark balls
had wiry black hair. The young guy went to the head of the long table and stood in front
of Carl’s face. He lifted his thick penis, leaned back slightly, and waved a floppy, semi
erection back and forth.
When the image of Carl on the table opened his mouth, invisible Carl in the
corner shouted, “I want to leave. I get the point, Helena.” Then he stormed out of the
room and waited for her in the hallway.
Helena followed him. “It’s not very romantic, is it, Carl? There’s no love here.”
Carl shrugged his shoulders. “It is what it is. I have needs.”
Helena frowned and reached for his hand. “I’m not here to judge you, Carl. We
have one more stop. Then my time with you is finished.”
* * * *
Helena brought Carl back to the homeless shelter. This time it was Christmas
afternoon and everyone was preparing food in the kitchen. Able and the tearoom woman
were washing turkeys and preparing them to be roasted. Able pulled the insides out of the
turkey he was cleaning and said, “I wonder how Mr. Briarwood paid for all the new food
that was delivered. I know we were out of funds.”
The tearoom woman shrugged her shoulders and inserted her right hand into the
dark cavity of a turkey. “I don’t know and I’m not going to ask,” she said. “I’m just glad
there will be enough food for everyone today.” While she rinsed the inside of the turkey,
she said, “By the way, Able. I walked by the shop this morning and I didn’t see anything
in the front window. I thought you said there was a chair there with a zebra skin. I was
holding my breath. But when I looked at the window, it was empty.” “The chair was there last night,” said Able, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe old
Mr. Smite had a change of heart and placed it in the back of the store.”
Carl smiled at them and said, “Sorry, guys,” he said. “I didn’t have a change of
heart and I didn’t hide the chair. I sold it for more money than you’ll both ever see at one
time.”
Helena ignored Carl’s comment. She turned away from Able and the young
woman and crossed back to Victor’s office. Carl followed her without saying a word,
bracing himself because he was about to see Victor again.
On that Christmas Day, Victor was wearing a black turtleneck sweater,
comfortable beige slacks, and a long black scarf. His clothes were crisp and fresh and his
hair was neatly styled. But the scarf was old and worn. There were knobby little balls and
the edges were frayed. It looked as if he’d pulled it out of the trash that morning on his
way to the shelter. Carl walked up to the edge of Victor’s desk and turned his head
sideways. He looked down at the scarf and gulped. He knew it was the same scarf he’d
given to Victor the night they’d made love in the back seat of his father’s car. There was
a small red tag on the bottom of the scarf that had been there the day Carl had purchased
it.
While Carl was gazing at the scarf, Able knocked on the office door and said,
“Can I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Briarwood?”
Victor smiled. “Sure, Able. Come in.” He adjusted his chair and stood so he could
shake Able’s hand. “Merry Christmas. How is everything going in the kitchen?” Able shook Victor’s hand and wished him a Merry Christmas. “Everything’s great,
Mr. Briarwood. But how on Earth did you pay for all the food that was delivered this
morning?”
Victor sat behind his desk and folded his hands on his lap. “I paid for it myself. I
maxed out my last credit card, but it was worth it.”
Able frowned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Briarwood. I hope you can get that money back.”
Victor waved his hand. “This isn’t the first time I’ve paid for something out of my
own pocket for a shelter, Able. I did it a few times in San Francisco, too. I’ll survive. It’s
only money.”
Carl’s lips went down. He shifted his eyes to Helena and said, “What happened to
all the Briarwood money? How on Earth could someone so wealthy have maxed out his
last credit card?”
Helena gave him a look. “I told you, Carl. Victor was cut off from his father’s
money and his entire family after the accident. And it was by his choice. He’s spent his
life working in nonprofit shelters just like this one. He only makes enough money to
survive. He’s devoted his entire life to helping the homeless. He’s not a wealthy man, but
he’s loved and respected by everyone. He’s a very rich man in many ways.”
“I see,” Carl said. Suddenly, it felt as if something warm had passed through his
body, but he didn’t want to mention this to Helena.
Then the young woman who owned the tearoom came running into the office. She
practically slid into Victor’s desk. She shouted, “Call 911. One of the volunteers was
taking out the trash and found a kid outside in the snow. He’s in bad shape. It doesn’t
look good.” Carl shouted and shook his fists. “It’s my son. Do something to save him.”
Able reached for the phone on Victor’s desk and dialed 911. He told them the
address of the shelter and said he’d be waiting for them out on the street. Then Able
grabbed Victor’s arm and guided him to the back door in the kitchen. The tea woman
followed, stopping in the kitchen pantry to get a few blankets and a bottle of water.
Carl ran after them. He stood next to the trash cans, with Helena by his side,
watching while they covered his son with blankets. They tried to get him to drink water,
but he wasn’t conscious. His skin was almost blue; they said his body was ice cold.
When Victor pressed two fingers to the boy’s throat, he waited for a few seconds,
then said, “He’s still alive. But just barely. Let’s get him inside until the paramedics get
here.”
They carried him into the shelter and laid him out on one of the folding tables in
the gym. The table was next to a fake Christmas tree with handmade ornaments and
chains made out of construction paper. Then they covered him with another blanket and
tried to get him to drink water again.
By the time the paramedics arrived and took his vital signs, it was too late. A tall
man with a stethoscope listened for a heartbeat and said, “I’m afraid he’s gone.”
Carl shook his head back and forth with slow, steady turns. He kept repeating,
“No, no, no…”
Chapter Eleven
As the clock struck three, Carl was in his own bedroom murmuring “no.” The
covers were over his head and he was lying in the middle of the bed in a fetal position.
He was somewhere in between a fuzzy dream state and reality, and he couldn’t control all
the thoughts running through his head.
At the end of the third chime, a soft, gentle voice spoke out. It came from the foot
of his bed and caused Carl’s feet to jump. “It’s time to get up now, Mr. Smite,” the voice
said. “We have work to do and I don’t like wasting time.”
Carl remained still for a moment. The voice he heard was not familiar and the
accent sounded British. He slowly lowered the covers to his waist and sat up. He rubbed
his eyes and went forward, blinking a few times. In the shadows of the streetlight, there
was a thin, older man standing at the foot of his bed. He was wearing a deep purple velvet
suit; a fluffy white, ruffled shirt; and a gold lame scarf that had been fastened together at
his neck with a thick gold ring. The gold ring was studded with flashy rhinestones; the
ends of the scarf trailed to his waistline in two narrow points. And as if that wasn’t
enough, his white hair was piled up and haphazardly arranged beneath a large picture hat
that matched the purple velvet suit. The hat was tilted to the side for a dramatic effect. He
wore campy violet eye makeup, purple sparkled blush, and bright red lipstick.
When Carl dropped the cover to his waist, the older man in the purple suit looked
down at Carl’s half-naked body and raised an eyebrow. He pressed his fingertips to his lips and said, “Not bad, Mr. Smite. Not bad at all, from what I can see. You have
exceptional chest muscles, indeed.”
Carl’s eyes bugged and he pointed. “I know you,” he said. “You’re that famous
gay guy who wrote the book they made into a documentary.” He was so stunned he
couldn’t think of a name or a title. “And they made a movie about you.”
The man smiled and waved his wrist. “Tonight I’m only the Ghost of Christmas
Yet to Come, Mr. Smite. I’m just a guide, and nothing more. There is no fame where I
come from. I’ve come to show you what will become of you.” He smoothed out his scarf
and fluffed the ruffles on his shirt. “But I am impressed that you know who I am. I was
before your time, and sadly, there’s an entire generation of gay men who don’t know who
I am.”
Carl thought hard for a moment, then said, “You’re Quentin Crisp.”
“I was when I was alive,” he said, rolling his eyes as if he didn’t want to be
bothered. “And if it makes things easier for you, Mr. Smite, by all means feel free to call
me Mr. Crisp.” Then he clapped his hands together fast and said, “Now stop wasting time,
young man, and get out of bed.”
“This is ridiculous,” Carl said. “How can
you
be the Ghost of Christmas Yet to
Come? You’re nothing like the other ghosts.”
The Ghost smiled. “Stop being such a bore, Mr. Smite. I was, after all, born on
December 25
th
. That alone should give me a certain amount of credibility. I may not be
Father
Christmas, but I assure you I’m quite capable of handling this task.”
Carl took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t want to go
anywhere; he’d already seen enough with the Ghost of Christmas Past and the Ghost of Christmas Present. His eyelids were so heavy they ached, and his forehead pounded. But
he knew it would have been futile to protest. So he removed the covers and lifted his legs
