Kristmas Collins (36 page)

I looked at Alex, who was engrossed in the Nets/Bulls game. “You wanna come? Maybe we can stop by an empty parking lot on the way home and let you practice driving.”

He shook his head and returned his stare to the television. He wasn’t giving up control of the remote. I shrugged and followed Taylor toward the door.

“Dad?” Alex’s voice surprised me, and I turned.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad your home.”

I smiled. “Me too, Alex … me too.”

We walked over the grounds and into the barn, passing the ponies. The twins had suggested that they name them Beatrice and Alexander. I thought to explain to them that they’re ponies, not jackasses, so they’d have to come up with different names, but I didn’t want to put a damper on their Christmas spirit.

I took the covering off of the Ferrari, and Taylor stared at it, deep in thought.

“Are you sure you haven’t driven it recently?” she asked. “Something seems off.”

“Maybe Alex took it out for a joyride,” I offered what I thought was a plausible explanation.

“That would explain him turning down a chance to drive his dream car,” she said.

“What do you say we take
your
dream car for a ride … at least until your grandparents get you another dream car in a couple years.”

“Now that sounds like a plan.”

We began the short drive from Pound Ridge to Stamford in the Escalade. This was the first time I’d been a passenger while one of my children was behind the wheel, and it was just as terrifying as I’d imagined. And the conversation wasn’t helping matters.

Like her mother, Taylor had a knack for getting right to the point. “So you really like this Nicole woman, huh?”

But I was no pushover. “She seems like a very nice lady.”

“She must have been to get on the Santa Burglar’s nice list. Just like all those families. That was a pretty amazing story.”

“Speaking of being nice, Ned is going to ask you and Alex to spend New Year’s Eve with him. I think it would be a really good thing if you two went along without a fight—it would mean a lot to your mother.”

“I’m there,” she said with surprising enthusiasm. “Ned’s starting to grow on me. Maybe one day him and mom can double-date with you and that Nicole lady. So are you two going to go on a date?”

“I doubt it.”

She smiled. “You know, she’d really have to be Saint Nic-ole to put up with you.”

I could tell she’d been saving that one for the right moment.

Having made her point, Taylor clicked on the radio, which was playing nonstop Christmas music. I was convinced, based on how much earlier they start each year, that within a few years they would be playing it all year round, maybe taking a break in July. Or perhaps have a winter and summer Christmas like the Olympics.

The Kinks’ “Father Christmas” blared out of the speakers. My children loved the classics, which made their father proud. And by blared, I meant that blood was trickling out of my ears. The stereo system sure worked.

Taylor kept giving me strange looks as she sang along.
When I was small I believed in Santa Claus, tho I knew it was my dad. I’d open my stockings at Christmas and I’d be glad.

When the song ended, she shut off the radio, with the comment, “I’m kinda sick of Christmas music. How about we watch a movie instead?”

She clicked on the DVD player, and I was looking at what looked like a department store security video. But when I looked closer it hit me what it was.

“When you got out of jail and you had all these guys after you, Mom was worried about us. So she had security cameras installed in the barn. Luckily, I was able to get the tapes away before anyone discovered what went on last night. It’s really top of the line equipment—it was able to capture every word you and Alyson were saying.”

I dipped into my lawyer bag of tricks, trying to come up with a defense, but I had nothing.

As I remained speechless, she turned to me. “I can’t believe you guys pulled that off. You were in total beast-mode!”

“Taylor, it’s not what you think … and can you please keep your eyes on the road.”

“I want in!”

“What do you mean in?”

“Next year. I meant what I said about giving back—what you did for those people was amazing!

“There is no next time, Taylor.”

“Whatever you say, Dad,” she said with her teenage eye roll, not listening to a word I said. “And no matter where I end up going to college, I’ll still be home for Christmas break. I already have some great ideas that I want to run by you for next year.”

“It’s important that nobody ever knows what happened last night, Taylor. Are we clear?”

She didn’t respond, just staring out the windshield with a big grin on her face.

“Taylor?”

She turned to me, still smiling. “I can’t believe my dad is Santa Claus. How cool is that!?”

___________________________________________________________________

Justin Duma stepped out of the car and made his way to the passenger side. He assisted Wintry out and removed her blindfold.

Her excitement vanished. “A football stadium?”

“Not just a football stadium—the place where I left my heart and soul on the field for thirteen years.”

There’s gonna be some other parts of you on that field if you think I’m gonna be spending my New Year’s Eve here!”

“Hey—I’m the one who wanted to leave the kids with my mother and head off to Statia this week for some fun in the sun.”

“So let me get this straight, you had me doll up in this dress because you had some surprise that was so big I had to be blindfolded for it. And it turns out that you’re taking me to a football game?”

“There’s no game tonight. The game is Sunday. During which I’ll be enshrined in the Ring of Honor, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“How could I forget, when you mention it like every ten minutes? Then why are we here now?”

“I thought you might want a sneak peek of your boyfriend’s name up in lights.”

“If that’s what you’re thinking, then you’re not thinking.”

He reached his hand out to her. She blew out an angry breath and grabbed on. He then led her toward the dark stadium. Huge mounds of snow from yesterday’s snowstorm surrounded the parking lot. The lot had been plowed clear, but it was still a little slippery, and Duma’s tux shoes weren’t the best footing for the surface. He knew he’d look like a clumsy polar bear if he fell.

“Hey JD, what’s shaking?” a security guard greeted him.

“Doing well Stevie, how’s the family?”

“It was a good year, can’t complain.”

Duma slipped him a crisp hundred. “Now it’s a better one.”

He still knew most of the security staff from when he played here. Some of his teammates looked down on these guys or just plain ignored them, but Duma made it a point to get to know each and every one of them.

Stevie nodded a thank you, and then turned to Wintry. “I see you bought your wife something nice. That’s a beautiful dress, Mrs. Duma.”

“Thank you, but I’m not his wife,” Wintry snapped. “And I bought my own dress.”

Stevie was smart enough not to touch that one. He quietly took them inside and led them to the elevator.

They rode to the top level of the stadium. Then climbed the steps to the highest point. Wintry was growing even more frustrated. “Where are we going, Justin?”

“It’s best to see it from the top.”

“God forbid if we don’t kill ourselves on account of your ego.”

The lights suddenly came on, as if on cue, and lit up the 70,000-seat stadium.

They were momentarily blinded, but when Duma regained his sight, he pointed. “There it is.”

Wintry focused on the ring around the stadium, known as the Ring of Honor, which displayed the names of the elite players and coaches who contributed most to the franchise over the years. It was an exclusive club, and the highest honor a team could give a player.

But he wasn’t pointing there. He was trying to get her to look down to the field, where a snowplow was busily removing the snow cover for Sunday’s game.

When she looked closer she saw that the plow had carved something into the snow.

Wintry Will U Marry Me?

When she turned back to Duma he was on bended knee. He held up a small box, and said, “This is the only ring of honor that matters.”

Before he could even ask, she had tackled him with the same ferocity that he had attacked opposing quarterbacks in this very stadium.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

When they eventually returned to their feet, Duma gave a thumbs up to the grounds crew and security staff down on the field. They returned a standing ovation and serenaded them with the famed
Dooooma!
chant.

Wintry wiped the tears away and found her composure. “I already know what I’m going to do with my half of the twenty million,” she said.

“Your half?”

“I’m going to start a performing arts schools in all major cities, for underprivileged kids. So the next Hope Roberts will get a chance. If we didn’t step in, she’d be working at the Christmas tree lot today and not on the world stage.”

“And the next Wintry Mix.”

“There’s millions of kids like us out there. So what do you think, husband?”

“I think it’s a great idea, but you’re too late, wife.”

Her face fell in defeat. “You already spent the money?”

“I did,” he said. “I spent it on starting a performing arts school for underprivileged kids.”

Her face lit up, which made it worth every penny … well, almost. “I told you it’s more about helping people than the money, Justin. It’s about time I’ve started to rub off on you.”

“I hope you remember that when we’re at our divorce hearing.”

She smiled. “Remember what?”

We arrived at Morzetti’s restaurant in Little Italy. It was one of the toughest tables to get in the city on a typical night, much less New Year’s Eve.

I was met by the whirling dervish that is Sal Morzetti. Think Danny DeVito with ten Red Bulls in him. He hugged me, and then took Nicole’s ankle-length leather coat, revealing a jaw-dropping, one-shoulder, black cocktail dress. Her gold earrings contrasted perfectly with her red hair.

Sal spoke for all his male patrons, “Madonna Mia!”

He sat us at a table in the corner of the dark, intimate eatery, and brought over his best wine. Wine always tasted the same to me, if it was five grand or five bucks, but I would take the world-famous television chef’s word for it.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” I re-started what had been awkward conversation on the drive into the city.

“My mother informed me that it was time for me to start dating. It made me feel like I was fifteen again.”

“I thought this wasn’t a date?”

“It’s not, which is why I came. I can be a little bit of a rebel when it comes to my mother, so if she wanted me to go on a date, then I would show her by going on a non-date.”

“You showed her. And I’m just glad you’re here, no matter the motivation.”

“Me too. I haven’t been out on New Year’s since … I can’t even remember the last time. I always thought it was forced fun—fun is supposed to be spontaneous.”

I lifted my wine glass. “To spontaneity,” I toasted, and we clinked glasses.

“This place is great,” she beamed, looking around the small dining area, the tables draped with red and white checkered tablecloths, and the walls lined with photos of celebrities who’d eaten here. “Although, it does look a lot nicer on TV.”

“I did some legal work for him back in the day,” I mentioned.

He’d hired me after a restaurant reviewer filed a complaint, claiming that Sal had stalked and threatened him after receiving a bad review. I was able to get him off on that one—thankfully for Sal, just like real life, nobody likes critics, and the jury was no different. But the case Libby was currently handling for him would be much trickier. He allegedly assaulted his sou chef, and did so in front of the cameras of his reality TV show for the world to see. Since I was no longer a lawyer I would leave his guilt or innocence to the professionals, but I made a mental note to compliment him on the food tonight, regardless of how it tasted.

“It’s also a safe choice,” I continued.

“Safe from those people who were chasing us in Macy’s last week, or safe in that you feared I’d poison your food if you came over to my home?” she asked with a smile. The conversation was starting to loosen up.

We had come a long way from that day in the courtroom, even if this was likely the last stop for the train. “Safe, as in I knew there would be no cameras. Sal is very protective of the celebrities who eat here.”