Mr. 365 (2 page)

“Okay. But how can I be assured it will be positive? These shows portray someone like me as a nutty goof for entertainment.”

“That isn’t our intention,” I say, hoping he can hear the sincerity in my voice.

“How do I know that?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

“You want me to trust
you
? I don’t even know you.”

“But you could,” I say politely. “I’ll tell you what, I see you live on the east side of Windsor Square. I’m not far from there. Let’s meet for coffee tomorrow and just talk about it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Please, Will?” I ask softly as I turn on the charm, hoping his resolve crumbles. “Please?”

“Okay,” he says with a quiet laugh.

Over the last few years I’ve come to the conclusion that being a producer is akin to being a magician without a top hat and magic wand. Somehow you have to take an idea and actualize it, convincing your team, and most critically a potential subject like Will, that magic is possible. We can pull the rabbit out of our hat while making something out of what at times can be a misfit jumble. With each new project I imagine something grand. Maybe Will’s story will be a standout—that something grand that changes my course and bolsters my career.

I say goodbye to Will, and hang up satisfied. Victory is within my reach.

As I open the door to the King’s Road café, I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror leaning against the entry wall. I stop for a moment to check myself. As I straighten my belt, I twist sideways noting that the Pilates classes I’ve been doing have paid off. My legs look especially long, and my curves are toned the way I like them.

I smooth my long auburn hair down and check my lipstick. People tell me I’m pretty with my large green eyes, full lips and fair skin but I just think I grew into my looks. When I was younger all I wanted was straight blonde hair and a dark tan but that would never be. I shrug and turn from the mirror before walking further into the café to find Will.

I try to imagine what Will’s personality will be like. I figure he’s an oddball, perhaps with eccentric tendencies. I shouldn’t judge him too quickly on his outward appearance. Just because he really,
really
loves Christmas doesn’t mean he has to be a total freak. He may not be as strange as I imagine.

I scan the café and notice several people sitting alone. Unfortunately, the photo Lucy sent over was rather fuzzy, so I can’t be sure I’ll recognize Will. I spot an effeminate middle-aged man wearing a bow tie and reading a magazine. I grin. That must be my guy.

I approach his table with a big smile on my face. “Will?”

He looks up, confused.

“Hi, I’m Sophia.”

He tips his head and closes his magazine. “I’m sorry—”

“Excuse me,” a young dark-haired guy a few tables away calls out. “Are you Sophia?”

I glance over to see that the guy calling out to me is a serious looker. I have trouble hiding my shock. There’s just no way this is Will. I look back at bow-tie guy and then over at the gorgeous hunk, confused.

He taps his chest. “Sophia, it’s me, Will.”

My cheeks burning, I apologize to bow-tie guy for disturbing him. He shrugs and returns to his design magazine. As I walk to Will’s table he’s appraising me with his striking eyes and it makes me blush.

I’m glad I wore something flattering. My fitted blue dress accents my figure while the tailoring and fabric give it a professional look. I try not to ogle him as he stands to greet me, his hand extended.

“Hi, Sophia, I’m Will.”

I smile as we shake hands. “So I’ve gathered. It’s great to meet you, Will. Thanks for coming.” My head’s spinning with confusion. This can’t be the Christmas guy. Not only is he handsome, but there’s a spark in his dark blue eyes that indicates he’s the furthest thing from goofy.
Seriously.
If they lined up the most appealing guys in his age group on a reality show contest, he would win the grand supreme title.

I glance around the café to make sure there are no hidden cameras. I wouldn’t put it past my team to put me on one of those reality shows where they do fake setups to humiliate the subject. I approach my chair when I see no sign of impropriety.

He studies me as he pulls my chair out. I’d love to know what he’s thinking since my instincts tell me it’s good.

After we smile at each other, he glances at the café counter. “What can I get you?”

“Iced tea would be great. Passion-flavored tea is my favorite, if they have it, but please, let me take care of this. I asked you to meet me.” I pull out my wallet.

He holds up his hand to stop me. “This is my treat.”

As he approaches the counter, I get my bearings, still not convinced this isn’t a mistake. This handsome and rugged man is the Christmas guy from the file? It just can’t be. The girl behind the counter is shamelessly flirting with him as he lingers at the sweets case.

He’s tall with broad shoulders and a solid build. His worn jeans hang low on his hips.
Is that a tattoo peeking out under his shirt sleeve? Good lord.
I’m all fired up, and I fan myself while his back is turned toward me.

As he moves back to our table, the light from the window casts his face in perfectly balanced planes and structure and reminds me of a marble bust I once studied in the Uffizi Museum in Florence. The ease with which he carries himself and his natural grace add to the effect. I imagine in another place and time he could have modeled for Horst or Irving Penn, classic photographers, who would’ve photographed him in black and white, all elegance, highlight, and shadows. The fact that he does charity work makes him a gentleman in my eyes, despite his outward appearance. I’m most definitely intrigued.

When he rejoins me he hands me the iced tea, and then rests a little box embellished with the shop’s label on the table and slowly slides it over to me.

“What’s this?”

“A little something for you. I saw them and thought you might like them.” His eyes are bright. “Go on now. Open it.”

I smile, realizing I’ve just received my first gift from the Christmas guy. I carefully lift the lid. Three little French macaroons are nestled in wax paper, each a different color.

He watches me expectantly. “The pink one is strawberry, the yellow lemon, and the orange one passion fruit.”

“How did you know I loved macaroons?” I ask.

“Just a guess. They’re kind of fancy… like you.”

“Fancy? I’m not fancy!” I laugh.

He shrugs. “If you say so.” But he grins as if he knows better.

“Which should we try first?” I ask.

“Oh, they’re all for you.”

I lift the passion fruit carefully out of the box and nibble on the edge. “Mmm, it’s so good,” I say, closing my eyes. When I open them, he’s watching me so I slowly run my tongue across my bottom lip, catching the stray crumbs.

I’m flirting with him and I really should know better since technically I’m working.

“What?”

“You’re different than I expected,” he says.

“Really? How? And don’t say fancy.”

“Softer, prettier.” He tilts his head to the side. “You seem all right.”

“You sound surprised about that. What did you expect, an Amazonian woman with a cross bow prepared to hunt you down?”

He laughs. “No but that’s a great image. My limited experience with the media is that they’re rough around the edges”—his expression hardens—“and very pushy.”

“I’m sorry that’s been your experience. I’m not like that,” I say softly.

“I sensed that when we talked. It’s the only reason I agreed to meet you. I had a feeling. I mean you were a little pushy, but not too much.”

I laugh and he grins.

“Well as long as I wasn’t
too
pushy! Besides, if you keep spoiling me with macaroons I may very well lose my edge completely.”

I hold out the yellow macaroon to him. “Why don’t you try this? It’s heavenly.”

“No, no… they’re for you. Besides, I’m good with my coffee.”

“Okay, but you’re missing out,” I say, taking another bite.

“Not really. It’s sweeter watching you enjoy it,” he says with a quiet smile.

“You aren’t quite what I expected either,” I admit.

“How so? Wait… If you researched me, you saw the
Larchmont Chronicle
article. I bet you thought I’d be wearing the Christmas tree sweater, right?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“That woman pushed me unrelentingly until I agreed to wear it for one photo. I did it just to shut her up. Of course that’s the photo they used for the story. I’ll never be that stupid again.”

“Did the sweater really light up?”

“Yeah, it had a battery pack and everything. You could make the lights blink together like a strobe light or sporadically. It was idiotic. I’m still mad for agreeing to wear that thing but the story was just for our local paper. I thought what’s the harm, but I forgot that everything lives forever on Google.”

I smile. “Yes, it does.”

“So I was right… you assumed I was a super freak.”

“Not a super freak… just passionate about your interests.” I stretch the truth to keep from hurting his feelings. I like this guy and have a strong desire to win him over.

“Well I can’t argue with that. I’m most definitely passionate about my interests.”

“And because I think you’re interesting, I’m sure other people would find you interesting too,” I say.

“I don’t care who besides you in this equation finds me interesting.” He gives me a coy look.

No one besides me?
Is he flirting too? I try to narrow my focus, or I’ll never convince him.

“We all have our things, Will, our stories, our passions that make each of us unique. Yours is especially unique, and I’d love to have the chance to tell it to the world.”

“Careful, you are making reality TV sound too good to be true.”

“I don’t know about that. Why can’t the good stuff be true? I was a documentary film major in college. There’s such a challenge in documentaries to portray the subject accurately, with dignity, and be entertaining in a compelling way. I carry those ideals into my TV work.”

“I bet though in your current field you are more the exception than the rule.”

I shrug. “Maybe. I can only be accountable for my own work. I went to a retrospective of Haskell Wexler’s work last weekend. Are you familiar with him?”

Will shakes his head.

“He’s one of most highly regarded documentary filmmakers in history. There’s so much truth and beauty in his work it takes my breath away.”

He folds his arms over his chest and smiles. Perhaps he came into this meeting thinking I was a pleasant but tacky producer. Hopefully I’ve convinced him I’m anything but, and I push some more.

“Will, wouldn’t it be great to show on film the beauty and soul of your holiday masterpiece? People would love your story and why you do what you do.”

“Really,” he says as if he doesn’t believe me. “You’re not just charming me?”

“Yes, I promise. I’d truly love to understand more of what motivates you.”

He lifts his coffee nestled between his two hands. I sense he’s not going to spill out his secrets if I bat my eyelashes. No, he’s going to be a challenging nut to crack, but truly understanding our subjects is one of my strengths.

Whoever Will appears to be isn’t at all what I expected. I’ve never been more curious to figure someone out. He’s a puzzle of perfect pieces that don’t fit together.

He finally speaks up. “So this is going to sound corny, but I think you may understand. There’s something out there… a kind of magic or whatever… it’s different things for different people, maybe a great movie or concert, but whatever it is can distract you from the rough stuff in life. So, if it’s there… why wouldn’t we surround ourselves with it if we could? Why wouldn’t we want it always around?”

Is this guy for real?
I sense this idea is true for some part of him, but there’s much more to what he does than he’s admitting. I’m more determined than ever to figure out why.

“Do you understand?” he asks, looking tentative but hopeful.

“I do,” I say and he relaxes.

I take a long sip of tea, and I wonder what kind of hardship could’ve been in Will’s life to inspire him to want every day to be Christmas. What’s he hiding? It pulls at my heart, and I find strength in his expression. Whatever it is or was, he appears to have a handle on it.
Not every reality show candidate has to be broken, do they?

“What are you thinking?” Will asks.

“I appreciate your motivation,” I say thoughtfully even if it’s only part of my reaction to what he shared.

He chuckles. “Well that right there puts you way ahead of the crowd.”

I nibble off the edge of the macaroon before asking, “So, will you show me your house? Steph said you’ve already started setting up the front rooms for this holiday season.”

“Yeah, I like to spread out the setting up and tearing down. I enjoy it more that way.”

He studies me for a minute and then smiles. “So, you want to come by just to see it? I’m not promising anything. Are you okay with that?”

“Okay… just to see it. I’ll share a secret with you.”

He leans forward, a playful smile on his face. “Yes?”