Page 28 of Bright Lights, Big Christmas
“I’m a theatrical producer,” Thomas explained.
“And John’s a writer. He’ll never tell you this himself, but he’s aNew York Timesbestseller,” Thomas said proudly. “His books terrify me. How does a gay man write such seriously spooky stuff?”
“You’regay?” John lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ve been sleeping with you for twenty-five years, and now you tell me?”
“Funny, honey,” Thomas said. “Okay, enough about us. This lady has been here for at least ten minutes and she doesn’t even have a drink in her hand.”
“What’ll you have?” John asked. “Wine? Martini? Champagne? Or some of Thomas’s infamous Christmas punch?”
“The punch sounds delicious but dangerous, so maybe just a glass of champagne.”
She sipped from a delicate crystal flute and wandered into the living room, where Taryn Kaplan spotted her and began introducing her to some of the other partygoers. Kerry felt a tug at the sleeve of her jacket.
Austin beamed up at her. He looked especially natty, wearing a red-and-white-striped dress shirt, red plaid vest, and a necklace of winking plastic Christmas tree lights.
“Hey, Kerry!” the boy said, his voice pitched with excitement.
“Austin, hi,” Kerry said. “Where’s your dad tonight?”
“He’s at his place. It’s my mom’s turn to stay with me. You look real pretty,” Austin said. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out an iced sugar cookie and took a bite. “Did you get any of the cookies? I helped make ’em.”
“I didn’t, but I’ll certainly get one, now that I know you baked them.”
“Get the ones with the silver sprinkles,” he advised.
“Austin?” A woman, slender with hair worn in a sleek dark bob, approached and pointed to the cookie the boy was munching on. Kerry recognized her from their brief encounter at the tree stand. “How many of those have you eaten tonight?”
“Not that many. Only five.”
“Austin?” She brushed away the cookie crumbs cascading down his vest.
“Maybe it was six? I forget.”
“Okay, no more cookies for you,” the woman said sternly. She favored Kerry with a lukewarm smile.
“Hi there. I’m Gretchen McCaleb. Austin’s mom.”
“And I’m Kerry. My brother and I run the Christmas tree stand. Austin’s been a big help this week.”
“Really? How so?”
“My brother was sleeping and I had to run an errand, so Patrick and Austin very generously offered to mind the stand. It was barely an hour,” Kerry explained.
“But then the police came, and somebody called a tow truck and they were gonna hook Spammy up to the truck and take her away. But Murphy yelled at the guy and made him go away,” the boy continued.
“The police?”
“It was a misunderstanding,” Kerry assured her.
Gretchen nodded. “You’re the artist, right? Austin has been telling me all about the story you two have been writing and illustrating together.”
“Mr. Heinz has been helping too. He draws really good. You should see the picture he drew of me and Kerry.”
“Are you talking about that batty old homeless guy in the dusty coat, Austin? I’m not sure you should be hanging around with him. There’s something off about that man. Always wandering the street, day and night, muttering to himself.”
“He seems harmless to me,” Kerry said.
Gretchen gave her an impassive stare.
