Mission: Holiday
(Just a little Cinnamon/Rollin holiday fun)
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Another tyrant down, the usurper usurped, and a healthy pay-out achieved to all those involved with the success of a typically complex and dangerous mission. The world around them could rest peacefully once again. Mission: Accomplished.
The date was December 23 and all were looking forward to some time off.
They met in Daniel Brigg's apartment, each agent receiving a nice plump envelope with a substantial bonus. Before leaving, the group made a holiday toast with the contents of a fine bottle of wine their IMF chief retrieved from his well-stocked refrigerator.
"What are you doing for the holiday, Dan?" Barney asked.
"Her name is Miranda." He said mysteriously and left it at that, "And I take it you are spending it with wife and son?" Briggs asked their team's engineer.
"Yes, Garret is getting the Science Magic set he has always wanted." Barney then grimaced, "I see exploding Styrofoam-paper-mud volcanoes in my future."
The team chuckled.
"What about you, Willy?"
"Going home to Virginia. Mom and Dad will have a large turkey with all the trimmings waiting." He added, "It's the land of hard work and freezes. My future involves shoveling snow."
Again, the group laughed.
"Rollin?"
"Where else but New York?" he said as if Dan should not have had to ask, "No snow shoveling or explosions in the name of science for me. Just drinking, night clubbing, and eating. Oh, and if I'm lucky some soft, perfumed companionship."
The men winked and nudged one another.
Finally, Brigg's eyes rested on the female member of their team. Cinnamon was oddly quiet this evening. She smiled politely when picking up her bonus packet and carefully slid it into her purse. "Are you going home for Christmas, Cinnamon?" he asked.
She smiled mildly. "I haven't yet made up my mind." The fem-fatale said without commitment. She spoke with her low throaty voice. Thoughtfully, she sipped the wine and took a quick puff of her cigarette, leaving the end tinged with pink.
The others nodded, not seeing anything amiss with Cinnamon's comment. She liked to keep her private life just that- and the men respected her wishes. However, Rollin sensed unease and, perhaps because he was an actor and used deception for his performances, he spotted near-melancholy in the way she carried herself. Was it possible that Cinnamon Carter, their oh-so irresistible seducer of men, was going to be alone this Christmas?
They emptied their glasses, hugged, shook hands and wished one another well. After the New Year a fresh mission would have them working, the team once again flying off to an intriguing East European country, fighting the wicked, and earning their keep.
But now, they could be themselves and have fun.
In the elevator, on their way down to the apartment building's garage, Willy and Barney talked and laughed at a few rapid-fire jokes. Cinnamon also chuckled but her attention was obviously focused elsewhere. Rollin tried not to stare but could not help thinking something was wrong. She would hate it but he felt sorry for her.
"Goodnight." They called to one another when the elevator reached the garage level and the doors opened.
"I'll walk you to your car." Rollin offered lightly, taking Cinnamon by the arm.
She looked up at him, a little surprised. "Okay."
They did not have far to walk and when the couple reached her sedan he stood in front of Cinnamon and took one of her hands in his, "Are you going to be alone for Christmas?" he asked her without hesitation.
"What makes you think that?" she asked, curious.
"Your none-answer to Dan's question."
Her smile dipped ever so slightly, "I usually go home to Chicago to see my parents. But this year the family, or what's left of it, will be going to Paris. Ever since my mother died …"
Rollin suddenly remembered. It was about four months ago. He wondered why she hadn't been brought in for an assignment Miss Carter would have been perfect for, playing a ruthless but seductive business woman. Dan told Rollin and the others it was a personal issue and they were 'lucky' enough to get Carol Evert to take up the slack. Carol was fine, Rollin conceded, but she did not have the style or flair of their usual female IMF member.
Later, on another assignment, Cinnamon fleetingly told him there was a death in her family. Obviously, it had been her mother. "So, you're staying in L.A.?" he asked.
"Why not?" She shrugged at the question. "I will drink champagne and watch holiday stories on television. It will be nice."
Gently, coming to a decision, Rollin placed a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you come to New York with me?"
Surprised, her eyes looked up into his.
"Have you ever seen Time Square around Christmastime?"
"I came to New York to model, of course. But never during the holidays." She recalled, "But once when I was a girl Mother and I went to see the lights ..." Cinnamon's eyes grew slightly unfocused; remembering a warm moment in her life. "It was magical."
"Then come with me, Cinnamon. We will have a wonderful time!"
"Together?" She suddenly grew a bit suspicious.
A hand cupped her cheek, "I promise. We won't do anything you don't want us to do." He said, meaningfully. Then, brighter - "All it will cost you is a brief get together with my sister and her husband, Andrew."
Cinnamon blinked, puzzled.
"You would be doing me a favor." Rollin confessed, "Being an actor, I get some flak from the family. After all, I was supposed to be a doctor." He craned his neck ever so slightly, "We have to keep our work with the IMF quiet and … well … half of my relations are absolutely convinced I'm gay."
Cinnamon could not help the laugh that escaped her lips. It was so odd standing in the middle of this parking garage, having such an odd conversation with Rollin. Considering all the flirting he had done with her in the past gay was not how she would have described their master of disguise. Cinnamon had already decided she would keep to herself for the next week and get some well-deserved rest.
Still, the lure of New York, the excitement and fun she and Rollin could have, was very tempting. Besides, Cinnamon had to admit, she was curious. She had always wondered about the actor's family and what it was he did when he was not on assignment.
It could be interesting. "When would we leave?" she asked, caving a little.
Rollin took it as a victory, "Tonight."
"Tonight? Rollin, getting an extra ticket on such short notice will be next to impossible."
"You let me worry about that. Can you be packed and waiting by five pm?"
She looked at her watch. It was three thirty. "I suppose. But a hotel room …"
"Leave that to me too." At her curious expression he simply said: "I have connections."
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He was a man of his word.
Not only did she get a seat on a good flight, sitting next to Rollin, but they were in first class. Cinnamon was further stunned when he showed her their hotel room reservations. They would be staying at the Hilton just off of 42nd Street. Mr. Hand's ingenuity never ceased to amaze.
In New York, it was early morning and dark as the taxi took them from the airport to the hotel. Cinnamon looked out of the window, pleased by all the beautifully lit decorations and the people running about, kicking up snow, and laughing. 'The city that never sleeps' she thought. This was a good time of year. Cinnamon found herself smiling.
Rollin gazed at her, taking in her wonderment. He had seen it before, when a mission had the two of them speeding away from a vacation spot in a boat. She looked up into the bright blue sky, the sun lighting her features, watching balloons floating about. The smile and wonder in her expression was enchanting. It was amazing how something so simple could douse softness onto the normally sophisticated and worldly Miss Carter.
On the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, after a few hours rest, Cinnamon and Rollin shopped and took-in the sights. They strolled by Rockefeller Center and, looking up at the giant Christmas tree, quietly and humorously wondering how it might someday be used in one of their missions.
They returned to their hotel, deposited their packages, and took a taxi over the Brooklyn Bridge.
He showed her where he was brought up, the gym he had worked in while a youth, the elementary school he attended, and the small theater he got his start in. The couple strolled around Rollin's old neighborhood, holding hands, as he told her stories of the people he had known, the men and women he based his most interesting characters on and how his family life was always frantic around the holidays. "You have to understand that half the family is Jewish and the other isn't. It was always a battle between the menorah and a Christmas tree." He recalled, fondly. "And that's one reason, since my parents are no longer alive, I prefer to have a nice dinner with my sister and call it a day." He added, "Over the next few weeks she'll report back to the family on how and - well - who I'm doing."
Cinnamon rolled her eyes but could see the memories, both the fun and strife, on his face. She supposed they all had their own demons to cast out. Yet, despite the turmoil, Rollin liked New York, Brooklyn especially, and she wondered why he ever left. When she asked him Cinnamon was amused by the astonishment on his face.
"I grew up and went where I was needed most." He squeezed her hand, "I'm sure, on some level, it was the same for you."
She nodded, "I guess you're right."
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That evening they had dinner at the Twenty One Club.
Cinnamon found Rollin's sister lovely and charming, her humor comparable to his own, and she appeared nearly exotic with her heavily lined eyes, deep red lipstick and bright orange nail-polish. Her husband – while not exactly handsome – was a sweet man. Andrew worked in the garment district, she had learned.
They brought along their teenage daughter, Millicent, who initially seemed a little grumpy, yet pleased to see her Uncle Rollin. However, her excitement grew when she learned that Cinnamon was a high fashion model. "I saw you in a back issue of Vogue!" she cried, her face brightening. "I would so love to be a model."
Cinnamon smiled pleasantly. Millicent was a nice girl but, unfortunately, she looked far more like her father than mother. Miss Carter was not quite certain what she could tell her that would not hurt her feelings.
To smooth over the moment, Rollin brought out a small box and passed it to his niece. Inside, was a pretty set of onyx earrings in a silver-setting. The girl loved them and was adequately distracted.
"So, how long have you known Rollin?" Gloria asked Cinnamon.
"We've known each other for a couple of years but –" she glanced at him, "- just started seeing one another very recently."
"Oh, you must tell us all the gory details. Did he seduce you?" Millicent spoke enthusiastically and boldly, having clipped-on her earrings.
"Millie!" Gloria scolded, "That is not polite."
Rollin chuckled, "Nothing that exciting." He was a little embarrassed by his family and hoped Cinnamon did not feel too uncomfortable. "It's just the old story of friends becoming something more."
Cinnamon's expression was impassive but her mind began to race a little. She wasn't altogether certain Rollin was speaking just to appease his family. There was something so nice and natural about walking with him today, their hands clasped, fingers entwined, and the gentle way he tugged her along, verbally opening to Cinnamon, and making her laugh. Perhaps he was just being kind, taking her mind off of personal matters, but there was something about their connection this time that was more recognizable than ever before.
He took her hand gently underneath the table and they looked into each other's eyes.
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That evening, after dinner, in their hotel they walked quietly from the elevator.
"There will be a fireworks show at midnight. They say you can see it really well from Times Square. Do you want to go?" Rollin asked.
Cinnamon took a breath. She had thought deeply about Rollin and their current circumstance in the taxi all the way back to the hotel. "No … To be honest, Rollin, I would like a quiet evening in tonight." She added, "If you don't mind."
They reached her door.
Rollin hesitated to ask, "Do you want to be alone?"
Cinnamon smiled coolly, "Not necessarily alone." She opened the door and backed in ... waiting ... leaving him room to move forward if he chose to accept the invitation. On the outside she was as calm and cool as ever but inside Cinnamon was a nervous wreck. It was not pretend this time. If he wanted her she was ready.
Rollin could not believe it. Was she really asking him …? He never expected anything like this, Cinnamon being so guarded and cool, and suddenly every hair and every cell on and in his body was at attention. He walked in, shutting the door behind him and soon, as she dropped her cape on a chair, he confidently closed the space between them.
They were in one another's arms, at first looking, absorbing each other's image. Then, unable to hold back a moment more, they kissed, crushing their lips passionately together. For Rollin it was as if a stick of dynamite had been lit beneath them. For how long had he wanted to hold her like this? How often had he longed to see genuine affection in her eyes? This was not a performance, an on the job circumstance, but genuine want. She simply needed to be here with him – Rollin Hand. No, not one of the characters he played but the real man. "Cinnamon." He murmured between kisses.
Yes, he loved New York. It was the land of magic ... and her voice came to him. That small voice that described how it was with her Mother when they had seen the lights ... magical.
"Rollin …" her voice quivered with need but also, he realized, something more.
He suddenly felt her shake in his arms. It was not passion but … fear? When he pulled her back he saw tears in Cinnamon's eyes. Rollin was aghast. 'Wha …?" he started.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, brushing the tears away.
Oh my God ...Rollin gulped, "Did I do something?" he asked, desperately. Had he been completely off base with what she needed from him?
"No. Oh no." she was quick, "You are wonderful, Rollin. Really you are ... But this could be such a mistake." Cinnamon straightened and softly cleared her throat. She then pulled back from him. "If we do this there will be no way of going back. Once we return to Los Angeles we'll have to work together again. Rollin, I'm not certain how effective I could be as an agent on an assignment if I found myself worrying about you night and day …" '- not that I don't do that anyway'.
Her mother … he thought … She is still grieving for a loved one and isn't certain what she would do if she opened up, fell in love, then lost another part of her life before she was ready to deal with it.
Rollin concentrated on keeping his hands steady and waited.
"Do you understand?" she asked. Cinnamon sighed when he merely continued to stare at her. He must think her the most evil tease. "Maybe for men it's different. I'm probably reading too much into it. For you it might be just another night with a woman but for me …"
"It wouldn't be just another night." He replied, seriously.
They looked at one another, tense for a moment, then slowly the couple smiled.
Cinnamon saw a small smudge of her lipstick on the corner of his mouth. She reached forward to gently wipe it away. 'He is bewildered but really is trying to understand. Poor, poor Rollin.'
He reached up and touched her hand. Calmly, adjusting to this new development, Rollin suggested - "Why don't we change our clothes, get comfortable, open the nice bottle of champagne I bought this afternoon, then go onto the balcony. We can watch the fireworks."
"It's a little cold out there." Cinnamon said.
"We will wear our coats and gloves." he offered.
She took his hand and looked down at his strong but sensitive fingers, "Rollin, I really am sorry. I hope you don't think …"
"No regrets." His voice was firm but kind, "It's just not the right time. Maybe one day it will be." He squeezed her hand gently before releasing it.
Cinnamon slowly nodded and watched as he left her to change into comfortable clothing – and possibly take a cold shower.
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Midnight came.
They stood on the balcony, coated and wrapped in blankets, his arm around her, both holding a glass of champagne.
The fireworks were spectacular.
Two agents clinked glasses and grinned warmly at one another.
"Merry Christmas, Cinnamon Carter." he said.
"And a happy New Year, Rollin Hand."
They drank as bright festive lights filled the night sky.
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THE END.
December 2013.