This is a companion piece to "God Bless Us, Every One!" Some of you suggested I try a set of one-chapter sequels, one for every holiday throughout the coming year. I'm going to play it fast and loose and see how it all shakes out. Whatever happens, I do not own any part of The Mentalist.
For this story:
Carnac, a bumbling swami and psychic, was a comedic character invented and played by Johnny Carson, former long-time host of "The Tonight Show".
"Auld Lang Syne" is a song traditionally sung on New Year's Eve at the stroke of midnight in many countries. The lyrics are from a poem written by Scottish poet Robert Burns, and the repeated line "For Auld Lang Syne" translates roughly into "for the sake of old times".
Number 2 in the Holiday/Next Time Series
A CUP OF KINDNESS
He had missed her—even though she hadn't gone anywhere. They had all had Christmas weekend off, and Lisbon had taken an extra four-day leave, to visit her brothers she had said. But, of course, he had caught her in the lie. Had told her, too, when he found her crying in the bullpen after she had left the CBI Christmas party, saying she had to catch her flight. Of course, she had caught him, too. He had agreed to spend Christmas Eve in the hotel room she reserved for him. It had taken him two days to realize she had made him keep his promise, made him go back on his falsehood while she had been allowed to carry out hers.
Lisbon was so honest and so inept at deceiving him that it always caught him off guard when she snuck one by him. He had gone to the hotel, slept in the real bed—the very comfortable real bed—eaten the breakfast she had ordered up for him, even put his journal aside for the evening because he knew it would have been what she wanted. Not that she would ever know that. He had done exactly as she had asked and more while she had spent Christmas and her leave at home watching old movies and eating ice cream—her usual holiday ritual.
She was due back today, and he had decided to abandon his attic room for the bullpen couch in an attempt to catch her coming off the elevator. In recognition of the day, he had even shaved—the first time since he had seen her on Christmas Eve. First, he would let her hang up her purse and jacket before he invaded her office. Next, he would lure her into the break room to get a cup of the special blend he had bought for her at the coffee shop around the corner. Then, he would follow her back into her office, timing it just right so she would forget to switch her computer on for a while, giving them ten or fifteen minutes of uninterrupted conversation.
What they would talk about, he didn't know exactly. They certainly couldn't go with "What's new?" Each of them knew exactly what the other had been up to for the past six days. Six days? In the years they had worked together, they had never been apart for six days. Sheesh. He sounded like a creeper ex that couldn't let it go. He buried the thought that those few minutes spent with Lisbon on Christmas Eve were the closest thing he'd had to a relationship with any woman since his wife.
The elevator pinged, and it was all he could do to not leap off the couch. Just a few seconds and then he would . . . Wait. Was that Lisbon walking across the hall? That was fast. The woman must have literally pitched her things into her office before going for coffee. He stood and stretched then sauntered to the break room, not wanting to seem too eager. He didn't need to worry about appearances. Lisbon wasn't looking. Standing facing the counter, she unknowingly presented herself in profile to him. She was leaning over the coffee maker, eyes closed, inhaling slow and deep through her nose, her face a study in delight. She released the breath wrapped in a soft moan of pleasure, and for just a moment Jane thought he should back quietly out of the room. But he couldn't bring himself to move or look away. He was becoming a regular voyeur where Lisbon was concerned. He just hoped he didn't get caught.
"Did you do this?"
Busted.
"Do what?"
"'Jamaican Me Crazy'—you know it's my favorite. Did you do this?" Only then did she open her eyes and turn to him, the look of pleasure still softening her face.
"What will it get me if I say yes?"
"My undying gratitude and one of the blueberry muffins in the sack from Marie's on my desk?"
"Then, yes, I did it. I do love those muffins."
"And my undying gratitude?"
"Does it come with a streusel topping?"
She had turned her back to him to retrieve a mug for herself and a tea cup for him. She looked over her shoulder and laughed at him.
"I'm afraid plain and simple is all I've got to offer."
"Meh. No worry. I'll take it. Store it away for a rainy day."
She half-smiled, half-smirked at him, and the kettle she had managed to put on before he made it into the room began to whistle. She let it emit the high-pitched sound for a full ten seconds before she lifted it, well and truly boiling, off the burner. He studied her as she went about her mundane tasks. The time off had done her good. Her shoulders were relaxed, and her face was brighter without the usual dark under-eye circles. This was very good for his purposes.
She reached into the refrigerator for the milk, poured a bit into the teacup then filled it to within a fraction of an inch from the brim with the hot water. He watched as she bobbed a tea bag in the water for exactly the right amount of time then discarded it as she finished the whole thing off with a swirl of a spoon. Lifting teacup and now-filled coffee mug, she walked to him, holding the one out to him and bringing the other to her lips. He had never watched anyone make the perfect cup of tea for him. She placed the cup and saucer in his outstretched hands and walked past him. When she paused to look back at him, he stood, holding it and looking down at it almost reverently.
"Are you coming?"
"Hm?"
"Coming? My office?"
She turned and walked nonchalantly back toward her desk. He shook himself, remembering he had to follow her before she turned that dratted computer on. He wanted to talk to her. He had something he wanted to ask her later, and he wanted her undivided attention when he planted the suggestion. No sooner had she sat behind her desk and he cleared the doorway than her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her trouser pocket and frowned at the caller ID before flipping it open.
"Ma'am? . . . Where is it? . . . Yes, ma'am, he's here . . . We can be there in forty."
Hightower wasn't in yet. That meant someone had to have called her at home. That meant some bigwig was involved. Great.
"Don't tell me. Some lout had the audacity to commit murder on New Year's Eve."
"Afraid so, Carnac."
"Don't add insult. Where are we headed?"
She was bent over, rummaging around in her deep bottom right desk drawer for something. She stood and grinned triumphantly at the travel mug she had managed to unearth. She didn't look up as she smoothly transferred Jamaican Me Crazy from ceramic to insulated metal.
"Romero Way. Next to the North Ridge Country Club out in Fair Oaks."
He groaned. Yep. Bigwig. Swallowing his disappointment, he followed her into the bullpen.
"Gear up. We have a case."
Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt looked up from book, form and computer respectively then rose as one in response to her order.
"712 Romero Way. Two cars. Jane, you're with me."
Yes, he certainly was. He stood in the elevator, hands jammed into his jacket pockets, looking down at his shoes. They stopped at every floor on the way down, letting off and taking on passengers. Two floors down, he felt her looking at him. He raised his eyes sideways to meet her gaze as she peered at him over her travel mug, her eyes alight with merriment. A lazy smile took hold of his eyes, just barely touching his lips. She raised her eyebrows at him in a look of amusement. He tilted his head and widened his eyes at her. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. When the elevator doors opened onto the first floor, their silent dance ended, she breezed past him toward the parking lot. Neither spoke until the SUV had pulled out onto the street on the way to their destination.
"So, what were you going to say?"
"Hm?"
"When you came into the break room and later in my office—before Hightower called. What were you going to say?"
"Oh, I was merely going to ask you about your time off. And see if you had packed on any holiday pounds."
She turned to look at him briefly in mock offense before she turned back to the road.
"It was only six days, Jane! How much did you expect me to gain?"
"I don't know. Any weight gain would show up on your petite form. And with all of the ice cream and sedentary activity—"
"Well, if we're going by that, we should be extracting you from the CBI with a crane."
"Nasty, Lisbon, very nasty. I just mean without exercise—"
"For your information, I ate a healthy breakfast and ran every morning."
He looked at her, waiting for the whole truth.
"The ice cream and television didn't start until sometime around noon."
He raised his finger and opened his mouth wide for the "Aha!", but he hadn't gotten her as off-track as he thought.
"Now, what were you going to say?"
He closed his mouth and curled his finger back toward the rest of his fist. At this point, what would subterfuge get him?
"I was going to invite you to join me in ringing in the New Year tonight."
She looked at him like he had grown a third eye.
"It's New Year's Eve," he rephrased patiently, as if that should be explanation enough.
"It was New Year's Eve last year, and you didn't ask me out."
"I'm not asking you out."
"I didn't mean 'out' out," she said in a soothing voice. "I mean you don't really go out."
"Well, I wanted to do something different." He was almost sulking. This really wasn't working out as he had thought it would. Sure the case had upset his plans, but he was much better at improvising than this. He decided to start over. Before he could say anything, something occurred to Lisbon.
"Is this 'next time'?"
"Hm?"
"Oh quit. That's the third time this morning you've responded with "Hm". You know I know you only do that when you're stalling for time before you answer. Just spit it out."
"Yes, all right, yes, Lisbon! I have to say you are the most adept woman at killing romance I've ever met."
"Romance?" Her expression and voice were dripping with incredulous mirth. He could swear he almost heard a "hyuck-hyuck" in her tone.
"You know what I mean, woman." He didn't mind when she laughed at him a little, but he felt like his dignity was suffering.
"No, Jane, I don't think I do. Would you please explain it to me? Very carefully?" She almost had tears in her eyes. This is not how this usually went. Why was he having such trouble getting the upper hand?
"No, Lisbon, I don't think I will. I'm suddenly feeling fatigued." He reclined his seat back all the way and turned on his side away from her, folding his arms across his chest and tucking his hands under them.
"Jane! I'm sorry. Jane, come on." It would have been more convincing if she weren't practically bubbling with suppressed laughter. He refused to respond to her pleas or her shaking his shoulder.
He laid like that the remainder of the drive, actually dozing off for the last fifteen minutes. When they reached 712 Romero Drive and found State Senator Lucas Seitz sitting upright in his golf cart with a bullet hole in his head, Jane practically went into overdrive working the case. He insulted everyone with whom he came in contact including the local law enforcement, sent the grieving widow into hysterics and earned a punch in the nose from her very angry son. Lisbon hissed and threatened, calling him on his antics, accusing him of committing payback and he responded with a very lofty "I have no idea what you mean" before he strode away across the street and over the green swell of the fairway of the North Ridge Country Club golf course. There was no telling what kind of trouble he would get himself into there, but frankly, at that point she didn't care. There would be no living with him while he was in such a huff.
She and the team conducted interviews then went back to the police precinct to make calls and tap into the internet. At one point, she looked up from her computer and realized Rigsby had disappeared. She remembered the mysterious phone call he had gotten ten minutes earlier, and it took her two seconds to realize where he had probably gone and who he was probably with and hoped to goodness she wouldn't have to suspend him when he got back. Much of her afternoon was spent soothing ruffled feathers. Trouble was, the longer she was at it, the more ruffled her own became.
She had had a feeling—call it intuition—about what Jane had wanted to talk about that morning. She knew he had been waiting for her. The coffee was a dead giveaway. She knew there was no romance in it, but she didn't have to be a top investigator to know when a man was playing up to her. She well remembered what he had said to her a week ago when she had turned down his spur-of-the-moment invitation to a late Christmas Eve supper.
"But next time I won't take no for an answer."
Next time. The next occasion was New Year's Eve. It was the only explanation for his behavior. He had come up with some elaborate plan to invite her out again, and events had conspired against him. He was disappointed, and she had laughed at him, and all he wanted to do was show her a nice time. She frowned at her computer screen. Her eyes shifted to her phone where it lay on the desk. She inhaled and exhaled a clipped sigh as she reached for her cell and punched "1" on the speed dial.
"Ah, Lisbon. I was just getting ready to call you."
His voice was like honey. Her eyes narrowed.
"Jane, where the he—"
"Wanna play a game?"
She considered only for a short moment.
"What'd you have in mind?"
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
She met him at the country club, Van Pelt in tow. It was the silliest thing she thought they had ever done, and it was all she could do to keep Grace from bolting. Poor Rigsby had been so embarrassed he could hardly look her in the eye. But it had worked, and they caught the killers. The widow had had good reason for her histrionics. Her lover couldn't keep it in his pants any more than he could keep a secret, and when he spilled the beans, her angry, punch-happy son was two for two.
Jane was delighted, seemingly with everything—the success of his scheme, Rigsby's embarrassment, the well-placed punch, of course with himself, and even with Lisbon. It was amazing what a little ego boost did for his attitude. It was nearly eleven o'clock at night when she sent everybody home, staying behind to finish packing up and complete a couple of forms before she went back.
Stepping out into the cool night air carrying a box of supplies and files, she looked up at the clear sky and closed her eyes, relishing the quiet and basking in the glow of the full moon.
She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned in the direction of his voice to see him reclining on the bench just outside the station door.
"I thought you went back with the others."
"And leave you here alone on the eve of the New Annum? What do you take me for?"
"I'll take you home if you get up right now and walk me to the car."
"An offer I can't refuse."
He stood and stretched and took the elbow she offered him, knowing she would never let him carry the box for her.
"Weren't you getting cold out here?"
"I was warmed by thoughts of you."
"Have you been drinking?"
"Only the nectar of sweet—"
"Enough, Lord Bryon!" She laughed up at him, and he couldn't help but notice how her eyes caught the moon's glow in a sparkle of nearly white, lightening them to jade-tinted silver. He slid his hand into her jacket pocket and retrieved the keys, punching the "unlock" button on the electronic fob. Opening the rear door, he took the box from her and laid it on the floorboard then opened the front door and handed her into the passenger seat. She was so relieved that his mood had lightened, she didn't fight him over driving. She didn't need to know that fifteen minutes into his tantrum he had realized that she had remembered his promise—or threat, however she wanted to look at it—to not take no for an answer the next time he invited her out. And, rather than balk or make excuses as he had expected, she had actually been looking forward to it.
"So . . . where were we going to go?"
"It's kind of moot now, don't you think?"
"Still, I'd like to know."
He turned the key and drove out onto the street before he answered her.
"There's this beautiful estate winery just north of Napa. I thought we would go there for dinner and dancing to ring in the New Year."
"They don't have dancing at the wineries."
"They do if you make arrangements for it."
She looked at him, her lips slightly parted.
"Oh, Jane," she breathed out on a sigh of longing. He knew she would have loved it. So much so that when she suddenly turned and looked out the window at the passing darkness, he knew that she was biting back her disappointment.
"Don't worry, my dear. I was able to make alternate plans."
She turned back to him, shaking her head.
"We can't. It's late, I'm tired, I've been in the same clothes all day—"
"I know . . . Trust me, Lisbon."
She decided to just sit back and see what he had planned. It would either be absolutely lovely or prove so disastrous that she would have a good laugh at his expense. After a few minutes, he pulled off of the highway and onto a quiet lane that she knew led to a roadside park that overlooked the river. He parked the SUV, got out, opened the tailgate and lifted out a fairly large basket. When she stepped to his side, he crooked his elbow in an imitation of her previous gesture. She took his arm and walked with him to a picnic table, the full moon illuminating the way for them.
As they walked across the winter-brittled mixture of grass and clover, he felt her tense next to him. She was looking around, her eyes darting back and forth as they passed through shrubs and trees swaying in the night breeze. He remembered walking with her to a crime scene a few weeks before when a deer had suddenly appeared on the trail. She had been absolutely petrified.
"Lisbon! . . . Lis-bon!" He whispered and motioned to her excitedly to come out and see the animal before it got spooked and ran away. She stepped out of the undergrowth and was startled into immobility, looking more deer-in-the-headlights than the gentle doe.
"Don't move," he said quietly. As if there was a chance.
The deer ambled forward and walked between them on the path not seeming to even notice their presence. Lisbon side-stepped, giving it a wide berth.
"Does it bite?" she asked, obviously unsettled by the sight of a wild animal in the natural setting. Following Jane's lead once the deer had walked by them, she was able to continue in their original direction.
"He coulda killed me." He grinned at her and shushed, more to stop her silliness than to silence her.
Her hand tightened on his elbow. When an owl hooted nearby, she nearly came out of her skin.
"I cannot understand how a girl born and bred in the Midwest is so afraid of nature."
"I was raised in Chicago, Jane. The animals were at the Lincoln Park Zoo, and the closest I got to wildlife was Mr. Zursky down the street."
There must have been a party at one of the houses down the hill because they could hear the muted sounds of music and laughter wafting up to them. Jane set the basket down on the grass and pulled out a blanket that he spread across the table. He then took Lisbon's hand and guided her to step on the bench and sit on the tabletop facing the river. She watched, utterly bemused, as two more blankets and an ice bucket containing a chilled bottle of champagne were placed on the table before Jane hoisted himself up to sit next to her. He unfolded the blankets and layered them across her shoulders and his, then uncorked the bottle and poured the sparkling liquid into two champagne flutes that seemed to magically appear from his inside jacket pockets.
"When did you do all of this?"
"Seriously, Lisbon, you don't actually think it took me three hours to figure out who the killers were."
"You mean, you knew who killed Lucas Seitz, and you took time off to stop in at a wine shop before telling me? And where did you get these blankets?"
"The wine shop was next to a home goods boutique."
"Of course it was." She didn't know why she even bothered to ask "why" and "how" questions of him anymore.
He handed her one of the flutes. The music and conversation at the party house got louder as the revelers spilled outside in anticipation of midnight. They shouted a countdown, and when they reached "One!" fireworks erupted from a platform across the river. She turned and smiled at him, tilting her glass toward him.
"To the New Year . . . and good friends."
"To good friends," he repeated as he touched the rim of his flute to hers.
They shared a sip of the champagne and looked up to watch the fireworks explode in brilliant bursts of white and red and purple and green over their heads before falling like sparkling stars into the water below. Strains of "Auld Lang Syne" drifted through the air.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
He turned slightly to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She gazed upward with a rapt smile, the lights reflecting in her eyes. On impulse, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He meant it to be a peck, but it felt so good he lingered an instant longer than he had intended then slid his lips to her ear to murmur, "Happy New Year, Lisbon," before pulling away. She looked at him, her eyes rounded with surprise, much like she had looked at the wild deer just before she asked if it would bite.
"You kissed me last time. It was my turn."
He looked into his flute as he raised it to his lips for another drink, giving his breath a chance to even out. He heard her swallow in a quiet gulp as she mirrored his actions. They sat sipping their champagne in silence for a few seconds. When he felt her shiver in the chill night air, he set his flute down and slid his arm around her shoulders under the blanket, taking hold of the fabric and pulling it tighter around them. They watched the rest of the fireworks in silence then slid off the table, gathered everything back into the basket and walked back to the SUV as before, Lisbon's hand tucked into Jane's elbow.
She opened the tailgate and stood next to him as he lowered the basket into the trunk and slammed the door shut. With his hand at the small of her back, he guided her to the front passenger seat then walked around to the driver's side. A turn of the key then of the steering wheel, and he was heading onto the highway back to the CBI to collect his car. Lisbon slumped down in the seat and drew her knees up to her chest, bracing her feet on the seat just in front of her hips. He smiled to himself, marveling again at how easily she folded her small frame into the smallest spaces. Her head leaned to the side, and her breathing shallowed until he thought she had fallen asleep.
"So . . . next time?"
He wasn't sure what she meant but thought she wasn't exactly certain either and that it was probably better that way. He only knew he liked the sound of it.
"Mm-hm. Next time."
END