Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit. "Peter Gunn" was created by Blake Edwards and produced by Spartan Productions.
A/N: This is a series of short Christmas-themed ficlets involving Peter Gunn and Edie Hart. All the action takes place during December 1960. There will be 31 entries, one for each day of the month.
Christmas Traditions: 1960
• Saturday, December 3
Leslie dropped the telephone receiver into place and took a quick glance through several pages of the reservation book. Dressed handsomely in his ubiquitous black suit and tie, a fresh white carnation tucked into the buttonhole of his left lapel, he flashed a dimpled smile at his employer.
"Edie's is totally booked for both the 22nd and the 23rd." Those were the final two days the supper club would be open before Christmas. A luncheon was being provided on-site for the employees and their families on Christmas Eve. "And there are only a handful of tables available during that entire week. It looks to be quite a successful holiday season, Miss Hart, considering the club has been open a scant two months. You have every reason to be very proud of yourself. It often takes years for an establishment to garner such a loyal clientele, yet December has barely begun and the entire month is almost booked."
"I'm proud of all of us, Leslie." Edie gave his arm a squeeze. "None of this would have been possible without you and Chef, the wait staff, the kitchen staff – " She sent a bright smile toward the bar. " – Mr. O'Brien – "
The entryway door burst open, ushering in a gusty stream of cold air followed by a tall, dark and handsome man who quickly pushed the door shut behind himself.
" – And Mr. Gunn, of course." The maitre d's eyebrows rose high on his forehead and he tried to restrain a smile at the sight of the the private investigator, whose appearance was oddly disheveled and his face marred by an expression of irritation.
"Pete! Honey, you look frozen – "
"Mr. Gunn, I feel I must point out that you're dripping on the carpet."
"Where's your coat?" Edie pulled him further into the room, absently offering a half-smile and a pleasant good evening to a group of four as they passed by on their way out, leaving just one table occupied at five minutes past the club's official closing time.
"Somewhere in a cold dark alley between Beacon Avenue and Howell Street."
While the PI blew on his hands and rubbed them together briskly to try to infuse some warmth into them, Edie grabbed a towel from a nearby table and brushed the moisture from his clothing.
"Beacon– but isn't that across the river, Pete? What were you doing over there? And is this snow on your jacket?" Small grainy white flakes were sprinkled over his charcoal gray suit and mussed black hair.
"Yes – trying to get myself killed helping Lieutenant Jacoby – and yes. It started coming down about an hour ago, regardless of what the weatherman said." He relieved her of the towel and wiped the back of his neck, then gratefully accepted a mug of hot coffee that Leslie pushed toward him.
"Are you all right, Pete?" Edie frowned at a dark bruise near his right eye.
"Sure I am." He tossed the towel aside and handed the empty mug back to the maitre d'. "Cold, wet and aggravated, but fine."
"Miss Hart, perhaps you'd like to accompany Mr. Gunn home. There's really not much more to do here this evening." Leslie's all-knowing gaze drifted between the two and he produced another dimpled smile as the pretty blonde readily accepted his offer. "We'll see you Monday afternoon then," he nodded genially, then waited with the PI while the woman hurried to her dressing room and returned with her coat.
Edie pulled on her gloves as they took the steps down to the sidewalk, thankful for the grip of Pete's hand at her elbow when they stepped off the curb. The snow was falling thickly and heavily now, no longer the little crystals that had adorned the PI's suit, and ice was forming where the first flakes had melted upon reaching the ground. His arm found her waist as he steered her carefully across the street toward his car. Halfway there she came to an abrupt halt, closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky.
"Isn't it wonderful, Pete?"
"Wonderful," he agreed, admiring her pink cheeks and soft smile.
"And beautiful," she said, opening her eyes.
He followed her gaze. The snow was indeed beautiful, the flakes large and fluffy now. Driven by the wind, it resembled a thick white curtain against the bright yellow of the streetlights, elsewhere swirling around in corners and blowing horizontally along flat surfaces. Christmas decorations and colored lights were beginning to go up on the storefronts, businesses and apartment buildings along the street, more visible this night than there had been the night before. The pinkish neon that advertised Edie's smiled down upon them and further down the street the big marquee of the movie house brightened the entire block it occupied, large letters advertising a matinee and late evening double feature of the holiday classics It's a Wonderful Life and The Shop Around the Corner. But it was the woman beside him who earned his attention.
"Beautiful."
Pete caught her gaze and leaned in and kissed her, suddenly not minding the cold wind and his damp clothes, warmed instead by the heat generated by her proximity. His kiss was hungry, his arms tight around her, their embrace ending only when the sound of an automobile horn reminded them they were standing in the middle of the street. The car passed and Edie reached a gloved hand to touch the bruise on his cheek.
"You must not be too beat up if you can kiss like that," she smiled.
"You bring out the best in me," he admitted, grabbing her hand as they headed for the Plymouth Fury parked at the corner.
"I'm glad," Edie chuckled. "Oh, Pete! Did you remember the wreaths?"
He had, how could he forget? She'd reminded him at least half a dozen times that the hangers had been installed on the double front doors of the club and that Mona at the hardware store said he could pick up the wreaths at his convenience. Which he'd done. He told her they were in the trunk and that he'd quickly hang them while she got in the car. Edie watched through the driver-side window as he did just that, the pretty green of the wreaths visible even through the falling snow.
As he pointed the car in the direction of home, Pete gave an appreciative glance at the woman seated beside him, silently meditating on just how much that word had come to mean to him over the past few years. Home. She must have felt his eyes on her because she lifted her own and searched his face, her smile widening as though she was reading his mind.
"Let's go home, Pete..."
