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
• Friday, December 9
Peter Gunn heaved a well-pleased sigh and stretched and leaned further back in his chair. The beige BarcaLounger was his favorite place – strike that, second favorite place – to relax after a wearisome day or night of private investigating chores. Not that he was complaining. He worked at a profession that he enjoyed and he made a good living at it. If there were times he ended up with a bump here or a bruise there, well, the outcome of whatever job he was doing normally made up for the aches and pains. At the moment it was just nice to be home. He'd built a fire in the fireplace and started a fresh pot of coffee. Now he was waiting for his better half to join him.
Hearing soft steps behind him, the PI lazily turned his head and watched Edie Hart descend the stairs. He'd convinced her to leave the club a few hours early tonight. After all, she'd gone in mid-morning to catch up on bookkeeping chores, had then become immersed in sifting through several more large boxes of decorations that arrived and eventually was pulled aside by chef Jean Paul to go over a few changes in the evening's menu. A forty minute breather before diners began to arrive had allowed for a brief time of relaxation but it had been a long day.
His gaze followed her as she padded across the living room and knelt to plug in the cord that lit up the Christmas tree. The multi-colored bulbs made a few fits and starts, stayed on for several long minutes, and eventually began blinking on and off, on and off. Pete couldn't decide which way he liked them best, steadily lit or blinking, but Edie enjoyed seeing them twinkle from light to dark and back again so that was fine with him. Roused from his slumber in some secret location, the little cat Thomas mysteriously appeared to help with the cord, receiving a stern warning to behave himself as well as an affectionate rub as the woman rose to her feet.
Edie offered up an inscrutable smile as she drifted past the recliner to dim the lights, then to the stereo, a waft of lavender scent following in her wake. She sifted through a small stack of LPs, chose one with a cover that featured Bing Crosby in a Santa Claus stocking cap, and slipped the record from it's protective sleeve and onto the turntable. Der Bingle began crooning "Silent Night".
Pete's gaze was filled with silent admiration as Edie stood for a long moment watching the black disk go round and round on the player. She had waited for him to shower first when they got home, claiming dibs on the water that would be heated to her liking by the time he was finished. He'd had time to dress and head downstairs before she even exited the steamy cubicle. He figured whatever time she took doing her womanly things – he couldn't for the life of him think of a word for such; ablutions, maybe? – was more than worth it. The busy woman entrepreneur had disappeared, her place taken by the carefree, fresh-faced girl. She wore a light blue, gold-trimmed lounge outfit. A long row of oblong wooden buttons fastened the top and the pants tapered and ended mid-calf. Her hair was loose, a halo of gold brushing her shoulders, her feet bare.
Edie turned and advanced slowly toward his chair. Smiling, she held out her hand. Pete grasped it and gently pulled, intending to draw her to his lap, but she smiled and tugged him to his feet.
"When was the last time we danced?" she asked.
"The last time you asked me to."
The PI's lips tilted in a smile, his eyes laughing as he studied her expression. He grasped her right hand in his left and held them clasped against his chest, and at the same time slipped his right arm around her waist to bring her impossibly close. He knew dancing wasn't anything Edie was averse to, but he was also aware from her reminiscences of the time she worked in the line at the Salem that she'd done enough of it there to last two lifetimes. They occasionally hit the dance floor when circumstance arose, but she'd once told him she'd rather slow dance with him at home in her bare feet in front of a roaring fire than on any dance floor. So that's what they did.
They swayed slowly in place to the music playing softly on the hi-fi, the PI's lips tilting appreciatively when Edie began singing along to "White Christmas". Her hand slipped from his to instead curl around the back of his neck and her head found the firmness of his shoulder. Both arms now around her waist, Pete pulled her even closer. Her warm breath tickled his skin beneath his shirt collar. He felt rather than saw her smile and he wondered what she was thinking.
"Hmm?"
"It's like a Christmas card." She raised her head and glanced around the room before her eyes touched on his face. "Isn't it, Pete? Just like that glittery pop-up card Pauline and Vernon sent." Pauline and Vernon Jacks were Edie's aunt and uncle on her father's side, Pauline being Joe Hart's youngest sister.
Pete's gaze traveled the same path hers had. The lights of the Fraser fir twinkled merrily, lighting up the corner where it stood, and Thomas purred contentedly beneath the tree's aromatic branches. The fire crackled cheerfully and sent little sparks flying to the hearth. Several large red candles sat upon the mantle waiting to be lit and a wreath, decorated with pine cones and little silver bells and a fat red ribbon tied into a bow, adorned the wall above the fireplace.
"I suppose so," he said, not overly convinced. But as it had been a number of years since he had actually celebrated Christmas in the tree, decorations and festively-wrapped gifts manner, he was willing to take her word for it.
"All we're lacking is flocking on the tree," Edie murmured thoughtfully. "We should get one of those Sno-Flok kits Woolworth's keeps advertising. They're only five dollars."
"Five dollars for fake snow? Honey..." Pete couldn't help but chuckle. "That's almost as much as we paid for the tree."
"Oh– and the picture on the card had four stockings hanging from the mantle. We don't even have two." A mischievous smile lit up her face and she looked at him from beneath long lashes. "Wouldn't it be nice to have four stockings? Or five or six?" Her fingers played along his shoulders.
He might have said soon, or someday. Instead he placed a kiss on the side of her neck and let his hands drift from the small of her back to her hips. They swayed into a gentle turn as Bing began singing "I'll Be Home for Christmas" and Pete glanced at the mantle. A couple red stockings would look nice along there, he admitted to himself. But four or five or six... That would entail a much larger fireplace and something more than a one bedroom apartment. He was caught unaware by a sudden feeling that it would be the soon rather than the someday.
"Next time we're out we'll pick up a few."
A teasing smile played along the PI's lips as he said those words.
Did Christmas stockings come in packs of half a dozen?
