December 20, 2010
Unlike yesterday, when I wake this morning, there's no haunting pain, no fear. I lay in bed, lingering for a few minutes. Lilly tried calling yesterday again, but I ignored it. Dick went out to some party, leaving me the apartment to myself. I made some good headway in my new book, before falling asleep at a respectable hour.
It's Monday morning, but with school on break, I am completely free except for putting some finishing touches on my New Yorker submission. My professor asked me to have a copy ready for him when the new semester started in January.
With no real schedule for the first time in months, I take my time getting ready for the day. Dick has made it to his room for a change, so I take that as a good sign. Maybe he won't spend the entire week completely trashed. See, I have hopes and dreams.
After several cups of coffee and a few more chapters of my book, I bundle up for the trip to Central Park. If I'm honest with myself, it took all my willpower to not rush out of bed and come straight here to see if she figured it out. She can't even see me, but I'm still trying to play it cool, as if my feelings aren't involved.
I shake my head at the direction my thoughts have gone. Feelings? Really, Logan. You don't even know this girl's name. For all you know, she's some hideous spinster catfishing you. No, I think I would be able to tell.
When I left the notebook with the hostess, I thought about waiting outside and trying to follow her, but the cold and lack of a hiding place dissuaded me from the thought. I also considered staking out the statue, but again, it was entirely possible that she didn't figure it out last night. I'm resigned to checking several times today, if necessary. My heart beats faster the closer I get to the statue. When I notice that the Santa hat is gone, my heart speeds up to a point where I worry if I'm having a heart attack.
Taking deep breaths in an effort to calm myself, I try to think rationally. This is a public place, anyone could have found the hat and removed it. Aren't there caretakers for the park? But something tells me that my Mystery Author has it. Only one way to be sure.
I circle the statue, looking for the notebook. Disappointment wells up in me the longer I go without spotting it. I'm about to give up when I notice a little space under the mushroom Alice sits. The perfect size for hiding something. Or for people to shove their gum. Screwing up my courage, I stick my ungloved hand into the space, my fingers touching on smooth leather. I inch the notebook out carefully.
My clever girl must have figured this one out very quickly. While I desperately want to see what she's written, the wind has kicked up and flurries are swirling around. I tuck the notebook inside my jacket, trying to find a warm place to read in relative privacy.
I slip inside a Starbucks, and wait in line for a few minutes. When I get up to the counter, the barista flirts blatantly with me while I place my order for a Venti Americano. Under other circumstances, I'd probably lay on the Echolls charm, make a date for later. She seems exactly my type, beautiful but forgettable. The perfect girl for someone who has no desire to put himself out there. While I wait for my order, I examine my feelings. I have absolutely no desire to lose myself in some nameless girl. In high school, it seemed like the answer to my loneliness during those times Lilly and I were off, but now, it seems pointless.
Maybe I'm growing up. Or maybe seeing Aaron go down on my girlfriend just scarred me for life. I shrug, not wanting to let those thoughts take hold of me. I want to focus on my Mystery Author. I try to picture her based on her words. It's probably just my personal preference that makes her blonde. I've always had a thing for blondes.
I take a seat at a corner table, my back to the wall so I can watch the people on the street, making their way in and out of the coffee shop. It's an old habit, left over from Aaron. Never leave your back exposed, always be looking for where the blow will come from. Intellectually, I know that I'm not in any danger, and Aaron is thousands of miles away. As long as I stick to my end of the deal, I have no reason to see or hear from him.
Lilly is a different story. Why has she come now? What more could we possibly have to say to each other? I can't believe she thinks I would ever forgive her or give her another chance. I refuse to be the guy who's so desperate for love that I'll take crumbs from someone anymore. Working with my therapist, I finally feel like I deserve something better than scraps. However, I still struggle to believe that anyone can truly love me. It's my masochistic tendencies that keep me from blocking her number, making me torture myself every time her name lights up my cell.
Everyone deserves to be loved. My Mystery Author's words echo in my head while I trace the lettering on the cover. This connection I feel to her is getting stronger. In a way it frightens me, but also seems right.
I take a sip of my coffee, pushing everything out of my head except her voice. I imagine it light, with a musical lilt. Fixing it in my mind, I open the notebook to the page she has marked. My fingers trace her words for long minutes after reading them.
Her dares are light, playful things that give me a glimpse into her personality. She's going to make me work for everything she gives, but there's nothing mean about it. Instead it's the most honest thing I've seen. There's no take, take, take, but a reciprocity to our connection. Somehow that gives me a thrill. I've always loved a challenge and women who just fawn and give everything up too easily bore me. I couldn't see myself getting bored with my Mystery Author.
A quest, but what is my prize? If I pass all the tests, will you grace me with your presence? Are there dragons I will have to slay?
I have to tell you I'm not Prince Charming. I'm just Logan. I've been accused of ruining the princess, but never saving her.
You calling me friend, that seems right. I know we don't know each other, but you're the closest to a friend I've made since I moved here. So friends we shall be.
Padres, huh? Might you hail from California, perhaps? If true, it's a happy coincidence. I too am from California, a little town outside San Diego. I came to New York for school and like you, I can't go back. Not now, maybe not ever. I miss the sunshine, though.
As for the shadows that plague me, they are long and they are dark. Are you sure you want to know them? This season of joy is just lights and glamour. It'll be over in a few weeks and we'll be left with the dark and the cold. A new year will begin, but will anything really change?
I'm sorry, this is probably more than you bargained for. Forgive my grumpiness, this time of year is especially hard for me. I go back to those shadows. When I was 17, my mother killed herself rather than live with me and my father anymore. Last year, I caught my girlfriend and my father together. So you can see my holiday memories are not the happiest.
You, though, this game we're playing, it's the one bright spot. It gives me hope. I wonder if you'll still want to play now that you know what kind of baggage I come with.
Even though Prince Charming I am not, I will embark on this quest you've set for me. Once I have secured your name and returned the book to the place where this all began, I hope you will embark on a quest of your own.
You mentioned that you won't go to parties or clubs for fear of exposure. A life lived in fear is no life at all. So for your quest, I think you need to challenge yourself a little. A friend told me about a caroling troupe that meets each night in Times Square to serenade the tourists. Join them. Sing your heart out. To prove that you've done this, leave the notebook with the man in the red ascot. You can't miss him.
I read over what I've written, a tingle going down my spine imagining a blonde seductress singing for me. However, first things first. I need to find the most iconic New York symbol of Christmas and find her name.
My first thought is the tree at Rockefeller center, but isn't that too obvious? Doubting my initial reaction, I go through other iconic places I know of in New York. None of them feel right though and eventually I toss my empty coffee cup out, gather up the notebook and make my way to 30 Rockefeller Plaza.
There crowds of people stop to gawk at the lit up tree. Even during the day, it's a sight to behold. I remember coming here when I was a kid with my mom. Aaron was doing a publicity tour and of course the happy family had to the most part, they left me in the hotel with a nanny, ignored, but my mom stole away for an afternoon to take me through the city. We wandered the streets, just the two of us, talking and laughing. It was a wonderful afternoon.
I rub my eyes, trying to force away thoughts of my mom and Christmases past out of my mind. I am here on a quest. Winding my way through the crowds to get closer to the tree, I try to spot the present that didn't belong.
Which, as it turns out, is a joke, because there are no presents under the tree. I guess in my head I was envisioning having to sort through a huge bunch of fake presents trying to tease out which one held her name. Instead, underneath the tree is bare. The tree is an enough decoration on its own and I'm sure placement of even fake presents would have resulted in some sort of vandalism.
My shoulders slump while I continue to stare at the tree, lost. I was so sure this was what she meant. Circling the tree, I look desperately for anything that will give me an idea of where to look next. Suddenly, a bit of red catches my eye. Leaning up against the base of the tree is a small present, wrapped in red paper with a green bow. A smile splits my face as I realize her genius. The present doesn't belong, but she's hidden it in plain sight, using the base of the tree to disguise it to all but me.
Glancing around to be sure no one is watching, I sneak closer to the tree. I'm going to have to crawl under there to reach it. It's still daylight, but the security guard seems more focused on people trying to enter the plaza than gawkers taking an unnatural interest in the tree. Still, this has the potential to go bad if I'm not careful.
I stand close enough to the tree to touch its needles, sparing one last glance before dropping to a crouch. I reach my arm under the tree, but even though they're fairly long, it's not enough to reach the gift. I lower myself down to lie on the ground and wiggle my body under the tree. I pull out my phone so if anyone is paying attention, they'll just assume I want to get a selfie of me under the tree. I'm sure I'm not the first person to do that.
Knowing time is limited, I low crawl forward. I can hear shouting, but I just need to get the present. Just as my hand wraps around the gift, pulling it towards me, a hand lands on my ankle now barely sticking out from under the immense tree. A tugging sensation begins and I spare a glance down to see a security guard huffing and puffing as he tries to pull me out from under the tree.
My mission is accomplished and I don't need this to turn into something worse than it already is, so I reverse my crawl. The security guard keeps a hand on my ankle while I awkwardly make my way out from under the tree. I tamp down my instinct to kick out at him, knowing that I can't afford to draw that kind of attention.
When my body is free, I sit up, facing the security guard who is livid, sputtering non-sense in between harsh gasps. You would think they would hire more fit guards for such an iconic symbol. Rather than letting my inner jackass out, I apologize, waving my phone in explanation. The security guard gazes at me intensely, but finally relents, warning me to go and not come back.
While I skip away, the present still clutched in the hand behind my back, I flip the guard a salute, wishing him a Merry Christmas before turning away. I put as much distance as I can between me and the tree, before stopping to examine the gift in my hand. My curiosity says I should open it right now, but it feels too exposed. I shove the small gift into the pocket of my jacket, putting off the moment for a little longer while I make my way to Strand to return the notebook.
Wallace is working again, he gives me a slight nod as I head back to the sci-fi section. I desperately want to ask him about her, but once again I restrain myself. I slip the notebook back into our spot, pausing for a second to snag the second book in the Green Rider series off the shelf. I'm already more than halfway through with the first book, and I'm hooked. Spunky girl fighting to save the world, I'm completely enamored. If nothing else comes of this, I've found a new author to keep me company through the long nights.
The present is burning a hole in my pocket, emitting a siren song that I struggle to ignore. I have already decided that I will wait until I'm in my own home before I allow myself the luxury of learning my Mystery Author's name. Wallace rings up my purchase, making small talk about the series and how a friend of his introduced him to it..
"There's only three in the series right now, but I heard she's got a lot more planned for the series. The fourth book is due out in a few months and she's already working on the fifth."
"That's good, I hate when it takes too long between installments. I got burned by the Game of Thrones series. I don't think that guy is ever going to finish that series and I'll be wondering forever what happened." It feels good to be having a normal conversation.
Most of the people I normally hang out with aren't interested in talking about books, and I keep my obsession with sci-fi/fantasy under wraps. It wouldn't do for Aaron Echolls' son to be seen as one of those weird people attending comic-con. Aaron plays the liberal, but he's a bigoted racist in reality.
A small shudder runs through me when I remember Aaron's reaction to catching me reading sci-fi years ago. That's not my life anymore. I'm free, more or less. Wallace quirks an eyebrow, noticing the change in my mood, but says nothing as he hands me my receipt.
The sun is setting when I leave the store. If I'm going to set her up with my professor's caroling group, I must know her name. I hail a cab, tired of walking. Sitting in the back, ignoring the chatty cab driver, I pull the present out of my pocket. It's small, but weighty. The wrapping is neat, but lacks the professional look that I've grown accustomed to over the years. This was definitely wrapped by a real person, not one of the hordes at a store.
Somehow that makes it even more special.
Dick is nowhere to be seen when I let myself into the apartment. A note on the island lets me know that he's gone to meet some frat buddies for drinks, inviting me to join them later. I'm glad for the privacy as I flop down on the couch, the present placed precisely on the coffee table before me.
I don't know why I'm hesitating. It's just a name, but somehow it seems like more. As if I'm at a crossroads and once I know this secret, I can't unknow it. It must be all the talk of quests and princes that has me nervous. I was honest with her when I said I'm no Prince Charming. I'm more likely to be cast the villain than the savior.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the present, tearing open the wrapping. Inside is a plain box. I open the lid, peering inside.
A snow globe greets me. I pull it free of the box and turn the thing upside down to watch the snow swirl around the unicorn in a Santa hat. It's silly and makes me grin. The snow settles and I flip it over to shake it up again, noticing the writing on the bottom.
Veronica.
Having finished my quest, I take the snow globe to my room, placing it gently on the bedside table where I can see it while lying in bed.
Now to arrange for her singing debut.