Chapter 6

All things accounted for it had been a remarkably pleasant Christmas Eve Day.

As was often the case, Laura had relented and given in to Remington's yen to visit various iconic movie sites throughout the city, rationalizing she would only be giving up a few hours of her time for something he'd tremendously enjoy, while he was giving up ten days to appease her mother. An early Christmas present, she told herself, and one that he'd hold memories of for years to come.

They'd begun their tour in the private residence section of the Plaza Hotel. It had taken only a few questions to determine where Cary Grant had traversed the lobby in North by Northwest, then a hundred dollar bill discretely pressed into the palm of a hand to gain them access to the area normally restricted to residents only. The cost had been nominal and the experience for Remington had been priceless.

Tiffany & Company on Fifth Avenue had been next…

"Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey Hepburn, George Peppard, Paramount, 1961. Aubrey stood right here at this very window, Laura."

Followed by the New York Public Library on 42nd and 5th (Breakfast at Tiffany's) andthe Criminal Courts Building in Manhattan (Adam's Rib) where she slanted her eyes at him and asked…

"Should I be concerned that there's a formal invitation for your appearance here?" she jested. With a lift of his brows he regarded her with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"There might have been…" he joked in return, "Had a job ever called me to this remarkable city."

Next up: 52nd and Lexington.

"The Seven Year Itch, Marilyn Monroe, Tom Ewell, Twentieth Century Fox, 1955," he recited. "The scene of the crime, so to speak," he mused.

"Crime?" she wondered. "I don't recall a crime.

"The scene with her skirt." He comically mimicked Monroe attempting to hold down her skirts, drawing Laura's laughter. "It was quite scandalous, displaying her undergarments as she did, although…" he stood erect again and held up a single finger for emphasis, "…The scene certainly provided fodder for many a young lad's fantasies." The comment captured her curiosity.

"Including your own?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Laura," he openly scoffed, taking her hand and leading her down the street, "Not only was the woman at least twenty-five years older than me, but by the time I'd have been old enough to appreciate her… assets… she'd long since passed." She snorted her disbelief at his answer, as he raised a hand and whistled at an available taxi.

"Ingrid Bergman would have been about the same age as Marilyn Monroe," she reasoned, as the cab came to a screeching halt next to the curb. "And if your fascination with Casablanca is any indication, she's what some might consider to be the woman of your dreams." Reaching around her, he opened the door to the cab then swung her into his arms, eliciting a surprised laugh to bubble past her lips. He caught her around the waist and hauled her in.

"The woman of and in my dreams, Miss Holt," a pair of piercing blue eyes held her brown ones as a hand slipped into her hair, "Happens to be the one that's led me on a merry chase these past six years." A slow smile lit her face and her eyes infused with warmth.

"Oh, is that so?" she asked with a teasing tone. But he wasn't in a joking mood.

"Don't you know?" he asked somberly, then drew her lips to his for a kiss.

"Hey, buddy, move it!" the cab driver shouted. "Guy's gotta make a livin' and it ain't happenin' with my cab sittin' still. Smooch with da lady on your own time." Remington abruptly ended the kiss when Laura laughed against his lips. With a frown in the direction of the cabbie, he handed her into the car then followed.

"Where to?" the driver demanded, impatiently. Laura glanced at her watch. They had time for only one more stop if they were going to make it back in time for the family Christmas Eve gathering.

"The Empire State Building," she directed. The cabbie floored the gas and the cab darted into the midday traffic before Remington had fully closed the door. He leaned in to speak next to her ear.

"The perfect job for Mildred should she ever desire a new one," he muttered. She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her horrified laugh.

"You may be right," she agreed around her laughter.

"Well I'll be damned, looks like da weatherman were right for a change," the driver commented loudly, peering up at the sky through the windshield. Multiple horns blared to their left, and with a hard yank of the steering wheel that rocked the car from side-to-side, the car returned to its lane. "Looks like we gonna have a white Christmas just like he said," the driver continued as though nothing had happened.

Remington bent his head down to look out the window, while Laura did the same on the opposite side of the car.

"I can't remember when it was I last saw a white Christmas," Remington admired.

"Yeah, it's pretty ta look at but it's gonna be a mess out here if it comes down like they said. Could take you an hour just ta get a mile," the cabbie noted. Remington and Laura exchanged glances.

"You're kidding, right?" Laura asked what they were both thinking.

"Nah, I'm being serious as shit," the cabbie replied. "Like I said, da white stuffs pretty ta look at but ain't no one wanna be out walking 'round in it. Every driver in da city will be on these roads lookin' to make a buck, and there still ain't gonna be enough taxis ta go 'round. Ain't no one that can drive worth a shit in da snow. Ya know, because of da movies, people think we get snow all da time, but it ain't a fact. So when we do get it?" He pretended to shiver. "Then there da tourists, who already ain't got a clue how ta get around, making it even worse. Yup, these roads are gonna be a mess." Another look was exchange between the couple.

"We have tickets to the ballet for tonight at eight. How long's this supposed to last?" Laura inquired, with a glance at her watch. It was two-forty-five now. With a little luck, in an hour or two, the storm would pass.

"At least midnight they said, with da worst of it between four and ten. Thank da Good Lord most people are off for Christmas Eve or it would be even worse. Where you stayin'?"

"At The Plaza," Laura provided. "We have reservation at Sardi's before the ballet. At six-thirty."

"Well, they both ain't happenin' lady. It'll take you that same hour, hour and fifteen ta get from da restaurant ta da ballet. That gives you, what? Forty-five minutes ta get seated, order, get your food and eat. Probably take you 'bout half that time just ta get seated, reservation or no. Any other night? No problem? Tonight? Ain't happenin'." Laura sat forward a bit more in her seat.

"And how long will it take us to get back to the hotel?"

"Right now? Twenty minutes or so. In an hour if this keeps up? Hour and a half, maybe." She looked to Remington who lifted his brows at her as if to say 'what can we do?' With a huff of aggravation, she slumped back in her seat and crossed her arms.

"Can you take us back to the hotel, please?" she requested.

"Sure thing, lady." Laura turned her head to look at Remington.

"I'm sorry," she drew out the words. "I should have checked the weather, or at the very least shouldn't have left the Empire State Building until last." Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close and lay his cheek against the side of her head.

"There's always another day, Laura," he reminded her. "As much as you like to control all the variables, even you hold no power over the weather. And frankly, if I had to choose between the Empire State Building and a white Christmas, I'd much prefer the latter." She tipped back her head to look up at him.

"Really?"

"Mmmmm," he answered, looking over her head at the crowded city streets. "It never feels quite like Christmas without a nip in the air and the bustle of the city around you. Even living on the streets, knowing you're going to freeze your bollocks off unless you can find yourself someplace warm to kip, there's something about a fresh layer of powder over everything that somehow makes the holiday a bit… magical, I suppose." Resting her head on his shoulder, she smiled up at him.

"You, Mr. Steele, are a true romantic at heart," she observed. He shifted slightly beneath her, embarrassed by what he knew to be praise, and patted her on the hip a pair of times.

"Yes, well, now what are we to do about tonight?" She gave him a rueful look then turned her attention to outside of the window.

"Well, we'd better come up with something, because if I know Mother, somehow this will be all my fault."

Laura and Remington had arrived back at the hotel by five after three, with their course charted for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. With a call to room service, they'd arranged dinner for eight and the promise of a very generous tip had guaranteed immediate delivery of flatware, china and glassware… as well as two bottles of chilled bubbly – one bottle for now, and one for later. While Remington dressed the dining room table to his liking, Laura attended to the other details: Starting a fire in the hearth, pulling curtains and sheers back on the windows so the snow fall could be seen from anywhere in the room, arranging the presents beneath the tree to her satisfaction and finding a radio station that played classic Christmas music. By the time a knock sounded on the door at three-fifty-nine, they'd enjoyed ten quiet minutes to themselves after the suite had been prepared to their satisfaction.

"It's Christmas Eve, Mr. Remington," Laurie Beth announced excitedly as she hurled herself at him when he opened the door. Sweeping her up in his arms, he plopped her onto his hip, as if he'd been holding children all his life. Laura didn't miss Abigail's pointed look at the scene and easily interpreted what it meant: 'See, I told you he's going to make a great father.' She fought the urge to roll her eyes and pecked a perfunctory kiss to her mother's cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Mother," she greeted, before turning to exchange hugs with Donald and Frances. The whole 'traditional greetings at the door' gambit seemed rather silly to her- after all, they'd spent the last two days together. But Abigail Holt was a stickler for etiquette and tradition, so to do otherwise would earn her censorship.

"Can we open our presents now?" Laurie Beth asked, linking her arms around Remington's neck. A quick look told him the three adults before him didn't have a problem with allowing the children to jump right in.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he agreed on behalf of the adults.

A trio of happy exclamations arose and Laurie Beth wriggled down out of Remington's arm to give chase to her older brother and sister who made a beeline for the tree.

"Danny, Mindy, Laurie Beth," Frances called them back, "Please take our presents and your grandmother's and put them under the tree," she instructed. "Then you may look at the presents, but don't open anything until everyone is ready." She turned back to the group as the trio of children hauled the bags of presents toward the tree. "They're so excited. First, Christmas in a city like New York, and now the snow. Even little Laurie Beth got into the spirit once we told her since we'd be staying here tonight, Santa would have no trouble finding her." Laura smirked, a look correctly interpreted by Remington as a reminder of his need to rein it in where her family was concerned, but Frances saw it as reluctance. "Are you sure about us staying here? We don't want to impose. The children will be up at dawn and I'm afraid it'll be almost impossible to keep them quiet. Laurie Beth will be fine—"

"Frances, it's fine," Laura reassured, laying a hand on her sister's shoulder. "But we do need to talk about tonight…"

As the group walked towards the tree to join the children, Laura and Remington shared the information they'd learned from the cabbie and then explained the executive decision they'd made in the absence of Abigail and the Pipers. All three of the adults agreed the solution Remington and Laura had come up with was for the best, and given the children weren't particularly looking forward to another formal dining experience the kink in the original plans was probably a blessing in disguise. Once the group was seated – Abigail and Donald choosing the wing chairs, while Remington, Laura and Frances made themselves comfortable on the couch – the traditional Christmas Eve present opening was ready to begin.

"Danny, Mindy, your mother and I have discussed it, and we believe you're old enough now to take on present duty," Donald announced. The two eldest Piper children looked at one another in disbelief. In the Piper household, the task was considered an honor – one previously held only by their parents.

"For real?" Mindy dared to ask.

"Totally," Donald replied, trying his hand at the popular lingo of the day. It was not received well.

"Ewww, Dad, uh-uh, no-no-no," Danny criticize. Having turned thirteen that year, he found his parents' attempts to be 'cool' were… well… embarrassing. Donald took the censorship in stride, remembering well his own embarrassment when his father would do the same to him as a teen.

"Alright, then how about, yes, 'for real.'"

"Cool!"

"This one's for you from Grandma, Laurie Beth!" Mindy announced, handing the present to her younger sister.

"For you, Grandma, from Aunt Laura and Mr. Remington," Danny informed Abigail as he presented her with her gift.

In short order, paper was tearing – Laura cringing with each rip – bows were flying and oohs and aah's were flowing. In the midst of the present opening, a knock on the door to the suite heralded the arrival of room service. After showing the trio of workers to the dining room where dinner would be served, Remington took a brief detour, returning to the living room with a large gift in hand. Without a word he set the package at his feet, drawing Laura's curious gaze.

"For you Mr. Remington, from Grandma," Danny informed him as he handed Remington a fair sized package.

"And for you, Aunt Laura, from Grandma," Mindy offered.

With the tree now emptied, the two eldest Piper siblings were free to open the presents they had received, some received with a courteous thank you and others followed by whoops of joy. Laura removed the lid to the carefully unwrapped box on her lap and held up a cream colored cashmere sweater, then admired the camel colored, conservative suede skirt that accompanied it.

"They're lovely, Mother," she complimented, as Remington ripped the paper off his gift with abandon. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear," Abigail returned, "I just hope they'll fit." Laura drew in a silent breath at the perceived insult then jabbed an elbow into Remington's ribs.

"Ooomph," he grunted, then looking up saw pained expression on Laura's face and understood the hint to intervene. "Abigail, I'm truly touched," he held slightly aloft the pair of books she'd gifted him: A Pictorial History of Crime Films and The Movie Makers: Bogart. He stood and walked over to her chair to lean down and buss her on the cheek. "Thank you," he told her with utter sincerity.

"Holy Pete!" Danny shouted. "Look Min, Aunt Laura and Mr. Remington got us a Nintendo!" Mindy abandoned the scarf and gloves from Abigail that she'd been admiring and scrambled to his side.

"No way!" she refuted, even as she looked at the box that clearly showed they'd received the gaming system.

"Way!" he confirmed, ripping open his second present from the couple. "The Legend of Zelda! Did you get a game too?"

"I dunno?!" she leaned over and sorted through her unopened gifts and found one of about the right size bearing Laura and Remington's names. She unceremoniously ripped the paper from the small package. "I did! I did! Super Mario Brothers!"

"Best Christmas ever!" Danny proclaimed.

"For sure!" Mindy agreed, bounding to her feet to run to her aunt and give her a hug. "Thank you , Aunt Laura." She turned to Remington and hugged him as well. "Thank you, Mr. Remington."

"Yeah, thanks!" Danny seconded.

"It was our pleasure," Remington answered for the pair.

"You really shouldn't have," Frances insisted in an undertone as Mindy returned to her gifts. "Those game things are so expensive."

"Believe me," Laura gesticulated with a hand, "With the discount Remington gets, it really wasn't all that much." She looked up, surprised, when Remington placed the large gift he'd set at his feet in her lap.

"What's this? I thought we agreed to exchange our presents tomorrow morning?" She eyed the package. "And where did it come from? I know you didn't pack it." He grinned at her.

"One of the many advantages of not shopping months ahead," he boasted. "When we found out we'd be in New York for the holiday, a few well placed phone calls was all it took to find what I was looking for, then I arranged to have it delivered to the hotel and secreted in our room shortly before our arrival," he boasted.

"Well," she stood up and turned to hand him the present, "I'll just go get—" Avoiding the box, he reached for her arm and eased her back down.

"That's not necessary, Laura," he insisted. "Let's just call the premature delivery of your gift a matter of necessity." She studied him for a long second, the set the box back in her lap.

"Alright," she drew out the word as she tugged on an end of the large red bow adorning the package.

"Mindy, Danny, you can finish your inspection of the game… thing… once you finish opening your presents," Frances told them then looked at her youngest child. "What do you have, Laurie Beth?" Laurie Beth was by far the least boisterous of her children and had been sitting in virtual silence, concentrating on each gift, only speaking to quietly thank someone for what she'd received.

"Aunt Laura and Mr. Remington gave me a Cabbage Patch Doll," she told her mother when she stood before Frances and held the doll up for her mother to admire. "Her name is Lucy and she was born on May twenty-eighth, just like me." She hugged the puggish faced, brown yarn haired doll tightly. "Isn't she the most beautiful doll ever?"

"She's very pretty," Frances concurred.

Next to Laura, Remington shifted restlessly. A full discourse on a doll had taken place, and Laura was still carefully peeling back the tape that adhered the wrapping paper together. He was a man that enjoyed seeing a gift recipient's reaction and all this waiting… Well, it was hell. He fought for patience, and lost the battle.

"For pity's—" He stopped the oath before it was finished, then smiling wide, offered, "Here, let me give you a hand."

"No! Don't…" She cringed when he tore the paper straight down the center. "The paper!" she lamented.

"Merely trying to help," he fibbed, then tried a bit of reasoning, "Honestly, Laura, it's not as though you're going to pack the paper and take it home with us." Seeing the mournful look on her face as she stared down at her present, he second guessed himself. "You weren't going to take the paper home, were you?" There was not a chance she'd admit to as much, as he'd be ribbing her about it the remainder of their stay. Instead, she parted the destroyed paper and lifted the lid from the box.

Then softly gasped her appreciation, while lifting the fedora out of the box to really study it. The snow white wool fedora sported a white felt band trimmed in cream satin, that was embellished with a jaunty little white bow on the left side. It was impractical for every day wear really… and she loved it.

"I love it," she told him, reiterating her thoughts with a soft smile. He lifted his brows and looked pointedly to the box.

"Can you…?" She handed him the hat and nodded at the coffee table.

"Certainly." He leaned forward and sat the hat on the table as she reached back into the box. He held the box for her when she stood up while removing the garment fully.

"it's… stunning," she complimented. The white wool coat featured a wide collar trimmed in cream satin, and an a-line design that saw the coat nipping in tightly at the waist before the material fell into a flowing, asymmetrical skirt. A matching white and satin trimmed belt rounded out the look. Sitting aside the box, he stood and took the coat from her, tickled that she was so pleased by the gift.

"While your fur is nearly as lovely as you," he explained, as he helped her into the coat, "In this weather, it's not very practical and you'll need something appropriate to wear to the ballet this evening." He'd gifted her the fur coat, as well, on her thirtieth birthday almost two years prior – an indulgence she'd never have allowed herself.

"You have exquisite taste, Remington," Abigail complimented, as Laura crossed the room to examine herself in the mirror above the credenza.

"Yes, he does," Laura agreed, realizing too late that she'd just stroked the man's ego. She frowned at the mirror when she saw the wide smile that said he was basking in the admiration. Taking off the coat, she walked over to the closet while speaking.

"It's nearly quarter to five," she noted. "Since everyone is finished opening their presents, we might want to consider having dinner now if we're going to be dressed and ready to leave by seven."

"Excellent idea, Laura," Remington concurred, then offered his hand to Abigail. "May I escort you to the dining room?" Hidden by the door of the closet she rolled his eyes heavenwards at the gesture. As if he already can do no wrong in Mother's eyes, she mentally groused. Hanging up the coat, she forced a smile on the face and closed the door.

One more hour. Just one more hour, she reminded herself. There would be little opportunity to converse later in the evening, less opportunity for her mother to get in a new dig.

Just… one… more… hour.

"Remington, having the hotel serve dinner buffet style was an inspired idea," Abigail praised as she stepped into the hallway after the Piper family. Remington casually slung his arm around Laura's waist.

"All the credit goes to Laura," he deflected.

"I'm impressed, dear," Abigail complimented her youngest daughter. Laura wasn't buying it. She'd endured her mother's frequent barbs and constant cloaked criticisms throughout dinner, and a half hour earlier had affixed her face with a mask of cool detachment, one she wasn't about to remove now.

"Why thank you, Mother," she replied in falsely pleasant tone, then waited for it to come…

"I don't know how Remington's managed to get you to take an interest in any domestic duties, God knows I was never able to." Laura's flinch was indiscernible to anyone but Remington, but he felt it beneath his hand, and stroked her side with his thumb. Automatically he reached for the door and began to slowly close it.

"Actually, I'm rather fond of the fact Laura has no interest in the kitchen," he corrected. "Not only do I enjoy cooking, but preparing meals is one of the few ways she'll allow me to pamper her." Laura's fingers covered the fingers at her waist with hers in a show of gratitude for his defense, then had to use an iron strong will to resist the urge to mimick the words she knew were coming.

"She's very lucky to have you," Abigail told Remington with an approving pat on his cheek. "We'll see you in the lobby at seven." With those final words, she turned and followed the Pipers towards the elevator bank and Remington closed the door behind her.

Laura sagged beneath his hand and covered her eyes with her hands.

"I'll never be able to do anything right in her eyes," she lamented, then with a deep, cleansing breath, tried to shake off all the dings her self-esteem had taken on the evening. She laid a hand against his arm as she turned towards the stairs leading to the master. "Let's get ready, huh?"

Remington eyed her defeated posture as she climbed the stairs and hoped he might have something up his sleeve that would turn this evening around.