Frozen but Thawing Nicely

“Honey, look out your window.  It’s a blizzard out there. The news says traffic is not moving. Three lanes of cars are already stalled and it could be hours before they get moving again. You said you’re almost out of gas. You’ve got to share a car with another driver, or you’ll freeze.”

I groaned, “Okay, Mom.”

Through wind-whipped gusts of white, I saw nothing but yellow headlights and red taillights blinking ahead, stretched out like a necklace strung on black velvet.

I clicked off the cell, and opened the door. The chilling blast pierced my flimsy costume.  Next to me, a snow-covered Mercedes idled.

Please let the driver be a grandfatherly type.

“Ho, ho, ho! Thanks Mister,” I panted as I opened the passenger door. “Sorry to intrude, but my reindeer ran off without me and my car ran out of gas. I don’t think I could have lasted another ten minutes without heat.” I settled my awkward, Santa costume on the bucket seat and looked at my benefactor.

He was definitely not the grandfatherly type. Chiseled features. Dark, curious eyes.

He eyed my costume. “I didn’t expect to see Santa Claus out here. Especially not a Santa without a beard and wearing mascara.”

“I subbed for a sick Santa at a holiday kids’ party after the boutique closed.” Removing the hat, I shook out my hair. That’s where I saw him. “You!”

“Excuse me?”

“We banged our heads together when I bent down to pick up that negligee you tossed on the floor.”

“What? Oh, you’re the clerk from the lingerie department. Your hard little head raised a nice knot right here.” He lifted a finger to his forehead.

What a day. My last customer—whose car I just entered—had actually tossed merchandise on the floor because I could not accept his check. Then at the Santa Claus party, the first youngster on my knee left a wet spot.

“I did not throw the nightgown on the floor.”

“Oh, I guess that negligee just jumped right out of your hands.”

He drew a slow breath. “I admit I was irritated by the store’s no-check policy. And like everyone else out here, I hoped to get home before this—,” he waved a hand.

“Me too. If you hadn’t spent so much time trying to decide between the red lace nightgown and the black, I could have been home by now. Your wife certainly could have exchanged one for the other.”

“I wasn’t buying a gown for my wife.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Oh really? Your girlfriend then.” I don’t like cheaters.

“I’m not married,” he said.

“I see. You were planning to wear the nightie yourself. We have some nice bikini panties to match the gowns.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of all people to find in my car during a blizzard, I end up with a Smart-Aleck Santa. No, I’m not a cross dresser. The nightgown was supposed to be a gift for my sister. She’s getting married next week. I hoped to drop it in the mail tomorrow. Instead, I dropped it accidentally and ended up with and a bump on my head.”

I looked at his rather handsome profile.  

“You have a black mole on your ear lobe. ” You really should get that checked out,” I warned. “Black moles can be dangerous.”

“Thank you for your concern, Miss Sharp Eyes. Are you by any chance a doctor?”

“No, I’m a clerk at the store where you threw your tantrum. I’m also going to law school nights. My name is Jayna Jones. How do you do, Mister . . .?”

He turned toward me. “Hello Miss Jones. I’m Martin Day. You insist I threw a tantrum. Actually, I injured my arm during a polo game a few months ago. A weakness in my hand causes me to drop things at times.”

I remembered how he eyed my legs a little too long while I was on the stepladder reaching for the red negligee. Did he really play polo?

“You may have a polo injury, but you bumped my head and didn’t even bother to apologize.”

“Apologize? Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t allowed to accept personal checks before I wrote it out? How annoying.”

“Yeah, well you weren’t so annoyed when you checked out my legs, Mister Day.”

“I was bored.”

“Do you make a habit of checking out the store clerks just because you’re bored?”

“I was not checking you out. However, you do have very nice legs.”

“Thanks. But don’t bother to ask me out, “I warned. “I don’t date customers.”

“What makes you think I’d—?” This time he turned a searching eye on me. After a moment, a slight grin played around his lips. “You’d go out with a guy like me in a Chicago minute.”

“Only if he wasn’t too much like you. Sorry Martin. You suffer from delusions of grandeur.”

“Delusions of grandeur make people feel better about themselves. You should try it. Delude yourself into being a better clerk, more patient.”

The nerve of this arrogant man. I raised my chin. “If you knew me better, you would know that I don’t have to delude myself. I have a standard of excellence.”

He jibed, “I’ve already found out all that I want to know about you.”

Before I could think of a smart retort, Martin headed me off. “The only thing I want to know is how long before I get out of here.” 

 He turned up the radio volume. Reporters kept running updates on the snowstorm and reminding stalled motorists to keep tailpipes clear. 

Martin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and opened a leather-bound legal pad. I merely watched the storm. After a long silence, my stomach growled. “Got anything to eat in here?”

“Oh yeah. This car has everything. I just push a button on the dash and a menu appears along with a selection of wine.”

Martin reached across me. His arm brushed my leg and my alarm system went on full alert. He opened the glove compartment and produced a package of cashews.

“Sorry, this is the best I can do.”

 We shared the nuts and sat munching in strained silence.

The wind howled and shoved against the Mercedes, rocking it with invisible hands. The radio announced that snowplows were rescuing stranded motorists one by one, but progress was very slow. 

 Dismayed at the possibility of having to spend the night in Martin’s car, I asked, “Does your car have plenty of gas?”

“I filled the tank this morning.” He switched to a station that played easy listening music. Somewhere, people enjoyed candlelight dinners, danced in elegant evening gowns and tuxedoes, and sipped wine beside softly glowing candles. I pictured Martin in a tux and me in a flowing skirt instead of a fat Santa costume. In spite of my irritation at the man, some part of my feminine mind registered glad that Martin thought I had nice legs.

Laying his notes aside, he stretched and settled himself in the seat. “Say, it’s been a very long day and it may be an even longer night. I’m really not up for conversation. I’d like to catch a little nap. That is, if you promise not to molest me.”

“I’ll try to control myself,” I assured him. 

Settling back to relax, I must have succumbed to the cozy warmth pouring from the heater, because I woke to find my head resting on Martin’s shoulder.

Oh horror! I jerked upright. Martin opened his eyes.

“Pardon me,” I stammered.

He yawned and said, “Yeah, well I have that effect on women. They want to get close to me.”

I started to make a snappy remark when it struck me. “Martin! Are we getting carbon monoxide poisoning?”

At once, Martin opened the driver’s door and headed to the rear of the car. The icy blast hurled snowflakes inside and hit me in the face. Now fully alert, I brushed them off the seat. A few minutes later, he climbed back in.

“Good thing I checked. I cleared a space around the exhaust We’re okay now. I’ll check it again later if we don’t start moving soon.”

He shivered a moment, then twitched his nose. “I hate to bring this up, but did you . . . uh, wet your trousers? I noticed a distinct odor when I got back inside.”

“I did not! Little kids have been sitting on my knees. Little kids have accidents.” Actually, I was thinking I could possibly have a similar accident if we didn’t get out of this predicament soon. I crossed my legs and tried not to think about it.

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Look, I know this isn’t any fun, but we’re going to have to keep each other awake. So, what shall we talk about? Something hilarious, like politics? Or something serious? The Abominable Snowman’s shoe size?”

Martin muttered, “I never talk about serious things with women who dress like Santa Claus.”

“Okay. Serious is out. How about Big Foot? Do you think he’s real?”

“Of course. I saw him at a burger drive-thru the other day. He said he’s tired of mutilating cows.”

I grinned. “You’re funny.”

“No. I’m just trying to stay awake.”

 Mildly curious, I suggested, “You might as well tell me about yourself since we don’t have anything else to do.”

“I’m a typical American. You know. Mother, four step-dads, a half sister from her second marriage.”

Sensing my dismay, he chuckled, “That’s just a poke at our society these days, Miss Jones. My parents are still married after forty years. I have a sister who lives in Vermont, and a brother who’s always there for me whenever he needs money.”

“Are you going to your sister’s wedding?”  

“I plan to. My partners are hosting a party for one of our retiring attorneys on that day. It’s a gay-nineties theme party, since the old fellow managed to practice law until into his nineties. I really should be there, at least for a while. Then I’ll head for Vermont.”

 “One of your partners is gay and the other is ninety?” I teased.

Martin burst into a hearty laugh.

“Now let’s talk about something cheerful, like death by freezing. Cryogenics involves freezing your body before you die and then reviving you after doctors find the cure for whatever illness you had. But what if you froze to death? Could they really revive you?”

Martin yawned. “Pleasant subject? I don’t much care for death. The hours aren’t good.”

Then I decided to get personal. “You didn’t mention your girlfriend.”

“She ran off with a rich elf. She was looking Santa Baby to slip a sable under the tree, among other things on her extensive Christmas list.”

“A fortune hunter, huh?”

He nodded. “The woman orders caviar and thinks diamonds should be used to pave her driveway.”

 “I can’t stand caviar. Canned tuna is my preference when it comes to seafood.” Did I sound like Patches from the poor side of town? I changed the subject. “Why aren’t you married?”

“My divorced friends tell me that something magical happens when you live alone. All your annoying habits simply disappear.” 

“So, you’re divorced?”

 “Nope. Never been married.”

 “Is that because you have annoying habits?”

“Let me think. Actually, I haven’t annoyed myself since I was four.” His blue eyes danced with amusement.

“What did you do when you were four?”

“I asked my mother about carrots. If they were so good for my eyes, why did I see so many dead rabbits on the road? She made me eat them anyway.”

“She made you eat road-kill rabbits?”

 “No, Smarty. Carrots. I’ve been annoyed by carrots ever since. However, my vision is perfect. So, a serving of carrots at age four must have a lasting effect.”

I liked his sense of humor. I liked his laugh.

I started to like him.

“Hey Martin. At some point, if you ever do get married, you could name your kids Wendy and Stormy. Perfect with a last name like Day, don’t you think?”

He suggested, “How about Lucky, or Big Harry Day?”

We continued to amuse ourselves by thinking up laughable names for a while— Sandy, Dusty, or Sunny. I liked Sunny Day.

Then it struck me. “Wait a minute. Are you the Martin Day who owns the second floor of the Shaw and Crandell law firm in the Talbot Building?”

He nodded. “I’m a joint owner.”

Wow. If I ever wanted a job at a highly respected law firm, it would be Shaw and Crandell, Ltd. What had I stumbled into? A chance connection with the one man who might make that possible, and I had tried to provoke him as soon as I entered his Mercedes.

Oops.

“You’re the attorney who won the famous Anderson case. What an amazing victory,” I exclaimed. “And no wonder. You could argue a case against carrots when you were only four.”

“I didn’t win the case alone,” he answered, unwilling to claim all the glory.

I swallowed. He really did play polo. He really did not deliberately toss the bag on the floor due to a bad temper. He probably owned three expensive cars, all paid for.

Unbelievable. I’m in the car with Mister Cracker Jack Attorney Martin Day. And he thinks I’m an annoying clerk in a Santa Claus costume.

I groaned inwardly. How could I overcome that first impression?

I remembered that I happen to be an ace law student and that he also liked my legs. My conversational skills did not disappear entirely. I drew him into a discussion about Chicago’s criminal justice system. He seemed fascinated that I could discuss fine points of law on a par with his intellectual level. His voice took on a note of respect. My confidence began to soar. 

We talked about many subjects and laughed repeatedly, actually enjoying the whole misadventure.

When he yawned again, I said, “Say I’ve got an idea. Why don’t I pull out this padding and we can use it for pillows?” I began unbuckling the wide black belt, however the buttons were difficult since they were too large for the openings. Whoever designed the stupid costume?

“Can you help me unbutton this thing?”

He leaned over. For a moment, our eyes met, his lips inches from mine. Those cobalt-blue eyes were absolutely dreamy.

“Do you trust me?” he asked reaching hesitantly toward my chest.

“I’ll take care of the top ones. You help with the belly buttons.”

A slightly wicked gleam flashed in those eyes. “Anything you say.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Never mind.”

I managed to pull out a wad of stuffing but caught my arm in one of the now-roomier sleeves. Martin tried to assist me, however with his injured hand, he ended up ripping the sleeve loose. Great. A torn Santa jacket with my bare shoulder exposed. Could I possibly feel more ridiculous?

Probably, if I wet my trousers. I did not dare think of that possibility.

We took turns dozing but kept the radio volume loud. We discovered we had many things in common. For instance, we both like pizza. Imagine that.

Hours later the snow stopped falling, and somewhere ahead the traffic started to move.

I could see freedom approaching and thanked Martin for sharing the warmth of his car and for saving me from waking up dead in a cryogenics lab.

He flashed a charming grin. “Miss Jayna, this has been an interesting night. I hope you have forgiven me for not apologizing when we bumped our heads together.”

Oh yeah. I wanted to see him again. Again and again.

And not just at the law firm. I decided to push for that possibility.

“You’re forgiven if you promise to take me out for coffee. After all, we never got around to talking about the Abominable Snowman’s shoe size.”

“Are you kidding?”

My heart sunk. What was I thinking? Why would Cracker Jack Attorney Martin Day possibly be interested in Smarty-Jones Santa?

“You deserve better for putting up with me all night. Why don’t I drive you home since your car is not going anywhere without gas. You can freshen up, and I’ll take you for something to eat. Then we’ll come back here and rescue your Honda. And now that we’ve gotten acquainted, we can talk about something more serious.”

My heart fluttered.

 “How about coming with me to the Gay Nineties party? I’d like to see you wear something off the shoulder in emerald green instead of red velvet.”

I couldn’t help flashing my biggest grin. “I thought you already knew everything about me that you wanted to know.”

Martin locked his blue eyes with mine, his expression both merry and mischievous. “I know this. You look ravishing in red velvet. You have beautiful green eyes, great legs, and a smart sense of humor. We’ve just spent hours together, and I’ve discovered there’s a whole lot more I want to find out about you.”

“Like maybe my shoe size?”

“That too.”

My head spun with Cinderella possibilities. Glass slippers? Green satin gown? I’d have to borrow one.

“Let me check my calendar,” I said, pretending to have one. A girl must never appear too eager. “If I’m free that evening, Martin, I’d like to go with you.”

His pleased grin grew wider. “It took more than a Chicago minute. In fact, more than a couple of hours, but I think I may have convinced you to go out with a guy like me.”

What a perfect ending to a monumentally bad day. A storm-tossed night turning into a bright sunny day.

Sunny Day?

Oh yeah. I liked the sound of that.

My plan-ahead mode kicked in.

Sunny would be a little boy with dark hair and cobalt-blue eyes.