"You know, it doesn't matter what's in them," he said. His throat tightened a little.
"I know," Val said. He detected a hint of sentiment in her eyes. "Open them anyhow."
Mai's was a pair of black trousers with the label of an Italian designer in the waistband. The fabric was crisp but not stiff, with just a hint of an elegant gleam. "I had the tailor hem them for me to your measurements," she said.
"They're great," Griffen said.
Fox Lisa waited eagerly as he lifted a tissue-wrapped bundle from a sturdy box. He sensed it was delicate, so he set it in his lap to finish the unwrapping. Swaddled in the tissue was a Carnival mask. He had seen hundreds of them in stores throughout the French Quarter. An oval, blank white face was surmounted by a folded fool's cap of bright green and gold. Around the empty right eyehole was painted a gold star. The molded lips smiled very slightly at the corners, as if the mask knew the punch line of a joke it hadn't delivered yet. It was a work of art.
"It's so light," he said. "I thought it would be made of china."
"It's leather. Masks in Europe are still made that way. A few makers do them here."
"I love it. Thank you."
Fox Lisa beamed. "You're more than welcome. You can wear it to masked balls, if you want."
Val had bought him a history of the earliest motion pictures from the turn of the twentieth century. Griffen glanced through the frames of those crudely made but groundbreaking, hand-cranked films. He had a couple of them in his collection. He felt the urge to curl up with the book and read it immediately. It took an act of will to close it and shove it under the front of the couch, where he couldn't see it.
"That is perfect," Griffen said. "Thanks, Val."
"I knew it was you as soon as I saw it. I was afraid you had bought one for yourself."
He shook his head. "You got in ahead of me. I can't wait to read it. Now, let's see what you have."
Griffen sat back with a glass of whisky as the girls tore into their presents. They thanked one another with hugs and kisses. Fox Lisa reheated the gumbo in Griffen's microwave and brought out more beers and soda for Val. Griffen felt mellow and happy.
"Do you know this is the first Christmas I have had since Val and I were kids that I have really enjoyed? Uncle Malcolm had us flown up to his mansion in upstate New York for the holidays. It was like getting sent to a museum for a week for punishment."
"Who took care of you?" Fox Lisa asked.
"We had a housekeeper. I think she used to work in a prison. I took every chance to rebel."
"So did I," Val said.
Griffen gave her as scornful look. "Yeah, you were great at rebelling. Coming in ten minutes after your curfew was rebelling."
"I was still late," she said, stung. "It made Mrs. Feuer mad."
"Everything made her mad. She was a real . . . dragon." Griffen stopped for a moment and drank whisky. "I never thought of it before, but she must have been. What if we had started manifesting as teenagers? Uncle Malcolm was pretty clever."
"I didn't appreciate his cleverness. I was glad to get away to college."
"You and me both. Uncle Malcolm wouldn't let us go to the same college," Griffen explained to the others. "We wanted to stick together, but he insisted on separating us."
"Control freak," Val agreed. "And he insisted on having us visit him, but he never seemed happy to have us there. It was out of family obligation. He's not a warm person. I think it was torture for all of us."
"I think holidays are a deliberate practice to put people together and make them miserable," Mai said. "Forced happiness only works in Disneyland."
"Hey!" Fox Lisa said, clapping her hands over her ears. "Stop it right now. Let's not get bogged down in happy memories!"
Griffen deliberately turned the conversation to enjoyable subjects.
When A Christmas Carol ended, he put on Miracle on 34th Street, then White Christmas. They played board games. No one could decide on which one, so they cobbled together a combination of Risk, Monopoly, and The Game of Life that Griffen had picked up for a song, still in cellophane, at a used bookstore. They made up rules that Griffen knew he would not remember an hour or two from then but seemed to make sense at the time.
He shook the dice and threw them onto the Monopoly board. He jumped the top hat six spaces, missing the armies bivouacked on Park Place and Boardwalk.
"Wait, you landed on Go," Mai exclaimed, pointing. "You have to move those five armies into Irkutsk!" Griffen winced. That meant that his forces had to face Val's shoe marker and Fox Lisa's red pawn.
"Can I pay a fine instead?" he asked. The girls conferred.
"Spin," Val commanded. "If you get over six, you can retreat." Griffen reached for the Life board.
"Oh, I love this part of Christmas," Fox Lisa said. "My family always had this kind of togetherness. This and presents. I love getting presents."
"We opened all the presents," Griffen reminded her. He leered. "Too bad there's nothing left to unwrap."
"I've got something you can unwrap," Fox Lisa said, rising to her knees a little unsteadily and putting her fingers on the top button of her blouse. "And I've got a present for you," she told Mai.
Mai tilted her head, interest dawning on her face. "Well, I have one for you, too!"
"Oh, no, I'm out of here," Val said. She was getting tired anyhow, and all the diet soda was pushing hard on her bladder. It was also tough being the only one in the room who was sober. She snatched up her presents and hurried toward the door. "Night, Griffen," she called.
"Merry Christmas, Val," he shouted, as the door opened with a creak.
Just before the door shut, she heard Fox Lisa let out a yelp, followed by a loud giggle. She retreated hastily to her own apartment.
Val had to pull her pillow over her head to shut out the voices and thumping noises as the furniture in her brother's apartment was rearranged by moving bodies.
"Not a creature was stirring, my petite little ass."
Still, it had been the best Christmas she could remember.
Twenty-two
Melinda beckoned gently to her daughter, who stood on the balustrade of the roof of their hotel. Thank God it's night, she thought. Only a few drunks down on Bourbon Street had noticed her and were shouting for her to jump. No one paid attention to them in the huge festive crowds on the street.
"Lizzy, bring that man down here. I mean, now! You might drop him. That would be bad."
"He's mine!" Lizzy shrieked. Though she was barely five feet tall and perhaps ninety pounds in weight, she shook the six-foot-two dark-skinned man like a paper doll. Melinda couldn't tell if he was still conscious or not. "I found him. I get to keep him!"
"He is not yours," Melinda said, willing herself to be calm. "He is mine. I am paying for our hotel room. What I pay for belongs to me. I have had to pick up hundreds of thousands of dollars of expenses in the last two months because you had your little accident."
"Not my fault!" Lizzy cried, her eyes filling with tears. The irises looked like disks of fused, multicolored glass. They seemed to whirl when she was upset. They were virtually spinning then. "It was that bitch! That Valerie. She did it! She hurt Lizzy! She was mean!"
"I know, my darling," Melinda said soothingly. "But she was not being mean to you. You hit her first, didn't you? Didn't I teach you that was wrong?"
"Ye-e-es . . ."
"So don't you think you should take responsibility for some of the problem?"