Remembering Christmas by Drew Ferguson Read Free Book Online Page A

entire Fire Island scene. The nagging feeling that an era of his life had passed and it was time to move on had crystallized last summer as the sun rose on the beach and he found himself bobbing and weaving in a sea of dancing, shirtless men, many of a certain age, their hair closely cropped or shaved to camouflage telltale signs of graying or balding, their bodies shaped and defined by protein diets and free weights, their eyes, glazed by pharmaceuticals and exhaustion, squinting into the blinding rays of morning. Zombies, that’s what they resembled. Zombie lemmings cursed by the desire for eternal youth and perpetual adolescence.
    He could never hate the Island and still longed for the Cherry Grove of his youth, the magical place of quiet evenings in Ernst’s tiny cottage, sitting Indian-style on the braided carpets in the soft glow of the kerosene lamps, listening to writers he had admired in college swap recipes for lamb biryani and argue the merits of the translators of the Russian masterworks. But age and mortality and exorbitant real estate prices had swept away the past like the winter storms that ravaged the dunes, and Fire Island Pines had become the playground of investment bankers and insurance executives and bankruptcy lawyers from Wall Street firms, a place where status was ranked by perfect abdomens and access to a supply of party drugs.
    â€œSo it was a success?”
    James was shaken from his reverie by the sudden appearance of a vaguely familiar face.
    â€œI beg your pardon?” he asked.
    â€œThe tie. Did your friend like the tie? Blood orange. Unusual color.”
    â€œI am so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,” James apologized, recognizing the clerk who had sold him Ernst’s tie that morning.
    â€œNo apology necessary. Happens all the time. No one remembers me out of context,” the clerk laughed.
    â€œYes. Yes. He loved it. He even took off the one around his neck so he could wear it. Thanks for your help.”
    â€œDon’t thank me. I would have recommended something quieter, but you obviously know your friend’s taste.”
    James refrained from commenting that the lavender cravat the sales clerk was wearing wasn’t exactly subtle.
    â€œI wouldn’t have chosen it for myself, of course. A bright standard rep tie is my limit on outrageousness,” James confessed, resenting being so insecure that he felt it necessary to defend his good taste to a supercilious stranger.
    â€œOh, my God, I don’t believe it,” the clerk gasped, his attention completely distracted. “I think that’s Archie Duncan over at the bar. I read in the Post he’s been cast in a revival of Gypsy. ”
    It was the perfectly awful ending to a perfectly awful day. James wished he could fade into the wallpaper, an invisibility act worthy of a Marvel Comics superhero. With any luck, a swarm of fans would descend on Archie Duncan, demanding autographs and offering e-mail addresses and telephone numbers. James would slip by unnoticed and disappear into the night.
    â€œJames! James! Over here. Over here!”
    The sales clerk was suitably impressed that the customer with the terrible taste in ties was on a first-name basis with Archie Duncan.
    â€œYou’re going to introduce us I hope?” he asked, a demand masquerading as a question.
    â€œSorry, I can’t,” James said, wanting to slap down this presumptuous little ribbon clerk’s hands. “I don’t know your name.”
    â€œDamn, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Archie said, as James joined him at the bar. “I came looking for you, and they told me you’d left without saying good-bye.”
    â€œI apologize. My mother didn’t bring me up to be rude. I’ve got no excuse for running off like that,” James replied, feeling a bit childish for enjoying the envious glances he was receiving as a friend-of-Archie-Duncan.
    â€œWhy do I get this