Read A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree Online
Authors: Janet Dailey
A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree (10 page)
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“We’re going to start by making oval frames for people outside to look through,” Finn announced. “We’re going for a shadowbox effect. Raise your hands if you have any questions.”
No one did. They knew what he was talking about.
Finn pointed to several members of the group, including Nicole. “You, you, you, you, and you. Grab those cans of spray adhesive.”
Nicole turned to look at the Plexiglas panels with large, peel-off ovals in their centers. The ovals would be removed when the “frame” part was sprayed on and the panels placed in front of the store’s glass windows.
She lined up with the others and took a spray can from the table, plus gloves, a face mask, and goggles.
“Okay. You, you, and you”—Finn pointed to three guys—“follow her. Each window bay has a bucket of dust. When she’s done spraying, throw dust in handfuls until the Plexiglas around the oval is covered with it. Do not, repeat, do not, throw dust at Nicole.”
She smiled wanly at his joke. The guys were eyeing her already. They probably wouldn’t act up—Finn wouldn’t stand for it. But he couldn’t be everywhere. Wouldn’t it be nice, she thought, if Sam were here? He was good at following directions, for a cowboy.
Xandro clapped his hands. “The ovals do not come off until the frame is dusted,” he warned. “And please note the pond liners already installed at the bottom of the window bays. We’re going to fill them with more dust and grit. And some broken bricks,” he added proudly.
Finn glanced at the drawings. “Then the mannequins go in. I need them dressed while the dust people are working.” He pointed to a few more freelancers.
Nicole snapped on her paper mask and pressed the flexible edges to fit her face. She set her equipment by the window she would do and went back to her tote, finding a bandanna to wrap around her head and a worn workshirt to cover her clothes. It wouldn’t be long before she was overheated and down to her tank top. This was the miserable part of making magic.
An hour or so later, she peeled off the large paper oval to reveal the clear space that people outside would look through, and carefully wiped away specks of dust with a squirt bottle of window cleaner. By now she had plastic grocery bags tied over her shoes so she wouldn’t track the grit underfoot into the store. The frame was perfect. Finn gave it a thumbs-up.
Coughing, Nicole took off her improvised booties and gloves, and then the face mask, pitching everything into a huge trash can. The platforms that would hold the mannequins were in position. She’d put on fresh protective gear when they were installed.
She peeled off her workshirt and the sweater underneath. Tank top time. The only advantage to working under hot lights was sweating off a few pounds. She tucked the rib-knit top into her jeans, brushing them off and then washing her hands with a bottle of sanitizer.
Xandro had dragged Finn off to look at a window that wasn’t as far along, and it was another minute before he came back to her.
“Think we should order the pizza now?” Finn asked. “We’re going to need eight. Might take a while. ”
“Sure. I’ll do it. Where’s the phone?”
Finn moved behind the register counter and picked up an old-fashioned landline, setting it out with a thunk. He found a handful of take-out menus and fanned them out. “Here ya go. Make sure one pizza is vegetarian. Other than that, anything goes. And get nine six-packs of cola and one of ginger ale.”
“Got it.” Grease, salt, sugar, and caffeine. Freelancer fuel.
She picked the grubbiest menu, figuring it was the most popular. Then she placed the order and gave the street number.
“Hah? Say what? There ain’t no apartment buildings at that address. You crank callers drive me crazy.” The pizza guy hung up.
Nicole called the next one. Fortunately, the only question they asked was cash or credit.
“Cash,” she replied, waving Finn over. He took out a roll of bills and whipped off four fifties.
About forty-five minutes later, someone thumped on the glass doors. Nicole nodded to the security guard, who turned the key left in the lock, opening the door with a flourish. “Do I get some?” he asked.
“Sure.”
The delivery guy was so short that she couldn’t see his face behind the stack of pizza boxes. Nicole took five off the top and set them aside. “How much?”
“A hundred forty with the soda.” He went back outside to get drinks from the huge wire basket mounted on his bicycle. He must have balanced the insulated pizza carrier on top.
She handed him the cash. “Could I have a receipt, please? Take out twenty for yourself.”
The deliveryman seemed happy with his generous tip. One of the crew came running over to help, whooping as he took the boxes away.
The guy folded the money and stuffed it into his pocket, giving her the scrawled receipt and change in small bills. Then he tried to look over her shoulder when someone cranked the music to full-blast volume.
“You havin’ a party in here?”
“No.”
“Sounds like a party.”
She glanced in the direction of his gaze. A female freelancer was dancing with a slice of pizza in her mouth and a hammer in her hand, swinging it in time with the thumping beat.
“Looks like a party,” the deliveryman said hopefully. He eyed her, and Nicole wished she still had her baggy workshirt on—or failing that, a garbage bag. Hard to believe anyone thought she was hot with no makeup and her hair under a dirty bandanna.
“It isn’t. We’re installing new windows. Good-bye.” Nicole walked him backward toward the door and used it to move him out to the sidewalk. The security guard was chowing down on a slice and soda.
“Mmf.
Sorry,” he said when he came back, chewing. “Good pizza. Get some before it’s all gone.”
Sorry,” he said when he came back, chewing. “Good pizza. Get some before it’s all gone.”
Nicole went over to the others, selecting a cheese slice and devouring it.
Xandro clapped his hands when they’d all eaten. “Wash up, people. Time to dress our boys and girls.”
One of the freelancers had already taken apart the mannequins. A row of upturned legs awaited their ENJ jeans, socks, and shoes. The matching torsos would be stuck on and arms added, then dressed. Plaster heads, wigs on, were being artfully smudged with gray powder.
Nicole exchanged a look with Finn. They were probably thinking the same thing. The concept was depressing. Not a trace of red, no sparkle, not an iota of holiday cheer. But it was what they were getting paid to do.
Hours later, the installation was complete and the skinniest freelancer had squeezed between the Plexiglas and the store window to rip out the concealing paper. Not a soul was on the streets besides Xandro, videotaping the windows from the outside.
He came back in, shivering. “Stay where you are, everybody. I have to send videos of everything to Kevin Talley. Remember the name. He’s the CEO of Emperor. Which is ENJ’s parent company, in case you didn’t know.”
Xandro began to whistle as he plugged the video recorder into his laptop’s USB port.
“He is going to love it, just love it,” he enthused.
No one else seemed to share the visual manager’s passion. But then Xandro wasn’t totally exhausted and covered in dust.
The freelancers pulled off masks and gloves, filling up another huge trash barrel with that and the crumpled paper. Finn dragged out several vacuum cleaners from a utility closet and asked for volunteers.
The noise made Xandro look up from his laptop. “Can you keep it down?” he asked irritably. “Talley’s looking at the videos right now. Says he’ll get right back to me.”
He stared into the laptop again, its glowing screen reflected in his black-framed glasses.
Slumped on a folding chair, Nicole amused herself by looking at the twin reflections in his lenses. She saw him frown and his eyes widen.
“Oh no. He hates it. Absolutely hates it,” Xandro muttered. He typed quickly on the keyboard in response.
“Huh? Didn’t he sign off the concept?” Finn asked.
“He saw the preliminary sketches.” Xandro’s eyes frantically scanned the laptop’s screen as more e-mails arrived. “I made a few changes after that. He says—oh, please—I don’t believe this—”
The designer paused to read, then quoted aloud. “Talley says those are the ugliest windows he’s ever seen—and that I—I went too far. He says to rip out the panels and leave the bays empty. And do it now.”
A chorus of disbelieving groans went up.
Finn shrugged. “You heard him, everyone. Prepare to de-install. Vacuums, suck when ready. But take the mannequins out first. We can’t get the clothes dirty.”
A cold sun shot rays of light down the Manhattan street when they were nearly finished. Nicole was using goo remover and a paint scraper to get the last bit of dust off her Plexiglas when a long black car with a chauffeur at the wheel pulled up in front of the flagship store.
Without waiting for the chauffeur to open the back door, a man got out, barely glancing at her.
He was trim, walking quickly, with a mature face and close-cropped white hair. She noticed his black sweatshirt and distressed jeans were both ENJ styles as he pounded on the glass door. Nicole cast a glance over her shoulder at Finn, who looked at Xandro.
“That’s Kevin Talley,” the visual manager breathed. “Let him in.”
The weary security guard unlocked the door and straightened to military uprightness as the CEO breezed past him.
Talley stopped and looked around. “Good morning,” he said to the scattered freelancers. They stayed where they were, frozen, as if they were playing Statues among the dressed mannequins they had removed from the windows, which stood upright on round, heavy bases, staring blankly.
Finn helped Nicole down. The CEO stood where he was, rocking a little on his feet with his hands clasped in front of him.
“Guess you already know that we’re starting over,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be paid the regular flat rate for the install and overtime for the extra hours. Someone will be in touch with each of you by tonight—I assume Mr. Leary has everyone’s cell number.”
He looked toward Finn, who nodded.
Talley’s gaze moved to Xandro. “Of course, we have to find a new visual manager first. Someone who understands what a chain of command is.”
The designer glared at him. The expression on the younger man’s face made it clear that he knew what was coming. “Go to hell,” Xandro snarled.
“You bet. Thanks for giving me one more reason to fire you,” Talley said. “You can call human resources for the details,” he added calmly. “I left a message with the department head. The office opens at nine.”
Xandro closed his laptop and stalked off to get his coat. The only sound was the faint creaking of his highly polished shoes. He held his head high as he left. Nicole saw him stalk past the now-empty front windows and vanish around the corner.
All that work for nothing. But at least they would be paid, and then some.
Exhausted, she fell into bed after taking a shower. The morning sun moved across her pillow, but it didn’t wake her. Nicole slept until two in the afternoon, when the ring of her cell phone finally jolted her into semiconsciousness.
“Hello?” she answered sleepily.
“Hiya!” Sam’s voice was loud.
She held the phone away from her ear, frowning at it. She rubbed her eyes before she spoke. “Where are you?”
“Up in a tree. Downtown, looking uptown. Great view. I can see the Empire State Building.”
“That’s nice. Don’t fall.”
She heard faraway yells, probably from the crew he worked with.
“Sam?”
“Yeah. How’d it go with the windows last night?”
Nicole yawned. “Put ‘em in, took ’em out. Lots of drama—I’ll tell you later. The CEO hated the concept. He stopped by in person to fire the visual manager.”
“He should hire you,” Sam said loyally.
Nicole smiled to herself. “Not going to happen. Besides, Finn is next in line.”
“Oh, okay. Hey, you have any plans for dinner tonight?”
She smiled and settled back down into the puffy warmth of her comforter. It was funny to hear Sam ask a question like that from inside a tree. “No.”
“I’ll swing by around eight. We’ll figure something out.”
“Absolutely not. I have to catch up on my sleep. Tomorrow night.”
“We can order in. How about pizza?”
“Gah. No.”
He laughed at the vehement reply. “You pick, then. I don’t care.”
“Let’s go to—how about Chinatown? I know a little place with great dumplings.”
“Sure,” he said enthusiastically. “Hang on, I just turned around. Now I’m looking downtown. That must be Chinatown right there—that’s the top of a pagoda.”
She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and thought. He wasn’t seeing things. There was a tall pagoda on Canal Street, five or six stories high. “I know that building.”
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