he poured his coffee, cursed mildly as he took his chair. He couldn’t enjoy Sports or Metro—even the obituaries couldn’t hold his attention. Then he realized that Nora should not see the poster. She’d worry about it much more than he did.
With each new assault on his right to do as he pleased, Luther was more determined to ignoreChristmas. He was concerned about Nora, though. He would never break, but he feared she would. If she believed the neighborhood children were now protesting, she just might collapse.
He struck quickly—slinking through the garage, cutting around the corner, high-stepping across the lawn because the grass was wet and practically frozen, yanking the poster from the ground, and tossing it into the utility room, where he’d deal with it later.
He took Nora her coffee, then settled once again at the kitchen table, where he tried in vain to concentrate on the Gazette . He was angry, though, and his feet were frozen.
Luther drove to work.
He had once advocated closing the office from the middle of December until after January 1. No one works anyway, he’d argued rather brilliantly at a firm meeting. The secretaries needed to shop so they left for lunch early, returned late, then left an hour later to run errands. Simply make everyone take their vacations in December, he had said forcefully. Sort of a two-week layoff, with pay of course. Billings were down anyway, he had explained with charts and graphs to back him up. Their clients certainly weren’t in theiroffices, so no item of business could ever be finalized until the first week of January. Wiley & Beck could save a few bucks by avoiding the Christmas dinner and the office party. He had even passed out an article from The Wall Street Journal about a big firm in Seattle that had adopted such a policy, with outstanding results, or so said the Journal .
It had been a splendid presentation by Luther. The firm voted eleven to two against him, and he’d stewed for a month. Only Yank Slader’d hung in there with him.
Luther went through the motions of another morning, his mind on last night’s concert by his junipers and the protest sign in his front yard. He enjoyed life on Hemlock, got on well with his neighbors, even managing to be cordial to Walt Scheel, and was uncomfortable now being the target of their displeasure.
Biff, the travel agent, changed his mood when she waltzed into his office with barely a knock—Dox, his secretary, was lost in catalogs—and presented their flight and cruise tickets, along with a handsome itinerary and an updated brochure on the Island Princess . She was gone in seconds, much too brief a stay to suit Luther, who, when he admired her figure and tan, couldn’t help butdream of the countless string bikinis he would soon encounter. He locked his door and was soon lost in the warm blue waters of the Caribbean.
For the third time that week Luther sneaked away just before lunch and raced to the mall. He parked as far away as possible because he needed the hike, down eight pounds now and feeling very fit, and entered through Sears with a mob of other noontime shoppers. Except Luther was there for a nap.
Behind thick sunshades, he ducked into Tans Forever on the upper concourse. Daisy with the copper skin had been relieved by Daniella, a pale redhead whose constant tanning had only made her freckles expand and spread. She punched his card, assigned him to Salon 2, and, with all the wisdom of a highly skilled dermatologist, said, “I think twenty-two minutes should do it today, Luther.” She was at least thirty years his junior, but had no problem addressing him simply as Luther. A kid working a temporary job for minimum wage, it never crossed her mind that perhaps she should call him Mr. Krank.
Why not twenty-one minutes? he wanted to snap. Or twenty-three?
He grumbled over his shoulder and went to Salon 2.
The FX-2000 BronzeMat was cool to the touch, a very good sign because Luther couldn’t stand
With each new assault on his right to do as he pleased, Luther was more determined to ignoreChristmas. He was concerned about Nora, though. He would never break, but he feared she would. If she believed the neighborhood children were now protesting, she just might collapse.
He struck quickly—slinking through the garage, cutting around the corner, high-stepping across the lawn because the grass was wet and practically frozen, yanking the poster from the ground, and tossing it into the utility room, where he’d deal with it later.
He took Nora her coffee, then settled once again at the kitchen table, where he tried in vain to concentrate on the Gazette . He was angry, though, and his feet were frozen.
Luther drove to work.
He had once advocated closing the office from the middle of December until after January 1. No one works anyway, he’d argued rather brilliantly at a firm meeting. The secretaries needed to shop so they left for lunch early, returned late, then left an hour later to run errands. Simply make everyone take their vacations in December, he had said forcefully. Sort of a two-week layoff, with pay of course. Billings were down anyway, he had explained with charts and graphs to back him up. Their clients certainly weren’t in theiroffices, so no item of business could ever be finalized until the first week of January. Wiley & Beck could save a few bucks by avoiding the Christmas dinner and the office party. He had even passed out an article from The Wall Street Journal about a big firm in Seattle that had adopted such a policy, with outstanding results, or so said the Journal .
It had been a splendid presentation by Luther. The firm voted eleven to two against him, and he’d stewed for a month. Only Yank Slader’d hung in there with him.
Luther went through the motions of another morning, his mind on last night’s concert by his junipers and the protest sign in his front yard. He enjoyed life on Hemlock, got on well with his neighbors, even managing to be cordial to Walt Scheel, and was uncomfortable now being the target of their displeasure.
Biff, the travel agent, changed his mood when she waltzed into his office with barely a knock—Dox, his secretary, was lost in catalogs—and presented their flight and cruise tickets, along with a handsome itinerary and an updated brochure on the Island Princess . She was gone in seconds, much too brief a stay to suit Luther, who, when he admired her figure and tan, couldn’t help butdream of the countless string bikinis he would soon encounter. He locked his door and was soon lost in the warm blue waters of the Caribbean.
For the third time that week Luther sneaked away just before lunch and raced to the mall. He parked as far away as possible because he needed the hike, down eight pounds now and feeling very fit, and entered through Sears with a mob of other noontime shoppers. Except Luther was there for a nap.
Behind thick sunshades, he ducked into Tans Forever on the upper concourse. Daisy with the copper skin had been relieved by Daniella, a pale redhead whose constant tanning had only made her freckles expand and spread. She punched his card, assigned him to Salon 2, and, with all the wisdom of a highly skilled dermatologist, said, “I think twenty-two minutes should do it today, Luther.” She was at least thirty years his junior, but had no problem addressing him simply as Luther. A kid working a temporary job for minimum wage, it never crossed her mind that perhaps she should call him Mr. Krank.
Why not twenty-one minutes? he wanted to snap. Or twenty-three?
He grumbled over his shoulder and went to Salon 2.
The FX-2000 BronzeMat was cool to the touch, a very good sign because Luther couldn’t stand
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