What's a White Christmas To Ya, Anyhow?
Somewhere, good Catholics went to midnight mass, but Catholics like Nathan stood watch at brothels and made sure the drunks didn't get too drunk. Catholics like Betty snuck coins from purses. And atheists like Ros minded the till and sang 'til every man fell in love.
In between, not the sheets but the walls, exchanges were whispered.
"I'm getting Ros somethin' extra nice this year. Couple'a gents didn't think to lock their purse up tight."
"Nathan, would ya mind givin' a girl a ribbon? I lost mine somewhere."
"I need a glass of water."
The chitchat passed between tittering lips, each excited for the day after. Merry Christmas to all, and all would have a good night once the night was out. In the cramped and crowded spaces of Madame's, nooks and crannies were all occupied to the brim. Each space claimed by one of the lads or ladies of the house, each space filled with presents for the following day. Hidey holes were hard to come by, but one had to find one or risk their brown paper package tied up with strings going home with a pair of sticky fingers that lusted after more than just the warmth of someone's hips.
In between whisking a customer in and wishing them a Merry Christmas on their way out, the rustles of dresses and clacks of shoes could be heard all throughout the building. The hidden stairways and servant's corridors were alive with the sound of people getting ready.
Because while Christmas Eve was the busiest time of the year, Christmas Day was as dead as a doorknob. And that was the day everyone looked forward to.
It was Christmas of 1925, and all throughout the bordello, every creature was stirring, even the mice. A Christmas tree decorated with stockings and earrings. Lights made of candles in beer glasses. Cut-outs of reindeer and snowflakes hung from the rafters. And gathered 'round the floor, the faces of those who called each other family.
"Open mine first!" Betty declared, her finger insistently pointing for Ruth to grab the one wrapped in naught but ribbons.
Another cry, another shout.
They devoured their presents as though they were hungry to find what was inside. They knew full well that pretending things could last longer than they were allowed led to pinched faces and grim nods. So they tore in like children on their first Christmas.
Each gift was richer than the next. Each face lit and smiling...
At least, that's how Nathan remembered it all. Wandering from store to store in the street, an invisible ghost from an era long gone. He was silent. He was calm. Anything but bright. His face no longer had that rosy glow that came from eggnog and firelight. The Christmas Eve of 2014 was so different, so odd. He had no post to tend to, no place to be.
But in his hearts, he was back where he belonged. He sang songs louder (and slightly off-key) with the girls. He tried his hand at the piano. He tied ribbons in the girls' hair. And that thought seemed to warm his heart, or the strange cold that had grown where it once beat.
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
areudirty
ellievsbear
2087
romaincrisis
