The Christmas Train Read Online Free PDF

toothpaste gets squeezed or who gets what side of the bathroom weren’t present to produce a destructive force on the otherwise happy couple. They ate out a lot, took romantic walks along the beach in Santa Monica or shopped on Fifth Avenue, slept until noon, and then didn’t see each other for a couple of months. If more marriages were put together like that, Tom firmly believed, the divorce rate would plummet. So, he wondered, why all the sighing of late.
    “Just get here. I don’t want to mess up everybody’s plans.”
    “Everybody? Who’s everybody?”
    “The people going with us to Tahoe.”
    This was news to him. “What people?”
    “Friends from the industry—my agent, my manager, and some others. We talked about this.”
    “No, we didn’t talk about this. I thought this was just going to be you and me. We’ve done this the last two years.”
    “That’s right, and I thought a change would be nice.”
    “Meaning what? That you’re getting bored being with just me?”
    “I didn’t say that!”
    “You didn’t have to. The army of people you invited into our Christmas said it loud and clear.”
    “I don’t want to argue about this. I just thought that a nice group of people together for Christmas at Tahoe would be fun. You know most of them—it’s not like they’re strangers—and it’s not like we won’t be spending time alone, we will. I only booked us one bedroom, honey. And I bought a new teddy, just for you. It has a Christmas theme, a naughty one,” she added in her best breathless tone. Tom’s skin started tingling. It was no wonder the lady made such a good living with her pipes.
    It had always bothered Tom that women thought they could win an argument with a man simply by appealing to his baser instincts, by holding out the mere possibility of award-winning carnal knowledge. It was the gender-battle equivalent of a preemptive nuclear strike. He thought it unfair and, quite frankly, disrespectful of the entire male population.
    And yet he heard himself saying, “Look, baby doll, I don’t want to argue either. I’ll be there on time, I swear.”
    He clicked off and for a few moments had visions of naughty teddies dancing in his head. Sometimes I’m such a guy , he thought ruefully.
    While he was chiding himself there was a bustle of movement in the train corridor. By the time Tom opened his compartment door and drew his bead, all he could see of the passing group was a trailing arm and leg. Though he’d only gotten a glimpse, there was something familiar about that arm, and that leg. He assumed they were heading to another section of sleeping compartments. VIPs, of course, would have first-class accommodations. He thought about following them, to see if it was actually the folks from the limousine, but concluded he’d catch up to them later.
    He sat back down and watched the scenery go by. The ride had been very smooth so far, and the sound of the revolving train wheels was soothing. It really wasn’t a clickety-clack sound, he decided. It was more of an extended hum, and then hush, hum and then hush, and then a big old siss-boom-bah. It was good to know that he had that weighty issue worked out.
    The first stop was Rockville, Maryland, barely twenty-five minutes after leaving Washington. Near Rockville was St. Mary’s, a modest white church located on a small hill. It was here that F. Scott Fitzgerald was buried, for no other apparent reason than in fulfillment of his request to be planted for eternity in the country. Tom made a mental note to write out very specific instructions concerning his own future interment, then pulled out his laptop and entered some observations for his story, though he hadn’t really seen all that much. Besides being mauled by Agnes Joe and humbled by Lelia, the trip thus far had been fairly sedate.
    He got up to see whom he could find to talk to. The train started up again, and he placed one hand against the wall in the corridor to steady himself.