Work Text:
Manhattan, December 5, 1981
“I need a beard.”
Jack uttered those words like a man in front of a firing squad.
Seraphina stopped pulling her masses of blue-black hair out from the collar of the coat she’d thrust herself into. She turned her head to Jack and quipped back, as they headed towards the subway station, “Well, we’ll be passing Trash/Vaudeville at some point, you can pick one up there.”
“I’m serious, Sera. I need you to give me… I dunno, some kind of protective colouration in some of these stores. Does that make sense?”
“Jack, we’re heading to the East Village. No one is going to care if you’re buying a Christmas present for your girlfriend, your boyfriend, or your flamingo.” She slung her arm over the shorter man’s shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, I’m perfectly happy to be your wingman for holiday shopping. But you know my dad is going to LOVE anything you get him.”
Jack answered quietly. “No, actually, I don’t know that. I don’t know that at all.”
She gave him another squeeze, then dashed ahead of him down the station steps and towards the turnstile.
They got out at 59th Street and headed towards Fifth Avenue. Seraphina had their itinerary all planned out, and Jack was content to let her be the guide. When he’d asked why they didn’t take the train all the way downtown, she’d replied cheekily, “It’s the journey, not the destination.”
Now, as they walked down crowded sidewalks, he realised that Sera had had the right idea. The department store holiday windows just by themselves started making him feel like… well, like a kid at Christmas! And an idea for a gift for Pitch [he was still getting used to the idea of calling Pitch his boyfriend] started taking form.
The Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building were both in view as block after block disappeared under their feet. Jack was happy that he could keep up with Seraphina’s stride. He had never minded his own five-foot-nine height until he’d started dating six-foot-four Pitch and, consequently, had met Pitch’s six-foot-one, nineteen-year-old daughter.
He had mentally compartmentalised away the fact that Sera was only five years younger than he was, as well as the fact that Pitch had been a year younger than Jack was now when Sera was born. Jack had enough insecurities to deal with as he got ready for his first term at the Parsons School of Design, which would start in January. He would be older than so many of his classmates; not that he could have helped the delay, because of Emma…
Jack’s reverie was broken by Seraphina pulling on his hand and dragging him towards a storefront with all the energy and enthusiasm of a toddler. He barely had time to look up at the sign - The Compleat Strategist - before he was yanked through the doors.
His first reaction was “wow”. There were more board games, card games, pewter figurines, and multi-sided dice than he had ever seen crammed into one small space. The second thing he noticed was that Seraphina was the only female shopper, and since she towered over most of the crowd, it was even more obvious.
Nothing ever stopped Pitch’s daughter when she wanted something. “I know exactly what to get Dad.” She made her way unerringly to a bookcase labelled “Avalon Hill”, ran her fingers over the spines, and pulled out a boxed set, showing it to Jack. “This is the one!” A scene in sepia brown and military blue, two frigates from the Golden Age Of Sail, adorned the lid of the game box. The title was WOODEN SHIPS AND IRON MEN.
Jack laughed, delighted. “Oh man, that’s perfect.”
Seraphina gave him a grin in return. “Isn’t it, though. And it’s a bit of a present for me, too, since it needs at least three people to play it well.”
“Oooh. Savvy.”
“Anything you want?”
“Nah, I’ll come back if I do.”
“Suit yourself.” She brought her purchase to the counter and fended off the awkward flirting of the [male] cashier with ease. Retrieving her backpack from the front hold area, Seraphina asked, “Star Magic first, or Dosanko’s?”
“You even have to ask? Dosanko’s! But we’re going Dutch, kiddo.”
“Sure thing, old man.”
They headed across the street to the Japanese “fast food” franchise that had outlets springing up all over Manhattan. They sat down with their giant bowls of kata yakisoba and happily slurped up soy-spiced noodles in an oniony broth, uncovering the huge portion of meat and vegetables underneath. For $3.00, you couldn’t beat it.
When Jack and Seraphina hit the streets again, it had begun snowing lightly. They scampered down the cross-streets to get away from the wind, laughing and making jokes about the upcoming snowball wars.
They went to four more shops before they took another break. At Star Magic they pooled their money to buy a miniature reproduction of an armillary sphere for Pitch’s desk at work. At Rivendell, after taking tea with the owner. Eileen Campbell-Gordon, they bought a gift certificate and watched her write Pitch’s name in flawless calligraphy on the envelope. At Love Saves The Day, Seraphina bought presents for her roommates Sandy and Thiana, while Jack paid quiet attention to whatever Sera gravitated towards. And at Sounds, Seraphina bought herself a poster of Philippe Halsman’s Dali Atomicus, while Jack finally made an independent purchase of two vinyl albums, although he claimed it was for school, not for Christmas.
“You still haven’t gotten a Christmas present that’s just yours for Dad, though, Jack,” she said as she led the way down the stairs into The Grassroots Tavern, which nestled below Sounds and abutted Trash/Vaudeville.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” he reassured her. They ordered two coffees and grabbed the front window booth. Seraphina handed Jack her backpack to guard while she used the unisex restroom, and then Jack did the same when she got back to the table.
Sera wouldn’t drop the topic. “C’mon, give me just a little hint.”
“Nope.”
She raised one elegant eyebrow, looking so much like her father for a minute that Jack’s heart cramped. She took a sip of the bitter coffee, then leaned back and crossed her arms, scowling at him so ferociously that he just had to laugh. How had he gotten so lucky to have both these wonderful Pitchiners in his life?
December 12, 1981
Kozmotis Pitchiner wrapped his black scarf twice around his neck and tucked the fringed ends into the neck of his black peacoat. He locked the door to their apartment and went to join Seraphina at the elevator; she was literally jumping up and down in her impatience. He couldn’t resist saying to her, “How old are you, anyway? Five?”
She retorted, “And how old are you? Five billion? Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” The elevator arrived and Sera jumped in to press the button to keep the doors open. Pitch followed her, shaking his head.
Down in the lobby of Clifton House, they both greeted Dennis at the reception desk; he’d already called a cab for them. Getting in after Seraphina, Pitch directed the driver to an address on Canal Street.
“You’re sure about this, Sera? It seems rather… obvious. Not to mention impersonal.”
“Daaaa-aad. Trust me. This place is art supply heaven, and anything you buy from there will say to Jack, ‘I believe in you!’ If there’s anything Jack wants and needs right now, it’s to be believed in.”
“Hmmmph.”
They got out of the cab about twenty minutes later at Pearl Paint, which occupied the full five stories of the building. Pitch leaned his head back to look up and commented drily, “Well, that’s daunting.”
Seraphina took his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Don’t gawk, darling father. It’s tres gauche, and makes you look like a tourist.”
“Don’t scold, darling daughter, or I’ll be forced to return your present.”
“Ooooh, then you admit you got me a present! Very well, then. Pax!”
They headed inside.
December 19, 1981
Jack envied how smooth Dennis at the reception desk at Clifton House was in everything he did, from slotting letters into the mail cubby behind him to how he spoke on the telephone. Jack could only hope to have that kind of polish and savoir-faire when HE was in his sixties.
Now Dennis put the phone down and nodded to Jack, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses. “Mister Pitchiner will be right down.” And less than five minutes later Pitch strode into the lobby. No public displays of affection from the stern ex-military man, but Jack knew that the light in Pitch’s eyes was all for him. He hugged that knowledge to himself and smiled up at the taller man. “I presume you have a battle plan?”
“Indeed I do,” Pitch replied as they exited through the revolving doors to the street. “With your reconnaissance last week, I think there are a few of your suggestions I can implement.”
“Aye aye, captain!”
Pitch made an undignified noise at that and pretended to be offended. “Stow it, bilge rat.”
Jack noticed that Pitch was directing their steps crosstown, rather than the downtown route that he and Seraphina had taken. “Eeyore’s?” he hazarded a guess.
“Eeyore’s.”
They spent more than an hour in the children’s specialty bookstore before they made their purchases. Pitch selected A WALK IN WOLF WOOD by Mary Stewart, saying, “it’s about time they made the werewolf the hero”, while Jack chose the Brambly Hedge books, showing Pitch the synopsis on the inside dust jacket of the final volume. “Listen. ‘The biggest snowstorm in years leaves just enough snow for a party in a palace made entirely out of ice.’ Give you any ideas?”
“Definitely sounds like you, Frost.”
Pitch leaned over and whispered into Jack’s ear, “Any room in that palace for me?”
Jack’s heart thumped in his chest. It really did. He tried to make a smooth comeback, but could only grin up inanely into Pitch’s face and mutter something about making igloos as a kid.
After cashing out, they took the subway, riding the 1 train all the way down to Hudson Street. They held hands surreptitiously under the cover of Pitch putting his hands in his coat pockets and Jack tucking HIS hand into Pitch’s coat pocket as well. No one paid them any attention, but it couldn’t hurt to be too careful.
At Books of Wonder, they gazed at Brian’s window art before heading in. Pitch had been buying one vintage Oz book from Peter Glassman for Sera every Christmas since 1973; this year it was time for TIK-TOK OF OZ. Sharon wrapped it carefully and smiled at both Pitch and Jack, a knowing but friendly look in her eyes. “Is that all for today, gentlemen?” She seemed to not be in the least bit flustered that Pitch had someone other than Seraphina in tow, nor judgmental that two men were together at her counter.
Jack gave a small sigh of relief, though, once they got out of the store. After fourteen months in New York, six months of which he’d been with Pitch, he still wasn’t sure he wasn’t seeing judgement around every corner… judgement for being gay, judgement for the gay cliche of being a younger man with an older man, judgement that it looked like he, Jack, had set out to trap a sugar daddy. It was different with Pitch, it really was…
“Penny for them.”
Pitch’s warm voice interrupted the broken record in Jack’s mind. He turned and looked up at Pitch as they walked, saying with a sassiness he didn’t quite feel, “Now I know where Seraphina gets it. Being a Pitchiner gives you mind-reading powers.”
“Not quite that simple. I just know that expression when people get tangled up in their own heads. I wear it often enough, myself.”
They turned to head towards 14th Street, and Jack gathered his courage to take the arm that Pitch offered him. He could feel Pitch relax, and lengthened his own strides to keep up.
Some blocks eastward, Jack led Pitch towards Love Saves The Day. Pitch’s eyebrows rose at the chalkboard sign that gleefully announced that unaccompanied children in the store would be given to the Krampus. But he also smiled at the windup pig on a leash that trotted back and forth along the length of a leash lashed to a bicycle stand. “Sinister whimsy,” he commented. “I can see why my daughter likes this place.”
“Uh huh. But watch your head. There’s stuff hanging everywhere.”
“Duly noted.”
Jack led the way into the shop, which “crowded and cramped” didn’t even begin to describe. It was a cheerful explosion of colours, from the clothing to the posters to the piles of magazines, toys, shoes, and knick-knacks. A turntable next to the cash register was spinning an Andrews Sisters 78 record. “There’s one dress she was looking at yesterday that I don’t think she noticed that I was taking notes on.” He went over a rack in the corner, rifled through , and pulled out a garment that glittered from collar to hem. Every bit of material that could have a sequin or a fake gemstone on it was covered in sequins and fake gemstones, but somehow it worked, appearing sumptuous rather than garish.
Jack held it up to himself; it hung to midcalf on him. On Seraphina it would probably be tunic-length at worst and a mini-dress at best. Pitch made reflective noises and walked around Jack as best he could in the small space, looking at the dress from every angle, before nodding in approval. He stated, “I think she’ll like it. Very Cher.”
“I thought so too.”
“Good, that’s settled. Anything else? I’ve already decided your idea about the Walkman is an excellent one, as her ‘big’ present.”
Jack fidgeted while still holding the dress. “I did see something else here that I don’t think she saw, but it’s more a ‘from both of us’ thing than just me. If you think we’re ready to do a ‘from us’ thing, that is…” Jack trailed off.
Pitch’s eyes softened and he smiled at Jack reassuringly. “I want there to be an ‘us’ as long as you want there to be an ‘us’, and my daughter is the biggest fan of there being an ‘us’ as you’ll ever find. So, yes, show me this gift that you want to be from both of us.”
Jack let out his breath in an audible whoosh and handed Pitch the sequined dress on its hanger. He moved towards one of the jewellery display cases and pointed. “That.”
“That” was a heavy round silver brooch that had been restrung to hang from a long heavy silver chain. The chased figures on its surface depicted two antlered stags running together through a copse of fir branches bedecked with pinecones.
It seemed to be a thoroughly innocent piece of jewellery, until one actually gave thought to the unlikelihood of such a scene in nature.
Unless, of course, the two stags shared a bond, much like Pitch and Jack.
Pitch’s dark face split into an enormous smile as he came to the realisation that Jack intended him to have. Not caring who saw, he hugged the shorter man to his chest and kissed the top of his silver-blond head. “Superb choice,” he said. “I couldn’t have done better.”
There was a world of layered meanings in his voice, and Jack smiled brightly back at him.
December 25, 1981
“You little liar! I knew those records were for Dad… sort of.”
Seraphina glittered as she did a twirl in front of the fireplace, between her new hip-length bejewelled tunic, worn over a green velvet skirt, and her new silver necklace.
“Manners, young lady,” Pitch interjected from his corner of the sofa, where he was flipping through the folio that Jack had made for him. Jack had used the album sleeves as front and back covers; one was “Welcome To My Nightmare”, the other “Frost Music”. About half the pages in the folio were drawings that Jack had already done, and half the pages were blank, with a handwritten IOU sitting on the coffee table, promising more drawings in the future.
In the other sofa corner, Jack sat sketching them both with his new pens, a look of fierce concentration on his face, but his body poised in a state of relaxation. Relaxed, that is, until Seraphina dashed off and came back with the family’s ancient Polaroid camera. Before either Pitch or Jack could move, Seraphina had snapped a photo of the two of them.
As the image emerged, she exclaimed, “This one’s going on the fridge door!”
As Sera scurried off to match actions to words, Pitch laid the folio on the coffee table and Jack did the same with his drawing supplies. They reached for one another and met halfway across the couch cushions, sealing their lips together in a Christmas kiss.