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The pair of ice skates Amy gifted Frank last Christmas sit untouched in the box at the back of his closet until she comes up from Florida for a visit.
“You’ve seriously never been ice skating before?” Amy asks.
They’re spending the evening at the Winter Village at Bryant Park, in Midtown. The clouds are low and threatening more snow, but the Norway Spruce is decorated for the holidays and all lit up in red, white and blue. The crowd is thin tonight on account of the cold—hovering in the low thirties—and Amy says that’s perfect. Frank thinks they should’ve gone to an atmospherically-controlled indoor rink.
“Boring.” Amy’s bundled up in a peach puffer jacket and knit fingerless gloves. A pair of goofy reindeer-antler ear muffs perch on her head. “Anyway, the cold is half the fun.”
Frank’s balls disagree with that statement. He tugs the black beanie down lower over his ears.
“I missed this,” the kid declares excitedly. “It’s probably sixty-five degrees in Miami right now. It actually feels like winter here. You should see this place on Christmas Eve.”
“Sounds like the nightmare before Christmas.” Frank shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Come on.” Amy hangs on his tented arm like an overly caffeinated kid about to meet Santa. “Lighten up. I’m here.”
That’s all he said he wanted for Christmas, which she thought was just the cutest. So she agreed to give him what he wanted and, in return, he’d have to tag along and put on the pair of skates she bought him.
“Still can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
“I still can’t believe you grew that thing.”
“You don’t like my beard? Just needs to grow on you, kid.”
“You need to shave it off. It gives me the heebie-jeebies and I like you better without it.”
“Karen says it suits me.”
“Oh, does she? Should’ve invited her.”
“I don’t need a whole audience. Bad enough I gotta embarrass myself in front of you.”
“No one cares if you fall on your ass, Frank. You’ll do fine. And you’ll have fun.” The kid makes it sound like a threat.
They pick a vacant bench and lace into their skates.
“You never took Lisa or Frank Junior out on the ice?” They’ve known each other long enough for Amy to ask those kinds of questions and Frank to feel comfortable responding.
“Maria did, to the one in Wollman. The ice isn’t my thing.”
“You like ice hockey, Frank.”
“That’s different.”
“Bunch of dudes in helmets crashing into one another. To me that’s just football on ice, with sticks.”
Frank snorts at her lack of appreciation for the sport and Amy tsks in a lack of appreciation at his lacing technique. “These aren’t your Bates boots, Frank. Here, let me show you how it’s done.” She gets on her knees and fusses with the laces. “All set. Comfy?”
Not really. “Are they supposed to be this tight?”
“It’s your first time, Frank, it’s supposed to feel like that.” The kid’s cheeks glow red when she catches the innuendo. “I…I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Jesus Christ.” Frank just shakes his head. Teenagers.
“Come on, stand up,” Amy encourages.
“I look and feel ridiculous.”
“You’re not even on the ice yet.”
He doesn’t know if that’s supposed to make him feel better or worse.
At the edge of the rink, Frank baulks like someone about to step out of a plane at ten thousand feet.
“It’s just ice, Frank,” says Amy. “It can’t hurt you. Unless you fall and crack your skull open.” She thinks it over. “Maybe we should get you a helmet, just to be safe.”
“Shut up,” he grouses.
The kid’s laugh cuts through the frigid air, as clear and bright as sleigh bells.
“Stay close to the wall.”
As if Frank had any other ideas. He totters like a toddler in heels, feeling like a fish out of water as he risks the ice. Amy keeps close; a kid showing her old man the ropes.
“Just try to keep your balance, for starters.”
“I’m trying,” he growls, equal parts nervous and frustrated as he pulls himself unsteadily along the side of the rink.
“One foot in front of the other. Baby steps. Bend your knees.”
“I am bending my knees.”
“You’re too tense! You need to learn how to walk in those before you can skate. Use your arms for balance. You’re shredded, Frank. Seriously, you’ve got the core for this. You’ve got this.”
He’s only been on the ice for a minute and he already wants off. “If I let go of this thing, I’m gonna fall on my ass, kid.”
“Part of the process, Frank. You simply get back up, like when you fall off a bike.”
“That sounds easier.”
“You’ve been shot, stabbed and nearly killed. I think you can handle a little cold and landing on your butt.” Amy takes his free hand and demands the other. His grip on the railing only tightens. “You trust me, don’t you?”
It’s not that. Frank doesn’t trust himself. Reluctantly, he places a hand in her gloved one.
“I’m going to slide back a foot and you’re going to follow me. Keep your feet together, just like I’m doing. Pick one up and push off. Just imagine you’re skating barefoot on a wet floor.”
“Sounds dangerous, Amy.”
“Then this’ll be right up your alley. Ow! Not so hard. I promise I’m not going to let go, and I won’t let you fall.”
Kid weighs all of a buck twenty, if Frank goes down, he’s taking her with him.
“On three, okay? One…two…three—” Amy swizzles backwards gently and pulls her feet parallel, drawing Frank toward her with her momentum. He falters forward, but manages to maintain his balance and Amy exclaims, “See? You’re doing it, you’re skating!”
“Don’t think this counts, kid.”
“Of course, it does. Again, okay?”
Frank wants to call for a timeout and go back to the security of the wall, but Amy tugs lightly at his hands, drawing him out further into the rink with all the patience of a seasoned coach.
“How do I stop?”
Now he’s asking the right questions. “Use your toe pick, but don’t lean too far forward.”
A child all padded up for the weather like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man comes in for a close pass.
“See?” says Amy. “He’s, like, six years old.”
“Should be in bed.”
“Frank. Okay, okay, I think what you need is a demonstration. I’m going to let go of your hand now.”
“Amy!” he protests, like that’s the very worst idea she’s had all evening.
“Just watch what I do.”
“You’re gonna leave me out here?” Doesn’t know if he can make it back to the railing without assistance.
The kid turns away from him and pushes slowly and steadily off toward the centre ice, gliding out with pitty-patty marching steps. “Hands out in front to get your balance, like I said. Knees bent. Turn your pushing foot out and shove off with the inside edge of the skate.”
She makes it sound so simple, makes it look so easy.
Finishing with a backward three-turn, Amy skates back to within ten yards of Frank. “You try it. Come to me.”
She may as well be at the other end of a treacherous frozen lake, but Amy went to all the trouble of dragging his ass out here so Frank may as well put in the effort. Carefully, he forms the stance she showed him and pushes off in a gentle glide. He’s within arm’s reach of her when he leans too far back and his centre of gravity shifts. He wobbles unsteadily on his ankles and falls backwards on his ass.
“Congrats,” says Amy. “Now that that’s out of the way, you can quit agonising over it. Because it’s going to happen a lot.”
“I thought you were gonna teach me to skate, not fall. Pretty sure I can do that by myself.”
“Well, do you know how to get back up? No, not like that.” Amy plops herself down beside Frank, ice clinging to her leggings. “Get on all fours, like a dog. Then bring one knee up and push off with both hands. Easy, right?”
Not as easy as it looks and it takes him several tries before he’s back on the blades.
“Again.” Amy claps her hands together with all the enthusiasm of a cheerleader. She’s always been Frank’s biggest one.
He falls about as often as he doesn’t, but doesn’t once go back to the wall and Amy’s proud of him, beaming with every one of his tries. She leaves him to get the hang of the basics and joins the rest of the more experienced skaters for a couple of laps around the rink.
Orange traffic cones demarcate wet patches and Amy expertly avoids these, zipping and swizzling around the ice with the speed and grace of a competitive figure skater. Frank watches her pirouette and spin. Now the kid’s just showing off.
She comes back around to him with a snowplow stop; breathless, face flushed from the exertion. “Your turn.” She laughs at the look he gives her. “I’m kidding. We’ll go once around the rink, slowly. I think you’re ready.”
Frank doesn’t, but he lets Amy guide him along the perimeter of skaters. She takes it nice and easy, at first, pausing each time he seems unsure of his footing. But when she puts on a little more speed and his feet don’t falter, she keeps going and releases his hand. “Race ya!” Amy makes a beeline for the wall ahead and so does Frank, but only because he hasn’t figured out how to turn, or mastered the art of stopping.
It’s Amy who breaks his forward momentum. She grabs onto him before he hits the railing and spins them. “Whoa, there.” The two of them prop each other up and then collapse against the wall, their laughter fogging the air.
“Christ, kid. I’m gonna take five, yeah?”
“See you later, Gretzky.” Amy mock-salutes him as she skates off, falling into conversation with a lone boy her own age. They talk as they circle the ice and she points toward Frank, both of them giggling at something she says.
He doesn’t mind that he’s probably the butt of a joke about old dudes on ice. Kid’s having a good time after a rough year. It she’s happy, it makes him happy. That’s all that matters.
After another lap, Amy waves the kid off and comes back toward him, doing a waltz jump. She lands on a wet patch and slips, going down hard. Forgetting all about his inexperience and insecurity, Frank skates out to her like an overly protective father. “You okay, kid?” He helps her to her feet.
Amy dusts ice from her knees. “My hero.”
“Don’t get cocky out there.”
“It’s not ‘cocky’, it’s confidence.”
“It’s stupid, is what it is,” Frank admonishes. “Someone could’ve sliced your fingers off.”
“Says the guy with the bruised butt. But look at you all upright and not staggering around like some grandpa. Think you can make it back to the side?”
“Had better. I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”
“I feel like ice cream.”
Wanting pizza and a beer, Frank scoffs. “It’s fuckin’ thirty degrees out, what do you want ice cream for? Go lick a lamppost.”
“How about a Treatzza?”
“The hell is that?”
“Oreo fudge crust topped with ice cream, fudge sauce and M&Ms.” When he pulls a disgusted face, Amy enlightens him, “It’s New York, Frank. Putting weird stuff on pizza is practically a tradition.” She slips an arm around his waist and leans into him. “We had fun, though, didn’t we?”
“We did,” he has to admit. “My ass not so much.”
“At least I don’t have to stitch it up this time.” Amy chuckles. “Next time you’re in Florida, I’ll take you to South Beach…teach you how to rollerblade. Think you’d look pretty good in hot pants.”
“Shut up.” Frank gives Amy a playful shove and then pulls her back in, drawing her close.