Chapter Text
It never really got cold in Los Angeles. After fifteen years, he was used to it: 70 degrees in December, palm trees decked out in Christmas lights and molded plastic Santa Clauses wearing Bermuda shorts. Still, even after all that time, it never really felt like December to him until he was back at his parents’ home in Atlanta—and these days he never made it back any earlier than the day before his birthday. He was on his way now, leaving the E! building flanked by the two bodyguards they’d assigned to him ever since his first credible death threat. His phone was pressed against his ear.
“I’m at home until the 26th, then I’m in New York until the second,” he said.
“You’re going to New York the day after Christmas?” Simon’s voice was snide and incredulous.
“I need to be there a few days early to prep for the show.”
“Why? All you do is show up, have your hair done, and count numbers off a teleprompter. Here, let me: ‘Ten, nine, eight—’“
“That’s not all I do, Simon.” He paused, winced, and then added: “And I don’t get to do ten to midnight, anyway. Dick does. I get twenty to eleven. It’s in the contract.”
Simon laughed in his ear.
“It’s his show,” Ryan said, with deference for Dick Clark and annoyance reserved solely for Simon. “But I have production responsibilities. My name is part of the title. I have to be there—”
“Very well. If that’s how you choose to spend your holiday, that’s your prerogative. I’ll be jet skiing in Barbados. Your loss.”
Ryan tried not to scowl; it would give him wrinkles. “I have to work, Simon. I have responsibilities. You know, you could always come up to New York—”
“And do what? Meet up for dinner and a fuck?”
“You’ve traveled further for less,” Ryan muttered.
Simon sighed, deeply put-upon. “I could possibly stop over in Atlanta—”
“No,” Ryan said quickly. “Absolutely not. What would that look like, you coming to my parents’ house for Christmas?”
“Forget it,” Simon snapped. “Happy Christmas, Ryan. Safe flying,” and then the line went dead.
Ryan made a frustrated noise and shoved the Blackberry into his back pocket. He had no idea when Simon had got it into his head that they needed to see each other over Christmas. Simon had always been spoiled and petulant, but it had never bothered him before that they didn’t see one another between Christmas and New Year’s. They’d see each other not long after. And anyway, Ryan was given to understand that it wasn’t that kind of relationship.
Or at least it hadn’t been. He had to admit that the last few years had been strange for them. Less sniping at each other, for one. Maybe after eight years they’d run out of things to argue about. And despite their being by no means “exclusive,” neither of them had been with anyone else since longer ago than Ryan could remember. He didn’t like to think of it as “settling down,” but from a distance, that’s what it was starting to look like.
And he would have liked to have Simon with him for Christmas, just once. In all the years they’d been together—off and on—they’d never once shared the holiday, always going their separate ways to spend it with their respective families and friends. They would exchange gifts before or after, whenever they got a chance to see each other, and Ryan would typically go home to Atlanta while Simon would fly back to England or take his mother, brother’s family, and various friends somewhere warm and tropical. Either way, when Christmas came, they were always apart. Ryan had been more or less okay with it, and he’d always thought Simon felt the same way.
He had reached his car. He wished both the E! guards a happy holiday before getting in and driving off. He had a flight to catch. He could worry about Simon’s drama later.
As usual, the Christmas season started the second he stepped into his mom’s open arms back at the old house in Atlanta, breathing in the scent of gingerbread cookies and her familiar perfume.
His sister was already there, and as always, it was just the four of them: his little family, celebrating his birthday and Christmas the same as they’d done for years. Of course, there were years when things were different. Last year he’d taken them all to South Beach for the weekend. The year before that, his grandmother had been there. And there was a stretch when Meredith would bring home whatever guy she’d been dating.
Ryan never brought anyone home.
He ran for an hour on the treadmill on Christmas Eve morning, having decided years ago that even the combination of Christmas Eve and his birthday wasn’t worth throwing off his workout routine. Later, he and Meredith wrapped last-minute gifts at the kitchen table, Ryan stopping every few minutes to check his email. Meredith shot him a look every time he glanced at the Blackberry.
“There’s this thing,” she said, affixing a piece of Scotch tape to a corner of wrapping paper, “called a vacation. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“I have stuff for New Year’s,” Ryan said, still distracted by an email, trying to pretend he didn’t hear the whine in his own voice.
“I’m sure they can manage without you for a couple of days,” Meredith said.
“It’s hopeless,” their mom said, swanning around the kitchen like June Cleaver. “He’s a workaholic. We’ll never cure him.”
“I’m done wrapping,” Ryan said to prove that he could multitask, indicating a newly trimmed box. The structural integrity of the wrapping paper and tape left something to be desired, but it only had to last about 24 hours anyway. He was satisfied.
“We’re going to take that thing away from you and hide it,” Meredith threatened.
Ryan cradled the phone to his chest and made an unhappy face. “But it’s my birthday,” he said.
“All the more reason,” his mom answered.
He hadn’t heard from Simon since their last call, but that wasn’t unusual. Simon could go on epic sulks that would last for days when he didn’t get his way. Ryan wasn’t worried about it, really, except that he knew Simon was in Barbados with Sinitta and her kids, and when that was the case he usually sent Ryan frequent updates ranging from photos of his godchildren to snide comments on Snit’s behavior or wardrobe choices. To get nothing but silence from Simon was putting Ryan in a mood he didn’t want to examine too closely, but he wasn’t going to be the one to apologize first. He shouldn’t have to. Work was a priority for both of them, always had been—the first and most important thing in their lives. Relationships would come and go, but a career—an empire—was forever. That was security, safety, all the things Ryan wanted out of life, and Simon was the same. Neither of them would compromise their careers for a boyfriend.
Ryan went to sleep that night in his childhood bedroom, his Blackberry on the table beside him. He checked it again one last time before turning out the light: zero messages.
He startled out of sleep, pushing himself up with his elbows in the darkness, alert but disoriented. It took him a moment to pinpoint what had woken him so suddenly, but then it came again: a sound, distant but distinct, of metal clanking against metal.
He tensed, barely breathing, listening hard for the slightest noise. Someone in the house? He’d never worried about break-ins before, although he’d been more cautious since he’d had to get the restraining order against that stalker. His parents’ address wasn’t hard to find, and their security system was modest at best. Had somebody followed him here and broken into the house? Had he put his entire family in danger?
He was a second away from getting out of bed and investigating when he heard a heavy footstep on the bedroom floor.
The blood in his veins ran cold. Without thinking, he reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on, and then recoiled with a small yelp.
Standing at the edge of the bed, pale gray, translucent, dressed in a full tuxedo and covered with dust and cobwebs, draped with iron chains, was his friend and mentor, Merv Griffin.
His dead friend and mentor, Merv Griffin.
“Jesus,” Ryan blurted, “what—oh god,” he whispered, stuttering, unable to believe what he was seeing and yet unable to rationalize it away. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? There had been something funny in that eggnog; maybe Meredith’s idea of a joke. But the vision in front of him was realer than anything his imagination had ever come up with.
And it was starting to speak.
“Hey, kiddo,” it said.
Ryan’s throat threatened to close, his eyes stinging with tears at the familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in years and had never expected to hear again. “Oh my god,” he said quietly. “Are you—is this real?”
“Yeah, sorry about the getup,” Merv said, raising his arms with obvious strain and waving at the chains that hung from his body. They rattled and clanked against each other.
Ryan swallowed thickly and nodded, deeply lost.
“Quality cleaners are pretty hard to come by where I’ve been lately,” Merv explained.
Ryan kept on nodding. “Sorry I’m in pajamas?” he guessed, on the verge of crying.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Merv grinned.
“Oh Christ,” Ryan said.
“I’d love to chat longer, kiddo, but time is money and we’ve got business to attend to,” Merv said.
“Business?”
“Unfortunate business,” Merv said severely. “I’m here to give you a message.”
“No way,” Ryan whispered, already anticipating what was coming next.
“You will be haunted,” said Merv, “by three spirits.”
“No way. Come on. Why me? I’m no Scrooge; I love Christmas. I know I’m not perfect, but I give money to charity, I gave my people time off for the holiday—”
“Your employees, sure. But what about yourself?”
“I took today off,” Ryan protested.
“Bullshit,” Merv’s ghost said. “You’ve been on that blueberry of yours since four in the morning.”
“Blackberry. And some things can’t wait! There’s stuff that has to get done before the end of the year—”
“Like what? Like spending Christmas with your family? Like spending some time with your lover?”
Ryan flinched. “We’ll see each other in January,” he argued. “We’ve got a long weekend planned in St. Lucia.”
“Uh huh. You and him and whatever twenty-year-old strippers your management sends along with you for cover.”
Ryan got angry. “You of all people should know—”
“I do know. I know exactly what it’s like to compromise yourself for your career. I know what it’s like to hide. I know what it’s like to put your work above everything else. More importantly,” Merv said, advancing on Ryan as he cowered under the covers, chains rattling, “I know what it’s like to sacrifice happiness until it’s too late.”
Ryan shuddered, remembering that he was arguing with a ghost. “I’m happy,” he said defensively.
“Like hell,” the ghost answered.
“How would you know?”
“Kiddo, I know you better than you know yourself. Do you remember when we first met?”
Ryan sighed, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. “I was twenty. I was an idiot.”
“You said you wanted real relationships. Real love. A boyfriend, kids, the whole shebang. You didn’t approve of me sashaying around with the Gabor sisters while secretly porking the pool boys.”
“How could you stand me?” Ryan said. “Why didn’t you throw me under a bus the first chance you got?”
“You were a pain in the neck, but easy on the eyes.”
Ryan waved his hands helplessly.
“The point is, kiddo, there was a time when you wanted more than just a career—when other things were more important to you than money. And you might still be cute, but you’re not getting any younger.”
“I’m thirty-six,” Ryan protested.
“Thirty-seven,” Merv’s ghost said.
Ryan made a face. “All right, fine. What do you want me to do about it?”
“You will be haunted by three spirits—”
“Oh, god—”
“Are you gonna let me get through this or what?” Merv complained. “I don’t have all night.” He cleared his ghostly throat. “You will be haunted by three spirits. Expect the first tonight at one.”
“I’m really busy this time of year, Merv, can’t we schedule them all at once?”
“Will you shut up already? The second will come at two and the third at three. You got that?”
“Got it.” Ryan sighed. He really didn’t have time for this. He got little enough sleep as it was.
“You’re still young, kiddo. Your time isn’t up yet,” the ghost said in a softer tone. “But mine is. Gotta run.”
Ryan sat up straight. “Merv—”
“What is it?”
Ryan didn’t know what it was. He just knew that his friend was back, and he didn’t want to let that go. “Can—can’t you stay?”
The ghost grinned. “You think you’re the only miserable schlub who needs my help tonight?”
“Will I see you again?” The words were out of Ryan’s mouth before he could stop them; he meant them, sort of, even if the idea of being woken up by a ghost again scared the crap out of him.
Merv reached a hand out and touched Ryan’s face, the brush of his fingers like a whisper, like the faintest breeze. It warmed Ryan and chilled him at the same time.
“You won’t see me again, Ryan,” he said. “But I’ll be looking after you. I’ll always look after you.”
The ghost turned and walked towards the bedroom window; with each step, the window slowly raised.
“Usually while you’re in the shower,” the ghost added, and then he disappeared out the window, which promptly slammed itself shut.
Ryan jumped out of bed and ran to the window, to where Merv’s ghost had disappeared. He looked outside, scanning the yard in the moonlight, but there was no trace that anyone was or had ever been there. The new-fallen snow was pristine; not a single footprint could be found.
He backed away from the window, shaking his head. Of all the bizarre dreams to have … but it had been so real. He touched his cheek where he had imagined Merv’s fingers had rested just a moment before, but he could feel no difference.