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Nobody remembers that when you sang “We Need a Little Christmas,” it wasn’t supposed to be because you were happy. The stock market had crashed, you had to sell all of the paintings in your Beekman Place apartment, and the only present you could afford to buy your nephew was a pair of long pants. But as soon as you finished the song, the doorbell rang and it was a Southern gent named Beauregard. You both discovered love, got married, and lived happily ever after (until he fell off an Alp). So while I was standing in front of the Coolidge Corner Theatre yesterday afternoon waiting for Andy, I should have known that everything was going to work out as soon as I heard “We Need a Little Christmas” twinkling through the box office speakers. Up until that moment, my mood was so right out of Dickens and Sondheim, I didn’t even notice the first couple of snowflakes, the Xmas lights, or the smell of roasting chestnuts from the vendors on every corner. How could I? Andy’s going to Cleveland tomorrow. For eight days. EIGHT DAYS! That’s 192 hours. 11,520 minutes. 691,200 seconds. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand. . . Right around “103 one thousand,” I saw him weaving his way through the crowd of second-to-last-day shoppers on Harvard Street. He hadn’t noticed me yet, so it gave me a chance to take my favorite kind of inventory from an anonymous point of view. 1) His hair curling out from under his wool cap. 2) His red nose from the cold. 3) His right hand jammed into his pocket because he’s always losing one of his gloves. 4) His scarf hanging around his shoulders because he doesn’t understand that you’re supposed to wrap it around your neck. (“It’s not a fashion statement, you dope—it has a function!”) 5) His eyes darting all over the place—looking for me! 6) His eyes finding me and smiling before his mouth even does. “Hey, Spidey.” “Hey, Aquaboy.” We stood there for a second just looking at each other. How come it’s so easy to talk on the phone and online but so impossible in person?? “You get the tickets?” “Yeah. They’re almost sold out.” “We’d better go inside then.” “Let’s do it.” As usual, Andy went ahead to find us seats while I stood in line at the concession counter—which gave me a good chance to get un-neurotic before the movie started. Look, it’s not like you’re going to be sitting on your hands while he’s in Ohio. You’ve got Vermont. Skiing with Tick!! Toboggan rides with Mom and Dad! Snowboarding with Pop! Hot chocolate in front of the fire with Hucky! 691,200 seconds’ll be over before you know it. No, they won’t. 211 one thousand, 212 one thousand. . . Just then my cell phone rang. ME: Hello? ANDY: Did I tell you I want Junior Mints? ME: Yes. ANDY: Did I tell you I miss you already? ME: No. But it’s only for 192 hours. I know. I’ve been working on this since last week. ANDY: Dude. Who hasn’t? ME: You know, Irving Berlin once wrote this song about us called “My Defenses Are Down” and— ANDY: Hold it. Did a girl sing that one too? ME: No. A guy. ANDY: Then okay. As long as we’re on the same page for a change. Naturally, by the time I got to our seats with the popcorn, the red Twizzlers, the Junior Mints, and the Slurpees, we were back to single syllables again. “Here.” “Thanks.” “Gum?” “Sure.” If you and Beau had started out this way, you’d still be selling off your paintings. But I finally decided to do something about it. Maybe it was because Hucky had made me realize what ginks we were or maybe it was because I knew I’d never be able to sing a torch song with any real authority until I took some affirmative action. So as soon as the lights went down, I gave my right hand permission to storm the beaches at Normandy. Which is exactly what it did. Reaching across the armrest, it deliberately took hold of Andy’s five left fingers—no accidental bumping this time, but sure and confident like it knew just what it was doing. Andy instantly squeezed back, and that’s the way we stayed for two and a half hours.
Reviewed by Augie Hwong and Andy Wexler PLOT: Lots of very short people running around onscreen. WHO REMEMBERS?? RATING: Four thumbs up. Best time we ever had at a movie. When we left the theatre for cookies at the café, the snow was falling all over a winter wonderland of our own, and “We Need a Little Christmas” was still serenading the people lined up to get in. That’s when I knew for sure that I was going to survive the 192 hours without him, and that sooner or later we’d wind up as happy as you and Beau (assuming Andy doesn’t fall off an Alp).
TCKeller: This is going to be some vacation. You’ll be obsessing about Andy for 5 days and I’ll be on the phone with Alé. AugieHwong: Mrs. Packer staged three of my Kiss Me, Kate songs. Since Andy’s in two of them, he thinks we should rehearse privately whenever we can. Does this sound like he’s waiting for me to make the second move? TCKeller: No, dude—it sounds like he just made it. Haul out the holly. Love, Augie |
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