Page 7 of A Man for the Holidays

“This is crazy––no, it’s not possible. How the hell can you be the mannequin from that window display if you’re sitting here in my living room? That’s not possible. None of this makes any sense.”

“Believing in something that you want so badly doesn’t have to make sense, Spence. That’s what makes it all the more exciting. I thought this is what you wanted.”

I let out a long sigh and stare at the man who, in only a short period of time, has managed to fascinate me in more ways than I could ever imagine. I didn’t think anything like this could ever be possible, let’s face it, Vernon Dursley was the scrooge of magic and always told Harry Potter that there was no such thing as magic. And I only remember seeing this happen in a movie, I never in a million years thought this could ever happen in real-life.

“What are you thinking, Spencer?”

“Right now? I’m thinking I must be out of my fucking mind. I mean, I’m sitting here talking to a mannequin.”

“Except, I’m not a mannequin anymore. I’m a real-life human being that you wished for.”

I take a moment to allow the words to seep into my brain, then I take several more moments to try and convince myself that this is one hundred percent, insane and stupid. There’s no such thing as a mannequin coming to life because it’s something I wished for. That stuff only happens in movies, books and fairy tales. And seeing as though I’m not in any of those situations right now, I have to conclude that this is a dream.

Just a dream.

But he looks so damn spectacular sitting there, dream or no dream.

What difference does it make where he came from? Come on, Spencer;take the opportunity and embrace it.

“Okay, let’s say I believe you, how does all this work?”

“I’m yours to do whatever you want, just like you wished for.”

“Like one of those three wishes type things?” I ask.

“Well no. That would mean I grant you three wishes of your choice and then I disappear. And then of course there’s the obvious fact that I’m not a genie, and therefore, I don’t have magical powers.”

“And yet less than six hours ago you were supposedly a plastic statue standing in a clothing store window display. How do you explain that?”

“I already told you, I’m here because you wished me to be here.”

“So, you’re just a wish?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be.”

“So, you keep saying.”

I’m getting absolutely nowhere with this guy. I’m finding myself going around in circles with the same questions, over and over, and he still hasn’t given me any answers. It’s late, perhaps I’m overthinking this, or maybe it is all just a dream and I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and find him gone. Then I can go back to the store and fantasize about the real Quinn, the one on display in the window.

“This is just our little secret then?” I ask.

“Yes. Plus, John; and my friends back at the store.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah, Clarence and Jerome. The other two mannequins I share the window with.”

“Okay, and what kind of job are you looking for?” I ask.

“Like I said, I can pretty much do anything, and I’m exceptionally good with my hands. Hey, it’s snow season, maybe I could do some snow shoveling around the neighborhood. It would be a great way to make some money over the holidays.”

Not to mention what it would do for those bulging biceps.

“Yeah, it sure would,” I say, trying not to sound like a perverted creep.

“What about you? Busy at the toy store?” he asks.

This guy is seriously creeping me out right now. First, he shows up on my doorstep, in the middle of the night, looking like sex on legs. Then he starts talking about private things that only I know about, and now he knows where I work. Whoisthis guy? He gets to his feet, then wanders over to the mantelpiece and stares at his reflection in the mirror and runs a hand through his hair.

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