."
She raised her glass, and met his in the middle of the table with the
lightest of taps.

He sipped. "I couldn't have asked for a nicer Christmas."

"I could say the same about you." She sipped once, then slapped her
glass down and stood up, adjusting her sequined gown around her hips,
then leaned over confidently. "I'll soon have you joining my secret
musical soirees, too." She pointed at the table. "Now, don't forget
your five dollars. Let's go make some Christmas music." Jurgen
slipped the bill into his shirt pocket, then followed her out the door
and into the spotlights.

* * * * *

On Christmas Day at eleven, Jurgen checked out of the Charleston
Residence Hotel. Packing took only a few minutes, as he had little in
the way of possessions. When he finished packing, he switched off the
light and set his valise and viola case down outside the door. Leaving
the door open, he went back into the room and, holding a hand kerchief
in his palm, stood on the chair to carefully unscrew the hot bulb from
its socket. He closed the door behind him, then crouched in the
hallway and put the Hungarian lightbulb into his valise, carefully
wrapped inside his silk shirt.

=====================================================================

CHRISTMAS CONCERT

It was several nights before Christmas, and all along the freeway, cars
were lined up like a vast herd of red-nosed reindeer being led off to
slaughter. I glanced away from the sight and reached out to snap off
the radio. I'd had far too much of the Messiah since Thanksgiving.
You'd think a respectable classical station could think of something
more original to saturate the airwaves with. But I knew that even if I
changed the station, I'd get White Christmas, or Blue Christmas, or
Dixie Christmas, or some other form of musical blasphemy. Traffic
moved along sluggishly, inching up a long, curving hill. It was
raining heavily--one of those sudden tropical storms, only it was
happening in a refrigerator. I had the windshield wipers on full, but
still I could hardly see the vehicle in front of me.

Along with every other irate father, uncle, brother, and son who was
late for some engagement or another, I was in the fast lane. I had
gotten caught in a last-minute sales meeting, and I was going to be
late for my daughter's concert if the idiot in front of me didn't hurry
up. The offending car was a