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A New York Escorts Confessions

But of course there’s a time when every holiday bum has to shower, pack up their swag, and make the journey home. I got in last night to the honking of horns, the bustling of foot traffic, and the knowledge that a week of elasticized waists lay ahead of me.

When I walked into my building my doorman Denny was there with a big welcoming—um, well, grimace. “So where are they?!” he demanded.

“Well Merry Christmas and a Happy New year to you too.” I gave him a punch on the shoulder and as much of a hug as I could muster while still balancing my bag on my hip. “Check it out. New video Ipod. Groovy groovy groovy. And—sparkly legwarmers. Always a holiday must.” Cynthia had actually KNIT THEM for me for Christmas, can you believe it? I decided to like her, even if her brother was still a twit in my book.

“I’m not talking with you.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

Actually I didn’t. I had tipped all the staff of the building generously, Denny included. I hadn’t ratted him out about the “Girls Gone Potty” project. What the heck had I done?

“The ginger snaps?”

“What did they suck?” I thought they had actually come out pretty good this year. I scrapped the tree, Santa, and star cookie cutters and opted for the simple round variety. I hadn’t burned them—

“How would I be able to tell you if they sucked or not girl?”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Never got none.”

“What do you mean? I gave them to Wilson right before I left.”

“Harris didn’t have none neither. I checked.”

“But there were five dozen. Eight for each of you.” Denny shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the new release of House of Wax on his computer. Clearly our conversation was over.

I went upstairs feeling confused. There were exactly seventy-two ginger snaps. I knew because I counted. Wilson, the morning doorman, had had gout last spring and had lost fifty pounds since then to try to improve his overall health. Had he possibly gone on a mad holiday-induced ginger snap bender?

The next morning I went downstairs to the front desk. On the way I ran into one of the porters, Jose, at the recycler. “Hey man. What’d you do with those cookies?”

“Wait. You didn’t get any either? Didn’t Wilson tell you they were in the closet behind the desk? In a bag with a purple ribbon?”

“There was nothing there. 8K got us some nasty pecan buns in a box though. Tasted like ass.”

Wilson was no better in coming to the bottom of things. “I didn’t take them!” he blurted out the moment he saw me.

“Hey, I’m not saying you did—”

“You know, Denny called me at home to accuse me. Jose’s not speaking to me. It’s been awful.”

Well it was nice to know my cookies were so popular. Even if they were causing the mother of all building Cold Wars. “Well, okay. Maybe we can reconstruct this. What happened after I gave them to you? That was like at 10:00 AM on the 23rd, right?”

“I had one. Kevin had one. I put them on the desk, then Diego the Fed Ex guy came. I had to log in about sixty packages. When I was done, I looked down at the desk and they were gone.”

“Well it must be Diego then! Right?”

“No. I axed him. He’s got that disease, you know where you can’t eat flour, or wheat or something. And the mailman—”

“Right. He keeps kosher.” We actually had an Orthodox Jewish mailman for our building who was ‘shomer shabbat’ and didn’t deliver on Saturdays. You’ve got to love New York. “You know what Wilson? Don’t sweat it. I’ll make everyone another batch and you’ll be in the clear.”

“Sorry Alexa. I didn’t mean to let you down or anything.”

Of course there were worse things than losing holiday cookies. Like taking that blasted yoga class. Like trying to return an ugly sweater from Macy’s without a receipt. Like buying a bottle of wine and then dropping it as you went through the subway turnstile on your way home. Shit.

When I got back to my building around four, Wilson was still there. Only this time he was smiling. “I want to show you something,” he said, and led me behind the desk to the building’s security system. I nearly froze. Had he discovered Denny’s secret?

Instead he took me back to, yes, you guessed it, December 23rd at 10:00 AM. To the camera over the desk. To me giving him the cookies. To Diego dropping off the packages. And then to Wilson handing off the cookies—to Eduardo, the other porter.

You could just make out Eduardo going off-screen, bag of cookies in hand. “He must have thought they were all for him.” Wilson said.

Eduardo I knew had five kids plus his mother living with him. I hope they all had a very merry, very sugary, very snappy ginger Christmas. As for me, it was back to the rolling pin again.