by J. O Mantel
“Good. Now let’s get some lunch, and a coffee. I haven’t eaten or drunk anything since we left Chicago, you know how much airplane food sucks. Then you and I can have a serious talk before we come back here and have our photo taken with Santa.”
Grabbing Deacon by the arm, I then lead us toward the food court. We order our lunch and some coffee, then take a seat by the window, and my brother sits down on the seat opposite me. I take note of his perfectly styled hair, and those serious eyes roaming in my direction like he’s trying to tell me that he doesn’t want to have this conversation.
Too fucking bad, Deacon.
“How are you really, Deacon?”
“You mean since I got fired from my job, pretty much lost everything, and practically flushed my life completely down the toilet? Yeah, fucking fabulous,” he says.
“You still have your house,” I try to sound reassuring.
“Yeah … for now,” he mutters.
“What about your savings? Investments?”
“I’ve almost lost it all, Kate. Brodie really did a number on me, and I bet he was probably cheating on me too, right under my nose and I was too blind to see it. God, how the hell did I let things get so bad?”
His eyes glisten and he lowers his head, so I place my forefinger under his chin and force him to look me in the eye.
“Don’t! Don’t do this to yourself, it’s not healthy. You’re not to blame for what that asshole did to you.”
“Aren’t I? Kate, I’m the one who let that bastard into my life. I’m the one who trusted him with everything, I’m the one who … who loved him.”
“Love makes us do stupid things, but you weren’t to know Brodie was going to do something like this. He was obviously very careful and planned this for some time.”
“Kate, I trusted him, for fuck’s sake. What kind of an idiot does that make me?”
“You’re not an idiot. Jesus, you need to stop. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
The woman from where we placed our order signals to let me know that our food is ready, so I get up to grab it and bring it back to our table. I reach for the chips on my plate and let out a loud yawn before sliding it into my mouth and taking a swig of my Coke after I’ve swallowed. Lately, I’ve been feeling extremely tired, Christmas is the most exhausting time of the year. It’s one of only three times the girls are home from college and we all get to be a family, not that I’m complaining about having them home, but with the news of the crisis and what Brodie did to Deacon, we didn’t hesitate to catch an earlier flight so I could be here for my brother.
“They’re taking the house,” he suddenly reveals.
“What?”
“Complicated shit, but the long and short of it is that I’ll be homeless in a week or two. News of my departure from the show, and the real reason I left, is still fresh in the media, so there’s still the publicity buzz, but I haven’t had a single job offer since my final episode filmed.”
“Look at it as a break. Spend time with the family over Christmas, and in the New Year something will come to you. In the meantime, we’re going to sit on the jolly man’s knee and get photos.”
He shakes his head at me as he finishes his lunch, obviously thinking I’m joking. When we’re done, we toss our trash and weave through the mall again. When we reach the stage where people are still waiting in line for a photo with Santa, I grab Deacon by the arm and pull him to the back of the line.
“Seriously, you still want to go ahead and do this?” he asks.
“Um, yeah. You didn’t think you were getting out of it that easily, did you?”
“Well, actually.”
We inch forward as I look at the young boy climbing the steps toward Santa and then sits on his knee.
“Come on, Kate, let’s just go home.”
“No. Not until we’ve had a photo with Santa.”
“What are we, like, ten years old?”
“What’s the big deal? Why should kids get to have all the fun?”
He says nothing and stares at the man on the stage, then his eyes wander over the rest of the crowd.
“You know, in all the years we went to shopping malls as kids, I never saw you get your photo with Santa. In fact, I don’t recall you ever talking about Santa much as a kid.”
He turns his eyes away from me, as if trying to avoid the conversation.
“Deacon?”
“I never believed in Santa, that’s why.”
“What?”
He lowers his voice to a whisper. “In Elementary School, all the cool kids kept saying that there’s no such thing as Santa. He isn’t real. Just a fantasy parents used to tell their kids to get them to behave during the holidays, so they had peace. And then when I got to high school, I always thought I was too old to believe in Santa.”
“Oh, Deacon.”
I press my palm to his cheek and look into his bloodshot eyes as we inch forward a little more.
“I had no idea you went through that. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed, convinced you’d laugh at me for still believing in Santa.”
I study every detail of him, as I do every single time we have a deep and serious conversation. I move the hair out of his face, tucking it back behind his ears, and as I do, his eyes are rabidly focused and his lips are fighting a smile. It takes some time, but we’re finally the next ones in line to see Santa. I feel Deacon’s arm brush against mine as he tugs on my sleeve. It’s a nervous trait of his, something I’ve become accustomed to throughout his life. I give his hand a gentle squeeze as we focus on the two girls currently sitting on Santa’s knees.
“How old were you?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“When you stopped believing in Santa?”
“Six.”
“Oh, Deacon. I’m so sorry. I wish I’d known.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, and it’s not exactly something I ever talk about.”
The two girls on Santa’s knees slide off and make their way over to the photographer’s assistant. A woman dressed as an elf signals that it’s our turn.
“Ho. Ho. Ho. Merry Christmas,” the man says, as I take a seat on the crate to his left. I turn my head toward the deep baritone that just addressed us, and holy hell, the man dressed in the big red coat, white beard and red hat, waiting for Deacon to sit down, is rather delicious. Of course I’m only assuming this information based on the fact that I can only see his eyes and nose. Holy hell, I see the sparkle in his eyes.
“What would you like for Christmas,” Santa asks, turning to address Deacon.
“Forget it, Santa, I’m not about to sit on your lap,” Deacon answers.
“Then why are you here?” Santa asks.
I angle my head in Deacon’s direction and see that he’s contemplating the man’s query, and it doesn’t take long before their eyes connect and with some hesitation, Deacon takes the seat beside him.
“You’re Deacon Brady, aren’t you?”
Deacon nods as the photographer prepares his camera.
“Wow. I’m a massive fan of your work. And who’s the little lady, your girlfriend?”
I laugh at his ridiculous sarcasm.
“Girlfriend? Really? If you’re a massive fan, you’d know very well that I’m gay. That’s my sister.”
“Okay, guilty as charged,” Santa says. “I was just checking that you hadn’t suddenly switched sides.”
“Pardon?” Deacon asks.
“A little birdie tells me that you’ve been a very, very naughty boy this year, Deacon.”
“What?” Deacon gasps.
“Oh, come on, Deacon, it’s a very Brady Christmas, after all,” I snort.
“Okay,” the photographer calls, so the three of us turn our attention to the man behind the camera. “One … two … three …” I curve my lips into a smile and the flash goes off.
“Thank you, Santa,”
I say as Deacon gets to his feet.
“You’re very welcome, young lady.”
“Thanks,” I hear Deacon say with a smile in his voice.
As he goes to walk away, Santa reaches out and grabs Deacon’s arm.
“Wait, if you’re interested …” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card, then hands it to Deacon who flips the card over several times. When his eyes meet mine, I give him a wide and excited smile as Santa puts his hand back on his lap and welcomes the next child.
We walk over to the photographer’s assistant and wait for our photo to print. I pay the woman and the two of us make our way off the stage. I pull the photograph from the packaging and hold it up to show Deacon.
“Definitely one for the family Christmas cards, right?”
He nods with a smile and then stares at the card in his hand.
“What’s it say?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, tucking the card into his pocket.
I take a step forward and reach into his coat to pull out the card so I can read the green and red script lettering,
Kris Kringle.
I flip over the card and continue reading.
Sexy Santa – Exotic Dancer.
“Oh la la. Mr. Santa is a hot-as-fuck exotic dancer, and he was totally checking you out.”
“He was not.”
“Was too.”
“Not.”
“Have you not read this card? The subtext of the text spells booty call,” I tell him.
“Whatever.” He snatches the card from my hand and places it back in his pocket.
Making our way to the exit, we head out the huge glass doors to the parking lot.
Kris Kringle.
As I sit in a booth at my parents’ local bar, I stare at the two tiny words embossed with green and red ink on the business card I’m holding. The edges are creased from the constant twirling between my fingers, and for the millionth time this evening, I flip over the card and read the silver text:
Sexy Santa – Exotic Dancer.
Kate was rambling in my ear the entire way home from the mall, trying to convince me that I should call the guy for an immediate hook-up. A casual fuck, with no commitment, no strings attached, might very well sound like the perfect option to her, except for the fact that she’s in her twentieth year of wedlock. I signal for the bartender to pour me another drink, and while alcohol would be stellar right now to drown my woes, I instead choose a Pepsi.
Okay, so maybe sexy Santa or Kris Kringle was flirting with me the other day, but so what? I’m not exactly a stranger to people trying to undress me and get inside my pants, and there was definitely something about the way he looked at me when he slipped this card into my hand. His eyes were filled with lust and desire, which I now realize was something I never saw with Brodie—maybe that was the first signal that there was never anything serious between us.
My thoughts flash back to the hazel eyes that peered at me through fake glasses, and I imagine his jacket hiding enormous biceps attached to those broad shoulders. Based on his height, he’d have long legs that I’m sure would look spectacular when he walked. It may have taken me recalling our interaction, but in the space of approximately thirty seconds, this stranger has completely fascinated me.
The guy is definitely confident in a way that’s intriguing. Okay, fine! So maybe I spent a little too much time thinking about what the guy’s body might look like under that Santa suit, more than I did concentrating on the damn picture my sister wanted taken. But it was the way I could tell he was totally eye fucking me when I sat down that really captured my attention, and now, for some crazy, insane reason, I can’t shake it from my mind. Maybe he’s exactly what I need to get out of this funk, but no matter how much I try and convince myself that a casual fuck with a random hot stranger will fix me, I can’t stop thinking about how much Brodie has hurt me.
I lift my drink and try to ignore the pain that man has caused me, and I wonder how I can possibly move on from something like this. Of course, the answer is staring me right in the face, yet I’m too afraid to do anything about it.
Damn it, Deacon. Just call the guy.
I ignore my inner voice and finish the drink with one final gulp, then walk over to the register and pay my tab.
“Penny for your thoughts?” the bartender asks.
“Sorry?”
“You’ve been sitting here for the past four hours, staring at a card and you’ve only had two drinks.”
Jesus, have I been here that long?
“I’m sorry, I guess I lost track of time.”
“No apology necessary. It’s not every day I get to come to work and serve a celebrity. Especially someone like you.”
She throws me a smile and a wink as I shrug into my jacket and pull my keys from my pocket.
“Thank you. Have a great day,” I say.
“You too,” she replies.
The afternoon chill of New York sweeps across my face as I exit the bar, so I quickly wrap the scarf around my neck before reaching into my pocket and pulling out my beanie and gloves. I breathe warmth onto my hands and rub my palms together, trying to get them warmed up before I slide my fingers into the gloves. I then tug the beanie over my head before stuffing my hands into my pockets and picking up my pace. Since Mind Crimes ended, and my final episode went to air, it’s been a lot easier keeping a low profile in public. There’re still the occasional stares and whispers from onlookers and those who pass by me, but otherwise, I’m pretty much just a normal, unknown citizen of New York.
Although it’s getting colder, I decide to just walk without planning and see where I end up. Kate’s at home helping Mom prepare for our usual Christmas day banquet, even though they still have three days. Kate offered to come for a walk with me, but I insisted that I didn’t need babysitting and she was more productive at home than being with me.
When I finally take notice of where I am, I’m at a busy intersection around the corner from the mall. The line of cars waiting to get into the parking lot is long and makes me happy I’m not on the road today. I narrowly escape the stampede of wildebeest… I mean shoppers and finally making my way out to the other side where I notice the long line of parents and children who have come to have their photo taken with Santa. When I look up on the stage, however, the mysterious stranger that I’ve suddenly become so obsessed about, is nowhere to be seen.
I make my way along the line of people and hear one of the mothers tell her child that Santa has gone to feed the reindeer, which is code for Santa going to lunch.
I wonder if …
I reach into my pants pocket and pull out my cell phone. The card I received only days ago is tucked in the back of the case and slides out easily.
Am I seriously contemplating this?
Before I can second guess myself, I unlock my screen and tap in the numbers, then bring the phone to my ear as it starts ringing.
“Hello?” The deep baritone voice comes through the line, and I look around as if afraid he’s going to jump out from behind me.
“Hi. I, ah … shit. This is kind of awkward, you gave me your card the other day and asked me to call you if—”
“Deacon Brady?” the man asks.
“Um, yes, it is. Sorry, I don’t know what to call you, your card says Kris Kringle, and I figured—”
“That’s my actual name. I must say I’m actually surprised you called me.”
So am I! What the hell am I doing? Hang up, Deacon. Just hang up the phone, turn the fuck around and run!
“Are you there?” the masculine voice asks.
Why haven’t I hung up the phone yet?
“Ah … sorry. Look, I … this was a mistake. I didn’t … I mean, I wasn’t … I’m …”
My words fail me, and as I hold the phone against my ear, the man on the other end of the line speaks.
“I gave you my card because I was interested and hoped that you’d call me.�
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“I don’t usually do this, I mean, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this sort of thing.”
“So why did you call me?”
Good question.
“I … I don’t know, actually.”
“I do.”
“You do?” I repeat.
“Yeah. I think it’s because you were at home thinking about the mysterious stranger you met the other day who was flirting with you.”
“Oh, was that flirting, was it? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Mmhmm. Why else do you think I gave you my card?”
I take a deep breath and sigh at just how ridiculous this all sounds.
“How many others have you tried that line on?” I say.
“Just you.”
I manage to curve my lips into a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, and although this seems incredible crazy right now, the guy could be a fascinating distraction.
“Okay, um … wow I didn’t exactly—”
“The mall closes at eight. Meet me back here then.”
“Ah …”
“Unless of course you have a pressing engagement to attend?”
His words are full of sarcasm and determination, so what the hell am I going to do, say ‘no’ to the guy?
“I’ll be there. Just tell me where.”
The words come out of my mouth before I even have a chance to stop them.
“Meet me backstage. I’ll tell the elves to expect you.”
“Okay,” I reply.
“I have to go. Lunch is almost over and Santa can’t keep all the little boys and girls waiting. I’ll see you tonight, eight o’clock.”
“Um … okay.”
The phone clicks, and I pull it away from my ear, unsure of what just happened. Did I seriously agree to meet up with this guy? A random but very interested stranger? I put my phone back in my pocket and then make my way through the crowd until I’m outside where I zip up my jacket and slowly head home.
“Are you shitting me?” Kate asks from across the couch.
“Shhh, keep your voice down. And yes, I’m serious.”
