Desperately Seeking Santa

by Eli Easton

  “I thought I had flexibility in how to approach the story.”

  “Stop talking. It wasn’t what I asked for, but I like it. I’m going to run it this week.”

  “You are?” I grinned. Hot damn!

  “Yes. Only now you need to deliver something great for part two. Interview some of the kids. And that mystery Santa is a good angle. Is that for real?”

  I sat up farther in bed, a little uneasy. “Uh… yeah. That is, no one knows his name.”

  “That’s great! I want to see more of that. Who is this guy? What’s his story? Why does he do it? A Santa-themed piece always does well over the holidays. If it turns out to be really interesting, it might even make front page. Not the headline, mind, but a lead-in. Maybe.”

  “Really? That’s excellent! But I—”

  “I was gonna send a photographer to the dinner to get some pics. But then my wife read your piece and bugged me to buy tickets. So I’ll be there, and I’m pretty good with a camera. Back in my day, we had to do it all.”

  “You’ll be at the dinner?” I squeaked. Was that a good thing? Or a bad thing? Honestly, I wasn’t sure.

  “Don’t let your other work slide, though. The weather column and stocks. And there’re some research requests and articles that need editing in your inbox. See you later today.”

  Randall hung up.

  I hopped out of bed and did a little butt-wiggle dance, ecstatic. Randall had liked my story! He was going to run a two-part series with my byline! And the research I’d done on the history of St. Mark’s could be added later to beef it up enough to work for my Investigative Journalism class too.

  Sometimes procrastination works out. I’d take that lucky break and run with it.

  Then it sank in. Randall had explicitly told me to ‘out’ Santa. Which was what I’d sort of told Jordan and Mack I wouldn’t do.

  Well, mierda.

  Jordan and I met at Union South that Thursday night. Had it really only been a little over week since I’d first clapped eyes on the Mountain? It was weird to think how much had happened since then. I still remembered my first sight of him, that massive human being walking onto the gym floor, and how curious I’d been.

  But that night, I hadn’t known the first thing about the real Mack McDonall. Now it was hard to believe the intelligent, serious guy I’d shared a meal with a few days ago was the same guy I’d soon get to see in a tight red singlet, baring his teeth, flexing his muscles, and throwing down some poor mere mortal from Philadelphia.

  The thing was, I liked both of those guys. The Mountain was just… super fun. And thrilling. And more than a wee bit sexy. Mack, on the other hand, was a guy I wanted to take a walk with in the Arboretum, converse with, snuggle against—there was no escaping the allure of that big body, and, yeah, definitely get naked with.

  Dios. This had the potential to be epically dangerous to my heart, didn’t it?

  Jordan and I got our coffee drinks, and Jordan got a little mini pumpkin pie this time. We found a table.

  “I’m surprised you wanted to go to another match,” Jordan said as we settled down. “Especially after the evening-that-shall-not-be-named. My one and only attempt at matchmaking. Argh.”

  “You mean Mack?” I asked innocently.

  “Yes, Mack.” Jordan gave me a duh look.

  I waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, we’re fine. We had dinner together on Tuesday.”

  “You did what?” Jordan nearly spilled his decaf. “How did that happen? I mean, what?”

  I laughed. I told Jordan how I’d tracked down Mack at the Educational Sciences building and took him some of the cookies Jordan and I had made. And how we’d gone out to grab a bite to eat and had a long talk.

  “It’s sort of hard to believe, but it turns out we have a lot in common.”

  “You and Mack? Mack ‘the Mountain’ McDonall and you have a lot in common,” Jordan repeated in a deadpan voice.

  “Well. He’s a huge, fit, muscular guy who works out all the time, eats super healthy, and is an undefeated college wrestling star. Whereas I live on tortilla chips, salsa, and pizza, and the closest I come to athletic activity is walking between my classes. But—”

  Jordan laughed.

  “—when you get beyond those superficial details, we’re practically brothers from another mother.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jordan’s eyes sparkled with laughter.

  I explained to Jordan about Mack’s interest in bulwarking cities against sea-level rise and my own passion for reporting on global warming.

  The laughter on Jordan’s face faded, and he looked at me almost sadly. “I didn’t know that about Mack. Or about you. Why didn’t I know that?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t talk about it much.”

  I liked being the outgoing, fun guy, not the gloomy Cassandra type. But maybe I’d given too little credit to my friends.

  Jordan nodded thoughtfully. “Well, clearly, I’m a genius. That must be my superpower. Super Yenta! My magic intuition told me you guys would be great together.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jordan’s eyes went a little hazy. “That’s actually a decent idea for a comic book.”

  I let him wander around in his own brain for a while as I sipped my coffee.

  He came to with a blink. “But… how would that work? For you and Mack? I mean, if you’re traveling all over the world covering the news, you’ll be gone all the time. Isn’t being a civil engineer a stay-put kind of job?”

  I snorted. “Dios. Jordan, we haven’t even made out yet. It’s a little early to worry about our living arrangements ten years from now. Ya think?”

  Jordan laughed. “Oh, right. Don’t mind me. Incurable romantic here. It’s just that we’re in the middle of figuring all that shit out.”

  Jordan went on to talk about the portfolio he was putting together to apply for DC Comics’ talent development workshop. It had always been his dream to work for them, and he had a damned good shot thanks to Pin Man and Pencil Boy, an online comic he’d created about Owen and him. Also, he was insanely talented. I’d seen some of the canvases he’d done for his classes, and they were museum worthy, I swear.

  But as Jordan talked about how he and Owen were trying to figure out where Owen could work as a teacher and coach near Burbank, California, in the event that Jordan did get hired by DC, my mind drifted to Mack.

  Jordan was right. Even if Mack and I started a relationship—which felt so close to happening it made my balls and stomach both ache like a sore tooth—but even if we did, how would that work in the long-run? We were both graduating in six months. I’d go wherever I had to go to get my career started, even if that meant being an assistant’s assistant to a weatherman in Bumfuck, Idaho. And Mack, he’d do the same. Did it even make sense to begin something right now?

  It was like we were in the path of a category-five hurricane. Anything we built now was unlikely to remain standing. For the first time, the future I’d been dreaming about my whole life, being an international reporter, seemed like a lonely one. If I got my dream job, I’d be unable to put down roots, and that included having a steady boyfriend.

  Did that mean this crazy sense of… of potential I felt about Mack was doomed?

  That sucked. That sucked monkey balls.

  The weird thing was, I could totally picture Mack’s future, though. Since that dinner at the Lakeside Lounge, I’d had this mental image of him. Mack. In it, he was shirtless, in water up to his waist, holding up the beams of some underground gate. In the vision, he was like a cross between Atlas, Hercules, the little Dutch boy, and a porn fantasy. Mack saving a town. Figuratively or literally. I could totally see it.

  Damn. I really liked that immovable man, that titan. I wanted to be in his life.

  Ridiculous me.

  The wrestling meet that night was Badgers versus Philadelphia, and the Field House was already filling up when we got there. There were plenty of people in the away stands, fans who’d apparently come all the way from
Philly to support their team. Dedication, man. Wrestling fans were fierce. It made me wonder if tonight’s meet were a bigger deal than usual.

  As we approached the home bleachers, Jordan made a beeline for a couple of older guys in the friends and family section. One look and I knew immediately who they were. I choked on some spit and my stomach went all rubbery, but I managed to rein myself in and don a blank expression by the time we were standing in front of them.

  “Hi, Mr. McDonall!” Jordan chirped. The jerk.

  Mack’s father was massive, probably as tall as Mack but bigger all around, having some extra pounds on him too. He wore an old corduroy coat, a plaid shirt, and jeans. His face was heavier than Mack’s, more beat-up, harder, and his hair was mostly gray. But he still looked like he could kick my ass. Or anyone’s ass. He was intimidating as hell.

  He held out a giant paw to Jordan. “Hey! I know we’ve met. You’re a friend of Mack’s, right?”

  Jordan nodded. “Yup. I’m Jordan, Owen Nelson’s boyfriend.”

  I inwardly winced at that, wondering how Mack’s father would react. But he surprised me.

  “Owen. Right! Great wrestler.” Mack’s father shook his head in appreciative amazement.

  Jordan got an uncontrollably sunny smile. “He is. So is Mack. Hey, this is Gabe. He’s a friend of Mack’s too.”

  Now I wanted to kick Jordan, and I promised myself I would later. Hard. I reached out a hand. “Hello, Mr. McDonall. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Jordan was smirking, and Mack’s father glanced from his face to mine and then looked me up and down, shaking my hand slowly. He grunted. “Gabe? What’s your last name?”

  “Martin.” I swallowed thickly.

  “Um-hum. Mack hasn’t mentioned you, though he’s pretty quiet about his social life. How good of a friend are you?”

  He raised his eyebrow knowingly, and sweat broke out on my neck. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes and maybe something like… hope? Did Mack’s father know he was gay? And want him to be seeing someone? It sure looked that way. That was a little surprising, since I knew Mack wasn’t out at school. But also, a relief.

  Mack’s father did not release my hand, trapping it like a wee mouse pinned by a cat.

  “Um…. Not as good a friend as I’d like to be?” I answered honestly.

  Mr. McDonall laughed like that was hilarious and released my hand. He almost looked like he was about to shove me playfully, and I braced myself lest I go tumbling over the bleachers to the arena floor, but he refrained.

  “Not as good as you wanna be. I like that! I’ll put in a good word for ya. Hey, call me Jim. And this here’s George. He’s an old family friend.”

  The man sitting next to Mack’s father was considerably older, maybe around seventy. He had snow-white hair, a fragile build, and a kind face. He shook hands with us both, smiling.

  “Hello there, Jordan, Gabe. Enjoy the match. I’m sure Mack will win. He always does.”

  “He’d better!” Jim McDonall glowered. “Or I’ll ground the bum!” Then he laughed again like he was mirth incarnate.

  “Okay. Well. Nice to meet you,” I repeated lamely, and basically shoved Jordan to get him to move.

  When we sat down several rows up, I elbowed Jordan in the ribs.

  “Ow!” he said.

  “Thanks for that, Carson. Subtle.”

  “What? You didn’t want to meet Mack’s old man? Sorry, my bad. Anyway, he thought you were cute.”

  “He did not!”

  “Totally did.” Jordan unpacked his spirit gear and handed me a headband with red badger ears. I put them on.

  I took off my parka to reveal my red BADGERS WRESTLING long-sleeved T-shirt with the badger covered over in red sequins. Go big or go home. That’s my motto. The ears provided that little extra je ne sais quoi.

  Jordan and I stood and screamed when Owen and Mack came out. I saw Mack look at his dad in the stands, who was also cheering. Then his gaze found me. I could swear he got a little shy and a cute boyish smile appeared. Even when he went through his roar and bicep pumps for the crowd, he was smiling a little.

  Was that smile because of me? Dios. I thought it was. God knew, my own smile was stuck to my face like the greasepaint of some demented clown.

  The meet started. I was hardly aware of the various bouts, or what wrestlers were on the floor. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Mack, off those broad shoulders or the wide muscled lats of his back as he sat below us on the team bench. I watched the serious tilt of his head, the way he supported his teammates with claps and the tensing of his body. When it was finally his turn, he got up and did a circle, arms raised, looking at the crowd as they called his name. His gaze met mine again, but this time, his face was serious, his eyes burning with some unspoken message.

  I swear, I got chills. Mack was looking at me. Of all the hundreds of people in this place, it was me he communicated with, silently, just before his match. I did my best to send back the wordless message that I was with him, to tell him to whoop some Philadelphia ass for me.

  When the Philly wrestler stepped into the circle, it was clear he didn’t have a prayer. He was only about five ten and way overweight, with a big gut and wide neck. He tried, though. Bless his heart. Chest to chest, arms jockeying for position, the guy was clearly trying to push Mack around. Mack didn’t budge, but he didn’t do much either. It was almost cruel to let the Philly guy struggle, but maybe Mack just wanted the bout to last longer. Maybe it was a scoring thing.

  After about a minute, Mack dug in his feet and pushed. He bulldozed the guy back several feet, and then the guy tripped and stumbled out of the red circle. The ref blew the whistle and held up two fingers—that was called “fleeing the mat” and was two points for Mack, Jordan said. The two wrestlers moved back to the center. The whistle blew again, their chests smacked, and Mack took the guy down. Just like that. He got his arms under one armpit and one knee, quick as lightning, and basically lifted the guy off the floor and slammed him. The Philly wrestler was pinned in ten seconds flat.

  The ref blew the whistle and raised his hand. The crowd went supernova. Jordan and I jumped up and chanted with the rest. Mountain. Mountain. Mountain.

  I felt a hot gush of pride and joy at Mack’s victory. Fuck, I was so happy for him, happy to see him succeed, happy to see him get his moment of glory. Because that guy down there? That big, badass wrestler was almost, sort of, maybe, my guy.

  Damn. My chest felt like it was about to burst, like that scene in Alien, only what would come out of me was hearts and rainbows and unicorn glitter instead of, you know, a deadly alien life-form. I felt all that, and Mack and I weren’t even together yet. Now I knew why Jordan loved coming to the matches.

  But Jordan and Owen, they were the real deal. Me, I was in some weird limbo between nothing and something, wanting and having, between potentiality so deep it was terrifying and the reality that there was nothing between Mack and me beyond a little flirting. I didn’t know if Mack felt anything like my own massive crush.

  That was a wretched place to be.

  Madison won the meet, thanks in no small part to Owen and Mack’s wins. Afterward, Jordan dragged me back into the locker room area. There was a hall where we could hang out to wait for the athletes. I was unsure if I should be there or if Mack would think it was presumptuous, but I remembered the little smile when he looked at me from the arena floor and I stayed. We wandered over to Mr. McDonall and his friend, George, and waited for the guys to come out.

  Mack and Owen came out of the locker room together. Owen gave Jordan a big hug, smiling happily. He looked relaxed and his blue eyes sparkled with a natural high. Mack gave his dad a one-armed hug and George a full one, appearing to be careful with the older man. His face was much more serious.

  He met my gaze and I looked back, not sure if I should go up to him or what. I wasn’t shy normally. Hell, I was the first one to speak my mind and act out. But right then, I felt totally unsure.

  “H
ey, Gabe,” Mack said after a moment.

  Dios, just a simple acknowledgment, my name on his tongue, made my nerves flutter. “Hey, Mack. Good job out there.”

  It was the lamest thing I could possibly say, but Mack smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Guys! Whaddya say we all go for burgers? My treat!” Jim McDonall proclaimed.

  “You don’t have to do that, Dad.” Mack’s brow furrowed with worry.

  “Are you kiddin’ me? That wrestling scholarship of yours saves me a fortune. Least I can do is buy my son and his friends some burgers. You can take one night off workin’ so damned hard. What do you say, George? Are you up for that?”

  George patted Mack’s arm with a smile. “Sure thing! Be nice to spend a little more time with you, Mack.”

  “Gabe! You’re comin’ too. I insist.” Jim gave me a knowing wink.

  Well, hells. That wasn’t obvious at all.

  I looked at Jordan and Owen. “Um…”

  “Let’s all go,” Jordan said firmly.

  Owen nodded slowly, though he looked a little confused. “Yeah. Sounds great. I’m starved.”

  Everyone looked at me. I looked at Mack. Did he want me to bow out?

  Mack shuffled from one foot to the other. “You should come, Gabe. If you want. But it’s cool if you’ve got something else to do.”

  Was that a sincere invitation? I decided to take it as one.

  I shrugged. “Far be it from me to say no to a party.” I swept a hand down my sequined Badgers T-shirt. “Besides, I’m totally dressed to go out with a couple of hot wrestlers.”

  I was trying to be funny. Jordan snorted, Owen looked bemused, and Jim and George exchanged a look. But Mack? The big tough guy looked down at his shoes with cheeks redder than they’d been a moment ago.

  Yeah. I was pretty sure Mack felt as nervous and awkward about us as I did. Thank God.

  We ended up at Perkins a few blocks off campus. Jim had his car, so he drove with George over while the rest of us walked. Jordan and Owen were in front, which left me and Mack walking together behind them. Mack had his big hands crammed in his coat pockets while I couldn’t seem to stop mine from waving around as I jabbered.