Dear Santa, I Can Explain!

by Kayt Miller

  “Nope,” she snaps.

  I think I’d better stop talking about her clothing. She’s taking off the offending outwear as I watch. “Please. I’m sorry. Your coat is fine.”

  “Fine?” she says gritting her pretty teeth.

  “Yes. It’s fine.”

  Stomping to her front door, she yanks the rickety old door open, almost off its hinges. I step out into the hallway. I’m half expecting her to slam the door closed with her still inside, but as luck would have it, she’s decided to accompany me tonight. Yay?

  “My driver is waiting for us if you’d like to come this way.”

  “You have a driver?”

  “Of course.”

  “Figures,” she mutters.

  It’s strange. I don’t recall the last time I’ve been on a date with someone so unimpressed before. As far as dates go, this one is starting off a little rocky. I intend on smoothing things out in the car. If not, my plans of having Miss Cartwright in my lap on the way home will never come to fruition.

  I let my mind linger on her backside as she walks down the steps. She hasn’t yet put her parka back on so I get to see her lovely curves in the designer dress. The dress hugs her hips, and ass then tapers down fitting snuggly to just below her knees. Further down I can’t help noticing she’s wearing stockings with the seam that runs up the back. Wow, those are sexy as hell. Following the seam, I note four-inch stilettos in––you guessed it––fuchsia.

  At the bottom of the steps, I slide my palm onto her lower back. “My apologies, Miss Cartwright. Now that I’ve gotten a better look at your dress, I find I rather like it.”

  “Gee. Thanks.”

  Sarcasm? “Let’s get your coat on, shall we? It’s brisk tonight.”

  I help her on with her coat. Standing in front of her, I slowly work the snaps closed. Yes. That’s what I said. Snaps. When I get to the snap closest to her face, I look down at her and whisper. “You look lovely, Lexie.” I lean down and give her a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. I feel her shiver, and I smirk. A shiver is a good sign. A very good sign.

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  Of course, I do. But, I keep the bravado to myself. “Thank you. Now, let’s get going.”

  Chapter 11

  Lexie

  When we step out onto the sidewalk in front of my building, I stop in my tracks. “Your car is a limo?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem?”

  “Uh, no.” Walking ahead of him, I smile from ear to ear. I’ve never ridden in a limo before.

  Gabriel steps in front of me, waving off the driver so he can open the door himself. I slide into the backseat, and I gasp. I try not to, but I can’t help it. “This is nice,” I say with awe in my voice. “Is that a refrigerator?”

  Gabriel slides onto the seat next to me, and I get a whiff of his cologne. It’s so subtle and manly. It reminds me of something, but I can’t think of what. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”

  “You have champagne? In the car?”

  “Of course.” He opens the mini fridge and takes out a bottle of bubbly. Watching him, he uncorks the bottle pouring us each a glass. As he hands me my glass, I can’t help noticing a portion of the label. ‘Dom’. Holy macaroni. Is that Dom Perignon champagne? He sets the bottle back in the fridge and raises his glass to tap mine. “To us.”

  “To us.” Huh? “Thank you.” I take a sip and close my eyes to savor the taste of the world’s most expensive beverage because I want to be able to describe it in my journal in minute detail when I get home. Tonight is already filled with a lot of firsts. First real date in years, first ride in a limo, first taste of fancy schmancy champagne, and the first gallery opening I’ve ever attended. I wonder what other firsts I’ll have tonight. “So, where is this event taking place tonight?”

  “The Kavi Gupta gallery. Have you been?”

  “Um, no. Is it nice?”

  He lets out a little scoff, “Of course.”

  “Oh, okay.” We ride in silence for several more minutes until the car pulls to a stop.

  Taking the glass from my hand, Mr. Parker says, “We’re here.”

  Goodie. I take in a lung full of air for courage as he pushes the door open. Steping out of the car, he turns to me, “You can leave your coat in the car. It’s only a few feet to the door.”

  In other words, he’s embarrassed by the parka. “Okay.” I’m going to freeze my tuchus off from here to the door, but oh well. I slip off the coat and leave it behind as I take Mr. Parker’s extended hand. Once on the sidewalk, I blink a few times to be sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing.

  What I’m seeing are people with cameras clicking and flashing. Reporters are here taking pictures of the rich and famous in attendance tonight. It’s surreal. I squeeze Gabriel’s hand a little tighter when I realize that I’m going to be in some of those pictures. I cringe thinking about being seen in the paper tomorrow.

  Gabriel pulls me along at a brisk pace to the entrance. “Gabriel Parker, Mr. Parker, Gabriel.” People are yelling his name repeatedly as we walk. “Who’s your date? Who are you wearing?”

  Who are you wearing? Do guys pay attention to that sort of thing?

  “Ermenegildo Zenga,” he says loudly.

  Of course, Gabriel does. “Erma who?”

  Turning to me he chuckles, “Ermenegildo Zenga.”

  “Oh.” Whoever designed the suit, Gabriel Parker wears it well. There was so much happening at my apartment, and in the car, I neglected to pay much attention to his clothing. I did notice how perfect he looked with his hair slicked back on the top and the sides cut short. Did he get a haircut?

  I take a moment and look at his suit, and I’m impressed. It’s dark gray with tiny light gray lines crisscrossing all over the fabric. It fits his long, lean body perfectly like it was made for his body. The pants are slim fit and lead down to a dark pair of leather shoes. I’m sure those are expensive too. His shirt is light gray and the tie? Well, the tie is the only part of his outfit that’s disappointing. It’s dark gray and a tad boring, to be honest.

  I'm blinded by the flashing lights until we’re safely inside the gallery. When I focus my eyes on the event, I’m gob smacked. The gallery is packed with people, but beyond that, I notice the space is huge with ceilings at least two stories up. The room is stark white with spotlights shining toward the walls. On the art, I suspect, but I can’t see the art. Not with so many people in the way.

  “Come this way, Miss Cartwright. Let’s get a drink,” he says pulling me behind him, my hand still in his.

  That’s good. I could use a drink. Or twenty. When a waiter passes, Gabriel takes two champagne flutes from the tray handing me one. Tipping his glass toward me he waits for me to tap mine against his, “We made it.”

  “We did.” Our glasses touch creating a soft tinkling sound. We did.

  Nodding at someone off into the distance, Gabriel takes my hand again, “Showtime,” he says pulling me along. We stop in front of a couple about Gabriel’s age, “Paul? Sofia? This is my date, Alexia.”

  Alexia? I look down and see they’ve extended their hand to me. I shake Sofia’s first then Paul’s. “It’s Lexie, actually.” And that’s the extent of my conversation. Gabriel and the couple chat about art and buildings as I discreetly stare at the people at this shindig. I can’t help noticing the clothing, especially on the women. I’d say a good sixty percent are wearing those boring black shift dresses Gabriel tried to get me to wear. The other forty percent may not be wearing black shift dresses, but they are wearing something dark and plain. I look down at myself and feel the heat of embarrassment rise to my cheeks. I stand out like a sore thumb. No wonder Gabriel was concerned about my clothing. I look ridiculous.

  Pulled from my self-deprecating thoughts, Gabriel takes my hand again. “Come on, let’s mingle.”

  So, that’s what we do. We walk around sipping champagne glass after champagne glass as Gabriel talks to people always introducing me as Alexia. I stop corr
ecting him after a bit because, why bother? Well, let me rephrase that. I let him do that five or six times until I’ve had enough. We’ve stopped walking for a moment, so I take the opportunity to say my peace, “Gabriel?”

  “Yes?” he says absently. He’s too busy looking around for the next person to hobnob with to look at me.

  “My name is Lexie.”

  He scoffs a little, “I know.”

  “No, I don’t think you do.”

  He finally looks down at me with those bright green eyes. “My name is Lexie. It’s not Alexia. I…”

  “But, Alexia sounds more…”

  “Fancy?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t use that word. Elegant. I’d say it sounds more elegant.”

  “Look. Mr. Parker. My name is Lexie. It’s on my birth certificate, L-e-x-i-e. If you can’t call me by my real name, I’m going to go home.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you obviously don’t like me the way I am so…”

  “I like you the way you are,” he says defensively.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “Of course I do. I…” He’s interrupted when an older couple steps up to us.

  “Gabriel,” says the older woman.

  “Pamela. Bart. How are you this evening?”

  “We’re wonderful. Her work is amazing,” Pamela singsongs.

  “It is. Isn’t it? Oh, let me introduce you to my date. Al…uh, Lexie I’d like to introduce you to Pamela and Bart McGovern.”

  I raise my hand to shake Pamela’s hand first. “My dear. What are you wearing?” Pamela asks emphasizing the ‘are’ in her question making me blush with embarrassment.

  I soldier on, but in the back of mind, I’m planning my escape route. I’m ready to go home. “It’s vintage Dior,” I say shyly.

  “I thought so!” says Pamela excitedly. “And the shoes? Are they vintage Chanel?”

  I smile because I think she’s actually on board with my clothes. “Yes.”

  “Where ever did you find them?”

  “Maybelle’s.”

  “Oh, I love Maybelle’s.”

  “I’ve only been once, but I plan to go back.”

  “We should go together, sweetheart. I’d love to get your opinion.”

  “Y-you would?”

  “Of course. You’re the only one here with any kind of style or personality, including myself,” she chuckles. It’s sort of true. She’s wearing all black: black dress, black hose, black sweater, black shoes. “Gabriel? I’m going to steal your date for a few minutes. I want to introduce her to a few of my friends. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not. Al…Lexie, I’ll be right here.”

  “Okay.” I follow Pamela through the crowd growing more and more nervous. Is this the point in the night when I meet the mean girls of the octogenarian crowd? I follow her around some walls and a few pillars until we stop in front of a large group of women all ranging in age from early thirties up to about one hundred and fifty. I swear, one of the ladies is that old.

  “Ladies!” Pamela shouts. “I’d like to introduce you to Gabriel Parker’s date, Lexie.”

  They all turn as one like it was choreographed. When their eyes meet mine, they scan my body up and down. I feel sweat cresting my forehead on the verge of sliding down my face when one of them finally speaks, “Is that vintage Dior?” I don’t know who said it, but I nod.

  “And the shoes are vintage Chanel. Isn’t she lovely?”

  I see nods and hear a few of them muttering things when a woman in her mid-thirties speaks the loudest. “You’re with Gabriel Parker?”

  Oh, shite. Here we go. “Uh, um, well…”

  “Yes. Isn’t it refreshing? He’s not with one of the scarecrows.” Pamela turns to me. “That’s what we call those women to which men like Gabriel always seem to gravitate. You know, stick thin, no personality, only after the money, and biiiiiitchy.”

  Several of the women titter and one literally cackles at Pamela’s words. I nod because I’ve met his ‘scarecrows’. “Well, I’m none of those things,” I say laughing nervously. “I'm certainly not stick-thin, that’s for sure.”

  “You’ve got great curves, darling,” says a woman in her forties. “You’re a real woman.”

  The thirty-something woman who I assumed was being judgy, steps forward, “Candace Weatherly. It’s lovely to meet you.”

  I shake her hand. “You too.” One by one the ladies approach me either shaking my hand or giving me a quick hug.

  One of the older ladies even whispers in my ear, “I hope he’s smart enough to hang on to you, my dear.” I’d love to tell her that this thing with us is all a hoax, but I can’t do that to Gabriel. Even though he’s a little annoying and a lot arrogant, he’s been very kind to me so far. Not to mention it’s really fun to be on the arm of someone like him even if it is fake. For just a little while I get to pretend I’m pretty enough and interesting enough to be with someone like him.

  Once the group disbands, I take the opportunity to look at the artwork. I make my way to the outer edges of the gallery so I can look at the paintings hanging the walls. When I get to the first one, I gasp. It’s beautiful and huge. It’s got to be six feet tall and six feet wide. I read the label aloud, “V. Brooks.” I wonder who that is? The title of this first one is ‘Menagerie’.

  I stare at the painting attempting to get the link between the title and the painting. It’s abstract. I know that from taking art in high school. It’s painted in lots of grays and deep reds, and there are what looks like strands or streaks of something metallic running throughout. I look back at the label to see if it says. “Oil and gold leaf on linen.” Huh. That sparkling stuff is gold. Now the title makes more sense.

  I amble along the wall until I accidentally bump into someone. “Oh,” I squeak, “I’m so sorry.”

  When the man turns around, he looks down at me and smiles, “Please don’t apologize. Let’s call it fate or kismet.”

  “Kismet?”

  Lifting my free hand up, he kisses it. “Yes. It was kismet that you bumped into me.”

  “It was?”

  “Indeed. You’re the loveliest creature here tonight.”

  “I am?”

  Chuckling, the man leans down close enough to whisper in my ear, “You’re fucking stunning.” Leaning back he hasn’t let go of my hand. “I’m Chip.”

  “Chip?”

  “Yes. What’s your name?”

  I’m about to say ‘Alexia’ when I get a grip, “Lexie.”

  “Are you here with someone or is this my lucky night?”

  “I’m here with someone.” I don't know why he’s making me nervous, but he is. “I’m here with a date.”

  “Shame. I’d love to take you away from here. We could have a nightcap and see where it leads us. Are you and your date serious?”

  A nightcap? “Uh. Oh, I’m not sure.”

  “Well, if you decide he’s not the one, call me.” Chip leans in again and whispers, “I’ve got keys to the offices here. We could pop back there and…”

  Feeling the need to escape like right. now I say quickly, “Oh, I see Pamela over there. I need to go.”

  “Very well,” he sighs. Not giving up, Chip pulls a card from his pocket and slides it into the top of my dress lingering a little too long over my left breast, “Call me.”

  Ooh, that was icky. Now I know why he made me nervous. He’s a creep. I nod and smile, “Nice meeting you,” I say as I skitter away. Not.

  I find my way back to the paintings. It’s rather peaceful near the art since most of the crowd is gathered in the center talking to one another. I’ve noticed the paintings are all done in a similar style, they’re all abstract, and they all have metallic pieces somewhere on the painting. They are all nice, but one of them stands out to me. When I round a corner, I see a small painting alone in an alcove. I approach it slowly because there’s something about it that makes it unique. I can tell.

  When
I stand face-to-canvas, I note that it’s the smallest painting I’ve seen so far. It’s probably about twelve inches square. I stand close enough to see this one sparkles. The colors are all soft blues and violets making areas the color periwinkle. Stepping back a bit, I look at the label and gasp. The title is ‘Hydrangea’, and it’s made with oil and diamond dust on linen. The diamond dust is what sparkles.

  I feel a tear slide down my cheek. Doing my best to gather myself I feel a tap on my shoulder. Wiping the tear, I turn to see Victoria. “Victoria?” I wrap my arms around her tiny body and squeeze. “It’s so nice to see you. I didn’t know you were coming.”

  She hugs me back, “Why are you crying? Did my brother say something? Do I need to kick his ass?”

  Chuckling, I wipe my face again. “No. It’s this little painting.”

  “The painting made you sad?”

  “No. It reminded me of someone I lost last year.” My mom. I lost her suddenly last year. It was heartbreaking. Mom and I were so close, as close as two people could be. There are some days I can’t believe she’s gone. There are days I don’t want to get out of bed. But, I know she’s up there, watching over me.

  “In a good way?”

  “Yes, in a good way. Her favorite flower was the Hydrangea, and her favorite color was periwinkle. She would have loved this. She'd love all of these paintings. They’re amazing.”

  “May I ask who ‘she’ was?”

  “My mom.” I let another tear drip down my cheek. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be sad. I just miss her.”

  “I’m sorry you lost her, Lex, but I’m glad you like my paintings. It means a lot coming from you.”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, I’m…”

  “Your paintings? These are yours?” I say pointing toward the long wall of paintings.”

  “Yes. You didn’t know?”

  I shake my head. “No. So, you’re V. Brooks?”

  “Brooks is my married name.”

  “Oh. Wow. You’re amazing Victoria.”

  “Thank you.”

  I look up and see Gabriel from across the room. He’s waving his arm above his head. Nodding, I pat her elbow. “Oops, I’d better go. Your brother is waving.”