by Conn, Claudy
“We’re doing a Secret Santa, and every day I get a present and give a present. I am giving mine to Francine. She’s a sweet old lady and seems to like what I’ve been giving her. I’m pretty sure she has no clue who I am. She keeps leaving thank yous on the white board in the staff lounge by her mailbox. It is adorable. I need to pick up some more things this weekend. I was thinking of trying to make her your famous fudge. Unless, of course you want to make it for me. I would never say no to that.”
Nothing. Her mom just stared into space. Historically, the times Lacey saw recognition in her mother’s eyes, the conversation had always been tied to an activity she needed her mother for. As if she was saying, “Yes, I want to help you with that.” At this point, if Lacey kept a list of all the things her mother non-verbally agreed to help her with, it would require a solid week to complete.
“I have the best Secret Santa. Yesterday I got a gift certificate to get my hair cut at a salon downtown, tip included. They’re completely blowing the budget of the activity out of the water.”
Lacey had resigned herself to the nice gifts, and somehow they kept getting nicer. Instead of being happy, she felt conflicted. Did Marcus feel guilty that she might know who he was? Was he afraid it would come across as inappropriate to offer the naughty gifts? She doubted the later. If Marcus was her Secret Santa, which she pretty much knew he was or at least wanted him to be so very much, he wasn’t the type of man to start something he hadn’t planned on finishing.
She absentmindedly played with the card as she finished her tale. “They also gave me a new bag for my laptop, a coffee mug, a wallet, and fingerless gloves. Want to hear a secret?” She paused as if waiting for the answer she knew wouldn’t come. “I think my Secret Santa is my boss. Whoever it is has spent too much money to be a random office staff member.”
They’d spent too much money period. The salon’s website was filled with gorgeous models, an array of services unlike any she had seen before, and no price list to be seen. That always meant it was far outside her range. If the gift hadn’t included the tip, Lacey would have been terrified to use it for fear she couldn’t even muster up the twenty percent.
“My boss is very handsome, Mom. He has dimples as deep as that movie star you used to always swoon over when I was little. Stinks, I forget his name. What was it again, Mom?” Her mom responded the way she normally did. Nothing. “His name is Marcus. Wait, let me restate that. My boss, not your movie star, is named Marcus. Marcus Northrop and—”
At his name, her mom turned her head slightly, her eyes carrying the spark Lacey had been gunning for.
Chapter 3
The world seemed so much lighter after her visit. Her mom showed more progress than Lacey had seen yet. Talking about Marcus as the hottie he was could hardly be considered appropriate, but that didn’t stop her once her mother showed interest. Lacey talked about everything from his suits to his tight rear end, leaving no dimple or muscle undescribed. The only thing Lacey failed to mention was her naughty or nice dilemma. No one’s mama wants to hear about that.
The spark continued to shine the entire conversation, and at one point, Lacey could have sworn her mother had blinked in response. It was probably a fluke, but Lacey held onto it with dear life. The doctors were wrong. Her mother was going to recover.
True to her word, Nancy set up a meeting for when her mother’s physical therapy began. The lawyer, Melinda Smithson, already had the paperwork ready. The hospital had been able to give her the financial information due to its delinquency. The medical pieces only needed a quick signature from Lacey to allow Nancy to pass them over. The nurse had gone above and beyond the call of duty and probably broke a bazillion laws to do so. Lacey needed to make a double batch of fudge and bring the second batch the next time she visited.
If the Melinda was right, they would be able to get her mom both benefits and medical within a month—with back pay. How that was possible? Lacey didn’t want to know; she was just over the moon that it was. The lawyer also recommended suing the pharmaceutical company for their wrong doing. Lacey wasn’t ready for that. Those kinds of suits took years and the emotional drain on her for the possible return was not worth it. The class action that had been attempted was thrown out early, so the chances were high it would achieve poor results anyway.
Feeling on cloud nine, Lacey threw caution to the wind and steered her car toward downtown. Who knew, the day was going so amazingly well, maybe the salon would have an opening. Chances are they were booked solid, but people cancel all the time and the gift certificate was calling her.
Self-doubt resurfaced. Was the certificate a message? Did he not like her hair the way it was? True, she had let it go, only getting it cut when she could no longer take it and always at the discount place on two dollar off Tuesdays. No, she was being ridiculous. All of her gifts were nice and things she needed. Maybe he just thought she needed some pampering. After all, what girl doesn’t like to be all gussied up?
The salon was in the upscale part of downtown, the part she rarely, if ever, ventured, and only for window shopping. The old building kept its charm, yet the sign screamed funky and cool. It was the type of place she would’ve tried if money weren’t a constant concern.
Stepping inside, she was greeted by a warm smile. The place held none of the pretentiousness she had feared.
“Hello, I was wondering if you had time in your schedule to cut my hair.” Lacey stepped up to the counter and asked far more timidly than her norm.
“Of course, sweetie.” The man quickly started scrolling through his computer screen, tapping on the keyboard every so often. “It looks like I have room the Saturday between Christmas and New Years at three pm, does that work for you?”
“Ummm, I guess. I was kind of hoping for one today.” She fumbled through her purse for the certificate.
“Oh honey, I wish I could help you. This time of year we are so booked. I only have that Saturday because so many people are away then. Shall I book you in?” He was being kind about it, but Lacey knew she was outside of their normal clientele who would have known to book ahead.
“Please. Oh wait, I have this.” She handed him the now crumply gift certificate. “I don’t know if there are restrictions on dates with it, being the holiday and all.” The last thing she needed was to show up and be told it was only good during the slow season, although this place probably was booming all the time.
“Sweetie, why didn’t you show me this right away?” The man walked around the counter and started toward the rear of the building. “Well, are you coming?”
“Where?” She followed him, wanting the answer he wasn’t stopping to give.
“To get your hair done, of course.”
“I thought you were booked.”
“Not for you, love, not for you.” He rounded the corner, entering a small brick room complete with shampoo station, cutting station, nail table, and a bunch of things Lacey didn’t even know what they were for. Holy cow, this salon had separate rooms for all of their people. It was so decadent. “Let’s go. I have so many fabulous ideas for your glorious locks.”
His fabulous ideas included a beautiful cut and style that highlighted her naturally wavy curls, the ones no one had seen in years due to the overgrown state of her hair. They also included a paraffin treatment, manicure and pedicure, and a scalp massage, all of which he insisted was included in the certificate she had been given. The man was both energetic and entertaining, and by the time she was ready to leave, she felt on top of the world.
“Would you like to book another appointment, sweetie?”
“Thanks, but this was a gift that far exceeded my normal budget.” Understatement of the freaking year.
“Well, if you do ever want to come back, ask for Jason. I’ll take care of you. It has been a long time since I had someone in my chair that actually listened to my stories.” He winked at her as he handed her his card. She knew full well that there was no way anyone could find Jason’s stories blas
é, but it was nice to be told you were special all the same.
“Will do.” She took the card and slid it into the front pouch of her purse.
“May I ask you something?” he said far too quickly.
She nodded, snapping her purse’s front closure.
“Is he really as … you know … gifted as they say?” Jason’s face turned a bright shade of pink. Of course he assumed she was sleeping with the man who paid for such extravagance. A man Jason clearly had eyes for.
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Oh bugger, please tell me you are not a relative.” His blush grew even deeper, but this time out of a different kind of embarrassment.
“Hardly,” she reassured. “This was a gift from my Secret Santa.”
“Well damn, girl, go you.” Jason pointed to the small tree in the corner of his room. “I keep getting Christmas ornaments with shears, flat irons, and the like on them.” The tree was covered with all things hair dresser. Poor guy had lost the Secret Santa pool to be sure.
“So tell me …” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. He wasn’t here, but for whatever reason she didn’t want to be caught cheating on her discovery of her Secret Santa’s identity. “Is it Marcus?”
“Oh no, no, no.” He flailed his arms in front of her as if swishing the words away. “I’ve botched this up enough with my loose lips.” He pantomimed, locking his lips and throwing away the key. “No way I’m going to dig myself any further into this hole.”
Chapter 4
A quick stop at the grocery story later and Lacey was ascending her fifth floor walk-up stairs. The smell of mildew and body odor filled her nostrils. When she had first moved in, Lacey had been sure she would get used to the smell. She had been dead wrong. One time she even splurged on a bottle of carpet deodorizer. All it managed to do was to add fake lemon smell to the already pungent aroma.
After many more stairs than she cared to count, Lacey finally arrived at her destination. She refused to call apartment 523 home. It wasn’t home, it was a place to sleep. Nothing more. She used to have a home before her mom took ill. A cozy little two bedroom cape on the outskirts of town complete with picket fence. The bank snagged it within the first year of her mother’s illness, and they moved to a small apartment. After the stroke, Lacey ended up here along with a few drug dealers, at least five hookers, a couple of desperate single moms, and a whole lot of soon to be ex-husbands whose wives kicked them out for sticking their wick where it doesn’t belong.
Oddly, Lacey had never felt unsafe here. There was an unspoken “don’t bother me and I won’t bother you” law in effect that everyone abided. The dealers were all small time losers who spent more time in their apartments using than actually committing crimes and the girls never brought home a john. Lacey only knew it was their profession by overhearing conversations in the entry way while snagging her mail.
Balancing her groceries against the wall as she fished for her keys didn’t go as planned and soon she found the entire contents of her purse on the floor. Using the keys that had caused all of the issues in the first place, she opened her door, placing her groceries inside. There was no way she would allow her food to touch the floor in the hall, even if it was in a bag. Some things are just too vile. Most likely she was going to boil or toss the things that fell from her purse. She was far from a germaphobe but some places are just far too disgusting.
Bending down, she filled with relief at the minimal loss of items. A tissue pack, a mostly empty container of mints, a coupon book for a store she probably wouldn’t be going to anytime soon, and a hairbrush, an item easily boiled.
“Ahem.” The throat clearing in what she believed to be an empty hallway had Lacey nearly jumping out of her skin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.”
The voice was attached to someone who very much didn’t belong in this building. The man, nearing his forties if she were to guess, wore a suit. Normally when people didn’t fit in here, it was someone looking for a hit after recently discovering a new to them drug. Those kind of visitors were the only ones that spooked her. This man, however, didn’t have the feel of danger and he was holding two identical gift bags.
“May I help you?” She righted herself with the hopes of feigning dignity.
“I’m looking for a Ms. Lacey Miller.”
“I am she. I’m guessing my Secret Santa sent you.” She gestured to the gifts with her head.
“Why, yes, ma’am. They did. Before I deliver your gift, I am supposed to ask you a question.”
How embarrassing. Not only would she have to pick, but she would have to tell a complete stranger her choice. That took away her choice as far as she was concerned. Not that she would have picked naughty, although she thought about it in a dream sense. What if it was something sensual, like fine lingerie? What if it was something kinky like a butt plug? Worse, what if it was coal as punishment for being so indecisive over the past week.
“Nice. The answer is nice.” Her rambling was loud and at super speed, her uncomfortableness on full display.
“Do you have plans tomorrow?”
Holy crap. Did she just get hit on by a creepy guy who assumed she was easy by the gifts he was delivering? Her heart pounded, this was not happening.
“Excuse me?” Her voice cracked and with it so did his smile. Thank freaking goodness, she had misinterpreted.
“That was the question I was to ask you, Ms. Miller.” His smile widened and his shoulders relaxed. Gone was his business-like façade. He was enjoying this. Far too much, from her perspective.
“Do I have plans tomorrow?” Did she? Yes, she had plans every day. She always spent at least half of the weekend days with her mother. The poor woman was alone with her boob tube far too often. If she was going to recover, she needed more to look forward to than watching reruns of people winning craptastic prizes.
“That is what they want to know?” She wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to give up the information. If it was Marcus, which she pretty much concluded to be a ninety-nine percent possibility, did she want him to think she was completely unavailable?
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Not naughty or nice?” She eyed the gifts as she spoke, and his smile hit his eyes.
“No, ma’am. That would be none of my business.”
“You know more than you are letting on, Mr.…” For some reason she was enjoying their silly banter, even if it was in front of her sucky apartment in a smelly hallway as she held items too gross to clean without a good boil.
“Butler … Benjamin Butler, ma’am.” This was not a delivery person in the traditional sense. No, this man was either a friend or employee of her now far less “Secret” Santa.
“Well, Mr. Butler, you know more than you are letting on, I do believe.” She looked at her hands, currently holding things she didn’t want to be touching. “Just one moment.” She scurried in, dropped all but the brush in the trash bin before depositing her brush into the sink and then washing her hands. That felt better. She half expected him to follow her in out of the stench, but he was exactly as he left her upon Lacey’s return.
“So what shall I tell him your answer is?”
“So it is a him, then, I see,” she teased.
“Which you already conjectured, I am sure.” A door down the hallway opened and then slammed shut. The last things she needed was to piss off a neighbor. “So your answer?”
“On Sundays I usually have dinner with my mother at three.”
“But of course. I will relay the message.” He took a small step forward, extending his arms with the gifts. “I am to leave these with you.”
“Aren’t you supposed to ask me which one?” She was confused. This was the game after all. Naughty or nice. Never both, yet both were proffered and neither appeared labeled.
“As I said before, it is not of my concern which you choose.” He was curious though, his eyes didn’t lie. Who was he to Marcus? She would need to find out after
the reveal.
“What should I do with the other?” There was no way she would feel comfortable asking this man to return. This place might be safe for her, but his clothing screamed money and nobody here had any. Lack of money often caused rational people to act anything but rational.
“Again, not my concern. Have a nice evening, Ms. Miller.” With a subtle nod, he made his way to the stairs.
“You too, Mr. Butler,” Lacey called out to him before walking into her apartment and bolting the door.
Chapter 5
To her surprising disappointment, both of the packages were nice along with an accompanying letter.
Lacey,
If you are reading this, you unfortunately have plans for tomorrow making delivery less than optimal. I am completely aware that the intent of Secret Santa was to have gifts only on work days, but I find those terms unacceptable. How am I to wear you down enough to risk a naughty gift with breaks such as weekends thwarting me?
Call me selfish, but I would like nothing more than to watch first hand as you choose naughty for the first time. Both of the gifts before you, are nice to that end. The red paper is for today and the green for tomorrow.
Have a wonderful rest of your weekend and think of me as you climb into bed. Don’t play coy, you know I’m thinking of you, and you are as ecstatic about it as I am.
Goodnight beautiful,
Your Secret Santa
P.S. Jason told me you had a wonderful and relaxing time with him. This pleases me so. You work far too hard and deserve the break.
“Crap on a cracker.” She learned so much from that letter. First, he didn’t want to change her look, he wanted to give her a good old fashioned pampering. In her gut she’d known that, but to see it on paper made it more real somehow. Second, he had been watching her daily struggle with the gifts. Third, he wanted her to think about him when she went to bed.
