A Naughty Santa Gram
Page 2
“No matter. Thanks, dude, tip’s on the card already.” I shrug, taking the pizza in both hands and kicking the door shut behind me as I go.
“So, finding a job in my field is out, and finding one I’m not overqualified for is going to suck. How does that even make sense?” I inquire, shoving some hot meatlovers in my mouth.
"No, sweets, it makes sense. You're just overthinking it. I'll tell you the first thing we have to do. We need to color your hair again. This WAS red. Now, do you know what color it is?" Jenna has gone full hair stylist mode while sliding me the box of pizza to eat over, and honestly, she scares me, so I really don't want to answer.
"It's, umm... light orange?" I flinch, squirming beneath the hot glare of stylist Jenna and reaching for another slice. I let the still piping hot deliciousness burn my fingers a bit, all to keep my gaze as far from scary Jenna’s as possible. The intoxicating smell of cheese, tomato, ranch, and bacon fills my nose, and I sigh wistfully despite my throbbing fingertips.
"Yes, it is orange. Maybe I should let you set his Porsche on fire, that way you could have an outfit to match your damned hair. And when was the last time you did a protein treatment on this damaged and dry mess?"
She's got me squirming like a worm, and I swear the pizza has solidified into a rock in my stomach, sinking through the depths of wine. "Well, you see, I sort of ran out a few weeks ago and just haven't had time or money to get more. Poor Cherry needed new tires! Think of Cherry," I whisper, starting to hug myself in the face of my scary bestie.
Jenna takes an audible deep breath in while her eyes are closed, then, slowly and equally loudly lets it out. When she finally opens her eyes, there is heat and excitement in them. "My God, woman, the state of your hair is going to put me into an early grave. Looks like it's cooking time in the kitchen," she says, setting her wine glass down to rise up and rub her hands together.
"Umm... we already have pizza? What else do we need to cook?" I trail off, watching her go to her high cabinet. I blink rapidly as she starts pulling out color. Lots and lots of hair color.
"We are doing kitchen hair, Bitch, so finish up that wine and prepare to be made glamorous. Now, what color are we thinking? Unnatural, natural, fun, rainbow, hypnotic, platinum, highlights?" Jenna interrogates, again rubbing her hands before lifting a new tube of color with each suggestion.
"Well, fuck it. Surprise me, Bitch. I want it bold, and I want it to say, ‘Fuck you, Chad, you don't own me.’” I lift my glass and add in the bird with the other hand. "Let’s drink to that and make me a badass bitch again.
"Oooh, what about this one? You could totally sell stuff to people!" Jenna exclaims, turning her tablet to show me a retail job two hours later.
"Oh yeah, that's a great idea. You know me, so jolly and happy and nice to irrational, stupid-ass people around the holidays,” I scoff. “I'm gonna pass on that one. I need more than minimum wage, anyways, if I'm going to pay bills and at least give you something while I save up for my own place." I shudder, thinking of all the old women who would want to complain or use outdated coupons. "Can you imagine me with little Irene yelling in my face that a coupon that expired two years ago should still be good? I'd probably deck her halls and get the next person in line."
"Oh...yeah, nope, probably not the best place for you. Your turn. Find an interesting job," Jenna says, scrolling through her phone now, probably on Instagram.
"Only if you tell me what damned color you put on my head. It smells nice, and color never smells good." I reach up to touch a foil that smells like grapes, but my hand gets smacked. Glancing at Jenna, I’m amazed that she hasn't even looked up from her phone.
"No touchy. Noooo touchy," she says, scrolling and now scratching her neck.
"Fine. Ugh, You're such a-"
BZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZ BZZZZZZ. My phone yells at me three times in a row, and it finally pisses me off enough to check it.
"What the hell? You're the only person who still likes me in this godforsaken town. Who could it be?" I open my texts and stop, lips curving down as my body hunches in on itself.
No, he didn’t. Why does he continue to haunt me, to stalk me, to break into my life and disrupt it every few months? My lungs are shutting down, and the world narrows to the small screen in my hand, memories from the night nine years ago flooding my brain. Daddy wants to teach you… I shake my head at the words.
Deafening silence fills the room, broken only by the soft bump of fingers on a screen. Finally, it breaks through Jenna's concentration, and her eyes glance my way, her skin growing pale at the sight I must present.
"Blake? What's wrong?" Her hand reaches out and clasps mine over my phone. The blood from my knuckles is gone, leaving nothing but white skin as tension fills my body. Her hands are as cold as my whole body has become. My body starts to tingle, and my hearing seems to go in and out, fuzzy yet ringing at the same time.
No, I won't let him break me again, not when he is over twenty-four hours away. He texted me again, can’t Mom control him? Dark memories of pain and a hand over my mouth fill my brain. I shake my head, determined to take back my life. My fingers loosen, blood returning to the tips, and I let my phone go gently to the counter.
"It's Craig. He must have gotten a new phone number and thought he'd say hello," I deadpan, keeping the memories of that night at bay by the very tips of my fingers, all so that they won’t consume me.
Has my little step-daughter missed her daddy?
Daddy misses you.
Daddy’s going to find you
Do you miss Daddy’s cock?
Each text builds the tension and fear in my racing heart.
"The Step?! Give me your phone. I'll call his ass up and give him a piece of my mind!" Jenna howls, reaching out.
"Stop," I whisper, a deep breath leaving my lungs slowly as I let out all the negative energy and release the fear that is trying to control me. Inhaling, I bring in strength, love, and a little fight to ground myself. "Fuck, fuck fuck.” I take a deep breath again. “It won't do anything but encourage him,” I rationalize, trying to believe myself. “If I ignore him, he'll stop. Besides, I block his number every time, and that buys me a little peace. It must take him a few months to realize I've done that since he takes a while to message again." Another deep breath in and out. I carefully pick up my phone, shaking. The anticipation of a viper attacking is all I can focus on until I’ve blocked his number again.
“Yeah, but I remember other times, and you’ve never been this freaked out before. What the hell did he say?
"Let's just let it go."
"No way, you need--”
“Please, Jenna,” I beg.
“If that's what you want, then that's what we will do, but…” Jenna trails off, then shakes her head. “So..." She pauses, picking up her tablet to search through the job hunting app. "Let's find you a seasonal job that pays well and isn't too customer service-y.” Silence falls for a few minutes, then she yells, “OH! Here's one!"
Jenna's quick eyes scan through the ad, growing brighter with each sentence, until the very end when her whole face falls. "Nevermind," she says. "It's for men only."
And with those four words, the heat racing through my veins from today’s events and tonight’s fear is fired up once more. "Uh uh, nope, no way. You CANNOT discriminate because of race or gender or, or, or whatever else is in those law thingies! You can't. So give me the damned pad and let me prove them wrong," I nearly shout, throwing back the rest of my wine and topping off again.
"Blake, I don't know if you'd like it. It's a Santa job, doing Santa things, like delivering presents and kissing babies," Jenna explains, holding her tablet away from the table and my eager grasp.
"Pshhht. I can totally be a Santa. In fact, I'll be the best damned Santa they’ve ever had, and there ain't nothing they can do about it!" I say, feeling the effects of the wine as it finally hits me. Apparently, there are now two Jennas.
"Except not hire you because, you know, boobs," Jenna states,
rolling her eyes and giving me a look that reads 'you're so drunk and silly right now it's not even funny.' "Besides, it's time to go rinse your hair out."
"Jenna, darling, I don't think you've had nearly enough wine. Finish your glass, and then you can rinse while I deal with these mother fucking sexist bastard goats and their application," I slur, snatching the tablet and exchanging it with her glass.
"Fine, dear God, don't let me stop you. But when you never hear a call back, don't say I didn't warn you first," she mutters, taking me to the portable rinse bowl she has set up in her kitchen.
Evil, drunk little chuckles ring out from me as I settle into the chair to get these foils out of my hair. Tipsy me is totally outweighing scared me right now.
"OK, you get to help me fill this out, darling Jenna!" I cackle, grinning from ear to ear as the words move around on the page. "'Question One: What is your name?' Ha! I'm in already. Blake is way too boyish. You'd never get in since Jenna is such a girly girl name." I giggle as Jenna shoves me into the shampoo chair. "B-L-A-K-E D-A-N-I-E-L-L-E J-A-M-I-S-O-N. Done. Next question. 'What is your birth date?' Well, that's a rude way of asking how old a lady is. Don't they know it's rude to ask a woman how old she is? OUCH!"
"Oops, didn't mean to pull so hard there, love. And usually it's men filling this out, so I think you're overreacting. Men don't give a shit. Just be honest," she encourages, pulling foils out of my hair and tipping my head into the bowl.
"True, true, the sexist bastards. Number three: 'Are you punctual?' As a freaking period." I snort, getting off on my own joke.
"God in heaven, give me the strength to not drown my bestie today," Jenna mutters, starting the rinsing process.
"Oh shit, that is cold! WHY, woman, WHY?" I cry, reaching to clutch my head, but my hand is smacked away.
"Because cold water sets the color, and hot water bleeds it. Shush up and deal with it, you'll be just fine. Or else I will drown you," Jenna responds.
I glance up at her, and there's such a glint in her eyes that you'd think she enjoys her clients’ pain. Sadist. "You wouldn't do that! Fine, I'll just fill these last ones out on my own, and you won't get a say in them anymore," I respond.
"I haven’t had a say to begin with," Jenna snarks. I swear, I can feel her rolling her eyes. "I think you need some pizza while I'm drying this. For now, let me shampoo it."
Settling the tablet on my lap, I almost doze off from the amazing massage Jenna is giving my head. A deep sigh escapes me. "There is literally nothing better than a great shampoo and head massage. Best part by far."
The shampoo has a floral smell but also a touch of vanilla and orange. Thoughts of picking oranges in a flower field come to mind. Her touch is soft at first, thumbs working their way from the front center of my hairline in circles down to the temples, the rest of her fingers lightly massaging my head. She moves back a little ways into my hair and repeats, over and over. I’m relaxed to the point of catatonia when she lifts my head and begins to massage the base of my skull with deep pressure, nearly causing involuntary purrs to exit.
I'm pretty sure I dozed off after that because the next thing I know, I'm getting my hair wrapped up and another slice of pizza shoved into my hands.
"Come on, comatose beauty, let’s get this hair dry so you can see the magic I've worked on it. And eat your pizza, or you'll regret it tomorrow," Jenna says, grabbing the tablet and hauling me up by the non-pizza arm.
"Ok." I'm very compliant. I just dreamt of sexy Santas and wine, and sexy Santas swimming in the wine. It was a very nice nod off. "How about I look at their website before I submit my application, just to make sure that it's legit and not like a stripping type of job," I suggest, biting my lip.
"Probably a good idea," Jenna agrees as she unwraps my hair and starts on the tangles.
"Seriously, OUCH. Why you gotta be so mean?" I grumble. I type away at the tablet and pull up the web page. "Holy fucking shit on a stick." Awe and wonder fill my voice. "I think I've died and gone to heaven. Look at these Santas!" I practically shout, shoving the tablet in my bestie’s face.
"Sweet baby Jesus, those are some Santas I'd like to come down MY chimney, if you know what I mean," Jenna says, panting a little just like I am at the hotties of SHG, Inc.
Slick moisture fills the space between my legs, and the girls perk up at the sight of so much man meat. Then I click on Packages because I’d take any of those Santas’ packages for my package, you get me? I wink, click, and my jaw drops.
"Ummm, Jenna? I think they're legit. Look at these prices?!" I exclaim, seeing numbers well into 4 digits.
"What does their 'about them' section say?" Jenna asks, finishing up the tangles in my hair and grabbing her shears.
“‘Sexy Holiday Grams, Incorporated, was founded in 2018 to bring the joy of all holidays to your home or office. With our highly-qualified team, we guarantee a memory you won’t forget. Call, text, or email us today to book your sexy memory.’”
"Well," Jenna says, "seems legit. I vote we hit send on the application and say a prayer for the night.”
I take a deep breath and punch the enter button, sending it off. “Damn. I think I need a drink now. I’m done job shopping for the night.”
“Good timing, too. I'm ready to dry your hair. Any special products you want in it?" Jenna asks.
"This is a test, isn't it? It is. Well, a leave-in conditioner with heat protector, some oil for frizz and moisture, and a blow dry cream to help it stay shiny. Now, how'd I do?" I check, dreading the disappointed look on my girl’s face if I failed.
Soft chuckles come out of Jenna's mouth. "You passed with an A. Good job, love. Now relax while I dry this for you."
I drift off to the steady hum and warmth of the blow dryer, its consistency keeping me calm, and thankfully, I can’t stop thinking of all the hotties I could be working with and end up squirming. It's hard to sit still when the only thoughts filling your head are of three hot Santas working your body. And the prices they sell at? Gah, they've got to be making good money as long as the boss isn't an ass. Surely, he isn't. My luck can’t be THAT bad.
"And finished," Jenna announces, taking me out of my sexy musings. She may need a mop and bucket to clean up after me on this chair. "Come on, let's get you to the bathroom so you can seeeeeee!" she squeals.
"Alright, alright," I giggle back, anxious to see my hair and get to bed for some me time. We race to the bathroom, almost getting stuck in the doorway, but I win, because even though I'm short at like five two, I have muscle I've kept toned.
"Well, damn," I gasp. "You've outdone yourself again." My hair is now a bit shorter, coming to rest in the middle of my back, but it looks so much healthier on the ends. The light orange is gone, and a perfect violet colors the ends, blending right up into the dark brown top. I shake my head, and a few pieces of red and pink pop out. Add a cat’s eye to my lids, a matching lipstick, and some foundation, and I'll be ready to knock the fucking socks off of anyone.
"So, you like? I did purple because why not, but it needed to be broken up a little, hence the pink and red. You can use all my shampoo and shit in here so that it stays gorgeous, just remember to use cool to cold water on it to keep it vibrant," Jenna word vomits, twisting her hands a little bit.
"Like it? No, I FUCKING LOVE IT. Shit, you made me feel pretty again. Thank you!" I squeal, turning to hug the best person I know.
"You're welcome. Now, I'm beat, so I have a glass of wine calling my name, then I'm off to bed. Your plans for the night?" Jenna asks.
"I have a hot date with Bob. If you hear any moaning, just know he and I are having a wonderful time, and we would like to be left alone. My vibrator is a little shy, wouldn't you know." I giggle, fully intoxicated with wine and excitement, and fully not caring one bit. Nightmares better stay away, or my dream self will totally kick their asses tonight
Jenna joins my giggles and gives me a shove. "You do you, boo. See you in the morning?"
"See you in the morning."
"Yo Blake, come give me a hand at the color station, please!" shouts Jenna, piercing my eardrums once more until I'm sure there is blood running down the sides of my face. I rub my temples and quickly swipe under my ears. Nope, no blood.
"I swear to God, Jenna, if you don't control these women and make them stop cackling, shrieking, and screeching at each other like chickens, I'm gonna kill someone and make fried chicken, just you watch," I groan out, rubbing my temples again and taking a huge drink of water to try to make the hangover pain go away.
"They're all good people, but I think I'd eat the fried chicken if you cooked it at this point. How are you holding up with everything? I know it’s been too crazy to talk much since we got up…” she trails off.
I sigh, rubbing my forehead and trying to dispel the memories of the dreams from last night. Drunk Blake has very vivid dreams, and when those dreams are nighmares, well…
“I’ll survive. Drunk dreams suck, these more than others. They’ve left bad thoughts and a bad headache to remember them by, the jerks.”
“I’m sorry, girl. Here," she says, taking my head in her hands, "try putting your hair down." Bloody stylist up and takes out the sloppy pony I'd put it in this morning. It's like she cares how I look or something. "I'll curl it quick, then you can put these bad boys in," she says, handing me a small case.
"Umm, I don't usually wear earrings, love, but thanks," I say, dreading even the weight of earrings pulling at my scalp and head.
"Dumbass, just open them," she whispers, holding her own head in one hand and plugging in an iron with the other hand.
I heave a sigh, knowing there is no getting out of this even if I became the fried chicken, and open the little package. "Oh!" I nearly shout, seeing the little earplug thingamajigs and making Jenna jump a little.