by Allysa Hart
He blushed when he said it, and I opened my mouth to tease him and ask what cute boy he’d hooked up with on Grindr, but something stopped me. Usually, Marcus couldn’t wait to tell me all about his crazy escapades and the parade of men in and out of his life. He always followed it up with, “Girl, you need to get out there and get you some! You ain’t getting any younger.”
I knew instinctively that this was not one of these times, just like I knew now that Marcus had not been behind my late-night visitor.
Santa’s crazed ramblings about naughty lists and peppermint mochas and Vixen the elf mistress came unbidden to the forefront of my mind, and I pushed them away as I looked at Marcus who was still blushing when the elevator finally stopped. What had Santa said? That he didn’t spank the boys? He sent Vixen the elf mistress to do that? I peered at Marcus, suspiciously as we stepped off the elevator. What if I hadn’t been the only one with an unexpected late-night visitor last night? I certainly wasn’t the only one acting strangely this morning and unwilling to discuss the events that had kept them up late the night before.
I said nothing, sticking my straw in my mouth and sucking to ward off the disturbing thoughts I was having as we walked down the hall.
When Marcus called out a jovial good morning to everyone we passed, including Cindy, the office bitch, I could no longer keep quiet.
“Either you had really good sex last night, or you have completely lost your mind.”
Marcus shook his head, looking straight ahead. He was definitely blushing. “Neither. I’m making an effort to be nicer. You never really know what a person is going through in their life. Sometimes a little smile, or a ‘good morning’ can make all the difference.”
Forget Vixen the elf mistress. Marcus had been abducted by aliens.
We parted with a hug then made our way to our separate cubicles, and I sat down at my computer feeling shell-shocked.
Vixen the elf mistress? Marcus was as gay as the day was long, but he was acting completely different. At least I had gotten hot Santa.
Hot Santa who had broken into my house somehow, spanked me, convinced the cops I was crazy, insisted I was his Mrs. Claus, blackmailed me into agreeing to a date by decorating my house like a department store window, and left as mysteriously as he had come.
He was crazy, apeshit bananas, and now I was going on a date with him, and I found myself dreaming about his rock-hard abs, and the generous package that his tight boxer briefs hadn’t been able to hide.
It had been a long time since I had been on a proper date, or gotten laid for that matter. No matter how hard up I was, I didn’t give it up before the third date, and I didn’t make it that far very often. Guys these days didn’t seem to be interested in doing things the right way, at least not the ones who were interested in me.
I should cancel the date, I told myself. Nice normal guys didn’t break into your home and start spanking you before you’d even been properly introduced. And this guy, Yule, he wasn’t nice or normal. But, he did have a certain charm about him, a mischief I could find endearing when it wasn’t aimed at trying to turn my life upside down over a stupid holiday. Plus, he was nice to look at. Okay, he was hot. Not that I would ever admit it out loud.
A proper date sounded nice, though, and I’ll admit I was curious to see what a “Christmas date” would entail.
He’s crazy, I reminded myself, trying to no avail to talk myself out of going through with it. Not that I really had a choice. He didn’t leave me his number, and I doubted “Crazy Santa Claus” was listed in the phone book.
Sighing, I began to leaf through my planner to begin my day, startled by faint chimes. I looked down at my wrist and smiled. The charms on my bracelet clinked together, and my insides warmed as I was reminded of the thoughtful gift.
I hadn’t been able to throw out the gifts with the rest of the Christmas paraphernalia he had left behind. Call it the curiosity that killed the cat, but I had needed to know what treasures were hidden in those brightly wrapped packages.
There had been five of them, each more perfect than the last. A gift basket with my favorite wine, chocolates, and bubble bath. A silver bracelet with charms that seemed generic but actually meant a ton to me. A teddy bear, a wine glass, a heart, and a dog. There was, in another box, a designer porcelain teddy bear dressed in a little Santa costume. I collect designer bears, and, of course, I didn’t have a Santa one. There was also a throw pillow that said Bah Humbug, which had made me laugh, and even a gift for Dixie. A bone, a squeaky toy, and a set of red-and-green bows for her ears.
How crazy Santa knew what to put in those boxes was just another one of his mysteries, and, ultimately, the thing that ensured I would not stand him up.
I’d received a lot of gifts from men over the years, and I knew well enough that choosing the right gift is a talent in itself, and if you find a guy who has that talent, he’s probably a keeper.
Dammit. I was going on a date with Santa Claus. Or a crazy person who thought he was Santa Claus, at least. And I was actually looking forward to it.
“Twelve o’clock cocoa break!” the voice of Rupert, my head elf, boomed over the intercom.
All work ceased around me as everyone scrambled for the break room. The elves took their cocoa very seriously, and, without it, they didn’t work half as fast.
I loved cocoa, too, but I didn’t drink it all day long as the elves did. During the break, I retired to my office and began to peruse my lists. I had lists for everything, a whole book of them, and keeping them organized and up-to-date was a full-time job in and of itself.
Opening the book to the current naughty list, I zeroed in on the only name that mattered. Crystal Angelina Turner.
Moving her name off this list and off the list of nonbelievers was my number one priority and a task that seemed impossible, given the fact that I had two weeks to accomplish it.
“So, how’s it going? You don’t have much time left, you know,” my father’s voice boomed, mirroring my thoughts, and I looked up to see him standing in front of me.
“Argh! Will you stop doing that?” I yelled throwing my hands up in the air. He was teleporting into my office daily, usually to tell me what I was doing wrong. “I’m Santa now, not you. If I needed your opinion, I’d teleport you here and ask for it. It’s not supposed to be the other way around.”
My father shrugged, looking sheepish for only a moment. “It’s an important job. I’m having a hard time letting go. I love you, Son, but I know you weren’t given much time. That’s why I spent the last two years trimming down the list in that age range for you. Crystal is the best there is. She will make a fine Mrs. Claus, but she’s gonna be a tough nut to crack. Speaking of, how’s it going with you two?”
“I don’t know why you’re asking when I’m sure you already know,” I grumbled. “It’s not going great. She hates Christmas, she called the cops on me, and I barely got her to agree to a date. Not to mention the fact that I have absolutely zero game plan for tonight and only two weeks to make her mine, or Christmas is… Well you haven’t exactly told me what happens, but I’m guessing it’s pretty bad.”
“It is. That’s why failure is not an option,” my father said, repeating his ominous statement from two nights prior.
“Well, you made it sound like it was going to be easy!”
“With your mother, it was.” My father shrugged. “If you had planned ahead and done your homework, maybe last night wouldn’t have been such a disaster. But then, you never were much for homework, were you?”
“Homework? What homework?” I shouted, wishing my father would stop talking in riddles, as the bell chimed signaling the end of the cocoa break.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I growled. “Thanks for all your help,” I added, my voice laden with sarcasm.
My father smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. “Read her file, Son. Before your date tonight. The clock is ticking.”
Her file. Of course. We had one on everyone. Naturally,
with her being over twenty, her file would be archived into storage up on the eighth floor.
Cringle crap. It looked like I would be spending the afternoon in administrative hell. Like I wasn’t behind enough. “Rupert,” I buzzed over the intercom. “Bring me the keys for the files for the twenty to forty-year-olds, and cancel our inventory briefing today. Email me the numbers instead. I’m on a mission.”
“Yes, sir,” Rupert squeaked over the walkie-talkie system that allowed him to respond to me wherever he was. “Right away, Santa.”
I hadn’t known what to expect on a Christmas date. It certainly hadn’t been a ride on a jet-powered sleigh to New York City to see the tree in Times Square, followed by a cozy candlelight dinner of ham and all the trimmings next to a roaring fireplace in a romantic rooftop restaurant while an amazing instrumental quartet played a plethora of Christmas carols nearby.
A sleigh ride. For fucks sake, really?
“I thought the sleigh was only used on Christmas Eve,” I questioned. “And where are the reindeer? Another propagational lie?”
Santa, I mean Yule, had a mischievous glimmer in his eye as he lifted his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug. “The reindeer exist, but technology works a little better these days than it used to. I still use them on Christmas Eve, but other than that, they are pretty much retired. As far as using the sleigh for personal use, to be honest, you’re probably right. I still haven’t finished reading the book of rules and bylaws. This is my first year as Santa, and as was pointed out to me today, I’ve never been much for homework. Although, speaking of, I did do a little reading up on you today, and what I discovered was very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”
I narrowed my eyes, and stopped my fork midway to my mouth. I set it back on my plate, opting instead for a large gulp of red wine.
“Reading up on me? Where?” I questioned, figuring he must have paid for one of those Internet background searches and berating myself for not doing the same.
Yule finished chewing and swallowed a bite of yams before answering. “Your file, of course.”
“My file?” I repeated, as my heart sank into my stomach. That sounded ominous.
“You lied to me, my little elf. Of course, it’s not really surprising. After all, you are on the naughty list.”
“Oh, will you just stop already with this naughty-list crap? And how are you really accusing me of lying? You’re the liar who won’t tell me his name!”
Yule sighed and set down his fork. “I’ve told you many times, though. You choose not to listen, my little doubting elf. My given name is Yule Christopher Claus. The night before last was my thirty-ninth birthday and, as tradition mandates, I officially took over for my father and became Santa Yule Claus. I have not lied one bit. You, on the other hand, told some whoppers last night, didn’t you? Keep that up, and the naughty list will be the least of your worries.”
I glared at him, and my hand flew to my hip. This dinner conversation had taken a sharp turn, and I was on the defense. “Oh yeah? What lies did I tell, oh jolly one?”
“Oh jolly one?” Yule choked on a laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s clever. I’ve never heard that one before.”
The sarcasm was thick and fueled my anger, but I didn’t have a quick comeback. “Whatever. Just get to the point. Tell me how I supposedly lied. Enlighten me, Oh great giver of gifts and ho-er of hos.”
This time, his laugh was hearty and genuine. “Oh, my little elf. You’re going to pay for that one.”
I rolled my eyes, and he cleared his throat. I waited.
“Last night, you told me that you had never believed in Santa, not even as a young child.” Yule’s expression was haughty and expectant.
“Yeah, so?”
“So, when I went through your file, I found not one, not two, not three, but four letters to my father, as he was Santa at the time.”
My breath hitched in my throat, and my insides twisted at the mention of the letters. There were vague memories of hand-penned notes to Santa, written under the guise of a class assignment. I could have opted out, but I hadn’t wanted to. Those letters had been a child’s test. I had written them to see for myself who was right—my mother, or the rest of the world around me. In my child’s mind, the fact that I never received the one thing I had asked for proved that my mother had been the correct one.
I shook my head to clear the memory and forced a laugh. “So? They were a class assignment. I had to do them. It didn’t mean anything.”
Yule frowned. “I suspect you are lying again, my little elf.”
“Stop calling me that! I’m not little, I’m not yours, and I’m certainly not an elf!”
“Very well, Crystal.” He said my name with an edge of sarcasm and distaste that had me yearning for the endearments I had been quick to reject. “Do you remember what you asked Santa for?”
“No,” I lied.
He didn’t call me on it this time, but his eyes bored into me with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment, and I knew he knew. He took another bite of ham and chewed slowly, then lifted his napkin from his lap and wiped his face with it before throwing it down on the table and leaning back to reach into the breast pocket of his red corduroy blazer. He hadn’t worn the Santa suit tonight, and for that I was thankful.
“Let me refresh your memory,” he said as he pulled out four yellowed pieces of paper in different sizes, each folded in half.
I played with the food on my plate, pushing it around like I didn’t care, but the truth was I had lost my appetite. My mouth was dry, my palms were damp, and it took a concentrated effort to keep my legs from shaking under the table.
Please don’t read them out loud. It was bad enough that he had read them at all, but to hear the childlike pleas spoken aloud would kill me.
I held my breath as he lifted the top sheet and unfolded it, holding it at arm’s length in front of his face.
“December third, 1993
Dear Santa,
Please bring me a daddy for Christmas.
Love,
Crystal Turner”
My face burned, but I said nothing.
Yule was playing hardball as he lifted the second note from the pile and read it.
“December fifth, 1994
Dear Santa,
I have been a very good girl this year. My teacher says I am definitely on the nice list.
I only want one thing for Christmas. A daddy of my very own, to be a husband for my mother. We had a daddy and a husband once, but he died, and I don’t remember him much.
It is the only thing I really want.
Thank you.
Love,
Crystal Turner”
I sucked in my lower lip, and tried to hold the tears at bay. “Okay, I get it. I was a dumb kid. Please don’t read any more.”
“Not dumb. Very sweet. But with an impossible request. Santa Claus is a toymaker, not a matchmaker,” Yule joked, trying to ease the tension in the room.
“Touché,” I managed. “Okay, well, you read the first two. There’s no need to keep reading. The last two are the same as the first.”
Yule frowned and picked up the third letter, scanning it as if to see if my claims were true. “They really aren’t, though,” he concluded. “Each year your request gets longer and more detailed. Sure, the gist is the same, but the letter certainly isn’t.”
I shrugged, and a tear coursed down my cheek as he read.
“November twenty-ninth, 1995
Dear Santa,
I’m writing earlier this year in case you need extra time to find me a daddy. I don’t know how much difference a week will make, but it’s the best I can do.
Mom and I are lonely. Especially around Christmas. We don’t celebrate, but if we had a daddy, I bet we would.
My friend Emily said since toys are your specialty and not daddies, I should be clearer about what I want.
I don’t care what he looks like, as long as he gives good hugs and kisses me on the cheek when he tucks
me into bed at night, and a bedtime story would be nice, too, even though my mom usually has that covered.
He should be a little good-looking, though, to keep my mom happy. I’ve seen pictures of my dad, and he was a very handsome man. My mom has good taste. I’m enclosing a photo so you can see what she likes.
I want him to be nice and loving. He will like to take me out for ice cream and cuddle me on his lap while we watch cartoons together.
But, so I’m not being too unrealistic, he can be stern sometimes if he needs to be, and punish me if I’ve been naughty. I’ll try to be extra good so he doesn’t have a reason to. Emily’s daddy says daddies don’t like to punish their little girls but sometimes they must.
I’ve been so extra good this year, Santa. This is the only thing I want. I know it’s a lot to ask, but it would make me so very happy to have a daddy for this Christmas and always.
Yours truly,
Crystal Angelina Turner”
The tears were falling freely now. I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried. I wept bitterly for the lost little girl who had wanted the one thing she had never received. Yule said nothing about my tears, wordlessly handing me a handkerchief from his pocket before picking up the fourth letter.
“Thanksgiving, 1996,” he read as I held my breath. This one would be short.
“Dear Santa,
This will be my last letter. If you do not bring me a daddy this year, I will know my mom is right, and you are just a myth.
I want to believe like everyone else does, Santa. Please help me.
Signed,
Crystal Angelina”
He paused, starting to look a little weepy himself. “I can’t read the last name because my father’s tears smeared the ink.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t. “How do you know he cried?” I asked.
“I know him,” Yule stated simply. “That, and there is a little note on the bottom in his handwriting.”
The image of a big burly Santa crying over a little girl’s last letter nearly did me in.
