Dear Santa, I Can Explain!

by Kayt Miller

  “You can borrow a pair of mine. In the front closet. I’d get them for you, but no, just no.”

  “That’s fine. Thanks.” I open her front closet and marvel size. It’s bigger than my actual closet, and it’s organized by season and then by color. “That’s bigger than I expected,” I murmur.

  “That’s what she said,” snorts Cammy. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

  I slide on a pair of older winter boots, laughing, I grab my purse and reach for the door. “I’m leaving. I’ll call you later.”

  “Um, hmm,” she mumbles.

  I start to giggle but think better of it when pain shoots into my brain. “I’m never drinking again.”

  “I heard that,” she mumbles. “And I don’t believe you.”

  “Bye. See you tomorrow.”

  “Um, hmm,” she mumbles again.

  Chapter 6

  Lexie

  By the time I leave Cammy’s condo in Wrigleyville and make my way to my tiny apartment on West Fullerton in my Hermosa neighborhood, it’s almost noon. Exhausted, I practically crawl up the four flights of steps to get to my door. When I unlock the door, I push it open and am welcomed by some pretty angry chirps. “I’m home, guys.”

  I wasn’t lying when I told Cammy that my pets were my children. Since I’m allergic to cats, I’ve replaced them with lots of other little creatures. I’ve got a rescue canary named Cyclops, for obvious reasons. (Yep, he only has one eye.) I’ve got a pair of Guinea Pigs named Ron and Hermione, and a Red Eared Slider turtle I named Carl until I found out he was a she, now she’s Shelly. Get it? Shell-y?

  Granted, these pets really don’t care about me like a cat would. **Snort** But, I love taking care of them, and they make my tiny apartment a home. Walking into my main room, I first take a peek at Shelly. She’s got a great set up with rocks, water, and plants. I set some turtle pellets out for her and make a mental note to bring her some veggies from the fridge later.

  Ron and Hermione are fast asleep under their dome. Probably exhausted from a full night of spinning on their matching wheels. They’re night owls. I give them fresh water and add some food and some straw to their cage. Walking into the living room, I see Cyclops sitting on his perch gazing at himself in his little mirror. “Hey Cy, how’s it going?” I poke my finger into the cage and wait for him to tap my finger with his beak. After he does just that, I give him fresh water and some seed making a note to clean cages later today.

  “Guys, what a night!” I say knowing that my pets don’t give a rat’s ass. “If I could remember the last half of it, I’d tell you all about it.” I snort a laugh and make my way to my bathroom. I start the shower up, so it has a long time to warm up. Stripping out of my clothes, I toss everything into my hamper and wait because it takes the water a long time to heat and get up to this floor. Once it does, I’ve got about five minutes, tops, before it turns to ice water and I freeze my cojones off.

  When it’s warm enough, I hop in and wash my hair and scrub my body. Everything still hurts, but it’s nothing some food and a nap won’t cure. When I’m clean, dry, and in my pajamas, I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, pour myself a big glass of milk, and plop down onto my love seat. I finally have time to think about the events of the night. Most of it’s a blur like the fact I still don’t remember dancing let alone grinding my rear end into one of the guys from the Pit.

  I’m not looking forward to showing my face at work in the morning. I winch thinking about last night. Oh! Wait! I do remember something––the kiss in the storage closet with Archie. “Wow! That was a great kiss. Maybe the best kiss I’ve ever gotten.” Archie was way more experienced with that mouth than I thought he’d be. It’s strange, though. Afterwards, he practically ignored me. I tried to talk to him, but he just scowled at me. Ugh, men! I’ll never understand them.

  No matter. I’ll talk to him tomorrow to clear the air. Maybe suggest we go out and do that again when there aren’t seventy-five co-workers running around. “That’s it!” I nod to myself like I’ve just figured out how to solve that pesky world peace problem. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  Chapter 7

  Gabriel

  Monday mornings are usually my favorite day of the week. I know that sounds strange, and it hasn’t always been that way, but there’s something about creating something beautiful that gets me excited to get to work.

  On my way in, I grab a cup of my favorite coffee from the café on the main floor of our building. My firm leases two floors in a high rise in the River North section of Chicago. Eventually, I’d like to design a building for us, but for now, this suits our needs. With coffee in one hand and some blueprints in my other, I wait for the elevator doors to open to take me up.

  I can see my reflection in the brass fittings that surround the elevators and observe my tie is slightly askew. I’ll have to fix that as soon as I get to my office. I look at the rest of my attire and nod in approval. Don't get me wrong; I’m not a vain man––far from it. It’s just important to look the part when one is attempting to grow a business. So, my suit, haircut, even the people I date all matter. Appearances matter.

  The elevator seems to be taking an extraordinarily long time this morning. So, I look down at my shoes and note a scuff on the toe of my left foot. I also note the small, red stiletto beside me. I look to my left and follow the leg up to the red dress with a print of, what are those? Candy canes?

  Before I even get to her face, I know who it is. I let my eyes linger on her ample breasts for a split second. When my eyes meet hers, she smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Parker. Did you have a nice weekend?”

  “Good morning, Miss. Cartwright. I did. Did you recover from your night of debauchery?”

  “Debauchery?” she asks as she fidgets nervously.

  “Do I make you nervous Miss Cartwright?” I say leaning in just a little bit. I’m doing that for two reasons. One, it makes her blush, and I love to watch Miss Cartwright blush and reason two has to do with her sweet scent. Candy. She always smells like candy.

  When she giggles, my dick twitches in my pants, “No, of course not. Don’t be silly, Mr. Parker.”

  “Well, good. I wouldn’t want to make you nervous.” Yes, I would. I’d also like to make her moan again. But, it’s too early in the morning to be thinking along those lines.

  When the doors ding and open, I hold my arm up to motion for her to go first. When she does, I get a glimpse of her ass in the little red dress. It’s fitted all the way down from her back to just below her knees. The style is reminiscent of a 50s pin-up girl. It’s a good look for her. She’s got the soft curves to pull it off.

  It’s then I recall her sweater from Saturday night. I growl internally thinking about the attention she drew to herself. What was she thinking ordering a sweater that small? And that pink hue? Granted, it was perfect for her peaches and cream complexion and her strawberry blonde locks. It was a little out of character for her to dress that provocatively. Her clothes have never been that overtly sexual before. I was so incensed by the display of her body that I almost asked her to change. In the end, I chose to keep my mouth shut.

  Several others catch our elevator as we stand next to each other at the back of the compartment. When we reach our floor, Lexie steps off first and walks quickly to her station at the front of my office. She’s the face of my firm––the first person people see when they arrive. I was concerned when my human resources director hired her. But, her personality and charm make her an ideal first impression. That is…when she’s not doing ridiculous things.

  I roll my eyes thinking of the antics she’s gotten up to in just the last six or eight months. There was the copy machine debacle. I threatened to put that image of her cleavage in her file, but I didn’t. I did keep it though. What can I say? I’m a man, and she’s definitely a woman.

  Then there was that Twirling or Twerning. No! Twerking contest. I stood back and watched her for a few minutes before I intervened. I’ve seen peo
ple do that move at clubs and on television and I can say without hesitation that Miss Cartwright can Twerk with the best of them.

  The last incident, or the last one that I know of, was the candy-eating contest. I was sincerely concerned she was going to choke while, at the same time, imagining the other things she could fit into her mouth. Yes, I’m a terrible, perverted man. In my defense, I don’t do that to all women. There just seems to be something enchanting and engaging about Miss Cartwright. The fact that she can kiss like a porn star is only a bonus.

  Making my way back to my office, I see my assistant, Katya, is late again. I unlock my door and step inside. Sliding off my jacket, I hang it on the back of my door. Sipping my coffee, I unfurl the drawings I worked on over the weekend. I’ve got a table in the center of my office for just this purpose. It’s large enough for me to spread out eight drawings at a time.

  I sip my coffee and look over my newest ideas when a knock sounds on my door. “Come in.” I look up and see Cammy Turner, my public relations expert.

  “Hey, Gabriel. Good weekend?”

  “Sure. What was left of it.”

  “True. And, uh, thanks for giving us a ride home the other night. We weren’t in any shape to take a bus.”

  “No, you weren’t.” I sip my coffee again. “So, what can I do for you this morning?” I watch her as she pulls several newspapers from underneath her arm. I’m already on alert.

  “Did you happen to see any of these this morning?”

  I never read the paper anymore. I seem to be fodder for several of the local rags, and it only pisses me off when I see my name printed. When it’s not associated with architecture, that is. “No.” I watch her unfold each paper, one at a time and lay it on my large table. Reading the first headline, I start to crush the cup in my hand but think better of it. I don’t want coffee on my renderings. “What the hell is that?” I say pointing at the words in print: Architectural Sensation Leaves Fiancée Alone and Pregnant.

  I look at the remaining papers and launch my coffee cup into a nearby trashcan causing the contents to splash and spray all over my wall, floor, and desk. “What the fuck is that, Cammy?”

  “You tell me,” she says with hands-on tiny hips.

  “There’s nothing to tell. I don't even know that woman.” I look at her photo near the article. Well, I know her. We met at a party, I believe. I may have kissed her––thought about taking her home, but I didn’t. “Her name is Cathy or Christina something, but…”

  “Gabriel, we talked about this.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. Nothing happened.”

  “Then why is she accusing you of proposing and leaving her knocked up?”

  “Because she’s insane!” I shout.

  “Look, let’s remain calm. We need a plan. I’ll send out a press release denying the claim, but I’ve got to give them something to nibble on.”

  “You mean devour like the fucking sharks they are…”

  “Yeah, that. So, my thought was that we could tell them the truth about this woman but that you’ve been in a serious monogamous relationship with someone else for quite some time.”

  “But I’m not. I’m not in a serious monogamous relationship.” And the idea of being in a serious monogamous relationship makes me a little ill. “And there’s no one I’ve seen recently that I’d even consider for… for that. The women I date aren’t long-term options.”

  “Well, that’s the other thing…”

  “What other thing?” Cammy always has a plan. They usually work, but it’s irritating none-the-less.

  “You need to date a normal girl.”

  “A normal girl? What are you talking about?”

  “An average girl. You won’t convince any of the news, uh, sharks, that you’ve gotten serious if you pick someone like your usual flings. The woman for this role needs to be average and maybe a little unique.”

  “I don’t know any average women.”

  I watch Cameron roll her eyes. “Gabriel, they’re everywhere. Look around.”

  I blink at her. “You? You want me to date you?”

  “God no!” she shivers. “I don’t know who it should be, I just think…”

  “Mr. Parker!” I hear coming from my intercom.

  Yeah, I still have an intercom system. It’s old school, but I like it. I feel like I’m in an episode of Madmen sometimes. I step over to my desk and press the reply button. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Parker, there’s someone here to see you.”

  “I’m in a meeting. Tell them…”

  “No! You need to come out here now!” I’m surprised by Miss Cartwright’s bossy tone, but she softens it up by squeaking, “Please?”

  “Very well. I’ll be out in a moment.” I turn to Cammy. “Let’s shelve this discussion for now.” I pull open the door, and that’s when I hear voices. Loud voices.

  “No! You can’t go back there!” shouts Lexie.

  “Let me pass. He’ll want to see me!” says an unknown voice.

  I speed my steps until I catch a glimpse of the scene before me. Miss Cartwright is standing with her legs, and arms spread wide attempting to keep a tall, thin blonde woman from moving past reception.

  “Shit!” hisses Cammy. “It’s her!”

  By ‘her’ she means Cathy or Christina, the woman from the newspaper articles. My baby-mama. I chuckle at my joke but stop as soon as I see the three women’s faces. This isn’t funny. Noted. I clear my throat and speak to the crazy blonde woman, “What can I do for you?”

  The blonde’s face is a little flushed, but overall she’s dressed immaculately in a designer suit and perfectly coifed hair. Just my type. “If you’d get this pit-bull out of my way, I’d like to speak with you. It’s urgent.”

  Pit bull? I look over at Lexie who is red-faced and panting. Her signature ponytail is sitting askew, and her fists are clenched. “Lexie? Are you okay?”

  “Excuse me!” says the blonde rudely. “This is important. We don't have time to worry about the girl in the ridiculous dress.”

  Lexie stiffens at her comments but says nothing. It makes me angry that this person––this stranger––has come to my place of business and offended or even hurt one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met. “What do you need?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “About?”

  The intruder looks at me then at Cammy and lastly at Lexie. An audience has gathered behind us. I should ask them to get back to work but why bother? “Can we please go somewhere private?” she asks sweetly.

  “No,” interjects Cammy. “Not a good idea, boss.”

  “No, we cannot. What is this about, Cathy?” When I see the woman flinch and her face redden I realize I must have said the wrong name. “I mean Christina. Tell me before I have security remove you from the premises.”

  “What!?” she screeches.

  I blink at her as I cross my arms over my chest.

  Sputtering, she says, “I’m here to talk about us.”

  “There is no ‘us’.”

  “But, at the party. You kissed me.”

  “I kiss a lot of people at parties.” I turn and make eye contact with Lexie. She blinks at me, but there’s no real reaction. Hmm, interesting. Doesn't she remember our closet rendezvous? I didn’t think she was that intoxicated at that point in the evening. I turn back to the woman who’s now crying. It’s fake.

  “B-b-but, you said…”

  “I said nothing. I was drinking; you were drinking. We kissed. I may have mentioned a possible date, but I didn’t follow up on that, did I?”

  “We had chemistry,” she says attempting to get closer to me.

  “I’m afraid you misinterpreted things. I’m in a relationship. While I was a cad to kiss you, my heart belongs to another.” Jesus, did I just say that? Cad? My heart belongs to another? Jesus, I am living in Madmen. Either that or in a Jane Austen novel.

  “Your heart? But, who?”

  I look over at Cammy then at Lexie. I saunter
to the little ‘pit bull’ and wrap my arm around her shoulder. “Here she is, my little Sweetums.”

  “Her?” screeches the blonde. “She’s fat!”

  I sense Lexie’s unease. I can’t tell if she’s going to cry or launch herself at this rude woman. “She’s Rubenesque,” I say smiling down at Lexie. “Besides, there’s more to love.”

  With clenched teeth, Lexie looks up at me and asks, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Absolutely snuggle-bottoms.” It’s definitely a compliment when I’m talking about Miss Cartwright. Her curves are in all the right places. I know this first-hand having had them pressed up against me in that closet. We fit together like two puzzle pieces. All of her soft round bits pressed up against my hard ones. It was perfection.

  “Well, it’s not,” she whispers. She pulls out of my arms and returns to her seat behind the reception desk. I watch her take a long drink from a cup from the café downstairs. I wonder what kind of coffee she drinks? If I had to guess, I bet it’s something sweet, like her.

  “She dresses like…like she’s one of Santa’s helpers. How could you…?”

  I step around the reception desk to stand behind Lexie. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I say, “Hey, now stop right there. I love her holiday-themed attire. It’s so festive.”

  “Festive?” squeaks Lexie.

  “Definitely,” I say with a smirk. In reality, her clothes are burgeoning on the ridiculous, but she pulls it off––most of the time. I turn to the interloper, “I think you need to go.”

  “Go? Are you kicking me out? We haven’t discussed…” she says placing her hand on her stomach. “The you-know-what,” she whispers loudly.

  “Last I knew you couldn’t get pregnant from just a kiss.”

  Blondie huffs and stomps her foot. “Fine. I’m going, but my lawyer will be in touch.”

  “Not before my lawyer gets in touch with you.” You crazy whack-job.

  When she growls like a lioness in heat, we all stare at her. What little composure she had when I first saw her is now gone. Her face is red, her eyes are bugging out, and I think she’s foaming at the mouth. “Are you okay?” Why I feign interest in her well being is beyond me. Maybe it’s because my mother raised a gentleman.