Dear Santa, I Can Explain!

by Kayt Miller

  “No! She picks up a purse that was sitting in one of our reception chairs and turns. But before she leaves she spins around one more time and shouts, “This isn’t over!”

  “Yes it is,” says Cammy.

  “If you attempt to enter this office again, I will call the police,” I add.

  Screeching obscenities, she stomps to the elevator. Luckily, the thing opens up right away and closes as soon as she stomps on board.

  “Whoa,” mutters Cammy. “She’s frigging crazy.”

  “Definitely.”

  “You dodged a bullet on that one,” she adds. Slapping her hands together, “Welp! Let’s grab Lexie and go talk this out.”

  “Huh? Why do we need to grab Lexie?”

  “Because you just announced to that wacko and your entire office that you’re in a relationship with her. We need to work out the details.” Walking away she stops and turns back to me, “By the way. Good job. Lexie’s a perfect choice. Positively perfect.”

  I turn to Lexie to see her glaring at Cammy. When her eyes meet mine, they don’t soften. Not one bit. “Call Kim to cover for you. Meet me in my office as soon as she gets here.”

  Picking up the phone, she jabs at the phone with an angry finger. “Kim?” She pauses. “Can you cover for me for a little while? Mr. Parker wants to talk to me.” I watch her run a hand over her forehead and back to smooth out the tousled locks. “Okay. See you in a few minutes. Thanks.” When she hangs up the phone, she looks up at me. “I’ll be in as soon as she gets here.”

  “Great.” I march back to my office in time to see my assistant glaring at me like she wants to kill me. “Good morning, Katya.” Nice of her to show up today.

  “Uh, huh. Cameron’s in your office. But, I suspect you knew that.”

  “Yes. When Lexie gets here, send her right in, will you?”

  “Of course, Gabriel.”

  Chapter 8

  Lexie

  What the heck just happened? One minute I’m trying to stave off an attack of a crazy lady, the next I’m dating Mr. Sexy himself, Gabriel Parker. After Kim takes my place, I walk slowly back to the lion's den, er, I mean Mr. Parker’s office. As soon as I round the corner, I see Katya, and she sees me. “I’m, uh…”

  “Go in,” she says coldly.

  I open his door and step through. Cammy and Mr. Parker are sitting in his rather large sitting area that’s adjacent to his main office. There’s a large, dark brown leather sectional sofa and chair that looks like it came from the 1950s or 60s. They sit rather low to the ground, and they look clean and sleek.

  “Hey Lex!” says Cammy cheerfully.

  “Hi, Cammy.”

  “Have a seat,” says Gabriel as he pats the seat beside him. I’d prefer to take the chair, but Cammy’s got that.

  Sitting as far away from him as I can, I fold my hands onto my lap and wait. Cammy starts, “Well, it seems you two are a couple.”

  Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Cutting right to the chase, I see.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You’re the one who got the ball rolling.” Cammy turns to me, “Here’s the deal, Lex. Gabriel is in the paper again. This time, he supposedly knocked up that crazy lady out there and left her at the altar.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “My suggestion to him was to date someone for longer than a night.”

  “Hey!” Gabriel interjects. “I’m not that bad.” When Cammy just stares at him, I giggle.

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I told him he needed to date someone average––someone real. When he was backed into a corner out there, he went with it and chose you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I mutter. Don’t get me wrong. Gabriel Parker is every woman’s dream man. Besides his height and general build; he’s got an ass that could be on a professional athlete it’s that round and firm. Well, I assume it’s firm. I’ve never touched it nor will I ever get to touch it. It’s merely an observation.

  Imagining what lies beneath the perfectly tailored shirts and suits is what dreams are made of. The problem is, he’s a man-whore. Combine that with the fact that he only dates tall, stick-thin women and you can see why this isn’t going to work. I’m not tall, not thin, and not for him. No one will believe he’d settle for someone like me when he could have Heidi Klum. Heck, I think he used to date Heidi Klum. Ugh. “No one is going to believe that he,” I say pointing at Gabriel, “would date someone who looks like me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cammy and Gabriel say simultaneously.

  “I’m no Heidi Klum.”

  “No one is,” says Cammy like that made a lick of sense.

  “Heidi is.”

  “Heidi isn’t all that,” grumbles Gabriel. “She’s not perfect.”

  “You know what I mean. I’m not his usual, um, date.”

  “I like all kinds of women. You’re fine.”

  Fine? What in the hell? No wonder he’s never been with someone longer than six hours. If he tells them all they are ‘fine’, they’d be out the door in a flash. “Never the less, it won’t work.”

  “It’s got to. I’m sure it’s already out there that Gabriel Parker has found his one true love.”

  I gag a little bit. “This isn’t Cinderella.”

  “Kind of. You’re Cinderella, and he’s the prince.”

  “Speaking of Cinderella. We need to get you over to Saks,” adds Gabriel as he checks his watch.

  I cough loudly, “Saks?”

  “Yes, Saks. You’re going to be attending openings, galas, and cocktail parties with me. You’ll be rubbing elbows with Chicago’s elite. You’re going to need clothing.” He peers down at his phone and smiles. “I just sent a text to my personal shopper. She’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  “What? Why?” I can’t afford to shop at Saks.

  “Well, while I disagree with many of the things that our unwanted guest said, she’s right about your clothes.”

  “Excuse me?” I squeak. I love my clothes. I’ve worked hard the last few years to build my wardrobe the way I wanted it.

  “They are a little, how can I say this nicely? Idiosyncratic.”

  “Idiosyncratic? You said you liked my clothes.”

  “I do. Just not when you’re on my arm. Take tonight for example; you need to dress the part. Don’t worry; I’ll pay for everything. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

  “Nothing too extravagant. Just a gallery opening.”

  “Mr. Parker, I haven’t agreed to any of this. I need time.”

  “Please, you’ll need to start calling me Gabriel. And, you’ll have time to think about it on your way to Saks. You’re meeting Victoria in the Formal and Eveningwear department.” Gabriel stands up and walks over to the large table in the center of his room.

  I look at Cammy. She’s a little pale. “Cammy? I can’t do this. You know I have feelings for…someone else.”

  She leans forward and whispers, “It’s only temporary. We just need to get past this deal with, Christine, the psycho woman. After that, you’ll be free to pursue Archie.”

  I feel the burn of tears threatening to break free, but I suck in air. I’m not going to cry. No! What I’m going to do is go to Saks and refuse to pick anything out. I love my clothes. They fit my personality. No fancy schmancy ‘personal shopper’ is going to make me buy things I don’t feel comfortable in, no way.

  Chapter 9

  Lexie

  Marching into Saks, I can’t help noticing how festive everything looks. Christmas is my favorite holiday right after Halloween. It’s filled with music and delicious food and presents. While the old adage ‘It’s better to give than to receive’ is a cliché, I still believe that whole-heartedly. I love giving my close friends and family the gifts that I’ve searched high and low for just for them. I like to make them personal.

  I don’t just buy things in December, either. I shop all year round. When I see something special for my dad, for example
, I buy it. Since I’m pretty broke most of the time, it helps spread out those expenses to twelve months instead of one.

  Checking the directory in Saks, I locate the Formal and Eveningwear. Entering the archway that leads to that department, I spot a petite brunette who looks to be in her thirties. She’s holding a super adorable bag. It looks vintage in red patent leather with a short handle you’d carry on your wrist. “Victoria?”

  She turns and looks at me from head to toe and then gives me a bright smile, “Yes. You must be Alexia.”

  “Lexie. Just Lexie.”

  “Lexie, of course. Gabriel outlined what he’d like for you to wear, so I’ve taken the liberty of pulling a few things.”

  I follow her over to a small rack filled with black and gray dresses. Shapeless dresses. Some of them have sparkle, but there’s nothing that stands out that speaks to my fashion taste. “Yeah, about that…” Victoria looks at me with an arched eyebrow. “Do you let anyone pick your clothes for you? A man?”

  “She looks down at her pencil skirt and her sweater set with the tiny embroidered flowers around the collar.”

  “Oh, heck no!” she giggles. “My husband would have me wearing stripper outfits,” she laughs loudly.

  I laugh with her, “Well, that’s how I feel about Gabriel choosing my clothing. I don’t want to wear boring shift dresses. I like things with character.”

  She stares at my dress, “I can see that.” Victoria places her hand on her chin and steps her foot out to the side and shifts her hip out as she thinks. “Have you ever heard of Maybelle’s?”

  “No. Who’s that?”

  “Not who, what. It’s a vintage clothing store.”

  “I love vintage clothes.”

  “I thought so. Let’s go there. I’ve got Gabriel’s credit card so we can shop wherever we want.” She turns toward the exit, “Shall we?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “He can also buy us a little lunch on the way. I’m famished,” adds Victoria.

  “I could eat.” That’s practically my middle name.

  After downing the most delicious cheeseburger in Chicago, we’re off to Maybelle’s. It’s a little-known vintage clothing store that boasts A-list clients like Meryl Streep and Bette Midler. Sure, they’re a little older than me, but they’re very classy ladies.

  As soon as we step into the shop, I gasp. “Oh, my goodness.” It’s everything I ever wanted in a store. There are gowns on the left and party dresses on the right. In the middle of the shop are displays of adorable shoes and near the register are glass cases that hold vintage jewelry.

  I peek at the price of a pair of classic beige and black Chanel heels. “Four hundred and fifteen dollars?” I squeak. “That’s way out of my price range, Victoria.”

  “Well, those particular shoes are extra special. They have a wide range of prices for every pocketbook. Besides, Gabriel’s paying so we can just shop til we drop.”

  “I don’t feel right about this.”

  “It’s okay. I do,” she says flitting over to the section of gowns.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I follow her. “Here goes nothing.” But, as I sort through the racks I sigh in frustration.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “None of these are going to fit me. I’ve tried on actual vintage clothing before, and I know a size sixteen from the 50s is closer to a size ten now.”

  “That’s true, but Maybelle’s carries a large selection of what we’d now call plus size fashions. For the most part, they’re all vintage dresses, but she’s a designer herself, so she has reworked many of these dresses to create extended sizes.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s great.” It’s too bad I can’t afford to shop here on the regular. So far, the least expensive dress I’ve touched was over five hundred dollars. So, yeah. I need to enjoy the time I have here at Maybelle’s.

  By the time we’re finished, I’ve acquired a long, white gown, three cute day dresses, two cocktail dresses, a pair of trousers that scream Katherine Hepburn, two sweater sets, four blouses, three skirts, and four pairs of shoes. It was weird how easy it was to shop with Gabriel’s money. I think discovering that Victoria is Gabriel’s sister has helped. After that, I didn’t feel like she was just some personal shopper taking him for a ride. Instead, I thought it was okay it was his little sister taking him for a ride. Who am I to argue with family?

  The best part of the day was getting to know Victoria. She’s actually quite accomplished herself. She’s a successful artist, a painter, and photographer, when she’s not a personal shopper but only for Gabriel and ‘his women’. She rolled her eyes on those last two words. “It’s so refreshing to see him date someone real and genuine.”

  “Oh, I’m real alright.” I’m just not one of his ‘actual’ women. Unfortunately, Victoria thinks this thing with Gabriel and me is real. In the end, I decided not to tell her that truth. That’s on Gabriel to explain to her.

  Chapter 10

  Gabriel

  At seven o’clock sharp I’m knocking on a dilapidated door of apartment 4B in a run-down apartment building in the Hermosa neighborhood of Chicago. Hermosa isn’t a terrible place to live, I suppose. There are worse, certainly. But, this building is a joke. I’m not sure it’d pass code in its current state of, well, duress.

  When no one answers the door, I knock again. Leaning my ear closer to the door, I hear talking and a little squawking. “What the hell?” I whisper. When I hear the clicking of footsteps, I stand back and wait.

  I watch the door as it’s slowly pulled open and one big blue eye peeks out of the two-inch gap created by the door and the chain. “Oh, it’s you.”

  Who else would it be? I told her I’d pick her up at seven. It’s seven. Rolling my eyes, I play along, “Yes. It certainly is. May I come in?”

  “Oh, you want to come in? To my apartment?”

  “I’d prefer that to the mugging I’m about to endure thanks to your neighbor who’s been lurking at the end of the hall for the last ten minutes.”

  Giggling, she shuts the door. For a moment, I’m worried she’s decided against letting me inside, but when I hear the chain disengage and the door reopen, wider this time, I sigh in relief. Literally. Sigh. “Thank you,” I mutter as I step into the world’s tiniest apartment. I walk down the short hallway past two, how shall I say this? Two animal habitats. I can’t help myself; I have to know what she’s housing. “Is that a turtle?”

  Yes, that’s Shelly. She’s a Red Eared Slider turtle. And over here are my guinea pigs, Ron and Hermione.” She looks at me expectantly.

  “From Harry Potter?”

  “Yes! Yay! Have you read the books?”

  “Uh, no.” But, hell, you’d have to be dead not to know ‘Ron and Hermione’.

  She leads me into; I guess you could call it a living room but I’d probably categorize it as more of a closet-size space. She has the entire room filled with Christmas decorations. There’s a small tree in the only available corner. It’s adorned with lights and ornaments that have seen better days. There is one stocking hanging from a hook on the wall next to the tree. Beneath the tree are several packages already wrapped and labeled. She must prepare for Christmas early. Around the perimeter of the room, she’s strung white lights and hung some of the snowflakes from the holiday party. I’d love to tell you it looks good, but…

  I follow her over to a cage that hangs from a hook on the ceiling. Peering inside, I wince. “What is that?” I say, disgusted. It’s hideous. It’s a cross between a bird and an unsuccessful scientific experiment.

  She looks a tad offended but she soldiers on, “This is my best fella, Cyclops.”

  “Your ‘best fella’?” I say ‘best fella’ slowly, so she understands my confusion.

  “Yes. I’ve had him the longest. He’s my buddy. He keeps me company.”

  “I imagine.” I nod but, no… No, I can’t imagine that this ugly, disfigured creature would do anything other than terrify small children.

&nb
sp; “You’re not an animal lover, I take it,” she says crossing her arms over her chest making them press up and out.

  It’s then I take notice of her dress. “I thought you bought new clothes.”

  Lexie’s face turns from a lovely light pink, almost porcelain hue to a deep shade of magenta in seconds. “This is new. It’s a 1950s vintage Dior party dress.”

  “Vintage?”

  “Yes, vintage.”

  “I specifically told Victoria…”

  “And I told her I didn’t want to dress like I was going to a funeral. She worked with me to find things that match my personality.”

  “Well, congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’m suddenly feeling very ill. I’m afraid you’ll have to attend whatever this thing is tonight alone. Or better yet, call one of your regulars.”

  “Jesus, you make it sound like I hire prostitutes.” She shrugs. Is she sincerely implying what I think she’s implying? Or is that inferring? I can never keep those straight. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. It’s none of my business anyway.”

  “Look. This gallery exhibit is important. I promise to be on my best behavior. My apologies for any comments about your attire that you may have found offensive. If it’s any consolation, the garment you’re wearing looks fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Yes. Fine.”

  “This is a Dior. A black velvet dress in with silk, embroidered floral design in fuchsia, red, and green to be exact.”

  “Wonderful. Now, let’s find your wrap and go, so we’re not late.”

  Growling. Yes, that’s what I said, growling, she pulls on the world’s ugliest winter parka. It’s got faux fur around the hood. Oh, hell. It’s got a hood. “So, you didn’t happen to buy a dress coat today?”