by A. E. Radley
She puffed out her cheeks, clearly uncomfortable with how to handle that particular nugget.
“I’m sorry—”
She motioned for me to stop. “Don’t apologize. Jesus, this may be the worst Christmas Eve in human history.”
I sniffed. “Not sure about all of history, but it ranks as the shittiest in my book. And, I’m an orphan, so I know about terrible holidays, birthdays…” I waved etcetera.
Her eyes boggled.
“Geez. Now I’m making you uncomfortable.”
“No. It’s just a lot to take in, and I’ve been known to say insensitive things when I don’t know what to say. Comes from being the only female in my office. Most of my coworkers have a brutal sense of humor, and I have to hold my own. It’s altered my interactions with all humans. Or so I’ve been told.”
“I’m sensing that was the source of the fight?” I motioned for her to spill. “It’ll take my mind off my own misery.”
“At my expense.” Her laughter indicated she didn’t mind. Before continuing, she sipped her drink. “Let’s see. I think my ex’s biggest complaint was when I told her I had zero intention of moving back to the US and joked I may have to marry one of my coworkers to extend my visa past the five-year expiration. She took offense to the joke, opening the floodgate to the difficulties of having a long-distance relationship.”
“Were you joking?”
She looked sheepish. “Mostly. I love it here, and the thought of leaving—it’s just not going to happen.”
“And she doesn’t want to move here?”
“She’s close with her family. Freakishly so. Oh, that’s another thing she got mad at. During an argument, I said something along the lines that I wouldn’t be surprised if she called her mom to describe the color of her poo every day. X discusses everything with her mom. Everything.” She punctuated the sentence with an exaggerated flourish of her neck.
I laughed. “That’s disgusting.” I leaned over the table. “Do you think she talked about you two… ya know…?”
“Are you fishing about my skills in bed?”
My face burst into flames, or so I imagined.
Allison pointed a finger at the proof of my embarrassment, hooting with merriment.
To cover my shame, I said, “I know all about lesbian sex.”
With the cup of wine to her lips, she arched a thin eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“You do need pointers, then?”
“Are you offering a live tutorial?”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve received worse offers.” She playfully shrugged.
I drained my wine. “It’s my round.” I retreated to the bar, and during the entire transaction, I sensed her eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.
Would it be so wrong to take her back to the hotel? I had an entire lifetime to get used to being alone. Maybe a one-night stand was exactly what the doctor ordered. She seemed game.
Before I retook my seat, she said, “You were saying…?”
I exaggerated an eyeroll. “Are you taking advantage of my breakup to get your jollies?”
“I told you women can be dawgs.” She widened her eyes in a hopeful way, but she also managed to convey she was only half serious.
“You wouldn’t be my first. Lesbian experience, that is.”
“Are you bi?”
“Not sure. I simply find different things sexy. You?”
“Bi? Lesbian? Or open-minded to everything under the sun?” she teased.
“I can see why your girlfriend found you frustrating.”
She cocked her head to the left. “I just thought of something. Why’d you ask if women were easier to date if you have experience dating them?”
“Oh, that.” I took a drink, pausing long enough to let two patrons pass our table. “I haven’t had a serious relationship with a woman. Just…”
“Sexual exploration?” she supplied.
“Does that make me a dawg?”
“Depends on who’s defining. Were you exploring for the sake of exploring? Adding a lesbian notch to your belt? Did you like the person?”
“Uh…”
“Hey.” She placed a hand on her chest. “No judgment here. I’ve had my fair share of experiences. Isn’t that one of the requirements when going to college?”
“It was in college. Then grad school.”
“It. Meaning singular.” She tapped her fingertips together. “But you said college and grad school, implying at least two different occasions. And no females since then?”
I laughed. “You’re dying to know, aren’t you? Why?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t known you long, but I can say I find you interesting. And the fact that you’re very easy on the eyes is a huge bonus.” Again, there was a suggestive eyebrow waggle.
“Do you want all the details? Who did what?” I leaned on my forearms.
“If you’re offering, why not?” She gestured I had the floor.
Pulling back, I tossed the tissue pack at her. “No way!”
She snapped her fingers in an aw-shucks way. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
My eyes darted upward right when my stomach rumbled.
“All this talk about girls has made you hungry.”
“Apparently.” I glanced around for options. “I’m thinking a bratwurst or two. Care to join?”
Allison finished off her wine. Standing, she said, “Sure thing. It’s the main reason I came.”
I rose. “You love wieners grilled over an open flame?” I bumped my shoulder into hers, once again noticing we were almost the same height. Steve had towered over me.
“I hadn’t pegged you as a tease.”
Laughing, I said, “I’ve been in a relationship for so long I’m out of practice.”
We stepped onto the temporary sidewalk, making our way to one of the sausage places. We’d passed two others earlier.
“Out of practice for what?”
“Not sure exactly,” I said in all honesty.
“The night is young. Maybe you’ll figure it out before Santa shimmies down the chimney.” She wiggled her booty to emphasize her point or possibly to tempt me.
There were five employees stationed about the circular grill hanging on metal chains half a foot or so over the fire pit, and we selected the shortest line, which had four people. I eyed the menu. “What are you getting?”
“Spicy. You?”
“Original and pan-fried potatoes with bacon and onions.”
We placed our order with a man who didn’t attempt to act like he was thrilled to be working on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t blame him. Soon enough, we had our food.
“Need any sauce?” She pointed to the condiments hanging at a station off to the side of the fire pit. The way the bottles hung upside down made me think of cow utters.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Quick, two spots opened up at that table.” She pointed behind me, and I rushed after her.
Sliding onto the wooden bench, I appraised the best way to tackle the brat, which had a mouth-watering char and was almost twice the length of the bun. I bit into the end of the sausage, getting a mouthful accompanied by a satisfactory squirt of grease dribbling down my chin. I wiped it with the coarse brown napkin. Around bites, I mumbled, “The best comfort food for tonight.”
Allison nodded, too busy eating. After swallowing, she managed to say, “And I only got ditched by my friends.”
“It worked out well for me.” The bun was stale, but I opted to eat it to help soak up the booze.
“Would you like something to drink?” Allison was already getting to her feet.
“Something warm.”
“Wine or hot chocolate?”
“Wine.” I reached into my pocket for a fiver, but she waved me off.
When she returned, I scooted the potatoes in the middle. “Help me eat these.” I handed her one of the flimsy wooden sporks.
She obliged.
“I
f your friends hadn’t ditched you, what would the three of you be doing?”
She covered her mouth as she finished a bite of potatoes. “This. What about you? If your boyfriend were here?”
“We would have stopped at the first beer place and tucked in for the night.” I glanced at one of the guys sitting at the communal table with a plastic stein that was roughly the size of my head. “He’s not much for exploring.”
“Are you?”
“I usually wander off by myself. To browse the shops. Get food. Soak in the experience.”
“Experiences are important to you.” She didn’t say it in a teasing voice. More observational.
“Why else go places?”
Nodding, she took another bite of her brat.
“Do you like rides?” I jerked my head to the tower that was lit up behind Allison’s head.
She pivoted her head to see which one I was referring to. “I used to when I was a kid. Haven’t been on one in years, though.”
“Before I leave tonight, I want to go on that one, at least.”
“Any particular reason?”
“For the experience,” I deadpanned.
She laughed. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Might need to let the food settle some first.”
I tapped the tip of my nose. “That was my thought as well.” I finished the last bite of brat.
After sharing the potatoes, we ditched the table so a family of four could squeeze in.
Gripping my cup of wine, I motioned we should warm up by the fire, where three others huddled around. In the center of the wooden frame was an iron structure housing the fire. Red and orange flames licked upward, the wood cracking from the heat, and the sumptuous smell of a real fire engulfed my senses.
Allison set her drink down on the ledge, rubbed her hands together, and then blew into them.
I set my drink next to hers. “I’ll be right back.” I nipped off to the left, where I spied a vendor hawking beanies and gloves. Without asking the price, I selected a pair of red and white gloves.
“Do you need a bag?” the young woman asked.
“Nope.” I handed over the money and was on my way back to the fire in under five minutes.
Allison smiled when she saw me.
“Here you go.” I handed them to her.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I’ve been staring at your poor hands all night. Besides, you’ve been buying most of the drinks. It’s the least I can do.”
She eased them on, wiggling her fingers. “So much better!”
I inched closer to the fire, picking up my wine, which had cooled significantly. “Is it getting colder, or is it just me?”
Right then, a slashing wind whipped my hair across my face.
“It’s definitely getting worse.”
“Maybe we should walk some. Get our blood moving. Although…” My eyes fell to the fire.
“Five more minutes to warm up and finish our drinks. Then we’ll go experience things.”
“Agreed.”
It was weird how well we got along, considering we’d only just met. “Do you miss your girlfriend?”
Allison met my eyes. “This is going to sound terrible, but no.”
“Good thing you two aren’t together, then.” I raised my glass. “To not being together.”
She laughed. “That’s an odd toast.”
“I think all this wine is making me tipsy. Or the emotions.”
“In that case, the next round will be hot chocolate. Can’t have you sleep right through Christmas or have a miserable hangover that makes you wish you could skip the day.”
“What’s the point to having Christmas now?” My shoulders sagged.
“Gotcha. You’ve reached the woe is me, life will never be the same stage of the breakup.”
“No, seriously. I’m in London, spending time with a perfect, albeit pleasant, stranger. If I hadn’t bumped into you, I probably would have left already and gone to my hotel. Tomorrow, I’ll be alone on a major holiday. Maybe I should make the best of tonight. Get schnockered. Go on rides. Eat oodles of junk food. Buy silly trinkets.”
“And suffer the consequences tomorrow?”
“Exactly or if I play my cards right, sleep through the whole day. Do you have plans tomorrow?”
“I do, but I’m not opposed to suffering through a hangover. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You’re a pro then? At living large and muddling through the next day?”
“It’s part of my job. I wine and dine clients and such.”
I tapped my fingertips together in an evil sorceress way. “Excellent. I’ll follow your lead.”
She placed a hand on my arm. “Before we get too far down this path, what hotel will I be dropping you off at?”
I started to spout the name but stopped. “You aren’t a serial killer, are you?”
“First rule of being a serial killer is never admit you’re one. It’s really hard to lure victims to my lair if I start out by saying, ‘You don’t know me, but I’m the modern-day Jack the Ripper. Can I buy you a drink?’”
“Jane the Ripper.”
“Would that help my shtick?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“To lure victims, no. I was thinking more of the headlines.” I tossed my cup into a trash can. “So, are you?”
“I haven’t killed anyone… yet.” Her voice sounded sinister.
“Sounds like you have aspirations.”
“Doesn’t everyone, really? Who hasn’t wondered if they’re capable of murder?” Her laughter was eerily sweet. “Totally kidding. I can’t even kill a spider. I set them free outside. Come on. Let’s get another steaming cup of wine or hot chocolate and start experiencing.”
In line at another mulled wine stand, I said, “They only come back in.”
Allison glanced over her shoulder at me. “What?”
“The spiders. They come back inside. You should kill them.”
“Maybe I should be worried you plan to kill me so I won’t come back.”
“It’s possible. My whole story about getting dumped and crying on an unsuspecting lesbian’s shoulder—you have to admit it’s gold.”
“Yes, but don’t forget the Christmas Eve aspect.” It was her turn to order, so she motioned she’d continue after.
I reached around her to hand the man a twenty-pound note. “You can’t pay for every round. Part of being nice is accepting as well as giving.”
“Says the Christmas Slasher.”
“Oooh… that’s a good serial killer name.”
We grabbed our drinks and made our way to another fire.
“Back to your serial killer angle. Does that mean you only strike every Christmas Eve?” she asked.
“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“Aren’t you going to anyway?”
“You got me there.” I sipped the drink, regretting it when I burned my tongue. “What would my motive be? To avenge getting dumped?”
“I have to supply the nickname and motive?” She whistled. “This being a serial killer’s victim isn’t all what it’s cracked up to be.”
I belly laughed, nearly spilling my entire drink. “That’s hilarious.”
“Come on. We need to buy you some junk food and cross that experience off the list. And lookee there. Donuts made on the spot.”
“Now you’re talking!”
Once again, we got in the back of a line. “I’m noticing a trend for this evening. Lining up like sheep.”
“Maybe that’s the serial killer trigger.” She said it as if we were having a philosophical conversation about an everyday topic.
“If I were writing the novel, I think I’d stick with the revenge theory. One woman broke my heart, so I go on a murder spree to make all women suffer. Except, not really a spree since I’ll only kill one night a year.”
“You’re putting a lot of thought into this. Should I be worried?”
“Nah. I have zero
ambition to pen a novel, meaning I don’t need to do the research.”
“Ah, but you’ve admitted you’re an experience collector.”
“True, but I’m also firmly in the camp that prison is the last place I want to end up.”
I held up five fingers to the donut man, and he packed the sugar-covered babies into a paper bag, the grease smear rapidly spreading. “Next on the list is cheesy trinkets.” I opened the bag for Allison to select one. Then I scooped one out for myself. One bite and I was in junk food heaven. “Oh, wow. This is good,” I mumbled around bites, covering my mouth with the back of my hand.
She nodded her appreciation.
We browsed the Christmas market section, pausing to look at silver necklaces and rings, and the thought of jewelry reminded me I’d been expecting a ring on this trip. Allison, for reasons she didn’t explain, barely even glanced at the offerings. I had noticed she didn’t wear any rings or a necklace, and from my observation, she didn’t have her ears pierced. There was the nose ring, though. For a business woman, I found that odd.
“Need any candy?” She motioned to a display of every sort of gummy candy I would have flipped for when I was a kid.
I hoisted the donut bag. “I’m all set for sweets. You?”
“I’m not much of a sweet fan, actually.”
“But you ate a donut.”
“You offered.” There was a hint of something in her voice. Promise? Hope? Quite possibly, I was reading too much into things.
“That’s another indication you’re a serial killer. I don’t usually trust people who don’t like sweets. It’s not natural.”
She laughed. “I’m addicted to salt. Does that make you feel better?”
“The body needs sodium, so not really.”
“But filling up on sugar is… what?” She pulled up in front of a leather stall, showcasing purses, briefcases, bookmarks, journals, and other odds and ends.
“I told you it’s normal to binge on sugar. Case in point.” I ripped a chunk off a donut and lobbed it into my mouth.
She ignored me, picking up a burgundy colored journal. “I need a new one.”
“You write in a journal?”
“Every day since I was a kid. Otherwise, my mind stays in a constant state of jumble.” She circled a finger around her temple before handing cash to the vendor.