Santa (Maybe): A Rom Com Novella

by Bex, Alice

  Mark. Of course. It was coming back to her. She’d been pathetic. Completely pathetic. She wanted to die. Maybe, if she pretended to be asleep, he’d wake up and leave. Then she wouldn’t have to face him. She was about to put the pretending-to-be-asleep-plan into action when Mark opened his eyes. He looked started for a few seconds. He broke into a big grin. He reached up and stroked his Santa beard.

  “Spirit gum has amazing staying power.”

  Madeleine didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

  Mark rolled over to face her. They were feet apart, but that was still too close.

  “Listen—“ Mark said, “—I don’t want you to—“

  “I’d rather we didn’t talk about it.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  Something most certainly had happened. She’d acted like a pathetic, desperately lonely idiot. She should get up. Maybe he’d take the hint and leave. Mark reached across and touched her cheek.

  “You look like hell!”

  This unexpected insult made Madeleine laugh. She jumped out of bed and fled to the bathroom.

  Mark was right, she did look like hell. She camped out in the bathroom as long as possible, hoping to hear the front door open and shut behind him. Instead, she heard rattling downstairs in the kitchen.

  Then, the unthinkable happened. The doorbell rang. The doorbell ringing at 10 o’clock on a Saturday morning could mean only one thing. It would be Chad on the doorstep, claiming that Emily had forgotten something so essential that he had to invade the only scrap of alone-time she ever got.

  Madeleine suspected that these little excursions to retrieve forgotten items rarely originated with Emily. Chad might value his freedom to sleep with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, but he wasn’t too keen on Madeleine doing the same.

  Mark was downstairs in the kitchen. Chad would put two and two together and make seven. And Mark was still wearing that ridiculous Santa beard. He looked like a weirdo. A hot weirdo, but a weirdo never-the-less.

  Please don’t answer the door, she silently begged as she raced toward the stairs. Please, please, please don’t answer the door.

  She was too late. Mark was opening the door. Sure enough, it was Chad. At least he was alone. Emily must be waiting in the car with Carmen, Chad’s latest girl-friend.

  “Hi,” Mark was saying.

  Chad appeared speechless. Madeleine had never seen a speechless Chad.

  “How can I help you?” Mark tried again.

  “Uh—I ah—I mean I just—“

  Madeleine interrupted this gratifying display of confusion.

  “Hello, Chad.”

  “Hello, Maddy.”

  Chad always called her Maddy. Madeleine hated the nickname. How had she never gotten around to telling him so?

  “I expect you’re here to get something for Emily.”

  “Uh—“

  “Well, come in.”

  Madeleine was finding this a lot more fun than she’d expected.

  “I’d better check on my eggs,” said Mark.

  Eggs. Mark was making breakfast. In all their years together, Chad had never once cooked breakfast for her.

  Chad came inside and stood there.

  “What did Emily forget?”

  “Oh, her plaid coat,” Chad said, but made no move to take the little pink and green plaid coat in question off the hall coat-tree. “Maddy, who is that?”

  “Oh, that’s Mark,” Madeleine answered.

  “No, I don’t care what his name is. I mean: Who is he?”

  “Some bum I picked up down by the tracks. He’s amazing. He’s so good in bed that I almost forgot about his highly contagious and potentially disfiguring STD. He tells me he’s wanted by the FBI, but I expect that it’s all just a little misunderstanding.”

  “OK, OK!” Chad was holding up his hands as if to defend himself from a frontal attack. Chad had never appreciated Madeleine’s sense of humor.

  “Well, ask a stupid question—“

  “It’s not a stupid question. My daughter lives here. In case you’ve forgotten.”

  Madeleine lost it.

  “You are unbelievable! How many overnight guests have you had in the last six months? Mark is the first man who’s spent the night, well—since you moved out! And Emily is not even here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I can’t believe you’re standing here lecturing me on—“

  “Women have to be more careful. There are a lot of creeps out there.”

  Madeleine wanted to pick up the umbrella stand and break it over his head.

  “You’re right. There are a lot of creeps out there. And you know what? The biggest creep I know is standing right in front of me.”

  Chad laughed. He’d always said it turned him on to see her angry. Knowing this made Madeleine even angrier.

  “Get out! Take the jacket and leave!”

  Chad was still laughing. He took the jacket down off the coat-tree, but made no move to leave.

  “Out!” Madeleine was practically screaming. Mark came out of the kitchen. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I think the lady asked you to leave, mate,” he said to Chad.

  “Don’t call me mate.”

  “Alright.” Mark held Madeleine a little tighter. “I’ll make myself clear. Walk out that door and shut it behind you.”

  “This guy is a trip!” Chad said to Madeleine. “You sure you’re safe here alone with him? He has an even bigger temper than you.”

  Madeleine was so angry she was shaking. She didn’t dare speak. She wanted to kill her ex-husband.

  Mark let go of her and walked toward Chad. He was shorter than Chad by several inches, but he was much more muscular and it was obvious to Madeleine that a fight between the two wouldn’t come out in Chad’s favor. Chad realized that, too. He backed out the door, but as he walked down the sidewalk he turned back to fire a parting shot.

  “You should know you’ve got a card-carrying ice-queen on your hands. Get used to getting it somewhere else,” Chad said to Mark. Then he added a kicker obviously meant for Madeleine. “You know you drove me to it! None of this is my fault and you know it.”

  Madeleine lunged out the door, but Mark pulled her back.

  “Don’t give him the satisfaction,” he said.

  Madeleine was still shaking. She buried her head in Mark’s chest. He might turn out to be an even bigger jerk than her ex-husband, but, at the moment, he was warm and strong and smelled like sweat and cologne and a hint of frying bacon.

  Mark held her for a few minutes, stroking her back. Finally, he gently detached her.

  “What you need—“ he announced, “—is something to eat.”

  Mark watched Madeleine eating eggs. She was so cute. He had an ache in his chest that could mean only one thing. He hadn’t just been in love with the long-ago Madeleine. He was half-way to being in love with the present-day version, all 5 foot 3 of her pathetic messed-up little self.

  Not that he was in any better shape himself. A man who had to resort to playing Santa at the mall to make rent wasn’t much of a catch. This was so not how he’d planned for his life to turn out. By this time, he’d expected to own his own chain of gyms—or at least one. But no. He didn’t even own the furniture in the houseboat he rented. He didn’t own anything but the clothes on his back. That was it. Well, if you didn’t count Festus.

  Festus! The poor dog hadn’t been walked since yesterday afternoon. No telling what kind of mess he’d made.

  “Madeleine, I just remembered something I have do.”

  Madeleine looked up from her eggs. He couldn’t tell if that was a look of disappointment or relief. One moment, he’d think he could read her like a book and then she’d go all coy and he didn’t have a clue.

  “Sure,” she said, like she didn’t care one way or the other. “Thanks for the eggs and—with Chad.”

  “I can throw my weight around when the occasion calls for it.”

  “Yes, you c
ertainly can.”

  Mark walked around to her side of the table and kissed her on the cheek.

  “I’ll run upstairs and get my coat and then I’ll be out of your way.”

  He didn’t give her time to reply. He took the stairs two at a time up and down again. He slid across the slick hardwood floor of the entry and flung open the front door.

  “Bye!” he yelled in the direction of the kitchen. He didn’t wait for a reply.

  Mark started his ignition. Her number! He didn’t have her number! He almost turned off the engine and went back in, but changed his mind. He’d ask Ami for it. That was better. There were a few questions he’d like to ask Ami. He’d have asked Madeleine herself, but he didn’t have the nerve.

  Festus had made a mess. He regarded Mark with solemn reproach in the doggy way that bulldogs have perfected. Mark got his Santa beard off and took Festus out for a quick run. Then he sat out on his deck. He pulled Ami’s card out of his wallet. He dialed her number and patted Festus on the head while he waited for her to pick up.

  Madeleine lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, phone to her ear. Ami had temporarily abandoned her in the middle of a call. She’d be right back, Ami promised. Someone else was calling and she had to pick up. Madeleine looked over at the other side of the bed.

  There was still an indent in the bedspread where Mark had been laying. She reach over and placed her hand in the middle of it and then quickly withdrew her hand. Silly. Very silly.

  Still, last night had proved that Mark definitely wasn’t the player she’d thought he was. Players don’t put tipsy women to bed fully clothed and then spend the rest of the night sleeping on top of the bedspread wrapped in their coats. It was sweet. Or was it? Maybe it meant that he wasn’t attracted to her anymore. Pathetic groveling was a definite turn-off. He was going to disappear out of her life, she just knew it. Maybe that’s what she wanted. She couldn’t make up her mind. One minute she couldn’t wait to see him again. The next minute she was mentally scheming ways to fake her own disappearance to avoid facing him again.

  “So, that was your Mark.” Ami was back.

  “He’s not my Mark.”

  “He isn’t? Well, you could have fooled me—“

  “Well, you’re wrong.”

  “Don’t you want to know what he wanted?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s me. Ami. Your sister. You don’t have to play coy with me. In fact—“

  “Fine. Tell me.”

  “He wanted your number.”

  “Oh.”

  “I found it odd that he had to ask me for it, considering that you spent the night together.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Mark may have let something slip out.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “I hear he cooked you breakfast.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Tell me, does he cook naked?”

  “Ami!”

  “So, he wears an apron to protect his valuables—that’s still kind of hot.“

  Madeleine shook her head, trying to shake the image of Mark naked in the kitchen. Then she took a deep breath. Ami was right. If she couldn’t be honest with her own sister, who could she be honest with?

  “Ami, I really like him. Am I nuts?”

  “No. I am 100% sure you are not nuts.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Let’s just say, I know something you don’t.”

  “What do you know?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “Tell me!”

  “Well, if I told you it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, now would it?”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “No, I don’t imagine you would. Mark will call and he’ll tell you something that will blow your mind.”

  Five Days Until Christmas

  Mark didn’t call Madeleine that day. He’d meant to, but things had gotten crazy. He’d planned to spend the day dropping his resume at the gyms he still hadn’t gotten to. He didn’t hold out much hope, but it wasn’t in his nature to give up until he’d exhausted every possibility. Early on, he’d gotten lots of bites, but every time he thought he had a job nailed down they’d call back and say they’d changed their mind. One manager came right out and admitted that he was scared to piss off Kristen Murphy.

  Kristen Murphy: socialite, anchorwoman and millionairess. The woman was well on her way to ruining his life, and then she showed up in person. At his home. Fortunately, he spotted her coming down the dock. He barely had time to lock the door and scoot out of sight around the corner.

  Festus went ballistic even before Kristen knocked. He launched himself against the door. That dog had never warmed to Kristen. Mark should have taken Festus’s distrust of her seriously from the start.

  “I know you’re in there, Mark!” Kristen shouted over Festus’s frantic attempts to get out and tear her to bits. Kristen knocked again. “Come out! I have a proposition for you.”

  Mark suspected what her terms would be. The city was full of men who would jump at a chance with Kristen Murphy. The woman was extraordinarily hot, if you were the type who could get past her fundamental evilness. Mark wasn’t one of those men who could, but he was sure there were plenty of others out there who’d have no problem dating the devil if the devil looked like Kristen Murphy. That, and the fact she was—

  “OK—“ Kristen wasn’t giving up. “I know you can hear me, so I’m going to—“

  It sounded like Kristen had escalated from knocking to attempting to kick the door in. It wasn’t much of a door. She might succeed. Mark gave up. He called off Festus, shut him into the tiny bathroom, and opened the door.

  Kristen stood outside with her hands on her hips. She tried to push inside. Mark didn’t let her. He stepped out the door and closed it behind him.

  “What you’re doing is completely unethical,” Mark said.

  Kristen pressed herself up against Mark. He stepped to the side. Some people don’t believe men experience sexual harassment. Those people had never met a woman like Kristen Murphy.

  “It’s not that complicated,” Kristen said, pouting. “I know what you want and you know what I want, so let’s negotiate terms.”

  “Meaning, you’ll make sure I get my job back if I agree to be your January toy-boy.”

  “It sounds so crude when you put it like that.”

  “What does your husband think about your—“

  Kristen laughed a laugh without an ounce of mirth in it and reached out to stroke Mark’s cheek. He moved away.

  “I think it’s a valid question.”

  “Please! You know, as well as I do, that he doesn’t care. He’s hardly a saint himself.”

  “I don’t date married women. Period. End of story.”

  “Don’t be so silly. ‘Dating’ is something kids do. What I have in mind is considerably more sophisticated.”

  “No. I mean it. Not interested.”

  “Not even interested in your own gym? I have a friend who is looking to sell. Great location. I could make that happen for you.“

  Now she had his attention. How did she know what would tempt him? He knew he had hesitated too long. Kristen was smiling triumphantly.

  “Of course, my name would be on the deed, too,” Kristen added.

  “No!” Mark said, trying to make up for his hesitation by answering too loudly.

  I don’t think you’re too sure about that ‘no’?”

  “Listen, Kristen! Why can’t you just leave me alone? There’s no shortage of men out there who’d—“

  “I don’t want other men. I want you, and I always get what I want.”

  Mark ran out of words. He backed up silently and shut the door in Kristen’s face. But Kristen wasn’t done. She yelled through the door.

  “You have until Christmas Eve, you sexy bastard. Then all hell breaks loose!”

  Kristen waited for a reply, but Mark was silent.

  “Don’t underesti
mate me, Mark Jameson. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  Mark was shaken. He took her threats very seriously. He’d already seen the damage she could do. He toyed with filing a police report. If what Kristen was doing didn’t count as stalking—no, bad idea. He had no evidence. Kristen had been careful to make all her threats in person. There were no incriminating texts. No threatening emails. No vicious handwritten notes. He couldn’t even present a phone log as evidence. Kristen had stopped calling once he’d terminated their professional relationship. No, it was up to him to get out of this one himself.

  Madeleine sat at her dining table. It was strewn with documents pertaining to the case of the odious Mr. F.

  F for—no, that was an unprofessional thought. Besides, if she allowed herself to mentally refer to him as that, she might slip up in court and come right out and say it. No, she’d have to settle for thinking of him as Mr. Foster. Madeleine hated Mr. Foster. It was not uncommon for Madeleine to represent clients that she didn’t like, but this was different. She hated Felix Foster with a dark-hearted rage.

  She ought to excuse herself from the case, but then she’d have to admit to her boss Angela that Mr. Foster reminded her of an elderly version of her ex-husband. Madeleine wasn’t about to endure the humiliation of a lecture from Angela about not letting one’s personal life interfere with one’s work.

  So, here she was, spending her Sunday afternoon trying to come up with new and creative ways for Felix Foster to screw over his faithful wife of 42 years. It was useless. She couldn’t concentrate. She wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was her fourth.

  The dishes from breakfast still sat on the table. The chair where Mark had been sitting was still scooted out from the table. The skillet was still on the stove, bits of egg clinging to it. She walked over and grasped the handle. Four hours ago, Mark had been standing in her kitchen, in front of her stove, holding onto that handle.

  Madeleine let go of the handle and started to laugh. She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. This was so ridiculous. She was behaving like a love-sick teenager. She was one step away from running upstairs to see if he’d left any hairs on the pillow.