Merry Random Christmas

by Julia Kent

  Wait ’til they heard the whole story.

  “We need to go see Liam and Sam,” I said. “They’re at Sam and Amy’s new apartment in Central Square.” After years of couch surfing, then renting a room from me, Sam had moved out. He and Amy shared a studio in Cambridge that was the size of my thumbprint. It was smaller than Amy’s old corner apartment on the Fenway, which Liam still had.

  “Central Square?” Joe groaned.

  I looked at our location on my GPS. We’d been walking, inadvertently, toward it. “We’re not that far. Walk, cab, Uber?”

  “Walk.” Darla decided, her voice shaky.

  By the time we arrived at Sam and Amy’s tiny little place, we’d counted seventeen homeless people carrying the candy-cane filled sleeping bags, which warmed my heart. That Sudborough kid who had been forced to do good had—with prodding from Darla—become an adult who just did good.

  Maybe there was a point to all that guilt-driven volunteerism after all. My jaded, bored suburban heart loosened a little.

  Loosened a lot when I thought about Darla’s childhood.

  “’Scooze me, Ma’am, you got any change?” A woman about Darla’s height, wearing mom jeans, unlaced shoes two sizes too small, about six layers of hoodies and a gap-toothed smile, clasped her hands in front of her like a choir director. She was nervous and had scabs all over her face, her eyelashes long gone but her smile friendly.

  She held out a ragged white Styrofoam Dunkin’ Donuts cup. A single coin rattled around in there.

  Darla shoved her hands in her coat, then her Santa pants, and turned to me, helpless.

  I nodded to Joe, who sighed, but reached into his pocket. He pulled out a twenty.

  “Here you go, Ma’am,” he said, handing it to her.

  She lit up like a Christmas tree. Clichéd, I know, but true. Grabbing Joe, she hugged him so hard I thought he’d scream, his arms trapped by her grasp.

  “Thank you! Oh, thank you so much!” she said, grabbing her bags and running into a nearby convenience store that was open. It was the only store open for blocks.

  Joe said nothing, just froze in place.

  Darla clapped him on his back as he loosened up and we made our way to the buzzer for Sam and Amy’s.

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank a church organist.”

  “Huh?”

  “That was part of the money they gave us to have sex with each other.” I gave Joe a pointed look.

  “WHAT?”

  “We have a story to tell too, you know.”

  Bzzzz.

  The door clicked open and we walked up five flights of stairs to find Amy at the door, eyebrow cocked, with a look that said we had some major explaining to do.

  Joe

  “A bunch of church organists paid you and Trevor to have sex with them at that party?” Darla bellowed as we walked past Amy single file into the telephone booth that doubled as an apartment for her and Sam. Five people violated the fire code occupancy rate for this place.

  Seven turned it into a clown car.

  “Hey,” Liam said from a ratty old recliner. He had a bag-lined trash can next to him. It was mercifully empty. Covered by an old quilt, he looked wiped. Green.

  Charlotte was curled up on the couch, Sam at the other end, He was Liam’s twin, sick and shaky, face gaunt.

  “What’s the going rate for that?” Charlotte asked, widening her eyes and giving Trevor and me an obvious look, pretending to flirt. She was hard to read. I never knew when she was joking.

  “The going rate is killing my fat ass,” Darla snapped. “Because they’re not allowed to have sex with each other for money.”

  Liam perked up. “But they can have sex with each other as long as no money changes hands?”

  Darla just shrugged, her face twisted with doubt.

  “Hey!” Trevor and I growled at the same time, then exchanged a confused look.

  “Why are we talking about my dick and where it goes?” I asked.

  “Because a bunch of church organists offered us five grand to have sex with each other in front of them at the party where we were stripping tonight,” Trevor said smoothly, fishing through the tiny fridge and pulling out a beer.

  “Make yourself at home,” Amy muttered.

  “Five grand?” Liam barked. He looked at me, as if considering the offer. “I wouldn’t have sex with you, but I’d give you a handy for five thousand dollars.”

  “Church organists?” Amy gasped. “The people who hired you were church organists?” She gave Sam a WTF? look.

  He shrugged. “Even church organists like to have fun.”

  “Especially church organists like to have fun.” Trevor rubbed his ass. “I think one of them slipped me a magic pinkie at one point.”

  “You too?” I asked.

  “What did those women do to you?” Darla cried out, touching Trevor’s ass, too.

  I chose this moment to reach into my pockets and dump all the cash I had on the little coffee table in the middle of all of us.

  Three whistles, low and slow, filled the air.

  “Damn.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Why’s it all covered in lube?”

  That was Darla.

  “Let’s count it!” Liam said eagerly, siting up fast, then groaning.

  “Easy there, buddy,” Charlotte urged, hands on his shoulders as she gently helped him to recline again. “You sip your watered-down ginger ale and we’ll take care of it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Trevor said, eyes sad. “I had no idea that place would serve bad eel.”

  Liam and Sam just looked at him but didn’t say anything.

  “Who wants to count it?” I asked.

  “Amy, you guys have surgical gloves? I don’t want to touch that money without protection.”

  “It’s not like you need to wear a condom, Charlotte,” I said.

  She eyed the money with suspicion. “Might need a bag of penicillin after touching that.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Darla announced, reaching for a pile. She peeled off a twenty and held it up to the light. It looked like it had been soaked in grease.

  “Wow. It’s like Madge deep fried it in the fryer at Jeddy’s.”

  “Maybe she did.” I caught Trevor’s eye. “She’s the type to go to a party like that.”

  “She’s not a church organist,” Trevor said, laughing.

  “She is a dominatrix, though,” Darla added, as if that were a common thing to say abut someone.

  We all stared at her.

  “What? She’s dating Alex’s grandpa. I am privy to way more information about her sex life than I ever wanted to know. Those old coots tie each other up and this one time, Alex had to go over there and rescue them because it turns out Ed knows how to make these super good Navy knots, and—”

  “I think I’m going to be sick again,” Sam groaned.

  “Sorry about the sushi,” Darla said.

  “No. Not the sushi. Madge’s sex life.”

  “Poor Alex,” I muttered.

  Darla and Amy exchanged an inscrutable look and Amy mumbled something that sounded like, “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Sam snickered, then halted abruptly, looking like Ron Weasley after he ate vomit-flavored jelly beans.

  Charlotte overcame her squeamishness and between her and Darla, the total was counted quickly.

  “Five thousand, nine-hundred and forty-seven dollars.”

  “And fifty-seven cents,” Trevor added, tossing coins onto the table.

  “Someone tipped you in coins?”

  “I found it in my g-string.” He cupped his package.

  I shuddered.

  “And you get another grand each from Louise,” Liam said in a tone of wonder. “I can’t believe we missed out on this, Sam!” The two looked at each other with expressions of marvel.

  “Imagine how much more they could have made if they’d actually had sex?” Amy pond
ered.

  Darla turned on her, the nights rage needing to be bomb-dropped on someone. “You offering up Sam for the next time?”

  Amy recoiled. “No! God, no.”

  “Then don’t think my guys are doin’ it, neither.”

  “So you’ll each get about four grand,” I said, fighting my own emotions on the inside. I knew Trevor was right. The money should go to them. And yet...

  “That’s not fair,” Sam croaked out.

  Liam nodded. “This is way too much money for us to just keep. Even my grinchy little heart says so.”

  Charlotte rubbed his shoulders and whispered something in his ear. He laughed, then closed his eyes, sobering as he rubbed his bare stomach.

  “How about we split it all four ways? Almost two grand each?”

  Sam made a face of consideration, then nodded. “That’s still more than we would have made if we’d done the actual work, right Liam?”

  “Right.”

  “And I think, given the, uh...story we’re hearing, that you guys could use a little compensation for your troubles,” Liam added.

  “I could use a little Novocaine for my ass,” Trevor said. “But two grand will definitely help to mute the pain.”

  Charlotte began counting out the money into four piles as Darla sat quietly, just staring out into space.

  Amy tapped away on her tablet and then slid the screen onto an open spot on the coffee table. “Those church organists are wilder than librarians, and I thought we were a crazy bunch.”

  A picture of me in my candy cane g-string, my ass the width of the screen, greeted us all.

  “What the hell?” I yipped.

  “That’s on my mother’s Facebook page,” Amy said.

  “Your mother is a church organist?” Darla asked, coming out of her haze.

  Amy shot her a sour look. “No. But someone knew someone who knew someone and now Joe’s ass is being tagged all over Facebook by our parents’ crowd.”

  “Our parents have a crowd?” I asked. “Your mom doesn’t know my mom.”

  “They do know each other. And Trevor’s parents have your parents over for dinner.”

  “Not any more,” Trevor said.

  “The social complexities of the Sudborough forty- and fifty-somethings isn’t really a topic I care about,” I snapped. “But I do care about my ass being handed around online like it’s a bowl of candy.”

  “Gimme some sugar,” Liam said with a leer, staring at my butt in the tablet, then at my actual butt. “I’d pound that if I were gay.”

  “Uh...thanks?” I replied.

  “That’s a compliment,” he declared.

  Charlotte turned her head slowly, eyes on him, and gave him a look of such sophisticated condescension it made me hold my breath in awe.

  “You look at your fellow bandmates and assess whether they are butt sex worthy?’ Her tongue slid around in her cheek like she was searching for Liam’s clue in there.

  He blinked like a metronome.

  Amy pulled up a metaphorical bowl of popcorn and watched the proceedings.

  “Uh,” Liam replied.

  Charlotte went from one intimidating raised eyebrow to a second, her onyx hair layered, different from how it had been when she and Liam had first gotten back together. She wore no makeup, a rarity for her, and she was dressed in green pajamas with red gingerbread men on her.

  Not the sexiest look, and yet she carried herself with an air of reserve. Mystique. Different from Amy, who always felt like she was just a little too repressed. A little too anxious. Just under-confident enough that you knew her shyness came from a place of worry.

  With Charlotte, the same attitude was regal.

  If I weren’t with Darla, I’d chase women like Charlotte.

  And get shot down.

  “Why are you staring at Charlotte like that?” Liam asked me, clearly changing the subject to take the heat off himself.

  “Because she’s figured out that you’re hot for my ass and I’m trying to telepathically communicate my distaste for you.”

  “It worked,” Charlotte said.

  “Hey!” Liam yelped. “I’m the injured party here.”

  “Felled by sushi. You should get a Purple Heart,” she joked.

  “How about a Green Face,” he muttered.

  “How about a stack of green?” Darla thrust his wad of cash at him. “Here. That should take your mind off my boyfriend’s ass.”

  “I was not thinking about Joe’s ass.” He looked at me. “Not seriously.”

  “Suuuuuuuuuure,” all six of us answered at the same time, drawing out the word.

  Liam slumped back against the recliner. “Uncle! Uncle! I give up.”

  “You do have nice tone,” Charlotte said, eyes back on the tablet as she flipped through a series of photos that appeared to be taken by someone who was three feet tall, for every single picture was a direct shot of my ass, balls and cock.

  “You can comment on Joe’s body, but I can’t?”

  “Yes,” said Amy, Charlotte and Darla.

  “There are unwritten rules I will never understand,” Liam hissed.

  “Don’t even try,” Sam advised.

  Darla handed me, Trevor and Sam our respective piles of money. Sam gave his to Amy, while Trev and I shoved ours in our pockets.

  “Now what? What are you guys up to?”

  “Tuesday,” Sam whined. “I think I’m up to puking meals from last Tuesday.”

  Amy winced. “I think we’re going to have a very quiet Christmas. I already called my mom and told her I wasn’t sure Sam and I would make it tomorrow. And then there’s this crazy trip to D.C. that she planned for us to visit my aunt, and...”

  Sam groaned.

  “I think we’ll just binge watch something on Netflix instead.”

  “Do we have to watch Outlander again?” he moaned.

  “No,” Amy said, smoothing the hair off his forehead. She perked up. “We can watch Black Sails!”

  Charlotte burst out laughing.

  Sam just sighed and sipped his soda.

  I looked around the room. The seven of us were in various states of disheveled glory. Darla had been arrested, I got in a fight with my mom, Liam and Sam were recovering from food poisoning, Trevor had a magic pinkie up his ass, and Amy and Charlotte were caretaking for their sick boyfriends.

  Merry Fucking Christmas.

  On the other hand, I had two grand I never expected, the most awesome girlfriend in the world, an amazing best friend I could depend on, and I’d just rooted out yet more hovermotherfuckery from my parental unit and called her on it.

  “Can we go home?” Darla whispered, cozying up to me like a baby kitten seeking serenity.

  I wrapped my arm around her and sank my nose into her thick, blonde hair.

  It smelled like pee.

  “Yeah, we can,” I said, pulling back.

  What I didn’t add was:

  So you can take a shower.

  Because if I said that aloud, Darla would find a plastic baby Jesus and beat me with it.

  And on a night like this, I wasn’t about to tempt fate.

  Chapter Six

  Trevor

  We left Sam and Amy’s place with waves—no hugs—because who wants to hug people who’ve been puking their guts out all day? Especially on Christmas Eve.

  Nobody was really desperate to hug us, either.

  We walked toward the T, to take the Red Line home. I hoped the subway was still running this late, and as I started to worry we’d have to find a rare cab in the middle of the night, I was distracted by the sight of Santa Claus jacking off.

  And a really strange sound, like a woman’s muffled high-pitched groans.

  “It came upon a midnight clear is the name of a fucking Christmas song, man. Not an order,” I shouted to the guy behind the dumpster as we confronted him. I turned away from the shot of spooge I knew was next. That homeless dude was choking the chicken like it was about to shoot hundred dollar bills. />
  Chicken.

  Mavis.

  Aw, fuck.

  An actual chicken on a leash darted by, between a dumpster behind the vegan restaurant and a Tesla Model X parked next to it.

  Ah, Cambridge. Don’t ever change.

  “Nothing I do will ever make her happy,” Joe declared, clearly deep in his own thoughts, his voice tight with worry and fury. I’m not sure how he managed both, but he did.

  “Who, Mavis? She just ran behind that recycling dumpster.”

  “Are you high? You only see Mavis out in public when you’re on something.”

  Just as I was about to defend myself, the chicken ran right over Joe’s foot, dragging its leash.

  “Fucking hell, Trevor, you’re not kidding. That’s Darla’s chicken!” he shouted.

  “Darla has a chicken?”

  “No! It’s Tortilla’s chicken! The guy she was arrested for giving a blow job to behind this vegan restaurant!”

  I placed my hands on Joe’s shoulders. His eyes tracked the chicken. I forced him to make eye contact with me.

  “Joe? Joey?”

  “Don’t call me Joey!”

  “Joseph!”

  That got his attention.

  “What the hell are you on?” I peered closely at his face. “Spice?”

  “I’m not on anything.”

  “Popsicle!” Darla cried out, appearing from the alley. She lunged, going face down in a wet puddle of half-melted snow, her Santa pants dragged around her hips as the chicken pulled at the leash, making a strange gag-cluck.

  Was this really my Christmas?

  “Got her!” Darla crowed.

  “If I’m not on anything right now, I really need to get high after all this,” I said to no one. Joe had broken away from me and picked up the chicken, his face beaming with joy at Darla.

  “You found Popsicle! She’s real!”

  “Of course she’s real.”

  I reached down and carefully slid my hand under the trembling chicken. She flapped her wings, the leash getting caught under one wing, her throat tight and bleating with a bizarre cluck that transported me back to Mavis.

  Two and a half years ago I ate a bag of peyote and stole a chicken. I proposed to her and called her my fiancée. Last year, after Darla broke up with us, I performed a repeat, except the second time I declared Mavis a candidate for president. In Nashua, New Hampshire at a rally.