by Sean Shake
1
fd2065bee0-2
On the First Day of Christmas…
A Secret Lair in an Oak Tree
I was still wearing my Santa suit when the drunk girl in the short red dress stumbled into me.
I had just finished a long day of work and this was the last thing I wanted to deal with.
She tottered on her high heels and I had to grab her arm to prevent her from going to the ground. Her skin was hot to the touch, but in a pleasant, rather than fevery, way.
“You shouldn’t drink and heel,” I told her.
She steadied herself and shook my arm off. She looked up at me. “What?” she asked drunkenly.
I pointed at her red high heels. “Those things are dangerous. Even when sober.”
“I can handle… high heels,” she said, swaying. She squinted at me, then looked me up and down. “Dad?”
Jesus, did I look that old? I couldn’t be more than a couple years older than her. She looked twenty, twenty-one. I’d guess twenty-one by how drunk she was.
Then again, this was Miami, and even at this time of year—especially at this time of year, come to think of it—people partied, and fake IDs were easy to come by.
She yanked on my fake beard, pulling it down.
“You’re not Santa,” she said angrily.
“Don’t let the little kids hear you say that.”
“You’re an impostor,” she spat.
I frowned at her. “Passionate about Santa, huh?”
She held out her arms, gesturing at her outfit, as though this explained everything.
“Right. You okay to get home? Want me to get you an Uber?” I pulled out my phone and opened the Uber app.
I was actually an Uber driver (being Santa was seasonal, obviously, and didn’t pay like it used to), but I’d just finished dealing with a bunch of asshole kids. Dealing with a hot bitchy drunk chick wasn’t my idea of a nightcap.
“I don’t have a home,” she slurred. “Not anymore.” She poked her finger into my chest, then stumbled backward when I didn’t move.
I caught her again before she could fall.
“It’s gone!” she said, eyes filling with tears as she clutched onto me.
Son of a bitch.
Couldn’t I ever get what I wanted?
I’d just worked a twelve-hour shift dealing with snotty little kids who were probably richer and better educated than me. The little bastards. I had to endure them asking for ponies or the latest fad toy.
At least the fidget spinner craze was over. I still had a scar over my right eyebrow from last year when a little boy wouldn’t stop playing with his because his mom said it helped with his autism.
If that little shit was autistic, then I’m fucking Mozart.
I swear he hit me with it on purpose.
It was one of those spiked metal ones too. Toy my ass, that was a deadly weapon.
Anyway, this year all I had to deal with was the usual ridiculous wishes. And a surprising number of kids asking me to make them famous on YouTube or Tick Tock—whatever the hell that was.
And now I had a drunk, crying girl getting makeup, tears—and I hoped not snot—on my Santa suit, which I’d just had dry-cleaned. Miami wasn’t the best place to wear a thick suede costume with fat suit underneath.
At least tonight it was only seventy.
I patted her shoulder. “Let me get you an Uber.” When she didn’t let go and just continued crying on me, I held up my phone over her head and tried to work it with one hand.
It was difficult, and I ended up closing the app.
“Asshole,” I muttered.
The girl pushed away from me and wiped her eyes. Surprisingly she didn’t have mascara running down her cheeks. “I am washing away my sorrows. Sorry if that offends you!”
“No, not you.” I sighed. “What’s your name?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Why? What’s yours?”
I put out my hand. “Nicholas. Nice to meet you.”
Her face changed, all emotion dropping from it. “Nicholas?”
“Yeah.”
“Like, Nish… Nick?”
“Uh, no one calls me that, but yeah. Sure.”
Instead of taking my hand, she hugged me again. “I’m so glad I found you!”
I reluctantly hugged her back, feeling her warmth even through the sleeves of my Santa costume. She wasn’t unattractive. But she was really drunk. “Yeah, okay.”
“I— we— I need to not be sober.”
“Well you’ve got that covered.”
She pulled away and shook her head. “I mean, drunk. I was drowning away… my… lieg. Life. But now, I fround you. And everything’s okay.” She threw up her arms.
“Uh-huh. Right. Well, if you—”
She grabbed my hand and started leading me away.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Where is your motor vehicle?” She stopped suddenly and turned to me. “You do have a motor vehicle, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“You don’t live with your parents, do you? I know that’s hypo… hypocri… hypo… unfair of me, but… well I don’t care.”
“No. Why, you do?”
“Not anyfour.” She turned and started walking again. “Come on.”
“Where are you going?”
“To your vehicle.”
“You’re going the wrong way then.”
She stopped again, and this time I slammed into her.
Our legs got caught up and we went down.
I grabbed her and turned so I wouldn’t fall on top of her.
I landed on my back on the concrete, my head slamming the ground.
Luckily, I was wearing a fat suit which had ample padding around the derrière, and my Santa cap provided some measure of cushion, so I wasn’t too hurt.
She was atop me now, my arms around her waist, and our faces mere inches apart.
Like a goddamn Lifetime movie.
My body started to react like it was programmed to.
“You okay?” I asked.
She blinked, and tried to sit up.
I let go of her so she could and she got to her feet, looking down at me. “You should watch where you’re going.” She put out her hand for me to take.
I waved it off. “Don’t feel like falling again.”
This was Miami, and it was only nine PM, so there were many people around.
Therefore we now had a crowd half-watching our little drama, and I was feeling a bit uncomfortable with the attention.
I was tired, and smelled like little kids—which was not a good smell—and just wanted to go home, shower, have a beer, and pass out watching some shitty Christmas movie rerun. Maybe I’d even go high-class and watch Home Alone.
Though I usually saved that for Christmas day, today had been long and grueling and I deserved a reward.
I got to my feet and brushed myself off, trying to ignore the people watching us. “Look, I’ll get you an Uber, and you can tell them where you want to go, okay?”
“I’m going where you’re going.”
“I’m going home, not to a bar.”
“I told you, I need to get soda.”
“What?’
“Sober,” she said carefully. “Need to get sober. I’ll do that on you.” She frowned. “In you? With you. Yes.”
I shook my head. “Look, I’m not—”
She put her finger to my lips, silencing me. Her aim wasn’t so great though, and it ricocheted off my upper lip, went partly into one nostril, then stretched it to its limit as it continued its course upward, straight into my eye.
/> I recoiled, stumbling backward, clutching my face. My foot caught on something and I went to my padded ass. “Goddammit!” I cried out, tears—or maybe blood—pouring from my eye. “What is wrong with you?”
I heard laughing, and looked up through my one good eye. The drunk girl in the little red dress was covering her face, though I couldn’t tell if in horror or amusement.
A group of teenagers nearby puffing on a vaporizer were laughing hysterically, fumes coming out of their noses, their laughs oddly deep-sounding, like a demon’s.
I flipped them off and stood up. She could call her own goddamn cab.
I walked as fast as I dared with the use of only one eye toward my truck.
A second later, I heard clacking footsteps behind me.
It was her. “What are you doing?” I asked as she came up beside me.
“Going home with you.”
“I don’t take drunk girls home.”
“Why not?”
“I just… don’t. Okay? Leave me alone.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can. Just stop walking, and then we’ll never see each other again.”
“No, Nicholas, you have to help. But I need to sleep and sober up first.”
“Help with what?” I asked, annoyed.
There was no way in hell I was letting her get in my truck with me. Unfortunately, I had one of those keyless entry things, and I wasn’t sure I could unlock only one door. At least I didn’t know how to do it.
“To save Christmas.”
2
I looked over at the girl sitting in the passenger seat of my truck.
Like I’d feared, I hadn’t been able to just unlock my door, and she’d gotten in without asking.
I sat there, telling her to get out, but she hadn’t listened, just closed her eyes.
And then she started snoring.
Which she was still doing now, quietly. I could just barely hear it over the road noise.
What was I supposed to do with a beautiful girl in an incredibly short dress?
Don’t answer that question, I told my brain.
I guessed I could drive her to a shelter or hospital, but something made me not want to do that. Maybe it was the hug, or maybe it was the way she said she needed my help.
She was very drunk, so I didn’t put much stock in her asking for my help to save Christmas.
Maybe she had a dog named Christmas. Or a cat. I hoped it was a dog. If she had a pet at all.
Maybe she needed money? Maybe she had a little brother or sister, and Christmas would be ruined—in her eyes—if they didn’t get gifts.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I pulled into my apartment parking lot, turned the truck off, and then looked over at her.
I sat there, tapping steering wheel, trying to think of what to do.
Was I really gonna bring a strange girl into my apartment?
I had done it before, several times—okay, a couple—but under much different circumstances.
This girl could be a psychopath. She could try to kill me while I was sleeping.
But I somehow doubted that.
I sighed, got out, and went around to her side and opened the door.
Luckily she wasn’t leaning against the door, because I’d forgotten to check for that before I’d opened it.
“Hey,” I said. “We’re here. Come on.”
She didn’t respond.
I shook her by the shoulder.
Nothing.
Maybe I could leave her in my truck, let her sleep it off here.
But if she woke up in the middle the night and had to vomit, or do something else, I really didn’t want to be cleaning it out of my truck.
I shook her again and this time got a faint groan.
She tried to slap my hand away.
“Come on,” I said, ignoring her protests, “we’re here. We’re at my house. Let’s go save Christmas.”
“Christmas,” she muttered.
“Yes, Christmas. Now come on.”
She didn’t move.
“Dammit.”
I reached in and unbuckled her seatbelt—which I’d had to put on her while driving when my truck wouldn’t shut up about it—then got my hands under her knees and back and lifted her out.
Hitting her head on the door as I did.
I cringed, but she didn’t wake up.
“Sorry,” I said. She might feel that in the morning.
Hopefully it would be masked by the hangover though.
I kicked the door shut and carried her up to my apartment.
I lived on the fourth floor, and so by the time I reached the door to my apartment, I was sweating. The fat suit and the Santa outfit over it really didn’t help.
Nor did the still about 70° Miami night. Sometimes I wished I lived somewhere cold. Like Michigan. Maybe the North Pole.
I unlocked my door, trying not to drop sleeping beauty, and carried her in.
The apartment was dark, but I didn’t have much, so only had to make sure I didn’t knock her head again on a wall.
In my bedroom, I set her down on the bed, then stood back and looked at her.
After a second of consideration, I removed her high heels.
No one should have to sleep in shoes—it’s inhumane—but I wasn’t gonna try removing anything other than that.
Besides, that dress she was wearing didn’t have any panty or bra lines.
Suppressing the urge to see if indeed she wasn’t wearing anything under it, I instead grabbed the comforter from the bottom of the unmade bed and covered her with it.
I brushed her bleach-blonde hair away from her face and behind her ear.
Even drunk like this, she was really beautiful, and just the contact of my fingers on her cheek made my body beg for more.
I went to the kitchen to grab a bowl—one of those metal mixing ones which I’d never got around to using—and brought it in and set it on the floor next to her in case she got sick during the night. Then I went back and filled a glass with water and set it too on the floor, since I didn’t have a nightstand.
I decided to leave the light on in case she woke up during the night.
I didn’t want her to be disoriented and wondering where she was. Any more than she was already was going to be. And I didn’t want her stumbling into a wall or stepping on the glass and injuring herself.
I closed the door until it was open just a crack, and then went out to my living room.
And groaned.
Right, I didn’t have a couch. I didn’t exactly spend a lot of time at my apartment, and so I figured why waste money I don’t have on furniture? All I needed was a bed.
The bed was big enough for two—it was a queen—but I wasn’t gonna risk that. Much as I’d like to sleep in the same bed with her… Well, I just wasn’t going to do it.
I went back to the bedroom, but instead of getting on the bed next to her, grabbed a pillow, then dug through my closet for an extra blanket.
I didn’t have one, but I did have a sleeping bag, so I grabbed that and went back to my living room, tossed the sleeping bag and pillow on the ground, then started the laborious process of pulling off the Santa suit.
After ten minutes I stood in the middle of a Santa-themed crime scene: beard, wig, fake glasses, fat suit, and red suede outfit scattered around me on the floor. Then I peeled my underclothes—T-shirt, shorts, boxers—off and carried them to my bedroom to dump them in the hamper.
It is only as I was turning around to leave and I spotted her on the bed, that I realized I was naked.
I stood frozen, my mind insisting how good it would feel to pass out in my bed, and so what if I was naked?
I left the room much more carefully and quietly than I’d entered and headed to the shower.
A few minutes later, clean and wearing only a towel, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a can of beer, settled on my sleeping bag, cracked open the beer, and started browsing the internet on my phone, the only TV being
the one in my bedroom.
3
Something kicked my side and I groaned.
“Come on, get up. We have work to do.”
“Stop,” I mumbled, swiping futilely at whatever had hit me, but finding only air.
I tried to roll over and pull the covers over me, but I didn’t have any covers to pull over.
Then my head smacked the ground as my pillow was yanked away from me.
“Come on. This is important. You can sleep when you’re dead.”
I peeled open my eyes and squinted up at the figure above me.
“What the—” Who was this girl? I didn’t remember bring—
Then I did.
She was still wearing the same short red dress with white trim.
“What are you doing?”
“Up, get up. We have work to do.” She tossed the pillow, which she’d so rudely yanked out from under my head, a few feet away. Out of my reach unless I got up.
“You’ve already said that. Multiple times. What work?” I knew it was a bad idea to let her stay here.
I reached for my beer, planning on taking a swig—or three—but found it empty.
I grunted, crushed the can, and tossed it toward the kitchen.
Where it bounced off the counter, hit the trashcan—which was closed—and fell to the floor, laying there sadly.
The girl looked at the trashcan then back to me. “You drunk?”
“I wish.” Today was my day off, and that was my plan. Get drunk. But now I had a beautiful girl to deal with.
That said, she was sober now, and if we got drunk together…
“That’s good. You can’t be drunk. In fact you need to stop drinking.”
“Who made you my AA sponsor?”
“I did. If we’re going to save Christmas, you need to be sober.”
“Hold on, why are we talking about my sobriety? You’re the one who was blackout-drunk last night.”
“Yes, that was a mistake. I’m sober now, and I’ve realized the error of my ways.”
“That’s very enlightened of you,” I said, closing my eyes, hoping she’d go away.
“I’m guessing you already took a shower last night?”
I nodded, but didn’t look at her.
“Good. I don’t remember much from last night, but I do remember you smelled funny.”
“That wasn’t me,” I replied, already feeling myself drifting off again. “Was all the kids that sat on my lap.”