Red Hot Christmas

by Carmen Falcone

  He shrugged. It wasn’t like he was one hundred percent certain himself.

  “Your dinner will be getting ruined.” She pulled the covers up a little further and tucked her hands back under.

  “You sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll be leaving at five thirty. Fraser won’t be up till at least seven. I’ll leave him a note and he can call me on my cell if he needs to. But he probably won’t even bat an eyelid. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Stupid?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He wasn’t sure he did, but she rolled away from him and he wasn’t about to try and find out. Talking to a woman’s back while he stood in her bedroom doorway was not his idea of good evening conversation. Especially when he could so readily picture what was under the covers.

  He’d set his alarm for five thirty just in case, and was up making coffee when Gabby almost ran through the kitchen, already talking on her cell. Giving her a gallant salute, Nicolas saw a flicker of a smile as she rushed out the door. Good.

  Nicolas looked out over the city. He often got up early, but rarely had the opportunity to watch the city wake up without rushing out himself. The City never really slept, it was why he’d had total block-out drapes fitted in all the bedrooms, but it did doze. Now in the dawn, the office lights that had been switched off were starting to blink on across his view. The sky still had some time before it began to lighten naturally, but with all the artificial light the city produced, especially with the Christmas decorations out in full, it seemed like the sun would be up any minute. As if to prove his observation correct, his cell buzzed where he’d set it on the kitchen bench.

  “Morganti,” he said to the unknown caller.

  “Nicolas. I haven’t woken you have I?” It was an old male voice. One that was used to commanding authority.

  “I was awake.” Nicolas paused. The man sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place him. He waited for more of a clue in case he should have known who it was.

  “Sorry to ring you but I thought I’d still be able to do it. Turns out I can’t, so you’ll have to step into the roll this year after all.”

  “The roll?” Despite his calm tone, Nicolas’s curiosity was well and truly peaked.

  “It’s tradition. Owner at Able’s has always done it. It’s usually an Able of course, but you’ll have to do.”

  Finally Nicolas placed the voice. Old Mr. Able, with a rattle in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “What is it you want me to sort out for you?”

  The old man hesitated. Nicolas’s tone obviously struck a nerve. “The grotto today. I can get my assistant to send round the suit now. She’ll help you get into it.”

  “I’ve plenty of suits thank you.” And they were better cut than anything he’d ever seen Mr. Able in.

  Again the pause. “You’ve got a Santa suit?”

  If it hadn’t been impossible, Nicolas would have sworn he heard a penny drop. “No. Sorry. I was thinking of something else.”

  “Right. So give me your address and my assistant will be round shortly. You’ll need extra padding, but at least we’re a similar height. She said she can find a beard for you, can’t expect you to grow one like mine in the next hour.” The old man laughed but trailed off into a cough.

  “Hang on.” Nicolas’s head began to catch up with the conversation. “You want me to be Santa. Today?”

  “Of course. Are you on drugs, boy? What have we just been talking about?”

  Curmudgeon. Nicolas gritted his teeth. “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you own Able’s now. Keep up. This was going to be my last year. But the Doc has told me I’m not allowed to do it. Not because I can’t, you understand, just because of the kiddies. Wouldn’t want them catching this flu or whatever it is.”

  It sounded a lot worse than the flu, but Nicolas wasn’t about to argue. “So you want me to be Santa. Today. At the grotto launch?”

  “Good you’re not entirely dimwitted. It’s just for the opening. They hire some professional for the rest of the time. But it’s tradition. The owner has always been the opening day Santa.”

  “Why wasn’t I told this before?”

  “Doesn’t really matter now does it? Give me your address so Maryanne can make sure the suit fits you. You have to be down there at eight thirty.”

  Suddenly the full impact of what he was going to spend his day doing hit Nicolas. “What am I supposed to say? What if one of them cries? Hell, I’m crap with kids.” Putting Fraser in front of a television set in his own home was one thing, playing nice with hundreds of stressed children all day, was another.

  “Just have to fake it. And don’t let them scare you. They’re like dogs. Can smell fear on you.”

  “I’m not scared of children.”

  “Not the kids. Their parents. They all want their little darlings to get the best picture with Santa. Look the prettiest, yadayada. Let the elves do their thing, otherwise you spend too long with each kid and they’ll think you’re a nebbish.”

  “A what?”

  “Idiot. Never mind. Address.”

  Nicolas gave him his address and hung up. Santa. Might as well wrap him in a bow and call him Christmas, dear lord. Then he spotted Fraser’s toy car. Damn.

  In between showering and eating breakfast, Nicolas had rung Tessa who was out of town, and a professional sitter service, but it just hadn’t seemed right leaving Fraser with someone he didn’t know. Talking with Tessa had given him an idea though and at the same time old Mr. Able’s assistant arrived, Nicolas’s driver arrived with an extra package.

  Struggling into the bright red pants and coat, Nicolas couldn’t believe what he was going to spend his Saturday doing. He heard a gasp behind him and turned around to see Fraser’s eyes wide and his mouth almost dragging on the floor.

  “You’re Santa?”

  Nicolas dredged up a smile. Great. The kid was still a believer. How was he supposed to explain this one? “Morning buddy. Did you have a good sleep?”

  Fraser nodded and managed to shut his mouth.

  “I’m not really Santa. You know that don’t you?”

  “Then why are you wearing his suit?”

  Sharp kid. “Well. Santa is right in the middle of supervising his elves at the moment. You know, for the big day. But because there are so many children that haven’t sent him their letters yet, he asked me to help out.” Fraser’s eyes seemed to be following Nicolas’s every word. The boy still stood transfixed in the hallway, his PJ’s bunched up, his dark hair disheveled. It was a pretty average explanation, the one every parent used when they weren’t ready to impart the truth to their bright eyed darlings. And a truth that Nicolas’s grandmother hadn’t bothered with. He’d known there was no Santa from the outset.

  “I’m going to note down what everyone who comes to Able’s wants for Christmas, and then I sent a master list to Santa,” Nicolas finished.

  “The real Santa?”

  “Sure.” It wasn’t exactly lying, Nicolas decided. The parents who’d be buying the presents would be hearing, and buying the gifts. Preferably at Able’s.

  “So you know the real Santa? That’s cool. What’s he like?”

  Nicolas looked at his watch. “He’s a top guy. Now I promised your Mommy that we’d hang out together today. So I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Fraser tipped his head to the side. “Okay.”

  Grabbing the bag his driver had brought, Nicolas pulled the elf costume out of its packaging. “Thought you could be my helper.” Fraser’s expression lit up as if he’d swallowed a bowl of Christmas lights.

  “I take it that’s a good idea.”

  Fraser just nodded.

  “Okay. Breakfast first, then we’ll get you into this.”

  As Fraser gulped his cereal, Nicolas finished stuffing the rest of the padding into his suit.

  “He looks just like his daddy.” Old Mr. Able’s assistant said it quietly but
Nicolas just about dropped the white beard he was trying to work out how to apply. He followed her gaze and watched Fraser pull at his lip with his left hand, just like Nicolas did when he was concentrating. Coincidence. The kid had been here a couple of days, and he was clever, probably just copying the alpha male of the family. Evolutionary survival tactics, pure and simple.

  Still. Nicolas looked closer at Fraser. Dark grey eyes. Dark hair. Maybe even the hint of a square jaw under his childish smile. Don’t be ridiculous. Nicolas changed his gaze to the assistant. She was all of twenty years old, probably thought Santa was real herself, what did she know. Even so, something walked over Nicolas’s skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

  His fake beard firmly fixed to his face with more glue than he wanted to think about, Nicolas turned to Fraser to check the full effect. “Ho, ho, ho.”

  Fraser clapped and cracked into gleeful giggles, all the more adorable as he was ready to go in his elfin outfit and looked like he really might have stepped from a Christmas catalogue.

  “Right then, we better go. Don’t forget to call me Santa, not Nicolas,” Nicolas instructed Fraser.

  “Although Saint Nick works,” the assistant added.

  Nicolas nodded, the irony wasn’t lost on him.

  Fraser tugged on his bottom lip again and Nicolas blanched. The goose bumps flared. An idea flashed. “Just a minute,” he said. He couldn’t face a day full of children and their potentially nagging parents if he was distant and moody. Best to set his mind at rest. Diving into his office he pulled out an album from the bottom draw of his desk. If it weren’t for Tessa’s immaculate housekeeping it would have been dusty, but as he turned the pages the images swam up at him as if he’d looked at them yesterday.

  He found the page he was searching for and everything else fell away. Sitting down heavily, Nicolas squinted closer at the photographs of himself as a young boy. Dark hair, dark grey eyes. Compared to the battered tricycle he stood beside in one picture, he seemed tall, gangly even, but he wasn’t gawky. In fact his face was thoughtful, his eyes wide above well pronounced cheek bones and warmly toned skin. His lips were full, even as a child, and in one of the pictures he pulled on his bottom lip with his left hand.

  They could have been photos of Fraser taken moments ago.

  Nicolas closed the album and slid it back in the drawer without letting out his breath. A son? His son? Fraser? Somewhere, deep inside, a part of him refused to believe that Gabby could have played him. Maybe she’d gone along with his invitation to stay in his apartment because she wanted to reunite him with Fraser. Maybe she’d been seeking him out all this time, hoping to run into him, hoping to unite them as a family. Dream on. When he exhaled, that place of hope evaporated. Gabby Phillips had played him, and played him good.

  Holding onto the edge of his desk, Nicolas’s knuckles turned white.

  She’d let him believe she’d cheated on him so she could hide the fact that Fraser was his kid. Five years old. Nicolas did the math again, just to check. Idiot. Of course he’s yours.

  Now that he’d seen the photos, he was astounded he hadn’t noticed the resemblance before. Perhaps he figured all kids looked alike. They did in a way. Didn’t they? It wasn’t like he’d spent much time with children.

  He hadn’t been looking for signs either. The thought that he might have a child somewhere in the world he didn’t know about had been inconceivable—the child support requests would have come thick and fast if he had.

  But not from her.

  He banished the flicker of optimism the thought provided. No. She hadn’t bothered coming after him for child support because she knew she’d have no chance against him if it came to a custody battle. Given his wealth and influence, and her history of debt, no judge would grant her full custody. And maybe she was right to fear what he’d do when he found out.

  “No one steals from me twice,” he muttered. It had been her that set up everything with her father. Her that had vigorously talked him into it. And you that fell for it. Idiot. She’d taken so much from him, his money, his faith in women, and now his son. You don’t even like children. That wasn’t the point.

  “Are you ready Santa?”

  Nicolas shook his head to rid it of the fuzzy spots in his vision. Fraser. His son. It wasn’t the kid’s fault his mother was incapable of honesty.

  Oh dear lord. He was about to be Santa for a whole day. Nicolas’s shoulders were so tight it felt like his muscles might actually cut off his air supply. Fraser. Christmas. You can do this. Realizing the child had already slipped into character and was carefully calling him Santa, Nicolas rallied. “Ho ho ho. Are we ready to go?”

  Fraser beamed. “You made a rhyme. That’s cool. I’m ready to go, into the snow.”

  Nicolas softened. He could do this. He just had to channel his inner calm, rock out a poker face and remember the profit margin he was about to increase for Able’s. Lucky the beard helped conceal his expression.

  Standing, he walked out of the office, determined to be clear headed for the day. Determined to not think of Fraser as his son until he’d had time to digest the situation further. Only Fraser reached up and took his hand as they walked out the door. A little of Nicolas’s heart melted. The kid was so trusting, so open. How could he live like that when the world was so full of deceit? The wave of protectiveness that enveloped him took Nicolas by surprise and he had to clear his throat a little to loosen the lump that suddenly lodged there.

  To think he’d once thought that having a kid around was a burden. A distracting noise that just got in the way of getting on with life. He looked down at Fraser again, standing waiting for the elevator. He wasn’t a burden. In fact he was enjoying the sense of fun the kid brought to everything.

  Through his white cotton gloves the child’s hand was warm, too warm. “You a bit nervous?” he said to Fraser.

  His son nodded.

  “You’re going to be the best Santa elf ever,” said Nicolas. “Maybe the best Santa elf in the world.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe. I’ll make sure and tell Santa about our day and then he’ll let me know.”

  “You’re going to talk to Santa about me?” Fraser’s eyes were like saucers.

  “Of course,” Nicolas smiled. “How else would he know if you’ve been naughty or nice?”

  “I thought that was just the words to a song,” said Fraser and Nicolas laughed. The first proper laugh he’d had all day. Forget smart, this kid was gifted. Probably comes from my side of the family.

  The echo of the laughter stayed with Nicolas all the way down town, and when he walked into Able’s from the back entrance he let out a genuine “Ho ho ho,” that brought the team still titivating the grotto all out to clap.

  Fraser bounced up and down on his toes in excitement, all signs of nerves gone, and Nicolas decided that this was going to be the first day for the two of them. The first day of the history they were about to build together.

  Chapter Ten

  “Where the heck is Santa?” Gabby flicked her focus between the pile of papers she’d been signing off all morning and her cell. The call log was empty and Santa was a no show. “He’s more than a bit late now. You’d think he might have called. He was going to come and check in so I could brief him on this week’s specials.”

  “He’s already here.”

  Gabby looked to where one of her assistant’s pointed and did a double take. “That’s not Mr. Able.”

  “He’s sick. But he arranged his own replacement.”

  “Why didn’t he call me? I could have sorted it. Who is this guy? Oh man, this is a disaster. Some random with customer’s children on his knee? If the paper’s find out I’ll be toast. If Nicolas finds out—“

  “Ah, I’m pretty sure he already knows.”

  “What!” Gabby spun on her assistant, eyes bulging, ready formed words falling unspoken off her tongue.

  “He’s Santa. Nicolas Morganti is Santa. Mr. Able rang him. Last m
inute. Tradition. Yadayada.”

  Gabby squinted over at the fat man with a white beard. Was that really Nicolas? Maybe, if you took away the stuffing and white beard… But if that was Nicolas, where was Fraser? Her hands started to get clammy.

  “Mommy!”

  A Christmas elf bounced up to her and Gabby did a double take. “Fraser?”

  He nodded, the glee obvious as his smile reached from ear to ear. “I’m helping Nicolas—I mean Santa—today and then he’s going to tell the real Santa that I’ve been real good so I can get better presents and so that Santa knows there are still some good boys in the world, not just naughty ones that don’t do their homework or brush their teeth.”

  “Really?” If Fraser hadn’t looked so serious, Gabby would have fallen about laughing. God the kid had a great imagination.

  “Yep.” He beckoned her down and she crouched so he could whisper in her ear. “Nicolas isn’t the real Santa. But I’m calling him Santa so other people don’t find out. Santa’s real busy. Don’t worry,” he patted her shoulder in a very grown up manner. “I don’t think anyone’s going to notice. He makes quite a good Santa. He’s a bit skinny, but they’re putting an extra pillow on his tummy. I think it will all work out okay.”

  It was Gabby’s turn to nod and she kept her face as serious as she could manage to match Fraser’s earnest expression. “Well we’ll make sure you’re all set up then. Better not let on to anyone that you know the secret about Santa.” Nicolas as Secret Santa, that was a good one. He hardly had a knack for spreading joy.

  “Oh no. I’m good at secrets.” Fraser flashed another grin then looked around as if to check that no one was listening. “I’m a secret elf too. Don’t tell.”

  “Promise,” said Gabby her wry thoughts of Nicolas instantly diminished in the face of Fraser’s charming solemnity.

  Fraser took her hand and started tugging her over to where Nicolas was chatting to one of her team. Gabby suddenly had a wave of dizziness, all the weeks of work were about to come to fruition—she looked at her watch—holy crap sandwich, in about two minutes. She spoke into her walkie talkie. “Standing by for opening in two minutes everyone.”