A Naughty Santa Gram

by Alyssa D Mynx

  "Straight, it is," Jenna agrees.

  Twenty minutes later, Drake sends Sarah in to tell us to, and I quote, "Move your asses along before I fire you."

  "Hmm. Didn't know I was on his payroll." Jenna smirks.

  "Apparently, you are. Ok, Sarah, what do we need to do or bring?" I ask, trying not to make her job too difficult when it comes to me. A little difficulty is fine, but just not too difficult.

  "I'll bring your outfits, and I have a list of accessories to bring out with me. If you will just head out and continue down the hall to our back room, you'll find the photo shoot set up there," Sarah explains, opening the tote she brought and going through my accessories. "I'm sorry you'll have to reorganize this, but he is having a fit. You'd best get going. Oh, and you're supposed to bring Jenna and any of the other makeup she needs to give you the glam look,” she finishes, starting to add things to her tote.

  "Go on, love," Jenna says, "I'll grab the makeup. Just throw on your robe and head out there. I'll be right behind you."

  "Fine, see you all in a few." I nod and stalk off barefoot. Why barefoot? Because I can, and who knows what they want me to wear. All I have here is a pair of black flats, black heels, and black boots, so I'm guessing Sarah is grabbing them.

  Walking down the hall and entering the big room on the right, I find a whole photography studio has been set up. There's a bunch of those big ass light things that look like umbrellas, some white wall material thing, plus what looks like a few backgrounds on the side. There are three people milling around, checking cameras and angles, I assume. Two are women dressed in black, and the third is that super cute guy, Ethan, from before. Drake and the other Santas are nowhere to be found, so I wander around.

  The windows face the back end of the building, so the north side. I head over to the wall of windows and look out, glancing over the trees and the small running track that passes by. There's someone out running, a Santa, I presume. It's almost seven, so the sun has set, but the sky is still lit up in brilliant colors. Shades of violet and red fill the sky, with some pink and orange tendrils leaking to the darker blue of the western horizon.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?” a warm tenor voice sounds from beside me.

  I glance to the side, and Ethan is next to me. "It is. It's calming and peaceful.”

  "Oh? It reminds me of you. Well, your hair. It, like you, is beautiful," he whispers, still looking out the window.

  "Oh, um, thank you," I fumble.

  “Of course. Men and women who have beauty on the inside that shines to the outside should be told that.”

  I chuckle. “Such a charmer. Do you flirt with all of your clients this way?”

  “Only the ones with beautifully-colored hair.” He winks.

  “I see. Well, I see more beauty outside than on my head. It reminds me of home.” Really, it reminds me of those nights I escaped home and went to my best friend Danielle’s house, where we would watch the sun set, just talking on her balcony.

  "Where are you from that it reminds you of home?" he asks, taking a sip from the water he's carrying.

  "Kansas, if you can believe it," I respond, a few of the more dark memories dancing across my mind. I cross and rub my arms as we look out the window together, focusing on the good memories to bring me back.

  "What brought you to LA, if you don't mind me asking?" I see him turning towards me through my peripheral vision.

  I hesitate, wondering how to exclude the trauma from the night I left.

  "College, years ago. I got a full ride to UCLA, and at three in the morning a week before school started, I got in the car and just drove." I refrain from turning towards him, for fear he will see the darkness of my past in my eyes.

  "Your parents didn't take you?" he inquires, surprise thick in his voice.

  I snort, thinking of the shit parents I have. I turn towards him, offer my hand, and respond, "Nah, they couldn’t give two fucks about me by that time. Anyways, hi. I'm Blake."

  He reaches out to give my hand a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, Blake. I'm Ethan, a friend of Drake’s."

  "Hi Ethan. So," I muse, letting go of his hand, "a friend of Bossman's. How's that possible? The man's a beast."

  Ethan chuckles. "He definitely has some quirks, that's for sure, but we all do. Guy's one of my best friends. He actually got me started doing photography back in the day, gave me my first camera when my dad wanted me to play football, and told me to go take pictures of some pretty shit. So here I am."

  I smirk and let out a little snort with my headshake. "And here you are.”

  "And here I am. Alrighty, folks, let's get this show on the road," my bestie exclaims, grabbing me by the arm and frog marching me over to the rolling closet that contains my clothes, shoes, and accessories. "Mister photographer, is there any outfit you'd like her in first?" she asks

  "Let's start with simple and work our way to glamorous. Drake, sir? Any preferences?"

  I spin around, surprised to see Bossman here.

  "I for sure want pictures in the red silk dress and the leotard as well. Beyond that, have at it, ladies. I'll just be here checking in on things."

  "Well, alright then. Hairdresser’s choice. Lets just go ahead and start with the leotard. There's a changing panel in the corner for you. I'll get your accessories for this outfit. Now the real question is, do we want longer sleeves to cover your tats, or do we show them to the world?" Jenna muses.

  "Leave them showing," Drake calls, staring at his phone. "They're a part of what makes Blake, well, Blake."

  "Alright, Bossman has spoken. Let's get moving people, some of us have places to go yet tonight," Jenna calls out.

  "Yeah, bed," I call back.

  "Har har," she snarks. "Get your damned leotard on and get out there."

  I nab the leotard she tosses at me and head to the back of the room to the changing corner. Dropping the robe, I struggle into the tight spandex. They've put a mirror back here, so I get to check myself out before anyone else does. I literally can't wear a bra or underwear in this thing; it would just ruin the lines. Everything is covered in the front, all the way up to my neck, but the back... oh, the back.

  This baby is basically a two-piece, except my front is completely covered to a high neck. Then the back is open all the way to the top of my ass. You can see a piece of my side tattoo of a Victorian woman with some red and blue pops of color. Half her face is rotting away. Next, my eyes land on the ink painting on my left upper arm of my favorite man, Adam Lambert. Then there's the kid with the hat. I don't remember getting that one, pretty sure I was drunk that night.

  I've almost completed part of my sleeve on that arm. I've got the dragon eye on my hand, one of the first I’d had done, and one of my favorites. You can't see it in this outfit, but I have an underboob tattoo in the mandala style. That one hurt like a bitch, but oh is it worth it when I wear a bikini.

  "Woman!" Jenna hollers at me. "You almost ready? Quit checking out your ass. We all know it's amazing."

  I chuckle at that and come out from behind the frame.

  "Here," she says, handing me some furry cuffs and a Santa hat.

  "What if I don't want to wear these? Huh? What if I think this is dumb?" I complain.

  "My my, talker, eh? I know a better use for that mouth," Ethan says, winking at me. He pulls out a huge red and white striped lollipop.

  "Oh yeah, I can make this work," I snicker. I can make this the dirtiest lollipop they've ever seen.

  Five am comes way too early the next morning, and my body is protesting. Not because I've been working out though. No, it's protesting changing so many times last night. We ended up taking a gazillion pictures and changing outfits over ten times.

  I grab my phone and check my schedule, finding that a Copper has been added between the previous two appointments I’d had last night. A sudden pounding starts on the door.

  "Bitch," calls Jenna, "I know you're in there and awake. I heard your alarm. Up and at ‘em, chickadee. It's tim
e to get you prettied up for the first day with makeup," she sings.

  Contemplating cutting off my BBF's hair in the middle of the night, I decide against it and groan as I roll off the bed.

  I stagger to the door, open it, and say, "No." Without further conversation, I close the door.

  Or at least try. Jenna sticks a foot in and stops me, exclaiming, "Ah ah ah, we've got to get you prettied up. I mean, look at yourself."

  "You know you're the most annoying person ever, right?" I ask, opening the door and pushing past the evil giraffe blocking the way.

  "Yes, but you love me," she chimes back.

  I go out the door and take a hard left, stopping in front of her huge mirror.

  "Woah," is all I can say.

  "Yup, well, I did tell you to wash your face and brush out the curls last night, did I not?" Jenna smirks.

  "Shut up," I moan, moving closer to take stock of the hot mess I am.

  My elegant curls from the glamour shots the night before have somehow morphed into the aftermath of an angry bird trying to build a nest that exploded everywhere. I reach up and pull out a bobby pin. "Well, shit."

  Jenna just giggles. "I hate to say I told you so, but..." she trails off.

  "Ok, next time, strap me down and make me take out the pins. And wipe my face."

  Because my face is another matter entirely. We'd ended with a glamorous night look, and let's just say I look like a badly used woman of the night now. My glorious winged liner is smudged everywhere, the dark eye shadow is up to my hairline, the glitter eye shadow we added has dusted my whole face and chest with glitter, and the dark lipstick is smeared everywhere. Even the collar of my big t-shirt didn't escape the madness of last night; it has foundation along the top and spots where it looks like I tried to wipe at my face.

  I turn to my favorite hairdresser in the world and say one word: "Help."

  She giggles and nabs my arm, leading me to the bathroom. "Here," she demands, "sit on the toilet, and we will get you on your way to looking, well, human again.” A bright and completely unnecessary smile lights up her face as she sings, “You'll be human again, just be human again."

  "Great," I exclaim, "now I'll be thinking of that movie all day. And we're going to have to watch it. Damn you, girl."

  "Oh, you'll be fine." She waves me off, picking out bobby pins.

  "Easy for you to say. That's my favorite movie of, like, all time."

  "Good for you. There," she states, "last bobby pin. Now, let's work on getting these tangles out. We've got two options. Do some heavy leave-in conditioner and work on it like that, or slap a shit ton of conditioner on after we wet it down and let it sit, then you work on it in the shower. So, will it be option one or two?"

  "Depends. Are you going to be the one ripping through my hair? Can you even be gentle? Or should I do it myself?" I ask, raising my brows in question.

  "Your decision, but I won't pity you."

  "Yeah, I'm just gonna slap on a ton of conditioner in the shower and let it sit while I shave then brush it out myself, mmmkay?" I say, terrified it will be a repeat of the hair pulling of my childhood.

  "Suit yourself. What time's your first 'gram today? I’m assuming earlier than later, based on your alarm?"

  "Ten-thirty Basic Balloon. Then I have a noon Copper package, so I'm there ‘til three-thirty, then a five Basic Balloon again," I answer, heading back to my room for something clean to put on afterwards.

  "Remind me what those mean again?" Jenna hollers from the bathroom.

  "Basic is in costume with a gift, either balloons, chocolates, something the giver bought them, or the glitter bomb. It's just a short delivery. Copper is like a three and a half hour date in Santa apparel with one of the gifts. Oh, and I have to go find a Santa-ish bathing suit this morning or after the first 'gram."

  "Fun. Now, you'd better get going. Makeup might take a while."

  "Alright, alright, you got it. Geesh, I'm coming," I whine, heading back to the bathroom. "Get out unless you're joining me."

  Jenna snorts. "Sorry, love. You're cute but wrong team," she calls, meandering out of the bathroom and closing the door.

  "Dork," I mutter.

  "I heard that," Jenna shouts from the other side.

  "Good," I call back. Gotta love my bestie.

  Having decided to drive myself today (sorry Dennis), I now have to deal with finding a parking spot just off the North Boyle bakery. It's way too close to downtown Los Angeles for my taste, and I end up having to pay to park. Note to self, next time I take a driver and let them deal with all this hassle.

  Grabbing the balloons and the card that was dropped off for this lady, I trek the many many blocks in my skimpy Santa outfit, getting catcalls and whistles the whole way.

  Reaching the bakery, I take a moment to find my calm, you know, just saying a little prayer that nobody throws cake or something at me for being a girl Santa instead of the regular guy Santa. Bossman said my main picture went up around one this morning, and that the rest will be added later as they are edited. Hence the Copper, I hope.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I open the door and walk in.

  "Be with you in a minute," a slightly raspy voice calls out.

  The place is empty, just like the instructions said it would be at this time of day, and I find my mark is the one who spoke. I walk up to the counter.

  "Granny Apple, you've been a naughty girl this year," I state matter of factly, just as the instructions requested.

  The gray-haired and ample-bodied woman behind the counter pops up faster than someone her age usually can. She takes one look at me and just starts to bust a gut.

  "Umm... I'm sorry?" I answer, lost as to why she's laughing so hard.

  "Oh, darling girl, don't be sorry," she giggles. "My granddaughters just made their crazy scheme so much better."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand, ma'am. Uh, here," I stammer, thrusting the balloons and cards in her face across the counter.

  "Thanks, dear." She chuckles again. "Here, pick yourself out something and let’s chat for a few minutes. You caught me during a break, so let's see what we can chit chat about.”

  I shrug, pointing to a long john with Bavarian cream that is calling my name. She wraps it up, hands it to me along with a cup of coffee because, "Your eyes seem like they need it," and ushers me to a seat.

  I sit and take a deep breath in through my nose, practically tasting every delight in here. The scent of warm bread fills the air, sprinkled with cinnamon and a touch of chocolate. Bringing the coffee to my nose, the fresh dark brew promises to feed me straight to my soul as soon as I drown it in creamer.

  "Well," Granny Apple puffs, setting her curved frame into the seat across from me, "I think I got the better end of the deal this year, company vs. male innuendos." She smiles.

  I sigh. "I don't know why you'd say that. Obviously you were supposed to get a Mister Santa, not the Miss Santa." I prop my chin on one hand and play with my donut.

  "I was, but the boys all run in, say the same silly line, drop off the present with a peck on the cheek, and are off in minutes. You are willing to sit down with me and relax for a minute. In the ten years since my husband died and those little minxes of mine decided I needed male company, I've never gotten to talk with a Santa, and you seem like you needed it too," she ruminates.

  "I suppose you're right," I grumble, breaking my long john in half and bringing one piece to my face. I wrap my lips around the big ole thing, and I can already tell this little prince is going to take me straight to nirvana.

  "ERMAGERD!" I exclaim through my bite, savoring it yet chewing fast so I can have more. "What dark magic do you put in this thing, and how have I never even heard of you before?" I cry, totally doing naughty things to this donut in my mind.

  Granny Apple chuckles and shakes her head. "Family secret, darling, but I'm glad to know I have a new fan."

  I finish my bite and slow down a bit, licking my fingers and lips. "Granny Apple— wait, is th
at really your name?" I inquire, truly interested to know.

  Again she giggles. "Yes, Apple is my name. I have a sister named Holly, another named Peach, and a brother named Bergamot. My parents were very... unique. Now what about you, I didn't catch a name?"

  "Oh, sorry, I'm Blake."

  "Ah, I can see the mix up then," Granny, as I've started to refer to her in my head, says. "Are you one of the new Santas?"

  "Brand spanking new. Today is day two of my holly jolly career," I joke.

  "Well, I think once they get your picture up and running, you'll be quite an asset to the company."

  "Thanks, I think," I reply, taking another bite of the holy grail of donuts.

  "You're welcome. Just one last little thing for you to think about," Granny offers. "I'd think about wearing some not so risque outfits. Leave something to the boys' imaginations. And let me get you a few donuts to go, on me. You're far too skinny," she frets, patting my hand on my coffee cup and standing.

  The door dings at that moment, and a few elderly women come in along with a young lady with a little girl jabbering away about "monuts an dwinks." Granny Apple greets all of them by name and comes back around the display case while they start deciding what they want.

  "Here, Blake, and I expect you to be back sometime to chat again. I'm your Granny now, so you come see me when you need a chat and a donut."

  "Yes, ma'am. You're now my donut dealer, so expect to see me often for my fix." I smile, taking the larger than expected bag from her. She pats my cheek this time and hurries off to help her other guests.

  I savor the rest of my donut and coffee and watch as she lights the place up with her happiness and cheer. I have a feeling this may be a stopover whenever I'm in the area, even if it's just to chat, like she said.

  Walking back to my car, I get a few more catcalls and whistles and begin to think maybe Granny had it right. There's got to be a balance between sexy and slutty. Bossman's sure going to like this conversation.