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‘Can’t you get a real job, honey?’
The Christmas spirit is nowhere to be seen, and even Bill… err- Santa growls at me every second kid.
“Dammit girl, get it right! Tick their names off, introduce them, smile for the photo, and then give them their damned gift from the pile of crap here! What are you, simple or something?” he snarls, pulling my arm roughly when there’s a lull in the crowd.
I feel hurt.
Not physically, just hurt inside.
Feeling like nobody cares about anything anymore. Like all this is nothing to do with Christmas.
Which I hate anyway, by the way.
Despite all this, there are actually worse jobs.
Waitressing, bartending, or even cold-calling for anything will give you a thick skin, which I eventually discover.
In no time at all, both Santa and whoever Ms. Photographer is and I are like old pals, quietly hamming it up for the endless line, which soon becomes a stream of happy customers once I find my mojo in their groove.
Just when I think I’m about to faint from lack of food, the frozen smile on my face feels like its cracked capillaries… it’s done.
I’m finished.
“That’s the last one,” Santa announces, puffing his cheeks and tearing his beard off once the curtain is closed, our friend the photographer disappearing as quickly as she came.
“I’m Bill,” he says briefly, holding out a shaking and weatherworn, ungloved hand.
“Carol,” I tell him, still wearing my cracked smile.
“I’m sorry if I was gruff, but…” he trails off.
“You won’t say anything, will ya?” he asks, his gray eyes suddenly wide.
“I’ve had worse,” I half-lie. I’ve had some crappy gigs, but this one after a full five hours is pushing it to the top. Almost.
“Then I guess I’ll see ya tomorrow?” he drawls, taking off his hat and fidgeting with it as he stands uneasily.
“Hopefully,” I chirp, glancing around, wondering where the magic check is, and if I can still cash it so late.
“It’s just…” Bill continues. “I wonder if you could help. I mean… just a twenty?” he asks, looking so much like every kid that just sat on his knee.
I remember what I was told, but another part of me kicks in.
“Bill? I don’t have a dime, let alone a twenty to hand out to strangers right now,” I spit, surprising both of us with my attitude.
But it’s true.
Between the deposit for the costume and the no paycheck so far, I feel worse off financially than when I started.
Bill sinks back onto his ‘throne’.
“Amen to that,” he says dryly.
Disappointed.Chapter FourLucianI’m late for my appointment, of course, I am.
It’s blocks away and I spent way too much time taking in the perfect view, thinking about my own needs and wants before even thinking about my so-called responsibilities.
The whole way there, all I can see in my mind whether my eyes are open or closed is her blond hair, her blue eyes, and that damned fine thick body of hers.
I feel my head shaking in disbelief. She was there, right there in front of me and all I could do was hide and start to yank at my hard dick.
That says everything.
A girl like that?
What are the chances?
She must have someone, a boyfriend, and a husband.
Maybe a dozen on the go?
Christ, you’ve seen her! She can have any man eating out of the palm of her hand.
The thought makes me growl, the driver asking if we need to stop. I dismiss him with a wave of my hand, wishing there was a privacy screen I could put up.
But then I relax a little.
I reason with myself.
Why would such a girl get herself into the hopeless situation of being Mrs. Claus at a downtown Kellerman’s department store for a few dollars an hour?
If she could have any man she wanted, why? He can’t be much of a man at all, not even being able to provide for his queen so readily.
Hmmm?
Sinking back into the soft seat of the car, I relax.
Amused by my own deduction.
But not entirely.
Not even briefly.
I may have spotted a fawn, but that doesn’t mean that the rest of the jungle is empty.
I hear myself growling low again, thinking of her like that.
Bending over, for me.
Offering herself, to me.
Sitting forward in my seat, I start to gnaw at my thumbnail.
Feeling tense all over as much as I still am in my pants.
Going over every frame of her in my mind’s eye until it’s hopeless.
I’m just as fucked up and hard from the memory of her as I was standing a few feet from her.
I must have her.
“Mine,” I practically shout, making the driver swerve before asking if I’m sure I’m okay again.
Pressing some cash into his hand, I assure him again I’m fine once we reach my building.
With my hands in my pockets, desperately trying to cover my arousal, I make my way up the elevators to my scheduled appointment.
