He sighed. “Whatever you want.”
“What about my trailer?”
Mason threw his arms up in frustration. “Come on, Stan. Be reasonable. We’re not going to rent a trailer.”
“People trust Santa with all kinds of secrets, Mase. What they want for Christmas. Who they might be shacking up with in order to get free coffee. The question is how do you want to play this? Naughty or nice?”
“I’ll set up a spot in the barn where you can do your holiday meditation or whatever. But you can only go in there during breaks. Understood?”
“We’re cool, we’re cool. I knew we could work it out. I’ve always liked you. You’re like a brother to me.”
“You blackmail all your siblings?”
Stan touched a hand to his chest as if his heart hurt. “It’s only ’cause I care, baby. You know that.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.”
A young woman with a pixie haircut and wearing a green elf costume strode past them with a black camera bag and a tripod, drawing Stan’s attention. “Hey, Candy. Guess who’s getting his own V.I.P. parking spot?”
“Is it up your ass? Otherwise, no one cares, Stan,” the woman said, continuing her walk to the Santa photo booth, which consisted of a raised wooden platform covered in red carpeting, an ornate velvet throne, and surrounded by decorated trees and poinsettias.
“Oh, yeah? Well, I bet you…dream about my ass,” he replied, getting flustered in his retort. “I don’t know why you keep bringing Candy back,” he said to Mason. “You know she can’t stand me. How am I supposed to remain jolly in the pictures when she’s staring death daggers at me from behind the camera the whole time? Santa shouldn’t have to work in such a toxic environment.”
Mason found the feud between Stan and Candy amusing. Even though they didn’t get along, it didn’t stop either one from returning to the farm year after year. It was almost as if they enjoyed getting on each other’s nerves.
He smacked Stan on the shoulder. “You’re Kriss Kringlegold, baby. A page-five Santa. I’m sure you can handle it.”
