Page 121 of Taking Turns

I point to my outfit. “Do I look like the motherfucking Grinch?”

He laughs this time. Usually Smith plays Santa at the Christmas Eve party—that’s his deal, right? I’m gonna give away all my money. I’m gonna be the goddamned fairy godmother to the world. But he’s with Chella, and this is a surprise for her. So. Yeah. I’m Santa.

There are a shitload of kids here. I’m not into Christmas. I let the staff decorate the Club two weeks prior and it all comes down before New Year’s Eve, because that’s the holiday that counts as far as I’m concerned. New Year’s Eve is a man’s holiday. A party holiday. Not the kind with that sickly sweet eggnog. The kind with the eggnog that knocks you on your ass. The kind of party with foil hats and masks—we like masks here at the Club, regardless, but we especially like holidays that advocate masks—and a ton of confetti and balloons coming down from the ceiling. New Year’s Eve is the only time we allow Club activities on the first floor.

It’s hot as fuck in here on New Year’s Eve, and I’m not talking about the furnace. Naked women everywhere, dirty sex going on all over the place. We close all the outside shutters on the building for this party. The only night of the year we do that. Everyone in by ten, no one leaves until after midnight. It’s not a long party, but it’s one every member comes to.

Seven more days, Bric. Seven more days and this bullshit is over for another year.

Or at least until Valentine’s Day. Which I refuse to think about right now, because I hate that holiday too.

But the Christmas Eve party is for families. We don’t even close the inside blinds on the windows for Christmas Eve parties.

“I can’t take this screaming,” I say. “Fucking hate kids.”

“How do you hate kids?” Quin asks, shaking his head. “Like for real, man. That’s just wrong.”

“Do you hear them down there? Running around like sugared-up maniacs?”

“You mean all that joy?” He almost snorts at me. “If you’re gonna be an asshole, I’ll be Santa, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m already wearing the fucking suit,” I growl.

There are a grand total of sixty-five Club kids. Sixty-five. How? We only have forty-two members. I don’t understand how people can have more than one. And each kid gets a personalized present from Santa. Which means I have to sit on that stupid throne all night handing out gifts. Thank God they tire quick and start throwing tantrums. The parents usually take them home around nine-thirty and by ten, I’ve blocked the whole thing out with some single-malt Scotch.

“Aww,” Quin says. “There they are.”

I lean over the banister and look down into the lobby to watch Chella’s face as she comes through the revolving doors. I bet she thought Smith was bringing her here for a sex party tonight.

I do smile at that. Chella’s a nice girl. I like her a lot. She’s smart, and funny, and totally normal. So not what I’m used to. Still, it’s good to venture out of my comfort zone every once in a while. And she’s pretty. She’s very pretty.

“OK,” I say as I stand. I pull the white beard up onto my face and straighten out my giant black belt. “I feel ridiculous, but I’m taking one for the team to make our Chella happy. Smith owes me.”

Quin and I start down the stairs and before we even hit the landing where the elevator is, the maniacs are screaming, “Santa! Santa!”

“Suck it up, you pussy,” Quin whispers, laughing. “Be a man and shut the fuck up.”

“No more swearing, asshole. There are kids here.”

I start the whole thing out with some “Ho-ho-hos,” and go right to Marcella Walcott. Smith is smiling so big, it might make all my humiliation worth it. I take Chella’s hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her a little more seductively than Santa should. But hey, I’m not gonna apologize. Quin hands me three presents in Tiffany-blue boxes. “Hold out your hands, Marcella Walcott, I’ve heard you’ve been a very good girl this year.”

She giggles. Actually giggles. Which should embarrass her, since she’s thirty years old. But instead she shoots me a look that says she belongs on the naughty list. I place the three boxes in her outstretched hands and do my best not to push her up against the banister and fuck her, because she looks stunning in that dress. Smith didn’t choose a PG-13 outfit for her tonight.

Chella is beyond happy. She’s like a little girl on… well, Christmas. And for a moment I feel sorry for her. That she missed out on the holidays for most of her life. Sure, I hate kids. And I’m an atheist. But if I had a kid, I’d definitely do the whole Christmas thing up right.

I can’t stay with them because the maniacs are back, tugging on my coat, pulling on my belt, trying to grab at my beard. I am herded over into the White Room, where Santa’s one-night workshop has been set up.

At least I have some female elves to appreciate while I spent the next three hours dutifully lifting each kid into my lap and handing them a present with their name on it.

I don’t see Chella again until Santa’s bags of goodies have been emptied and the tantrums are starting. It takes me ten minutes to get past all the sticky fingers trying to touch my suit, and then…

Bliss. As I drop into a chair in Smith’s bar and pull my beard down to drink.

“You,” Chella says, coming to sit in my lap—she kisses me on the cheek as she wraps her arm around my neck—“are loved.”

“Aww.” I smile.

“Thank you,” she says, looking at all three of us. I wonder if Smith is getting jealous that she’s in my lap. Because I’m having some very dirty thoughts about her right about now. “I love this night so much, you have no idea.”