THE CHRISTMAS CRUSH
by Sue Scott
“When, when! Geeze Maggie, stop already!” The diner jumped up to avoid endangering his Italian suit by the spreading lake of coffee.
“What? Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said and grabbed a towel to mop up the overflow. “I got distracted for a second.” Jason was a great customer and big tipper and I felt horrible. “I didn’t get any on you did I?”
Truthfully, I’d been distracted for three weeks now, ever since Santa landed in the parking lot in his helicopter the day after Thanksgiving. I’d watched him wander around, being jolly and handing out trinkets. As he passed by the restaurant where I waitressed he winked at me and held out a smiley face sticker.
I reached out automatically to take the offering, my fingertips tingling where they met his gloved hand. His chocolate brown eyes had knocked me speechless; they oozed sexiness and made me want to sit on his lap. Oh Santa, let me be your naughty girl!
Before I could thank him he’d moved on, surrounded by a growing mob of hyper kids and harried parents.
Every morning since, I’d gazed at him while I laid placemats, silverware bundles and coffee cups down on the five-stool counter in preparation for the breakfast rush of shoppers.
There were different Santas throughout the day of course, but the Santa that shared my shift had those dreamy eyes and full lips under the fake whiskers. He was a younger guy with a smooth face, his coffee with cream complexion hinted at a Latin lover and I imagined the dark hair hidden by the white wig. Wavy hair that I’d tousle.
His costume was well-padded around the middle but the tight trousers tucked into shiny boots showed off muscular legs. I’d watch him setting up in the morning. His butt, what glimpses I caught when he bent over, was fine. Amazingly fine.
I hated the cutesy blonde helper in her elf costume that bounced over every morning to pick up Santa’s coffee. She was so smug, and I’d have to listen to her flirting with him as he settled in the giant armchair. “Ooh Santa, ready for another day of crying kids? If there’s anything I can do . . . don’t forget to let me know!”
And her giggle, more of a squeal. “Wee eee eee.”When she got going all the guinea pigs in the pet shop at the far end of the mall hopped around, excited, thinking it was a mating call.
Santa had a low-pitched voice and the blast of tinny Christmas music drowned his replies out. Did he flirt back, mentioning an after hours massage to relieve his cramped legs and throbbing temples? Did he tell her she looked cute in her striped tights and curly-toed slippers with the stupid bell on the end? Oh, I hoped not.
I could hear him “Ho ho hoing” all morning and really getting into the Santa gig. His throne on its platform faced me and I watched hoards of kids pass through as I rang up customers at the front of the restaurant. The brats got to snuggle up to his broad chest and didn’t realize how lucky they were.
As much as I mooned over him while wiping down the counter or leaning against the register during lulls, he never once glanced my way. Every morning I took extra time with hot rollers and make-up, and regular customers complimented me but Santa remained aloof. I even wore my favorite perfume, imagining him walking by one morning and the intoxicating scent wafting out, grabbing his nose over the restaurant’s cooking smells.
“What is that feminine yet sensual fragrance?” He’d say and turn to locate the whiff of flowers and musk.
Our eyes would meet. Hokey love music would play over the loudspeakers and he’d vow to worship me for an eternity and seal it with a rainbow-striped candy cane.
“Oh, yes, Santa,” I’d say. “I will fly to the North Pole with you and make cookies and have fifteen of your children.”
But alack, that remained only a dream that I worked on a little each day, creating a whole past and future for us. The best fantasies were the ones where we snuggled on a faux fur rug by a blazing fire, roasting marshmallows and giving each other sticky kisses. Sometimes I’d have to stand in the walk-in freezer, since I’d get all hot and bothered.
During the holidays I had Tuesdays and Wednesdays off so there’d be more help on the insane weekends. On a Wednesday two weeks before Christmas I persuaded my best friend Lisa to come shopping with me and get her picture taken with Santa. She’s not a morning person and only the promise of no crowds got her to the mall super early because she’s even less of a fight-the-mob person.
I dressed carefully in leggings and a v-necked sweater. The thought of sitting on *his* lap and actually speaking to him had me jumping out of my skin. Those muscular legs swathed in red velvet. Oh holy moley. And he’d wrap an arm around my waist like he did the kids; put the other hand on my knee. Maybe my perfume would linger on his beard so he’d smell it all day. As I dressed I felt like Cinderella. Tomorrow I’d be the poor lovelorn servant, once again staring at her Prince, but for today maybe my fairy godmother would work miracles.
We stopped in at the restaurant to waste a little time until stores could open. Lisa had a bagel and coffee but I couldn’t eat. Wasn’t she worried about coffee breath?
“Maybe we should do our pictures now while there isn’t a line of screaming kids,” I said.
“I don’t know, I feel stupid about this.”
“C’mon Lisa, you promised. Besides, who’s around to care? These are the holidays, have fun! Live a little!”
Sue Scott has been writing since 3:00 a.m. due to insomnia. She can be reached but might be a touch cranky. Learn more about Sue on her LSS Writers' Lodge Webpage - Susan Scott. Contact Sue.
