4. The Tenth Day Before Christmas
The Tenth Day Before Christmas
Scene II
[On the balcony above a barn. In front of a door to a loft.]
Enter a quick-footed Maria and a slow-booted Viola.
In front of me, Maria races up the stairs, moving with a swiftness I wouldn’t expect from someone her age.
Granted, I could also be falling behind because I’m looking into the petting zoo in the barn below the Santa Loft—whatever that is.
It’s a cozy barn with pens filled with animals, minus one empty pen that has a sign that says: ‘ Reindeer Out On A Delivery’ .
Behind it is a path through the woods to a mini Christmas tree farm where families can bring home a tree. It’s cute. This whole place is cute.
For the first time, I soberly consider that this might truly be an opportunity, instead of a favour. I’ve already smiled more today than I have since I caught Mal with someone else’s mouth on him.
Perhaps even before that.
I don’t have time to dwell on that. Maria’s at the top of the little balcony above the barn, looking at me like I’m on my last warning. Which, maybe I am.
I race up the stairs just in time to hear her call to the door, “Knock, knock. Cover your holly and berries. I’m coming in.”
Holly and berries?
She walks in, apparently unconcerned about whatever holly and/or berries wait within.
I follow her into the cramped loft. There’s a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and some lockers off to the side.
It’s sparsely decorated, with the main attraction being the authentic bare wood of the barn.
Although, that’s not the bare wood that I’m drawn to.
Instead, my eyes zero in on the plethora of half-naked Santas—more than I’d ever thought I’d see in my lifetime.
Admittedly, I hadn’t ever expected to see a single half-naked Santa, so my estimate was quite low.
“Hey, Maria,” rumbles one Santa while he attaches a fake belly over a serious set of abs. His red crush pants are slung low on his hips as he wriggles the big belly over his head, fastening it to some Velcro on the underside of his pants.
Did I say his pants were low? And did I mention he had some serious abs? If I did, it bears repeating.
This Santa has a serious set of abs.
Oh god, Viola, don’t ogle the Santas.
I force my eyes up, which proves to also be a mistake. Hot Santa has a square jaw, light stubble, a warm smile with a dimple that pops on the right side, swooping light brown hair that curls around the back of his ears, and the most devastating brown eyes I’d ever seen.
“Hey, you must be Sebastian, the new guy,” he says, holding out his hand to mine. “I’m Duke.”
I shake it, which is to say I reach out my hand and hold it limply there, unable to do anything at all except stare into his eyes while he pumps my hand.
“This is Curio, Valentine, and Captain,” he says, gesturing with the hand not currently shaking mine, to three other half-naked Santas behind him, who are also complete smoke shows.
Are all Santas secretly hot?
“You guys are all Santas?” I ask stupidly, hoping I’m not drooling.
“Dude, you don’t have to use the Santa voice when it’s just us,” the Santa named Curio says.
“It’s his thing,” Maria mutters with a wave.
The other Santas nod, like that’s a perfectly reasonable reason to be unreasonable.
“Most of the time, we’re actors,” the Santa named Valentine says. “This is just the side-gig for those of us unlucky enough to not be cast in A Christmas Carol .”
“I actually was cast in it this year, but had to leave due to creative differences,” the Santa named Captain brags.
Curio snorts. “He thought there should be more nudity in the play.”
Captain throws up his hands. “I suggested strategically placed bows!” He looks at me beseechingly. “I mean, I was the ghost of Christmas present .”
He’s still looking at me, somehow expecting me to be on his side. I give a slight shake of my head, despite the fact that I would most certainly pay to watch this man wearing strategically placed bows.
My eyes go back to the Santa, Duke, who’s still holding my hand.
“Are you one?” Duke asks, flashing his brilliant smile at me.
“One what?” One, two, three, four, I’ll be whatever you want if you keep smiling at me like that.
He laughs. “An actor. Or maybe a model? You have stunning features.”
He doesn’t say it as a line. He’s genuinely appraising my face beneath my Santa beard. I blush.
Mentally, I scream at myself to get my act together. I need to stay as distant as possible towards my coworkers to give as little opportunity as possible to be found out as a woman. And it would be decidedly conspicuous if I rip my clothes off and jump this Santa’s bones.
I look away, determined to stop blushing, but Curio is flexing his biceps in the reflection of the toaster.
Captain is arguing with Maria, trying to get her to agree to let him show his abs while working.
Valentine, well, Valentine has his pants on backwards and seems over his head with the whole ordeal.
Everywhere I look, handsome actors are doing boneheaded, yet attractive things.
Meanwhile, Duke is still looking at me, waiting for a response. You know, like we’re having an actual conversation, politely ignoring my workplace ogling.
“I’m unemployed and am currently sleeping on my bro—sister’s couch,” I say, loving that I sound not only like a loser because I don’t have a place of my own, but also like a lunatic because I’m speaking in a Santa voice.
It’s nice to get rid of all that pesky dignity at once.
Wouldn’t want any shreds of it hanging around.
The other Santas just nod at my answer. “Don’t be embarrassed, Sebastian. We’re actors—being unemployed and couch surfing is our default,” offers Duke.
Maria scoffs. “That’s my cue to go back to my desk and email my son some more university applications.”
All the Santas put on over-the-top expressions of hurt. “We’re trying very hard not to take these jabs personally,” calls Captain.
With one foot out the door, she glowers at them. “You should take it personally. Rick insists on hiring actors as Santas, says you treat the job like a craft, but I would rid myself of your high-maintenance dumb-assery in a heartbeat.”
Duke slings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in conspiratorially.
As a tall woman, I’m not used to nestling in so nicely.
Duke is tall. Like me, Mal is 5’10, although he claims to be 5’11.
He never let me wear heels. He rarely hugged me at all in public, lest he draw attention to the fact that we’re the same height.
This, though, feels nice. Duke feels nice.
And he smells incredible.
Bad Santa, I chide myself. Good Santas do not lust after other Santas while on the job.
“She ribs us because she cares, you know,” Duke says with a wink. It makes my heart skip, like I’m a cartoon rabbit.
“No, I rib you because of my profound disappointment in you and your life choices,” Maria calls over with zero trace of sarcasm in her voice.
Captain, the shortest of the Santas, even shorter than me, laughs anyways.
Duke shakes his head, crinkling his nose. “She jokes,” he whispers.
“I never joke. Now, get ready for the workday,” Maria replies. “Duke, since you’re so chatty today, you can start late and walk the new guy through some of the intro stuff, since Rick feels he can take vacation whenever he wants.”
“He’s in the hospital getting his appendix removed!” protests Captain. I stop and get a good look at him; he’s a round-faced Santa with a mop of curly hair, who gives off the impression of being just about the nicest puppy, I mean, man you’ll ever meet.
Maria narrows her eyes. “Like I said, a vacation. It’s not like he was even using his appendix. Besides, he’s pre-emptively taking the rest of the season off. Ridiculous.”
“He’s seventy-five,” Curio protests. “Let the man rest.”
“Is he really seventy-five?” Valentine pipes in. “Do you know what kind of moisturizer he uses? I wouldn’t have guessed he’s a day over seventy-three.”
“I’m going to kill Rick for leaving me to deal with the lot of you,” she mutters.
Then, she turns to me. “Sebastian, starting tomorrow, you’ll be on Santa pictures for the rest of the holiday season.
For today, you can just walk around and hand out candy canes to get a feel for Snowspruce Christmas Village. ”
The Santas all give little cheers when she says that, not that she’s listening. She’s out the door without even a second glance backwards. Leaving me alone. With a gaggle of half-naked, extremely sexy Santas.
Especially the one still standing in front of me, looking at me like, well, I don’t know. It’s a look I haven’t seen in a while.
“Sorry about being on pictures,” Duke says, clapping a hand on my back and leaving it there.
He’s the only one being kind about it; the other guys are celebrating, teasing me about having to work the picture station, as they finish changing into their Santa costumes.
“What’s the deal with pictures?” I ask, still using my ridiculous Santa voice, trying to get used to the fact that this voice is my new reality for the next ten days.
Seriously, what have I gotten myself into?
“They’re not so bad—” starts Duke.
“They’re terrible. ”
“Just the worst.”
“Worse than the worst.”
“They’re not so bad,” Duke repeats, although I notice his voice seems a little flat.
Curio smirks. “They do have one redeeming quality.”
The other guys exchange a look, clearly a private joke that I’m not in on. Nor am I sure I want to be in on it.
I was up all night, imagining the different ways that this could go terribly wrong. One thing my worried-laden brain didn’t think of was Santa dynamics. I never considered what it’d be like to be the new guy in a group of Santas who had already been working together for most of the season.