“All because I fucked you with a piña colada dick?”
I shake my head. “Just…it’s fine. It’s fine, forget it. I need to think.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh brother, here we go with the thinking. Let’s see what crazy conclusions you’re going to jump to, what strange reasons to hate me you’re going to conjure up.”
I should have something to say back to that but, actually, he’s kind of right.
Of course I don’t want to admit that.
I open his door. “Have a good weekend, Kessler. Stay away from the piña coladas.”
And then I leave, walking through the office with my head held high, ignoring any looks that I might be getting because of what just went on in there. Nothing to see here folks, just horny Nova making very bad decisions.
As usual.
Chapter Eleven
Kessler
“Ho, ho, ho,” I say in an extra deep, jolly voice.
“Hmmmm,” Teef says, leaning back and striking a pondering pose as he looks me over. He leans in and tugs my beard to the right. Then to the left. “Maybe no ho, ho, ho. You have this Gandalf vibe going on. Just say Mele Kalikimaka.”
“Mele what?”
“Mele Kalikimaka. It means Merry Christmas.”
“Can’t I just say Merry Christmas?”
“I believe that’s politically incorrect.”
“And Melekalamalaka isn’t?”
“No. And it’s Mele Kalikimaka. Cookie?”
He’s brought a tin of what appears to be homemade sugar cookies in the shape of a Christmas light and holds one up to me. “On second thought, you’re just going to get crumbs in your beard.”
“No cookies, no ho, ho, ho. Remind me why I volunteered to be the Kahuna Hotels Santa?”
“Because you’re the new guy, you’re the only one who hasn’t done it yet, and I don’t believe you volunteered, you were offered up like a sacrificial holiday lamb.”
It’s the Kahuna Hotels corporate Christmas party, and Teef and I are backstage at the festivities. Every year they hold it at the Kahuna Hotel on Waikiki Beach, where the pool area spills out onto the beach. There’s a luau and a stage for a hula show, which I think is rather redundant since no one here is a tourist, but everyone’s families are here and the kids seem to love it.
Which is why they also need a Santa Claus.
Thankfully I’m playing a Hawaiian Santa, which means though I have a very fake white beard attached to my face and a giant velvet Santa cap, I also get to wear board shorts, flip flops and a Hawaiian shirt, which is stuffed with many Kahuna Hotels pillows to get that Santa paunch. Or perhaps they made the exception for me since I’m already sweating in this and they probably knew I’d go up in flames in a full-on Santa suit.
“So what do I have to do again?” I ask Teef, as he peers out around the wall to look at the crowd.
“Just sit on the surfboard throne and then kids will sit on your lap and then you give them a present from the bag beside you.”
“That’s it? No chit chat? No, were you a good boy or girl?”
“I don’t know man, do whatever.”
“You were Santa last year, what did you do?”
“I protected my nuts, that’s what,” he says through a mouth full of cookie. “Some of them keiki have poor motor skills. But there’s only like ten kids so it’ll be over fast and then you can go on stage for the hula.”
“For the what?”
Just then “Jingle Bell Rock” starts up from the loudspeakers by the pool. Teef pounds me on the shoulder. “Good luck, brah.”
Teef walks off just as Bradah Ed strides over, slurping from a coconut. He’s got a red hat on with fake elf ears.
“I’m Bradah Elf, here to escort Santa Claus,” he says.
I eye his drink and swipe it from him. “Give me that,” I say, taking in a deep sip through the straw.
It fucking burns like I’ve swallowed napalm.
“What is this, pure rum?” I start coughing, giving it back to him.
“You obviously haven’t had to get through many Christmas parties,” Bradah Ed says, casually taking a sip. “You need more, you know where to find me.”
He takes me over to this giant chair made out of surfboards, beneath tinsel and twinkly lights, and I sit down, finally taking a moment to eye the crowd.
Thankfully Teef was right and there aren’t that many kids but that doesn’t mean every single person I work with and their significant others aren’t all staring at me, like I’m part of the entertainment. The only person I don’t see is Nova, which bothers me more than it should. Ever since we had sex in my office, she’s been avoiding me like the plague. Not in the way she would sometimes before, now it’s like she’s ashamed of what happened, which hurts because that actually meant something to me.
Yeah, it was dirty hot angry sex, sex that we so desperately needed to get out of our system, sex that was fueled by the past, sex that was inevitable. But it was still sex with Nova and seeing her come with me inside her brought my feelings for her to another level, like I’d walked through another door, into another universe.
Unfortunately, it seemed to do the same with her, in the opposite direction. For the last week, all I’ve gotten are curt responses and quick, stone-faced glances. She’s not even mad at me anymore, which is no fun. I’d rather have that raging Supernova on my hands than this cold indifference. She gives me a bigger chill than my AC unit, and I have that thing on full blast.
I just hope she’s not avoiding the holiday party because of me.
“And who do we have first up?” Bradah Ed says, gesturing to the front of the line.
Oh shit.
It’s Hunter and Loan.
I mean, I knew they were here, obviously. I just didn’t realize until this second that Hunter might recognize me in my Santa get-up and, well, that could ruin the idea of Santa Claus for every kid here, including him. The last thing I want to do is prove that I’m not really St. Nick.
“Ho, ho, ho,” I say to Hunter in my deepest voice, holding out my arms for him while glancing quickly at Loan. “Merry Kalamata olives.”
Loan winks at me as Hunter gets in my lap. “We’re so honored to meet Mr. Santa,” Loan says. “Hunter has been a very good boy this year.”
“Oh, ho, ho,” I bellow. “Is that so Hunter? Have you been a good boy?”
He nods shyly, apparently star-struck. Thankfully he’s not inspecting me too closely or else he’d totally see his hapless father beneath the fake beard.
“Well, Hunter, since you’ve been such a good boy this year, what would you like for Christmas?”
Please say it’s something money can buy, please say it’s something money can buy.
“Um,” he says. “I would like…a submarine.”
Whew. “A submarine? For your bathtub? I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“And a mom.”
Oh fuck.
“Your mom?” I repeat. This is the worst-case scenario, this is what I’ve been fearing all this time. That he’d miss his mom so much, that I could never measure up as a father, that I’ll never be enough for him.
“No, Santa, a mom,” he corrects me. “I would like a mom for Christmas.”
I look at Loan with wide-eyes and she gives me a sympathetic smile. I’m sure she sees this a lot but even so. I almost make a remark about Miss Loan being his substitute mom and the fact that his real mom is out there somewhere, but all of that is too much for a three-year old and, hell, Santa wouldn’t know that anyway, as all powerful as he is.
“That’s a difficult request, Hunter,” I tell him, feeling all sorts of choked up and winded, like he’d just punched me in the gut. “I can definitely get you a submarine but I’ll have to do some research about the mom thing.”
“What about Nova?” he asks.
Oh shit, no.
“Who is Nova?” I feebly play along.
“Nova is my father’s friend and I really like her and I think she’d be a good mom.”
“You know I’d have to ask this Nova,” I tell him.
“She wouldn’t mind. I can tell.”
I look at Loan again and sigh, picking Hunter up and handing him to her. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Sorry,” Loan mouths to me and I’m so exhausted suddenly that Bradah Ed has to reach into the present bag and hand a gift to Hunter.
“Man, that was rough, brah,” Bradah Ed says as he leans into me. “Though if you ask me, Nova might be up for it.”
I shake my head and wave up the next kid. Now isn’t the time to get into that with him, though I could definitely use more of his rum.
Thankfully the rest of the Santa shit goes smoothly and only one kid tries to go for my nuts, which I managed to block with a present, and then the hula show starts up.
I manage to get a few hearty gulps of Bradah Ed’s rum before I’m hauled up on a stage lit by tiki torches, young athletic girls dressed in coconut bras and grass skirts surrounding me.
Now what?
Bradah Ed climbs on up and stands beside me.
“Who wants to see Santa do the hula?” he says to the crowd.
“Heck yes!” a thoroughly drunk George yells, his mai tai splashing all over the place.
Fucking hell.
“Just follow my lead, Santa,” Bradah Ed says to me, seconds before he rips off his shirt and throws it across the stage.
Turns out skinny Bradah Ed is fucking ripped. A hula girl comes over to him, ties a grass skirt around his waist, and then he’s off and doing the hula moves with his hypnotizing rippling abs, while a small ukulele and slack-key guitar band start playing.
I don’t know what I’m doing. The moves seem slow and easy enough but all the kids in the crowd are laughing their little asses off. I guess that’s the whole point, that Santa comes up here and makes a big fool of himself. The only thing I hope is that the pillows don’t start slipping out. That would be a hard one to explain.