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Christmas
Santos Style
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"Lester, you know I
hate it when I have to play wingman," I said. "It is even worse
because it is Christmas time. This should be a season of good will and
doing unto others. Don't you have any friends?"
"Bro, please.
There's no one like you. This is a tradition. You don't want to be
the first one to break tradition do you? It's just once a year and Noel
will be there," he said. "It isn't like it costs you anything. Besides,
I have matching t-shirts for all of us."
"I hate you right
now." I picked up a piping bag full of chocolate whipped creme frosting
and aimed it at some dark chocolate cupcakes. Why do people
want maraschino cherries on these things? I had about six dozen
cupcakes to decorate for the next day and about four dozen chocolate, chocolate
chip cookies to bake off before I went home. It was already five o'clock and I
had at least two more hours of work before I could knock off for the day.
I needed to be back at the bakery no later than three a.m. in order to
get a start on the bread for the next business day. "One of us has a
job."
"I work. I
just make sure I have enough time to play. I work hard. I play harder." If
I wasn't his brother, he'd probably wiggle his eyebrows at me. It is sad when
you can pretty much predict a pick up artist's moves and patterns.
Me? I never play. I
work, go home, sleep, rinse and repeat, six days a week, fifty-two weeks a
year. When you own your own business, no matter how big it is, it
consumes you all of the time. Even when you are doing something with
friends or family, you are thinking about the next time fruit will come in
seasonally or if there is someone form the local trade school who can intern
for free for a couple of months. You're never really with the rest of the
group. You know?
"What do the
t-shirts say this year?" I asked. Last year there was a picture of
Betty Boop wearing a Santa's Elf outfit. The caption said, "Naughty
is the new nice." He hadn't ordered them in time and mine was too tight.
It kept coming untucked. I was self conscious the whole
night.
"You're gonna love
it," he said. He opened the bag he had under his jacket. The
shirt was a forest green with a fancy script and the silhouette of a
sleigh and some reindeer.
"What does it say?
I don't want to get too close to it and get flour all over it." I strained
my eyes trying to make out the lettering, but it just wouldn't come into focus.
"You'd know if you
ever wore your glasses," he said. "Fine. It says, 'Be
naughty. Save Santa the trip.' Pretty great, huh?"
"Sure.
Naughty. Christmas. Great.
"Don't hate the
player. Hate the game." He reverted back to the stupid grin he used
whenever he thought he was getting away with something; the girls had always
liked it, I knew it for what it was.
Actually right now I
wanted to hate our mother. Hortencia Maria Santos had a lot to answer
for. She gave birth to three sons all with different fathers, not that
that's a crime. She actually named us for them. Sort of. Mom
was with a guy in a Père Noël suit one Christmas when she was in
France. Unfortunately, Mom couldn't spell pere like the French and so it became
Pear Noel Santos. Little wonder he preferred the name Noel to Pear.
Based on that logic, Mom
should have named Lester Less is More because evidently his father had less
than more in every department. And he was a handsome stranger, and that
almost became his name. Mom did pity Les and she gave him Lester Guapo.
Guapo the Spanish for gorgeous or handsome. I don't know why she
did that. It has fed his ego ever since.
"I don't like
playing the game." I never had, but I did like the bar and the eggnog
drinks that Noel made. It was the one time of year we actually spent more than
fifteen minutes together, even if there were strangers around.
"Right. You do just
fine."This is the time of year the chubby chasers come out en mass.
You'll probably get mobbed. Come on, man, you've got the beard, the
belly, and you always smell like gingersnaps. You know you'll have a good
time at the party. I'll let you go to bed early and if you play your
cards right you won't be alone."
"I'll go to your
party just to see Noel and I'm only gonna stay for about an hour, eat, and
leave."
"Fine. Just
promise you'll come. I promised everyone you'd be there for pictures. I'm
bringing a printer for the pictures so everyone has a keep sake."
Perfect.
"Leave the shirt
and don't let the door hit you on the ass when you leave."
"See you at seven.
I owe you, bro." He grabbed a handful of slightly burned cookies off
of the counter. He didn't turn around to wave good-bye, just raised his
hand as he walked out of the shop.
No shit he owed me.
He has owed me ever since he was a kid and I stopped the school bullies
from shaking him down for his lunch money. I don't even know what he did to
piss them off, but one black eye was all it took for me to do what the
playground attendants refused to do - stand and look intimidating. I
never even said a word. Three years is a big difference when you're in grammar
school.
Noel owns a little bar
where every day is Christmas. He wanted to trade on his name and it gave
him something to break the ice with customers. He only had to decorate
for one holiday and he can update the ornaments every year when they go on sale.
I make cookie dough for him in bulk, he freezes it and bakes it off as he
needs it. His toddies are amazing. Butter and rum are perfect
partners and you can improve almost any recipe if you add one or the other.
Lester offered to name
the place when Noel was talking about going into business the North Pole.
He claimed he could get a discount on some good, used, stripper poles
that had been painted to resemble candy canes. He thought it would add a touch
of class to the joint.
Strippers, Lucite
heels, and Jingle Bells. The combination just spells class, doesn't it?
It spells peace on earth and good will toward men to me. I think Noel
bought one of the poles and had it installed in his bedroom, but I never go
over to his place so I have no idea.
I got to the party a
little after eight, freshly showered and in the requested t-shirt, fresh jeans,
and boots. Next year, I'm asking him to make sure the shirts have long sleeves.
Winter in Trenton doesn't always mean snow, but it can be cold enough. Because
I have a low threshold to cold, I grow a beard most winters. It was full
but not long. Too long and the beard needs its own hairnet at the bakery
and I'm just not into the look or feel of it.
"Dude, are you
hooked up?" Noel asked.
"Sure. You
can do a sound check with Lester whenever you want to see if I'm
broadcasting."
At one point, Lester
thought it would be funny to record the women's naughty lists to see if there
was anyone he wanted to date. Noel had agreed and fronted the money for
the equipment. This was the fifth year I'd done it. Does it make me
a heel? Yeah, it does. But the women at the party all know Lester and
Noel and so they know something is up. If they didn't know, they'd learn fairly
quickly.
Noel handed me a goodie
bag and escorted me to my throne for the night. "Ladies, the man of
the hour is here. The only real and true Santa to ever live in Trenton,
New Jersey. He's available to hear about just how naughty you've been this
year."
I smiled on cue because
I had to. I also cursed my mother under my breath because my father was a
department store Santa Claus who was nice to her until the season was over.
Department of Children and Family Services had a hard time tracking down
a middle aged, white, overweight man with a great laugh. So she gave me
the only name she thought she could, Santa. It was that or the Candy Man
because that was how he referred to himself. "Little girl, come sit
on the candy man's lap and get a peppermint stick."
"You can't really
be Santa," a Hooters wanna be said. "You aren't old enough and
your skin is too dark."
I reached into my back
pocket and withdrew my wallet and offered to show anyone who wanted to see it
that my name was indeed Santa Santos. After all of the oohing and ahhing
over the validity of my license, I finally got it back into my pants.
I unzipped my jacket to
display the theme shirt. I rolled my head from side to side in a vain attempt
to crack it, rotated my shoulders a couple of times in each direction, and
hoped that no one would pass the unspoken five minute rule. If you can't tell
me everything about me you want me to know, in under five minutes, you don't
need to tell me.
When Lester decided he
wanted to have his own annual Christmas party featuring me as Santa, I called
him on it.
"Why can't I just
bake for you?"
"Bro, look at you.
You look just like the man. You don't have enough grey hair yet, but I
can either take you for some highlights or we can spray some glitter in until
you get older."
"You do know what a
jack ass you are, don't you?"
"I'm just looking
to spread Christmas cheer."
"As long as you
don't spread Christmas STDs."
He put his hand in front
of his crotch. "Don't even say anything like that. Do you have some
salt I can throw over my shoulder for luck?"
"Or
any Christmas bab-"
"No. You
can't even joke about a holy condom. That's how each of us got
here."
He searched my cupboards
for a salt shaker. I placed a ramekin of the kosher stuff in his
hand. "Use as much as you want. I'll sweep it up later."
"Which
shoulder?"
"I don't know.
Toss a little over each one. Maybe you should find an alter and do
a ritual to keep the fertility goddess away."
"Good idea.
I'll get right on that. Got any broken cookies I can eat?"
"Careful, don't eat
too many of those," I said. "You'll look like me if you
do." I patted my stomach. I'm not as heavy as I was when I first
opened the bakery, but my abs aren't flat and I don't have the time to go to
the gym.
He looked at me and said, "You really think
I'll ever let that happen? Sorry. Just shooting my mouth off."
According to Mom there
was a ritual and she'd used it but did something backward each time. Then
again, Mom had a boyfriend who was cheap and would use a condom, turn it inside
out and use the other side. Brilliance wasn't something Mom looked for in
her boyfriends.
"Whatever, Les.
Look I need to get back to work. When's the party."
And so was born the
Annual Santos Family Reunion and Christmas Fiesta. Noel provided the
location and liquor. I provided the baked goods and played Santa to any
of the party goers. Les was in charge of the guest list.
In under an hour and a
half, I interviewed no less than twenty-three girls. Some of the girls
had just one naughty thing to confess to Santa and got ejected by Lester pretty
quickly. The ones who had extensive lists full of any number of naughty
tricks were taken to the back room by Noel for further interrogation.
After the last brunette
climbed down and got her complimentary eggnog flavored condoms
and peppermint dental dams, I finally got to go the buffet and eat
before I went home.
A short blond with spiky
hair recommended the bagel bites. What says Christmas party like catering
from the Costco frozen food department. At least they weren't serving
corn dogs this year.
"So, Santa, what do
you want for Christmas?"
“Someone to rub my feet
when I get home,” I said. I put three of
the bagel wonders on my paper plate. The
egg rolls were already gone. There were
only about six pot stickers left.
“That’s all?” she asked.
“Pretty much. I don’t need anything. Nice of you to ask,
Shelly.”
“How did you know my
name?” she asked.
I raised an eyebrow at
her. “You were just on my lap. I’m good
with names and faces.”
“Wow. I feel like a
fool.” She looked down and blushed. “So
if I give you a foot rub, will that put me on the naughty list or the nice one?”
“Right now, the nice
list.”
“If I rub anything else?”
I didn’t say anything,
just smiled. “Want to find out?”
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