Santa (Maybe): A Rom Com Novella (4 page)

Mark
didn’t call Madeleine that day. He’d meant to, but things had gotten crazy. He’d planned to spend the day dropping his resume at the gyms he still hadn’t gotten to. He didn’t hold out much hope, but it wasn’t in his nature to give up until he’d exhausted every possibility. Early on, he’d gotten lots of bites, but every time he thought he had a job nailed down they’d call back and say they’d changed their mind. One manager came right out and admitted that he was scared to piss off Kristen Murphy.

Kristen
Murphy: socialite, anchorwoman and millionairess. The woman was well on her way to ruining his life, and then she showed up in person. At his home. Fortunately, he spotted her coming down the dock. He barely had time to lock the door and scoot out of sight around the corner.

Festus went ballistic even before
Kristen knocked. He launched himself against the door. That dog had never warmed to Kristen. Mark should have taken Festus’s distrust of her seriously from the start.

“
I know you’re in there, Mark!” Kristen shouted over Festus’s frantic attempts to get out and tear her to bits. Kristen knocked again. “Come out! I have a proposition for you.”

Mark
suspected what her terms would be. The city was full of men who would jump at a chance with Kristen Murphy. The woman was extraordinarily hot, if you were the type who could get past her fundamental evilness. Mark wasn’t one of those men who could, but he was sure there were plenty of others out there who’d have no problem dating the devil if the devil looked like Kristen Murphy. That, and the fact she was—

“OK—“
Kristen wasn’t giving up. “I know you can hear me, so I’m going to—“

It sounded like
Kristen had escalated from knocking to attempting to kick the door in. It wasn’t much of a door. She might succeed. Mark gave up. He called off Festus, shut him into the tiny bathroom, and opened the door.

Kristen
stood outside with her hands on her hips. She tried to push inside. Mark didn’t let her. He stepped out the door and closed it behind him.

“
What you’re doing is completely unethical,” Mark said.

Kriste
n pressed herself up against Mark. He stepped to the side. Some people don’t believe men experience sexual harassment. Those people had never met a woman like Kristen Murphy.

“It’s not that complicated,”
Kristen said, pouting. “I know what you want and you know what I want, so let’s negotiate terms.”

“Meaning
, you’ll make sure I get my job back if I agree to be your January toy-boy.”

“It sounds so crude when you put it like that.”

“What does your husband think about your—“

Kriste
n laughed a laugh without an ounce of mirth in it and reached out to stroke Mark’s cheek. He moved away.

“I think it’s a valid question.”

“Please! You know, as well as I do, that he doesn’t care. He’s hardly a saint himself.”

“I don’t date married women. Period. End of story.”

“Don’t be so silly. ‘Dating’ is something kids do. What I have in mind is considerably more sophisticated.”

“No. I mean it. Not interested.”

“Not even interested in your own gym? I have a friend who is looking to sell. Great location. I could make that happen for you.“

Now she had his attention. How did she know
what would tempt him? He knew he had hesitated too long. Kristen was smiling triumphantly.

“Of course, my name would be on the deed, too
,” Kristen added.

“No!” Mark said, trying to make up for his hesitation by answering too loudly.

I don’t think you’re too sure about that ‘no’?”

“Listen
, Kristen! Why can’t you just leave me alone? There’s no shortage of men out there who’d—“

“I don’t want
other men. I want you, and I always get what I want.”

Mark
ran out of words. He backed up silently and shut the door in Kristen’s face. But Kristen wasn’t done. She yelled through the door.

“You have until Christmas Eve, you sexy bastard. Then all hell breaks loose!”

Kristen waited for a reply, but Mark was silent.

“Don’t underestimate me, Mark Jameson. You have no idea what I’m capable
of.”

Mark was shaken.
He took her threats very seriously. He’d already seen the damage she could do. He toyed with filing a police report. If what Kristen was doing didn’t count as stalking—no, bad idea. He had no evidence. Kristen had been careful to make all her threats in person. There were no incriminating texts. No threatening emails. No vicious handwritten notes. He couldn’t even present a phone log as evidence. Kristen had stopped calling once he’d terminated their professional relationship. No, it was up to him to get out of this one himself.
 

Madeleine
sat at her dining table. It was strewn with documents pertaining to the case of the odious Mr. F.

F for—
no, that was an unprofessional thought. Besides, if she allowed herself to mentally refer to him as that, she might slip up in court and come right out and say it. No, she’d have to settle for thinking of him as Mr. Foster. Madeleine hated Mr. Foster. It was not uncommon for Madeleine to represent clients that she didn’t like, but this was different. She hated Felix Foster with a dark-hearted rage.

She ought to excuse herself from the case, but then she’d have to admit to
her boss Angela that Mr. Foster reminded her of an elderly version of her ex-husband. Madeleine wasn’t about to endure the humiliation of a lecture from Angela about not letting one’s personal life interfere with one’s work.

So
, here she was, spending her Sunday afternoon trying to come up with new and creative ways for Felix Foster to screw over his faithful wife of 42 years. It was useless. She couldn’t concentrate. She wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was her fourth.

The dishes from breakfast still
sat on the table. The chair where Mark had been sitting was still scooted out from the table. The skillet was still on the stove, bits of egg clinging to it. She walked over and grasped the handle. Four hours ago, Mark had been standing in her kitchen, in front of her stove, holding onto that handle.

Madeleine
let go of the handle and started to laugh. She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. This was so ridiculous. She was behaving like a love-sick teenager. She was one step away from running upstairs to see if he’d left any hairs on the pillow.

The whole situation was bizarre.
She tried not to wonder what Ami had meant by “secret”. What could there be about Mark that Ami knew and Madeleine didn’t? It couldn’t be anything bad or Ami wouldn’t have been so playful about the whole thing. Ami sometimes pushed Madeleine out of her comfort zone, but when it came down to it, Ami took her sister’s well-being very seriously.

Ami
might be 2 years younger than Madeleine, but she was very protective. So protective that after Chad left her, Madeleine had been afraid that Ami might do something drastic. Madeleine hadn’t been worried for Chad’s sake. In fact, free from her own ethical scruples and fear of prosecution, Madeleine would have quite happily gone along with some of Ami’s creative ideas for making Chad suffer.

No,
Ami would never encourage Madeleine to get involved with someone she didn’t trust 100%. But how could Ami be so confident about Mark? How could Ami be so trusting of someone they had only just met? It was completely uncharacteristic.

It was a mystery.
Madeleine gave up. She swept Mr. F’s files back into her attaché case and spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch eating jam straight from the jar and watching reruns of trashy soaps.

Chad brought Emily home early. Three hours ahead of schedule. He did not come to the door, but sent Emily up onto the porch alone to ring the bell.
Emily staggered into the house under the weight of her overstuffed pink backpack.

“Did you have a good time?”

“It was OK.”

“What did you do?”

“We had waffles.”

“That’s nice.”

“Mommy, what’s a Bitch?”

Madeleine blanched. She played for time.

“Why do you ask?”

“Daddy said you were a bitch. He said a lot of other stuff, too, but I can’t remember it.”

“Let’s take your backpack off.” Madeleine was hoping that Emily would drop the question, but she hoped in vain.

“What does bitch mean?”

Madeleine knelt down to look into Emily’s eyes.

“You know how
your friend Sydney told you she didn’t want to be your friend anymore and we talked about how sometimes people say mean things just because they want to hurt other people?”

Emily nodded.

“Well, bitch is a word grownups use when they want to hurt someone else on purpose.”

“Oh.”

Madeleine gave Emily a hug. There. Not bad. One of these days she was going to win best-coparent-of-a-child-with-a-jerk-for-a-father award.

“But why does Daddy want to hurt you
on purpose?”

“I don’t know.” That was the truth.
Madeleine had no idea.

Mark
knew he had to tell her. He couldn’t let Madeleine go on thinking he was just some random guy. But, by telling her, he risked her finding out about his ridiculous decade-long crush on her. That was potentially humiliating. Sure, she was attracted to him, but that didn’t automatically translate into wanting to get involved in a serious relationship with him. And he was serious. He was serious about Madeleine in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. If he was honest with himself, he’d never been this serious about any other woman.

He’d better start by asking her out on a real date. Try to keep things as normal as possible. Ice-skating and burgers. Fun, but not trying too hard. He didn’t want to come on too strong.
It was a little late for that.

Mark dialed Madeleine’s
cell. It was the middle of the morning. She must be at work. He’d leave a breezy message. Keep it light. He knew exactly what he was going to say. But, then he didn’t. She picked up and his memorized speech was useless.

“Madeleine Morgan speaking.”

Damn. Should have texted.

“How can I help you?”

Of course. She wouldn’t recognize his number.

“H
ello, Ms. Morgan. Santa here.”

Madeleine giggled a very unprofessional giggle.

“Just a minute,” she said. Mark heard voices in the background, then the sound of a door closing.

“Where are you?” Mark asked
.

“Copy room.”

“Really? Is that where you go to conduct all your clandestine affairs?”

Madeleine giggled another even less professional giggle.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to try to engage you in copy room phone-sex.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end. He imagined Madeleine leaning against the copier and fanning her flushed face with a sheaf of copy paper.

“Sorry,” Mark said. He had to watch himself. Think before he spoke. “I called to see if you’d like to go ice-skating this evening.”

There was a long silence on the other end. Did she really have to think about it that long?

“I’ll have to get a sitter for Emily.”

“You can bring Emily, if you want.”

“No.” That was it. No explanation. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that Madeleine had zero interest in going out with him.

“I was thinking I could pick you up around six.”

“Can I get back to you?”

“Sure.”
 

Madeleine
huddled on a folding chair in the corner of the copy room grasping her phone. She wasn’t fanning herself, but that was only because there wasn’t anything handy to use as a fan. Why hadn’t she said ‘yes’ to Mark, already? She knew that Ami was free that evening and that she’d be happy to watch Emily. Taking Emily along was out of the question. Madeleine never introduced her dates to Emily.

She texted
Ami to ask if she could watch Emily. Ami texted back right away.
 

d
ate?

y

Mark???

y

!!!

6

ok

c
ya
 

A
mi arrived at 5:30. Madeleine had barely been home ten minutes. Emily had had a rough time at after-school care. Her friend Sydney was being mean again and she’d lost her favorite barrette, but she was excited that Aunt Ami was coming to spend the evening with her. Aunt Ami always brought junk food. Madeleine never fed Emily junk food. Junk food was Ami’s thing. Emily ransacked Ami’s bag as soon as she came through the door. Ami surrendered a bag of Santa-shaped gummies and a tin of Christmas cookies covered with icing that looked radioactive.

“
Now—“ said Ami, turning her attention from her niece to her sister, “—what are you going to wear?”

“
This is what I’m wearing.” Madeleine had managed time to change into her baggiest, most unflattering sweater. The orange one. Orange was not her color.

Ami
caught Emily in a bear hug and covered her ears.

“Did I miss something? Is frumpy the new sexy and nobody told me?”

“Ami!”

“So you’re deliberately obliterating any desire he might have to seduce you?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, then—
good job!” Ami release Emily’s ears, then immediately covered them again. “May I ask why?”

“No, you may no
t.”

“Alright.”
Ami let Emily go and dropped the subject.
 

Mark
arrived exactly 5 minutes late. He had to sit out at the curb for 10 minutes to manage to be perfectly late, but it was worth it to avoid either over-eager promptness or I-don’t-respect-you tardiness.

Ami
opened the door.

“Hi, Mark
!” she yelled, launching herself at him much like Festus did when Mark had left him alone all day. It was an exuberant, uninhibited hug. Mark wondered how someone as warm and smart and funny as Ami hadn’t been snatched up yet. The only man she’d mentioned was her next-door neighbor. The loud guy. That didn’t sound too promising.

“You’re going to tell her tonight?” It was half question, half order.

“Probably. Maybe.”

“How about definitely?”

“Why definitely?”

“Because the longer you wait—“
Ami didn’t get a chance to finish. Madeleine was coming down the stairs.

Where was Emily
? Mark wondered. Ami must be there to watch Emily, but Emily was nowhere to be seen.

Madeleine
came down the stairs. She was wearing the ugliest sweater Mark had ever seen. She also looked as if she’d skipped putting on make-up.

M
ark grinned. “Hello, beautiful.” Madeleine was pulling out all the stops to make herself as unattractive as possible. That could mean only one thing: she was afraid she would find any move he made irresistible. He laughed.

Madeleine didn’t join in. She was staring at him.
Damn! He’d forgotten that she hadn’t yet seen him without the beard. This might be it. He might not even have to broach the subject of being Matchstick Jameson, after all. Madeleine might figure it out on her own.

Or not.

Ami snapped her fingers under Madeleine’s nose, and when she got no reaction, she gave Madeleine a sharp shove between the shoulder blades which sent Madeleine lurching forward into Mark’s arms.

“There!” announced
Ami, like she’d just checked something off her to-do list. She brushed her hands together and headed off to the kitchen.

Mark was hugging Madeleine
, but she wasn’t hugging him back.

“Shall we go?” he said.
Apparently she didn’t recognize him as Matchstick Jameson, but seeing what he actually looked like had her flummoxed.
 

Madeleine
mentally slapped herself upside the head. She was behaving like an idiot and she knew it. Mark looked even better under that beard than she’d imagined. There was also something comfortingly familiar about him, but that was impossible. She would remember having met him. Any woman would remember having met him.

She grabbed her coat and shoved herself into it before Mark could try to help her
. Madeleine found Mark’s old-fashioned gentlemanly habits disconcerting. She was used to doing things for herself and she liked it that way.

The trip to the skating rink was quiet. Mark seemed alternately amused and nervous. He didn’t try to get her to talk. He drove silently. After a few minutes
, he turned on the radio. He whistled along and tapped the steering wheel in time to the music.

Madeleine was a good skater. She’d taken lessons when she was a girl. Mark wasn’t
so good. It was a major accomplishment for him just to make a complete circuit around the rink without falling down. He fell often. And hard. Madeleine tried to hold him up, but he had a good 100 pounds on her and that meant each time he went down hard, so did she.

“Enough!” said Mark finally. He clung to the wall all the way to the nearest exit
and sat down on a bench.

“Giving up already?”
Madeleine teased. Seeing him flailing awkwardly helped. He wasn’t perfect after all.

“
No, I need a rest. You go ahead and go back out there. You’ve spent the whole time trying to hold me up. You deserve a few rounds without me pulling you down every 50 feet.”

But Madeleine didn’t want to leave him. She was starting to have fun and she was feeling less nervous, but her jitters could come back anytime. She’d better tackle the question that had been plaguing her before she lost her nerve.

“Ami said you have something to tell me.”

“Did she?”

“Yes.”

“
Ami is a very honest person, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“She believes in putting things right out there.”

“Yes, she does.”

“What about you? Where do you stand on complete honesty?”

“I
’m strongly pro-honesty.”

“And you have no idea at all what I might be about to tell you?”

“Not a clue.”

“Alright, I’ll give you
a clue. We know someone in common.”

Madeleine racked her brain. She couldn’t think of anyone
who knew Mark except her sister and surely that didn’t count. Ami only just met Mark, too. However, it was the only guess she would come up with.

“
Ami?” She asked.

“Well, yes. But think further back.”

“We went to school together? No, you’re too young. How old are you anyway?”

“Not important.”
Mark smiled.

“Come on. Tell me.”

“How old are you, then?”

“I thought you were the one giving away
his secrets.”

“
Alright. This should help: we did go to the same high-school, only not at the same time.”

That didn’t help. Madeleine was completely stumped.
Still, there was definitely something familiar about him.

“
You were a classmate of Ami’s?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“You used to date Ami—no, you’re not her type.”

“Not even close. But you’re on the right track with friends-of-siblings
thing.”

“Joe! You’re an old friend of Joe’s!”

“Bingo!”

“But I don’t remember you. You must be a college friend. I
barely met any of his college friends. Too busy with law school.”

“No. Not a college friend.”

“But I knew all of his high-school friends. He had them over at the house all the time.”

“That’s right. I was over there practically every day.”

Madeleine couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. Now that she looked closely, she guessed it could be possible. Blue eyes. Blond hair. A little taller, but lots of boys grew a little more—

“
Marcus Silvin?”

Mark didn’t look too happy. That had to be it. Joe had only one friend
named Marcus. True, Marcus hadn’t been a very close friend of Joe’s, but he must have been over at the house more often than Madeleine remembered.

Mark still hadn’t said anything.

“I’m right, aren’t I?

Mark opened his mouth to speak. Just then Madeleine’s phone jingled. Mark closed his mouth.

It was Ami calling. Ami couldn’t resist calling to see how the date was going. That must be it. Unless something had happened to Emily. But what could happen to Emily at home with Ami? Stupid question. Anything could happen. Ami had never really grown up. The last time Ami had watched Emily, Madeleine had come home to find all her throw rugs at the bottom of the stairs. Ami and Emily had been using them as sleds. It had been Ami’s idea.

“Don’t panic!”
was the first thing out of Ami’s mouth.

Oh, no. It must be bad. Broken bones. Or worse yet, a head injury. Maybe there had been an intruder. The intruder had kidnapped Emily and
Ami was calling to tell her.

“What happened?” Madeleine found her voice.

“It’s nothing serious, but I thought I’d better go ahead and drive Emily to Urgent Care.”

Madeleine nearly dropped the phone.

“The Emergency Room? Why does Emily need the Emergency Room?” Madeleine could hear herself screeching. Mark looked concerned. The woman on the next bench looked concerned. If she got any louder, the boy running the concession stand across the rink would start looking concerned, too.

“I told you not to panic!”
Ami sounded maddeningly calm.

“Don’t tell me not to panic again! Just tell me exactly what happened.”