Page 27 of The Holiday Hate-Off
So I adjust that broom about two dozen times, swearing to myself under my breath and trying not to be too obvious about my interest in the goings-on at the Sip. I catch a couple of glimpses, though. There are tons of over-the-top decorations inside, from paper ornaments to garlands in various colors. Lots of men and women are dressed in red and green, and everyone seems to have a mug in front of them. It lookswarm and comfortable, and I can hear the muted Christmas carols.
Finally, Handbag Guy comes out in his Santa suit and pulls a crinkled pack of smokes from his pocket.
“Hey, man,” I say, leaving the perfectly straight broom alone and walking closer.
He inclines his chin slightly in acknowledgment.
“You having fun in there?” I ask.
He gives me an incredulous look. “What do you want, Enzo?”
So he remembers my name. That makes one of us.
“Well, I was wondering if I could convince you to let me spend the rest of the evening in there in your place.”
He snorts as he pulls out one of the cigarettes. The guy’s standing directly beneath a cutesy little sign that says, “No smoking on the patio, please!” and I remember the way Lucy started hacking on the bridge. My fake smile tightens.
Waving the cigarette at me, he says, “No way. We all know about your grandmother’s vendetta against this place. If I let you in there, you’ll probably pour Ex-Lax into the hot chocolate or something. I won’t do that to those poor women.”
I bristle. My grandmother is a difficult woman, no doubt, but she wouldn’t stoop to something like that, and I sure as hell don’t like my good name being besmirched either.
He pulls out his lighter. “Truth is, I’ve got designs on that hot little piece who works for Eileen.”
If I was pissed five seconds ago, now I’m a man made of fire and brimstone. He shouldn’t be talking about a woman like that. And he definitely shouldn’t be the first man to put his hands onanywoman.
Fists balled, I say, “If you don’t hand over the Santa hat and beard, I’m going to remind everyone about that time you jerked off into Mrs. Sandis’s handbag.”
He blanches, his cigarette still unlit. “Hey, man, that’s notcool. How would you like it if I pulled out something you did from?—”
“I’ve never jerked off into a handbag in my life, and if you light that cigarette, you’ll regret it.”
“Are you threatening me?” he asks, his tone somewhere between wheedling and whining.
“Yes, I thought that was obvious.”
He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, the unlit cigarette crumpling a little. I resist the urge to cringe, which becomes harder when the Christmas carol playing inside the café switches over to “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”
“My cousin works atThe Almanac,” he says. “She’d find it very interesting that you’re threatening an upstanding citizen. I mean, do you even live here anymore, man? When was the last time you paid Maine taxes?”
I point to the no smoking sign. “Learn to read. The woman you’re lusting over is allergic to cigarette smoke.”
I might not like Lucy, but I don’t want her to hack up a lung simply because he can’t be bothered to follow simple instructions.
He swears at me but tosses me the Santa hat, then detaches the beard and hands that over too.
I grimace at the thought of putting it on. He looks like he hasn’t showered since high school, but desperate times and all that.
He flashes both middle fingers at me as he walks away. “If something happens in there tonight, I’ll know who did it. And I’ll tell my cousin Mary, and?—”
“We all know she’s a volunteer,” I say wearily. “You can stop acting like she’s a top investigative reporter.”
“Amanda Willis said she might give her an interview,” he snaps. “The movie star. You know, the one with the good tits. She signed a headshot for me.”
“Did you get to jizz in her handbag too?” It’s a cheap shot,and it’s very likely this whole thing will blow back on me, but I’m feeling worked up.
“You’re an asshole.”
I pull on the Santa hat and nod to him. “Merry Christmas to you, too,buddy. Be sure to give my regards to Mary. Maybe she can write another deep think piece about Skippy. Or convince Lady Lovewatch to write about you and that handbag.”
