Page 1 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
Chapter 1
Penny
“A World’s Fittest Santa Contest? Please tell me you’re joking.” I shove a row of candy-cane-patterned bra and panties sets farther down the rack while instrumental Christmas music plays from overhead speakers.
It’s after-hours at Herald’s Department Store in New York City. My boss Dottie and I are in the lingerie section unloading this year’s holiday inventory. Thanksgiving isn’t for a few more weeks, but as anyone in retail knows, the minute the ghosts and goblins go away, it’s time to bust out the elves and the snowmen.
Whether I like it or not.
Dottie tears open a box filled with more Christmas-themed underwear. “I’m not joking, sweetheart. This order’s coming straight from the top. Since that pillow-town bike became all the rage, our sporting goods numbers have been in the crapper. The higher-ups think this contest will get us news coverage and boost exercise equipment sales this gift-giving season.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced pella-tahn, not pillow-town, Dot.” I correct her as gently as possible. “Also, an exercise bike is a lousy Christmas gift if you ask me.”
“Good thing I didn’t ask you, huh?” Dottie jokes and hangs a series of red and green thongs in the space I just created. “Anyway, it’s no use arguing the matter. The contest is confirmed. The Tokyo, London, and Milan stores are doing it too.”
“But you’re the New York store manager!” I say. “Can’t you just tell them we’re going to sit this one out?”
“Penny.” She tilts her head to the side and gives me a full dose of the no-nonsense energy I’ve come to love and hate from her in equal measure. “How long have you been working here?”
“Almost ten years,” I grumble into the cardboard box we’re unpacking.
“Right. So you know full well that the New York store never ‘sits out’ of anything at Christmastime. Come on, honey. It’ll be fun!”
I pull another bundle of ladies’ underwear out of the box and freeze as the weight of what I just said hits me.
Next month will be my tenth Christmas at Herald’s Department Store.
I’ve spent a whole decade—nearly a third of my entire existence—working here.
How did I let this happen?
Dottie’s voice is echoey, like it’s at the end of a long tunnel. “Kiddo! Yoo-hoo! Did someone press pause on you?”
She’s asking why I’m physically frozen, my hand halfway to the rack. But the truth is that my entire life has been on pause for the past ten years.
Professionally, personally, emotionally… I’m just stuck.
I haven’t told Dottie—or any of my friends or family—but I know exactly what I want to do with my life. I keep telling myself it’s a lack of money that holds me back from pursuing it. I’m starting to think that’s just an excuse, though, and even if I had a million dollars, I’d still be too plain scared to make it happen.
“Ooh! Those are cute!” Dottie startles me out of my stupor. She turns over the boy-short underwear, revealing the words “Ho-Ho-Ho” emblazoned on the butt. “I wonder if they have these in my size.”
She racks the shorts and proceeds to root through the box in search of an extra-large.
I sink onto a shiny white display block and listen to the faint buzzing sound from the nighttime maintenance crew buffing the floors.
“Look, Dot,” I say. “I get that Herald’s is on a mission to out-Christmas itself every year, but a ‘World’s Fittest Santa’ contest is a ridiculous idea! What are we going to do? Hold a casting call for sexy Santa Clauses so that horny customers can sit on their laps?”
“Yes!” she squeals. “That’s exactly what we’re doing!”
I groan. “Oh my God. I was kidding!”
Dottie thrusts her phone at me. A festive green flyer lights up the screen. In the middle is an image of a man’s arm. He’s pushing up a classic red-and-white Santa sleeve to reveal a bulging—and very veiny—bicep.
I take a deep breath and read the sparkly gold text out loud. “‘Santa Claus is coming to town. And this year, he’s not only bringing presents. He’s bringing his abs too!’” I stare at Dottie in disbelief. “We can’t be serious with this.”
She claps her hands with glee. “Keep reading, keep reading!”
I stand and continue to read, this time with faux perkiness. “Calling all fitness enthusiasts! Want to spread some Christmas cheer in NYC this year? Well then, bring dat Santa ass over here! Herald’s is holding auditions for—” I give up and hand the phone back to Dottie. “‘Bring dat Santa ass over here?!’ Who approved this copy? Surely, Keira hasn’t seen this.”
