Page 13 of Bed of Roses

I tried to turn around out the way we came, but more people had filed in behind us and I was trapped.

“Absolutely not.”

There was nowhere for me to go. The only way out was through. And going through meant having to stop and meet the big guy.

“Bethany!”

Marley waived wildly at one of Santa’s elves to get her attention. The line shifted and there we were, face to face with Santa.

“Santa, you have a very special visitor today!” Marley exclaimed to both Santa and his elf, Bethany, sugar dripping in her voice as if she were reading about sugar plum fairies to a bunch of preschoolers. “This is Bear Tucker, morning show host at 90.9 the Pole.”

“Ohhhh ho ho ho!” Santa rubbed his belly as he laughed.

If any normal person laughed like that, or obsessively touched their body as much as Santa did, most people would think the person was out of their gourd and stay as far away as possible. So why the fuck did we think it was okay for a pretend character to act this way?

“Bear Tucker, I’ve heard a lot about you. Got yourself on the naughty list.”

He shook his finger at me tsk tsked. Fuck him.

“He’s turning over a new leaf, Santa.” Marley kept up with the charade, I just wanted to get out of there before I puked all over his red suit. “I think a picture with Santa would be a great way to commemorate his newfound appreciation for Christmas and all things North Pole, don’t you Santa?”

Twenty minutes and forty-seven dollars later, the two of us were equipped with our North Pole souvenir picture frames and Santa pictures. What a racket.

10

Icouldn’t help but internally high five myself for such a fantastic idea. It not only gave me an opportunity to learn more about Bear, but also brought me out of my own funk too. I felt, lighter, less sad than I had this whole season. I even found myself humming along to the carols they piped through Santa’s Workshop. I couldn’t stop staring at our Santa Picture. It was the first smile on my face that actually looked like a smile.

“You can call me Ted. Bear is really just a persona, for the radio.”

We were nearly to my house. While the roads were still pretty crappy, Bear had insisted his car could handle the snow, despite it being a luxury SUV. So far it was handling the steep climb just fine. Color me corrected.

“Can I call you Teddy Bear?”

It was supposed to be a joke, an attempt to needle him. But instead he looked over at me and winked with a smile. My insides went floppy and melty and the same time.

“We’re here.”

He pulled up to my house, and suddenly I didn’t want the day to end.

“Do you want to come in? Maybe order a pizza or something?”

“I don’t think the pizza guy would come up here right now,” he pointed out.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right. Um, I could make us something?”

Why did I feel like I was thirteen again asking Billy Wexler to turn about?

“I could eat.” His eyes scanned my face before looking into mine. “Fresh air and all, I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”

I watched his hand clutch the gearshift and put the car in park before pushing the stop/start button. It was a Phoenix on his hand. It was the feathers of the bird that had been poking out beneath his suit coat yesterday. Now, as he handled the gear shift and grabbed his keys and wallet, it danced every time he moved his hand. I was enthralled. I desperately wanted to touch it. Would his skin burn my fingers like a true Phoenix would have?

My house felt small with Bear in it. The walls seemed to close together, the roof shorter somehow, like when he entered, the whole house had taken a giant, gaspy breath in and was holding it within its constricted confines.

We stood in my kitchen, each sipping the drinks my terrible hostessing capabilities were able to throw together with minimal supplies. We barely said a word, but I felt like within that span of silence so much was being said. He had to have felt it to. This weird taffy like tension. Otherwise, why would he have said yes to coming in. The pressure of it pushed against my veins, sending waves through my nervous system and coiling deep inside me.

Was it a dance between us both, or imagined only by me? Was I bold enough to make the first move? Do I ask if it was okay, or just dive in? Make the transparent dinner offer again? I felt my pulse everywhere. My lips twitched, my fingers danced, my buttocks clenched and unclenched. Each movement twisted that coil even tighter.

I’d never felt a man’s scruff against my mouth before. My previous boyfriends had always been clean shaven. I wondered in that span of taffy like time, how the abrasion would feel on such a sensitive piece of skin. Would it feel good? Would it sting? How did he kiss? Would he be timid and gentle, waiting for permission, or would he dive in and take what he wanted?

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