Page 7 of Bed of Roses

Fuck me. The airfare alone was going to be more than my mortgage.

“Fine,” I ground out. Anything to get her to retreat.

“Bear!” I heard echoing down the pathway. “Radio guy Bear!”

She’d only met me once, of course she didn’t remember my last name. Even if it had been on my business card, on the rental receipt, all over every post card, magnet, sticker and pop socket that was handed out that night.

“I saw you walk back here Radio Bear. Come out, come out wherever you are!”

I heard her heels clomping on the cobblestones, signaling her approach.

“Oh, there you are.” Her arms flailed as she hurried towards me, as if I would suddenly bolt. “What on earth was that? Why would …? You humiliated me!” She stomped her foot as an exclamation point. A point I heard, more than saw considering her boots were buried somewhere underneath a gigantic hoop skirt.

“Humiliated you?” She had some nerve. “Humilia—what? Humiliated you?” A chagrined chortle escaped. Can you believe this chick? Because I sure can’t. “Honey, I just handed you a golden fucking ticket. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Handed me a golden ticket?Handed mea golden ticket? Who are you Willy Wonka?” She paced back and forth in front of me, waving her hand near her diaphragm as if the hand motion was helping push air into her lungs. “You literally just pulled me up on stage and hung a giant P around my neck for ‘poor’ so now everyone can judge me. That is humiliation. Is this payback because of your costume, because I told you I had nothing left in stock. I had a really hard time just scraping together what I gave you.”

“Payback? Are you sauced? Imbibe too much in the mead?” She must be hiding some giant balls under that hoop skirt of hers. “Let me refresh your memory of our last encounter. You were too busy talking on your cell phone to notice me walking towards the stage and you bulldozed into me, causing your basket to fly out of your hand, and your cookies to crumble. You then started yelling at me about how I ran into you, and how now you were in a world of hurt because your cookies were broken and therefore couldn’t pass them out, and therefore no one would know about the North Pole Inn, and you wouldn’t get paid. The lack of paycheck meant you wouldn’t be able to fix your car. Me, seeing that you were truly a damsel in distress, and me—looking like the damsel un-distressing type in this fucking getup—tossed my jacket over your puddle of despair and simultaneously fixed both of your problems. First, I told everyone about how great those cookies were, created demand by hinting that your supply had disappeared because of their popularity, told people to actuallygoto the Inn to request more—thus making you look good to your boss at the Inn becauseword of mouth,double bonus I did it while on the air of a radio station and therefore gave that Inn free publicity that broadcast across the whole county.”

I held up a hand to stymie any kind of smart ass reply from her, because I just got the engines roaring at full speed and revisiting what I’d done, championed myself to the cause, and now I was all in.

“Then, as if all of that free airtime wasn’t enough, and feel free to call up the radio station and ask the cost of a ‘live mention’ and you’ll see what a giant fucking favor I just handed you, I also remembered your transportation plight. Not only because you gummed up traffic so bad yesterday I had to listen to three versions of Mariah Carey’s Christmas song, but also because you reminded me once again, just eight hours ago, that you were distressed because you had a car that needed fixing and you didn’t possess the funds to do so. Somagic makerthat I am, your car problem is solved. Tada! Magic! You’re welcome.”

When I was a kid, there were these cartoons where when people would get pissed off their faces would turn red and their eyes would bulge, and smoke came out their ears. I imagine if Marley were a cartoon character, that’s essentially how she would look—except more like an angry version of She-Ra, with words as her Sword of Protection.

“You have got to be the most arrogant, self-centered, egomaniac I have ever met! You’ve really got some nerve.” She dropped into a deep bow fully bent at the waist, executed in a manner that would make the most proper debutante jealous. “Thank ye for lookin upon me situation wit such favor your grace.” And… she could slip into a low English accent with ease, “But I kindly ask that you take your ‘favors’,” her gloved hands drew my attention to her air quotes, “…and shove them where the sun don’t shine.”

* * *

I totally get that Ebernezer guy. Riff with me for a second. Imagine old Scrooge wasn’t a miser just because he was a rich old sod but maybe he gave and he gave and he gave again, and every time he tried to do something right, he was somehow slapped on the hand for helping. Eventually, Scrooge would get sick of helping and be like fuck all of you, I’ll just sit here in my house and swim in my room full of gold. Not that I’m comparing myself to Scrooge, but why try to be filled with the magic of the holiday if when you do you get bent over the barrel?

I’m not even talking about Marley. Though, honestly, I hoped for at least grateful excitement. We came into work on Monday did our show, and wouldn’t you know who was wearing a path in the carpet outside our studio at seven fucking thirty, but good old Drew. His arrival came with directives to meet him in his office, once again, when we got off the air. This of course sent Raven into a panic, so she was super fun to work with for the last hour and a half of our show. Now we sit, waiting for Drew to strike down whatever hammer he is armed with now.

“This is about that girl. I just know it,” Raven hissed from the chair opposite me. As per usual Drew was not in his office, so we sat patiently waiting for him to find us here, waiting like obedient little children. “It’s because you broke the contest rules. Which, actually, what was up with that? She was the same one you were fucking with your eyes all day long.”

Fucking with my eyes. Please. Raven clearly had begun snorting something other than Flonase. I was not in any way fucking Marley with my eyes. Don’t get me wrong, she’s easy on the eyes for sure. But I was doing nothing of the sort.

“The fact that you aren’t saying anything is speaking volumes Tucker. You are writing me an entire encyclopedia right now.”

“Raven, I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“And let’s not forget about my Christmas present. Rock in Rio, with airfare? Bear, in all of the year’s we’ve know each other when you have ever bought me a six-thousand-dollar Christmas present?”

“I bought you Chanel thigh high fuck me boots last year.”

“And they’re sooooo prettttyyyyyyy.” Raven’s eyes went all soft. She was so fucking cute sometimes, even when she was driving me bonkers. “But the jury would still rule in my favor. Chanel boots—all expenses trip to Rio. That’s a massive jump in coin there padre. You like this girl. Like you seriously dig her.”

The child with whom I shared a radio show joined her two forefingers together and made obnoxious smooching noises like she was in fourth grade and we were at a slumber party.

“How is it that I hand you what you should be the simplest of tasks Bear, and yet I walk in this morning and the whole station can’t wait to tell me how you broke the contest rules. Are you trying to get our broadcasting license revoked? Our Holiday Elves contest has very specific rules.”

“And, lots of slant rhymes.”

“Bear—”Raven hissed. I ignored her and directed my attention to Drew’s tantrum.

“Drew, you asked us to be Masters of Ceremony. To help the town get all jazzed for Carol the Square, to entertain the out of towners, and to overall make sure everyone had a good time. We did that in spades. Everyone had a good a time. High fives to us.”

Drew flopped into his oversized chair across from us, shucking off his reading glasses to lob a withered stare my way.

---