Substitute Santa

This is my entry for the 2020 Literotica Winter Holiday Stories contest. It's a frothy bit of cheer for the holidays -- heavy on the romance, but no sex this time.

Copyright

©

2020 to the author.

**

Adele Henderson knew how to throw a party. From the moment you stepped onto her front sidewalk, carols filled your ears as your eyes tried to decide which sparkling decoration to focus on first. Greeting her guests, Adele herself looked resplendent in a snug red dress with a fuzzy white trim, welcoming all her friends, clients and assorted human flotsam to our town's first all-out, honest-to-goodness Philadelphia ratfuck since before the pandemic.

Standing on her porch, I pushed the doorbell, wondering why I had come. I hated parties. And people in general, for that matter.

"Late as usual. Like my headband?" she asked coyly as she let me in. A sprig of mistletoe swayed between its two reindeer antlers, and I dutifully leaned in to kiss her cheek. A last-second turn of her head gave me a taste of her waxy Christmas Crimson lipstick.

Disengaging as quickly as I could, I smiled down at her. "It's cute. Um, you look great tonight. Thanks for inviting me."

She did look lovely, her cheeks and hazel eyes glowing with cheer, her bright blond ringlets held in an elaborate up-do with rhinestone hairpins. A faint whiff of jasmine teased my already-cold nose, and I felt the familiar twinge deep inside. I clamped down on it, hard. Our spring fling had ended months ago when a former boyfriend had reappeared in her life, all smiles and apologies and promises.

Still immersed in my grief, I hadn't minded too much. We both knew I hadn't moved on after my wife's death, so I didn't begrudge Adele's embrace of a happier future.

She looked at me thoughtfully and I straightened, trying to put the careworn, middle-aged wreck away in his box for the evening. "You're looking better. Are you feeling better?"

Adele had her shallow side, but she also cared about people, one reason she did so well selling real estate. I gave her a half-smile. "Getting there."

"Good." Opening the door wider, she shooed me in. "Come on in and have fun tonight. You deserve it."

A wall of collective body heat, laughter and chatter, and scent assaulted me the second I stepped into the great room where she entertained. Shy guys like me know their limits, and I beelined through the throng to the den where I knew she kept her books and music.

A Christmas tree, the room's only light source, stood next to the piano. A mountain of coats covered the love seat, and a few purses lay on the floor, their owners clearly more trusting than I was. Closing the door behind me, I dropped my own coat on the floor next to the loveseat so I could grab it fast if I needed to escape.

Heart pounding, I closed my eyes and breathed slowly and fully as a long-ago choir director had taught me. A few breaths later, my shoulders dropped and I opened my eyes.

A woman about my age stood before me, regarding me with interest.

"Shit!" I blinked, hoping I had imagined her, but no such luck. "Where'd you come from? I didn't hear you come in."

"Hi," she replied, keeping her distance and not explaining a thing. "Sorry to butt in, but I needed a break from that crowd. So many people!"

Trying to quell a quick stab of anger at her intrusion, I took another deep breath. "I know. That's why I'm in here."

Sizing up the situation, she looked right into my eyes and spoke the words that had echoed around my brain since ringing Adele's doorbell.

"Not to overshare, but I was an introvert before the pandemic. I don't even know how to be around people anymore."

Annoyance battled with intrigue, and I finally surrendered to the inevitable.

"You and me both. I'm not really a people person in the best of times. And you can't spend a year avoiding crowds and worrying about breathing in other people's air without fallout."

She nodded. "Exactly!" Pausing, she surveyed the shadowy books. "Tell you what, I'll stay over here and you stay over there, and we can each pretend we're alone."

I shook my head. "Big difference between true solitude and standing in a friend's den with a stranger, even if we're not speaking." Sighing, I moved toward the door. "There are other rooms. I'll find one and you can collect yourself here."

"Don't go," she said as I passed, putting her hand on my arm. "Please."

I looked at her with surprise. "Why?"

Shrugging, she dropped her gaze. "Instinct. I think you might be my kind of person."

"Meaning a wallflower who doesn't even get a drink before bolting for an empty room when all the fun's somewhere else?"

Relaxing, she smiled back at me. "Yeah. Just like that. My name's Kerry, by the way. With a K. Kerry King."

I took her proffered hand. "Chris Carpenter."

We eyed each other and cracked up. "Cee Cee and Kay Kay," she laughed. "We were obviously meant to meet."

The ice broken, we looked around the room. Two chairs stood in the corner, one of those conversation groupings decorators like so much. Kerry nodded towards them, her thick, shoulder-length gray hair swinging as she moved.

"Tell you what. I'll sacrifice myself to get us a couple of drinks and you pick out something in here for us both to talk about when I get back."

I nodded. "Deal."

"What kind of drinks do you like?"

"Eggnog, or maybe hot chocolate. Sweet drinks. I'm kind of a child that way."

A dimple, visible even in the dim light, appeared next to her wide mouth. "Me too. Booze, or no alcohol?"

Thinking, I looked at the ceiling. "I don't drink very often, but this is a special occasion... I don't know. Surprise me."

After Kerry left, I moved over to the piano and put one finger down on middle C. Shrieks of laughter and "All I Want for Christmas (Is You)" drifted through the wall, but the single note sounded clear and true despite the din. Seating myself on the bench, I turned on the light above the music rack and ran a series of arpeggios, beaming at the pure voice of the instrument. I didn't think Adele played, but it was totally like her to keep her piano tuned anyway, just in case.

To pass the time, I quietly played one of my favorite Gordon Lightfoot songs, wishing I had some sleigh bells to round it out. As I finished the last chorus, light and sound spilled into the room and I looked up to see Kerry standing there, beaming and clutching a tray. Unlike most of the partygoers, she wore blues and lavenders with a silver chain just touching her collarbone. The colors suited her perfectly, the flowing fabrics hinting at a lush figure beneath, and I smiled without thinking.

Gently kicking the door closed, she set the tray down on a table and walked to my side.

"Hidden talents! Will you play something for me?"

"If you're a good girl," I half-flirted, surprising myself. "I need a drink first, though. What'd you get us?"

The better question was what

hadn't

she brought. In one cup, a gigantic homemade marshmallow melted into a pool of steaming chocolate. A tumbler held a creamy liquid topped with a sprinkle of nutmeg, or maybe cinnamon. In a highball glass glowing with a deep auburn liquid, a giant ice cube bobbed, bumping into an orange twist. A full shot glass stood next to a small snifter containing something amber. Bottles of water rounded out the beverages, and my eyes lit on two large plates. One overflowed with desserts, including peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips, my favorite, while cheese, fruit, UFOs -- unidentified fried objects -- and meats filled the other, ensuring we wouldn't get too drunk too quickly.

"I didn't know what you like, so I got one of everything. Two of the really good-looking stuff."

Resettling the tray on the table between the chairs, she turned on the small lamp so we could see better and gave me a quick inventory. "Hot chocolate, eggnog, holiday negroni and amaretto. No booze in the chocolate and eggnog, but I can tell you, amaretto and chocolate go great together if you want to try it. And that's a shot of bourbon if you want to spike the 'nog."

Cocking an eyebrow, I looked at her and she shrugged. "I used to work in a bar, back in college."

"A nice one, I'm going to guess."

Grabbing a drink, she snickered. "The nicest one in town! The one where students would take their parents when they came to visit, knowing their folks would pick up the tab. I made out like a bandit on tips. Those rich fathers

loved

me."

My heart lightened at her easy humor. "Every college town has that one nice bar for the people who write the tuition checks! Hey, can I try a sip of that? I've never had a negroni."

The next two hours passed so delightfully that I hardly knew what to think. Conversation with Kerry flowed without effort. Sharing the food and drinks, we talked about politics, travel -- she had once backpacked around the world -- music, our backgrounds, and oh, so many things that I can't remember them all. We differed on a few topics, but in a way that drove and challenged us, not an "oh shit, how do I get out of this conversation?" sort of way.

The lamp and the glowing fairy lights at the edge of the ceiling cast a warm and flattering light on her. On us both, I guess. I don't know what she saw when she looked at me other than a sturdy white guy, thinning on top but rocking a full beard. Although I had wanted to wear a comfortable old sweatshirt, I could almost hear Dee fussing at me to put on something nice, for heaven's sake. In her honor, I had donned the deep red cashmere sweater she gave me on our final Christmas and a pair of gray wool slacks.

Despite the festive sweater, I'm sure I looked exactly like the still-grieving, worn-out widower that I am. Nevertheless, Kerry seemed content to sit together and get acquainted even as a sure-to-be-legendary party raged just a few feet away.

As for me, I saw an attractive woman, intelligent, witty, sure of herself, and pretty much a dead ringer for Louise Penny, one of my favorite mystery writers. The few lines on her face spoke mostly of good humor, with some sadness, too, in the space between her brows.

Her eyes, though -- now that I could see them properly, I didn't want to look away. A silvery sort of blue, like a deep lake just before an autumnal sunset on a cloudless day. I imagined she could see right into my soul with those angel's eyes, and a pleasant shiver ran through me.

"Play me something?" she finally asked. "Maybe that Lightfoot song? I love his music."

Fluttering my fingers, I stood up. "I'm more of a singer than a pianist, but I'll try."

She clapped her hands together like a little kid. "I sing too!"

Again, we smiled at each other, and this time, I felt a little flutter inside.

The music flowed out of my hands as if by magic, and we sang "Song for a Winter's Night," "Winter Wonderland" and "Silent Night" as if we had rehearsed them a dozen times each. There's something special about singing with another person, and after months of not being able to sing in any groups, this felt particularly glorious.

As if to mirror my thoughts, my hands started "Angels from the Realms of Glory," and we sang that one too. Outside the den, no one could hear us over the sound system and crowd noise, so we put our hearts into it and sang out, ending on a mutual laugh of delight.

She hugged me as I stood up, and I took her in my arms with enthusiasm, still buoyed by making music together. Through the thin, flowing fabric of her dress, I could feel the beat of her heart. My own heart felt like an entire percussion section had taken over it.

Close up, her eyes seemed even more silvery as they gazed into mine. Trembling, I took a deep breath. Should I kiss her? I barely knew her. And yet -- did that matter?

The moment passed and she gave me a quick squeeze before letting go of me. We returned to our chairs, conscious of each other in a pleasantly distracting new way.

The more we spoke, the more I wanted to keep talking. That hadn't happened since I had met Dee at a choral competition nearly forty years before. Inside, I marveled as we kept chatting like cherished old friends. Maybe I wasn't such a misanthrope after all. Maybe -- and even in my head, I whispered -- maybe I had a future after all.

We had polished off everything on the tray when I finally told her about Dee.

"Back in March of last year, we went to our son's wedding." I stopped, remembering Dee's happiness at witnessing our youngest marry the girl we both had grown to love. "We talked beforehand about whether or not we should go, but neither of us wanted to miss it. We wanted to believe it was safe, that COVID was just like the flu. But you remember how it was back then. Nobody really knew much about it. We didn't even know to wear masks, dammit."

Kerry nodded, her eyes soft with compassion.

"Bradley and Jennifer -- that's my son and his wife -- were fine. But Jen's sister had it, and we sat right next to her during the ceremony. She didn't have any symptoms, and she's only twenty-two, and we didn't have tests back then. God, that seems so long ago."

I paused to regroup. "About a week later, Dee woke up with a horrible headache. The next day, a fever and cough. Two days later, she started having trouble breathing. I bundled her up in a blanket and took her to the hospital. I didn't want to take any chances. They put her on a ventilator. But it was too late, even if we didn't know it."

Shrugging helplessly, I let Kerry fill in the blanks as I struggled not to cry.

Her voice sounded soft and somehow silvery, like her eyes. "How awful for you both. I'm so sorry, Chris."

"They wouldn't let me be with her in the hospital. I could call her and the nurse would hold the phone to Dee's ear, but she couldn't talk. I told her over and over how much I loved her, how happy she made me, how no man ever had a better wife. Sometimes I'd sing to her, songs we had sung together when we were young." Gulping, I wiped my eyes. "The only saving grace is that it happened fast. She didn't suffer very long."

Kerry's arms slipped around my shoulders and I leaned into her comforting bosom. Closing my eyes, I felt her shake with grief along with me and wondered who she had lost.

I could have spent the rest of the night in her arms, breathing in her light floral scent and pressing my cheek against her silky dress as I drew solace from this strange and wondrous woman. How long had it been since anyone had held me like this?

A long time later, I felt her lips on my forehead as she gave me one last hug before rising.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," she repeated.

I gave a little bark of laughter. "I didn't mean to cry all over you -- and at a party, no less."

Her lips quirked. "It's a party, and you'll cry if you want to."

We gazed at each other. Her silver-blue eyes gave me glimmerings of ideas I hadn't realized I would ever consider again.

"Thank you," I said into the fairy-lit silence.

The door opened and a couple staggered in, clearly the worse for drink.

"Sorry, guys, but we gotta get our shit," the man said, and sat down heavily on the pile of coats.

His girlfriend giggled. "You moron. We can't get our coats if you're sitting on them."

Surprised, he looked down. "Yeah. Sounds right." Slowly rising to his feet, he peered down at the pile. "Which ones are ours?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. The same ones we always wear." She fumbled with the coats until she found two and pulled them out of the pile.

When four more people appeared, Kerry and I looked at each other and nodded. Grabbing the tray, she walked out. I turned back for my own coat, and found the drunk guy standing on it.

"Could you please get off my coat?" I asked politely.

He turned to me with a belligerent "Fuck you, Santa."

"For fuck's sake," his girlfriend said again. "Come on, Jeff, get off the man's coat."

Even with her entreaties, Jeff refused to move and he grew more and more combative. Finally, the girlfriend and I looked at each other and she gave me a little nod. With one swift movement, I pushed him back and he fell on the pile of coats. Bending down, I picked up my own and left, his curses ringing in my ears.

Outside the den, I searched for Kerry, but found no sign of her, or of Adele. After several frustrating minutes, I gave up and called it a night, my happiness fizzling from me, leaving nothing but a flat staleness.

Slouching out the door, I sighed, still feeling the ghost of her kiss on my forehead.

I hated parties. And people. And Christmas.

**

I spent the next two weeks toggling between trying not to think of her and trying to track her down. The only Kerry King an internet search turned up played in a thrash metal band. My Kerry had seemed a capable sort of woman, but I doubted those skills extended to impersonating a burly, bald, bearded guitarist.

Even Brad, now a new dad, noticed my distracted state and asked about it on our weekly call. I tried to brush it off, but of my three kids, he's the one most like me. He knew something had come up and refused to let it go until I had told him almost everything. (I kept my pleasantly erotic dreams to myself.)

"She must be something else," he remarked.

"She is, with eyes like the sea after a storm."

"Oh man.

The Princess Bride

. You really have it bad, Pops."

I sighed. "Yeah."

"I hope you find her."

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found. Maybe she realized I'm just a boring, fat, old fart."

Even his laugh sounded like mine. "Or maybe she's trying to find you. Or waiting for you to give chase."

I shook my head. "Probably not."

The piercing cry of an infant made me wince. "Sounds like Her Majesty needs some attention. I'll let you go, Son."

"Thanks, Dad. But don't give up, OK? And maybe get on social media so women can find you?"

I smiled at the phone. Brad had spent years trying to persuade me to join this century, but I didn't trust social media. "I love you, son. Now go take care of your kid, and don't worry about me."

A swirl of holiday concerts left me exhausted, and Christmas Eve found me alone in my living room, leaning back in my old recliner and drinking a peaceful glass of pinot grigio. I had resolutely declined all invitations, citing fatigue and promising to appear on Christmas Day.

I had just finished my first glass of wine when my phone buzzed. My cousin Nick. I shrugged and picked it up.

"You gotta come over right now!"

Nick wasn't one to panic, so his plea got me right to my feet. "All right. I'll be there. Fifteen minutes."

"Fast as you can, Chris. I need your help, stat."

Shoving my feet into my heavy Carhartt work boots, I grabbed my parka and put it on as I bolted into the garage. Even with the door closed, it was freezing in there. I zipped up the parka and donned the gloves I always leave in its pockets, then got in my SUV and clicked the garage door remote.

My cousin may be an English teacher, but he's still one of the most sensible guys I know. He's just six months younger than I am and we grew up more like brothers than cousins. We even look like brothers, both of us stocky but not fat, and sharing our mothers' family's dark blue eyes and premature curly gray hair.

As kids, our parents expected to find us together, usually building something impractical or sneaking snacks out of our moms' kitchens to fortify us for our adventures. As adults, we had served together as scoutmasters, volunteered as firefighters in the same company, and chaperoned our kids' homecoming dances and proms, glowering at the horny young couples while laughing inside at their antics.

I racked my brain for what could have prompted his call, but couldn't imagine. Forty years after my high school graduation, we still spent most holidays together. Maybe that was it. I had told him all about meeting Kerry two weeks before, and he knew I still felt gloomy about her sudden getaway. I hadn't mentioned that her silver-blue eyes had haunted my dreams ever since, but Nick knew me, and had probably figured that out anyway.