STORY 4

There was only one thing Willow liked about the Christmas season, and it wasn’t that goddamn Mariah Carey song.

Of course, everyone hated that song, but that didn’t stop it from reappearing every November on radio stations and overhead shopping mall music. It was every bit as regular a visitor as Willow’s period and probably even more depressing and painful.

Willow also didn’t like the holiday's consumerism, the way it drove ordinary people to spend all their money on pointless gifts while treating underpaid retail workers like shit. She didn’t care for the weather that accompanied Christmastime in this part of the country, either. Everyone seemed to yearn for a white Christmas, like in the song that wasn’t quite as awful as that goddamn Mariah Carey song. While Willow had nothing against snow in and of itself, she hated being cold.

The only thing Willow liked about Christmas was flirting with all the hot dads who brought their kids to see Santa Claus.

Willow’s husband, Greg, didn’t care for Willow’s Christmas fun. Greg owned a photography company that, among other things, did holiday events at malls like Town Centre. During the Easter season, Willow was one of several people who took turns portraying the Easter Bunny while Greg shot photos of her with children and even pets. At Christmastime, Greg was the star of the show, playing Santa Claus, with Willow as an elf.

Greg had tried to get her to play Mrs. Claus, but she wanted no part of Mrs. Claus’s traditionally conservative (read: frumpy) fashion. As an elf, Willow felt she had more freedom with what she wore and designed her own costume. Greg didn’t care for this, either, but Willow didn’t know why. All the truly scandalous bits were covered, and the kids who came to visit Santa didn’t seem to care that her slim stomach, the lower parts of her ass cheeks, and shapely legs were on display. Neither did the aforementioned hot dads. The only people who seemed to have a problem with her elf costume were Greg and some--and only some--of the moms.

“Can you try not to embarrass me today?” Greg asked her at the beginning of nearly every one of their daily Santa shifts.

She’d remind him that her flirting frequently resulted in the hot dads purchasing bigger photo packages than they might typically order, meaning more profits for him and his company. This seemed to have only a marginal effect on his opinion about the matter. Greg was always so worried about what customers might think of a sexy, scantily clad elf being around their children. Willow realized most of Greg’s objections over her flirting seemed to have more to do with his personal embarrassment or potential impact on the company and less with actual jealousy.

The Santa Claus operation was set up in the middle of Town Centre, near the mall’s information desk and a kiosk that sold watches and did watch repair. Willow always wondered how in the world a watch repair kiosk stayed in business these days, especially since one of its employees--a pretty girl named Bree--frequently wandered off somewhere with men to do God knows what (Willow was pretty sure she knew what). Of course, maybe that was how Bree fulfilled the company’s “Satisfaction Guaranteed” slogan.

The day everything changed was a typical weekday at the Town Centre mall. Busier than any other time of year but lacking the chaotic craziness of the weekend, Santa received a steady but not overwhelming number of little ones eager to share their greatest desires with him. Said greatest desires usually involved Barbie dolls, bicycles, or the latest video game systems.

Solitary hot dads accounted for about a third of all parental escorts, so it was a pretty good day for Willow.

The hottest dad that day wasn’t solitary, though, at least not initially. Standing in line next to a woman with an I-need-to-speak-to-a-manager haircut who he towered over, the man held a little girl in each of his massive arms. The kids, one wearing a red dress and the other green, looked to be four or five years old, but he held them as effortlessly as he might have a couple of grocery bags. With his dark hair, luscious beard, and piercing blue eyes, he looked like he had stepped right out of Willow’s wildest, sexiest dreams.

When the foursome got to the front of the line, the woman said something to the man and then walked away. The man kneeled to let his daughters down, and they ran over to sit on Greg’s--Santa’s--lap. The man stepped to the side, where Willow was waiting with another elf at the sales table. The table had brochures listing prices for various photo packages and a laptop that showed the pictures being taken.

“You’re very strong,” Willow said, smiling at the man. She had to look up at him; he had to be almost a foot taller than her.

“I’m sorry?” the man asked, smiling back and raising an eyebrow.

“The way you were holding your little girls,” Willow clarified. “Looked like they weighed nothing, but I’m fairly certain that’s not the case.” Bet you could pick me up like I weighed nothing, too, she wanted to add.

He laughed. “I’m sure at some point they’ll be too heavy for me to lug around,” he said. “But until then, I enjoy keeping them close. Showing them they’re loved.”

“Your wife is a lucky woman,” Willow said. She glanced down at his left hand, which he was using to flip through a brochure, and noticed he wasn’t wearing a ring. “At least, I assume that was your wife...”

“She was,” he said, “once upon a time. Now we’re barely friends who tolerate each other for the kids.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Willow said, putting her hand on his.

“Don’t be,” he said. “We’re both much happier being single. At least, I am. The name’s Ethan.”

“Willow,” Willow said.

Willow looked at the laptop screen. On it, Ethan’s girls were talking to Greg, listing off their demands simultaneously. Greg wasn’t paying attention to them, however. His eyes looked to the side, to where Willow stood talking to Ethan. His face was bright red. It would’ve been an excellent addition to Greg’s Santa Claus costume--His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! and all that--but Willow knew the redness of his face had nothing to do with costume details or method acting.

Greg was pissed