Santa Vic

Santa Vic By J.M. Snyder The last thing city bus driver Vic Braunson wanted to see on his locker when he returned to the depot after a double shift was a Post-It with a note to stop by the boss’s office before he left for the night. It was already late—Vic’s usual shift ran from noon until eight in the evening, and with the holidays approaching, he had to pick up a second route. He’d clocked in a little after ten that morning, and didn’t drive back into the bus garage until almost midnight. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to fall out in his bed for a good twelve hours, but he had to be back into work early the next morning. He didn’t have time to stop by the boss’s office. More importantly, he didn’t want to. How many more hours could he possibly be expected to work? But the money was a good incentive—his lover Matt diLorenzo had been talking about house hunting for the past few months, and all the overtime Vic was putting in would allow them to make a sizable down p*****t if they decided to take the plunge. Plus there was the expensive matching ring set Matt picked out for them that still needed to be paid off. As Vic pulled his heavy winter coat out of his locker, the white gold ring on his left hand caught the overhead light and winked at him almost conspiratorially. Soon, that flash of brilliance seemed to promise. Matty’s waiting up for you, so go see what Mr. Morrison wants and call it a night. The thought of curling up beside his lover in the bed they shared only encouraged him to cut short any meeting with the boss. Slamming his locker shut, Vic spun the combination lock and tore the Post-It off the door. Then he headed for the time clock. But instead of stopping, he walked right by it—if Morrison wanted to eat into Vic’s personal time, Vic sure as hell wanted to be paid for it. He’d clock out after stopping by the bossman’s office. Morrison’s door was ajar, the light on inside the room. Vic knocked and eased the door open enough to duck his head around it. Morrison sat hunched over a stack of paperwork, elbows on the desk in front of him, the heels of his hands pressed hard against his closed eyes. His thin glasses sat to one side, discarded. A lit cigarette was pinched between the first two fingers of his right hand, an inch of ash dangling from its tip, dangerously close to breaking off onto Morrison’s balding pate. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Vic asked, “You wanted to see me?” His voice sounded gruff to his own ears, but it had been a long day. From the look of things, Morrison felt just as worn out and used as Vic did himself. Make this quick, Vic prayed, his thoughts straying to Matty, already home and waiting for him. I have someone waiting on me to get home sometime tonight. Slowly Morrison stirred. He rubbed his eyes, then lowered his hands to the desk. The cigarette ash crumbled onto the stack of papers but Morrison negligently brushed it to the floor. “Braunson,” he growled. Sounds like I feel, Vic thought. Taking another step into the office, Vic held up the Post-It as if to remind his boss this little visit wasn’t his idea. “It says to stop by on my way out.” “Come in, come in,” Morrison said with a wave of his hand. Vic felt his temper begin to simmer. “No disrespect, sir, but I need to get home…” “I’ll make this real quick,” Morrison promised. Distrustful, Vic came into the office and closed the door partway behind him. He heard something rustle behind the door—plastic, from the sound of it, like one of those dry cleaning bags the company laundry service used to return uniforms in. Vic kept his gaze focused on Morrison, though. He wasn’t here to sightsee. He’d had enough of work for one day and was ready to head out. Every second spent here in the boss’s office was one more second away from his lover. For a long moment, Morrison considered Vic. Dread filled him—what the hell was this all about? And so close to the holidays? Vic was putting in the overtime now to avoid having to work a few days at Christmas. He’d been with the bus company for so long, he had seniority over most of the other drivers. But because he didn’t have kids or a wife, none of the other guys seemed bothered about asking him to switch. Before Matt came into his life, Vic took the extra shifts willingly enough, but now he had someone to celebrate the holidays with, and the way Matt treated their spoiled mutt Sadie, she was practically a surrogate child. Vic knew half the presents Matt stuck under their tree were for the damn dog. He couldn’t work any more than he already was. He wouldn’t. But maybe that wasn’t what Morrison wanted. Pinching the bridge of his nose, where an imprint of his glasses lingered, Morrison asked, “Remember a few years back when you helped out with the Christmas party?” Vic groaned. Every year, the company threw a party for its employees the Saturday before Christmas. They spared no expense—glazed hams and roasted turkey were carved to order, and all the traditional side dishes were there, cornbread stuffing and cranberry sauce and sweet potato casseroles. Wine and beer poured freely, and holiday classics played over the loudspeaker. Employees brought their families, and the kids vied for a spot in line to sit on Santa’s lap. A few years back, the guy usually hired to play Santa fell through, and Morrison asked Vic to step in. It’d been fun, he couldn’t deny it, but it wasn’t exactly something Vic wanted to do again. With his muscled physique, multiple piercings, and penchant for tattoos, he thought he made a pretty scary Santa, though no one else seemed to mind. And it got him a whole week off at the holiday, for helping Morrison out of a bind. Somehow Vic suspected he wouldn’t be quite so lucky this time. “You want me to dress up this year, too,” Vic muttered. It wasn’t a question, but Morrison nodded anyway. “You fit the suit,” he pointed out. “The kids loved you. Hell, don’t tell me it wasn’t a blast.” Vic pressed his lips together until they almost disappeared to keep from saying something he might regret…like ‘no.’ This was his boss, and if Morrison wanted him to play Santa, Vic would dress up like that jolly old elf or risk his job. It wasn’t that hard a decision to make, really. But Morrison pretended as if Vic had a choice. “Could you maybe do it again?” he asked, giving Vic the same hound-dog expression Sadie used on Matt whenever she wanted a treat. “It’s just one night, you know? I’ll…I don’t know, I’ll double your Christmas bonus, how’s that?” Actually, that sounded pretty sweet. Given Vic’s tenure with the company, his bonus was already a nice chunk of change, and to double it…put that into savings, and he and Matt might have to start getting serious about buying a house. “What do you say?” Morrison asked. “Double my usual bonus?” Vic wanted to clarify. Morrison nodded. “The party’s Saturday. How about it?” Vic shrugged. “All right. When should I pick up the suit?” “Right now.” Morrison nodded past Vic, who turned and saw the familiar red suit trimmed with white fur hanging in a plastic dry cleaning bag behind the office door. “You know, I think red’s your color.” Vic groaned as he reached for the bag. Think about the bonus money, he reminded himself. A nice little house, a yard for the dog…Matt will be happy. And when Matt was happy, Vic was happy. Even if he had to dress up as ol’ Kris Kringle in the process.