Gary V. Powell, Author

A Christmas Wish

by

Gary V. Powell

Copyright 2005 and 2009 Gary V. Powell. All rights reserved.

This story has appeared on several sites in several different versions around the Web.

 

Leonard stepped through the door of his cozy office building into the dark and cold of the city street. Although he was dressed in an overcoat and hat, the frigid air bit him, turned his breath to steam, and pinched his nostrils. He hunched his shoulders and pulled his scarf tight. He hated this time of year. It was dark in the morning when he took the train into the city and dark in the evening when he headed home. He found the Christmas lights neither hopeful nor heartwarming.

Last minute shoppers were out in abundance. He saw this every year—the harried husbands buying perfume at the counter as Fields was closing, the mothers fighting over the last toys left on the shelf. December 24^th, his least favorite day of his least favorite season. 

People strode past, moving with purpose, in a hurry to get to their parties, concerts, and gift exchanges. They’d drink too much, eat too much, spend too much. Then they’d regret it in a few days when they got their cholesterol checked and received their credit card bills in the mail. Then they’d come whining to him, or another accountant like him, “Help me Leonard. I can’t afford this Leonard.”

He trudged on toward the train station, head down, collar up. At age thirty-five, he lived alone and kept mostly to himself. His family had long ago moved to Florida, so holidays were spent alone, usually in front of the TV in his underwear.

At least he didn’t have to deal with someone else’s hang-ups.

Now and then, his eyes strayed when an attractive woman walked past. But what could you see beneath all those layers of wool, cotton, silk, and satin? He could only imagine the sleek lines, the up-lifted breasts, the flared hips, that stripe of heaven ensconced in the patch of fur.

It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. He hadn’t exactly given up, but he’d never been very good with women. Everything he said came out sounding inane, rehearsed. Most women made him nervous, made him feel small, like he’d felt in junior high when people laughed at his moves on the dance floor. Recently, his hairline had started to recede and his waistline looked like he’d swallowed a watermelon. Meeting babes wasn’t getting any easier.

Sure, he could have had his share of mousey women or fat chicks. But who wanted that? He wanted those skinny, big breasted, round-assed women he saw in magazines and on the Internet. He wanted to feel their smooth, flawless skin on his. He wanted them at his feet, begging him for it.

Give it to me Lenny. Give it to me.

But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. By the holiday season, those chicks were already taken by the fat cats and himbos. They’d roast chestnuts together and drink champagne.

It was another reason to hate the holidays.   

*                                  *                                  *

 

As he passed Mike’s Tap, a chill blast nearly knocked Leonard off his feet. What the hell, he had a few minutes before his train arrived.

Located in an upscale shopping and dining area, Mike’s Tap survived as a reminder of the city’s grittier past. Black and white photos of long dead politicians and gangsters clung to the walls. Smoke obscured one end of the long bar from the other. Mike’s was more crowded than Leonard preferred. Business men stopping off for one on their way home, shoppers taking a pre-dinner toddy, a few regulars who’d been lodged in their seats since the place opened at noon. He frowned, pushed through the crowd and took a seat at the bar. The bartender gave him a nod of recognition and poured a J&B on the rocks. Leonard tossed the first one down and motioned for a second.

Seated to his left was a young man engaged in a too-loud cell-phone conversation. Something about a grocery list, something about directions. Leonard fought the urge to grab the cell phone and hurl it across the bar.

Seated to his right, a large man in a Santa Clause suit swilled beer and smoked a fat torpedo. Leonard watched the guy in the mirror. He smiled and puffed away, blowing billowing smoke rings, then blowing smaller rings that marched through the larger ones like soldiers in formation. Even Leonard had to admit it was a pretty good trick.

“Bet that takes a lot of practice,” Leonard said.

Santa chuckled merrily. “You like it?”

“I said it was a pretty good trick.”

Santa finished his beer—the bar in front of him showed six empties—and motioned for another. “Keep ‘em coming,” he told the barkeeper. Then he turned to Leonard and said, “Yeah, it is a pretty good fucking trick.”

“That’s quite a cigar, too,” Leonard observed.

“Cuban.”

“How..?”

“Connections,” Santa said, then laughed uproariously. “Wanna’ see another trick?”

“Sure.”

Santa took a long drag on his cigar, blew a large, glowing ring toward the ceiling, then followed the ring with three perfect ships, complete with masts and billowing sails. The ships floated through the ring, before sailing across the sea of Mike’s Tap.

“Holy shit,” Leonard said.

Santa chortled, then elbowed Leonard. “Lookie here.”

Another deep drag, then from the fat man’s mouth and lungs three puffs issued. They hung momentarily in the air before assuming the shape of full breasted, big-hipped women. The women swayed and danced seductively before Leonard, wagging their fingers at him, shaking their tits, thrusting their pelvises.

“What the..?”

Leonard couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He looked around the bar. He expected to see other people staring at him and his talented companion. Instead, the two of them might as well have been on a deserted island. The bar’s other patrons chattered away, lost in their own shit.

“I bet it’s the damnedest thing you’ve ever seen,” Santa said. His eyes twinkled and his cheeks burned red from the alcohol and his obvious delight at Leonard’s astonishment.   

“But, how...”

“Don’t be stupid, Leonard. How do you think? I’m not some dime-store Santa, you dick, I’m the real fucking deal. I always stop off at Mike’s on Christmas Eve before I go to work.” He leaned toward Leonard conspiratorially. “I stashed the reindeer on the roof.”

Leonard knocked back his Scotch. He eyed Santa over the rim of his glass.

 Sonofabitch must’ve lost his marbles.

“Yeah, right, old timer.”

Santa slapped Leonard on the back. “Old timer? I’ll show you old timer, you ass wipe.”

He puffed on his cigar and blew another large cloud of smoke. The cloud hovered in front of Leonard and took on the visage of Margie Baldwin, the girl Leonard had a crush on in high school. She smiled at him with pouty lips. Her long blonde hair shimmered like a halo and fell onto flawless shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkled like they’d sparkled in Chemistry class all those years ago.

“Goddamn,” Leonard whispered.

“Yeah,” Santa said. “That one always gets ‘em.”

Leonard took a deep breath to steady himself. “This can’t be real.”

Santa finished another beer, lifted a rotund cheek off the barstool, and ripped a fart as loud as a thunderclap. “As real as it gets,” he said.

Leonard blinked. “How did you know about Margie?”

“It’s written all over you. Never got a girl like Margie did you, Leonard?”

“I never told you my name.”

“The fuck, Leonard? If I know about Margie, you think I don’t know about you?”

Leonard swirled the ice remaining in his glass. “That makes sense.”

“So what do you want, Leonard? What exactly are you looking for here?”

“Looking for? I don’t know. I just came in for a drink.”

“Camel shit. This ain’t no coinkidink, Leonard. You came into this bar for a reason. You sat down next to me for a reason.”

“Then you tell me , wise ass.”

“Look, I kinda’ like you. I got one gift left in my bag. Tell me what you want and it’s yours. I don’t give a fuck. Someone’s going to get this gift. It might as well be you as some wretched Eskimo kid. Anyway, you’re about as pathetic as anyone I’ve met lately.”

“Thanks,” Leonard said.

“Don’t take it personal. What’s it going to be?”

Leonard pursed his lips. What the hell? Who knew? It was worth a shot.

“Margie Baldwin,” he blurted out.

Santa pounded a fist on the bar. “Ooooh whoooo,” he shouted. “I knew it. Nookie, poontang!”

Leonard grimaced. “Well, you asked.”

“How do you want her? Like she was back then, like she’s been in between, or like she is now?”

Leonard scratched his head. He hadn’t considered that Margie Baldwin might have changed since Chemistry class. All these years, she’d remained the same hot little cheerleader in his mind.

“Shit, I don’t care” he said, then added quickly, “just make sure she’s legal.”

“You’re smarter than you look, Leonard.” He let go an earthshaking belch and pounded the bar again “Done, then. It’s all done.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“I shit you not.” Santa stood, mashed out his stogie in the ashtray and plopped a wad of cash on the bar. “Look, I gotta’ go. I’m running late. The little woman’s gonna’ be pissed.”

“What about Margie?”

“She’ll be at your place by the time you arrive.” Santa gave him a wink. “Treat her right, Leonard, and give her a poke for me.”

And then touching a finger to the side of his nose, he disappeared, vanished into thin air and cigar smoke.

Leonard turned to the bartender. “You see that?”

The bartender lifted Santa’s cash off the bar. “See what?”

“The guy that was here. He just disappeared.”

“I seen lots of guys,” he told Leonard. “So, what is it, you hogging valuable real estate or you drinking?”

“Yeah, merry fucking Christmas to you, too,” Leonard said. He paid up and shouldered his way through the crowd.

Margie Baldwin, yeah right.

 

 

*                                  *                                  *

He dozed on the train ride home and by the time he awoke near his stop, his encounter with Santa seemed like a dream in a dream. That Scotch must have really gone to his head. He must have imagined all that crap—the sailing boats, the dancing women, Margie Baldwin.

What a loser, talking to strangers in bars, pouring out his most secret desires to people he hardly knew.

Leonard resolved that after Christmas, after the New Year, he was going to change. He was going to start exercising. He was going to cut back on the drinking. He was going to stop being such a fucking loser.

As the train slowed, he rose and pushed through the aisle. This far north, at this hour, the train was deserted except for a few stragglers. He couldn’t help but notice the woman seated near the exit. Although she looked vaguely familiar, he didn’t remember seeing her on the train before, and he thought he’d seen everyone who rode the train. Mostly, it was regulars, businessmen and students. But this woman he hadn’t seen before.

She was immersed in a newspaper. Like him, she was middle-aged, too young to retire, too old to put up with a lot of crap.  Her blonde hair, streaked with strands of silver, was tucked under an old-fashioned scarf like his grandma used to wear. Beneath her heavy coat, Leonard glimpsed shapely bare calves. The woman looked up and smiled at him.

Nice smile. Nice calves, too. Too bad she was so old. Too bad she needed to lose a few pounds.

Leonard turned away, embarrassed. The woman settled in behind him and they both exited the train. He lost track of her in the station and had forgotten about her by the time he crossed the parking lot.

As he hoofed the two blocks from the train station to his condo, snow began to fly. He hoped for a shit kicker, something big and cold and ugly enough to shut down the city for days. He’d stay home, watch porno movies, and drink Scotch.

Even though he knew better, Leonard’s heart beat a little faster as he keyed the lock to his place. What if she really was there? Margie Baldwin, all tits and ass and pink panties. He’d jacked off a million times to her memory, squirted an ocean of sperm in her honor.

But instead of Margie, he opened the door onto the odor of garbage he should’ve taken out the day before, the sight of Wall Street Journals strewn across the floor, and the bad taste of an average life lived in a mediocre world.

Leonard crossed the living room and went to the liquor cabinet. He poured three fingers of Johnny Black and let the warmth take him. It was standing there at the counter that he heard her voice.

“Hey, Lenny. You can pour me one of those.”

He dropped his glass into the sink, breaking it into a thousand heartless shards. When he turned, he saw her standing in the hall. It was the woman from the train.

“The fuck?” he said.

She unwrapped her scarf and removed her coat. She twirled like a ballet dancer. “Recognize me now?”

Leonard’s heart felt like it might jump out of his chest. “Margie?”

“Expecting someone else?”

“But how…”

“It’s what you wished for, right?”

Yeah, this or something like it.

 

*                                  *                                  *

“So, what’d you think, I’d stay sixteen my whole life?”

She sat on his sofa sipping Scotch. She wore a tight-fitting cashmere sweater that showed off tits that weren’t quite as perky as Leonard remembered. The plaid skirt she wore came to just above her knees. Her legs still looked pretty good, except for the faint trace of varicose veins showing through her nylons.

“This can’t be happening,” he said.”Why didn’t you say something on the train?”

“Santa told me to come to your apartment. I was running a little behind schedule.”

“That old fart?”

“That’s your problem Lenny, you’re afraid to let yourself dream. You’re afraid to believe.”

He sipped his own Scotch.”It’s a lot to get my head around.”

“Yeah, I suppose. But you need to let go, Lenny.”

“I had it bad for you in high school,” he said.

“Lots of guys had it bad for me then.  You used to look up my skirt in Chemistry class.”

“You caught me?”

She smiled and finished her drink. She glanced around his apartment. “Looks like you’ve done all right for yourself, Lenny.”

“You think so?”

“Better than me. You got any more Scotch?”

Leonard poured them both another drink. “So, what kind of life have you had?”

She shrugged. “You know, not that great, really. I didn’t go to college. I ended up taking a job in retail. I was married for a while, but…”

“Any kids?”

She shook her head. “We couldn’t conceive.”

Thank God, no stretch marks.

 “Is that why you split?”

“No. He fell for his secretary.”

“He took his secretary over you?”

“You shoulda’ seen her.”

“Jesus, Margie. I’m sorry.”

“Anyway, I lost my job at Wal-Mart last summer. Then I got evicted from my apartment.”

Leonard felt a pang of sympathy. “So, how’ve you been making it?”

“You know. Living out of my car. I get food stamps.”

Leonard studied her. There were dark circles under her eyes, lines around her mouth. He wondered if she was hungry.

“Look,” he said. “Do you need anything? When’s the last time you ate?”

She finished that second drink. “I had some day-old donut holes this morning.”

“So what do you want? I’ll get you anything.”

She cocked her head and thrust out her lower lip thoughtfully. “Fried chicken,” she said. “I’d give my left tittie for chicken and biscuits.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

He arranged for delivery, cleared papers off the table, opened a bottle of wine, and lit candles. He built a fire in the fireplace. Margie went into the bathroom to clean up.

When a pimply, skinny kid arrived with the food, Leonard peeled off three singles for his tip. Behind him, he heard Margie say, “For Christ’s sake Lenny, give the kid a five. It’s Christmas.”

Leonard grudgingly added two more singles to the tip and watched the kid’s eyes light up. When he turned, he could see that she’d showered. Her hair was still wet and she wore only a towel.

He put out the food and poured wine. She sat down and began to eat, snarfing with both hands. “I was thinking Kentucky Fried. This is way better,” she said between bites.

He watched her. It was too fucking strange. Margie Baldwin eating fried chicken at his table. “So, are you the real Margie, or…”

“I’m as a real a version of Margie as you’ll ever see.”

“Okay, so what happens next?”

She licked her fingers and looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what happens next with you and me, with us?”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, you’re the one who wished for this. It’s your show, man.”

“But where do you go from here?”

She stopped eating in mid-chew. Her mouth hung open. “Go? I’m not going anywhere, Lenny. You asked for me, now you got me. I’m yours.”

He stared at her. “I don’t get it. Can’t you go back to your car?”

“My car? Are you fucking kidding me? It’s cold out there.”

“I guess I was expecting something different.”

“Look,” she said. “You’re not exactly first prize yourself.”

“Now, wait a minute.”

“Oh, I get it. You wanted the sixteen-year old, virginal Margie. You wanted me young and naïve. You wanted me to fall at your feet.”

“You were a virgin?”

“Until my senior year.”

“But…”

“That was just locker-room talk, I never fucked Ralphie.”

*Margie the virgin. Who knew?*

Leonard sat back. “This is all a mistake.”

“No mistake, Lenny. You got any toothpicks?”

“Jesus Christ.”

She reached out and placed her hand over his. “Relax, baby. This won’t be so bad.”

“It won’t?”

“Look at it as a growth opportunity.”

“A what?”

“You’ve never committed to anything or anyone. Now you don’t have a choice. You can embrace it, or spend your life chasing fantasy pussy.”

“But I can still fuck other women, right?”

“Goddamnit, Lenny. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not like I’m getting a lot anyway.”

She flicked a tear away. “It’s all right. I know I’m not the woman I used to be.”

He felt a sudden irresistible urge to hold her, to make everything all right. He stood and came around in front of her. He lifted her to her feet and hugged her. Then he kissed her.

Kissed Margie Baldwin.

She slipped her tongue between his lips. The towel fell to her feet. Margie Baldwin was naked in his arms. He lowered his mouth to her breasts and suckled first one nipple, then the other. She unbuckled his belt and unzipped him.

His pants fell around his ankles, he steered her toward the sofa. She giggled and collapsed onto the cushions. She leaned back and opened her legs. He took it all in, the breasts, the tuft of blonde hair, the unexpected roll of flesh around her mid-section.

She smiled up at him. “Are you going to fuck me, or what?”

 

*                                  *                                  *

He led her into his bedroom. He wanted all of her all at once. They didn’t even make it under the covers. It was over almost before it began.

She held his face in her hands and kissed his high, bare forehead. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she said.

“I want to do everything with you.”

“Oh, Lenny. This’ll burn bright for a while, then things’ll settle down, you’ll see.”

“That was amazing,” he said.

She shifted her hips and he rolled off. “It’s polite to ask how it was for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She snuggled up, Margie Fucking Baldwin, her head on his chest. “That’s okay, Lenny. Anyway, it was great. Just great.”

He figured she was saying that just to make him feel good. Anyway, he’d get better at this with a little practice. He kissed her, sunk into the pillow, and fell into the most restful sleep he’d had in years.

 

*                                  *                                  *

Leonard woke deep in the night. He pinched himself. Margie snored softly beside him, her arm thrown across his chest. She wasn’t going away. No, she’d be here tomorrow and tomorrow and all the rest of his tomorrows. In a way, he supposed, she’d also been here yesterday and the yesterday before that. All the yesterdays of his life since high school.

She’d never been out of his mind and now she’d never leave his side.

The thought caused him to break into a sweat. Morning would arrive. They’d have to figure out dinner, turkey or ham or whatever people ate for Christmas. They’d buy presents, maybe even watch parades and decorate a tree together. Next week, was the firm’s holiday party. Would he take her ? Last year, he’d paid a hot, young escort to accompany him. What would his partners think, most of them with their sweet, young trophy wives on their arms, if he showed up with this pre-owned model of Margie Baldwin?

He untangled himself from her and made his way to the window. Far in the distance, Leonard thought he detected movement. Framed against the Eastern sky, under the light of a full moon, he could make out a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer. Leonard pressed his nose to the window and waved across the miles.

To his amazement, the sleigh wheeled and descended, coming to rest light as a feather on a drift behind Leonard’s condo. Santa stepped from the sleigh, unzipped his red parka, and pissed a steady yellow stream onto the freshly fallen snow. When he was done, he remounted and could be heard to call as he flew out of sight. “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”

Fuckinay,” Leonard said under his breath.

Behind him, the sheets rustled. When he turned, he saw Margie Baldwin watching him. She leaned on one extended arm, the sheets at her feet. The moonlight illuminated her pale skin, her blonde hair. Her full breasts swayed as she shifted positions and extended a hand.

A wave of emotion washed over him. She was so beautiful, it took his breath away.

“You all right, Sweetie?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.”I think so. I guess so. I mean, I think I will be.”