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| FICTION: A Drink with Santa |
| Louis Cannon | 12/29/09 |
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| Back to the News Summaries |
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I ran into Santa at Eddie’s Uptown Grill last night. He was sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of Jack Daniels on the rocks, and looking pretty bedraggled; his red polar fleece outfit had creosote stains in the knees and elbows, and he sat slumped wearily, with the tip of his uncombed white beard dipping ever so slightly into his glass.
There was no one else at the bar; Crystal, the bartender, was polishing the wine glasses, trying to seem busy. My first inclination was to turn around and walk back out to the car; I hate seeing a friend struggling with hard times, and I never really know what to say.
But then I caught myself. “A friend in need,” my mother always used to say, “is a friend indeed.”
I walked right up and sat on the barstool next to him.
He didn’t even turn is head at first, and I wondered suddenly: was I intruding recklessly on some deep, private sorrow?
Crystal broke the silence. “Well, haven’t seen you in here for a while, Lou. What’re you having?”
 “Whatever this guy is drinking, is good enough for me,” I said as cheerfully as I could, pointing my thumb at the red-suited man slumped on the stool next to me.
Santa turned his head slowly, and I saw a spark of recognition in his eyes.
“How ya doing, Lou,” he smiled weakly.
“A hell of a lot better than you, by the looks of it,” I answered, leaning my elbows onto the bar.
“Oh, is it that obvious?” Santa joked, his smile widening.
“Well, it’s obvious you can’t afford a trip to the Laundromat.” I pointed at the stains on his sleeve.
“Yeah, just look at me.” He rotated his arm, checking out the black smudges. "My wife would be furious with me, going out in public looking like this. If I had a wife.”
“Whaddaya mean, if you had a wife? Don’t tell me — you and Gloria split up?”
“You didn't hear?” Santa looked down and swirled his glass, watching the ice spin slowly around. “She moved to Florida back in July." He gave a barely audible chuckle. "That’s how bad it was. I mean, who the hell moves to Florida in July?”
“I can’t believe you’re telling me this.” I was honestly flabbergasted. “How long were you together? Seems like forever.”
“478 years.” He shook his head slightly, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “478 years. I thought sure we would make it to 500. I mean, we're not really that old, as mythical beings go. Yeah, she moved to Florida, and shacked up with some young kid in Orlando. Mickey somebody. Wealthy film star, made it big in animated films back in the 50s. Mouse, I think his last name is.”
Crystal set my bourbon in front of me and I took a quick sip, feeling the cool ice against my upper lip.
“Women.” It was the only thing I could think to say.
“So I’m taking care of my own laundry now,” Santa continued. “And cooking. And feeding the reindeer. I tell you, I’m pretty worn out this year.”
“I can imagine.”
“I actually thought about quitting, Lou. Can you imagine that? Me — Santa — thinking about quitting? That’s how bad it’s gotten.”
“Well, I heard rumors — that you had to lay off some of your elves,” I told him.
“Yeah. This economy is killing me; I just couldn’t afford to keep them all on the payroll. Some of those guys have been with me since the 1830s, Lou.” He took a long, slow sip from his glass. “I went home and cried. Me, a grown man. Tears streaming down my face. I mean, where are those little guys going to get work, in this economy?”
“Chinese sweatshops?” I joked, weakly.
“If they knew Chinese, maybe.” Santa didn’t seem to notice that I’d been trying to be humorous. “You know, there’s really nothing quite as sad an as unemployed elf.”
We sat there in silence for a long moment.
“I know what you mean,” I lied. I really didn’t know what he meant, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
“So, Gloria’s gone to Florida, half my workforce is on unemployment. I can’t afford to buy oats for the reindeer, so they’ve been living on hay since September. I'm three months behind on my flight insurance. And I’m sitting here getting drunk, with soot stains on my clothes.”
“But at least you have me and Crystal to keep you company, Santa,” I said, trying to keep the conversation from going completely downhill.
“Yeah, you’re right. I have a few friends left, like you guys.” He suddenly raised his glass, and that old, familiar, jolly Santa smile spread across his face. “A toast to friendship. That’s about all we have right now, folks. But it’s a true treasure.”
Crystal took one of the empty wine glasses she’d been polishing, and clicked glasses with Santa and I. “To friendship,” she smiled.
Santa and I looked each other in the eye.
“And here's to our friend, Jack Daniels,” Santa added, and he gave me a wink as our glassed touched. "Just like us, he's on the rocks." |
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