Making a Christmas Surprise From Scratch
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PHOTO BY ROBERTO NICKSON ON UNSPLASH
This story was entered last year in a short story contest on MEDIUM’S pulication PURE FICTION, and while I didn’t win, here’s what the judges said about it:
“This is an excellent and well written story. I read it several times and was impressed each time. Your characters are so fully formed - each worthy of their own story. It was one of my favorites of the contest. I liked the setting but didn't feel trapped in it, I wanted to go where each character went. The surprise at the end felt genuine - one of those moments in life we've all experienced when we wonder if there is some one up there watching...thank you for the story and for the participation I really hope you submit to our next contest. It was an honor to have your story in this one.” - JA Vassili, Editor, Pure Fiction
“This story was always one of my favorites. I love your play on words in the title and I really enjoy your style of storytelling. You did a terrific job at bringing all of these characters to life. I wanted the woman to get the money but gave up hope by the end as well. Awesome last minute twist that was written and timed well. It didn't come across as cheesy and made me smile even if I did think it was unlikely. It made me want to believe. Bravo! Thank you for participating in our contest and happy holidays!” - KL Simmons, Editor, Pure Fiction
Kildare Dobbs passed through Thanksgiving by sharing a turkey submarine sandwich with his dogs as his only holiday companions. Thanksgiving dinner alone was bad enough. Christmas could be a killer, particularly because Cullen’s bar didn’t open till 7:00 on Christmas Day.
Christmas eve, however, was a different matter. Home is where the heart is, and for Dobbs, the only place his heart lived during the holidays was at Cullen's on the night before Christmas. Starting at opening time at 11:00, he and his drinking pals showed up one by one throughout the day to share a shot and beer or two and bring the Christmas holiday in on a decidedly drunken note.
On most days, Kildare Dobbs liked to sit at the bar as close to the last seat as he could, even though it was next to the jukebox and the people who played the music. He liked the way the purple light filled up the late-night dark around his corner stool that gave the world an almost icy glow, particularly during this Christmas season.
If he couldn’t sit there, he liked to sit near the waitress's stand so he could smell the perfume of the girls as they totaled their dinner checks. He liked to sit there especially when he was on a daiquiri binge because when they bent over to use the small adding machine, he could look down their shirts and catch fleeting glances at their young breasts for a cheap feel with his eyes, which on these occasions usually had the odd habit of turning green when the mood took him.
But on this day, he found a seat just left of the door as you walked in so he could look out on the people carrying their Christmas packages down the snow-covered streets — and it was next to Maria.
She was perched on the stool next to his, and Kildare Dobbs could tell something was up by the way she had left the second button of her button-down shirt open to reveal the lace on her beige camisole, and how she smiled at him as soon as he noticed her. To add just a little holiday touch, she had pinned a Santa over her shirt pocket and was reading the local entertainment rag that told everyone about the exciting nightlife in the city and surrounding towns, where they could see and be seen. For Dobbs, it was a directory of exactly where he didn’t want to go. He was like that.
She didn’t much wear that camisole anymore. She really didn’t see the need ever since the one a few months ago when she spent the night all dressed up and smelling like the waitresses, waiting for Tim, a plumber from Union Local 13 who was supposed to pick her up on his Harley for a special night out — but never showed.
On that night, Maria had come early to fortify herself, she said because she thought Tim was going to take her to the fancy restaurant over on West Main and ask her to marry him. She knew she didn’t love him entirely but had secretly told Dobbs that she figured she could learn to love him and that with her 30th birthday three years behind her, gravity pulling on her body in all sorts of places, and her twelve-year-old daughter needing braces, this might just be her last chance at some sort of normal life.
“Yeah,” he had said. “People learn to love other people all the time. It will most certainly work out.”
Dobbs was like that. Always giving people the optimist’s view, even if he didn’t believe it. But he said it with authority, and they liked him for it because it justified their actions and set aside their fears, so they were always asking him for advice and how they should act or what they should do.
He was seldom right. But at least it made everyone feel better. After all — advice will do until real help arrives.
That afternoon turned into a long one because the later it got, the drunker she got and by the time they both realized that Tim wasn’t going to show, she was drinking tequila shots without the salt and lime and going on about what a shit he was for standing her up and how she never really liked the son-of-a-bitch anyway because he had a little cock. In fact, they were so drunk that they never heard the ambulance speed by with sirens blaring and lights blinking, a little past the shift change after dinner.
But then around 11:00 O’Hara, the cop who lived upstairs, came through the door, walked straight past everyone who said hello to him, and told her that Tim had been killed in an accident on his motorcycle at about 7:00 that night on his way over.
She had barely been really sober since that night and almost never wore the camisole anymore.
They put a small brass plaque on the bar rail where he used to sit next to her, but it didn’t really help.
Since then, she had worked double shifts at Applebee’s, and ran up the balance on the last of her credit cards trying to keep her daughter in Catholic school. She did most everything she could to make ends meet and now, with the rent three months behind, Christmas just around the corner and no presents under the tree, she even toyed with the idea of fucking the landlord to keep him from evicting them but thought better of it after talking to Dobbs, who had given her a pep talk and $50 for groceries that week even though he knew it wasn’t really going to help.
Today, though, was different, and he noticed not only the camisole but the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath it.
Now Maria was no beauty at first glance, but she had a really great body and the kind of natural face that didn’t need any makeup to make it look good after only a couple of beers. Most of the happy hour crowd had expressed a fervent desire to screw her at one point or another, but she was pretty careful and so were they, because they liked her more as one of the guys than they did as a sleeping partner.
Dobbs kissed her on the cheek and sat down next to her.
“What up?” she said and flashed a smile. “I read your column in this week’s paper and that line about your ex-wife was funnier than shit.”
Dobbs smiled and automatically ordered a drink for both of them. He ignored her review of his writing and asked how her daughter was.
“Fucked up,” she said. “I stole the Christmas tree from the corner guy but don’t have a single present for Emma. Her eighth-grade Christmas concert is coming. She’ll need a new dress for it and that bastard of a father of hers is six weeks behind in his payments and won’t answer my phone calls. “I’m fucked”, she said.
“Oh boy,” said Dobbs with a smirk. “Well, at least you’ve got your health”.
That was always a joke they had between them meaning that yes, she was really fucked.
“How’s the rent?” he asked.
“Not good,” she said. “I can’t really blame Billy. Apparently, he isn’t feeling the Christmas spirit and has no qualms about making us homeless. I’m up to three months back rent and he’s behind in his mortgage, so he told me either pay him something or we are out the door. So, I’ve thought it over carefully and figured that the best thing to do is to get really fucking drunk and just ignore the whole fucking thing.”
“Good move,” said Dobbs. “The neglect of a few small tasks is never as rewarding as the shirking of a major responsibility.”
He paused. “But is he serious this time?”
“I think so,” she said. “You don’t happen to have a few hundred extra stashed away, do you?”
Dobbs realized then that while Maria wasn’t going to fuck the landlord for the rent, she certainly would fuck him for a few hundred.
Not where he wanted to be.
“Sorry babe,” he said. “I’m tapped out.”
“That’s ok,” she said. And she blinked to hold back the tears. “It’s just that it isn’t good.”
Kildare Dobbs could tell instantly that shit really wasn’t good for her to be on the verge of tears. Maria was a lot of things, and she wasn’t a lot of other things, one of which was too quick to break down. She had a certain steel-like toughness to her that was both admirable and scary at the same time, given her soft exterior. It might not last, he thought, as the years and gravity take their toll, but for the moment, she still had that young careless optimism that kept away the wrinkles and despair.
All thoughts of crying disappeared as Earthworm Jim came through the front door. Jim was the sort of guy you couldn’t be sad around. Nobody knew why they called him Earthworm, maybe it was because he was so grounded in himself, but he brought a smile to Maria’s face and Dobbs’ too.
“What up, Dudes?” he said. Earthworm also had a language all his own that was speckled with “Dudes” and “Man” and it had a musical tone to it as though he had practiced it at home in front of a mirror before he saw you.
“Just trying to think of ways to pay the rent,” said Dobbs. “Maria is farther behind than a nag on the last turn and has the evil landlord at the door about to throw her out.”
“Ooh, that sucks,” came back the Earthworm. “I’d help but I’m so broke I can’t even pay attention soooooooo since it’s Christmas Eve, I guess we better drink”.
That brought a laugh from everyone for no particular reason other than it was the most irresponsible thing they could do considering the circumstances.
“Where’s the little one hangin’ today?” asked the Earthworm.
“With my mom.”
“Is the parental unit good for any? Maybe you could move back there?” he suggested.
“No fucking way,” she said. “She’s done too much already. But I may have the kid stay with her awhile if I can just make it through the school year. But it ain’t good.”
“At least you’ve got your health,” shot back the Earthworm. And they all laughed again.
Maria ordered another one and Mike, bartender-manager-cook and all ‘round good guy didn’t charge her.
“We’re starting a tab for you today,” he told her when she tried to pay. “Nope,” he said and he pushed back the five she had put in front of her. “You order ’em and do the drinking, I’ll write it down, and these fucks will do the paying,” he said. “After all, it’s Christmas”, he added.
It was one of those places like that.
All through the next hour or so, the four of them knocked back shots and tried to come up with some way to raise five hundred bucks.
“A car wash,” said Dobbs.
“A spaghetti supper,” said Mike.
“A baked sale,” suggested Earthworm. “We could make some hash brownies and all get really, really baked!”
But nothing seemed to be even vaguely hopeful and no one seemed to take it took it seriously.
That is until Kildare Dobbs suddenly stopped for a minute and stared into the face looking back at him in the mirror.
“I’ve got it!” he said. And everyone waited for his supreme wisdom.
“Tickets,” he said.
“Tickets?” Everyone looked back at him.
“Aah, Dare, time for you to get off the pipe. The only tickets I have are the fifteen or so for parking that are filling up my backseat,” said Maria.
“No, really,” said Dobbs. “Scratch-off tickets. Instant-Fucking-Lottery-Tickets. Here, take this.” And Dobbs pulled a fifty from the inside pocket of his wallet. He always carried an emergency fifty-dollar bill in there in case of emergencies like this and clearly, this was a genuine, bonafide, we’re in fucking trouble emergency.
“Let’s go over to the corner store and buy fifty bucks worth of scratch-offs,” he said.
His enthusiasm was infectious. “Here’s a twenty from last night’s tips,” chimed in Mike.
“All ya need is a dollar and a dream,” piped in the Earthworm, and he put a single dollar into the pile.
“Really?” said Maria, “You guys are too much,” and while she choked back a few tears, her face instantly brightened.
“But what the fuck?” she said. “Who are we going to get to buy them? My luck is so bad right now that if I didn’t have bad luck I wouldn’t have any at all so I can’t do it. Who can we get?”
There was a moment of silence while they all thought and spoke at once.
“Whipple!” they all said.
He was six foot three and weighed in at almost two hundred and twenty pounds, but it was a couple of hundred pounds of muscle. He had trained to be a Navy Seal at one point but left the service “When they fucking tried to drown me,” he always said.
Since then, he had gone from job to job, place to place, and never seemed to have a care in the world. He really only cared about getting pussy and he got a lot of that.
“That guy gets more ass than a toilet seat,” everyone always said.
There was no doubt. He was lucky.
“But I’ll bet he’s still in bed with his latest,” said Mike. “He won’t be here for a couple of hours.”
“Fuck that,” said Dobbs. “This is an emergency.” And he ran out the door to find him.
Sure enough, about forty-five minutes later he was back, “The Whip” in tow. Shaggy, eyes red and him smelling of sex, he plopped down next to the Worm.
“I hear we need a little luck, babe,” and he kissed Maria full on the lips.
They were a little closer in different ways than the rest of the guys. Everyone always talked about sleeping with Maria — only the Whip had actually done it.
“Yup. Seventy-one big ones for scratch-off lottery tickets. And we need to raise $500,” she said.
“Well here’s another twenty,” said Whip and he picked up the pile. The Earthworm, caught up in the moment threw in nine more to make it an even hundred.
“No tip for you today Mikey boy,” he said.
Whipple came back with a fist full of scratch-off tickets. Lucky Sevens, Win for Life, Unwrap the Cash, Instant Take 5, and threw them on the bar.
“Okay,” he said, “everybody got a quarter?” and they all nodded as ready to scratch with their coins. “Sweetheart, you shuffle and deal,” he said. “You’ve got the luck today.”
Maria dealt out the lottery tickets like a stud poker dealer and they each started on their pile.
“I’ve got a five-dollar winner,” said Mike.
“And a buck here,” said Dobbs.
“Another buck,” said Maria.
“Here’s five!” shouted the Worm.
They scratched and scratched like dogs at a flea market but the excitement seemed to fade when after twenty minutes the pile of losers was getting higher while the pack of potentials was getting smaller.
“What the fuck?” said the Earthworm. “The Whip is coming up short. Not enough big winners, Man!”
Whipple leaned back in his chair and casually tossed an Instant Take 5 ticket into the tiny winner pile.
“Ye of little faith,” he smiled. “There’s a hundred”. Maria screamed and they all hooted and went back to furiously scratching off the thin grey film that uncovered their winnings.
After thirty minutes, Maria looked at the pile and they all lit cigarettes together.
“Well, there’s one hundred and fifty-two bucks in there,” she said. “Better, but it’s no fucking Christmas celebration”.
“What’ll we do now?” said the Worm.
Whipple was already halfway out the door to cash them in. “We’re going till we get it,” he said.
It was almost four o’clock when they got down to the last twenty dollars’ worth of winners. Two sevens on lucky seven. Five ones and a two-dollar winner on Unwrap the Cash.
The mood was decidedly cooler, though buoyed by the shots of tequila that accompanied every deal. In fact, thanks to Mike’s liberal pouring, the gang of four was easily three sheets to the wind and happy, even if it seemed clear that the game was about up.
Maria, generally pissed at the world and ready to cash in, downed the last of a beer and said, “What the fuck? Where’s Santa when we need him?”
Earthworm Jim staggered toward the jukebox and mother-fucked the luck.
Even Whipple was shaking his head and staring into the mirror, giving a glare of lament.
Kildare Dobbs lit another non-filtered Camel and stared back into the mirror.
“Merry Christmas,” he said. And he flicked a $500 winner onto the bar.
