Grumble Monkey and the Department Store Elf (5 page)

It didn’t hurt that it was a profession that had surely driven his family mad. Especially when he didn’t hide for one second that he was a St. George. And his parents weren’t about to say anything bad about him. Why, it would be unseemly.

“Well, frak me,” Nick said.

“Why, Mr. St. George!” Kit said with a huge grin, and gave him an exaggerated wink. “Are you flirting with me?”

Nick did a double take. Flirting? Well, hardly.

He gave his traveling companion another look. But he sure was cute, wasn’t he?

“W
HY
DID
you wait until the last minute to go home?” Nick asked suddenly. It was a question that kept bobbing in the back of his mind, but then he would forget to ask.

“Work,” Kit explained.

“What do you do?”

Kit blushed. “You’ll make fun of me.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

Nick didn’t say anything for a minute. Then: “I really am a shit, aren’t I?”

Kit shook his head. “No. Not
really
.”

“No. I am.” Nick sighed. “I promise to
try
not to laugh.”

That made Kit laugh. “I’m an elf.”

“You’re shitting me?” Nick said before he could stop himself.

“No. Not pooping you at all.”

And that made Nick chuckle. Kit’s words. “You know, you really won’t offend me if you let a swear word go.”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t like to talk like that, is all. What can I say? ‘For thereby some have entertained angels unawares,’ you know?”

“Sorry?” The comment confused Nick. What did angels have to do with anything?

“Angels. It’s from the Bible. Be careful what you do. Be careful what you say. Show love to strangers. Maybe that stranger is really an angel, and you didn’t even know it.”

“You think I’m an angel?” Nick said with a snicker.

“You might be. So if I use ugly language, what impression would I make?”

Was Kit really serious? Angels? Elves? And wasn’t that what he’d thought about the kid when they’d first met? That Kit looked—especially with that goofy hat—just like a Christmas elf? “What did you mean by saying you were an elf?” he asked.

“At a department store. I help the little kids get up on Santa’s lap.”

“Oh, hell no!” The thought horrified Nick. Helping noisy, crying, fidgeting little kids all day? Half of them smelling of messy diapers? “Is that the worst job ever?”

“Oh no!” cried Kit. “I
love
it! To see the magic in those little kids’ eyes? I’d love to play Santa sometime, but”—he patted his nonexistent belly—“I’m hardly the Santa type. I can’t gain an ounce, no matter how hard I try. I can go to a buffet six days a week and stuff my face and lose weight.”

We should all be so lucky
, Nick thought. “I can gain weight by
watching
a fast food commercial.”

Kit giggled. “Can not!”

“It seems like it, sometimes.”

“Anyways,” Kit said. “I just love little kids. Love them, love them, love them.”

“Spence was the same way as you. He actually wanted us to
have
children.” Nick shook his head. Imagine. Him raising kids. He could barely stand his sister’s children, and he knew them. Of course, his sister no longer had anything to do with him either, so it had been a decade since he’d seen the little monsters. Hell. They’d be in their early teens by now and probably getting into all kinds of trouble. Drugs, shitty grades, acting up, maybe even getting pregnant. No, thank you! “I reminded Spencer that neither of us could
get
pregnant.”

“But you could have adopted.”

Nick looked at him in horror. “No way.”

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like to have a little Nick running around? Or a Nicolette?”

Nick shuddered. “No. Changing diapers? Them getting into everything? Never having a moment to yourself? Nuh-uh. Not a chance.”

“That’s a shame. I would love to have kids. Three or four. I love a house full of people.”

“Of course you do,” Nick said and was surprised at a splinter of anger finding its way into his mood. Why? He had felt fine two seconds ago. He took a deep breath. Counted to ten. “You come from a big family. A big
loving
family.”

Kit’s looked at him blankly for a minute, and then his eyes widened. “Oh gosh, Nick. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that.” He quieted, and when he finally looked Nick’s way again, Nick could see the wheels turning in the cutie’s head.

Cutie? Now stop that!

“You could do better than your parents. Be the
right
kind of father. Do what yours couldn’t do.”

Nick shook his head. “I’m too selfish.”

“You’re not selfish!” Kit shook his head vehemently.

Oh, but I am, little department-store elf
.

“You helped me,” said Kit. “You helped that trucker.”

“
You
helped the trucker. I tried not to throw up.”

“It
was
kinda gross, wasn’t it?” Kit squinched up his face.

“I would never have guessed it on your part. You took care of that guy like a champ.”

“What can I say? Little sisters, and only so much mom to go around. I took care of plenty of splinters and scraped knees. But it’s amazing what a little Bactine and a kiss will do.”

I guess.
“My mother was never really the kiss-and-make-it-better type.”

Kit frowned. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’ll tell you what. You get a boo-boo before you drop me off, and I’ll kiss it for you.”

For some reason, the comment made Nick’s heart skip a beat. Kit, kiss him? He swallowed hard. Thought of those lips touching him somewhere.

Maybe on the mouth.

No! I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.
Wasn’t that how the poem went? The time for kisses was done with. No more.

Despite how sweet Kit’s kisses might be.

Stop!

“Let’s just say kids and I don’t mix,” Nick said, getting the conversation, or at least his thoughts, back on track. “I would kill one of those little ogres waiting for Santa.”

“Ahhh! How can you say that?” Kit asked, his voice going all baby talk. “Kids are so wonderful! So innocent. So full of promise. The world hasn’t whacked them upside the head yet. They still believe in Santa. And when they saw me with my big pointed ears and my hat and my shoes with the curled-up toes and the little bells, they went gaga. They
believed
I
was
one of Santa’s helpers. I loved every minute of it!”

“And when they started screaming and crying the second you put them in the big guy’s lap?” Nick countered.

Kit shrugged, a happy smile on his face. “That was part of my job! To make sure that didn’t happen. To make funny faces and do silly tricks and get them to laugh.”

“So the mom who paid twenty dollars for a picture with Santa will get one where her kid isn’t screaming?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“You really
are
a grumble monkey, aren’t you? We were having a good time, and now you’re being all poopie!”

There was that comment again! “What the hell is a grumble monkey?”

“It’s somebody who is grumpy and grumbles all the time. It was a story my mom used to tell us when we were kids.”

“Never heard of it,” Nick said through clenched teeth.
Grumble monkey? Grumble monkey?

“That’s because my mom made it up. She would tell us these stories about the grumble monkey and how he was never happy because he was always complaining and stuff. And all the other animals in the jungle would try and make him laugh, and he wouldn’t. But finally the giraffe did.”

“How come the giraffe could do it?” It came out almost a snap, and Nick took a deep breath once more. They
had
been having a grand old time. Why was he being so grumpy?

It was all this talk of family. That’s what it was.

“Because he’s so silly looking, with his long legs and his knobby knees and his long neck and his antenna.”

“So your mom encouraged you all to laugh at people who were funny-looking?”

“Nick!” Kit laughed. “Girl! Lighten up!”

“I am
not
a girl!” This time he did snap. He hated that
girl!
crap. Hated it with a passion. All those campy queenie words and behaviors. Spencer would have friends over, and they would drink cocktails and queen it up until Nick would have to leave or wind up screaming at someone. Why couldn’t gay people just act straight?

“Grumble Monkey didn’t laugh at the giraffe because he looked
different
. He laughed because Giraffe
got
him to laugh. The giraffe acted crazy and wiggled his antenna and showed off his big knees and wagged his big neck.”

Nick sighed. “I see,” he lied. He didn’t “see” at all.

“The greatest gift is laughter,” Kit said.

“The greatest gift is a sizeable trust fund.” Nick should know. If it weren’t for the money his grandmother had left him, he would never have been able to open his gallery. One of the first pieces of advice he’d been given was not to quit his job immediately. Most gallerists, especially in a city the size of New York, would run their gallery at the same time as working another job until their business became profitable. Get a trusted employee to run things until the owner could work there full time.

The problem was that Nick didn’t trust anyone. Not after his parents kicked him out.

“Nick, don’t you have any magic in your soul?”

“I believe in things that are concrete.” Things like the money had let him do everything himself until he began to gain a good reputation. Money was what it took. Not magic. “I don’t believe in magic.”

“Those who do not believe in magic will never find it…,” Kit said quietly.

“Wait ten years. See if you still believe that.” Nick hated to say it, but it was true.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Nick. And you know what? You might be right. But I hope not. I love my life. I’m sorry you don’t have a supportive family. But I do. They love the fact that I’m an artist, and they don’t care that I’m gay. Maybe it’s because they always knew I was gay. They’re liberals, and that helps. They believe in God, but they’re not religious. They look forward to the day I bring a special man home. I’m
really
sorry that’s not true for you. Maybe if my parents had thrown me out, I’d be as cynical as you are. Maybe I’d snap at people and be mean. But I know something else. Under that grumble-monkey exterior, you’re a nice man. I’ve seen it.”

Nick’s hands had grown stiff on the steering wheel. In fact, his whole body had gone stiff. His mind had frozen, and his thoughts, normally flying one to another, seemed to have closed down. He was having a hard time thinking at all. Because Kit’s words were echoing so loudly in his head, there wasn’t room for anything else.

He felt Kit’s hand on his arm, and he almost shouted in surprise. He bit down on the insides of his cheeks. He trembled.

Who the hell was this boy?

Where had he come from?

Up ahead was an exit off the highway—finally!—and without a word, he pulled off. He needed to get away from Kit for a while. Sit in silence. Not think at all.

“Nick?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. There was a gas station to the left and a McDonald’s to the right. He went into the gas station, aka convenience store, and parked in the first available spot.

“Nick?”

He ignored Kit and got out of the car and headed quickly into the little shop. Inside he saw it was also a grill and ice cream shop, but he ignored all that and headed for the bathroom. To his relief, he saw it was private, that he could lock the door and be alone. Away from the ice and the car and driving and his mission, and most especially Kit.

Prying, nosey, know-it-all, free-to-give-optimistic-advice Kit.

He went right to the sink, ran some water until it was cold, and then splashed his face and ran his fingers through his short, expensively cut hair. He put his glasses (also expensive) back on and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked forty if he looked a day. He looked like shit. He
was
shit.

And he was tired of it all.

Nick turned from his image, a face he’d always hated, and sat down on the toilet, not needing to pull his pants down. He just wanted to sit, despite the fact that he’d been sitting for hours. Because even though the day had gotten a little better, he’d had to keep his eyes pretty much glued to the road all day. Except when he looked at Kit. Cute and silly and faggy and Pollyanna-ish Kit.

Yes, Kit was free to be so lighthearted and buoyant. Kit hadn’t had all the shit happen to him that had happened to Nick. Yes. Kit was right. If Nick’s parents had been like Kit’s parents, maybe he would have a better worldview. Maybe. But would it have changed anything else?

Would he still be with Gary, or would he have figured out that the man only wanted him for his money? Gary would have been the same asshole either way.

Would Spencer have been in his life? Would he still be in his life? Sweet, gorgeous, loving, wonderful Spencer?

Then the tears came. Nick fought them. He cursed them. He snarled at them. But they came all the same. God, he
had
loved Spencer. Spence. “Spin.” He had fucked that up good, hadn’t he? All because he wouldn’t go to a frigging gay pride event. Dance to a little Cyndi Lauper or Lil’ Kim or whomever had been the headliner that year. He honestly didn’t remember. And who the hell cared? What difference did it make? Maybe he’d still have his man in his life if he hadn’t been such a frigging grumble monkey.

The thought brought him up short.

Grumble monkey.

With that, he began to laugh through the tears.

Dear God, he was using Kit’s word.

Hell! He was using the word “God”! Nick made it a point to
never
use the word. He wouldn’t even say “Jesus.” He didn’t swear by an entity he couldn’t prove existed any more than Santa Claus.