Save Me, Santa: A Chirstmas Anthology of Romance & Suspense (23 page)

A clown.

Startled, Mo bit back a scream and coughed instead. “I'm having a… a… holiday party.”

“Anybody in particular you want to book?” His eyes blinked. The long, fake lashes he wore fanned down then up again.

“Umm,” she said. “The man of a thousand faces.”

“Oh yeah?” The clown grinned and she saw that the teeth behind those red lips were bright white. Were they actually sharp or was that just her warped imagination? “He's good,” the clown continued. “Ari can do anything you want. I have his portfolio right here.”

The clown reached beneath the counter and drew out a three-ring binder. After opening the binder, he placed it on the wood surface for her to inspect. The plastic protected sheets inside contained photos of Ari Kafakis in various costumes as well as newspaper clippings recounting his antics.

Mo turned the pages and found photos of Kafakis as a pirate, a vampire, a mummy, a zombie, as Elvis and even as Marilyn Monroe—with his hairy chest, legs and arms on display, that was a sight she wished she could unsee. All the outfits were pretty standard Halloween fare and not very inventive.

“Ari is a real artist,” the clown said. “He's been featured in a number of actual galleries.” He turned to a page showing Kafakis dressed in a loincloth, covered head-to-toe in bronze paint, and crouched on a pedestal in the pose of
The Thinker.

“He was in a gallery in this get-up?” Mo tried to keep the sarcastic disbelief out of her voice and stick to a tone of sincere inquiry. The results were mixed. Then she lost it totally and joked, “Did the gallery know he was going to be there or did he crash the place?”

“Of course they knew he would be there,” the clown said with a long-lashed glare.

She turned the page to a clipping with the headline: Controversial 'Cupid' Arrested. A photo showed Ari in costume and handcuffs.

“What's this?” she asked.

“Oh! That was fantastic.” The clown sat up straighter and bubbled with animation. “There was this bow and arrow… and all these suction darts were fired at the passersby from the upper window of a Broughton Street store… and—”

“Sounds dangerous.” Maybe this Ari guy was on the edge of crazy. Should she be concerned?

“Don't worry,” the clown said with a wave of his hand. “The police couldn't do anything. First Amendment right to free speech and all that. You see, the cupid was symbolic of love. Shooting darts into peoples' butts was symbolic of the failure of that love. And the whole thing was a metaphor for how the United States should stop waging war.”

“Brilliant,” Mo said. “How do I find him?”

Just then a female voice shouted from the back room, “This fabric is like tissue paper. You seriously need new bloomers for that clown suit, Ari. I've sewed up the tear the best I can but—”

Ari.
She'd called the clown Ari.

Got him.

She reached under the flap of her messenger bag and grasped the envelope. “Ari Kafakis. You're—”

Before she could say, “served”, his lash-framed eyes widened with fear. Ari jumped up from the stool and backed away, showing that on his bottom half he wore only tighty whities and a lot of coarse black hair.

“No.” He held up a hand. “No, no, no.”

She whipped out the envelope and held it forward. “Ser—”

As she spoke, his frantic glance darted around, settling on the flowers. He grabbed the vase and thrust it at her. “Hold this,” he said, letting go.

Rather than allow it to fall, she caught the vase. Water sloshed over the rim, ran down her neck, and dampened her dress. Ari took off, rounding the counter. He shoved past Mo.

“Sugar plums,” she swore as he plowed toward the door.

By the time she set the vase on the counter, Ari had barreled out. He glanced back through the window and lifted a hand. He pointed at her as if holding a gun. Ari then mock fired his fingers before running off. Mo dashed after him, but when she got outside he'd already reached the end of the block. He turned right and disappeared.

The sandals she wore weren't exactly the best for sprinting, but it didn't take long for Mo to run to the corner and make the turn. She saw Ari was three-quarters of the way down the lane that ran behind the downtown buildings.

“Hey,” she called to Kafakis. “Stop.”

Just then he halted and turned toward her. His action shocked Mo. She slowed her pace to a walk.

What is he doing? For a second she was impressed with herself. My voice must carry more authority than I imagined, she thought.

Kafakis reached into a nearby Dumpster and pulled out garbage. Then, like a pitcher, he threw the first piece. The empty can of tuna sailed toward Mo.

Throwing up her right arm, she batted it away. “Watch it. That had sharp edges.”

“You're trying to ruin my life,” he shouted, tossing a partially eaten banana.

The mushy fruit struck Mo in the stomach. She screamed. The next pieces of garbage hit her: an apple core, a plastic carton of moldy strawberries, and an empty tomato sauce jar. “Quit that! Take your paperwork like a man.”

The word man had just emerged from her mouth when a half-full can of pork 'n' beans hit her in the shoulder, splattering the contents up her neck and onto her cheek. Her eyelids closed automatically.

After swiping at the mess, she opened her eyes and… he'd disappeared. She dashed down to the end of the block. Her head swiveled back and forth as she scanned each direction. No Kafakis.

“Fudge!”

She'd just blown five hundred bucks and her favorite dress was covered with smelly stains.

* * *

When Mo returned to Perfect Party the female employee was pointedly un-cooperative about divulging Kafakis's home address. “His ex is crazy,” the young woman had said, arms crossed over her chest. “I'm not helping her hurt poor Ari.”

Mo returned home to find her brother, Leo, decorating a Christmas tree in the parlor. Talley, her fluffy, black Maine Coon cat batted at the tinsel hanging from the bottom branch. Music played softly from the stereo speakers:
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…
Unless it was an apocalypse, there was no chance of that happening here in the South, not even in winter.

“Where did you get that tree?” she asked. “Is it real?”

“Yes. I couldn't find anything fake at this time of year with such short notice. This one came from the back garden,” Leo said with a smile. “But be careful of this thing. With the drought it's as dry as a the last turkey you roasted.”

“Hey,” she joked holding up a warning finger. “I can take a lot, but insults about my cooking really hurt.”

She collapsed onto the white leather sofa and dropped her keys onto the coffee table, followed by her bag. Ari's business card fell out onto the floor.

“What is that stuff you're covered in?” Leo asked.

“Pork 'n' beans.”

“How—”

“Long story.” She waved away the question as she glanced down at her dress.” I guess I'd better get cleaned up and then do some grocery shopping. I don't think Ross's father would appreciate left over lasagna for Christmas dinner.”

Her brother chuckled. He stepped onto a stool and reached up to place the star on top of the tree. “By the way, I got that book you wanted from the Old Book Lady. You owe me two hundred bucks.”

Mo groaned. “I know. I'll pay you back as soon as I get this job done.” Mo picked Ari Kafakis's business card up from the floor.
How was she going to get this guy?
She tossed the card onto the coffee table.
Oh, well. An idea would come.

She gazed around and then back at Leo. “What? No girlfriend is helping you decorate?”

Her brother—twenty-five years old, tall, handsome, and athletic—usually had a regular line-up scrambling to do his laundry, wash his dishes, cook his dinner and generally do his chores. Good for him and convenient for Mo because Leo lived with her.

“I'm between girlfriends. But now that you mention it… “

As he spoke, someone walked out of the kitchen: Incredible Love's receptionist. Only now she wore reindeer antlers. “I made iced tea—Oh. Hi, Mo.”

“Trayanne?”

“Harry said I could leave early for the day to help you. And I'm glad I did.” The receptionist smiled at Leo. “I had no idea you had such a cutie pie brother.”

Leo smiled back at Trayanne.

He wouldn't be between girlfriends for long.

“Did you get Ari Kafakis served?” Trayanne asked.

“No.” Mo frowned. But after glancing at the card on the coffee table, a slow smile spread across her lips. She jumped up from the sofa and grabbed Leo's arm. “Bro. Do me a favor and make a call? I'll tell you exactly what you have to say.”

* * *

The next day, Mo drove Ross's Mercedes to his film location. The guard at the barricade waved and pulled it aside to let her pass. Ross was just coming out of the make-up trailer when she inched the car to a stop. His Armani suit was torn as if he'd been in a fight. One jacket arm, shredded from sleeve to elbow, hung open, revealing a nasty looking gash that oozed blood.

After switching off the car engine, she jumped out and ran to him.

“You're early,” he said with a smile. He gave her a quick kiss, touching her only with his lips, and then held up his arm. “We don't have the take on this scene yet and my fake wound was melting off. I've just had a refresher.”

“Don't tell me you can't go with me to the airport to pick up your father,” Mo pleaded. “Anything but that. He scares me.”

“He's really harmless… Once you get to know him.”

“Ughhhhh.”

“Don't worry. I'm coming with you.” Ross kissed her forehead “We just need to finish this scene and then production is shutting down to accommodate the June Christmas Holiday.
”

He was about to head off toward the director and camera set-up when the guard called to him from the barricade. “Mr. Grant. There's someone here to see you. He
says he's auditioning for a role.”

Ross's brows converged in confusion. “I don't—”

She glanced over Ross's shoulder. Ari Kafakis was here. “Ooh. That's the reason I'm here early. Let him in.”

Ross gave a wave and the guard allowed Kafakis to pass.

Reaching into the messenger bag, Mo grasped the envelope. She crouched slightly behind Ross so Kafakis wouldn't get a good look at her. She had to be ready.

Kafakis approached and held a hand out to Ross, paying no attention at all to Mo “What an honor to meet you, Mr. Grant. Of course, I had heard you were filming in Savannah, but I never dreamed I'd get a private audition.”

Ross shook his hand. “Audition? Right. Remind me what—”

“Your assistant said you wanted someone to do a singing telegram routine. Just tell me what you want. I'm great at improv. And if you want a character, the most popular is Marilyn Monroe.”

“Marilyn?” Ross said, his jaw clenching.

“Right, I have the white halter dress, wig… everything. Then I sing:
Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, Mr. President
… “ Kafakis leaned into Ross with pouty lips and breathy voice, before pulling back. “But you have to picture me wearing the costume. Damn. I should've worn it today, right?”

“I'm sorry,” Ross said. “You've been misled. There is no singing telegram role in this film.”

“What? I'm certain your assistant, Leo, said—”

“Why don't you talk to
my assistant's
sister.” Ross grabbed Mo's arm and pulled her forward.

Kafakis blinked and then seemed to focus on her face. “You!”

Mo had the envelope out. She thrust it forward. “Ari Kafakis—”

“No,” he shouted into her face, turned on one heel, and then took off running.

Mo started to follow, but Ross still held her arm. “Let go,” she said. “I have to chase him.”

Ross's face was etched with angry lines. “You told him he had a role in my film?”

Kafakis jumped the barricade and then screamed over his shoulder, “Bitch, I'll get you.”

“He's getting away,” Mo cried, jerking against Ross's grip.

“I don't care about that,” Ross said, holding fast. “I care that you used me.”

“Leo told Kafakis he had an audition as a way of getting him here. He was never told he would audition for you. I didn't even think you'd be around when he arrived.”

Shaking his head, Ross let out a sigh. “You do not joke with an actor about having a role. That is sacred.”

“The guy pelted me with garbage yesterday,” Mo said. “He deserves anything he gets.”

“No actor deserves that, Mo.” He shook his head with a disapproving pursing of the lips.

Shitake! She was still out five hundred bucks. Worse, this Kafakis guy had come between Mo and her man.

* * *

“You're not still mad about Kafakis and the singing telegram are you, Ross?” Mo asked as they walked through the sliding glass arrivals entrance to Savannah/Hilton Head International. Despite its lofty name, the airport was small with just one long corridor of gates. “You've been pretty quiet.”

“No.” Ross paused under a television monitor display of gate information. “Father's plane has landed.”

Mo trotted after Ross as he strode through the smattering of people and into the baggage claim area toward the furthest carousel.

“No, you haven't been quiet? Or no, you aren't mad?” Mo asked.

They passed a couple—obviously gay partners in their sixties—and one man pointed at Ross. “That's Stephen Dagger.”

If she'd heard them, then Ross had as well. But he didn't react. Either he was getting over being mistaken for his famous superspy character or he was so perturbed at Mo that the fan's comment hadn't upset him.

“Come on, Ross. Talk to me. I can't meet your dad for the first time when you're ticked at me.”

When Ross came to an abrupt halt, Mo almost plowed into him.

“I'm not angry.” Ross took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “But I am mad.” He smiled and brushed a lock of long brown hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear as he continued, “I feel like I've been crazy since we met and became enmeshed in your bizarre world.”

“My bizarre world?” Her eyebrow arched and she shot him a mock glare. “It's not my family that insists on celebrating a winter holiday in the sweltering heat of summer.”