“He can act a bit loner-ish, but I think he's some serial killer waiting to happen; he's just his own best company sometimes. And he's comfortable with that. I guess there's nothing wrong with that.”

“I figured being a bed salesman was a job of biblically bad paradox. I mean, here he was, forced to stand for eight or nine hours a day, and the whole time he’s surrounded by beds. And not only that, he’s surrounded by shoppers who see the beds and can’t help but think, Man, I’d love to lie down on that bed for a second. So not only does he have to stop himself from lying down, but he has to stop everyone else from doing it, too. I knew if I were him, I would be desperate for human company.”

“Well, well, well,” Santa said once the elf had retreated. “Come and sit on my lap, little boy.”This Santa’s beard was real, and so was his hair. He wasn’t fucking around.“I’m not really a little boy,” I pointed out.“Get on my lap, then, big boy.”I walked up to him. There wasn’t much lap under his belly. And even though he tried to disguise it, as I went up there, I swear he adjustedhis crotch.“Ho ho ho!” he chortled.I sat gingerly on his knee, like it was a subway seat with gum on it.“Have you been a good little boy this year?” he asked.I didn’t feel that I was the right person to determine my own goodness or badness, but in the interest of speeding along this encounter, I said yes.He actually wobbled with joy.“Good! Good! Then what can I bring you this Christmas?”I thought it was obvious.“A message from Lily,” I said. “That’s what I want for Christmas. But I want it right now.”“So impatient!” Santa lowered his voice and whispered in my ear. “But Santa does have a little something for you”—he shifted a little inhis seat—“right under his coat. If you want to have your present, you’ll have to rub Santa’s belly.”“What?” I asked.He gestured with his eyes down to his stomach. “Go ahead.”I looked closely and saw the faint outline of an envelope beneath his red velvet coat.“You know you want it,” he whispered.The only way I could survive this was to think of it as the dare it was.Fuck off, Lily. You can’t intimidate me.I reached right under Santa’s coat. To my horror, I found he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. It was hot, sweaty, Geshy, hairy … andhis belly was this massive obstacle, blocking me from the envelope. I had to lean over to angle my arm in order to reach it, the whole timehaving Santa laugh, “Oh ho ho, ho ho oh ho!” in my ear. I heard the elf scream, “What the hell!” and various parents start to shriek. Yes, I was feeling up Santa. And now the corner of the envelope was in my hand. He tried to jiggle it away from me, but I held tight and yanked itout, pulling some of his white belly hair with me. “OW ho ho!” he cried. I jumped o1 his lap. “Security’s here!” the elf proclaimed. The letter was in my hand, damp but intact. “He touched Santa!” a young child squealed.”

“Do you want to guess what's in here?" I asked Dash."I think I've got it figured out already. There's a new supply of red notebooks in there, and you want us to fill them in with clues about the works of, say, Nicholas Sparks.""Who?" I asked. Please, no more broody poets. I couldn't keep up."You don't know who Nicholas Sparks is?" Dash asked.I shook my head."Please don't ever find out," he said.”

“He's not my step brother technically, so I think it's okay that I kissed him once.”

“I’m looking for Fat Hoochie Prom Queen,” I declared.He did not respond.“It’s a book,” I said. “Not a person.”Nope. Nothing.“At the very least, can you tell me the author?”He looked at his computer, as if it had some way to speak to me without any typing on his part.“Are you wearing headphones that I can’t see?” I asked.He scratched at the inside of his elbow.“Do you know me?” I persisted. “Did I grind you to a pulp in kindergarten, and are you now getting sadistic pleasure from this petty revenge?Stephen Little, is that you? Is it? I was much younger then, and foolish to have nearly drowned you in that water fountain. In my defense, yourprior destruction of my book report was a completely unwarranted act of aggression.”Finally, a response. The information desk clerk shook his shaggy head.“No?” I said.“I am not allowed to disclose the location of Fat Hoochie Prom Queen,” he explained. “Not to you. Not to anyone. And while I am not StephenLittle, you should be ashamed of what you did to him. Ashamed.”

“I'm not fine. Soon, the tears will come. I can sense them building in the pit of my stomach, coating the belly of candy. They will come when I am alone in the dark, in my own bed, with no one to comfort me. I will mourn Laura then, in private. A Category 5 hurricane is building in my heart and soul, but right now it's offshore, waiting to make landfall, waiting to crush me.”