“What can I do?” he asked.
“Just talk to me,” she said. “Tell me stories about your dad.”
And Tyson did, regaling her with tales of t-ball and track meets and failed fishing expeditions and barbecues gone awry, until she calmed down, and morning moved into afternoon, and Tyson had to prepare for work.
“I meant what I said earlier.” They’d switched back to video, and Tyson smiled at her. “I really did.”
Syria knew what he was talking about. That he loved her. She needed to get used to this. “I know.”
“I’ll text you when I’m home, see if you’re still up.”
“Okay.”
She ended the call and glanced at her phone. Erik had called her too, while Tyson was talking, but she’d ignored it.
She’d decline his offer. She had other plans.
13: Seattle
The building didn’t look like much. Syria peered out the taxi window at the snow-covered parking lot. She handed the driver his fee and stepped out. She didn’t have any baggage, just a change of clothes in her backpack, and long satin scarf from her bed, the one Tyson used when he tied her up for the first time.
It was Christmas Eve, and while her heart hurt a little for her mother, who was taking extra shifts in the 911 call center, she would see her in a couple days. Today she was surprising Tyson.
Her boots crunched in the snow as she approached the front door. A middle-aged woman in a flowered dress, her hair tucked neatly in a red beret, sat just inside with a little metal box. “Have you already bought your ticket?” she asked.
“I was told I could get one at the door,” Syria said.
“You certainly can! Tickets are $20.” The women opened her box. “You are a single lady, right? This is a singles night!”
Syria smiled and pulled out her wallet. “This sounds like a fun way to spend Christmas Eve.”
“It’s my favorite night of the year!” the woman said, accepting the money. “And we have a super hot one this year?”
“Really?”
The woman whispered conspiratorially. “Some of the members thing it’s tacky, but they secretly love it. This year we have a professional Santa stripper. St. Nick is his specialty!” She fanned herself with her hand. “I already met him when he checked in. He’s a hottie!”
Syria had to stifle her giggle. “I bet he is.”
“Right through there!” The woman pointed through the door. “Your first drink is free and there are snacks on the side table.”
Syria opened the double doors to a room throbbing with music and light. A four-piece jazz band played in the corner, and a number of round tables festooned with poinsettias dotted the room. Some fifty or sixty women sat throughout them, chatting amiably, eating from little plates. Syria slipped into a chair at an empty table to look around, tucking her backpack beneath her seat.
A bartender served colorful drinks at a portable bar. As promised, a line of tables boasted a number of finger foods, shrimp and vegetables and little cakes decorated like presents.
Most of the women seemed to know each other, but none minded her presence. Syria sat comfortably alone and waited.
The band finished their number and the clarinet player in a white tuxedo stepped to a microphone. “And now, I know it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Introducing, Naughty Santa!”
The spotlight shifted to the opposite corner. Two bulky women in sparkling dresses opened the double doors, and there he was, Tyson, resplendent in his full Santa gear, hat, beard, jacket, pants, boots. His hands in white gloves went into the air, and some of the women jumped to their feet, cheering and clapping.
Syria stood with them. Tyson leaped forward to the beat of the music and pulled his velvet bag off his shoulders, swinging it suggestively in front of him.
The women began shouting, “Me! Me!” as he moved to the tables. Tyson selected an elderly woman in a gray hat who was still sitting in her chair. He kneeled in front of her and smacked his thigh. The lady shook her head, but the chorus of women around her shouted, “Do it! Do it!” and as soon as she seemed less resistant, Tyson scooped her from her chair and deposited her on his knee.
Syria laughed out loud. He was so great. Tyson whispered in the woman’s ear and her eyes went wide. He pulled a small bottle from his bag and handed it to her. She looked at it more closely and jumped off his lap. “Santa!” she said.
She set the bottle down like it was hot and another woman snatched it up. Even from a distance, Syria recognized it as lube.
Tyson got up and moved in through the tables. Syria stepped out of any of the lights so he wouldn’t see her too soon. He selected another woman, this one very eager to get near him. She danced with him a moment, then Tyson spun her around, holding her carefully at the waist and gyrating behind her. The whoops and shouts grew so loud, they almost drowned out the music.