Page 1 of Daddy's Christmas Elf
CHAPTERONE
“That lot out there are a nightmare, but at least they’re paying for their gropes.” Santa pulled out a wad of notes from the front of his fur trimmed, red sequinned shorts; he counted it out and grinned. “But if it means I can get the nursery finished off and fully furnished by the time the baby comes in the New Year, they can squeeze as much as they like.”
Eli’s eyes opened wide. Was that a fifty pound note Santa stuffed back inside his shorts?
“At least you’re getting something out of it, because allI’mgetting is a sore arse. I’ve lost count of how many times it’s been pinched. One guy even tried to put his hand down my legging but these things are so tight I’ll have to be cut out of them at the end of the night.”Which can’t come soon enough.
Eli frowned down at himself, clad head to toe in green. Green leggings which left nothing to the imagination and were in danger of cutting off his blood supply, and a green fitted jacket which finished just above his crotch and made of horrible scratchy nylon which was making him itch. He got the costume, he understood it, he was after all one of Santa’s Little Helpers, but the make-up? Wasn’t that going too far?
Santa — Eli didn’t know the guy’s name — had told him to think of it as stage make-up. They were actors for the evening, and playing a part, he’d said as he applied eye shadow, eyeliner, and lipstick with what had looked to Eli like a practised hand. Eli’s own attempts had been less sure.Drunk drag queen isn’t the look to go for, one of the female Helpers had said with a laugh, as she wiped his face clean and re-applied his make-up.Got to make the most of those eyes of yours.She’d given him a smile and a wink as she shoved him in front of a mirror to take a look at himself.
The end result had been a surprise, and not an unpleasant one, but slap wasn’t his thing. But he could hack it, like he could hack the ridiculous costume for a few hours, because the events company was paying good money for the Christmas season and the Santa’s Little Helpers party, at a swanky West End hotel, was no exception. Eli needed every penny it paid. Loss of dignity, crushing embarrassment, and a sore arse was the price of a nice top-up to his savings account. He just wished somebody could get their hands down his front far enough to deposit a fifty pound note. Eli wrinkled his nose. Or maybe not.
“What are you doing here, wasting time? You should be out there working.”
Eli and Santa both jumped and swung around as Sheena Jolly, the event planner, strode towards them.
“I’m not paying the two of you good money to stand around gossiping. There are guests to serve. Who said you could take a break?”
“You did,” Eli said, but the woman with the bad-tempered, scrunched-up face, and the long, swishy henna red hair wasn’t haven’t any of it.
“Desserts are about to be served, and we need everybody out there. Now.” She glared at Eli, as though challenging him to argue.
Eli couldn’t afford to argue. He nodded and straightened his hat, his very stupid hat with the bell dangling from its peak. The hat that was almost as stupid as his shoes with the long, curled up toes which also had a bell hanging from their ends. Tinkly little bells, like he was somebody’s pet kitten. Thank god none of his friends could see him… But this gig, just like the others he’d worked, was all about the money. No, argument wasn’t an option.
“Service!”
The event planner jerked her head towards the kitchen.
“Desserts are ready. Santa, you’re now serving the top table. Elf, you know your tables. Get to it. Gillespie Associates is a new and highly valued client, so everything needs to be as smooth as silk. No cock ups.” With a swish of her swishy hair, Sheena turned on her heel and clattered away.
“Service! Get an elfin’ move on!”
“Let’s get on with it. I can’t afford to piss her off,” Santa muttered under his breath as they made their way to the kitchen to collect the desserts.
Eli’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, before it had even got light, and it was now almost 8.30pm. He’d hoped to be able to snag something to eat from the kitchen but he, like everybody else, had been flat out since arriving at the hotel that morning to help set up the themed party.
Eli huffed as he picked up the tray laden with four large plates, each holding a selection of Christmas treats artfully arranged in the centre. Mini Christmas pudding, mince pie, and stollen, all of them sweet and warm and accompanied by a large jug of brandy-laced cream. His stomach rumbled again and his mouth watered. Sure, he’d be able to eat at the end of the evening, but midnight, when the corporate Christmas party was due to finish, might as well have been weeks away.
Santa pushed through the door into the function room, and Eli followed.
The noise, which for a few blessed minutes had been muted, hit him full in the face. He was sure it’d got noisier and even more raucous. The party guests, a firm of City investment bankers, were the rowdiest he’d worked over the Christmas season. Everybody he’d come into contact with that night had been tanked up on the free-flowing booze, which had not only loosened inhibitions but had ripped them off and chucked them away. Eli had held his tongue, his smile fixed on his face. He’d been leered at, touched up and propositioned by both men and women. He wouldn’t have minded so much if it had all been accompanied by bank notes stuffed down his front… Or he’d have minded less. Maybe.
Just think about the money. Remember why you’re doing this.The words he said to himself before every gig. All he needed to do was Keep Calm and Carry On — just like it said on his morning coffee mug.
Eli sucked in a deep breath and widened his smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace.
“Desserts, ladies and gentlemen.”Just keep smiling.
This was the worst of the tables assigned to him. Louder, rowdier, and way ruder than the others put together, with the loudest, rowdiest, rudest guy of the lot smirking as he looked Eli up and down. Again.
“Well, it’s our very own sexy little elf. Love the lip gloss, by the way.” The guy’s smirk grew wider. “You look like you’re an extra in an adults-only seasonal special.”
The guy’s comment drew drunken laughter from the others around the table.
“Your dessert, madam.” Eli put a plate in front of a glassy-eyed woman, ignoring the remark. “Cream?”
She shook her head and instead refilled her wine glass, sloshing it over the side.
