Santa Steps Out: A Fairy Tale for Grown-Ups by Robert Devereaux Page A
Authors: Robert Devereaux
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shock easily. And you're quite an imposing figure."
"Forgive me if I frightened you," he said.
She laughed and put a hand to her mouth. "The worst of it is seeing you talk. A six-foot-tall white rabbit is bad enough—"
"Eight, counting the ears," he corrected.
Again she laughed, then abruptly stopped, dipping her fingers into the collapsed comforter on her right. "Where did you say my husband was?"
The Easter Bunny worried his lip and looked out the window. Part of the workshop was visible, its bright red facade turned black by the night. Buttressed against it was the stable where Santa's reindeer now slept.
He felt an urge to go no further, to restore Anya to normal time so her husband could materialize next to her from one eyeblink to the next. Anya would, with the power of her husband's persuasion, be convinced his visit had been a dream.
Of course, if he did that, he would never be able to meet her again. There would be no chance for affection to blossom between them, no possibility that that gentle hand of hers would go roving through his fur. His mating would forever be confined to a doleful doe slapped together from shit and saliva. Enough of that, he thought. She was too good for him, she'd never go with him. But oh how precious she was and what pity she roused in him, lying abed in wifely ignorance, knowing not what dark deeds her husband was about. He owed Anya the truth. And he owed himself the satisfaction of seeing Santa toppled.
*****
Anya was amazed how expressive the Easter Bunny's face could be. Her initial fear had swiftly given way to delight at his ability to talk, followed by astonishment at the emotional range his features commanded. At the moment, he was the very image of anguish and remorse, even to the downturn of his whiskers.
"Mrs. Claus," he said. There was a frown about his eyes and an inability to look directly at her for long that she found alarming. "Your beloved husband, whom all the world holds dear for his unbounded generosity, his irrepressible joviality, is, I regret to say, at this moment in the arms of another woman."
Anya felt a clench in her gut. Then it flew out into a dismissive gesture. "Stuff and nonsense." She hugged the blankets to her chest and laughed. "Not that it's any of your business, but Santa and I aired this issue twenty years ago and he vowed to be faithful. You may not know the value of a saint's vow, but I do."
"Long ago, deep in the woods beyond the skating pond, Saint Nicholas built a cozy little hut." It was as if he hadn't heard her, as if he had only paused for breath as she spoke.
"There's no hut in the woods—"
"A hut whose sole purpose is to conceal from you his adulterous goings-on."
There was something else in his eyes, something she couldn't quite read. It was alien, distancing, and cold. His assertions, absurd though they were, revived memories of the emotional devastation she endured when the whole Tooth Fairy business had surfaced. Thank God all of that was behind them.
"Santa Claus does not lie," she insisted.
"He's there now. Both of them are there now. They are . . ."—he raised a furry eyebrow, shrugged as one ashamed, stared at the floor—". . . having sex." The Easter Bunny's words struck hard at her heart.
"What kind of cruel joke is this?" she said.
"It's no joke, I assure—"
"I think you'd better leave. I don't recall inviting you in and I'm not even sure you're who—"
"If you'll be so good as to come with me, I'll take you to their trysting place so you can see for yourself." There was a false note to his solicitude, an undercurrent that made her feel uneasy.
"Now what could possibly induce me to leave my warm bed and go hiking through the woods in the dead of night with a six-foot rabb—"
"Eight—"
"—with an eight-foot rabbit who claims to be the Easter Bunny but who might be something else entirely, for all I know, and whose motives may be less than honorable?"
To this, the creature raised one paw and gave a
"Forgive me if I frightened you," he said.
She laughed and put a hand to her mouth. "The worst of it is seeing you talk. A six-foot-tall white rabbit is bad enough—"
"Eight, counting the ears," he corrected.
Again she laughed, then abruptly stopped, dipping her fingers into the collapsed comforter on her right. "Where did you say my husband was?"
The Easter Bunny worried his lip and looked out the window. Part of the workshop was visible, its bright red facade turned black by the night. Buttressed against it was the stable where Santa's reindeer now slept.
He felt an urge to go no further, to restore Anya to normal time so her husband could materialize next to her from one eyeblink to the next. Anya would, with the power of her husband's persuasion, be convinced his visit had been a dream.
Of course, if he did that, he would never be able to meet her again. There would be no chance for affection to blossom between them, no possibility that that gentle hand of hers would go roving through his fur. His mating would forever be confined to a doleful doe slapped together from shit and saliva. Enough of that, he thought. She was too good for him, she'd never go with him. But oh how precious she was and what pity she roused in him, lying abed in wifely ignorance, knowing not what dark deeds her husband was about. He owed Anya the truth. And he owed himself the satisfaction of seeing Santa toppled.
*****
Anya was amazed how expressive the Easter Bunny's face could be. Her initial fear had swiftly given way to delight at his ability to talk, followed by astonishment at the emotional range his features commanded. At the moment, he was the very image of anguish and remorse, even to the downturn of his whiskers.
"Mrs. Claus," he said. There was a frown about his eyes and an inability to look directly at her for long that she found alarming. "Your beloved husband, whom all the world holds dear for his unbounded generosity, his irrepressible joviality, is, I regret to say, at this moment in the arms of another woman."
Anya felt a clench in her gut. Then it flew out into a dismissive gesture. "Stuff and nonsense." She hugged the blankets to her chest and laughed. "Not that it's any of your business, but Santa and I aired this issue twenty years ago and he vowed to be faithful. You may not know the value of a saint's vow, but I do."
"Long ago, deep in the woods beyond the skating pond, Saint Nicholas built a cozy little hut." It was as if he hadn't heard her, as if he had only paused for breath as she spoke.
"There's no hut in the woods—"
"A hut whose sole purpose is to conceal from you his adulterous goings-on."
There was something else in his eyes, something she couldn't quite read. It was alien, distancing, and cold. His assertions, absurd though they were, revived memories of the emotional devastation she endured when the whole Tooth Fairy business had surfaced. Thank God all of that was behind them.
"Santa Claus does not lie," she insisted.
"He's there now. Both of them are there now. They are . . ."—he raised a furry eyebrow, shrugged as one ashamed, stared at the floor—". . . having sex." The Easter Bunny's words struck hard at her heart.
"What kind of cruel joke is this?" she said.
"It's no joke, I assure—"
"I think you'd better leave. I don't recall inviting you in and I'm not even sure you're who—"
"If you'll be so good as to come with me, I'll take you to their trysting place so you can see for yourself." There was a false note to his solicitude, an undercurrent that made her feel uneasy.
"Now what could possibly induce me to leave my warm bed and go hiking through the woods in the dead of night with a six-foot rabb—"
"Eight—"
"—with an eight-foot rabbit who claims to be the Easter Bunny but who might be something else entirely, for all I know, and whose motives may be less than honorable?"
To this, the creature raised one paw and gave a
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