While Veronica was in her studio working on her “revenge potion” for the second day in a row, Buddy put on his leather bomber jacket and sent her a text that he was going for a walk. It was part of his morning routine, so she wouldn’t have noticed it all. He had planned it this way because would not have been happy if she knew where he was going.
After their last talk about Santa Claus, Buddy had promised not to mess with Twitter or anything like that. They hadn’t covered actually talking to the man so Buddy had tailed him home yesterday. With all of the foot traffic in the neighborhood it was easy and he was sure that Santa was so sure of himself that he wouldn’t notice.
Buddy walked out of Veronica’s house. As he walked out of the shade of the redwoods he was met with an unusually sunny winter morning. Perfect weather for a walk.
Santa’s house was a modest light blue and white bungalow on the other side of the dog park. He made his way up the walk that divided the small front yard and up a set of stairs to the front porch. He took a deep breath and took two steps toward the front door, which was painted bright red and adorned with a large wreath. As he raised his hand to knock on the door it opened. Santa Claus held his dog by the collar with his left hand and kept hold of the door knob with his other hand.
“Who are you and what do you want?” asked Mr. Claus.
Buddy put his hand down and took a half step backwards.
“My name is Buddy,” he said without offering his hand or more information.
“Okay, Buddy, this is my place and I have everything I need in the way of vacuum cleaners and spirituality.”
“That’s good. A man should know where he stands,” said Buddy confidently.
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Veronica,” said Buddy.
“I don’t know any Veronicas— at least that I can remember,” said Mr. Claus.
“Jolene,” said Buddy.
“Oh, her,” said Mr. Claus unsuccessfully hiding his displeasure.
“Yes, her. I understand that you two have had a misunderstanding.”
“You could say that. She prances around like the queen of the park and doesn’t understand that I like to take pictures of my dog.”
“She’s not crazy about getting her picture taken— especially after she asked nicely for you not to do so,” said Buddy.
“Nicely? I’d hate to see her angry,” said Mr. Claus with a laugh.
Buddy nodded and said, “I want you to stop taking pictures at the dog park. Full stop.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Or what?”
Buddy answered, “There’s no ‘or what’. I am just here talking to you man-to-man. I am asking nicely.”
“There’s that word nicely again. I don’t think either of you know what it means.”
“Do we have an understanding?”
“Buddy, I’ll put this as nicely as I can. Get outta my face and the fuck off my porch!”
Buddy jumped back as the door slammed in his face.
