This story is fiction, pure and simple. There may be characters based on real people and events but the crux of it is nothing at all. If you read this and think you know how this story really transpired, then you're an idiot, or you were there, but that doesn't mean you're not still an idiot. This story also has no real basis in fantasy either. It's what if based on a never was and if you can't tell the difference between truth and fiction, especially when patiently explained by the author, then you should probably not move out of your parents basement.
Santa's Chair
In the basement where I work is a room where I change. Barely 8 by 10 with one door that locks and a shower curtain covering the pump room beyond, the employee changing room is bigger than some of the rooms I've spent time in, but none of them had the chair in it. The Chair is a high-backed wood chair with old lace glued around the border of the red felt cushions and painted gold to look like a throne. It may have 30 or 40 years ago when it was first done, but now its paint is faded and lace frayed. The red seat has to large black stains near the front and the backrest is worn and faded. Our story doesn't start here though. It starts upstairs at a wedding.
The Club is private for the most part. In the last few years to maintain revenue they've made the banquet facilities more open to the public to keep the money flowing but for someone like Leanne, it wouldn't have been a problem either way. As an employee, she would have access to all of our accommodations without problem. It's why she was married on the Dock across the street, overlooking the lake, and why her reception filled our dining room to capacity with friends, family, and employees past and present. Those of us left to work it toiled away for the most part, going to the windows to maybe catch part of the ceremony, or a large group going to the roof to cheer at the end of it, but the kitchen guys stayed in the kitchen making sure our friend's reception was worthy.
It was. Throughout the night as people finished up, they would disappear for a minute and return, better dressed and ready to join the party. I wasn't so lucky. As policy, at the end of service, whoever was in charge had to go out to the party and check with all involved to make sure that everything was up to snuff. It's how I found myself surrounded by well dressed friends and strangers, mingling through a packed room trying to find the bride, while still dressed in my uniform, black chef, matching cargo pants, and a fresh white apron. I passed family members and friends all quietly enjoying themselves, conversing at tables or in small groups while the co-workers were all thrashing about the dance floor or shouting across the bar. Leanne was the kind of girl that acted as a natural bridge between cliques. She was raised borderline religious nut job (no sex, no drugs, very little rock n' roll), but still managed to be cool enough that all the slutty waitresses and dirt bag junkie cooks liked her too.
After a few minutes of pressing through the assorted crowds I came upon the Ex table. It was an 8 top inhabited mostly by employees either off to school or better jobs and a couple of hangers on. Kerry, Roth, Chili, and Micah were all former servers. Dwayne was the banquet supervisor at the time, and the hostess, Brie, had just returned with a tray of shots. Chili, real name Jessie Hormel, leapt to her feet from excitement and almost toppled the tray and the already top-heavy hostess. Kerry, a platinum blonde former bartender grabbed a handful of taffeta at the back of Chili's dress nonchalantly and yanked her back into her seat with practiced precision. "You're retarded drunk and need to sit down for a minute." Kerry said, looking at me with the usual mix of displeasure and forced civility, a recipe she perfected after a mutual acquaintance of ours spent considerable time with her mouth on my cock. I didn't really understand her animosity. I'm a nice guy, I was good to her friend, my wife even stood up for her when some of the cooks would tease her about coming to work with pillow lines on her cheeks at 3 in the afternoon. I tried to be friendly, but she just took an unshakable dislike to me.
I tried to put it out of my mind by helping Brie clear her tray and passed out drinks. Brie was still too young to drink at 20 but was keeping occupied by getting the rest of the table clearly on the way to shit faced. She wore a baby blue and white dress that was probably a sun dress on any other girl but between her height (short), her rounded hips and ass, and insanely proportioned bosom, looked like haute evening wear. I was having trouble passing out drinks and staring down her cavernous cleavage at the same time, so I stopped passing out drinks. After a heartbeat or two of open mouthed gaping, Brie cleared her throat with a pissy tone and broke my revelry. "I'm sorry." I said and took an empty seat, separated enough from the crowd to watch them all easily.
"Is it because you got caught?" Brie asked with her pissy tone carrying on to actual words.
"It's because I didn't notice before," I answered while waving down one of the few remaining cocktail servers. "I'm going to have to bring up different uniforms at the next staff meeting." I winked; she sneered and started dragging Dwayne and Chili towards the dance floor after their shots. The cold silence of the table was a buffer to the rest of the room. Kerry looked past me and sighed, someone tapped my shoulder with a bottle of beer. I grabbed it without turning my head, "Thanks."
"Forget a girl that fast?" The voice was a little high and melodious with a slurred chaser, seductive and friendly. If the devil was a chick, (if?), she'd use that voice. I turned. She was tall even when I wasn't sitting and she wasn't in heels, with a soft round face and a perfectly natural smile. Her hair was curly and light brown, pushed away from her face, and just a little moist from sweating on the dance floor. She wore a black halter dress with thin strings that tied behind her neck and purple plaid stripes covering her breasts. It flowed out just above her knees where a ridiculously hot pair of those roman strappy kinds of high heels started. I stared, open mouthed, for a second time in as many minutes. I jumped to my feet, spilling my beer and knocking my chair back into Leanne's Great Aunt's new titanium hip. "Guess not." She slid past me into the next seat as I tried to help the old lady off the floor.