The groupie

Hi. I’m sorry. I’m not usually the wait for a guy outside his dressing room type, but after we saw you today I just had to come back and see you again. Alone.

Don't freak out. I'm not a stalker or anything. Totally harmless. Look in my purse. No weapons or anything. I just want a minute or two of your time. Just to talk.

Oh, and I’m not here for me. I’m too old for this. For you. I know. I’m here because of my daughter. You probably don’t even remember her. You see so many girls. Here is a picture of the two of you. Do you remember her? I hope so. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.

She won’t tell me what conspired between the two of you. She says it’s none of my business. But I’m her mother. I need to know, you know? She’ll understand that later, but I can’t explain it to her now.

That’s why I’m here. Because I want to make sure my daughter is happy.

So, please. I know you’re off duty. The mall is getting ready to close. You’ve taken off the red suit for the day. But can you tell me what my daughter asked you to bring for Christmas, Santa? Do you mind if I call you "Santa?"

 

Sometimes I write fiction. Usually I don't. Get notified of all new posts by email. Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.

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Filed under: Fiction Friday

Tags: Christmas, Fiction

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