The Secret Life of Mrs. Claus by Carly Alexander

the angular, loose demeanor of an athlete.
    No, maybe that was the red and white University of Maryland letter jacket. A letter jacket—as if he’d ever jogged a mile, let alone achieved varsity status in a sport. It’s all part of the image, part of the fake Bobby he wants everyone to buy into, I told myself. If only I could convince myself that he was a fraud, make my pulse slow down, squelch the urge to jump up, straddle him, and press my face into his chest like a koala.
    With Bobby so close, it was resoundingly clear that I was still buying into the whole package. And if I could just get my heartbeat to slow and my palms to stop sweating, I would have the good grace to feel embarrassed at my own vulnerability.
    Kate stood up. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’m on for the two o’clock dolphin show.”
    “I’ve got work, too,” I blathered, knowing I needed to get back but not so sure I wanted Bobby to know about my new job. Let’s see, hotshot TV producer or department-store Mrs. Claus—which was the more marketable career?
    “I keep hearing that you’re back in Baltimore. I figured if it was true, we’d run into each other.” Bobby set his food on the table and handed his tray to Kate. “Just shoot that over there, will you?”
    “Oh, sure.” She moved behind him and lifted the tray as if to slam him in the head with it.
    “I’ll call you later, Kate,” I said, resigned to my sorry fate, a few minutes spent opposite the man-boy of my once and future dreams.
    “Ciao, Kate!” he called, saluting her.
    “I kept meaning to call you, but with the show and everything…” He shoved a tomato wedge in his mouth as I considered how I would have reacted hearing his voice on the other end of the phone.
    I wish you’d called. No, I don’t. But I’m glad you were thinking of me.
    “You can imagine. Not a minute to myself. Thank God for hiatus.”
    I wish you didn’t look so good now. I wish you ate salads when we were together. How did you get your skin to clear up? How is it that you look so damned good when I know you’re so damned bad?
    “So, go on, Livvy. Let me have it. Rip me a new one. I know you’re pissed.”
    How could I ever be angry with you when I’m still crazy about you?
    His eyes flickered with amusement, eyes darker and greener than I’d remembered. “Oh, I get it. The silent treatment.”
    “Are those colored contacts?” I blurted out.
    He rolled his eyes. “She speaks.”
    “I probably shouldn’t,” I said. “I should just have my lawyer call you after the first episode airs.”
    “Ouch. You don’t have to draw blood.”
    “You started it. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you were using my name? An actress who looks like me? Filming in the city I grew up in? Thought you’d just slide that one past me, huh?”
    He sighed. “Of course not, but you’d moved on. You were dancing in New York, on to another life. I didn’t think you’d recognize yourself, certainly didn’t expect you to land back here.”
    “What you did was wrong, Bobby.”
    “Probably. But I did change the name in the script. A dozen times. Global replacement. But every time I looked up and saw ‘Kelly’ or ‘Alicia’ or ‘Jennifer’ on the page, it just didn’t feel right. You were the inspiration for my stories, Liv. Without you, they don’t sing.”
    “Oh, whoop-dee-doo.” I stood up and turned away so he couldn’t see the conflicted emotions on my face, the war between flattery and betrayal. He had invaded my privacy by using me as a basis for his character, and yet, somehow, I was a little tickled that I’d left such an impression.
    “I mean that, Liv. You are the pulse of this show.”
    I pulled my coat on. “Great. I’m looking forward to getting my cut.”
    He leaned back slightly, cautious, shocked at my bitchiness.
    How could I be such a bitch? That sort of behavior would never make him love me.
    But then, deep down I knew it was too late for all that, with Bobby