Santa's Little Helper (Part 2)
With a lime green cell phone in his hand, Roxas sat on top of his soft tan comforter at the edge of his full-sized bed. The incomplete number was lying on his lap, and he was irked more than a kid who, during a visit to F.A.O. Swartz, was denied a toy by his grandparents. He picked the slip of paper up and flipped it over, hoping that it was some cruel joke. The man had specifically told him to exchange phone numbers, just to drive off after planting a kiss, molesting his ass, and slipping a useless set of eight digits into his pocket.
Parts of the conversation that he had with Axel had played in his mind, and he searched his memory for when Tifa had said Roxas’s name. She insisted that he was called Santa’s Helper the entire time he had been working, and he hadn’t introduced himself. He felt silly for not introducing himself sooner, but with the whole ‘niece-is-a-klepto’ thing made it awkward to do so.
Christmas dinner at his uncle’s house was over, and Roxas was relieved to have some time alone for the rest of the night. Some time alone to stare at the unfinished phone number and wonder what might have been. The man was a great kisser, which, on its own, was reason enough for him to wonder what might have been.
If he had just one of those two missing numbers, he could try ten phone numbers and know that one of them had to be Axel’s. With two numbers missing, he had a one in one-hundred chance of dialing the correct numbers. With those odds, he had a better chance at winning the Mr. Universe contest. Hell, who was he kidding? Even after taking steroids prescribed to a horse and working out for 10 years, the odds of winning the lottery were better than him winning the Mr. Universe title. He pouted.
If he tried one random phone number and it happened to be Axel’s, then that would be some cosmic sign that he was supposed to try to call Axel. The redhead had said something about fate and how it was somehow against them. Maybe, if Roxas called this one number and it turned out to be Axel, it would be proof that they weren’t fated to be apart.
All this for some random guy who looked like a clown and was related to a future outlaw.
Roxas sighed before punching the first eight numbers with his fingers and eeny, meeny, miny, mo-ing the last two. He held his breath as the phone rang.
“Hello?” a timid female voice asked. Perhaps it was Axel’s younger sister.
“Hi, is Axel there?”
“Who?”
“Axel.”
“No, I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number.”
“Oh, sorry.” So much for fate. After the click, he held the phone away from his ear and sighed again. He rationalized that trying one more number wouldn’t hurt anyone. He punched the first eight numbers again and carelessly pushed the last two.
Forty two. About 45 minutes later, he was on number forty freakin’ two. If he was a telemarketer, he would make employee of the month every month based on his efficiency. Press the number. Ask for Axel. No, he wasn’t there. Click. Repeat. After five numbers, he resorted to a systematic approach starting from 00 and ascending in numerical order for each number dialed. Now running on OCD mode, Roxas was not going to stop until he got a hold of the jerk who was ignorant to the fact that ripping the paper first was vital when giving out a number.
The phone rang again for the forty second time, and Roxas fell into autopilot.
“Hello?” a familiar male voice answered. Roxas nearly fell off of his bed.
“Axel?”
“Who is this?” the smug voice asked.
“It’s me, um- Roxas.”
“Roxas?”
“Yeah, Roxas.”
“Roxas who?”
“Roxas… you know, we met at the mall…” Roxas could not believe that the guy had forgotten him already. It had been one day.
“The mall?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you look like?”
“I don’t know. Blonde hair, blue eyes, -um- short. You don’t remember me.”
“That sounds about right. Oh, yeah. I remember you.” Axel snorted.
“Oh.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“I-uh-”
“Spit it out, kid.”
“You really don’t remember me, do you?” Roxas frowned. The guy was not worth all of the trouble that he had to go through earlier.
“Enlighten me. What happened between us?”
“You choked on some candy, and I gave you the Heimlich. There’s no way you forgot me,” Roxas growled.
“Did you do mouth to mouth?”
“No.”
“Why would I remember you then?” Axel snorted again.
“The parking lot…you gave me your number… and kissed me. You didn’t give me your whole number, you know.” Roxas’s voice increased by few decibels.
“How did you get this number then?”
“I tried a few numbers. Is this some kind of a joke? Because you’re not very funny.”
“This is hilarious, kid.”
“Whatever, you’re an ass.”
“Wait; let me try to remember you again. Did you have any markings or tattoos in any inappropriate areas?”
“I was a freakin’ elf. Santa’s little helper. How the hell did you forget me?” Roxas shouted into the phone, ready to bash it against the wall.
“An elf?” Axel laughed loud enough for Roxas to have to pull the phone away from his ear. “An elf?!”
“Do you have -um- short term memory loss?”
“Axel! Hey, Axel.” The man’s voice seemed further away. “Axel, I figured out why you were shopping for two weeks straight. Santa’s little helper is on my phone. What should I tell him?” There was a scuffle, a thud, and a shout. “I’m sorry, little elf. My brother, Axel, is currently incapacitated due to his sorry-ass attempt to get the phone out of my hand. Would you like to leave a message?”
“You’re his brother?” Roxas asked.
“Yup. The one and only Reno.”
“Reno? Do you know Cloud and Tifa?”
“Maybe, depends on who’s asking.”
“Cloud’s my uncle.”
“Shit.”
“Roxas?” a similar, wearier voice came on the phone.
“Axel?”
“What did you tell Reno? He looks like someone just told him that what he really ate for breakfast was scrambled monkey balls,” the real Axel said breathlessly.
“What?”
“Never mind. How did you get his number?”
“I -uh- tried a few to see if I could get a hold of you.”
“That makes sense,” Axel said, laughing. The smugness was still in this voice, but it was laced with interest, so it wasn’t as irritating as the last. “Our last number is different. Oh well, whatever works, right?”
“I guess.”
“So…hey, it’s still Christmas. Merry Christmas, Roxas.”
“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too, Axel.” Roxas smiled.