Free The Ice Harvest by Scott Phillips Page B

winced at the thought of shelling out the cost of a new projector; it was hard getting used to the idea that these problems were no longer his. “Can’t we just fix it?” he asked out of habit.
    “It’s been fixed about six times already. Tonight it chewed this one up so bad I’m not sure I can save it.”
    “Slow night?” he asked.
    Lenny spread his arms out and swiveled them around at the empty store. “Had one drunk come in about eight-thirty, fell asleep in booth two. Otherwise it’s been like this since I got here. Don’t know if it’s the holiday or the storm, but at least it gives me a chance to repair the movies.”
    “Too bad you have to work on Christmas,” Charlie said.
    “I don’t care. My family’s back east and I’m an atheist. Just another night as far as I’m concerned.”
    “You don’t celebrate Christmas at all?”
    “Not really . . . wait a sec, though, let me show you something. It’s in the trunk of my car.”
    He went outside and Charlie moved behind the counter, examining the box to the movie the young man was repairing. On its cover a blond-haired woman grimaced in pained forbearance, eyes closed, crimson upper lip pulled excitedly back to reveal her teeth and tongue. The title was Backdoor Housewife , part of the “Anal Connoisseurs” line. On the bottom of the box were reproductions of the cover art of a variety of other titles in the series: Cornhole Teacher’s Aide , Rectal Nurse , Buttlove Babysitte r, Anal Pom Pom Girl , Dirt Road Debutante —all the vicarious Super-8 sodomy an anal connoisseur could ask for. He looked again at the photo on the box, comparing the woman’s impassioned facial expression to Cupcake’s look of deadpan ennui when photographed in the same situation, and decided that Cupcake probably didn’t have what it took for a big career in porn.
    The young man returned carrying a large cardboard box. “I did this for a studio arts class.” He pulled out a canvas-covered object about a foot high and set it out on the counter next to the film cutter. “Ready?” Charlie nodded, not really very interested.
    He pulled the canvas off. Standing over a prostrate Santa Claus doll was a Mrs. Santa doll, naked except for a pair of black boots, her nipples and pubic hair luridly painted in and a crude whip in her hand. Beneath her the Santa doll had on a tiny white slip, and his hands were tied together. They both had cherubic, smiling faces. “It’s called ‘Here Comes Santa Claus.’ ”
    “That’s nice,” Charlie said.
    “They sell these dolls at craft stores. People buy ’em and make their own little Mr. and Mrs. Santa outfits for them. Anyway, they come in the package dressed in just their underwear; she has on a slip and he has on a pair of boxer shorts. So this just sort of suggested itself.”
    “How do you mean, suggested itself?”
    “I got the pose from one of these.” He scanned the S&M rack and came up with a magazine called Dominant Bitches . He flipped through it and handed it to Charlie. There was a photo of a couple in this very position, although the dominating female and groveling male were considerably younger and fitter than Mr. and Mrs. Claus. “I got an ‘A’ on it.”
    “Sounds fair to me,” Charlie said.
    Lenny replaced the canvas and put the dolls back in their box, then moved back onto his stool and resumed splicing. “So what do you think? Can we get another projector?”
    Charlie winced at the thought of promising a cash outlay, even knowing he wouldn’t have to make good on it himself. From the time he and Vic had started keeping the second set of books he’d become monastically frugal with all corporate expenses, and the purchase of a replacement projector, necessary though it might be, was something he would have struggled against until it became inevitable. On the other hand, why argue about it?
    “Sure,” he said. It would be Deacon’s problem in two days.
    “Are you kidding?”
    “No, why would I be