by Rene Penn
So, Bryan had told Ted he was being laid off, after all. And Ted would sit out his remaining time at home. Jules didn’t have the same luxury. He had more than twenty years of paid time-off saved up. Her PTO balance was down to the nub.
Another thing that crossed Jules' mind: Bryan had confided in Ted as he'd done her. Did it mean that Bryan trusted them not to say anything to their colleagues? Otherwise, he wouldn't have told them they were being laid off, right?
For the first time, she wondered if Bryan would get in some trouble for doing all of this.
Jules looked down at the folder in Bryan's hands. Guilt clutched her sides. She wanted to snatch the paper away before he signed it. But the thought disappeared when she remembered how she was being used for her so-called party planning purposes.
She watched Bryan click the end of a ballpoint pen and sign the bottom of the paper. He closed the folder and handed it to her. “If you need to talk more about what’s going on, my door’s open.” About her layoff, that is.
“Right.” She slipped the folder under her arm. “Thanks.”
I’ve got the signature now. Don’t turn back. Now, I can give my colleagues the best holiday party ever.
Three
A few weeks later, Bryan walked from the parking garage of the Marriott into the hotel and followed the signs for the JSA Holiday Party. He hopped on an escalator, then glanced at his watch. It was about 7:30. The party would end at 9:00. He’d make an appearance. Chat with his team, his boss, and the higher-ups. Spend an hour, tops. Then, he’d be on his way.
As the escalator crept down to the lower level, the atmosphere changed to a holiday-themed nightclub. The lighting grew dimmer and dimmer. A fast Christmas song by Mariah Carey blared through the open doors of the ballroom. Festive green, red, and white strobe lights flashed through the air, shimmering along the walls, Bryan’s clothes, and shoes.
JSA’s previous holiday parties had been nothing like this. They’d been pretty standard fare. Mediocre cocktails, lukewarm appetizers, domestic beer. And Bryan couldn’t even remember what the music was. Holiday oldies, maybe? Bing Crosby?
But Jules didn’t head the holiday party planning committee before. She did now, and Bryan could already see the difference. It hit him in the face like a cement block.
Better yet, an ice block.
A huge ice sculpture of a wreath, six feet tall by six feet wide, stood on a table with a welcome banner. A couple of guys stood underneath ice stems, heads tilted back, mouths open, catching drips of water onto their tongues.
What the hell?
Bryan got a little closer to see if the two guys were anyone from his team. No. Thankfully.
He walked around the ornate sculpture. Over-the-top for a company party. Bryan could only guess how much the thing had cost. A thousand dollars? More? Who knew what the going rate was for holiday party ice sculptures? Did JSA have that kind of money?
“Welcome.”
A woman in a sexy Santa outfit greeted him. A floppy red velvet hat with furry white trim sat on top of long blonde hair. Lips painted the same color as the red hat smiled at him. And Bryan couldn’t help but notice the cleavage, exposed and pushed up to get attention.
“Don’t forget your raffle ticket.” She handed him a red ticket stub. “The drawing’s a little after eight.”
A raffle ticket? For what?
Bryan continued through the dim room. A Mariah Carey holiday song purred in his ear. A group of about twenty people danced in the middle of the room. Bubbles shot into the air from a machine somewhere. Small paper snowflakes shot out, too. The debris coated people’s hair and clothes, and the crowd loved it, reaching out for the bubbles, preening the snowflakes off each other, laughing hysterically.
Another woman in a sexy Santa getup approached Bryan. She held a tray of drinks. High heels and a short red velvet dress showed off long shapely legs. A few guys nearby stared at her, open-mouthed, like horny teenagers.
She lowered the tray a couple of inches. “A drink, handsome?”
“What is it?”
“A little holiday punch.”
He grabbed a cup and took a sip as she sauntered off. The group of guys followed in her wake. A slow burn of alcohol floated from the back of Bryan's tongue down his chest. It was strong, tasted good, and had a big part of the festive atmosphere that bustled around him.
He saw people he recognized and stopped to chat. Chuck from Marketing, Judy from Accounting, Morris from IT, and Doug from Account Management. Doug wore a reindeer hat that had Blitzen scrolled across it in gold glitter. He clapped Bryan on the back.
“Bro.” Bro? Doug had never called Bryan that. "This party is crazy." He leaned hard against Bryan. "I had three of those punches. Watch out. They sneak up on you." Doug shook his head, and a couple of paper snowflakes fell onto Bryan's sleeve. "Bro, have you seen Santa's Helpers?"
Bryan assumed Doug was referring to the hot girls in skimpy Santa outfits. “It’s a little surprising to see women dressed like that handing out cocktails at a company party.”
“Yeah, but I’m not complaining.” Doug said, too close to Bryan’s ear. “Hey, it’s equal opportunity. I’ve heard people talking about the Santa behind the DJ booth.”
What does that mean?
The music changed to an old Run DMC Christmas rap. Doug beamed. “I can’t believe it. I love this song.” He staggered away toward the dance floor.
Bryan worked his way toward the DJ booth to see about this equal opportunity Santa business. Sarah cut off his path. She also held an infamous red punch cup, licking her lips as she approached.
“Look.” She pointed up.
A mistletoe dangled from the ceiling, about two feet above them.
You’ve gotta be kidding.
“You know what that means.” Sarah chuckled.
He ignored her. “Have you seen Jules?”
“Scrooge.” Behind Sarah, the snowflake machine whirred and went off again. "Yeah, I saw her a little while ago. Who knew she was the party planner extraordinaire? It's JSA's best. And it's not even over."
Sarah looked up at Bryan’s lips as she spoke, which made him take a half-step back. With the mistletoe above, the holiday punch in Sarah’s system, and her slightly aggressive nature, Bryan didn’t know what she might try.
“Excuse me,” Bryan said, “I’m gonna…” He pointed to nowhere in particular and walked off.
While speaking to Sarah, the crowd had grown. Bryan combed through it, trying to find Jules. He headed toward the DJ booth, looping around the speakers, and stopped cold.
There was Santa, sitting on a white, high-backed chair.
And no ordinary Santa, either. A bronze-skinned Santa who was about two hundred pounds of muscle. His red velvet jacket draped open for all to see his eight-pack abs. On his lap sat a woman in a red pantsuit, posing for a picture being taken by one of Santa's "helpers." And a line of ten or more eager-looking women, and a a few men, waited to sit on Santa's lap next.
This party was out of control.
Bryan turned around, hell-bent on tracking down Jules.
Until he heard her voice pipe through the speaker behind him.
“Is everybody having a good time?” Jules yelled. An enthusiastic cheer erupted. “It’s time for the raffle drawing. Everyone take out your tickets. The winner gets a vacation for two to Napa Valley.”
Napa Valley? What the hell?
The crowd roared at the announcement, fumbling in pockets and purses to find their tickets.
Bryan stomped over to the dance area. Jules stood on a riser in front of the DJ booth, mic in hand, reading out the number, “G-five-three-zero-six.” She had on a short, tight, red sweater dress that stopped at mid-thigh, red stilettos, and a reindeer hat that read Rudolph…
She looked as hot as the sexy Santa's Helpers he'd seen walking around. This Jules was not the same one he'd seen around the office. This Jules was… she looked…
Whoa.
As she repeated t
he number, he cleared his throat, then took a sip of the nuclear holiday punch.
“That’s mine,” a frantic, deep voice called out. “I’m the winner.”
The crowd parted as someone worked their way through.
"Congratulations," Jules said into the microphone. "Ted Hatcher from account management won the prize." Bryan choked on his drink. "Ted, you get an all-expenses-paid trip for two to Napa Valley."
Jules did this whole thing on purpose, down to the raffle drawing. Funny coincidence that the other person getting laid off at Christmas time was getting a free vacation.
Ted Hatcher climbed up onto the riser now, a punch cup in one hand, the other hoisted over his head victoriously, his decayed teeth shining like gray dimes. Jules hugged him. He rubbed her back. The bubble machine went off like gangbusters. People went crazy cheering for Ted.
Bobbie Sue from Human Resources zoomed by Bryan. She had a pitcher in her hand. His gaze followed her path toward the ice sculpture. One of the guys Bryan had seen earlier had his tongue attached to it, like the kid Ralphie from A Christmas Story. Bobbie Sue poured water over the guy’s mouth, trying to get his tongue to come loose.
Jules!
This was all her doing.
And she’d done it right under Bryan’s nose.
It was going to be a busy night for Bobbie Sue from Human Resources because Bryan was going to find his employee and strangle her.
◆◆◆
Jules plugged in headphones to answer Kerri’s video call. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to hear over the crowd. She held up the phone, made a 360-degree turn, and zoomed in on the elaborate ice sculpture.
“Our masterminds at work,” Jules said. “What do you think?”
"It's the best holiday party ever. I wish I were there."
“Me, too. But you’re in Barbados. Not a bad alternative.”
Kerri sat on her aunt's screened porch. Her toned, bare arms soaked in the tropical weather. Meanwhile, Jules had on a long-sleeved sweater dress.
Kerri asked, “What did Bryan say?”
Jules was distracted by Ted Hatcher, who’d been doing a celebratory dance that involved lots of knee bending, dropping to the floor, and popping back up again. The crowd ate it up. She’d never seen him this happy. Rigging the raffle ticket so he could win made the whole party worth it.
“Great party, Jules,” someone yelled.
Jules smiled back and waved. She didn’t recognize him, but it didn’t matter. The person was having fun. That’s what mattered to Jules.
She walked over to a quieter part of the ballroom. “I haven’t seen Bryan,” Jules answered. “Yet.”
"I want to know how he reacts. I want you to call me, just like this so that I can see his expression in real-time."
“I’ll try my best.” Jules smiled, then looked over her shoulder for a second. She thought she saw him—but no. “He’s going to be pissed.”
“Oh, well. What’s he gonna do? Fire you?” Kerri cackled with glee.
"I felt guilty about all of this about an hour ago. And then I had more punch, and now I'm okay again." Jules snickered. "Tell your uncle thanks for the recipe, by the way. It's a big hit." The timer on Jules' phone went off. "Gotta go. They're about to start."
Kerri squealed. Jules squealed. And so did everyone else…
Because the room went black.
Jules had been waiting for this.
Yes, everything else about the party had been perfect. The ice sculpture, the photo area with the sexy Santa, the Santa's helpers, the snowflake and bubble machines, the sparkly hats, and other decorations. All of it was fantastic. But now it was time for the DC Flash Mob Carolers.
The DJ cut the music, dim lights came on, and about thirty people dispersed around the ballroom burst into song. Actually, it was a hum. A beautiful, sweet, angelic hum of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” a special request from Jules.
When her parents were still married, the three of them would sit in the living room and watch A Charlie Brown Christmas. Jules loved this part, when the Peanuts crew would get together and hum this song.
Jules’ heart warmed as the ballroom hushed to a quiet. Everyone watched the carolers sway in unison, hypnotizing the crowd. Significant others and coworkers clutched each other closer. The snow machine whirred softly, paper flakes floating through the air. The ballroom transformed into a snow globe. It was a magical moment, almost surreal.
I did this. Santa Jules did this.
And after a few entrancing minutes of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," the carolers dropped their heads for a moment, and Phase Two began.
The singers looked up, swayed their arms up in the air, and energetically clapped their hands overhead. The crowd got into it, too, mimicking the singers’ movements—clap, clap, clap, clap—and then the carolers burst into a lively Yiddish song.
Jules smiled when some of her Jewish colleagues excitedly joined in. She downed the rest of her tasty punch with a few enthusiastic gulps.
Yes. Best Holiday Party Ever.
Until she looked around the room, and saw Ernie Duchall, with his thin nose and pointy chin, heading toward Bryan like an angry bird.
Oh no.
◆◆◆
Bryan couldn’t tell, but was this a flash mob? Singing in Yiddish?
His Jewish colleague, Ari, pumped his arms in the air and started banging out the notes along with the singers. That answered Bryan’s question.
If Bryan weren't so pissed at Jules, he'd think this was pretty cool.
At least she made the party an inclusive experience. H.R. couldn't argue with that. As for the bare-chested Santa and the skimpy-dressed Santa's helpers, that was another story.
“What the hell is going on here?” A voice tugged Bryan’s ear, and a heavy hand gripped his shoulder.
Crap. Ernie Duchall.
Bryan turned to see Ernie’s thin, taut face scrawled with the same determined look that Bryan had worn while tracking down Jules. The hunter was also being hunted. The survival chain at work, with Bryan caught in the middle.
“I want to know what’s going on right now,” Ernie barked.
Bryan should've left the party earlier, turned around as soon as he saw the ice sculpture, or bolted when he had to peel his eyes away from the cocktail waitress. Yeah, he should've bailed then. But no.
“I’m not exactly sure what’s going on right now.” Bryan's pulse galloped. Survival mode. “I’m trying to—”
Ernie, who stood about six feet, five inches, suddenly seemed a lot taller, as he leaned down toward Bryan’s face. “You should know what’s going on. Aren’t you overseeing the holiday planning committee? The party committee. Whatever the hell it’s called.”
Bryan wasn't exactly overseeing the committee. He just managed Jules and signed off on her procurement requests for the party. "I thought HR oversaw the committee. It's a very gray area." With the way Ernie's head turned into an exclamation point, Bryan knew he should've bitten his tongue. "I'll get to the bottom of this."
"You're damn right." Ernie pointed at Bryan's shoulder. "You are responsible, you and Jules Carmichael. You must've known about all this. You approved everything. Otherwise, it wouldn't be happening. I wouldn't be walking around with paper snow in my hair. And my wife wouldn't be sitting on a strange man's lap."
Bryan sputtered out a cough, trying not to laugh at the visual of Ernie’s wife with the bare-chested Santa. Meanwhile, the carolers changed to another song in the background. Were they singing about Ramadan? Bryan tried to focus on Ernie’s rambling.
His boss's ever-elongating face snapped Bryan back to attention. "The Human Resources group is trying to figure out what to do about this ridiculous debauchery."
Bryan tried to make light of it. “I think people are having fun.” He looked around, putting on a grin, like all was well.
Ernie jabbed a long finger again. Bryan’s grin disappeared. “You better hope that we don’t get sued. I’m glad that my niece is taking over J
ules’ job. I want that girl out of here immediately. At least when my niece takes over, I can rest assured that she’ll never do something like this.”
That’s when Ernie’s face changed. He went from a human exclamation point to a scary vulture. With fangs. His gaze shifted past Bryan.
“You,” Ernie exclaimed.
Bryan turned to see who Ernie had tracked with his gaze.
Oh no. Jules.
And with the shocked look on her face, she must’ve overheard what Ernie had said about Bianca.
Bryan’s previous urge to throttle her was quickly replaced by wanting to protect her. He stepped toward Jules, getting between her and Ernie.
She faced Bryan, her mouth trembling through the dim light. “Is that true? Did you know that his niece was going to get my job?”
Ernie side-stepped Bryan and faced Jules square-on. “Yes, he did. And if I knew that you’d use this holiday party to make our company look like The Wolf of Wall Street, I would’ve had you gone weeks ago.”
"But, you didn't." Jules' jaw tightened. "Because you wanted me to help plan your holiday party. Well, here it is." She threw her arms out. In her left hand, she held a cup with only a drop of red punch left. "It's JSA's best holiday party ever. Ask anybody. Ask your wife." She added boldly, “You’re welcome.”
Did she have to throw in that part? Why not just punch Ernie in the nuts.
“Jules,” Bryan seethed.
Ernie's face pulled tight. His glasses looked like they were about to shatter. "How did you know I wanted you to help plan the holiday party?" He swiveled back to Bryan. "Did you tell her that she was being let go? I told you not to say anything."
Jules swayed. “Bryan didn’t tell me anything. I figured it out myself.”
Hearing that almost rocked Bryan out of his shoes. Was she lying to defend him?
Ernie glared at her. “I don’t ever want to see your face at JSA again.”
Her last day was tomorrow. Ernie's parting jab didn't have as much weight as he'd probably hoped. But it was the last word, until Jules muttered, "No problem, Ernie. Merry Christmas." And Bryan felt his chest crack a little.
