“Well, Annie, what do you suggest?” Chanti reached down and scooped up an armful of letters. As she straightened, they cascaded over her arms and back into the plastic tub.
Annie left, returning quickly with a pad and pen. “I’ve been thinking there will probably be three kinds of requests to Santa.” She drew two lines down the paper to divide it into three sections. “There will be the ones that we have absolutely no way of fulfilling – like liposuction and plastic surgery.”
At Chanti’s raised brows, she quickly added, “That is, unless you want to pay for someone’s cosmetic surgery.”
Chanti softened her facial features. “No, you’re right. That would be well beyond the idea of the project. Go on.”
“Next comes the group that would be difficult but not impossible. For example, women who need wardrobe makeovers as well as cosmetics. Or maybe some that want to lose like ten to fifteen pounds. I mean, sending them to a personal trainer wouldn’t be the same as surgery.”
Chanti nodded in agreement. “Okay, what about the third group?”
Annie grinned. “They are the easy ones. Women who like their bodies, use makeup but need someone to show them how to apply it for the best advantage.” She chewed the end of her pen in thought. “Maybe the woman who wants to make her husband notice her again, or the career woman planning an upward move.”
“Great ideas. Do you think all the letters will fall into one of these three categories?”
This time she laughed outright. “Of course not. This is only a starting point. Have you decided how many women are going to win?”
Chanti shook her head. “I thought about doing a percentage of the number of letters received. Now I’m not so sure. That might be more than we can handle.”
“Well, you can always leave that open for now. After all, this is just the first week of the advertising.”
“You’re right, Annie.” She reached across her desk for her letter opener and stapler. “Let’s see how many letters we have to open before your category suggestions get blown to smithereens.”
Chapter 3
“As we get others that don’t fit, we’ll begin new categories.” Chanti pointed to the couch. “Impossible to the left, difficult to the right side of the couch, and easy on the chair.”
She handed Annie a letter opener and took a letter in hand, zipping it open.
“Staple the envelope right to the letter so we have addresses,” Chanti cautioned as she unfolded the first letter. Excitement coursed through her, hoping these letters from women in the Chicago area would fulfill her vision for this contest.
“Dear Santa,” she read to herself. “Please bring me a baby doll and my little brother a stuffed bear. Love, Megan.” Chanti frowned, setting the letter aside and reaching for another. She supposed there were bound to be some children’s letters in the mix. A child might not have read the rules stating the contest was for ages eighteen and over.
She looked more closely at the next envelope. The printing didn’t look like an adult’s. She quickly opened and read it, finding it similar to the first but from a little boy named Alvin. She grabbed a handful of envelopes from the tub, tossing them back as she scanned the handwriting.
“Annie?” She glanced over at her assistant, who stood to the other side of the mail cart, several letters in hand and a confused expression etched on her face. “Are yours the same?”
“Same as what, ma’am?” Annie only called her that when she was nervous.
“Letters from children,” Chanti said in a quiet voice.
Annie slowly nodded. “At least all the ones I’ve opened.”
“Why?” Chanti let the rest of her thought fade away. Maybe the post office had gotten her mail mixed up with Operation Letters to Santa she knew existed through the Cardiss Collins Postal Store. But that didn’t make sense, because Mori Cosmetics mail came through one of the other Chicago branch offices.
She dug deep and pulled up a handful of envelopes, looking at the addresses. They all had the correct box number, but all the handwriting appeared juvenile, although she knew some adults whose penmanship was practically illegible.
“The majority don’t have return addresses. How do they expect Santa to find them?” It was irrelevant to Chanti’s project, yet the problem peaked her interest.
“Santa knows where everybody lives. Santa knows everything,” her young assistant told her.
Chanti certainly hoped that wasn’t true because her thoughts at that moment were dark enough to put her on Santa’s naughty list.
Annie opened another letter. “Oh, dear. This one wants a puppy and says he’ll call her Chantilly.” She giggled then slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide above her fingers.
Chanti scowled. “Very funny. Don’t open any more of these. We need to get them back to the post office.” She refolded the letters she had opened, put them in their respective envelopes, and taped them shut. “Call Jake and have him bring up some mail bags. We’ll stick the bags in my car and take them over to the Fort Dearborn branch where the postal box was rented. Also, call down to PR and get the ad copy and every paper and magazine the ad ran in. I want to know what went wrong.”
* * *
Within the hour, Chanti, Annie and Jake were headed to the post office. Chanti could have let Jake and the other guys in the mailroom do this, but she felt personally responsible. After all, it was her company and her ad campaign.
When Jake tossed one of the mailbags onto the counter, the clerk looked at him in confusion. Chanti quickly stepped forward.
“We’d like to return this mail. It was delivered to my company by mistake.”
“The postal service doesn’t make mistakes,” the clerk said.
“Well, someone did. These are letters to Santa Claus.”
The clerk raised a brow as he untied the rope closing the bag. He pulled out a handful of letters.
“They certainly are addressed to Santa. Are you Mrs. Claus?” He gave her a sardonic smile and Chanti rolled her eyes. Heaven save her from postal humor.
“Look, I just want—”
“They all have the same box number on them. I’ll have to look it up on the computer to see who rented it.”
“I rented it.” Chanti could feel her temper rising.
“Well then, they’re your letters.”
“No, they’re Santa’s letters.”
“Look lady, you rented a box for some purpose, although I think it’s pretty rude of you to be tricking kids into writing to a fake Santa.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you using the United States Postal Service for an illegal mail scam?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Chanti hollered. Annie touched her arm and Chanti knew her assistant wanted her to watch her language before she got into real trouble.
“You will take back these letters.” Chanti kept her voice low.
“I can’t. They were delivered according to postal code to the box identified on the front of the envelopes. If you want them returned, you have to write return to sender on them.”
“On all of them?”
“Lady, what’s the big deal? There’s not more than a hundred letters in this bag.”
“Jake, show this nice man,” she ground out the words, “what we have, just in today’s mail.”
Jake hauled the other three bags up and tossed them, one after the other, onto the counter. One rolled toward the postal clerk, nearly knocking him down.
“Now see here. I told you—”
“And I’m telling you, that’s an impossible task. Besides, a lot of the letters don’t even have a return address.” She stepped to the side so she could see the clerk. “This is your problem. Deal with it.” She turned and walked toward the door, Annie and Jake following close behind.
“Excuse me, lady,” a different voice called to her from the area of the clerk’s counter. She turned to see a mountain of a man standing directly behind the clerk. He casually reached right over the clerk, hefting the mailbags one at a time and dropping them on the floor
in front of the counter.
Taylor, his nametag stated, smiled grimly. “This mail was delivered as required. If you leave it here, I will have you arrested for littering on government property. That’s a federal offense.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Ms M,” Jake said quietly, “You might be able to take the puny guy, but I think the big guy means business.”
Chanti’s gaze slid from Jake back to the clerks behind the counter. She knew he was right. With as much dignity as she could manage, she grabbed a bag of mail and stomped to the door. She knew Jake and Annie would follow.
On the way back to the office, Annie asked the question on everyone’s mind. “If the letters are addressed correctly then why are we getting them from little kids?”
“Did you ask Tillman for the ad copy?” Chanti asked as they pulled into the parking garage.
“Yes, but he seemed very hesitant about getting it to me.”
“It had better be in my box,” Chanti stormed. They got out of the car and Jake headed for the trunk. “Let’s leave the bags there for now, Jake. I’m not done with the post office yet.”
* * *
As soon as Chanti settled behind her desk she buzzed Annie.
“Where are the materials I wanted from Tillman?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call him again right away.”
“Never mind,” Chanti replied. “I’ll do it.” She tapped the four numbers of his extension.
“Tillman, get your…self up here,” she growled into the phone.
Her PR man appeared minutes later, out of breath and looking harried. He deserves it, Chanti groused, but immediately felt bad about her unkind thoughts. Still, she held out her hand and snapped her fingers, silently demanding the folders he held against his chest.
He sullenly handed over the tear sheets and magazines. Chanti quickly skimmed the ad, immediately identifying the problem.
“Read this and tell me if you see a problem.” She threw the tear sheet at him across her desk, followed quickly by the Chicago Magazine, opened to the full-page advertisement for Chantilly Frost.
He looked at the ads, shaking his head. “I don’t see a problem.”
She pointed a red lacquered nail at the one word that seemed to jump off the page. “Under. It says eighteen and under. I didn’t approve an ad for making fantasies come true for children.”
“But what woman in her right mind would write a letter to Santa?”
“This wasn’t an ad for some little girl to get a new doll or for Santa to bring her a baby brother! It was meant for a woman’s fantasy – for a makeover, for a new look. It’s for cosmetics, for God’s sake!”
“Well, I just thought it must be a mistake. I thought the idea was for women to notice the cosmetics ad and let their kids do the letter writing.” He gave a shrug. “So I changed it when the proofs came in.”
“Do you realize what you have done? I am being deluged with mail from four year olds and the post office refuses to take it all back. Over a hundred letters, all addressed to Santa Claus.”
“Throw them away. It’s not like the post office would be able to deliver them anyway.”
Chanti thought about the little girl who had enclosed a picture with her letter. Huge eyes in a too thin face had looked out from below a fringe of straight brown hair. All she wanted was a coat, she had written, and food for her baby brother. Regardless of whether she, or Tillman, or the damned post office believed, that little girl did.
“You’re fired, Tillman. You’ve wasted several thousand dollars on a worthless campaign.” She turned away from the man, shaking in anger and afraid of saying something her corporate lawyers would later regret. Focusing her attention out the window, she was still aware of his presence behind her. The reflection in the window showed him stand there in indecision, but when she continued to ignore him, he turned and left. She blew out the breath she had been holding as the door clicked closed behind him.
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, closing her eyes against the late afternoon sun that slanted across the lower panes, splashing bright streaks of light against the swirls of mauve and maroon carpet.
She needed to think of a way to salvage Chantilly Frost, which would probably do fine on the market anyway, but she had wanted it to do great. She had hoped to outsell Revlon and Max Factor and all the rest. She had wanted to make Mori Cosmetics the brand for the career girl, the mom and new bride, not just the super model.
She also needed to come up with a plan for all the letters they were getting, and would probably continue to receive. Given the number of letters from just today, she couldn’t even imagine what the total would be.
She rubbed her temples as her head began to pound. She should have known something would happen; things had gone way too smoothly from the beginning. Thankfully, it was Wednesday and they were closed the rest of the week for the Thanksgiving holiday, so she had a few days before Jake again dumped letters literally in her lap.
She punched the intercom. “Get Jake up here for me, will you please?”
“Ma’am?” Her assistant sounded worried.
“He’s not in trouble, Annie. Just do it.” Even with a headache, she thought of a way to get help. While she waited, she downed some aspirin with a bottle of water.
“Ms M?” Jake called her softly and Chanti jerked upright, realizing she had dozed off in her chair. She pushed her hair out of her face.
“I’m sorry it took me awhile. From three o’clock on it’s pretty hectic getting everything ready for the last mail run.”
“How would you like to get out of the mailroom?” Chanti waved him to the chair opposite her desk.
“Ma’am?” he gulped.
“What is it with all the ma’aming lately? I feel like someone’s great aunt.” She scowled, recalling the softly drawled word that instead conjured up strong arms and hot lips. She shook her head to clear AJ’s image from her mind.
“I need help cleaning up the debacle Tillman caused. Are you ready for a job in the advertising department?”
“Oh, wow!” Jake jumped straight up from the chair with a shout. Realizing how that probably looked, he tried to school his grin as he quickly sat back down. “I mean, yes, I would love it.”
Chanti smiled. “I like enthusiasm in an assistant director.”
His mouth dropped open.
“I want someone young and energetic to get the ad campaign back on track and figure out how to handle the fallout I know will occur from this contest. The job is yours if you think you can do it.” She heard a small squeal from the other side of her closed door, and recalling what she had witnessed between Jake and her assistant earlier, she added, “You have until ten o’clock Monday morning. Get Annie to fill you in on the details. In fact, she could probably be persuaded to help.” Chanti stood and handed Jake the folder with all the information Tillman had brought her.
“You won’t be disappointed, Ms M, I promise you,” Jake oozed excitement and Chanti could only hope he was right.
As soon as he left, she shut down her computer and collected her things. It was only four o’clock, but she wanted to beat the rush getting home. Usually she left her office late, still thinking of all the things she could do for the company, but tonight she was exhausted and there was still a dull ache at the base of her neck. She quickly walked the two blocks to the Metra, tucking her head deep into her coat as the wind blew around her. There were reasons they called Chicago the windy city, she thought, digging her pass out of her pocket as she passed through the turnstile.
She found an empty seat next to the window and groaned as she sat down. The instant she closed her eyes, all she could see were overflowing tubs of letters. Refusing to contemplate that problem any more tonight, she concentrated on another image; one of warm brown eyes, the crinkles at the corners telling her he smiled, even before his beautiful lips came into focus in her mind’s eye. Man, what those lips had done to her. Her heart pounded just thinki
ng about it.
She had managed not to think of AJ during the past week, concentrating on business instead. Besides, she had no way of getting in touch with him since she never exchanged phone numbers on a first date. That plan had been fine with her that night, but now, she regretted it. She didn’t have a last name and didn’t know where he was staying. He had asked for her number, but she knew it wouldn’t take much for a phone number, even a cell number, to be cross checked with an address. Then the minute he found out what she was worth, there would be no getting rid of him.
She sighed as she collected her briefcase and left the train. Somehow, AJ hadn’t seemed the fortune hunter type. He had seemed very comfortable with who he was; self assured and confident, actually, and he hadn’t pressed her about her work. They had just been out for a good time; enjoying each other’s company.
This was the first time she could remember where she was interested in a man and wasn’t at all sure how to go about finding him. As she drove home from the train station, she knew of only one place to start.
* * *
Charlie watched Chanti make her way through the late night crowd. She stopped to talk to some people she knew, but her gaze kept darting about the room as if she were looking for someone. He wondered if it was the same someone who’d been here every night for the last week asking for her.
He was happily married to his high school sweetheart and couldn’t understand why some people made relationships so complicated. He knew that with Chanti’s background, she might be reluctant, but if she never let a guy get close, how would she ever know if his feelings were true?
“Hey, Charlie,” she said, sliding onto the only barstool available. “Give me a diet Coke, will you?”
“Changing your habits? Thought you weren’t supposed to do that until New Years.” He watched her closely as he poured her the drink. She looked tired. “What’s going on, Silly-Tilly?”
As always, the use of the nickname caused her to narrow her eyes. She sipped her Coke as she casually glanced around the room again. He almost laughed because he knew exactly what she wanted, or rather whom. He couldn’t decide how much to tell her. She was his friend and he didn’t want her hurt, but AJ was a friend, too. He didn’t know what AJ was thinking, either, so decided to be cautious.
If Wishes Were Magic Page 3
