Tales From Christmas Town

by Betty Hanawa, Roni Adams, Allie Standifer

  "Mom,” Leon said intensely under the bustling noise of elves baking and decorating, “please don't start with the guilt again."

  "Face facts, Leon,” his mom said with a sweet smile he didn't trust for a minute. “Your dad is old. Anything that helps him relieve his stress is a good thing. But sooner or later, he's going to step down and a new Santa Claus will be taking his place. You're the only son. Everyone is looking to you to step up to the plate. And in the long run, making his job easier now will make your job easier in the future."

  Mary Claus beamed at him as though she'd found a logical way to persuade him.

  "I don't want to be Santa Claus either at a mall or in the future as the real thing."

  "Too bad,” his mom said with a scowl he spent hours trying to master. The drill sergeant was now in command. “You're going to relieve some of your dad's burdens starting right now. I've had someone pack your bags. You get yourself to Chicago—."

  "Chicago?” Leon yelped. “Mom, if I have to do field work, can't I at least go to Florida where it's warm?"

  "Chicago,” she said firmly. “Your bags will be transported to the apartment that's been rented for our agents in Chicago. If you want to take that motorcycle of yours, you'd better head out to the Transportation barn and get it. But tomorrow morning, you report to the mall office at nine o'clock. Don't you dare pull that Billy Bob Thornton's ‘Bad Santa’ imitation either. Go."

  Leon got out of there.

  "Where are you headed, Leon?” his sister Christmas Star asked when he got to the Transportation barn.

  "Don't you ever wonder why our parents have such a lack of imagination when it comes to names for us? Holly, Joyeux, Noel,” Leon managed not to spit. He rolled his Ducati from its stall and joined Chrissy to wait for the Transportation elf. “Then there's Christmas Spirit who we all call Krista and you, the Christmas Star, who we all call Chrissy. Don't you wish your name was something else instead of a Christmasy name?"

  Too late Leon remembered who he was talking to. His sister Chrissy had been adopted by his parents after his dad found the orphaned baby girl during his Christmas Eve deliveries. “Oh, damn, Chrissy, I'm sorry."

  "Hey, Leon, it's okay. I don't know what my mother might have named me if she'd lived, but I love being Christmas Star and having this wonderful family who calls me Chrissy. I'm sorry you don't like your name though."

  "I suppose it's better than Santa Claus,” he said glumly, dreading the day he was going to have to put on the Big Guy's suit for real instead of just the mall Santa his mom was making him do. He eyed Chrissy. “Hey, we need to get you girls all married off. Then one of your husbands can take over Santa Claus and I'll be off the hook."

  "Ha!” Chrissy said. “Fat chance of that. I'm just looking forward to my vacation and maybe getting a date."

  "Where are you going this year?"

  "I've got two weeks of hot sun and sand and fruity, frosty drinks with my name on them at an island resort off the coast of Greece."

  Leon stepped back and looked at his sister from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, then back up. “You did pack a one-piece bathing suit, didn't you?"

  "Oh, sure,” Chrissy said with the smile she'd learned from their mother. The smile silently said ‘you're so full of reindeer poop, but I love you anyway.’ “It's packed right next to my chastity belt. No, Leon, I've got the most gorgeous barely-there bikini. And, by the way, Holly's put a lock on Dad's ‘Two Places at One Time’ magic dust, so don't think you're going to track me down and scare away any possible dates. I've had enough of that.

  "Besides, how are any of us supposed to get husbands to take over Santa Claus’ job so you don't have to,” Chrissy advanced on him, “if you don't let us date!” In one swift move, she grabbed and twisted his shirt collar until he was nearly choking. “Bother me on this vacation of mine and I'll spend the rest of my life making yours miserable. Got it?"

  "Yes,” he gasped out, afraid if he said anything else she'd knee him in his nuts.

  Chrissy released him and he looked down at his shirt.

  He coughed and cleared his throat, relieved he could still breath, much less talk. “At least you didn't tear my shirt."

  "Aren't you lucky? Where are you going? Hot date?"

  "Chicago. I'm going to do some field work to make sure the Naughty or Nice data is correlated properly."

  Chrissy laughed at him. “I told you Mom was going to make you sorry you dyed your hair and eyebrows burnet. What did she do? Stick you as a mall Santa for the Season?"

  Oh, double damn, he thought, he'd forgotten to ask how long he was going to be stuck down there. His life sucked.

  "She did!” Chrissy laughed again.

  Leon polished a few smudges off his Ducati's gleaming black finish.

  "You never have taken me for a ride on that,” Chrissy said, her giggles finally under control.

  "Do you see a bitch seat on it?"

  "Tsk, tsk. Your language, Leon. You could call it a ‘passenger seat.’ No wonder you hold first place on the Naughty and Nice list. How come you want a new motorcycle anyway?"

  "He nearly lost to Donner in the last Reindeer Games,” the Transportation elf said, coming up to them with the traveling magic dust. “Are you ready, Chrissy?"

  Laughing almost too hard to answer, Chrissy nodded and picked up her laptop and small traveling case.

  "Hey, Leon,” she called, just before the sparkling powder zipped her away. She flashed open her coat to reveal a sundress that barely covered her body. “When you see me again, I'll be tanned. All over,” she added with a wink. “Have a good time being a mall Santa in freezing Chicago. At least the uniform will keep you warm."

  "Ho ... ho ... ho,” Leon said as she disappeared. His life really sucked.

  Chapter Two

  Being a mall Santa sucked. In four hours on the job, Leon had a baby spit up on him, a toddler pee on him, and a whole bunch of kids screaming at the fat stranger in the red velvet suit, white beard and hair. He also discovered some extra heavy duties diapers weren't. He sponged the worse of the brown-yellow baby poop from the suit, but ended up having to change into another suit during the lunch break. He really disliked this costume. The damn red velvet suit, beard, and white wig suit were not only hot, but the appliance to make him fat was heavy.

  The only bright spot to the job was his current “Mrs. Claus,” Candice Craig. From her slim hands and delicate face, Leon suspected the “fat” dress she wore covered a knock-out body. The costume also didn't cover the dark honey-colored skin of her face and hands. The fake glasses only magnified a pair of dark brown eyes a man could lose his soul in.

  Unfortunately, the only chance he had to talk to her was in the brief moments she passed his throne after she took a child back to the parents and was on her away to collect the next kid in line. He thought they'd share lunch together, but a friend of hers came by and the two of them talked the entire time they ate their salads. He ended up taking a power nap on the couch while they talked and ate—kind of reminded him of home with all his chatty sisters. He wanted, hell, he needed to get her away from all this madness and find out exactly what was hidden under her “fat” dress.

  But first he had to take to yet another kid who thought Christmas was a time to extort the newest gadget on the market out of the Santa Claus.

  "Princess, it's my Santa Claus wish and I can use it however I want. The new model Ducati is coming out with a bigger engine and sleeker design. I want it." With a wince, he realized he needed to apologize to both Krista and his dad. He'd email them when he got back to the apartment he shared with a couple of the other Naughty and Nice field agents.

  But for now...

  "Listen, Joshua,” Leon told the kid on his knee, “you're six years old. You don't need a cell phone or an iPod. How about a bike?"

  Joshua's eyes narrowed into slits. “You're supposed to be Santa Claus. You're supposed to get me anything I want."

  "No, kid, that's not how it
works. You're supposed to tell me what you want for Christmas. If—and here's the catch, Josh—if you're a good boy—and only Santa determines that—then maybe Santa will show up with a Christmas gift for you. And what you get depends on what he thinks is best for you. Now smile for the nice lady and let's get good picture for Mom and Dad."

  Personally, Leon didn't think either one of them gave a damn. Mom was currently yakking away on her cell phone. Dad and a couple of other people had just celebrated a touchdown that took place during the pro football game where the score had been text messaged to his cell phone. Plus Dad has his iPod ear buds in. Leon figured old Joshua here just needed his own to talk to Mom and Dad.

  "All my friends have cell phones and iPods. I want a cell phone! I want an iPod! You're a terrible Santa Claus."

  "Too bad. Right now, I'm the only one you've got. Tell you what, Josh, do a real nice smile at the nice lady, and I'll think about it."

  The kid finally turned his head to face the photographer and the Santa Helper, Candice, dressed as Mrs. Santa and looking absolutely hot and nothing like his comfortable Mom, stuck out her tongue at the kid. Josh promptly laughed. The photographer toggled the button on the camera to get the picture. Candice came with a sucker for Josh and Leon bent his knee so the kid had nowhere to go but slide off.

  Or so Leon thought.

  Instead, Joshua grabbed a handful of suit jacket and hung on. “I said I want a cell phone and an iPod for Christmas. I smiled for the dumb picture. Now you have to get them for me."

  "Not if you're not nice, I don't. If you tear my suit, you're going to be on the Naughty List forever. There's a bunch of kids waiting. You've had your turn, now go with the nice lady."

  "Joshua,” Candice began unpeeling the kid's fingers from Leon's suit, “asking for cell phones and iPods is kind of like asking for a puppy or a kitten. Santa,” she continued with a warning glare at Leon, “has to get permission from Moms and Dads for those kinds of things. If your mom and dad tell Santa it's okay to bring you one, then he'll do it."

  "Yeah. Uh. Yeah. That's right.” Leon agreed, wondering why he hadn't thought of that excuse. He'd remember it for the next time. “Your parents have to let me know it's okay for you to have that kind of stuff. So, ask your parents and write me a letter care of the North Pole. And, remember,” he added, “I'll know if you've faked their permission."

  "You're not a nice Santa,” Joshua said with another glare. “I don't like you.” In one swift movement, the kid's foot shot out and landed squarely on Leon's thigh.

  Leon gasped and managed not to deck the halls of the little brat. “You're on the Naughty List forever, kid!"

  Candice hustled the kid from the Santa stall with Joshua screaming, “Mom! Dad! The Santa Claus is mean. Mom! Dad!"

  The mall security guard came quickly. Candice started talking fast while Leon managed to not rub his thigh. Considering how close the brat had kicked to his groin, Leon was afraid if he touched it, all the parents and kids standing in line might think he was feeling himself up. He shifted in his throne and checked his watch. The end of the shift was too far away.

  "You okay?” the photographer called.

  Leon nodded. He really, really hated this job.

  The security guard wrote something in his notebook and made the parents sign it. The parents looked a little pale when they took the picture of their darling from the photographer's assistant. Candice came back to the Santa throne where Leon sat drinking from a bottle of water and wishing it were vodka.

  "You're not going to have to sing the soprano lead in ‘The Messiah,’ are you?” She asked while she handed him a piece of paper.

  "It was a close call. What's this?"

  "The parents’ names and phone numbers. They were yapping about suing you and the mall for upsetting their kid's image of Christmas. I pointed out their child had kicked you and you could sue them for damages. Since we have witnesses to it and the boy was still whining about wanting a cell phone and an iPod, the parents backed off."

  "I owe you, Candice."

  "No problem. Part of my job. Ready for the next kiddo?"

  "I guess. Want to have supper with me after the shift ends? I need a stiff drink."

  "Sorry, sounds nice, but I already have plans for the night."

  Her hips swaying under the long velvet skirt, Candice moved to the next child in line. She brought back a little girl with long dark curls tied back from her face with a big red bow. With her pretty Christmas dress, she looked like a specialty Christmas doll to be kept behind glass and treasured.

  "This is Sabrina,” Candice helped the little girl onto Leon's knee.

  "Good afternoon, Sabrina. Can you smile at the photographer so she can get a nice picture for your mom?"

  The photographer clicked a fast shot and Sabrina's mom and the photographer nodded at the digital result.

  "Very nice, Sabrina. So, tell Santa. What do you want for Christmas?"

  Sabrina's mouth worked and Leon hoped she wasn't puckering up to cry. He really hated it when kids got scared and cried.

  "Hey, Sabrina. You want to go back to your mom? You can always have her help you write a letter to Santa at the North Pole."

  Her little mouth twisted and she nodded. She slid off his knee. As Candice handed Sabrina a sucker, the little child belched worthy of Donner after an oat pig-out.

  "Tell Santa ‘thank-you,’ Sabrina,” called her mother.

  Sabrina turned from Candice to him and Leon saw panic in her eyes. “Hey, it's okay. You don't have to talk. You're welcome. Thank you for coming to visit."

  Sabrina's mouth worked again and, without any more warning, she barfed all over Leon's red velvet pants.

  "Don't people feed their kids anything nutritious any more?” Leon glared at the mess on his pants while he changed in the room the mall had designated for their changing and rest area. “Pepperoni pizza, ice cream, cola, peppermint cane, cookies. No wonder the poor kid got sick. Just look at this."

  "I'd rather not,” Candice said dryly. “The smell alone is about to make me barf, too. I'm calling the cleaning service and getting this suit, this morning's, and yesterday's picked up as soon as possible. I hate the thought of walking in here tomorrow morning and smelling this."

  "Good idea.” He crammed the suit into the dry cleaning bag and looked at the couple clean suits still on the rack. “Ask them to bring any they have already have cleaned when they pick up these rather than waiting until Monday and, if they don't have any ready, ask them to put a rush on them."

  "Magic word,” she sing-songed like he was a five year-old.

  Leon swallowed his automatic “bite me” and said, “Please, Ms. Craig."

  "Very good, Leon,” she responded sounding for all the world like one of his elementary teachers, then her voice took on a more business-like tone. “You don't think the big bosses are going to have a problem with the extra cleaning expenses?"

  "Not with my authorization,” he said absent-mindedly while pulling a clean pair of pants over the damn fat belly appliance. He pulled the suspenders over his bare shoulders—he'd be damned if he wore a shirt under the fat appliance and the hot coat. He gagged at the smell still on his hands. He needed to wash them again. Hell, he needed a frigging shower. He hated kid puke.

  He heard Candice finish the call, relieved to hear her thank them for scheduling to come right away. He knew extra cash always made people more cooperative. Besides, the puke smell was making him nauseated already, too. Like Candice he cringed at the idea of walking in this room in the morning after the smell had a chance to permeate everything.

  "What's your position with Christmas Town Fantasies that enables you to casually authorize extra expenditures?” Candice asked as he came from behind the changing screen, carrying the heavy suit jacket and the wig and beard and headed to the restroom to wash his hands. The cool air against his mostly bare upper body felt good, especially since he'd been so hot in the velvet all day.

  Working on the knowledg
e that telling the truth was less likely to be believed than a lie, Leon promptly answered, “I'm Santa Claus’ only son. Next in line—unfortunately—to take over the Big Man's job when he retires. Hopefully, not anytime soon.” He kept the washroom door opened while he soaped and rinsed his hands. “Right now I'm doing field work to collect proper data for the Naughty and Nice list because some of our regular agents are down with the flu."

  From the mirror, he saw Candice's magnified dark eyes dance behind the phony glasses she wore. “Your day job is that boring? Seriously, do you work for Christmas Town Fantasies in your real job? Because I've seen the revised schedule and you've got a forty-hour week as Santa here. Most of the men who do this are retired. You're a little young."

  "Seriously. Yes,” Leon said with a sigh while putting on the beard and wig and double-checked the fastening of the white eyebrows pasted over his own. “CTF is part a family owned company called Christmas Town, Inc. that also owns a toy manufacturing plant called Claus Toys along with a couple of other businesses. Normally I handle the Informational Technology department, but with the flu knocking out some of our employees. Well, here I am. So, what's your regular gig?"

  "Exotic dancer at an exclusive gentlemen's club."

  "Oh, please. A classy lady like you?” He shrugged on the coat and buckled its wide belt and they walked out of the room.

  "It's a classy club,” Candice said with a smile as they left the changing room, locking the door behind them with her key to the room. She tucked it with its candy cane key fob into a pocket.

  "Is this why you won't go to supper with me tonight? You'll be stripping at your other gig?” To his pleasure, she looped her hand inside the crook of the arm he bent to her.

  "Of course. I have two performances tonight after I leave here."

  "Now why would you want to work that hard?” Leon said with a laugh, going along with her joke. “That means you won't get home until one or two A.M. and you have to be back here by eleven tomorrow morning."

  "The pay is good. It pays the medical bills for my poor sick momma."