Her scarf streaming behind her like a victory flag, Maxine rounded onto Fifth Avenue, where a giant, sparkling white snowflake hung overhead, as it did every holiday season. Panting and a little sweaty from her impromptu workout, Maxine paused on the corner of 58th Street and stared up at the snowflake as if it were her personal good-luck pendant. Please, please let me get the job, she prayed silently.
Then she pulled her compact out of her bag and did a scan of her flushed face. Her hands unsteady, she brushed the powder puff over her upturned nose and across her red cheeks, and made one last attempt at flattening her unruly hair. She was as ready as she’d ever be. You can rock this, she told herself, imagining the pep talk Tara would have given her had she been there. Tossing her head back, Maxine whirled around and pulled open the heavy double doors of Barton’s.
Ah.
Classical music filtered down past the soft white globes dangling from the arched ceiling. The walls were painted a creamy color, except for the farthest one, which was dominated by a black-and-pink mural of a high-heeled woman walking a poodle in London. That poodle, Maxine knew, was Barton’s logo—the image that appeared on every shopping bag, gift box, and advertisement. It was a little bizarre to associate the poodle with Heath Barton, and Maxine pressed her lips together to keep from snorting. Remain elegant, she told herself, drifting inside.
Maxine hadn’t been to Barton’s in years, and now she breathed in everything anew. A long glass perfume counter, dotted with crimson poinsettias, rippled through the center of the store like a clear river. Behind the counter, chic salespeople murmured to one another as they sprayed customers’ wrists with designer scents. I could work there, Maxine realized. But then there was the makeup counter across the store, where white-jacketed men and women wielded gold-plated eyebrow pencils. Maxine figured she could be a quick study when it came to doing makeovers.
And then, toward the back of the store, the luckiest of salespeople flitted through racks of clothes like fairies in a colorful forest. Sighing with appreciation, Maxine let her fingers dance over velvet jackets, silky dresses, and fuzzy cardigans. As she advanced toward the back office, where Heath had told her to go, she passed two winding staircases, and noticed that one led down to a cavernous space devoted solely to shoes. And that’s where I want to be stationed, Maxine decided with a smile, reaching the slightly ajar door to the manager’s office.
Maxine knocked once and then pushed the door all the way open to reveal a skinny young man with a goatee, wearing a button-down shirt, necktie, and burgundy-framed glasses. He was sitting at a cluttered desk, frantically typing something on a laptop in between taking bites of a Krispy Kreme doughnut. A jar full of candy canes sat on the windowsill, the only nod to the season. This image didn’t quite jibe with Barton’s high fashion vibe, but Maxine didn’t care—she’d made it to the inner sanctum.
“Mr. Perry?” Maxine ventured, and the man glanced up from his laptop, lifting his glasses to his forehead and squinting at Maxine.
“You lost, honey?” he asked. “The fitting rooms are downstairs, with the shoes—”
“Mr. Perry, Heath Barton told me to come see you,” Maxine interjected hurriedly. She felt a small glow of pride at being able to toss that powerful name around.
But to Maxine’s surprise, Mr. Perry only sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Did he? Enlighten me. What could the ever-helpful young heir have sent you here for?” Then Mr. Perry shook his head and feigned a look of horror. “But shhh. We can’t be caught talking like that about the boss’s son.” As he spoke, Mr. Perry pointed over his shoulder to a framed painting on the wall of Cecil Barton III himself, who gazed down imperiously in his ever-present bow tie and bowler hat. “I think the old man’s bugged the office, to tell you the truth.”
Despite herself, Maxine felt her lips twitch. She couldn’t help but like Mr. Perry.
“Well,” Maxine began, casting a look at the paperwork on Mr. Perry’s desk and realizing with a sinking sensation that she should have brought her resume. And references. And—oh, God—how could she have been so stupid, dashing over here on a whim? Suddenly Maxine understood how glaringly unprepared she was for this job. She had no experience in retail. She was filled with the urge to turn around and walk out as surely as she’d come in. They’d never take her at Barton’s.
“Yeah?” Mr. Perry prompted, still squinting at Maxine as if she were an oversized insect who’d fluttered her way into his office.
Figuring she had nothing to lose, Maxine took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Heath told me that there was an opening for a salesperson, and that he thought I’d be—”
Mr. Perry’s jaw dropped and he shifted his glasses back into place, staring at Maxine. “Perfect,” he finished for her, and Maxine felt a chill race down her spine. The exact same word Heath had used. “God, yes,” Mr. Perry went on, his face lighting up with wonder. “Maybe that kid isn’t totally useless. Come in, come in—what’s your name?” Mr. Perry asked, motioning for Maxine to take a seat in the chair across from him.
In a matter of minutes, to Maxine’s amazement, everything was squared away: Mr. Perry, all excitement, informed her of the pay (which was higher than Maxine had expected) and told her that the position was a temporary one, only running until December 24. Maxine took this as good news, since she’d be returning to college in January. After she had eagerly agreed to Mr. Perry’s request that she start tomorrow at nine A.M. sharp, the manager ceremoniously handed her a few forms to fill out, and that was that.
“You just need to try on your costume, and then we’ll be set,” Mr. Perry said, getting to his feet and heading toward the wardrobe in the corner. “I’m sure it will fit fine, but it might need to be taken in here and there.”
Maxine, who had been hastily signing her name on a dotted line, glanced up, startled. Costume? Mr. Perry must have been referring to the white-jacketed uniform Maxine had seen on the makeup people. She was about to ask him if she could get a lesson in applying foundation when Mr. Perry turned toward her with a dramatic “Voilà!”
But Mr. Perry wasn’t holding up a starched white jacket.
No.
He was holding up a bright-green long-sleeved leotard, a red cotton drawstring miniskirt, green-and-white-striped tights, and a plastic headband with enormous, pointy, green plastic ears on either end.
It was an elf costume.
Maxine’s stomach lurched. “Um—I—I think—” I think there’s been a mistake, she wanted to say, but she was too stunned to force the words from her throat.
“You can change in there,” Mr. Perry told her. He gestured to an adjoining room, oblivious to the color rapidly draining from Maxine’s face. “It’s the employee dressing room.”
“But—” Maxine’s voice came out raspy, and she coughed. “Where am I supposed to wear that?” she whispered hoarsely. Maybe trying on the costume was part of some weird Barton’s initiation ceremony. She cast a glance up at Cecil Barton III, who glared back at her.
Mr. Perry furrowed his brow. “Upstairs. In our Christmas Corner? Didn’t Heath tell you? Our second floor is devoted to all things Christmas this time of year. That’s why, when our only elf quit on us, we needed a replacement so badly.”
Maxine felt the pen slip out from between her fingers. It fell to the floor with a clatter.
You have got to be kidding me.
Maxine glanced down at her signature on the paper, her body going numb. Getting to her feet and running from the office seemed like the best possible plan, but Maxine also knew that would be the cowardly way out. Heath had gone to the trouble of telling her about this position, Mr. Perry seemed so hopeful to have her on board, and she’d already signed all the forms … The least she could do was try on the stupid costume. The get-up probably wouldn’t even fit, or it would look so howlingly awful on her that Mr. Perry would assign her to some other post in the store.
Feeling as if she were moving through molasses, Maxine walked over to Mr. Perry to accept the c
lothes. Maxine started toward the dressing room, when, as if from a great distance, she heard the manager speak again.
“We can’t forget the shoes,” he said, holding out a pair of green satin slip-ons with toes that curled up at the tips. “Without them, the outfit doesn’t really work, you know?”
Inside the cramped changing room, as she stripped off her jeans and hoodie, Maxine had a flashback to the fitting room where she’d tried on The Dress. Only now she wasn’t wriggling into a luscious gold confection, but a pair of thick tights and a stretchy, itchy leotard. Kill me. She was careful not to face the mirror, even when she adjusted the faux ears over her own, securing them in place with the plastic headband that went over her hair. Next came the shoes, into which Maxine’s size-five feet slid with surprising ease. Right as she was bracing herself to turn and survey the damage, Mr. Perry knocked.
“Ready?” he asked and Maxine opened the door for him. “Oh, wow,” he gasped, his eyes growing round behind his glasses. “Look at you!”
Cringing, Maxine turned to face her reflection—and her heart sank. Because, in that instant, she understood why everyone had thought her so “perfect” for the job. She looked like an elf, the pointy ears emphasizing her delicate features and close-cropped hair, the striped tights and upturned shoes somehow working on her tiny frame. As much as it pained Maxine to admit it, the entire costume fit as if it had been made specifically for her.
And, glancing at Mr. Perry’s rapt expression, Maxine knew there was no way she could turn and run out of his office now. She was in too deep. Besides, she reminded herself, she did need a job. And maybe she wouldn’t have to wear the elf costume constantly. Maybe she could change out of it for her lunch breaks, and hide from Heath the rest of the time.
Facing her new boss, Maxine held her breath and gave Mr. Perry a quick nod.
Yes, sir, I’d love to be subjected to public humiliation.
Mr. Perry smiled and extended a hand toward her, message clearly received. “Welcome to Barton’s,” he said. “And merry Christmas!”
“Happy Hanukkah!” Maxine heard her stepdad, Scott Levy, call as she dragged herself into her apartment that evening. The strains of her mother’s cello drifted toward her, along with the rich scent of potato pancakes. Maxine’s stomach growled; after the insane events of that afternoon, she was mentally and physically drained.
“Happy happy,” Maxine muttered in response, kicking off her boots in the foyer. Her mind still on elves, Mr. Perry, and Heath Barton, she headed into the cozy living room, where her mother sat on a low stool, her curly black hair falling into her eyes as she practiced. Scott’s own cello was propped up in the corner, beside the oak bookshelves. Scott himself stood at the dining room table, holding a box of Hanukkah candles in one hand. The family’s menorah was perched before him with four candles in place, waiting to be lit.
“Why so glum, Max?” Scott inquired, shooting Maxine a boyish grin. It wasn’t all that difficult for Maxine’s stepdad to look boyish—because he was only twenty-nine years old. As in: eleven years older than Maxine, and many more years younger than Maxine’s mother. Scott’s age made it all the harder for Maxine to remotely see him as anything parental.
“I got a job today,” Maxine replied over the cello music, reaching for the plate of latkes on the table. “At a department store.” For obvious reasons, she didn’t feel like elaborating. She could just imagine Scott doing some lame Will-Ferrell-in-Elf impersonation. Studying the menorah and the latkes before her, Maxine couldn’t quite believe that in a matter of hours she’d be dressed as one of Santa’s helpers and selling Christmas tree ornaments. Talk about culture shock.
“Mazel tov, Max—that’s so cool!” Scott exclaimed, his expression bright and earnest. As always, Maxine felt a pinch of guilt for how she treated Scott—he wasn’t a bad guy, but she wished he’d stop trying so hard to be her BFF. At the same time, she didn’t want him playing the Dad role, either. Maxine already had a father—who, at the moment, just happened to be living on a kibbutz in Israel. That was where he’d run off to three years ago, when he’d decided that being an attorney was destroying his hippie soul.
“What’s this about a job?” Maxine’s mother called. She stopped playing and hurried over to the table, the bell sleeves of her floaty black dress swinging back and forth. Rather than wait for Maxine’s response, she snuggled up to Scott, sliding her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his light-brown hair. “I missed you, Shmoopy,” she whispered.
I’m going to be ill, Maxine thought, dropping her half-eaten latke on a napkin. “You missed him from all the way across the room?” she couldn’t help but ask, rolling her eyes.
“Maxine, please drop the sarcasm for one night,” her mother snapped, giving Maxine a quick, dismissive glance before turning her attention back to Shmoopy.
Maxine managed to keep the rest of her comments to herself as Scott lit the menorah and recited the Hebrew blessing. Although it was her second Hanukkah with Scott there, Maxine didn’t think she’d ever get used to seeing him in the role that had once been her father’s. As the small, teardrop-shaped flames wavered on the candles and Maxine half-heartedly joined in singing “Rock of Ages,” her throat tightened. Not just because she was feeling nostalgic for Hanukkahs past, but because, watching her mom and Scott hold hands, she felt a pang of longing. Suddenly Maxine wished she were spending this sweet, warm holiday not with her mom and stepdad—or even her real dad—but with someone sweet and warm, an adorable guy who would actually care about the job she’d gotten that day, and want to hold her hand while singing.
Heath. Glancing down, Maxine smiled to herself as anticipation rippled through her. Despite her ten thousand qualms about working in the Christmas Corner, the plain fact remained: She’d be seeing Heath Barton tomorrow—and every single day for the next week. And that, Maxine hoped, might just be worth the epic mortification of those pointy ears.
At nine twenty the next morning, Maxine, in all her elfin glory, anxiously ascended the winding staircase to Barton’s Christmas Corner. She was about to meet her direct supervisor, Sandy Teasdale, whom Mr. Perry had explained would be waiting for Maxine upstairs. When Maxine had come to his office to pick up her costume, the manager had told her that though she needed to be there early for her first day, the other salespeople didn’t show up until nine thirty because the store opened to the public at ten. Placing one curly-toed foot on the second-floor landing, Maxine wondered when Heath got in, and her heart leaped.
“Elf?” a brusque voice demanded, and Maxine gave a start, glancing up.
In the middle of a red-and-green-painted space crammed to the hilt with Christmas stockings, reindeer figurines, life-size candy canes, and countless other sparkly objects, stood a tall, unsmiling woman in her mid-forties. She wore a high-necked green tweed suit and green pumps, and her wavy red hair tumbled out from beneath a velvet Santa hat. She was holding a clipboard and scowling at Maxine.
“Sandy?” Maxine guessed.
Sandy didn’t look up from her clipboard as she fired off a stern monologue. “As a Christmas Corner employee, you are responsible for assisting our customers in their quest for the perfect Christmas-oriented item, be it a handmade Advent calendar, a ruby Rudolph nose, or a blown-glass angel. Apart from a half-hour lunch break, you must constantly be on hand to offer purchasing advice, wrap gifts, and spread holiday cheer. Do I make myself clear?”
Maxine gulped. “Um, could you clarify the ‘holiday cheer’ part?” she asked.
Sandy nodded briskly. “Once a day, whenever I give the signal, you and the other Christmas Corner employees will gather over there”—she pointed toward a spot near a display of chocolate snowmen—“and break into a song of my choosing.” Sandy cleared her throat and consulted the clipboard. “Today’s is ‘Winter Wonderland.’”
Maxine wondered if she was being punished for a crime committed in a former life. “The other employees?” she repeated, since it was easier to focus on tha
t than the song issue. Until now, Maxine hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of costumed coworkers who would share in her misery.
Sandy lifted her chin and pointed over Maxine’s shoulder. “Here they come now.”
Turning around, Maxine watched with mingled trepidation and curiosity as two guys and a girl—all about her age—trooped over. The girl was gorgeous, with dark-brown skin, a long neck, and a straight, graceful carriage. She wore her curly brown hair pinned up in a bun, upon which rested a silver tiara. With a stab of jealousy, Maxine took in the rest of her costume: a white top with wings attached to the back, and a pale pink tutu. Maxine wished she’d been lucky enough to snag the pretty ballet costume. Then she turned her attention to the guys. One of them, who had straight blond hair and freckles, wore a scarlet military-style suit complete with epaulets and gold buttons, and carried a black box-shaped hat under his arm. At his side was a short, pale guy with shoulder-length brown hair. He wore a red jogging suit and black boots, and a Santa hat swung casually from his hand.
“Meet the Sugarplum Fairy, the Nutcracker Prince, and Santa Claus,” Sandy told Maxine in her flat, hard monotone. Pursing her lips at Santa Claus, she added, “Where on earth is your beard?”
Santa’s mouth dropped open and his dreamy eyes widened. “Oh, dude. I knew I forgot something.” Scratching his head, he turned and headed back downstairs as Maxine watched him, fighting the urge to crack up.
“Nutcracker, please fill Elf in on the rest,” Sandy was saying. “I need to set up the register before we open.”
Feeling new-girl-at-school-ish, Maxine turned to face her two colleagues, and raised her eyebrows at them, twisting her hands behind her back.
Nutcracker grinned, his blue-gray eyes dancing. “The first thing I should tell you is that, believe it or not, we all have real names. This is Claudette Lambert,” he explained, gesturing to the Fairy, who gave Maxine a welcoming smile. “Santa’s Daniel Matheson, and I’m Avery Prince.”
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