by Alan Russell
“Is your name really Nick?” she asked, clapping her hands.
“It really is.”
“That’s so exciting!”
“I’m glad you think so.”
Forster got off the phone before Nick could ask her how she knew he was a cop, and why his name was exciting.
“I guess introductions aren’t necessary,” he said. “You’ll be working with Angie for the next few days, Nick. She’ll be cuing you. Angie’s in charge of the department you’re being assigned to. She’s the closest thing there is to a professional elf.”
Leave it to Forster to make that sound like a compliment. But Nick still didn’t understand how this Elf could be his boss.
“You work security?” he asked Angie.
“No, I have a different calling.”
Nick didn’t trust people who had callings. This Elf was beginning to creep him out. He looked over to Forster and raised his eyebrows, demanding an explanation. He listened while sucking on his candy cane.
“We need you center stage, Nick. But the problem with any large mall is that there really is no center stage.”
Nick started to get an inkling of what Forster was about to say—a premonition—and he choked on his candy cane. Shaking his head back and forth, he tossed the candy cane into the trash basket.
“No way,” Nick said, “no how.”
“Think about it,” said Forster. “It makes sense. We got an amphitheater set up, and this time of year it’s always the most popular attraction at the mall. Everyone stops to watch the kids go up to Santa, and I do mean everyone. We figure it will be a magnet for our muggers. They’ll be scouting out the shoppers who will be watching you. From where you’re sitting, you’ll have a perfect line of vision to see what’s going on.”
Nick’s head hadn’t stopped shaking. “You’re kidding, right?”
It was Forster’s turn to shake his head. “I had to sell management on the idea, Nick. I think the only reason they went for it was that we could get double-duty out of you.”
“Santa Claus and surveillance?”
“Santa Claus and surveillance.”
“And what do I do when I spot the bad guys? Invite them over to sit on my lap and ask if they’ve been good?”
“There’ll be a two-way radio in your sleigh. Either you or Angie can call security.”
“Are you serious?”
“No one can pick up on vibes like you, Nick. You’ve always been the best. Just one look and you could always tell what was going down. You’ve got the gift.”
“Then make me an eye in the sky.”
“I would if I could, but I don’t have the budget. This isn’t the force.”
“No, this is insanity.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind, Nick. You’re a people person.”
“I’ve reformed. I am a hermit who hates the world now, and the last person who could, or should, play Santa. You know that.”
Forster lowered his reading glasses and gave Nick his “don’t kid a kidder” look. Then he raised his glasses, turned to Angie, and said, “Kids always loved him. We would go to a school, and they’d flock around him. And when we were working cases, they’d always talk to Nick. Kids who wouldn’t talk to a cop, kids who came from families where it was tradition not to talk to a cop, kids whose fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers never talked to a cop, talked to Nick.”
Nick shrugged. “Things happened. Things changed. And I changed.”
“I need your eyes, Nick. I need your instincts. I need you.”
Nick shook his head. “I’m not the only one who changed. Doing a bait and switch isn’t like you, Walt.”
Forster nodded in agreement, but continued nodding as he answered, as if trying to win Nick over with his bobble-head imitation. “You’re right. I should have told you from the start, but the way you’ve been hibernating in that apartment I knew you’d just say no. I figured once you got here and I explained things, there wouldn’t be a problem.”
“You figured wrong.”
“Just give it a day or two.”
“After what happened, there’s no way I can work with kids.”
Angie decided that was her signal to speak up: “I think you’d be a good Santa.” She nodded vigorously for emphasis, and her head jingled.
Nick figured her bells covered up the sound of rocks. Of course, Forster was sitting there still doing a lot of nodding of his own. Tough.
“You better get one of your rent-a-cops to suit up,” Nick said.
“You and I both know that a murder could be happening right in front of them and they wouldn’t even notice.”
“Hire someone who will notice.”
“I thought I did.” Forster kept silent until Nick was forced to look at him. “I want to get those muggers. They didn’t need to hurt that woman.”
“What am I supposed to say to that? Should I feel some responsibility? Once upon a time I did. But I gave at the office. I can say that with all honesty: I gave at the office.”
“Two days, Nick. If you want out at the end of your second shift, I won’t say a word.”
Nick had every intention of saying, “No.” But the word stuck in his throat. He tried to cough it out, but it just stayed in his windpipe.
“You can’t say no to your partner,” said Forster.
Nick tried to say it, but his throat tightened on him again. “Two shifts,” he finally said. “That’s all. Better have my replacement ready.”
Forster smiled. The Elf smiled too. That annoyed Nick. “What?” he asked Forster.
“You are a beautiful man when you dance, Nick Pappas.”
“I don’t dance.”
“I’ll go get your uniform,” said Angie. She did some skipping and ringing on her way to the door. “It was so nice meeting you again.”
“But we never met before,” Nick said.
“Well, not in this lifetime,” Angie answered, and then disappeared.
Nick turned to Forster and shook his head. “Next stop,” he said, “the Twilight Zone.”
“Christmas is a special time of year for Angie.”
“Why? They let her out of the asylum?”
“Angie’s unique, you’ll see.”
“You ask me, I think she’s been hitting the elf juice too hard.”
Chapter 3
Deck the Halls
For years Nick had been fighting to squeeze himself into his police uniform, but now he had the opposite problem. Given his druthers, he would have just stuffed a pillow under the coat of his new uniform, but that wasn’t good enough for Angie. She said if it looked fake and felt fake, the kids would know. Needle and thread in hand, she had come prepared. Her solution was to design Nick some formfitting batting extending from his chest to his crotch. Now, for the third time, he emerged from the dressing room to display the results of her efforts.
“This better be good enough,” he said.
Angie didn’t comment save to start pinching and poking the padding. When it came to this Santa business, she was all seriousness.
“I feel like a stuffed goose,” he said.
“What you should feel like is Santa Claus.”
“Ho, ho, hokum.”
Angie stopped her prodding. In the sudden stillness her disapproval was magnified. “Do you remember when you were a young boy, Mr. Pappas? Can you recall your expectations of Christmas?”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re stepping into some very large shoes. When this uniform goes on, you become Santa Claus. You become the legend.”
Nick decided he liked the Elf better when she was smiling and playing the happy sprite. He didn’t enjoy being lectured to by a woman half his age.
“I was hired as Nick,” he said, “not Saint Nick.”
“You’ve been promoted,” Angie said.
She finished smoothing the batting, and announced, “It’ll do.” From elf to drill sergeant, he thought. The woman had a lot of faces
.
“We have three suits on the premises,” she said. “The uniforms aren’t to be taken off the site except to be one-hour dry-cleaned. All of the mall Santas need to have at least one suit and one spare available to them.”
“Why a spare?”
“Contingency,” she said. “As for the padding, I suggest you take it home after every shift and hang it out on a line. You’ll find that a little sachet or potpourri tucked into its folds will render aromatic wonders.”
Nick didn’t need her Martha Stewart advice, especially since he was a short-timer and had a short-timer’s attitude. He reminded her of that. “I’m only here two days.”
Something about his declaration made her smile. It was kind of like Forster’s smile when Nick told him that he didn’t dance. Angie continued talking as if she hadn’t heard.
“The first thing you should do is to lay out the accessories to your uniform and make sure you have everything. You’ll want to smooth your beard and your wig. You do that to make them look better, and to rid them of some of the static electricity.”
Nick watched as she smoothed the beard with the fur of the hat.
“Before putting on the beard and wig, do your eyebrows. They’ll need to stand up and out, so you apply the eyebrow stick from the edge of the brow toward the nose.”
She handed Nick a white-colored stick. He passed it across his brow once. Angie shook her head and held up a compact mirror.
“More,” she said. “You’ll want your brow to be as white as your beard.”
He did it a second time, and when he finished Angie impatiently extended her compact towards his face. Nick looked at his reflection. He opened his mouth, and was about to say, “Good enough for government work,” but then he saw the Elf’s expression. That was enough to convince him to do it a third time.
When he finished, she was smiling. “Good,” she said. “The next thing you put on is your beard. You’ll want the children to be able to see your lips, so you have to allow for good separation of the mustache and beard. That’s what these white bobby pins are for. Just run your hair through the pin, and clip it to the mustache’s backing. That’ll keep the mustache from drooping downwards.”
She handed Nick his beard. He took hold of it uncertainly, and after a few false starts put it on. It seemed to fit, but it was scratchy and heavy.
“Wig next.”
Nick took the wig from her and fitted it atop his head. His once full head of hair had thinned considerably, his hairline receding more every year. It felt strange to have a luxurious mop on his head again. Angie took out two of the white bobby pins and attached the wig to the beard, then held up her mirror again.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Nick didn’t know what to think. A stranger was looking back at him, some white-haired, hairy old man. He shrugged.
Angie studied his appearance critically. “Avoid rouge and lipstick. I know that artists like to draw Saint Nick with red lips and rosy cheeks and rubicund nose, but those kinds of colors play havoc on a white beard.”
As if, Nick thought, he’d put on any makeup.
She looked at his brown shoes critically. “The boot covers will mostly cover up what you’re wearing, but in the future wear black shoes or boots so that they’ll match the boot tops that go over them.”
“I’ll remember that tomorrow,” Nick emphasized.
Angie looked at her watch, and then shook her head, apparently not liking what she saw. “Let’s hurry with your accessories. Belt, boot covers, hat, and gloves. Put the gloves on last.”
Nick felt a little self-conscious dressing under the time clock and her watchful eyes. His fingers kept fumbling with the boot covers and the belt, but when he finally finished putting everything on, Angie was pleased.
“Now you look like Santa,” she said. “Go and see for yourself.”
Nick walked over to the mirror above the sink. At first what he saw embarrassed him. What if one of his friends saw him? But these days he had few enough of those, and besides, it wasn’t likely he would be recognized anyway. With the getup, very little of him really showed. His cap came down to his eyebrows, and the beard covered everything beneath his nose. Only his cheeks and eyes and nose were visible.
But even with his disguise he felt uneasy. Part of the reason, he knew, was that he was nervous. What was he going to say to a bunch of kids? But the bigger part of it was that he was ashamed. He didn’t feel worthy of the costume. He was supposed to be a happy saint who loved children and humanity. He wasn’t any of those things, and he knew that would show. Even with just that little window of his face on display, everyone would know. The costume couldn’t hide what he was.
He tried smiling for the mirror. Someone had once told him it took twice as many muscles to frown as to smile. He’d obviously been doing the harder workout. His smile muscles weren’t in shape. He hadn’t used them in weeks, in months. It hurt to even try.
Maybe it would be easier with words. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said, and flinched at the results. He’d make a far better Grinch than a Santa Claus.
Behind him, Angie’s reflection showed up in the mirror. Her smile was genuine, her happiness no act.
“That’s it,” she said. “But a word of warning: no booming laughter around children. It frightens some of them.”
Booming laughter. There wasn’t a booming laugh inside of him. That was the least of his worries.
“That’s the kind of thing they go over in Santa School,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to give you the abbreviated version while we walk over to the North Pole.”
“I need to get my walkie-talkie,” Nick said. He wanted to remind her about his real job.
He grabbed the two-way radio, but was at a loss for where he would put it. For all its bulk, his Santa suit had no pockets. Angie opened up a large, drawstring bag for him.
“I’ll put it in Santa’s bag with the candy canes,” she said. “We’ll be handing those out as we walk.”
Nick dropped the walkie-talkie into the bag, and then slung it over his shoulder. He followed Angie through a utility tunnel that led from the administrative offices out to the mall. Nick’s footsteps, and the Elf’s bells, echoed around the confines of the tunnel. In high school Nick had played football. The walk through the tunnel reminded him of how he and his team used to come running out into the stadium. He had always gotten goose bumps during those runs. Nick pulled up his jacket sleeve and saw the goose bumps.
“We’ll bring the children up to you,” said Angie, “and tell you their names. Use the child’s name as much as you can. That personalizes things. Ask if they’ve been a good boy or a good girl, and then stress, ‘I know you’ll be extra good between now and Christmas.’ You can even tell them that you’ll be watching. The parents love that.
“The biggest no-no is do not promise a particular toy. The most you can commit yourself is to say, ‘I’ll try,’ or ‘We’ll see what Santa can do.’ Got that?”
Nick nodded. He was good about not promising anything. That was the story of his life.
“If the parents want a photo, we’ll help you position the child. All you have to do is smile and keep your eyes open during the flash.”
“Forster didn’t say anything about any photos.”
“You need to remember we are a revenue center for the mall. And you need to remember even more that people want their pictures taken with Santa.”
“How am I supposed to do surveillance with a flash going off in my eyes?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Pappas. In my opinion, being Santa Claus is tough enough without adding any additional responsibilities, but then nobody asked me.”
They exited from the relative darkness of the tunnel to the mall’s bright lights. Instantly, Nick was in the spotlight, with shoppers calling out, “Santa! Santa Claus!” People were pointing at him like he was some celebrity.
“Smile and wave,” whispered Angie through her smile. “Yell out, ‘Merry Christmas.’”
“Don’t stop waving and laughing,” said Angie. “People like that. They expect it.”
“I feel like a politician.”
“You’ll be kissing your share of babies, that’s for sure.”
He wished he could find a quiet place to hide. If this was what it was like being a star, he could live without it. He had worn a uniform for most of his life, but it had never drawn this kind of scrutiny. Angie made it worse. She liked being a spectacle, liked laughing and waving and frolicking. Nick couldn’t frolic if his life depended on it.
Angie patted his stomach, and then patted his bag. “Candy cane time, Santa,” she chirped. Nick stopped so that she could pull out some candy canes. Then the Elf started dancing and handing out the freaking candy canes. Even worse, she did it with a song.
“Deck the halls with boughs of holly,” she sang, her notes high and dulcet and clear, “Fa la la la la, la la la la.”
People cheered the Elf’s singing. That was good, Nick thought. The more eyes that were on her, the fewer that were on him.
“Quick,” said Angie, coming back for more candy canes. “Tell me the names of the reindeer.”
Nick flunked the pop quiz. All he could remember was that one of the reindeers had a drinker’s nose and was barbershop red.
“There are nine of them,” she said. Remember the rhythm and the rhyme if you can: Now Dasher, Now Dancer, Now Prancer, Now Vixen, On Comet, On Cupid, On Donder and Blitzen. And of course there’s one reindeer not mentioned in the poem: Rudolph.”
The Elf went skipping off again, and Nick trudged behind her, glad to be mostly lost in the glow of her song and dance routine. She returned for candy cane refills half a dozen times. He finally caught up with her at an oversized planter.
“We’re there,” she said. “The North Pole and Santa’s Workshop is just around the corner.”
Nick felt his stomach tighten.
“You’re lucky,” Angie told him.
“Why?”
“The mall usually makes a big splash about Santa’s arrival. He came by helicopter last year, and two years ago he was delivered in a fire truck, sirens and all. But this year management decided they didn’t want the hoopla.”
