A Lot Like Christmas

by Connie Willis

  “You have to be kidding,” the nephew said.

  “There’s of course a Democratic version,” she said, and when Mrs. Shields didn’t look enthusiastic, “and our Globalization Christmas: It’s a Small World After All.” Mrs. Shields still didn’t look impressed.

  “Most clients choose a Christmas that reflects their occupation,” Linny said, wishing she had a bridge theme to show them, “or some personal interest. Their favorite flower”—she called up #309 Tiptoe Through the Tulips—“or a favorite color.” The room turned purple. “This is our Mauve Melody.” The room went yellow-green. “And this is Number 116, Cantata in Chartreuse. Or you could plan it around a family memory or an upcoming event. Two of my partner’s clients just got engaged, so their theme is the engagement, with hearts and Cupids.”

  “How nice,” Mrs. Shields said, and to her nephew, “How does something like that sound?”

  “We have several love-related themes—Moonlight and Roses,” Linny said, clicking them into the center of the room, “Romeo and Juliet, Harlequin Romance—”

  “Which one did you have when you got engaged?” Mrs. Shields asked.

  “Me?” Linny said. “Oh, I’m not engaged.”

  “Oh, when you said your partner, I assumed—”

  “Oh, no, I was referring to my business partner, Norwall Hirsch.”

  “And he’s not your boyfriend?” Mrs. Shields persisted.

  Boyfriend, Linny thought. Definitely pre-retro. “No, I mean, yes, I mean, we date…”

  “But you’re not engaged,” Mrs. Shields said. “Brian’s not engaged, either. He says he just doesn’t meet anyone. Will he be working with you on the Christmas?”

  “Brian?”

  “No, your partner.”

  “No, we each have our own clients.”

  “But you share office space.”

  Definitely pre-retro. “We don’t have an office, per se. Everything’s done by wireless or Internet except for installations. Our secretary, Inge, lives in Oslo.”

  “And your partner?”

  “He lives here,” she said, “though we hardly ever see each other,” and added silently, not even on Thanksgiving.

  “Oslo,” Mrs. Shields said. “I’ve always wanted to go to Scandinavia. Do you have some sort of Scandinavian theme?”

  “Oh, yes,” Linny said, clicking back to the main menu. “We have several: Santa Lucia’s Day; Christmas in Norway; Christmas in Sweden; Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen. Or we can do any city you like, with holos of the local sights, and regional foods: lutefisk, pancakes with lingonberries, blood pudding.”

  “Oh, you do food, too,” Mrs. Shields said, and Brian shook his head, as if in disgust.

  “The standard package includes a thematic Christmas dinner,” Linny said, printing out a list of caterers and sample menus, “but we also do Christmas Eve suppers, parties, buffets. Would you like to see our Christmas on the Fjords?”

  Mrs. Shields shook her head. “I’ve never liked herring. What other places do you have?”

  “Anywhere on-planet or off. We have a complete line of outer space themes—both Moonbases, Mars, the solar system, with or without Pluto—as well as every country and all major cities: London, New Delhi, Paris,” she said, clicking onto one after the other, “Las Vegas—”

  The Eiffel Tower changed to a wedding chapel with flashing neon signs, slot machines, and an Elvis impersonator conducting a wedding between Santa Claus and a showgirl with a pink ostrich feather tail. “We also do fictional places,” she said.

  “As if Las Vegas wasn’t fictional enough,” the nephew said.

  Linny ignored him. “Neverland,” she said, clicking, “Middle Earth, Atlantis, Hogwarts. And historical sites: Gettysburg, Waterloo, Saigon. Deck.halls has a full line of historical themes, both events and people: Cleopatra, General Patton, Bill Gates—”

  “Dolly Levi,” Brian said.

  “From Hello, Dolly?” Linny said, glad she recognized the allusion. She pulled up the theater menu. “We have a complete line of Broadway, movie, and TV themes. Les Mis, Star Wars: Episode Nine, The Iceman Cometh, Cats.” She clicked to Hello, Dolly. “As you can see, the tree is decorated with hats from Irene Molloy’s millinery shop, the dining room is done as Harmonia Gardens, and in front of the house,” she clicked on Lawn Decorations, “are a greater-than-life-size full-action Barbra Streisand and Louis Armstrong performing the title song.”

  Mrs. Shields was shaking her head at Brian.

  “We also have Carol Channing, if you don’t like Barbra Streisand,” Linny said. “Or Britney Spears and the rest of the cast from the revival.”

  “It’s not the cast. It’s just that Hello, Dolly doesn’t—”

  “Have anything at all to do with Christmas?” Brian put in.

  “Well, yes,” Mrs. Shields said reluctantly. “I know people don’t want the same old themes every year, that they want something new and different, but—”

  “We also have a large assortment of traditional Christmas packages: A Nutcracker Christmas, The Twelve Days of Christmas, Silver Bells, How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” she said, looking at Brian, “or if you prefer a religious theme,” she clicked to a new menu, “we have No Room at the Inn, We Three Kings, Angels We Have Heard on High, and, of course, a full range of Hanukkah, Ramadan, Winter Solstice, and Kwanzaa themes. Or there’s our historical line: A Renaissance Christmas, A Victorian Christmas, A Naughty Nineties Christmas—”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Mrs. Shields said, looking at the tree hung with cell phones and PalmPilots. “Young people had so many opportunities to meet someone back in the nineties—chat rooms, personal ads, online dating services. They had all sorts of ways of getting to know each other. Nowadays they don’t even work together. They sit in tiny little cubicles staring at an image on a screen and talking into a headset. It’s just like that story by—you know who I mean, Brian, he wrote it years and years ago—that author you like, not H. G. Wells, the other one.”

  “Isaac Asimov?” Brian ventured.

  “No, the other one. About the future where everyone stays inside and communicates by computer, only they didn’t have computers back then, and no one goes anywhere or meets anyone face-to-face. Oh, what is it called?”

  “ ‘The Machine Stops,’ ” Linny said, and they both looked at her in surprise. “By E. M. Forster.”

  “That’s the one,” Mrs. Shields said delightedly. “You’re an E. M. Forster fan?”

  “I did an E. M. Forster Christmas for the Ledbetters two years ago.”

  “An E. M. Forster Christmas. Oh, I can see it now,” Brian said sarcastically. “In the living room, a holo of the bookcase falling on Leonard Bast, and out on the front lawn,” he spread his arms to illustrate, “a tableau of the Where Angels Fear to Tread carriage tipping over and killing the baby.”

  “No, of course not,” Linny said indignantly. “It was the kissing scene from A Room with a View.”

  “Where George kisses Lucy in the barley field?” Mrs. Shields said. “Oh, I love that scene, the way he strides through the barley toward her, and then, without so much as a word, takes her in his arms and kisses her. How did you manage a barley field at Christmastime?”

  “Magicarpet does wonderful grain field mats,” Linny said. “Their corn is especially nice. I used that for An Oklahoma Christmas last year. They also do very nice poppies.”

  “For An Opium Addict’s Christmas,” Brian said.

  “I remember there were poppies in the barley field,” Mrs. Shields said. “I love the way she just stands there waiting while he strides toward her.”

  “An E. M. Forster Christmas would be just the thing for your house,” Linny said, thinking, If I could do the E. M. Forster again, it would be perfect. I know exactly where to get the costumes and the holo of Florence. “Your living room window provides an excellent view,” she said.

  But Mrs. Shields was shaking her head again. “It sounds lovely, but this first time I think I’d like to h
ave something more…Christmassy. Do you have any just Christmas Christmases?”

  “Certainly,” Linny said, thinking, I am going to have to show her every single design I have. “Here’s a very nice Currier and Ives Christmas. Or Christmas in Toyland, A Child’s Christmas in Wales,” she said, clicking rapidly through the holos, “Christmas with the Waltons, Christmas with the Cleavers, Christmas in Manhattan—that one’s really fun. Empire State Building and Statue of Liberty ornaments, and a yard display of the Rockettes and a full-size balloon from the Macy’s parade.”

  “Oh, my,” Mrs. Shields said. “Don’t you have something more…traditional?”

  “Of course,” Linny said, clicking to the Christmas Past menu. “We have A Dickens Christmas, A Williamsburg Christmas,” she said, showing holos of them in quick succession, “A Regency Christmas, Gone with the Wind Christmas. Did you have any particular historical period in mind? Your house would be ideal for our Roaring Twenties Christmas. Bathtub gin, raccoon coats—”

  “Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald passed out on the front lawn,” the nephew put in.

  Linny glared at him. “We can do a specific year if you like, or a specific date. I did a really fun 2001 Christmas three years ago—Millennium fireworks, Stanley Kubrick ornaments—”

  The nephew grinned and started to make another smart remark.

  “Or a favorite decade,” Linny said quickly. “Here’s one you might like.” She clicked to A Retro Christmas. “The tree’s aluminum with an authentic rotating colored light.”

  “Oh, my grandmother had one of those,” Mrs. Shields said, and Linny began to get her hopes up again, but she didn’t want that, either.

  “Maybe something more modern,” she said questioningly, so Linny went through Christmas by Laserlight, Christmas on the Space Station, A Cloned Christmas, Christmas in Cyberspace, all to no avail.

  “I just don’t know…they all seem so fancy…and as you can see, I like to keep it simple. Maybe something to do with nature?”

  Linny sneaked a look at the time. Nearly four. She was going to have to leave if she wanted to get to the statuary warehouse before it closed.

  “I’m keeping you, aren’t I?” Mrs. Shields said, and looked at her own watch. “Oh, my goodness, it’s nearly suppertime. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I have an appointment—”

  “And you need me to make up my mind,” Mrs. Shields said, flustered. “Do I have to do it today? I just can’t seem…”

  “No, of course not,” Linny said, thinking, Norwall will have a fit. “Why don’t I leave a rom with you? You can look through the themes at your leisure, and when you decide, or if you have any questions, you can get in touch with me.” She called up her card, added her address, and printed one out. “This is my office at home, but I’m hardly ever there. I spend most of my time on-site, supervising installations. Vmail is your best bet. I recommend the Retro Christmas. It’s very classic.” She turned to Brian. “If I could just get my coat.”

  “Oh, surely you can stay for a quick supper,” Mrs. Shields said. “It will only take a moment. Turkey skin sandwiches and pie.”

  “No, really, I have to catch the maglev—”

  “Brian can take you,” she said. “He’d be delighted.”

  He didn’t look delighted.

  “No, really, I have several errands to run on the way home. I have to pick up something and then—”

  “All the more reason, then. You can’t carry a bunch of packages on the maglev—”

  “I don’t want to put Mr. West out,” Linny said uncomfortably. “One of the places I need to go is clear on the east side of Greater Denver—”

  “Then you can’t possibly take the maglev. Brian can take you right to the door, can’t you, Brian?” Mrs. Shields said, not giving him a chance to answer. She produced a set of car keys, their coats, and, in spite of Linny’s protests, a turkey skin sandwich, and bundled them into the car, which was Ferrari’s new fusion-cell Incite. Linny revised her financial estimate upward again.

  “Just tell him where you need to go,” Mrs. Shields said, pushing down the door.

  “I still don’t think I should impose on—”

  “You’re not imposing. Brian’s happy to do it for you, and this will give the two of you a chance to talk,” she said, and waved them out of the driveway.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  “Look, I know your aunt meant well, but I don’t want to ruin your Thanksgiving. Why don’t you just take me to the station?”

  “You’re not ruining my Thanksgiving,” he said. “Where to?”

  She gave him the directions to the statuary warehouse.

  He made no move to enter the directions into the Incite’s computer or even to put the controls on drive-assist, which was a clear sign he didn’t want to talk, so Linny didn’t say anything either till they got to Bowles. “You take a left here. Rock and a Hard Place is six blocks down on the right. There’s a sign out front that says ‘Statuary and Stonework.’ ”

  “So what are you picking up? Tombstones for Number 257 Christmas in the Cemetery?”

  “You don’t approve of what I do, do you?” she asked.

  “I just don’t see what crossword puzzles and tombstones have to do with Christmas.”

  “It’s not a tombstone. It’s a bust of Shakespeare.”

  “For A Classics Christmas? Silas Marner ornaments and a Jude the Obscure lawn display? Why can’t you do something connected to Christmas?”

  “Like mistletoe?” she asked. “Which was co-opted from the Druids? Nearly everything we associate with Christmas was tacked on after the fact. The Yule log was lifted from the Druids, too, Christmas trees and presents were co-opted from the Roman Saturnalia. Even Santa’s sleigh and flying reindeer were stolen from Norse mythology.”

  “But there’s still a connection, no matter how tenuous. Unlike Atlantis. And Coca-Cola ornaments.”

  “Like Christmas cards, you mean?” she said. “They were invented in l843 to advertise a publishing company. People have been complaining about the commercialization of Christmas since back in E. M. Forster’s day.”

  They were in front of Rock and a Hard Place. Brian and Linny got out and went into the warehouse. Statues and busts stood everywhere: Ben Franklin and Winnie-the-Pooh and Patsy Ramsey. Linny stepped among a flock of stone sheep to the counter and typed her name and order into the computer.

  “I just think the celebration of Christmas should retain some connection to the original meaning,” he said, draping his arm over a statue of a very young Angelina Jolie.

  “Which is?”

  “Good will toward men. Kindness, sharing, forgiveness, love.”

  A robo-dolly brought the bust of Shakespeare up. “Follow me,” Linny said, and led it out to the car. The dolly loaded it into the backseat, and Brian strapped the bust in.

  “Things like good will and family and being together can’t be captured in Number 194 Ferns of the Mesozoic,” he said.

  “They can’t be captured in stockings hung by the chimney with care, either. The tree, the candles—”

  “The Elvis impersonator—”

  “Are all just trappings,” she said. “They don’t affect the spirit of Christmas. Most of the people I do installations for hire me so they can spend more time with their loved ones, so they’re not run so ragged by shopping and cooking and decorating that they’re screaming at everyone.”

  “That does not explain Christmas Number 265 Keeping Up with the Joneses.”

  Like Pandora Freeh, she thought. “People have always wanted to impress their neighbors. And they’ve always made things bigger and fancier than they needed to be, from their clothes to their houses. To their cars,” she added pointedly.

  He grinned. “Where would you like my car to go next?”

  “Back to Aspen Lane.”

  “What for?” he said sharply.

  “Not to your aunt’s. To Ms. Freeh’s.” She ga
ve the address. “I’m sorry you had to come all this way in and back—”

  “I told you, it’s no imposition.” He started the car. “I suppose you’re right about people overdoing things,” he said when they were back on the highway. “Look at the Tower of Babel. It wasn’t enough to build a skyscraper, they had to build a tower right up to heaven— No, don’t tell me,” he said at her expression. “You have a Tower of Babel Christmas.”

  “Number 605. It’s part of our Evangelical line,” she admitted. “We also have Noah’s Ark, Daniel in the Lion’s Den, and the Battle of Armageddon.”

  “Which is Number 666, no doubt.”

  She laughed. “I know a lot of them are silly, but they’re what people want. My job is to try to make Christmas as happy and stress-free as I can for my clients. Surely that’s in the Christmas spirit.”

  It seemed to take no time at all to get to Pandora’s, which was good because it was nearly seven. She would never have made it on the maglev.

  “What’s her theme?” Brian asked when they pulled up in front of Pandora’s mansion. “A Forbes 500 Christmas?”

  “No, High School Memories. If this bust is the right one.” She pressed the door sensor.

  “Who shall I say is calling?” it asked.

  “Linny Chiang,” she said, pressing her hand to the ID pad.

  “And her delivery boy,” Brian said.

  The door opened, and they went in. Linny began looking around for a place for Brian to set the bust down, but before they could, Pandora Freeh was upon them, crying out, “Oh, what a pity you brought it all this way!”

  “It’s not the same Shakespeare?” Linny asked.

  “No, it is! It looks exactly like the one in Mr. Spoonmaker’s class, right down to the nick in his beard. Oh, I can’t even look at it!” she said, waving Brian away.