"Who else is scheduled for this morning?" asked Twinkle. "Where's the back-up Santa?"
"I don't know."
With two Santas assigned to the shift, why wasn't one of them here? Why hadn't Candycane come back yet-either with a Santa or with an explanation? I figured Santa was at least ten minutes late now (this was a guess, since elves didn't wear wristwatches). Fenster's was inflexible about its punctuality rules for employees. And with a growing crowd of excited children and restless parents around me, I feared that Santa's tardiness could prove to be life-threatening for an innocent elf who was just trying to earn some honest overtime wages.
The bell on the end of Twinkle's red stocking cap jingled noisily as he said to me, while bobbing his head emphatically, "You know they'll dock Moody Santa's pay for this. He won't like that. Really needs the money. Student loans, dontcha know. Yale Drama ain't cheap." He snickered.
"Yeah, whereas you and I dress like elves for love alone," I said. "Come on, play something, Twinkle."
When he started playing Handel's "Messiah," I gave him a sharp enough nudge to unbalance him, which halted the music on an off-key wail of accordion chords.
"Something the kids can join in singing," I clarified. "How about ‘Deck the Halls'?"
Twinkle rolled his eyes but complied. I started singing, and Rudolfo joined me in leading the children in several verses. Then we sang "Jingle Bells" (I accompanied the accordion by rhythmically shaking the bells on my festive boots), "Frosty the Snowman," and-of course-"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." During this rendition of his signature tune, our fuzzy companion mimed and hammed it up shamelessly. It kept the kids entertained, so I was in favor of it-until Rudolfo used the song as an excuse to embrace me from behind, his reindeer-clad hands clasped over my breasts. Under the guise of doing a little two-step dance, I stomped hard on Rudolfo's hoof and kept on singing as he staggered away.
As soon as the song ended, I could hear a toddler crying, a child whining about wanting to see Santa right now, and a couple of mothers complaining about the wait.
"Where's Santa?" a child demanded.
"Yeah, where is Santa?"
"How about another song?" I said brightly.
"No! I want Santa!"
"Where's Santa?" a high-pitched voice shrieked somewhere at the back of the still-growing line. "You said Santa was here!"
Jonathan, still clinging to his mother's hand, piped up, "Santa is coming! He'll be here soon. He's coming to see me."
That kid deserved to get every single thing on his Christmas list this year.
"Jonathan is absolutely right," I assured the seething throng. "Santa will be here any minute. He's so excited about meeting all of you! Especially Jonathan, who Santa heard has been a very good-and very patient-boy this year."
"I've got shopping to do!"
"I want my money back!"
"What money?" said another parent. "This is free."
"And it damn well should be, since there's no Santa!"
"I want Santa!"
"Where is Santa?"
"I WANT SANTA!"
Under my costume, a drop of cold sweat trickled down my back. I recalled the advice imparted during my training: Never let them sense fear. These Christmas crowds will descend like a pack of ravening wolves if you reveal any weakness.
I took a steadying breath and glanced at Twinkle. His forehead was shiny with sweat now as he stared glassy-eyed at the restless masses Rudolfo was trying to humor and soothe. I nudged the elf, who flinched violently in startled reaction, making his pointy ears bobble.
"Another song," I urged.
"No, it'll never work," he said, his voice cracking with fear. "We've got to retreat. Now."
"No!" I said. "We hold the line."
"But what if-"
"We hold the line," I repeated firmly. "Now play a jolly song, damn you!"
By the time we finished "Good King Wenceslas," it was clear we were on the verge of disaster. More children were crying and whining, parents were bickering shrilly, and even young Jonathan was starting to look unhappy.
Someone started a chant, which began spreading through the crowd: "San-ta! San-ta! San-ta!"
"It's not safe here," Twinkle said desperately. "We've got to fall back."
"No, we can't." I gestured to Rudolfo, who was at least thirty feet away from us, trying to cheer up weepy toddlers and angry parents. "We'd be leaving the reindeer alone and exposed out there."
"He knew the risks when he signed on for this job," Twinkle said ruthlessly.
"We can't just abandon him," I argued.
I was startled by an officious voice coming loudly from behind me. "Where is Santa?"
I whirled around and found myself facing Miles, the floor manager. As always, he was wearing a gray suit, a nametag, and a censorious scowl.
"Miles! Thank God you're here," I said with relief. "We don't know. Where is Santa?"
"Don't say ‘God' on the floor," Miles snapped.
"Santa never showed up," Twinkle said, raising his voice to be heard above the dull roar of the restless crowd.
"And where is Candycane?" Miles demanded. "Isn't this her shift?"
"Candycane went to find a Santa and still hasn't came back," I said. "Something's wrong."
Twinkle said, "We've got to cut and run before it's too late!"
"You will stay right where you are," Mile ordered.
"But what if-"
Miles looked at his watch. "Santa is nearly thirty minutes late. I want an explanation!"
"I'm sure you do, Miles, but you're obviously not going to get one from me or Twinkle," I said reasonably. "We have no idea what's happened to Santa. Our pressing concern right now is, what do we do about all these people?"
"No, our pressing concern is," Miles said crisply, "where is Santa? I will go find out. You will keep these people entertained."
"What?" bleated my companion. "No! We've got to-"
"That's an order, Twinkle," Miles said coldly. "Play something. And you . . ." He looked at me. "Sing and dance. Be merry. Or we'll have to rethink whether you're really elf material, young woman."
"Now that was just unkind," I said as he walked away.
"What do we do now?" Twinkle asked with panic in his voice.
"Steady on, Twinkle. This the moment that every elf is destined to face." I clapped him on the back. "Today is the day you find out whether you're really made of sugarplums."
"What?"
"Let's do another song."
He sighed in resignation. "Which one?"
"‘Twelve Days of Christmas,'" I said decisively.
The song was interminable, so I figured Miles would have enough time to go out and kidnap a Santa from some other store before we finished performing it.
I started singing the first verse, trying to get the children to join in-and ignoring the groans, boos, and tears that greeted my efforts. Beside me, Twinkle trembled a little, which made him miss some notes.
The more experienced elves at Fenster's had warned me never to let the line for Santa's throne get too slow. And now it had been at a complete standstill for a half hour. We were dicing with death.
"Life is cheap in the throne room," battle-hardened Santa's helpers had advised me. "When the first kid breaks formation and rushes for that chair, you've had it. Just run for your life-and don't go back for stragglers. Once a six-year-old with blood in his eye leads the charge, it's every elf for himself."
While singing about turtledoves, golden rings, and swans a-swimming, my wary gaze roamed the crowd, trying to spot the loose cannon, the inevitable ring leader, the child whose patience would snap and lead to a stampede.
And then it happened.
The rumble of rebellion started at the very far end of the Christmas queue, among people who were so far from the throne that they were out of my sight line. But I could hear them. Oh, yes, I could hear . . . and I felt paralyzed with fear.
Rudolfo, who was still farther away from us than safety or sense dictated, heard it, too. He stopped his merry little dance and stood straight and stiff, gazing in the direction of the ominous shrieking and shouting.
Twinkle's hands froze on the accordion and the instrument went silent. "This is it," he croaked out. "Here they come."
"Rudolfo!" I cried. "Fall back! Retreat!"
We heard a long, piercing, horrified scream somewhere at the back of the seemingly endless line of visitors. It was picked up and passed along by others. Within moments, most of the crowd was screaming hysterically.
"You break right, I'll break left," shouted Twinkle, abandoning his accordion lest it slow him down. "Good luck!"
"Wait a minute," I shouted back, even as Rudolfo fled the scene. "Listen to that."
"Go!" Twinkle gave me a shove.
The crowd broke at all once, everyone running in different directions, people screaming and shouting.
Little Jonathan ran straight past me, his face white with fear now. His startled mother lost sight of him, looking around in panic as she shouted, "Jonathan? Jonathan!"
"They're not attacking," I shouted in confusion, clinging to Twinkle's arm as he tried to escape. "They're scared-or startled."