led to immortal killing sprees.
With all the schools on winter vacation now, Santa was no longer just doing evening duty at the mall. I had drawn a day shift for Monday and finally left Roman for bed so that I could get an early start. He acknowledged my good night with a nod, lost in his own brooding. Despite how hard he'd grilled me, I knew he was thinking about the same question I'd demanded of him: why would Hell want me out of Seattle so badly that they were willing to create a dream scenario for me?
I had no answers for it that night or the next morning. I arrived at the mall bright and early, in my foil dress, only to find a mob of parents and kids already lined up there waiting for us to open shop. Walter-Santa, I was pleased to see, was actually drinking straight coffee this morning, with no mention of alcohol. Of course, he was most likely getting rid of a hangover from last night, and I didn't doubt that the requests for "something harder" would start by noon.
"Santa wishes his pavilion wasn't under the mall's skylight," he remarked, furthering my hangover suspicions. He settled himself into his chair - much to the gathered children's delight - and winced unhappily up at the sunlight spilling through the latticed roof of the "holiday gazebo." He turned back to me and Grumpy. "I don't suppose we could get a tarp for that?"
Grumpy and I exchanged looks. "I don't think they sell tarps at this mall, Walt - Santa," I told him. "But maybe on my break I can score some sheets from Pottery Barn for you."
"Yeah," said Grumpy, repressing an eye roll. "I'm sure we can find something very tasteful."
Santa nodded solemnly. "Santa is grateful to have such dutiful elves."
We opened the floodgates. I was working right next to Santa today, meaning I got a front row seat for some of the more outlandish requests. I was also the one who got to remove screaming children, despite parental protests and pleadings to "just keep her there until I get the picture!" All the while, I kept thinking that instead of doing this, I could be in Las Vegas right now, working through Matthias's routines and listening to Phoebe's jokes along the way.
Of course, that isn't to say I was entirely scornful of the whole experience. I liked Christmas, and I liked children. I wouldn't have signed on for this job if either of those weren't true. But in watching these families - especially little girls with their mothers - I just couldn't shake my worries for the Mortensens. If I thought too much about them, I started to tear up. So . . . yeah. Cynicism was preferable at times. It kept me from getting lost in my own despair.
When my shift ended later in the day, I discovered I wasn't the only one going home. Grumpy put up a SANTA ON 10-MINUTE BREAK sign, much to the dismay of those waiting in line, and Walter followed me as I headed out to the mall offices. It was hard not to smile at the reaction of kids who just happened to be out shopping with parents and hadn't come to specifically see Santa. Children came to a standstill, mouths gaping and fingers pointing.
"You've been pretty good today," I told Walter.
"It's easier when Santa knows he can go out for a drink at dinnertime," he told me.
I frowned. "Are you going home? Oh. Of course you are. You've been here as long as me." Elves had always moved in and out of shifts, but Santa had stayed constant. Now, with us pulling longer hours, Walter couldn't be on the clock all the time. "Do you have a replacement?"
He put a finger to his lips and winked at me, refusing to say anything while we were in public. Once we were out of sight, in the administrative offices, I got my answer when we found another Santa sitting in a chair, leafing through a Victoria's Secret catalog. He looked up at our approach and set the magazine down.
"Is it time?"
Walter nodded and turned to me. "Vixen, do we look the same?"
"Of course," I said. "You're both men in red suits and white beards."
"Look closely," he scolded. The other Santa rose, and they stood side by side. "Details matter. Anything a child waiting in line might notice when Bob goes out to take my place. Beard alignment, glasses,