was Jack Duff. Duff was Lamberg's chief of operations. Some people called him slimy. Lamberg preferred the word loyal .
"Cops say over a million," Duff's voice replied. "Last year it was about seven hundred fifty thousand."
Lamberg frowned. "Have the marketing department come up with a giveaway, something free. I don't want a mob outside Cole's in the morning."
"I hate to say this, Mr. Lamberg," Duff said, "but Cole's has one heck of a Santa Claus this year. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was the real article."
"You told me he was the same man they used last year!" Lamberg snapped. "You said he was a drunk."
"I saw him this morning. They must have switched him at the last minute for this new guy."
The door crashed open behind Lamberg. "Grandfather!" screamed Lamberg's four-year-old granddaughter. "I saw Santa Claus! He was right outside! I waved to him!"
Lamberg put his hand over the receiver. "That's very nice, Patrice. Grandfather will be with you in a moment."
"They said on TV that he's staying at Cole's while he's in New York," Patrice gushed. "That's right by our store!"
She raced back out.
Lamberg's face hardened. "Keep an eye on this, Mr. Duff," he said into the phone. "I don't want my plans damaged by an elderly cherub in a red suit."
"I'm on it, sir," Duff replied.
Lamberg slammed down the phone.
Bryan cut into the turkey with a carving knife. Juice flowed down the steaming, brown-glazed side of the bird.
Susan's mouth watered. "This is kind of like TV," she said. "Except I'd need a brother and a dog. And Bryan—"
"Mr. Bedford," Dorey corrected her.
"He said I could call him Bryan," Susan protested.
"Only if it's okay with your mother," Bryan
quickly added. He passed Susan a plate of turkey.
"Fine," Dorey said sharply
"Bryan would be the dad," Susan continued. "You'd be the mom, and we'd need either a kind of fat person who's our cook or a neighbor who's always at our house."
"Uh, can we talk about something else?" Dorey asked.
Bryan held out a full plate to Dorey. "For the chef."
"The vegetables are catered," Susan remarked "So is the dessert."
" Thank you, Susan," Dorey said with a sneer.
Bryan filled his own plate, then sat. "Do we give blessings in this home?"
"Not unless my grandparents are here," Susan answered.
"Would you mind if I did it?" Bryan asked. "It's kind of a tradition with me."
Dorey hesitated. "Go ahead."
Bryan and Susan lowered their heads. Reluctantly, Dorey did, too.
"We give our thanks for the warmth of this shelter, the food before us, and the closeness of the people we love," Bryan said. "We pray that these gifts we so gratefully receive might be shared many times over with those less fortunate than us."
Susan glanced up. Her mom's head was still bowed.
"Amen," Susan said—quietly, so Dorey wouldn't hear.
While they were praying, the man who called himself Kriss Kringle walked quietly home through the park.
November 25, 8:59 A.M.
30 Days To Christmas
Kids squirmed. Parents took deep breaths. The morning was clear and cloudless, and Broadway was packed, from 33rd to 34th streets. All eyes were on the enormous clock above the entrance to Cole's.
It was one minute before the official opening of the Christmas season.
On the eighth floor, Santa's Workshop was ready for action. A pathway wound through a snow-dappled village of busy mechanical elves, reindeer, and gingerbread houses.
For the next thirty days, kids from all over the world would walk down this path to see Santa Claus.
And Kriss Kringle was ready for them.
He was dressed in the finest scarlet wool flannel, sewn with gold thread and cuffed with fur. Eight sterling buttons fastened his coat, each containing the name of a reindeer. His boots were genuine leather, polished but well-worn. He wore a long black cape, fastened at the neck by a clasp with the word NOEL spelled out in sapphire chips. Every detail of Kringle's outfit was right down to the gold, wreath-shaped ring on his finger.
As
"Cops say over a million," Duff's voice replied. "Last year it was about seven hundred fifty thousand."
Lamberg frowned. "Have the marketing department come up with a giveaway, something free. I don't want a mob outside Cole's in the morning."
"I hate to say this, Mr. Lamberg," Duff said, "but Cole's has one heck of a Santa Claus this year. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was the real article."
"You told me he was the same man they used last year!" Lamberg snapped. "You said he was a drunk."
"I saw him this morning. They must have switched him at the last minute for this new guy."
The door crashed open behind Lamberg. "Grandfather!" screamed Lamberg's four-year-old granddaughter. "I saw Santa Claus! He was right outside! I waved to him!"
Lamberg put his hand over the receiver. "That's very nice, Patrice. Grandfather will be with you in a moment."
"They said on TV that he's staying at Cole's while he's in New York," Patrice gushed. "That's right by our store!"
She raced back out.
Lamberg's face hardened. "Keep an eye on this, Mr. Duff," he said into the phone. "I don't want my plans damaged by an elderly cherub in a red suit."
"I'm on it, sir," Duff replied.
Lamberg slammed down the phone.
Bryan cut into the turkey with a carving knife. Juice flowed down the steaming, brown-glazed side of the bird.
Susan's mouth watered. "This is kind of like TV," she said. "Except I'd need a brother and a dog. And Bryan—"
"Mr. Bedford," Dorey corrected her.
"He said I could call him Bryan," Susan protested.
"Only if it's okay with your mother," Bryan
quickly added. He passed Susan a plate of turkey.
"Fine," Dorey said sharply
"Bryan would be the dad," Susan continued. "You'd be the mom, and we'd need either a kind of fat person who's our cook or a neighbor who's always at our house."
"Uh, can we talk about something else?" Dorey asked.
Bryan held out a full plate to Dorey. "For the chef."
"The vegetables are catered," Susan remarked "So is the dessert."
" Thank you, Susan," Dorey said with a sneer.
Bryan filled his own plate, then sat. "Do we give blessings in this home?"
"Not unless my grandparents are here," Susan answered.
"Would you mind if I did it?" Bryan asked. "It's kind of a tradition with me."
Dorey hesitated. "Go ahead."
Bryan and Susan lowered their heads. Reluctantly, Dorey did, too.
"We give our thanks for the warmth of this shelter, the food before us, and the closeness of the people we love," Bryan said. "We pray that these gifts we so gratefully receive might be shared many times over with those less fortunate than us."
Susan glanced up. Her mom's head was still bowed.
"Amen," Susan said—quietly, so Dorey wouldn't hear.
While they were praying, the man who called himself Kriss Kringle walked quietly home through the park.
November 25, 8:59 A.M.
30 Days To Christmas
Kids squirmed. Parents took deep breaths. The morning was clear and cloudless, and Broadway was packed, from 33rd to 34th streets. All eyes were on the enormous clock above the entrance to Cole's.
It was one minute before the official opening of the Christmas season.
On the eighth floor, Santa's Workshop was ready for action. A pathway wound through a snow-dappled village of busy mechanical elves, reindeer, and gingerbread houses.
For the next thirty days, kids from all over the world would walk down this path to see Santa Claus.
And Kriss Kringle was ready for them.
He was dressed in the finest scarlet wool flannel, sewn with gold thread and cuffed with fur. Eight sterling buttons fastened his coat, each containing the name of a reindeer. His boots were genuine leather, polished but well-worn. He wore a long black cape, fastened at the neck by a clasp with the word NOEL spelled out in sapphire chips. Every detail of Kringle's outfit was right down to the gold, wreath-shaped ring on his finger.
As
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