he sat on the throne, his "helpers" all smiled at him. They were Cole's employees, dressed as elves—and they did not miss Tony Falacchi. Not one bit.
As the clock hand inched toward 9:00, they took their places. Denice and Tricia, two of the helpers who were also best friends, leaned in to each other. "Where'd they get this guy?" whispered Denice.
Tricia shrugged. "Don't know, but I hope they can keep him."
BONNNNG!
The front doors opened. People rushed in like a herd of wildebeest.
Kriss Kringle heard the eighth-floor elevator door open. The silence was broken by squeals of anticipation.
And by his own loud, merry, "Ho-ho-ho!"
At the same time, across the street, Shopper's Express opened its doors, too. Rock-and-roll Christmas carols blared onto the sidewalk. An electronic sign, built into the glass-and-steel entrance, flashed:
OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY!
FREE COFFEE!
FREE GUM GUNS!
Clack! Gulp.
Clack! Gulp.
Store workers stood outside the door, shooting gum into each other's mouths with plastic pistols.
Parents and children walked by in droves—and went straight across the street to Cole's.
A homeless man straggled over to Shopper's Express. "Cup of coffee?" he asked hopefully.
"Outta here!" snarled a worker.
The man shuffled away.
Inside a mother walked her daughter through the toy department. INTERACTIVE SANTA THIS WAY! a sign blinked. They shielded their eyes against the harsh, neon-lit displays, and walked around the stacks of boxes crowding the aisles.
Dzzzzit! Dzzzzit! All around them, electronic action figures zapped each other with guns.
Finally they reached Santa—a huge TV monitor. On it was the image of a young man with a goatee and red baseball cap. "What's up?" he asked.
"Tell Santa what you want," the mother urged her daughter.
The girl shook her head shyly.
"Maybe she'd like a Santa of her own gender," the image chirped. "You can punch up a She-Santa on the control panel."
"Do you want a woman Santa, sweetheart?" the mother asked.
The little girl looked lost and bewildered. She shook her head no.
Twenty stories up, Lamberg was watching. On his closed-circuit monitor, he saw the mom and daughter talking to the video. And he frowned.
Jack Duff shifted uncomfortably on Lamberg's sofa. He shot a glance at Alberta Leonard, Director of Marketing. She was sweating.
Lamberg swiveled away from the TV monitor and looked out the window. "Cole's is jammed. We're empty."
"They just had their parade," Alberta said. "Their awareness is through the roof. We'll catch up. Our polls indicate that people don't want a traditional Christmas. Excitement, speed , and price dictate where holiday money will be spent. Cole's Christmas strategy will fail."
"When?" Lamberg demanded.
"Our advertising just started," Alberta replied.
Duff chimed in, "Why couldn't we put a traditional Santa in our setting?"
"Will you let our program play out a little?"
Alberta snapped. "Cole's Santa is too old, too fat. It won't work ."
For the next few days, the line of children at Santa's Workshop was tremendous.
"Dorothy," Kriss Kringle said to a little girl on his knee. "That's a lovely name. One of my elves is married to a gal named Dorothy. Do you know what you want for Christmas?"
"Yep," Dorothy replied. "A Patty Pollywog Transmutable Baby Frog that swims and sings."
Kriss Kringle chuckled. "Those are a lot of fun."
" Psssssst! "
The old man looked to his left. Dorothy's mom was shaking her head no. She leaned closer to him and whispered, "Don't make me look bad. Those things are seventy bucks. My husband's on half-pay. I can't afford it."
Softly, so that Dorothy wouldn't hear, Kriss Kringle replied, "Shopper's Express has them on sale for thirty-four ninety-nine with a five-dollar rebate. Is that reasonable?"
"Yes, thanks! Since when does Cole's send customers someplace else?"
"It doesn't really matter who sells the toys, so long as the children are happy," Kringle whispered. "And I'm sure that the
As the clock hand inched toward 9:00, they took their places. Denice and Tricia, two of the helpers who were also best friends, leaned in to each other. "Where'd they get this guy?" whispered Denice.
Tricia shrugged. "Don't know, but I hope they can keep him."
BONNNNG!
The front doors opened. People rushed in like a herd of wildebeest.
Kriss Kringle heard the eighth-floor elevator door open. The silence was broken by squeals of anticipation.
And by his own loud, merry, "Ho-ho-ho!"
At the same time, across the street, Shopper's Express opened its doors, too. Rock-and-roll Christmas carols blared onto the sidewalk. An electronic sign, built into the glass-and-steel entrance, flashed:
OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY!
FREE COFFEE!
FREE GUM GUNS!
Clack! Gulp.
Clack! Gulp.
Store workers stood outside the door, shooting gum into each other's mouths with plastic pistols.
Parents and children walked by in droves—and went straight across the street to Cole's.
A homeless man straggled over to Shopper's Express. "Cup of coffee?" he asked hopefully.
"Outta here!" snarled a worker.
The man shuffled away.
Inside a mother walked her daughter through the toy department. INTERACTIVE SANTA THIS WAY! a sign blinked. They shielded their eyes against the harsh, neon-lit displays, and walked around the stacks of boxes crowding the aisles.
Dzzzzit! Dzzzzit! All around them, electronic action figures zapped each other with guns.
Finally they reached Santa—a huge TV monitor. On it was the image of a young man with a goatee and red baseball cap. "What's up?" he asked.
"Tell Santa what you want," the mother urged her daughter.
The girl shook her head shyly.
"Maybe she'd like a Santa of her own gender," the image chirped. "You can punch up a She-Santa on the control panel."
"Do you want a woman Santa, sweetheart?" the mother asked.
The little girl looked lost and bewildered. She shook her head no.
Twenty stories up, Lamberg was watching. On his closed-circuit monitor, he saw the mom and daughter talking to the video. And he frowned.
Jack Duff shifted uncomfortably on Lamberg's sofa. He shot a glance at Alberta Leonard, Director of Marketing. She was sweating.
Lamberg swiveled away from the TV monitor and looked out the window. "Cole's is jammed. We're empty."
"They just had their parade," Alberta said. "Their awareness is through the roof. We'll catch up. Our polls indicate that people don't want a traditional Christmas. Excitement, speed , and price dictate where holiday money will be spent. Cole's Christmas strategy will fail."
"When?" Lamberg demanded.
"Our advertising just started," Alberta replied.
Duff chimed in, "Why couldn't we put a traditional Santa in our setting?"
"Will you let our program play out a little?"
Alberta snapped. "Cole's Santa is too old, too fat. It won't work ."
For the next few days, the line of children at Santa's Workshop was tremendous.
"Dorothy," Kriss Kringle said to a little girl on his knee. "That's a lovely name. One of my elves is married to a gal named Dorothy. Do you know what you want for Christmas?"
"Yep," Dorothy replied. "A Patty Pollywog Transmutable Baby Frog that swims and sings."
Kriss Kringle chuckled. "Those are a lot of fun."
" Psssssst! "
The old man looked to his left. Dorothy's mom was shaking her head no. She leaned closer to him and whispered, "Don't make me look bad. Those things are seventy bucks. My husband's on half-pay. I can't afford it."
Softly, so that Dorothy wouldn't hear, Kriss Kringle replied, "Shopper's Express has them on sale for thirty-four ninety-nine with a five-dollar rebate. Is that reasonable?"
"Yes, thanks! Since when does Cole's send customers someplace else?"
"It doesn't really matter who sells the toys, so long as the children are happy," Kringle whispered. "And I'm sure that the
Similar Books
Ian Mackenzie Jeffers The Grey
Ian Mackenzie Jeffers
The Sapphire Pendant
Dara Girard
Lily's Cowboys
S. E. Smith
Falling for Autumn
Heather Topham Wood
A Case of Doubtful Death
Linda Stratmann
In the Court of the Yellow King
Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, Gary McMahon, C.J. Henderson, William Meikle, T.E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris
Better to rest
Dana Stabenow
The Scent of Jasmine
Jude Deveraux
A Question of Identity
Susan Hill
Fade to Red
Willow Aster