“It’s a videotape of Miracle on 34th Street. I really have to go.”
“Who’s it for?”
“Fred Hatch. I’m his Secret Santa.”
“Fred Hatch.” He turned the package over. “You had it gift-wrapped at the store, didn’t you?”
“Yes. If we could just talk about this later—”
“This is a great part, too,” he said, leaning forward to watch the TV. The angel was explaining to Jimmy Stewart how he hadn’t gotten his wings yet.
“I have to go. I’m on my lunch hour, and I need to mail my Christmas cards, and I have to be back at work by”—she glanced at her watch—“oh my God, fifteen minutes ago.”
He put down the package and stood up. “Gift-wrapped presents,” he said, making a “tsk”-ing noise, “everybody rushing around spending money, rushing to parties, never stopping to have some eggnog or watch a movie. Christmas is an endangered species.” He looked longingly back at the screen, where the angel was trying to convince Jimmy Stewart he’d never been alive, and then wandered into the kitchen. “You got any Evian water?”
“No,” Lauren said desperately. She hurried after him. “Look, I really have to get to work.”
He had stopped at the kitchen table and was holding one of the Christmas cards. “Computer-addressed,” he said reprovingly. He tore it open.
“Don’t—” Lauren said.
“Printed Christmas cards,” he said. “No letter, no quick note, not even a handwritten signature. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. An endangered species.”
“I didn’t have time,” Lauren said defensively. “And I don’t have time to discuss this or anything else with you. I have to get to work.”
“No time to write a few words on a card, no time to think about what you want for Christmas.” He slid the card back into the envelope. “Not even on recycled paper,” he said sadly. “Do you know how many trees are chopped down every year to send Christmas cards?”
“I am late for—” Lauren said, and he wasn’t there anymore.
He didn’t vanish like in the movies, or fade out slowly. He simply wasn’t there.
“—work,” Lauren said. She went and looked in the living room. The TV was still on, but he wasn’t there, or in the bedroom. She went into the bathroom and pulled the shower curtain back, but he wasn’t there either.
“It was a hallucination,” she said out loud, “brought on by stress.” She looked at her watch, hoping it had been part of the hallucination, but it still read 1:15. “I will figure this out later,” she said. “I have to get back to work.”
She went back in the living room. The TV was off. She went into the kitchen. He wasn’t there. Neither were her Christmas cards, exactly.
“You! Spirit!” she shouted. “You come back here this minute!”
“You’re late,” Evie said, filling out a catalog form. “You will not believe who was just here. Scott Buckley. God, he is so cute.” She looked up. “What happened?” she said. “Didn’t they hold the dress?”
“Do you know anything about magic?” Lauren said.
“What happened?”
“My sister sent me her Christmas present,” Lauren said grimly. “I need to talk to someone who knows something about magic.”
“Fat … I mean Fred Hatch is a magician. What did your sister send you?”
Lauren started down the hall to Documentation at a half-run.
“I told Scott you’d be back any minute,” Evie said. “He said he wanted to talk to you.”
Lauren opened the door to Documentation and started looking over partitions into the maze of cubicles. They were all empty.
“Anybody here?” Lauren called. “Hello?”
A middle-aged woman emerged from the maze, carrying five rolls of wrapping paper and a large pair of scissors. “You don’t have any Scotch tape, do you?” she asked Lauren.
“Do you know where Fred Hatch is?” Lauren asked.
The woman pointed toward the interior of the maze with a roll of reindeer-covered paper. “Over there. Doesn’t anyone have any tape? I’m going to have to staple my Christmas presents.”
Lauren worked her way toward where the woman had pointed, looking over partitions as she went. Fred was in the center one, leaning back in a chair, his hands folded over his ample stomach, staring at a screen covered with yellow numbers.
“Excuse me,” Lauren said, and Fred immediately sat forward and stood up.
“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
“Right here,” Fred said. “My assistant’s on the 800 line in my office, placing a catalog order, and everyone else is next door in Graphic Design at a Tupperware party.” He pushed a key, and the computer screen went blank. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Evie said you’re a magician,” she said.
He looked embarrassed. “Not really. The PMS Committee put me in charge of the magic show for the office party last year, and I came up with an act. This year, luckily, they assigned me to play Santa Claus.” He smiled and patted his stomach. “I’m the right shape for the part, and I don’t have to worry about the tricks not working.”
“Oh, dear,” Lauren said. “I hoped … do you know any magicians?”
“The guy at the novelty shop,” he said, looking worried. “What’s the matter? Did PMS assign you the magic show this year?”
“No.” She sat down on the edge of his desk. “My sister is into New Age stuff, and she sent me this spirit—”
“Spirit,” he said. “A ghost, you mean?”
“No. A person. I mean he looks like a person. He says he’s the Spirit of Christmas Present, as in Gift, not Here and Now.”
“And you’re sure he’s not a person? I mean, tricks can sometimes really look like magic.”
“There’s a Christmas tree in my kitchen,” she said.
“Christmas tree?” he said warily.
“Yes. The spirit was upset because my Christmas cards weren’t on recycled paper. He asked me if I knew how many trees were chopped down to send Christmas cards, then he disappeared, and when I went back in the kitchen there was this Christmas tree in my kitchen.”
“And there’s no way he could have gotten into your apartment earlier and put it there?”
“It’s growing out of the floor. Besides, it wasn’t there when we were in the kitchen five minutes before. See, he was watching It’s a Wonderful Life on TV, which, by the way, he turned on without using the remote, and he asked me if I had any Evian water, and he went into the kitchen and … this is ridiculous. You have to think I’m crazy. I think I’m crazy just listening to myself tell this ridiculous story. Evian water!” She folded her arms. “People have a lot of nervous breakdowns around Christmastime. Do you think I could be having one?”
The woman with the wrapping-paper rolls peered over the cubicle. “Have you got a tape dispenser?”
Fred shook his head.
“How about a stapler?”
Fred handed her his stapler, and she left.
“Well,” Lauren said when she was sure the woman was gone, “do you think I’m having a nervous breakdown?”
“That depends,” he said.
“On what?”
“On whether there’s really a tree growing out of your kitchen floor. You said he got angry because your Christmas cards weren’t on recycled paper. Do you think he’s dangerous?”
“I don’t know. He says he’s here to give me whatever I want for Christmas. Except a fur coat. He’s opposed to the killing of endangered species.”
“A spirit who’s an animal-rights activist!” Fred said delightedly. “Where did your sister get him from?”
“The astral plane,” Lauren said. “She was trance-channeling or something. I don’t care where he came from. I just want to get rid of him before he decides my Christmas presents aren’t recyclable, too.”
“Okay,” he said, hitting a key on the computer. The screen lit up. “
The first thing we need to do is find out what he is and how he got here. I want you to call your sister. Maybe she knows some New Age spell for getting rid of the spirit.” He began to type rapidly. “I’ll get on the Net and see if I can find someone who knows something about magic.” He swiveled around to face her. “You’re sure you want to get rid of him?”
“I have a tree growing out of my kitchen floor!”
“But what if he’s telling the truth? What if he really can get you what you want for Christmas?”
“What I wanted was to mail my Christmas cards, which are now shedding needles on the kitchen tile. Who knows what he’ll do next?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Listen, whether he’s dangerous or not, I think I should go home with you after work, in case he shows up again, but I’ve got a PMS meeting for the office party—”
“That’s okay. He’s an animal-rights activist. He’s not dangerous.”
“That doesn’t necessarily follow,” Fred said. “I’ll come over as soon as my meeting’s over, and meanwhile I’ll check the Net. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said. She started out of the cubicle and then stopped. “I really appreciate your believing me, or at least not saying you don’t believe me.”
He smiled at her. “I don’t have any choice. You’re the only other person in the world who likes Miracle on 34th Street better than It’s a Wonderful Life. And Fred Gailey believed Macy’s Santa Claus was really Santa Claus, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t think this guy is Santa Claus. He was wearing Birkenstocks.”
“I’ll meet you at your front door,” he said. He sat down at the computer and began typing.
Lauren went out through the maze of cubicles and into the hall.
“There you are!” Scott said. “I’ve been looking for you all over.” He smiled meltingly. “I’m in charge of buying gifts for the office party, and I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Yeah. Picking them out. I hoped maybe I could talk you into going shopping with me after work tonight.”
“Tonight?” she said. “I can’t. I’ve got—” A Christmas tree growing in my kitchen. “Could we do it tomorrow after work?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got a date. What about later on tonight? The stores are open till nine. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to do the shopping, and then we could go have a late supper somewhere. What say I pick you up at your apartment at six-thirty?”
And have the spirit lying on the couch, drinking Evian water and watching TV? “I can’t,” she said regretfully.
Even his frown was cute. “Oh, well,” he said, and shrugged. “Too bad. I guess I’ll have to get somebody else.” He gave her another adorable smile and went off down the hall to ask somebody else.
I hate you, Spirit of Christmas Present, Lauren thought, standing there watching Scott’s handsome back recede. You’d better not be there when I get home.
A woman came down the hall, carrying a basket of candy canes. “Compliments of the Personnel Morale Special Committee,” she said, offering one to Lauren. “You look like you could use a little Christmas spirit.”
“No, thanks, I’ve already got one,” Lauren said.
The door to her apartment was locked, which didn’t mean much, since the chain and the deadbolt had both been on when he got in before. But he wasn’t in the living room, and the TV was off.
He had been there, though. There was an empty Evian water bottle on the coffee table. She picked it up and took it into the kitchen. The tree was still there, too. She pushed one of the branches aside so she could get to the wastebasket and threw the bottle away.
“Don’t you know plastic bottles are nonbiodegradable?” the spirit said. He was standing on the other side of the tree, hanging things on it. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a “Save the Rain Forest” T-shirt, and had a red bandanna tied around his head. “You should recycle your bottles.”
“It’s your bottle,” Lauren said. “What are you doing here, Spirit?”
“Chris,” he corrected her. “These are organic ornaments,” he said. He held one of the brown things out to her. “Handmade by the Yanomamo Indians. Each one is made of natural by-products found in the Brazilian rain forest.” He hung the brown thing on the tree. “Have you decided what you want for Christmas?”
“Yes,” she said. “I want you to go away.”
He looked surprised. “I can’t do that. Not until I give you your heart’s desire.”
“That is my heart’s desire. I want you to go away and take this tree and your Yanomamo ornaments with you.”
“You know the biggest problem I have as the Spirit of Christmas Present?” he said. He reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulled out a brown garland of what looked like coffee beans. “My biggest problem is that people don’t know what they want.”
“I know what I want,” Lauren said. “I don’t want to have to write my Christmas cards all over again—”
“You didn’t write them,” he said, draping the garland over the branches. “They were printed. Do you know that the inks used on those cards contain harmful chemicals?”
“I don’t want to be lectured on environmental issues, I don’t want to have to fight my way through a forest to get to the refrigerator, and I don’t want to have to turn down dates because I have a spirit in my apartment. I want a nice, quiet Christmas with no hassles. I want to exchange a few presents with my friends and go to the office Christmas party and …” And dazzle Scott Buckley in my off-the-shoulder black dress, she thought, but she decided she’d better not say that. The spirit might decide Scott’s clothes weren’t made of natural fibers or something and turn him into a Yanomamo Indian.
“… and have a nice, quiet Christmas,” she finished lamely.
“Take It’s a Wonderful Life,” the spirit said, squinting at the tree. “I watched it this afternoon while you were at work. Jimmy Stewart didn’t know what he wanted.”
He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a crooked star made of Brazil nuts and twine. “He thought he wanted to go to college and travel and get rich, but what he really wanted was right there in front of him the whole time.”
He did something, and the top of the tree lopped over in front of him. He tied the star on with the twine, and did something else. The tree straightened up. “You only think you want me to leave,” he said.
Someone knocked on the door.
“You’re right,” Lauren said. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay right there.” She ran into the living room.
The spirit followed her into the living room. “Luckily, being a spirit, I know what you really want,” he said, and disappeared.
She opened the door to Fred. “He was just here,” she said. “He disappeared when I opened the door, which is what all the crazies say, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Fred said. “Or else, ‘He’s right there. Can’t you see him?’” He looked curiously around the room. “Where was he?”
“In the kitchen,” she said, shutting the door. “Decorating a tree which probably isn’t there either.” She led him into the kitchen.
The tree was still there, and there were large brownish cards stuck all over it.
“You really do have a tree growing in your kitchen,” Fred said, squatting down to look at the roots. “I wonder if the people downstairs have roots sticking out of their ceiling.” He stood up. “What are these?” he said, pointing at the brownish cards.
“Christmas cards.” She pulled one off. “I told him I wanted mine back.” She read the card aloud. “‘In the time it takes you to read this Christmas card, eighty-two harp seals will have been clubbed to death for their fur.’” She opened it up. “‘Happy Holidays.’”
“Cheery,” Fred said. He took the card from her and turned it over. “‘This card is printed on recycled paper with vegetable inks and can be safely used as compost.’”
“Did anyone on the Net know how to c
lub a spirit to death?” she asked.
“No. Didn’t your sister have any ideas?”
“She didn’t know how she got him in the first place. She and her Maharishi were channeling an Egyptian nobleman and he suddenly appeared, wearing a ‘Save the Dolphins’ T-shirt. I got the idea the Maharishi was as surprised as she was.” She sat down at the kitchen table. “I tried to get him to go away this afternoon, but he said he has to give me my heart’s desire first.” She looked up at Fred, who was cautiously sniffing one of the organic ornaments. “Didn’t you find out anything on the Net?”
“I found out there are a lot of loonies with computers. What are these?”
“By-products of the Brazilian rain forest.” She stood up. “I told him my heart’s desire was for him to leave, and he said I didn’t know what I really wanted.”
“Which is what?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I went into the living room to answer the door, and he said that luckily he knew what I wanted because he was a spirit, and I told him to stay right where he was, and he disappeared.”
“Show me,” he said.
She took him into the living room and pointed at where he’d been standing, and Fred squatted down again and peered at the carpet.
“How does he disappear?”
“I don’t know. He just … isn’t there.”
Fred stood up. “Has he changed anything else? Besides the tree?”
“Not that I know of. He turned the TV on without the remote,” she said, looking around the room. The shopping bags were still on the coffee table. She looked through them and pulled out the video. “Here. I’m your Secret Santa. I’m not supposed to give it to you till Christmas Eve, but maybe you’d better take it before he turns it into a snowy owl or something.”
She handed it to him. “Go ahead. Open it.”
He unwrapped it. “Oh,” he said without enthusiasm. “Thanks.”
“I remember last year at the party we talked about it, and I was afraid you might already have a copy. You don’t, do you?”
“No,” he said, still in that flat voice.