Scott knocked again.
Lauren went over to the door and opened it two inches.
“It’s me,” Scott said. “Why do you have the chain on?”
“I…” She looked hopefully at Chris. He was eating trail mix and watching Maureen O’Hara bending over the store psychologist, trying to wake him up.
“Scott, I’m sorry, but I think I’d better take a rain check on supper.”
He looked bewildered. And cute. “But I thought…” he said.
So did I, she thought. But I have a spirit on my couch who’s perfectly capable of turning you into a Brazilian rain forest by-product.
“The Italian takeout sounds great,” she said, “but it’s kind of late, and we’ve both got to go to work tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“Uh…I meant go to work on wrapping presents. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and I haven’t even started my wrapping. And I have to make cheese puffs for the office party and wash my hair and…”
“Okay, okay, I get the message,” he said. “I’ll just bring in the presents and then leave.”
She thought of telling him to leave them in the hall, and then closed the door a little and took the chain off the door.
Go away! she thought at the spirit, who was eating trail mix.
She opened the door far enough so she could slide out, and pulled it to behind her. “Thanks for a great evening,” she said, taking the shopping bags from Scott. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he said, still looking bewildered. He started down the hall. At the stairs he turned and smiled.
I’m going to kill him, Lauren thought, waving back, and took the shopping bags inside.
The spirit wasn’t there. The trail mix was still on the couch, and the TV was still on.
“Come back here!” she shouted. “You little rat! You have ruined my dress and my date, and you’re not going to ruin anything else! You’re going to change back my dress and my Christmas cards, and you’re going to get that tree out of my kitchen right now!”
Her voice hung in the air. She sat down on the couch, still holding the shopping bags. On the TV, Edmund Gwenn was sitting in Bellevue, staring at the wall.
“At least Scott finally noticed me,” she said, and set the shopping bags down on the coffee table. They rattled.
“Oh, no!” she said. “Not the Plutocrats!”
“The problem is,” Fred said, closing the last of the books on the occult, “that we can’t exorcise him if we don’t know which seasonal spirit he is, and he doesn’t fit the profiles of any of these. He must be in disguise.”
“I don’t want to exorcise him,” Lauren said. “I want to kill him.”
“Even if we did manage to exorcise him, there’d be no guarantee that the things he’s changed would go back to their original state.”
“And I’d be stuck with explaining what happened to six thousand dollars’ worth of Christmas presents.”
“Those Portable Plutocrats cost six thousand dollars?”
“$5895.36.”
Fred gave a low whistle. “Did your spirit say why he didn’t like them? Other than the obvious, I mean. That they were nonbiodegradable or something?”
“No. He didn’t even notice them. He was watching Miracle on 34th Street, and he was talking about how he liked the way things worked out at the end and the part about the house.”
“Nothing about Christmas presents?”
“I don’t remember.” She sank down on the couch. “Yes, I do. He said he liked the part where Edmund Gwenn yelled at the store manager for talking people into buying things they didn’t want. He said Christmas presents should be something the person wanted.”
“Well, that explains why he transformed the Plutocrats then,” Fred said. “It probably also means there’s no way you can talk him into changing them back. And I’ve got to have something to pass out at the office party, or you’ll be in trouble. So we’ll just have to come up with replacement presents.”
“Replacement presents?” Lauren said. “How? It’s ten o’clock, the office party’s tomorrow night, and how do we know he won’t transform the replacement presents once we’ve got them?”
“We’ll buy people what they want. Was six thousand all the money you and Scott had?”
“No,” Lauren said, rummaging through one of the shopping bags. “PMS budgeted sixty-five hundred.”
“How much have you got left?”
She pulled out a sheaf of papers. “He didn’t transform the purchase orders or the receipt,” she said, looking at them. “The investment pagers cost $5895.36. We have $604.64 left.” She handed him the papers. “That’s $8.39 apiece.”
He looked at the receipt speculatively and then into the shopping bag. “I don’t suppose we could take these back and get a refund from The Upscale Oasis?”
“They’re not going to give us $5895.36 for seventy-two ‘Save the Ozone Layer’ buttons,” Lauren said. “And there’s nothing we can buy for eight dollars that will convince PMS it cost sixty-five hundred. And where am I going to get the money to pay back the difference?”
“I don’t think you’ll have to. Remember when Chris changed your Christmas cards into the tree? He didn’t really. He returned them somehow to the store and got a refund. Maybe he’s done the same thing with the Plutocrats and the money will turn up on your coffee table tomorrow morning.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“We’ll worry about that tomorrow. Right now we’ve got to come up with presents to pass out at the party.”
“Like what?”
“Staplers.”
“Staplers?”
“Like the one you got Evie. Everybody in my department’s always losing their staplers, too. And their tape dispensers. It’s an office party. We’ll buy everybody something they want for the office.”
“But how will we know what that is? There are seventy-two people on this list.”
“We’ll call the department heads and ask them, and then we’ll go shopping.” He stood up. “Where’s your phone book?”
“Next to the tree.” She followed him into the kitchen. “How are we going to go shopping? It’s ten o’clock at night.”
“Bizmart’s open till eleven,” he said, opening the phone book, “and the grocery store’s open all night. We’ll get as many of the presents as we can tonight and the rest tomorrow morning, and that still gives us all afternoon to get them wrapped. How much wrapping paper do you have?”
“Lots. I bought it half price last year when I decided this Christmas was going to be different. A stapler doesn’t seem like much of a present.”
“It does if it’s what you wanted.” He reached for the phone.
It rang. Fred picked up the receiver and handed it to Lauren.
“Oh, Lauren,” Evie’s voice said. “I just opened your present, and I love it! It’s exactly what I wanted!”
“Really?” Lauren said.
“It’s perfect! I was so depressed about Christmas and the office party and still not having my shopping done. I wasn’t even going to open it, but in Let’s Forget Christmas it said you should open your presents early so they won’t ruin Christmas morning, and I did, and it’s wonderful! I don’t even care whether Scott notices me or not! Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” Lauren said, but Evie had already hung up. She looked at Fred. “That was Evie. You were right about people liking staplers.” She handed him the phone. “You call the department heads. I’ll get my coat.”
He took the phone and began to punch in numbers, and then put it down. “What exactly did the spirit say about the ending of Miracle on 34th Street?”
“He said he liked the way everything worked out at the end. Why?”
He looked thoughtful. “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if the spirit really does want to give you your heart’s desire, and all this transforming stuff is some roundabout w
ay of doing it? Like the angel in It’s a Wonderful Life. He’s supposed to save Jimmy Stewart from committing suicide, and instead of doing something logical, like talking him out of it or grabbing him, he jumps in the river so Jimmy Stewart has to save him.”
“You’re saying he turned seventy-two Portable Plutocrats into ‘Save the Ozone Layer’ buttons to help me?”
“I don’t know. All I’m saying is that maybe you should tell him you want to go to the office party in a black sequined dress with Scott Buckley, and see what happens.”
“See what happens? After what he did to my dress? If he knew I wanted Scott, he’d probably turn him into a harp seal.” She put on her coat. “Well, are we going to call the department heads or not?”
The Graphic Design department wanted staplers, and so did Accounts Payable. Accounts Receivable, which was having an outbreak of stress-related Christmas colds, wanted Puffs Plus and cough drops. Document Control wanted scissors.
Scott looked at the list, checking off Systems and the other departments they’d called. “All we’ve got left is the PMS Committee,” he said.
“I know what to get them,” Lauren said. “Copies of Let’s Forget Christmas.”
They got some of the things before Bizmart closed, and Fred was back at nine Saturday morning to do the rest of it. At the bookstore they ran into the woman who had been stapling presents together the day Lauren enlisted Fred’s help.
“I completely forgot my husband’s first wife,” she said, looking desperate, “and I don’t have any idea of what to get her.”
Fred handed her the videotape of It’s a Wonderful Life they were giving the receptionist. “How about one of these?” he said.
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
“Everybody likes it,” Fred said.
“Especially the part where the bad guy steals the money, and Jimmy Stewart races around town, trying to replace it,” Lauren said.
It took them most of the morning to get the rest of the presents and forever to wrap them. By four they weren’t even half done.
“What’s next?” Fred asked, tying the bow on the last of the staplers. He stood up and stretched.
“Cough drops,” Lauren said, cutting a length of red paper with Santa Clauses on it.
He sat back down. “Ah, yes. Accounts Receivable’s heart’s desire.”
“What’s your heart’s desire?” Lauren asked, folding the paper over the top of the cough drops and taping it. “What would you ask for if the spirit inflicted himself on you?”
Fred unreeled a length of ribbon. “Well, not to go to an office party, that’s for sure. The only year I had an even remotely good time was last year, talking to you.”
“I’m serious,” Lauren said. She taped the sides and handed the package to Fred. “What do you really want for Christmas?”
“When I was eight,” he said thoughtfully, “I asked for a computer for Christmas. Home computers were new then and they were pretty expensive, and I wasn’t sure I’d get it. I was a lot like Natalie Wood in Miracle on 34th Street. I didn’t believe in Santa Claus, and I didn’t believe in miracles, but I really wanted it.”
He cut off the length of ribbon, wrapped it around the package, and tied it in a knot.
“Did you get the computer?”
“No,” he said, cutting off shorter lengths of ribbon. “Christmas morning I came downstairs, and there was a note telling me to look in the garage.” He opened the scissors and pulled the ribbon across the blade, making it curl. “It was a puppy.” He smiled, remembering. “The thing was, a computer was too expensive, but there was an outside chance I’d get it, or I wouldn’t have asked for it. Kids don’t ask for stuff they know is impossible.”
“And you hadn’t asked for a puppy because you knew you couldn’t have one?”
“No, you don’t understand. There are things you don’t ask for because you know you can’t have them, and then there are things so far outside the realm of possibility, it would never even occur to you to want them.” He made the curled ribbon into a bow and fastened it to the package.
“So what you’re saying is your heart’s desire is something so far outside the realm of possibility, you don’t even know what it is?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said. He stood up again. “Do you want some eggnog?”
“Yes, thanks. If it’s still there.”
He went into the kitchen. She could hear forest-thrashing noises and the refrigerator opening. “It’s still here,” he said.
“It’s funny Chris hasn’t been back,” she called to Fred. “I keep worrying he must be up to something.”
“Chris?” Fred said. He came back into the living room with two glasses of eggnog.
“The spirit. He told me to call him that,” she said. “It’s short for Spirit of Christmas Present.” Fred was frowning. “What’s wrong?” Lauren asked.
“I wonder…nothing. Never mind.” He went over to the TV. “I don’t suppose Miracle on 34th Street’s on TV this afternoon?”
“No, but I made him change your video back.” She pointed. “It’s there, on top of the TV.”
He turned on the TV, inserted the video in the VCR, and hit play. He came and sat down beside Lauren. She handed him the wrapped cough drops, but he didn’t take them. He was watching the TV. Lauren looked up. On the screen, Jimmy Stewart was walking past Donna Reed’s house, racketing a stick along the picket fence.
“That isn’t Miracle,” Lauren said. “He told me he changed it back.” She snatched up the box. It still showed Edmund Gwenn hugging Natalie Wood. “That little sneak! He only changed the box!”
She glared at the TV. On the screen Jimmy Stewart was glaring at Donna Reed.
“It’s all right,” Fred said, taking the package and reaching for the ribbon. “It’s not a bad movie. The ending’s too sentimental, and it doesn’t really make sense. I mean, one minute everything’s hopeless, and Jimmy Stewart’s ready to kill himself, and then the angel convinces him he had a wonderful life, and suddenly everything’s okay.” He looked around the table, patting the spread-out wrapping paper. “But it has its moments. Have you seen the scissors?”
Lauren handed him one of the pairs they’d bought. “We’ll wrap them last.”
On the TV Jimmy Stewart was sitting in Donna Reed’s living room, looking awkward. “What I have trouble with is Jimmy Stewart’s being so self-sacrificing,” she said, cutting another length of red paper with Santa Clauses on it. “I mean, he gives up college so his brother can go, and then when his brother has a chance at a good job, he gives up college again. He even gives up committing suicide to save Clarence. There’s such a thing as being too self-sacrificing, you know.”
“Maybe he gives up things because he thinks he doesn’t deserve them.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“He’s never gone to college, he’s poor, he’s deaf in one ear. Sometimes when people are handicapped or overweight they just assume they can’t have the things other people have.”
The telephone rang. Lauren reached for it and then realized it was on TV.
“Oh, hello, Sam,” Donna Reed said, looking at Jimmy Stewart.
“Can you help me with this ribbon?” Fred said.
“Sure,” Lauren said. She scooted closer to him and put her finger on the crossed ribbon to hold it taut.
Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed were standing very close together, listening to the telephone. The voice on the phone was saying something about soybeans.
Fred still hadn’t tied the knot. Lauren glanced up at him. He was looking at the TV, too.
Jimmy Stewart was looking at Donna Reed, his face nearly touching her hair. Donna Reed looked at him and then away. The voice from the phone was saying something about the chance of a lifetime, but it was obvious neither of them was hearing a word. Donna Reed looked up at him. His lips almost touched her forehead. They didn’t seem to be breathing.
Lauren realized she wasn’t, either. She looked at Fred. H
e was holding the two ends of ribbon, one in each hand, and looking down at her.
“The knot,” she said. “You haven’t tied it.”
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”
Jimmy Stewart dropped the phone with a clatter and grabbed Donna Reed by both arms. He began shaking her, yelling at her, and then suddenly she was wrapped in his arms, and he was smothering her with kisses.
“The knot,” Fred said. “You have to pull your finger out.”
She looked uncomprehendingly at him and then down at the package. He had tied the knot over her finger, which was still pressing against the wrapping paper.
“Oh. Sorry,” she said, and pulled her finger free. “You were right. It does have its moments.”
He yanked the knot tight. “Yeah,” he said. He reached for the spool of ribbon and began chopping off lengths for the bow. On the screen Donna Reed and Jimmy Stewart were being pelted with rice.
“No. You were right,” he said. “He is too self-sacrificing.” He waved the scissors at the screen. “In a minute he’s going to give up his honeymoon to save the building and loan. It’s a wonder he ever asked Donna Reed to marry him. It’s a wonder he didn’t try to fix her up with that guy on the phone.”
The phone rang. Lauren looked at the screen, thinking it must be in the movie, but Jimmy Stewart was kissing Donna Reed in a taxicab.
“It’s the phone,” Fred said.
Lauren scrambled up and reached for it.
“Hi,” Scott said.
“Oh, hello, Scott,” Lauren said, looking at Fred.
“I was wondering about the office party tonight,” Scott said. “Would you like to go with me? I could come get you and we could take the presents over together.”
“Uh…I…” Lauren said. She put her hand over the receiver. “It’s Scott. What am I going to tell him about the presents?”
Fred motioned her to give him the phone. “Scott,” he said. “Hi. It’s Fred Hatch. Yeah, Santa Claus. Listen, we ran into a problem with the presents.”
Lauren closed her eyes.
“We got a call from The Upscale Oasis that investment pagers were being recalled by the Federal Safety Commission.”