Kristmas Collins (19 page)

“I think I may already be too late—look at that line for registration. I’m never going to make it.”

Mrs. Claus eyed the endless line of hopefuls. She then turned back to Hope and handed her a sheet of paper.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your registration—I filled it out and paid for you. All you gotta do is sign it. Think of it as your EZ Pass to destiny.”

Hope couldn’t believe it. How did she know that she would even show up? “Are you following me or something?”

“The only thing anyone should be following is their dreams. Now get going!”

She didn’t have to say it twice. Hope practically ran to the wooden escalators that took her to the sixth floor. She handed in her registration and was taken to a fitting room to prepare. And there it was.

Hanging up was the uniform she’d dreamed of wearing since she was a little girl. The iconic red and white
Candy Striper
uniform, with its short skirt and white boots.

She got ready in record time and was taken to a large cattle-call room with all the others. All tall and gorgeous, and probably with professional experience. Each contestant was given a short script to memorize, and lyrics to the song they were to sing. When Hope saw what the song was, she felt for the first time that Mrs. Claus might be right—maybe it was destiny.

The first test was the interview. They would be taken in front of the judges and asked about themselves. It wasn’t so much about the answers, but to see if they had the charisma and presence to be a
Candy Striper
. The “it” factor.

When she was called, Hope stepped into a room that featured a large window that looked out onto Broadway, with a direct view of the Empire State Building. But the skyscraper wasn’t half as intimidating as the sight before her. Candi Kane was sitting at the center of the judge’s table and staring right at her.

I stepped off the elevator on the eighth floor. Beside me were Taylor and Alex, each pushing a stroller.

“Aren’t they too old to be in a stroller?” I asked.

Taylor rolled her eyes. “You’ve been out of the parenting game too long. When their legs get tired and you’re stuck dragging two cranky kids through Manhattan on Christmas Eve, you’ll be thanking me.”

I assumed she was basing this on her vast parenting experience. Or maybe she’d seen her father screw up enough that she was an expert on what not to do.

Franny looked up at me and exclaimed, “Put your antlers on, Daddy.”

“You promised,” Zooey seconded.

“Oh, they must have slipped off,” I said, as Alex handed me the plastic reindeer antlers. I placed them on my head to match the twins. I thought they might be overkill, since I was already wearing the reindeer sweater that my mother had knitted for me, matching the ones that Franny and Zooey wore. They refused to leave for the city this morning until I agreed to wear it. I didn’t have time to argue, since I was desperate to get to Macy’s before it was too late.

Taylor looked like she might be ill. “Could you be any more embarrassing, Dad?”

I wasn’t sure if she was referring to the antlers or the sweater, but I assumed the question was rhetorical, so I left it alone. I love my mother, but I much prefer her cookies to these hideous sweaters she knits. Taylor cut hers up and used it as covers for her lacrosse sticks.

She wasn’t finished with her gripes. “I can’t believe you’re taking us to Santaland on our day off. What are we like, six?”

“You know what they say—the family that sits on Santa’s lap together, stays together.”

“Gross. ”

“And if you haven’t forgotten, your sisters
are six,
and this will be their first time. But I believe in democracy—raise your hand if you want to go to Santaland.”

Franny and Zooey’s hands shot up, as did their antler-wearing dad. I looked to Alex and he grunted, “IDC.”

I turned to Taylor, who translated. “It means ‘I don’t care’.”

“Well, it looks like it’s three for, one against, and one abstained. Santaland it is.”

Taylor didn’t look happy about this development. I tried to make peace before she became the cranky kid I was dragging through Manhattan. “C’mon Taylor, can you be a kid for five more minutes before you go off to college?”

“It’s just weird that you suddenly got the urge to have a family day. I think you’re up to something.”

Like mother, like daughter. I needed to change the subject before her inquisitive mind began to further explore my motives. But luckily Franny did it for me. “Look, Daddy—it’s Santa Claus.”

“And Mrs. Claus!” Zooey followed up with a point in the direction of the Christmas power couple.

It was one of the many Santa impersonators that were roaming around the store, and confusing kids as to which one had the ability to deliver on their gift requests. But I recognized this one.

“That Santa and Mrs. Claus look a lot like Uncle Justin and Aunt Wintry,” Taylor said, adding to my fears.

Duma winked at me as he began walking in the opposite direction. I laughed. “That’s a good one, Taylor. I’d love to see the day when Justin Duma wakes up this early … or works for scale.”

“I said it looked like him—I didn’t really think it
was
him.”

I exhaled with relief and asked, “Can you do me a favor?”

“As long as it has nothing to do with me wearing reindeer antlers.”

“If you ever plan on referring to them as Uncle Justin and Aunt Wintry around your grandparents, can you please make a pre-emptive call for an ambulance.” Or on
second thought …

Even Alex laughed at that one.

As we moved closer to Santaland, and the crowds grew thicker, Taylor pulled out her phone and began typing. I had declared that nobody was allowed to bring their phones on our trip, claiming that I didn’t want any interruptions to our bonding time. But my true intention was the same reason I turned mine off last night. And right on cue, I noticed an elf that looked too much like Agent Boersch. He must have splurged for the multi-day rental on the outfit. It also meant that Falcone wasn’t far behind.

“I thought I said no phones.”

“I just needed to tweet that my dorky dad took me to see Santa.”

“Delete it … now!” I erupted. We had enough people chasing us without posting our location on the internet.

She looked surprised. My outburst was out of character. “If it will make you less of a psycho … then fine,” she replied and deleted it. At least she pushed some buttons. For all I knew she could have sent another one. Sometimes I forgot that she was still a teenage girl and came with all the dramatic mood swings to prove it. Teenage boys might have the same issues, but Alex was my only experience with that species, and he never changed his mood. I wasn’t even sure he had a mood.

And just when I thought I’d be spending the rest of my day with an angst-filled seventeen-year-old, she changed again, this time into someone wise beyond her years. As we stood in the long line to enter Santaland, she observed, “Look at this mob scene. How did Christmas ever get from a baby in a manger to ‘step on thy neighbor’ to get the latest Xbox?”

“You are a Wainwright, aren’t you?” I asked with a smile.

She didn’t see the humor. “Dad!”

“Just checking.”

“When I get access to my trust fund, I’m going to use it to help people. I’m not saying I’m going to go all granola or join the Peace Corps, but at least I’m gonna remember what Christmas is really about.”

I doubted that the poverty-stricken were going to shed any tears for poor-little-Taylor and her trust fund. But her words were about as close to Mother Teresa as a Wainwright would ever get, and I was proud of her. I just hoped that Alexander and Beatrice wouldn’t get word of such “crazy talk” and disown her.

She continued on her soapbox, but my attention drifted. Part of it was on Boersch, who was pretending that he wasn’t watching us. But the majority of my focus was on Nicole Closs, who was about ten spots ahead of us in line, standing with her two children.

She had cleaned up nicely since our confrontation this morning, now wearing a red sweater with a long skirt, and stylish boots. And she didn’t look particularly concerned about her safety, despite my Chicken Little routine this morning.

“Aren’t you listening, Dad?” Taylor said, annoyed by my distraction.

“Sure I am, honey. I’m happy that you’ve found the Christmas spirit. I told you a trip to see Santa would do you good.”

“You’re totally not listening to me. Mom’s right—she says you never listen.”

Alex picked the least opportune time to finally say something. He pointed at Nicole and said, “He’s totally checking out that chick.”

“I’m not checking anything out,” I countered.

“I’ll bet she’s totally into guys with reindeer antlers,” Taylor said, and Alex laughed so hard I thought he was going to pass out. On any other day it would have been great to see, but today it was drawing unwanted attention to us.

The line inched closer to the entrance of the 13,000 square-foot fantasy Christmas village, which ends with a meeting and photos with Santa. I kept “checking out” Nicole, who spent most of her time doting on her children and making a couple of calls on her cell. I continued to watch as she disappeared into Santaland.

I grew impatient as the line seemed to stall. I wouldn’t feel comfortable until I entered, and was able to regain visual contact with her. My eyes bounced around, looking for signs of trouble. Boersch still had me in his sights, but he was the least of my worries at this point.

I suddenly felt a tap on my back. When I looked, it was Nicole. I was confused, but before I could even grasp what was going on, she picked up where we left off, “Don’t think I didn’t see you. I guess I wasn’t clear this morning—leave us alone!”

The only thing that was clear to me, was that she shouldn’t have let her children out of her sight. They were standing about fifteen feet from us, waiting patiently for their mother to kick my ass. And the woman moving toward them.

Justin Duma had been following Nicole Closs, just as Kris had requested. He watched as she made it look like she was entering Santaland, but circled around to ambush Collins. Well played … except that she should have paid more attention to her children.

When Duma saw the predator making a move for them, he made a mad dash. But he was too late. So he did the next best thing—trying to cut off her path to the escalator.

“Get out of my way,” she warned.

“Sorry, Jacqueline … looks like you’ve brought a knife to a gunfight. Let them go and I’ll let you walk out of here in one piece.”

“No need for a gun when a scarf will do.” She slid her scarf off and wrapped it around the neck of the scared-looking, redheaded boy named Peter. “If you’re still standing there when I count to three, I’m going to snap his neck.”

Duma didn’t move. During his career as an NFL defensive lineman he used to obsessively study his opponents, to the point that he could predict their next move before they even made it. And the common trait embodied by all the great running backs he went up against was patience. They would take that extra second or two to wait for their blockers.

In this case, the extra seconds gave Wintry the time she needed to get to the woman, and she hit her with a perfect form tackle. They fell to the ground, with Wintry’s granny wig falling off in the process.

Wasting no time, Duma moved in. He grabbed the children and slung them over his shoulders. He rarely got to carry the ball during his playing days, but now he was on offense and heading for the goal line. He gripped on tight—he wasn’t going to fumble.

He glanced back to see Agent Falcone of the FBI arrive on the scene. But he got too close to Wintry, and she hit him with the classic stripping move—whipping her leg around him and pulling him into a straddle with her impressive lower-body strength. She pretended that they’d accidentally got their legs entangled as she struggled with Jacqueline. Like most of the dancers she oversaw at the club, she wasn’t a very good actor.

But it gave Duma enough time to make it to the escalator. He pushed his way through the crowd. Most people looked frightened by the oncoming train in a Santa suit, but the kids in his arms had gotten over their initial shock, and their smiles said they were now enjoying the ride. The boy, especially.

With the end zone in sight, he took one last look back to make sure he was in the clear. He then ran for the goal line.

Nicole was stunned, so much so that she briefly stopped yelling at me. But the moment that Duma grabbed her children, I could tell she was about to scream. So I whispered in her ear, “If you make any noise, you’ll never see your kids again.”

She nodded that she understood. I then instructed, “Push my children in their strollers like they’re yours. Act naturally. That’s the only way you’ll get to see Peter and Janie again.”