Santa Jack
By Ayesha Haqqiqa
“I’m holding a fundraiser, and I’d like your help,” Nora said when she went into Jack’s office one snowy December day. “The funds will go to those people who lost their jobs because of 9-11.”
Jack nodded his head as he reached for his wallet. “I’m glad you’re doing something for those hurt by the collateral damage,” he said. “I’ll give you a twenty.”
“That’s very sweet, Jack,” Nora smiled as she gently pushed his hand back. “You can donate it when you work at the fundraiser.”
“Work?” Jack groaned. “Look, Nora, you know it’s hard enough for me to get away from Hogan Place—“
“Which makes this fundraiser perfect, as it will be held right here, in the lobby,” Nora said sweetly. “The ADAs are making a North Pole Village, complete with Santa’s Workshop. Simon Feldman, bless his heart, will dress up as an elf, as will Anne, your secretary.”
“They’re short enough,” Jack said, breathing a sigh of relief that he was over six feet tall. “What do you want me to do, Nora?”
“Well, Crocker is going to play Santa, and we need someone to take the photos of the kids sitting on his lap. We’ll get $5 per photo,” Nora said.
“I wish I’d never mentioned I took the photos that sit behind my desk,” Jack muttered under his breath. Out loud he said, “Well, maybe I could do it for a little while—how long is this going to last?”
“From 5 until 7, a week from now,” Nora said. She gave Jack a dazzling smile. “I knew we could count on you.”
“Count on me for being a sucker,” Jack muttered the night of the fundraiser. It seemed that everyone in the building, and for blocks around, had gotten wind of the fundraiser, and had invited every child they knew. Children were everywhere in the lobby, gawking at the decorations and pointing at the “elves”, who tried, sometimes in vain, to keep the kids from touching the village houses. The line to sit on Santa’s lap stretched the length of the lobby and out the door. Jack had to stay fast on his feet to take the instant picture and then give it to Serena, who slipped it into a colorful jacket and handed it to a proud parent.
But if Jack felt tired, Crocker looked worse. The ADA was known to be fat and jolly, but his jolliness started to leave after about fifteen minutes into the ordeal. By the half hour, he was sweating, and mopped his brow with his fake beard.
“Santa will be back,” he told a little boy just before the child scrambled onto his lap. He got up, nearly staggering, as he made a beeline for the men’s room. Nora, who had come up to see what was the matter, shot Jack a worried look. Jack nodded, and headed for the men’s room.
Crocker was bent over the sink, breathing heavily. He looked at Jack with bleary eyes. “Sorry boss, “ he said. “I came to work with the flu this morning. I thought the meds would last through this gig tonight, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Don’t you have any more medicine?” Jack asked.
Crocker shook his head. “Left it at home.” He started peeling off his jacket. “You’ll have to take over for me.”
“ME?” Jack took a step back. “I’m not nearly stout enough.”
“But you’re tall enough.” Crocker shed the hat and beard. “You can grab some pillows from my office-they’re soft, just the right kind.” He unbuckled his belt. “Go get ‘em—and my clothes, please.”
“But I can’t—“ Jack began.
Crocker looked at him. “If you don’t, who will?”
Grumbling, Jack raced out of the bathroom and headed for the stairs. Nora caught up with him just as he started up the first flight.
“Crocker is sick,” Jack explained. “I’ve got to get him his clothes so he can go home.”
“Home? What will we do about the fundraiser?” Nora asked, worried.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said as he started upstairs. “It’s been taken care of.”
He found Crocker’s clothes—and three pillows. It would take all three for the Santa costume to fit him, Jack thought. At least no one would know who he was. He took comfort in the thought.
When he got back to the men’s room, Crocker was sitting down in one of the stalls, head in hands.
“Hey, thanks,” he said weakly. “You need some help with the getup?”
“You worry about yourself,” Jack said as he put on the pants. It took all three pillows to make them stay up. Next, he donned the jacket, then the beard and hat.
“How do I look?” he asked Crocker, who hadn’t moved.
“Fine,” Crocker said weakly. “Jack, thanks—“
Jack didn’t hear. He walked out to the lobby, where he found Nora, who looked at him in surprise.
“Not one word,” he hissed. “Crocker is still feeling bad—you might want Simon to check on him.”
“I will,” Nora said, suppressing a smile. “Go and be jolly for the kiddies. Serena can take the photos.”
Jack sat down on the chair carefully. He sure hoped that the pillows didn’t slip out of position.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he said in his jolliest voice. “Come here, little boy, and tell me what you want for Christmas!”
The line of children became a blur, but Jack knew that all he had to do to get through it was to ask what they wanted for Christmas and say ho ho ho every once in a while. The line seemed endless, and Jack wondered if he could take a chance and sneak a peak at his watch. Surely it was seven by now. He slipped up his sleeve.
“Now, now, Santa, aren’t you enjoying talking to good boys—and girls?”
Jack looked up into the mischievous face of Abby Carmichael. “Nora Lewin told me about the fundraiser, but I’m surprised to see—you.”
“I’m surprised to be here,” Jack replied. “Did you bring some youngsters with you?”
“Yes—they sat on your lap about five minutes ago. But, since it’s now seven, they’ve closed the line—to youngsters. So I thought I’d take this opportunity—“ To Jack’s surprise, she slid onto his lap. She draped her arm around him and grinned. “Don’t worry, Jack—I’ve paid extra for the photo.” She turned and grinned as Serena took the snapshot. She nodded and then squeezed Jack’s hand. “I’ve missed you these last few months,” she said as she left.
Jack watched her leave, shaking his head and grinning. Then he turned. And, to his surprise, there was a long line—of every female who worked at Hogan Place!
The next day, Nora came into Jack’s office, beaming. “We raised nearly twice as much as I thought we would, thanks to you,” she said.
Jack cleared his throat, keeping his face buried in some litigation papers.
“You know, that last hour, with the adults, took in twice as much as the other two hours. Must have had something to do with the fact that the ladies paid from ten to twenty dollars for their photos.” Nora smiled.
“And the fact that some came back for seconds,” Jack muttered. He looked up at Nora and grinned.
“I’m only glad we’ll be able to spread a little Christmas cheer,” Nora said.
“And I’m glad I was disguised as Santa when they took those photos,” Jack replied.