It is a few minutes past twilight in Tim's lovely new home in the hills of 
West L.A.  Inside the living room with its vaulted ceiling and chandelier, 
its attractive mahogany paneling and many fine paintings is a scene of mild 
chaos...

The oriental rug before the fireplace is crumpled, the fire basket overturned 
with its load of Yule logs spilling across the floor, and the lovely new plum 
velvet sofa seems to be upside down.  From behind it come sounds of thrashing 
bodies and giggling.

The door opens and Tim, bowed down with two huge sacks full of 
brightly-wrapped packages, stumbles in.  He looks a little disheveled; his 
coat sleeve is ripped halfway off and there is a small branch of mistletoe 
tilted over one ear.

Dix's head pops up from behind the couch.

Dix [smiling brightly:] "Back already?  You've only been gone for six hours 
or so."

Rowan crawls around the end of the couch, looking exhausted.

Rowan: "You can't have finished,--it took me six WEEKS to finish MY Christmas 
shopping."

Tim [setting down the packages on the coffee table, whose legs give way with 
a loud crack:]  "Unlike some people, I always have a game plan.  This year 
I'm giving games to everybody.  Not that you'll be needing any new games.  
I'm shocked,-shocked,-to find the sort of depraved Bacchanalia that goes on 
here the moment I turn my back!"

Dix:  "Well, the time dragged so..."

Tim: "Hah!!"

Rowan: "We thought about getting into the holiday mood with a little 
Christmas spectacle..."

Tim: "'Spectacle' is right!  How touching."

Dix: "Well, yes, we did do a bit of touching..."

Rowan: "...grabbing..."

Dix: "...clutching..."

Rowan: "...threatening..."

Tim:  "Oh, come now.  Since when have threats been necessary?"

Dix: "Since Frank ran off with the remote control when we wanted to watch 
'Frosty, the Snowman' for the eleventh time.  My, he's fast on his feet."

Rowan:  "I think that Tim thinks that we were having a much better time than 
we actually were.  And Frank escaped and has probably finished eating the 
remote by now."

Tim: "Oh, damn.  I was looking forward to watching the tape of Bette's show 
this evening.  How did it look?  Was I all right?  I mean, what did you think 
of the production values, and that sort of thing?"

Dixi and Rowan catch each other's eyes and both quickly reassure Tim:

Dix: "Oh, fine."

Rowan: "Yes, indeedy,--finefinefinefine,--"

Tim [sitting down dejectedly on the upturned edge of the couch:]  "That bad, 
hmm?  I did have one or two itsy-bitsy doubts when I saw the script.  And the 
cast.  And the sets...and,--oh, God!  I'm going to murder my agent and make 
it look like natural causes!"

Dix:  "But you were absolutely splendid.  A diamond on Woolworth's ten-cent 
counter."

Rowan: "Ye-e-e-es.  Or at least a very large well-polished rhinestone."  
(Ducking the sofa pillow Tim throws at him.)

Tim:  "I suppose that I've done something foolish in that case."

Dix: "Not at all.  The show gave you additional exposure (loved the codpiece) 
and your role was attractive."

Rowan: "An imitation sapphire..." (ducking the sofa pillow Dix throws at him).

Tim:  "Actually, I was thinking about the aftermath.  When the show wrapped I 
was in a good mood; everyone had been letter-perfect on the 28th take,--and I 
ummm, I seem to have invited Bette to come along with us tomorrow night and 
go carol-singing..."


             *             *            *           



Tim has just cheerily announced that Bette has agreed to join them on their 
traditional carol-singing outing and Dix and Rowan seem to have mixed 
feelings about the news...

Dix [quite calmly:] "When you say 'us,' are you referring to us three 
dauntless adventurers, a close-knit group that has memorized 42 separate 
carols and whose voices blend in exquisite harmony and the addition of an 
outsider would cause irreparable damage to the overall effect?"

Tim: "Yup."

Rowan: "Then we shall henceforth be known as 'The Intimidating Trio Plus 
One?'  Let's rethink this a bit, shall we?"

Tim: "Oh, it will be fine, I'm sure.  And remember, this is the season of 
Peace on Earth and Good Will to Man."

Dix:  "I'm almost sure that she isn't a man."

Tim:  "I know, I know.  But how bad can it be?"

   *          *           *

Two evenings later, Tim question is answered.

Our friends have dressed in their usual Christmas-carol-singing outfits and 
are sucking on after-dinner mints to freshen their voices as they await the 
arrival of their guest.  Tim and Rowan are wearing Victorian suits with 
fur-collared greatcoats and white satin stocks with black pearl stickpins; 
Dix has on a floor-length dark green velvet gown and a cashmere paisley 
shawl.  They all look as if they have just stepped off a nostalgic Christmas 
card.

Outside the house they hear the sound of an automobile horn playing a tune...

Dix: "...'The Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B.'  Come on fellas, we can 
slip out the back way and pretend that none of this is happening!"

Tim lays a restraining hand on Dix's arm.  Rowan takes the rum decanter off 
the table, uncorks it and downs a large gulp.

Our friends stand speechless at the sight that greets their eyes outside:  a 
maroon stretch limousine with gold door handles and grill, festooned with 
holly garlands and mistletoe wreaths.

Dix [sotto voce:]  "All it needs are eight tiny reindeer draped along the 
fenders..."

Rowan: "Is...is that Miss M.?"

The car's passenger has disembarked and scurries toward them, taking mincing 
steps in her stiletto-heeled red velvet boots trimmed in white fake fur.  The 
rest of her costume consists of a snug-fitting red-sequined dress with a 
plunging neckline also edged in white fake fur and a red-sequined Santa hat.  
With white fake fur pompon.

Bette [tons of cheer and bonhomie:]  "Well, here I am,--Mrs. Santa in the 
flesh!  

Rowan opens his mouth, thinks better of what he was about to say, and starts 
to hum, "We Three  Kings of Orient Are."

Tim [smiling in an Oh-my-God sort of way:]  "Aah, so glad you could make it.  
Aren't you going to be ummm, chilly without a wrap or something?"

Dix: "Throw a blanket over her and let's get going."

Bette ignores Dix, gives Rowan an approving up-and-down glance, licking her 
lips, then moves in next to Tim and thrusts a roll of papers into his hand.

Bette [cooing:] "Before we start, let's just go into the house and quickly 
run through a few of these numbers so we'll all feel confident about them."

Dix doesn't say a word, just gives Tim a long meaningful look.  Rowan 
hurriedly takes her arm and unclenches her fist and they all troop indoors.

Bette:  "Oh, good,--you have a piano."  She seats herself on the bench and 
places a song sheet on the music rack.  "Now, this first one will set the 
mood,--joy, jollity and just a touch of holiday spice..."

Bette [playing a boogie accompaniment:]  "'He is that reindeer-flyin' pilot 
with a sleigh fulla toys...a-'comin down the chimney for the good girls an' 
boys...his name was Jolly Ol' Saint Nick...an' every Christmas night he does 
his magical trick...so hang your stockings up and wait...and be sure there 
ain't no fire in that fireplace grate..."

Dix goes over to the table where Rowan is standing and without a word he 
hands her the decanter.  She pulls the cork with her teeth, nearly biting it 
in half, and takes a quick gulp.

Dix [quietly:]  "Let's kill her.  We can make it look like an accident.  Some 
of these hills are pretty steep and one tiny shove and she'd roll all the way 
to San Pedro."

Rowan: "Fingerprints."

Dix: "I was thinking of using my foot..."

Tim is turning the pages of Bette's music for her.  His fingers freeze in 
disbelief at her next musical selection.

Bette: "'All I want for Christmas is A. T. & T....Simplicity...Works best for 
me...And shares in Standard Oil beneath my Christmas tree...would make a very 
merry Christmas..."

Bette:  "And since there's four of us, how's about doing some barbershop 
harmony?  Tim as baritone, what's-her-name as whatever it is she does, and 
you, tall, dark an' yummy, could sing bass.  I'll take the soprano."

Rowan:  "It will be news to my acquaintances that I would sing bass.  I've 
always been a tenor."

Tim: "And as Dix sings alto, I don't think this will work."

Bette:  "Oh, well, I'll just have to do my solo then.  'Santa, Baby, you're 
the man on my mind, I find...got my shopping list signed, Santa Baby, so pile 
those presents under the tree, for me..."

   *               *                   *

A couple of hours later our friends are wending their seasonal way through 
the upper reaches of West L.A in hopes of spreading Christmas cheer.  But all 
is not going too well...

Bett [who has fallen behind, thanks to non-sensible footwear:]  "You'd (pant) 
think that those people would've at least asked us in for a drink..."

Dix:  "Let's count ourselves lucky that they didn't dump boiling oil all over 
us."

Tim [soothingly:]  "Oh, perhaps they were just caught off guard by hearing 
'Good King Wenceslaus' rendered as Gangsta-Rap."

Rowan: "Speaking of rending, did you notice the expression on that 
homeowner's face as he unleashed the Doberman and screamed, 'Kill!!'?  Not at 
all in the holiday mood, I fear."

Dix: "It was lucky that Baldrick tagged along after all.  He seems to have a 
way with highstrung animals."

Rowan: "He IS an animal and stringing him up is Number One on my Christmas 
wish list."  (Turning to Baldrick, who is still tagging along)  "And if I may 
inquire, Balders, why ARE you here and not at the North Pole?  I distinctly 
told you as I nailed the crate closed that you were to count Santa's reindeer 
and report back.  I've always had my doubts about that Randolph interloper 
with the rosy proboscis."

Baldrick: "Did you know you forgot to make air holes in that box, my lord?"

Rowan: "Not 'forgot.'  Cunningly planned.  And answer my question.  When I 
waved goodbye to the plane at the Burbank Airport, I expected not to have to 
see you again for a decent interval.  Years, hopefully."

Baldrick: "The plane never went.  The driver come back into the baggage 
compartment 'cause there was some kind of smell that made all the passengers 
turn green and the stewardettes were fainting and he wanted to see what it 
was...so he dumped my crate in the toxic waste bin an' I chewed my way out..."

Rowan: "Oh, damn."

Bette has come up to the group and stands looking down at the lights of Los 
Angeles far, far below.

Bette: "Looks just like Tiffany's counter, huh?  Like you could almost reach 
out an' touch them..."

Dix has sidled over to a position close behind her, but Tim puts his arm 
around Dix's waist and pulls her a few feet away.

Tim: "Naughty, naughty."

Dix: "It was just a passing thought."

Bette: "Ya know, tonight kind of takes me back to all those road shows I did 
in the '80's,--I musta done thirteen one-nighters in a row in just one month."

Tim:  "Odd coincidence,--so did I, in the late '70's."

Rowan knows what Dix is about to say, so he quickly breaks in with a Peter 
Lorre impression:  "That's verry funny...You've got thirteen; she's got 
thirteen.  We travel all ofer der vorld und the old lady stays right here und 
does chust as good...Ooops."

Bette:  "'Old?'  Say, does THIS look old?!"  She puts her hands on her hips 
and strikes a pose.  "Do THESE look old?!"  

Baldrick: "Oooo, what big turnips..."


            *                *             *


As our friends wearily press on, having little breath except for climbing, 
Bette is steadily losing ground.

Bette [sitting down on the curbstone:]  "Listen,- (gasp) this is nuts! Who'd 
live up here except mountain goats?  Let's (pant) go back down to 
civilization!"

Tim [reasonably:]  "Not a good idea.  That Doberman and his friends, the two 
pit bulls, are probably waiting for us with bated breath.  And fangs."

Dix: "True.  Besides, there's a,-castle on the upper ridge of this canyon and 
the owners haven't yet heard us sing."

Rowan: "Let's keep it that way and possibly we can get some refreshments 
there."

Bette [mutinously:] "My Guccis an' me aren't goin' one more step.  If you 
want me along, get me some transportation!"

Dix's eyes are aglow.  "Why don't you just wait for us right here and we'll 
probably send back help?..."

Rowan:  "Baldrick.  Do your reindeer imitation."

Baldrick gets down on all fours and Tim and Rowan help Bette to a sidesaddle 
position on his back.  Bette clutches wildly at Baldrick's collar and ears as 
she struggles to adjust her seat.

Dix: "She looks just like 'Legga, the Human Spider."'

Rowan: "Pardon?"

Dix: "Oh, nothing.  A sideshow attraction--a woman with four legs and six 
arms in 'The Riddle of the Travelling Skull.'"

Tim: "Tell me you're making that up."

Dix: "No, really.  It's a Harry Stephen Keeler book I read recently.  And the 
resemblance is amazing."
 
           *                  *                 *   

Our tired trio (plus one and a half) finally stumbles into the courtyard of a 
pink stucco California-style medieval castle, its forecourt lighted by two 
80-foot fully-decorated Christmas trees.

Tim [to Bette:]  "It's the former Cecil B deMille mansion.  The new owners, 
the Chandlers, are always pleased to see carollers as they live in such a 
remote area."

Bette: "DRACULA didn't live in such a remote area!"  She struggles to 
dismount from her swaybacked steed who straightens up to his full five feet, 
smiling cheerfully.

Baldrick:  "If you hadn't of had those spurs I couldn't of made that last 
hill, Miss." (rubbing his ribs tenderly)

Bette: "Say, you're kinda cute, li'l feller.  What say we go for a drink 
later?"

Rowan rolls his eyes.

Tim: "Uh, Bette, perhaps you should save your voice after all this 
exertion,--we'll do one number alone this time."

Without waiting for an answer, Tim, Dix and Rowan start to sing:

"We Wish You a Merry Christmas..."

...but before they can complete that thought, the mansion door opens wide to 
reveal,--

Dix: "Cap'n Martha!!"

             *                *               *

Unbeknownst to our little band of carolers, the Chandlers who own the large 
hillside mansion are spending the holidays out of town...and have kindly 
allowed Cap'n Martha and about five hundred Timbos to hold their Christmas 
party there...

As Tim, Dix and Rowan, closely followed by Bette and Baldrick enter, the 
first things to greet their eyes are the decorations:  all along the walls of 
the huge ballroom giant red stockings are hanging up.  And from each stocking 
rises the head of a Timbo in a holiday mood...

Dix: "Tell me I'm dreaming."

Tim: "What an imaginative concept.  Naturally they wouldn't all fit under the 
tree..."

Rowan: "Oh, look.  They're climbing out of the stockings and heading this 
way.  I believe that we're doomed."

Not all of the Timbos are forming part of the decor; several others dressed 
as Santa's elves are busily carrying trays of refreshments, hanging up 
bunches of mistletoe and otherwise making themselves useful.  Tim manages to 
attract the attention of a drink-bearing elf (Brian) and our friends have a 
much-needed snort.

Cap'n Martha [holding up her gavel for attention:]  "No crowding, now, and 
perhaps Tim would be so kind as to favor us with a carol."

Linda F. [clutching a basket full of mistletoe, gleam in her eye:] "Well, 
that's a start."

Christine Z. "Who took the mistletoe I set down over here?"

Betty T. "Beats me."

Tim [backed into a corner near the fireplace:] "Umm, any requests?"  (which 
appears to have been the wrong way to phrase it as the Timbos begin squealing 
various non-musical suggestions)  "I meant SONGS!!"

Dix [to Rowan:]  "Start looking for an escape route quick,--or this could 
turn into another incident like the one at the Pavilion."

Rowan beckons to Baldrick and whispers in his ear.  Baldrick grins 
moronically (redundant) and slips away.  Bette in the meantime is tapping one 
foot ominously.

Bette:  "Say...who are all these bimbos anyway?"

Christine: "That's 'Timbos' with a 'T', if you don't mind.  Here, have a 
Christmas cookie!" (stuffing an iced Christmas tree into the Divine One's 
open mouth)

Dix spots Andrea stealthily approaching Tim from behind the giant Christmas 
tree that fills one corner of the room and goes to head her off.

Dix: "Wie gehts, fraulein?  I thought we had shipped you back to Berlin."

Andrea: "Es geht mir gut,--out of meine way, please." (she makes a grab for 
Tim)

Dix pulls a long loop of Christmas garland from the tree and in two seconds 
Andrea is one of the decorations.  Dix and Tim stand at bay as the 
encroaching tide of Timbos draws ever closer...

Suddenly out on the lawn there arises a clatter and the ring of voices 
singing a carol.

Cap'n Martha looks out of the window:  "Mel Gibson!  And Harrison Ford!"  

As the crowd is momentarily distracted, Tim and Dix race for the great 
staircase leading to the second floor, Rowan close behind them.  Bette, who 
didn't get out of the way in time, lies in an indignant heap in the wake of a 
couple of dozen stampeding Timbos fighting for a look out of that window...

Dix: "Quick,--I know this house!  We can get out onto the roof and signal for 
help!"

Rowan: "And maybe a low-flying helicopter will come to our aid?"

Tim pushes open the attic trapdoor and crosses to a small door that leads out 
onto the gallery surrounding the mansion's top story.

A sound of jingling greets our friends...and the clattering noise of,--

Dix: "I don't believe it."

Rowan: "I KNEW he had only EIGHT reindeer!!"

Tim [to the jolly driver of the overloaded sleigh:]  "I know that we haven't 
always been too terribly good this year, but we could certainly use a lift..."

       *                   *                  *

Later, safely back at Tim's home our friends look ruefully at the three sacks 
of coal near Tim's fireplace.  

Tim: "It's true, then.  Nothing but coal for naughty boys and girls."

Rowan: "Not...entirely.  Look behind the sacks.  Isn't that a Christmas 
present?"

Rowan pulls out a large brightly-wrapped package and tears off the paper.

Rowan: "A Flexible Flyer sled!!  With stainless steel runners...when I was 
eight years old, I would have sold both my brothers for this baby..."

Tim is opening a somewhat smaller but heavy package...

Tim: "An Oscar!!  With my name on it!!  Only the date is blank..." (he hugs 
it affectionately)

Dix has a tiny package in her hands.  It is almost weightless and she 
carefully opens it...and pulls out a shimmering length of silk that blushes 
into all colors of the rainbow.

Tim:  "A scarf?  It glows...like the Northern Lights."

Rowan:  "There's something written on it in letters of gold; look, hold it up 
to the light."

Dix:  "'Peace...On....Earth.'"

Rowan: "And Amen to that."

Tim: "Amen.  God bless us, every one."

And a very Happy Holiday to all of you from all of us.

Love, 
Dix

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