Free The Secret Life of Mrs. Claus by Carly Alexander Page A

orientation I didn’t envision hours spent singing “Getting to Know You.”
    Well, at least I was getting paid for this.
    “Sorry.” ZZ grinned. “I call her Rocky because she was a Rockette at Radio City. Danced in the Christmas show last year. She’ll be our Mrs. Claus.” He folded his arms over his belly. Today he’d traded the leathers in for jeans with red felt suspenders, and with his beard looking a little better groomed, white and fluffy, he did resemble St. Nick. “Want to fill in the blanks, Olivia?”
    “You want the standard setup? I’m a single white female. I like Broadway musicals and moonlit walks on the beach. My favorite color is blue and I’m a Taurus, so don’t get in my way, okay?” I shrugged. “Next?”
    “Thanks, Olivia. Let’s move right along…”
    Personally, I wanted to move right out of this windowless conference room in the Rossman’s building and scope out the activity in the rest of the store, where scores of employees were scrambling faster than these elves, mounting shelves, lighting up glass display counters, wheeling in racks of merchandise. As I’d peeked in over the two-story main sales floor, I was amazed at how much of a department store is portable; it’s all in the merchandise. I wanted to be a part of the action out there, not cooped up in here discussing the dreams and goals of strangers.
    Besides, as seasonal employees, we got a 10 percent discount, and I was dying to be the first to rifle through a pile of cashmere sweaters. Ka-ching!
    “I’d like to seed one more activity before we break for lunch.” ZZ clasped his hands together and pressed his fingertips to his lips. “When we head over to our ‘space’ this afternoon, you’ll see that there’s a large gas fireplace with a mantelpiece perfect for hanging stockings. Each of you will hang one stocking this afternoon, and inside you will place your ultimate Christmas wish written on a piece of paper.”
    “Right, Poppy.” Carlos, the youngest Santa, a short, dark-haired Latino man stretched out his legs, his untied construction boots dangling. “And you’re going to make our wish come true? I can save you some time if you just deliver a Porsche to me now.”
    “Ah ah ah! Don’t speak too soon.” ZZ held up a finger. “You ask for a car, but after the initial thrill, will a car make you happy? Will it change your daily life for the better? Would a Porsche help you attain personal fulfillment?”
    The elf shrugged. “I could handle it.”
    “Well, think bigger, Carlos. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t wish for a Porsche. But don’t rule out other wishes that might surpass a hot car. Maybe you want to be the top elf. Maybe you’d like to get a long-term job offer from Rossman’s after Christmas. Maybe you’d like to buy a dream home or create a patent that brings in millions of dollars before the end of the year.”
    Carlos laughed. “Yeah, sure, I’ll take one of each.”
    “Ah, but you only get to put one wish in the stocking, so don’t limit yourself. There are no limits.”
    Except to my patience.
    “Are we done yet?” I checked my watch, not wanting to keep Kate waiting. We were meeting for lunch at Phillips and I had a feeling that ZZ was one of those long talkers who ran all over everyone else’s time. “Woo, look at the time.”
    “Yes, you can go, but think about your wish!” he admonished us.
    I flew out of there faster than Santa’s sleigh, my hair flying wildly in the wind. Clicking into my New York pace, I rushed over a quaint walking bridge and paving stones, around ambling groups of tourists, to the Harbor Pavilions. Kate had already snagged a table, and we decided to do cafeteria style, two crab-cake sandwiches and Diet Cokes. I launched into complaints over the morning training session, tossing in a few jokes about ZZ and comparing the selection of elves to escapees from Munchkinland, but Kate wasn’t laughing.
    “Something wrong?” I asked.
    She blinked.