A Lot Like Christmas: Stories

by Connie Willis

  The woman with the wrapping-paper rolls peered over the cubicle. “Have you got a tape dispenser?”

  Fred shook his head.

  “How about a stapler?”

  Fred handed her his stapler, and she left.

  “Well,” Lauren said when she was sure the woman was gone, “do you think I’m having a nervous breakdown?”

  “That depends,” he said.

  “On what?”

  “On whether there’s really a tree growing out of your kitchen floor. You said he got angry because your Christmas cards weren’t on recycled paper. Do you think he’s dangerous?”

  “I don’t know. He says he’s here to give me whatever I want for Christmas. Except a fur coat. He’s opposed to the killing of endangered species.”

  “A spirit who’s an animal-rights activist!” Fred said delightedly. “Where did your sister get him from?”

  “The astral plane,” Lauren said. “She was trance-channeling or something. I don’t care where he came from. I just want to get rid of him before he decides my Christmas presents aren’t recyclable, too.”

  “Okay,” he said, hitting a key on the computer. The screen lit up. “The first thing we need to do is find out what he is and how he got here. I want you to call your sister. Maybe she knows some New Age spell for getting rid of the spirit.” He began to type rapidly. “I’ll get on the Net and see if I can find someone who knows something about magic.” He swiveled around to face her. “You’re sure you want to get rid of him?”

  “I have a tree growing out of my kitchen floor!”

  “But what if he’s telling the truth? What if he really can get you what you want for Christmas?”

  “What I wanted was to mail my Christmas cards, which are now shedding needles on the kitchen tile. Who knows what he’ll do next?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Listen, whether he’s dangerous or not, I think I should go home with you after work, in case he shows up again, but I’ve got a PMS meeting for the office party—”

  “That’s okay. He’s an animal-rights activist. He’s not dangerous.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily follow,” Fred said. “I’ll come over as soon as my meeting’s over, and meanwhile I’ll check the Net. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. She started out of the cubicle and then stopped. “I really appreciate your believing me, or at least not saying you don’t believe me.”

  He smiled at her. “I don’t have any choice. You’re the only other person in the world who likes Miracle on 34th Street better than It’s a Wonderful Life. And Fred Gailey believed Macy’s Santa Claus was really Santa Claus, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I don’t think this guy is Santa Claus. He was wearing Birkenstocks.”

  “I’ll meet you at your front door,” he said. He sat down at the computer and began typing.

  Lauren went out through the maze of cubicles and into the hall.

  “There you are!” Scott said. “I’ve been looking for you all over.” He smiled meltingly. “I’m in charge of buying gifts for the office party, and I need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “Yeah. Picking them out. I hoped maybe I could talk you into going shopping with me after work tonight.”

  “Tonight?” she said. “I can’t. I’ve got—” A Christmas tree growing in my kitchen. “Could we do it tomorrow after work?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got a date. What about later on tonight? The stores are open till nine. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to do the shopping, and then we could go have a late supper somewhere. What say I pick you up at your apartment at six-thirty?”

  And have the spirit lying on the couch, drinking Evian water and watching TV? “I can’t,” she said regretfully.

  Even his frown was cute. “Oh, well,” he said, and shrugged. “Too bad. I guess I’ll have to get somebody else.” He gave her another adorable smile and went off down the hall to ask somebody else.

  I hate you, Spirit of Christmas Present, Lauren thought, standing there watching Scott’s handsome back recede. You’d better not be there when I get home.

  A woman came down the hall, carrying a basket of candy canes. “Compliments of the Personnel Morale Special Committee,” she said, offering one to Lauren. “You look like you could use a little Christmas spirit.”

  “No, thanks, I’ve already got one,” Lauren said.

  The door to her apartment was locked, which didn’t mean much, since the chain and the deadbolt had both been on when he got in before. But he wasn’t in the living room, and the TV was off.

  He had been there, though. There was an empty Evian water bottle on the coffee table. She picked it up and took it into the kitchen. The tree was still there, too. She pushed one of the branches aside so she could get to the wastebasket and threw the bottle away.

  “Don’t you know plastic bottles are nonbiodegradable?” the spirit said. He was standing on the other side of the tree, hanging things on it. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a “Save the Rain Forest” T-shirt, and had a red bandanna tied around his head. “You should recycle your bottles.”

  “It’s your bottle,” Lauren said. “What are you doing here, Spirit?”

  “Chris,” he corrected her. “These are organic ornaments,” he said. He held one of the brown things out to her. “Handmade by the Yanomamo Indians. Each one is made of natural by-products found in the Brazilian rain forest.” He hung the brown thing on the tree. “Have you decided what you want for Christmas?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I want you to go away.”

  He looked surprised. “I can’t do that. Not until I give you your heart’s desire.”

  “That is my heart’s desire. I want you to go away and take this tree and your Yanomamo ornaments with you.”

  “You know the biggest problem I have as the Spirit of Christmas Present?” he said. He reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulled out a brown garland of what looked like coffee beans. “My biggest problem is that people don’t know what they want.”

  “I know what I want,” Lauren said. “I don’t want to have to write my Christmas cards all over again—”

  “You didn’t write them,” he said, draping the garland over the branches. “They were printed. Do you know that the inks used on those cards contain harmful chemicals?”

  “I don’t want to be lectured on environmental issues, I don’t want to have to fight my way through a forest to get to the refrigerator, and I don’t want to have to turn down dates because I have a spirit in my apartment. I want a nice, quiet Christmas with no hassles. I want to exchange a few presents with my friends and go to the office Christmas party and…” And dazzle Scott Buckley in my off-the-shoulder black dress, she thought, but she decided she’d better not say that. The spirit might decide Scott’s clothes weren’t made of natural fibers or something and turn him into a Yanomamo Indian.

  “…and have a nice, quiet Christmas,” she finished lamely.

  “Take It’s a Wonderful Life,” the spirit said, squinting at the tree. “I watched it this afternoon while you were at work. Jimmy Stewart didn’t know what he wanted.”

  He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a crooked star made of Brazil nuts and twine. “He thought he wanted to go to college and travel and get rich, but what he really wanted was right there in front of him the whole time.”

  He did something, and the top of the tree lopped over in front of him. He tied the star on with the twine, and did something else. The tree straightened up. “You only think you want me to leave,” he said.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “You’re right,” Lauren said. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay right there.” She ran into the living room.

  The spirit followed her into the living room. “Luckily, being a spirit, I know what you really want,” he said, and disappeared.

  She opened the door to Fred. “He was just here,” she said. “He disappeared when I open
ed the door, which is what all the crazies say, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Fred said. “Or else, ‘He’s right there. Can’t you see him?’ ” He looked curiously around the room. “Where was he?”

  “In the kitchen,” she said, shutting the door. “Decorating a tree which probably isn’t there, either.” She led him into the kitchen.

  The tree was still there, and there were large brownish cards stuck all over it.

  “You really do have a tree growing in your kitchen,” Fred said, squatting down to look at the roots. “I wonder if the people downstairs have roots sticking out of their ceiling.” He stood up. “What are these?” he said, pointing at the brownish cards.

  “Christmas cards.” She pulled one off. “I told him I wanted mine back.” She read the card aloud. “ ‘In the time it takes you to read this Christmas card, eighty-two harp seals will have been clubbed to death for their fur.’ ” She opened it up. “ ‘Happy Holidays.’ ”

  “Cheery,” Fred said. He took the card from her and turned it over. “ ‘This card is printed on recycled paper with vegetable inks and can be safely used as compost.’ ”

  “Did anyone on the Net know how to club a spirit to death?” she asked.

  “No. Didn’t your sister have any ideas?”

  “She didn’t know how she got him in the first place. She and her Maharishi were channeling an Egyptian nobleman and he suddenly appeared, wearing a ‘Save the Dolphins’ T-shirt. I got the idea the Maharishi was as surprised as she was.” She sat down at the kitchen table. “I tried to get him to go away this afternoon, but he said he has to give me my heart’s desire first.” She looked up at Fred, who was cautiously sniffing one of the organic ornaments. “Didn’t you find out anything on the Net?”

  “I found out there are a lot of loonies with computers. What are these?”

  “By-products of the Brazilian rain forest.” She stood up. “I told him my heart’s desire was for him to leave, and he said I didn’t know what I really wanted.”

  “Which is what?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I went into the living room to answer the door, and he said that luckily he knew what I wanted because he was a spirit, and I told him to stay right where he was, and he disappeared.”

  “Show me,” he said.

  She took him into the living room and pointed at where he’d been standing, and Fred squatted down again and peered at the carpet.

  “How does he disappear?”

  “I don’t know. He just…isn’t there.”

  Fred stood up. “Has he changed anything else? Besides the tree?”

  “Not that I know of. He turned the TV on without the remote,” she said, looking around the room. The shopping bags were still on the coffee table. She looked through them and pulled out the video. “Here. I’m your Secret Santa. I’m not supposed to give it to you till Christmas Eve, but maybe you’d better take it before he turns it into a snowy owl or something.”

  She handed it to him. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  He unwrapped it. “Oh,” he said without enthusiasm. “Thanks.”

  “I remember last year at the party we talked about it, and I was afraid you might already have a copy. You don’t, do you?”

  “No,” he said, still in that flat voice.

  “Oh, good. I had a hard time finding it. You were right when you said we were the only two people in the world who liked Miracle on 34th Street. Everybody else I know thinks It’s a Wonderful Life is—”

  “You bought me Miracle on 34th Street?” he said, frowning.

  “It’s the original black-and-white version. I hate those colorized things, don’t you? Everyone has gray teeth.”

  “Lauren.” He held the box out to her so she could read the front. “I think your friend’s been fixing things again.”

  She took the box from him. On the cover was a picture of Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed dancing the Charleston.

  “Oh, no! That little rat!” she said. “He must have changed it when he was looking at it. He told me It’s a Wonderful Life was his favorite movie.”

  “Et tu, Brute?” Fred said, shaking his head.

  “Do you suppose he changed all my other Christmas presents?”

  “We’d better check.”

  “If he has…” she said, darting into the kitchen. She dropped to her knees and started rummaging through them.

  “Do you think they look the same?” Fred asked, squatting down beside her.

  “Your present looked the same.” She grabbed a package wrapped in red-and-gold paper and began feeling it. “Evie’s present is okay, I think.”

  “What is it?”

  “A stapler. She’s always losing hers. I put her name on it in Magic Marker.” She handed it to him to feel.

  “It feels like a stapler, all right,” he said.

  “I think we’d better open it and make sure.”

  Fred tore off the paper. “It’s still a stapler,” he said, looking at it. “What a great idea for a Christmas present! Everybody in Documentation’s always losing their staplers. I think PMS steals them to use on their Christmas memos.” He handed it back to her. “Now you’ll have to wrap it again.”

  “That’s okay,” Lauren said. “At least it wasn’t a Yanomamo ornament.”

  “But it might be any minute,” Fred said, straightening up. “There’s no telling what he might take a notion to transform next. I think you’d better call your sister again, and ask her to ask the Maharishi if he knows how to send spirits back to the astral plane, and I’ll go see what I can find out about exorcism.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said, following him to the door. “Don’t take the videotape with you. Maybe I can get him to change it back.”

  “Maybe,” Fred said, frowning. “You’re sure he said he was here to give you your heart’s desire?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then why would he change my videotape?” he said thoughtfully. “It’s too bad your sister couldn’t have conjured up a nice, straightforward spirit.”

  “Like Santa Claus,” Lauren said.

  Her sister wasn’t home. Lauren tried her off and on all evening, and when she finally got her, she couldn’t talk. “The Maharishi and I are going to Barbados—they’re having a harmonic divergence there on Christmas Eve. So you need to send my Christmas present to Barbados,” she said, and hung up.

  “I don’t even have her Christmas present bought yet,” Lauren said to the couch, “and it’s all your fault.”

  She went into the kitchen and glared at the tree. “I don’t even dare go shopping because you might turn the couch into a humpback whale while I’m gone,” she said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth.

  She peered cautiously into the living room and then made a careful circuit of the whole apartment, looking for endangered species. There were no signs of any, and no sign of the spirit. She went back into the living room and turned on the TV. Jimmy Stewart was dancing the Charleston with Donna Reed. She picked up the remote and hit the channel button. Now Jimmy Stewart was singing “Buffalo Gals, Won’t You Come Out Tonight?”

  She hit the automatic channel changer. Jimmy Stewart was on every channel except one. The Ghost of Christmas Present was on that one, telling Scrooge to change his ways. She watched the rest of A Christmas Carol. When it reached the part where the Cratchits were sitting down to their Christmas dinner, she remembered she hadn’t had any supper and went into the kitchen.

  The tree was completely blocking the cupboards, but by mightily pushing several branches aside she was able to get to the refrigerator. The eggnog was gone. So were the Stouffer’s frozen entrées. The only thing in the refrigerator was a half-empty bottle of Evian water.

  She shoved her way out of the kitchen and sat back down on the couch. Fred had told her to call if anything happened, but it was after eleven o’clock, and she had a feeling the eggnog had been gone for some time.

  A Christmas Carol was over, and the opening credits of
the next movie were starting. “Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. Starring Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.”

  She must have fallen asleep. When she woke up, Miracle on 34th Street was on, and the store manager was giving Edmund Gwenn as Macy’s Santa Claus a list of toys he was supposed to push if Macy’s didn’t have what the children asked Santa for.

  “Finally,” Lauren said, watching Edmund Gwenn tear the list into pieces, “something good to watch,” and promptly fell asleep. When she woke up again, John Payne as Fred Gailey was kissing Doris, a.k.a. Maureen O’Hara, and someone was knocking on the door.

  I don’t remember anyone knocking on the door, she thought groggily. Fred told Doris how he’d convinced the State of New York that Edmund Gwenn was Santa Claus, and then they both stared disbelievingly at a cane standing in the corner. “The End” came on the screen.

  The knocking continued.

  “Oh,” Lauren said, and answered the door.

  It was Fred, carrying a McDonald’s sack.

  “What time is it?” Lauren said, blinking at him.

  “Seven o’clock. I brought you an Egg McMuffin and some orange juice.”

  “Oh, you wonderful person!” she said. She grabbed the sack and took it over to the coffee table. “You don’t know what he did.” She reached into the sack and pulled out the sandwich. “He transformed the food in my refrigerator into Evian water.”

  He was looking curiously at her. “Didn’t you go to bed last night? He didn’t come back, did he?”

  “No. I waited for him, and I guess I fell asleep.” She took a huge bite of the sandwich.

  Fred sat down beside her. “What’s that?” He pointed to a pile of dollar bills on the coffee table.

  “I don’t know,” Lauren said.

  Fred picked up the bills. Under them was a handful of change and a piece of pink paper. “ ‘Returned three boxes Christmas cards for refund,’ ” Lauren said, reading it. “ ‘$38.18.’ ”