Veiled Threat

by Alice Loweecey

  Right behind her came a horned demon with brown fur and a three-foot long ribbon tongue. Giulia stared. The woman in the costume laughed.

  “I’m the Krampus and she’s Saint Nicholas. I beat bad children with my birch switch”—she flicked the branches tied to her belt—“while Saint Nick gives the good children treats. We’re the perfect pair.”

  “It’s a great costume. I’ve never heard of that Saint Nicholas story.”

  “Thanks.” The Krampus flipped the tongue over her shoulder and set out a silver tray with a tall white candle and two disposable lighters on it.

  Giulia emptied the four wastebaskets in the room, moving them against the far wall. Barbara went out through the door leading to the main lobby. Saint Nick handed Maryjane a wrinkled lump of red plastic. “Blow, please. Thanks. No worries about the old body-fluid exchange risk. Diane and I are proudly disease-free.” She tossed a brown plastic lump at Giulia and opened a valve on a similar lump. She took a deep breath and blew air into it.

  Giulia caught a momentary look of panic on Maryjane’s face before she and the desk clerk found the valves on their plastic bundles. In a few minutes they both held reindeer as Saint Nick finished inflating a sleigh. A few minutes later two more reindeer and a Santa with a sack of toys completed the display.

  “Perfect,” the Krampus said. “Tessie will cry when she sees them; I know she will.” She turned to Giulia and Maryjane. “We dug them out of her attic. She hasn’t put them out since her mom died, but she grew up with these and we decided it’s time to resurrect the tradition. Good thing we tested them before today. The last thing we need is a reindeer deflating during the ceremony.”

  “Thanks for helping,” Saint Nick said. “Di, do you have the wassail cups?”

  Maryjane returned to the main lobby. Two elves and the Ghost of Christmas Past came into the room from the kitchen doorway following the sous chef wheeling a cart. Giulia caught the aroma of hot, fragrant wine as she left with the trash bags. Monica waylaid her at the giant blue garbage tote.

  “Regina, can you help me unload some boxes? We want to stock the adult part of the gift shop for the wedding visitors.”

  Again called away from a potential sous chef encounter. “Sure.”

  A Virgin Mary with a sleeping, haloed Baby Jesus in a child carrier set down a video camera case. Giulia cooed at the baby before she left. Katie, Katie, Katie. Don’t forget why you’re here, Falcone.

  Together they carried three-high stacks of boxes from a basement storage room to the gift shop. Monica inserted a small key into the T-shirt shelf and it swung away to reveal another set of shelves.

  Giulia camouflaged her reaction by bending down and cutting open a box. Oh, my. Cosmo never prepared me for this. Drat, I can feel the heat in my cheeks. She’s going to think I’m a prude. Then again …

  “I’ll take the silk ties first,” Monica said. “Ten pairs should do it.”

  Giulia handed her wide strips of silk in several colors; it only took her half a minute to twig to their use.

  “The next box should be vibrators. There’s an assortment … let’s see. We’re missing the ridged ones, the water-filled ones … Here, just hand me the box and I’ll fill in the missing spaces on this shelf. Would you hang up some teddies, please? The padded hangers should be with them in the box.”

  “These are beautiful.” It was the only honest remark she could make.

  “Aren’t they? Barbara has an eye for good lingerie. Fortunately, my husband’s never asked to see me in one. I’d look like a sausage tied too tight around the middle.”

  As Giulia unfolded a shell-pink garment trimmed with white lace, she pictured herself in it for a fleeting instant. Her cheeks flamed up again. She kept her back to Monica and concentrated on the mechanics of hanging the lacy nothings to their best advantage.

  “We’ve got room for more tubes of lotion.” Monica opened the last box and set up three rows of five-inch tubes labeled Ooh-La-la, Hot Fantasy, and Kiss Me.

  Maryjane poked her head into the gift shop, phone in hand. “Amaryllis 332 needs more towels. Can Regina go?”

  Monica nodded. “Sure. I’ll take the boxes back into storage.”

  Giulia had never been so glad to run a tedious errand.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  GIULIA PEEKED INTO THE lounge half an hour later, hoping to catch the exchange of vows.

  A Justice of the Peace dressed like the Ghost of Christmas Present stood in front of the Christmas tree. He looked at least seventy years old, but carried the costume well. The false chestpiece helped. Mrs. Claus on his right held the hands of Cindy-Lou Who on his left. Judging from the backs of guests’ heads, representatives from classic Christmas television specials and the works of Dickens, plus various deities and multiple Father Christmases, had accepted invitations to this wedding.

  Saint Nicholas detached one of the rings from the satin pillow. Mrs. Claus took it and held it against the tip of Cindy-Lou Who’s finger. “The Christmas Waltz” played through the sound system.

  Mrs. Claus began, “With this ring, I thee wed …”

  A green velvet Father Christmas at the end of the second row leapt out of his chair. He reached Mrs. Claus in one stride and ripped the ring out of her fingers. “Thieving bitch!”

  He cold-cocked her. She fell backward onto one of the armchairs and slid to the floor.

  Someone flipped the world’s slow-motion switch.

  Giulia ran past the chairs.

  Half the guests started to stand. Father Christmas grabbed Cindy-Lou Who.

  “Don’t do this! Come back to me, please, please come back to me.”

  Cindy-Lou Who struggled in his grip, trying to get her nails up to claw his face—the only part of his skin visible in the costume. “Let me go, Howard! Let me go! Angie, are you okay?”

  His voice clashed with hers like carnival barkers competing for the same audience. “She poisoned you, Tessie! You have to come back to me. We can make it right again!”

  Elves and carolers blocked Giulia’s path. Three different voices screamed for help. Half the guests tripped over each other to get to Cindy-Lou Who; the other half knocked over chairs to reach Mrs. Claus. Giulia shoved a different Father Christmas out of her way and broke through the pack. Off to her left, someone babbled directions to the Wildflower at a 9-1-1 operator. Two other voices shouted, “Give her some air!” “Lay her on the couch.”

  “Howard, let me go! Angie and I are getting married!”

  “No! Forget that bitch! You belong to me!”

  Giulia and the ski instructor reached them at the same moment. The ski instructor’s long arms reached around the costume. He clasped his hands at Father Christmas’s sternum, planted his feet, and yanked backward. Giulia slipped into the space he created and stomped Father Christmas’s felt-covered foot with her sneakered heel.

  He howled and tried to bend over in the ski instructor’s grip. The ski instructor wrenched Father Christmas around and threw him into the now-empty armchair. Cindy-Lou Who leapt to Mrs. Claus’s side.

  Barbara and Maryjane waded into the turmoil, pushing the guests back, cajoling them to sit down, straightening chairs. Giulia and the ski instructor hovered over Father Christmas. He tried to strong-arm his way out of the chair toward Cindy-Lou Who, but the ski instructor pinned his costumed arms in place. “Sit, asshole.”

  Giulia made herself into a wall between them and the couch.

  Father Christmas collapsed in the chair, weepy now. Snot ran into his false beard. “Tessie,” he kept repeating. Giulia smelled whisky on his breath.

  The chaos dwindled enough to let “Holly Jolly Christmas” be heard through the room. Giulia smiled at the ski instructor.

  He rolled his eyes. “At least it’s not ‘The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.’ ”

  Maryjane ran back into the room—Giulia didn’t recall seeing her leave—with an ampoule of smelling salts. She broke it and waved it under Mrs. Claus’s nose. Three hovering guests stepped ba
ckward, blinking. Mrs. Claus gasped and coughed and her eyes opened.

  “Angie, are you okay?” Cindy-Lou Who said.

  “I hope I broke your jaw, you bitch!” Father Christmas hiccupped.

  The ski instructor bent down till they were nose to nose. “Listen, asswipe, shut your drunken trap. Think about Christmas in jail.”

  Father Christmas glared at him. “Don’t matter. I’ll make bail. I’ll make Tessie see where she belongs.”

  The ski instructor leaned away, possibly to let the full effect of his skeptical expression sink into his prisoner. “And that’d be with you.”

  “Damn straight. Taking care of me and having my kids. What real women do.”

  Giulia laughed. The ski instructor joined in. Behind him, one of the elves relayed Father Christmas’s last remark to the Tiny Tim next to her. The game of “telephone” ran the circuit of the room and everyone was laughing, even Mrs. Claus as she held her jaw.

  Cindy-Lou Who got up from her knees and stalked over to the armchair. Giulia tried to say something calming, but stepped aside at the look on the other woman’s face. The ski instructor stepped back but stayed within arm-clamping distance.

  Father Christmas looked up at her, eyes reddened and snot crusting on his face.

  “I’m not going to hit you, Howard, because that’d be assault. I will be getting a restraining order against you first thing tomorrow.” She smiled. “Maybe not first thing. After all, this is my wedding night.”

  Father Christmas started up, but the ski instructor slammed him back into the chair, keeping his hands on the costumed shoulders this time.

  “I hope you die frustrated and alone,” Cindy-Lou Who continued, “because no woman will ever be desperate or lonely enough to come near you again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish my wedding ceremony.”

  She looked at the ski instructor. He nodded, grinning, and caught Maryjane’s eye. She ran out and a minute later brought in her husband. The two men wrestled Father Christmas out of the lounge.

  “Tessie, you bitch! You—let go of me—that’s my fiancée—Tessie—dammit—”

  Giulia heard the ski instructor say to the maintenance man as they dragged Father Christmas away, “He’s got the right idea, but not the manhood to make it happen.”

  Cindy-Lou Who and Barbara helped Mrs. Claus off the couch.

  “I’m good,” she said. “The jaw’s going to be multicolored tomorrow, but I’ll live.” She squinted at the ceiling speaker, which had moved on to “The Little Drummer Boy.” “Can we get ‘The Christmas Waltz’ back again, please?”

  “Right on it.” Barbara headed to the back office.

  Giulia and both waitresses started to replace the chairs in their original rows. The Krampus got on her hands and knees by the tree skirt. Saint Nicholas righted the candle and lighters.

  “Only a dent,” she said.

  “Found the ring,” the Krampus said.

  The music changed to the requested song.

  “All right,” the Justice of the Peace said, resuming his position in front of the tree. “Fortunately our gate-crasher didn’t spill the wassail, and I for one am in need of spirits. Ladies?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  GIULIA AND THE WAITRESSES squeezed into the doorway as the newlyweds lit the white candle together. Everyone applauded when they kissed—gently. Giulia brushed away tears, embarrassed, until one of the waitresses handed her a tissue and they ducked into the bathroom to blow their noses.

  Red and blue lights flashed into the lobby when they came out. Barbara led two uniformed policemen into the lounge.

  As Giulia ran back and forth, replenishing bathroom supplies, picking up empty wassail cups, wiping spills, she caught bits of the discussion with the police.

  “You’re welcome to a copy of my recording,” the Virgin Mary said. “The camera had the perfect view of it all.”

  “Ma’am, could you give me your contact information …”

  “About that restraining order …”

  Five minutes later, the policemen followed Barbara across the reception area. Giulia headed for the break room. Three staff members were already there.

  “You put him where?” the masseuse said to the ski instructor.

  “Face down on the bench for the Universal gym.” He swigged most of a bottle of water. “Phineas is sitting on him, figuratively speaking.”

  “I wish I’d’ve been there. I wouldn’t have just stomped on his foot.” She noticed Giulia. “Oh, hi. Why didn’t you give that moron a taste of his own medicine?”

  “I didn’t have enough room for a good swing.”

  The ski instructor laughed. “Meaning you would’ve if I’d given you a couple more feet to work with?”

  “I was tempted.” She found a box of teabags and happily avoided drinking the “coffee.”

  “You know, honey,” the ski instructor said, “the Neanderthal lifestyle appeals to me. Cavewoman in kitchen, roasting a dinosaur leg for supper, cavelings sewing mammoth-skin clothes and trapping lizards for dessert, great male hunter reclining on a nearby rock awaiting service by his fur-clad woman.”

  The masseuse’s smile became brittle. “Cavewoman barefoot and pregnant, of course?”

  “Of course.” The ski instructor’s grin faltered. “All in good fun, right, honey?”

  She leaned closer to him, but her whisper carried just like Sidney’s.

  “Rub it in again, okay? Announce to the world that your wife’s had two miscarriages and she’s going to clock her mother if the subject of kids comes up again and that she’s already wondering if you’re looking at other women who might not have fertility problems.”

  She stalked out of the break room toward the bathrooms, tears welling in her eyes.

  The ski instructor shot Giulia an apologetic look and ran after her.

  “Well.” Maryjane left her spot by the window and sat across from Giulia. “That poor thing.”

  Giulia sipped her tea. “Holiday stress does things to people. My mother used to nag my younger brother something wicked. She got three years to spoil his kids before she passed.”

  “I have three sisters and two brothers and my mother expects grandchildren from all of us.” Maryjane’s smile was less than perky. “As soon as Phineas got out of the Navy we started trying. I except her to corner Phineas soon and demand to know what’s wrong with him, since Myers women are always fertile.”

  Giulia made a pained face. “Ouch.”

  Maryjane perked up again. “I have faith that I’ll hold a baby in my arms one day.”

  The masseuse came back into the break room, eyes puffy around the edges. “Regina, you’re welcome to crush my loving husband’s instep anytime.” She slammed the phone book onto the table, sloshing Giulia’s tea and Maryjane’s coffee.

  Giulia wiped the spills. “What are you looking up?”

  “Reiki practitioners. I saw an ad for one that teaches you how to align your chi. The crystals I bought aren’t doing a thing.”

  “Penny, have you thought about prayer?” Maryjane said.

  “I worship different gods. You know that. Aha. Here she is. Lady Morrigan.” She opened her cell and dialed.

  Giulia stood. “I’d better make another check of the lounge.” She detoured into the supply closet for plastic bags first.

  The wedding party—minus one Father Christmas—had moved into the private dining room. They’d left minimal debris: mostly wassail cups and monogrammed bubble containers. The handyman was already stacking chairs. Giulia took care of the last few and rolled the folding-chair cart against the far wall. The handyman lugged the armchairs back into place.

  “Let me help with the couch,” Giulia said.

  He appraised her. “Sure you can handle it?”

  She gave him her “teacher” look. “I’ve lugged so much furniture I could open my own moving and storage business. I’ll take this end.”

  They replaced the couch and the end tables. Giulia gathered the trash.
The sleigh and reindeer she left for the maids of honor to deflate.

  “Phineas?” Maryjane called from the front desk.

  “Yeah?”

  Maryjane’s voice came nearer. “Can you jump-start a car? One of the wedding guests needs to leave.”

  “Sure. Thanks … Regina, is it? Nice to work with someone willing to help out”—he lowered his voice—“for a change. I like that in a woman.”

  Giulia stopped her jaw from dropping, but not by much.

  Maryjane came over to her, smiling, after Phineas left. “That’s a compliment, you know. Phineas is a little old-fashioned.”

  That’s putting a kind spin on it. You poor thing. She returned the smile. “Hard work builds muscles. Have to keep my girlish figure.”

  Maryjane’s smile broadened. “We need to look our best for our men. That’s one of our jobs.”

  Years of convent-trained politeness kept the smile on Giulia’s face till she escaped.

  TWENTY-SIX

  FOUR HOURS LATER, GIULIA plopped her aching feet on her coffee table and sank into the cushions. Antipasto and garlic pizza sent mouthwatering aromas through her living room; she was almost too tired to open the takeout containers.

  “I am such a slug. Six hours of cleaning shouldn’t wipe me out like this.”

  She stared at the Christmas movie on the TV. It took several minutes before she realized it was the movie-zation of that schmaltzy song “The Christmas Shoes.” Oh, no. No, no, no. No little kids buying red shoes for their dying mothers. Even in her most naïve early convent days she’d hated such blatant manipulation. She reached for the remote and almost knocked over her glass of Coke.

  “All right; sit up. Eat. Write up notes from today’s shift.”

  She speared the antipasto with one hand and clicked through channels with the other. The capicola in the antipasto helped wake her up—this takeout place used the extra-spicy kind. Twelve channels later, she found a Comedy Channel program about surviving the holiday season. She remembered to set down her Coke before every Lewis Black rant. Coke up the nose was a waste of good soda.