Ho-Ho-NOOO!

by Bill Myers

  The desk phone rang and Mr. Makeabuck grabbed it. “Speak to me!” he demanded. Next, his Bluetooth began flashing and he answered, “What’s up?” All this as he turned to Hesper and mouthed the words Fantastic! Beautiful, babe!

  Hesper rose to her feet. “Oh, goody!”

  The manager gave her a wink and continued talking into his phones.

  She blew him a kiss and headed for the door.

  “That’s . . . it?” Chad asked as he stood to join her.

  She wrapped her arm around his. “Bernie will take care of everything.”

  “Really?” Chad said. “I mean, he understands what we want, right?” He turned to Mr. Makeabuck, who gave them a thumbs-up.

  “Bernie’s a pro. He understands everything.”

  “But—”

  “Come on, I saw a photographer downstairs. We can’t let him leave without getting some pictures of me.”

  “Yeah . . . sure,” Chad said as she pulled him toward the door.

  “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Hesper said. “The most special Christmas ever!”

  “Yeah, special,” Chad repeated. But even as they entered the hallway and headed for the elevators, he was afraid Hesper Breakahart’s version of special might not be exactly the same as his.

  The good news was TJ’s second day at the department store was not as hard as her first. The bad news was (you guessed it) it was harder.

  For starters, Santa was even crankier than yesterday. There were lots of possible reasons, so it’s important we give the guy a break. I mean, maybe

  —he was just having a bad day

  —he wasn’t taking his medication

  —the FBI had just discovered he was a serial killer escaped from the local prison

  Whatever the reason, Mr. Ho-Ho-Ho-and-a-Merry-Christmas-to-All had turned into Mr. I-Hate-My-Job-and-Who-Let-In-All-These-Kids?

  When he wasn’t screaming at the children who were screaming at him or shouting at the parents who were shouting at him, he was yelling at TJ:

  “This coffee is 10 minutes old!” He spit it back into the cup. “I told you I wanted fresh!”

  “But 10 minutes is—”

  “Are you arguing with Santa?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And I clearly said 4½ packets of sugar. You gave me 5!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, don’t stand there! Get me some more and make it fresh this time!”

  “What about the children? I’m supposed to make them smile for their photos.”

  “Listen, sweetie, if Santa ain’t smilin’, no one’s smilin’. Now get me that coffee!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  So for the fourth time that afternoon, TJ ran to the employees’ lounge to fix the jolly old grump a cup of coffee.

  “What a pain in the doo-wa,” a voice said.

  She looked up to see Tuna sitting on top of the snack machine. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she poured the coffee.

  Tuna jerked his thumb toward the popcorn machine. “I came because he came.”

  “And what are you doing here?” she asked Herby, who had miniaturized himself to six inches and sat in a pile of fluffy kernels, munching away.

  Herby jerked his thumb toward Tuna. “I came because (munch-munch) he came.”

  TJ shook her head. Sometimes it did absolutely no good talking to them. She counted the sugar packets as she began dumping them into the coffee.

  “So why is this Santa dude so gur-roid?” Herby asked.

  TJ carefully measured out the last half packet. “Maybe he’s just having a rotten day,” she said.

  “Or a rotten life,” Tuna suggested.

  She stirred the coffee and started for the door. “I’m sure there’s a reason for him being so cranky.”

  Tuna shook his head. “We already checked with the FBI, and there are no escaped serial killers on the loose.”

  TJ was stepping into the hallway when she heard a faint

  which, as we all know by now, is the sound 23rd-century Swiss Army Knives make when transporting 23rd-century time travelers off snack machines and out of popcorn poppers and

  into hallways beside 21st-century girls dressed up like goofy elves.

  “If the dude is such a hothead,” Herby said, munching on his last bite of popcorn, “I say we cool him down a bit.”

  “Guys,” TJ whispered as they entered the lobby and moved through the crowd of shoppers.

  “How do you propose we do that?” Tuna asked.

  Herby answered, “Maybe he needs to visit Rudolph and all his reindeer pals.”

  “You’d send him to the North Pole?” Tuna asked.

  “That’s crazy,” TJ whispered louder.

  “She’s right. Far too extreme,” Herby agreed. “How ’bout Alaska?”

  “Guys!” She was so loud that half a dozen customers turned toward her. She lowered her voice and continued. “You will not send him to the North Pole or to Alaska.”

  “I hear the moon is lovely this time of year,” Tuna suggested.

  TJ sighed loudly. “You will not send him anywhere. You will go home and you will let me—” She came to a stop. “Uh-oh.”

  Directly in front of them, she saw that the line for Santa had doubled in length. People were practically out in the street. And the reason? Santa had quit working and was talking on his cell phone.

  “Excuse me?” a customer called from behind TJ. “Miss . . . miss?”

  TJ turned and gasped. You’d gasp too if you discovered that behind you, in all of her weirdness (if you call wearing a dress made of 1,023 living flies whose bodies had been taped together but whose wings could still

  weird), stood the famous pop star . . . Lady Goo-Goo.

  “Are you an employee here?” the singer asked.

  TJ might have nodded—she wasn’t sure.

  “Would you mind helping my children buy their Christmas gifts?”

  TJ stood speechless.

  “I’m in a rush, so if you could help out till their nanny shows up, I’d really appreciate it.”

  TJ glanced down and saw three rather odd-looking children. The oldest appeared to be about ten. Her hair was pulled back tight and she wore a surgical mask over her face. The next oldest was about seven. He was immersed in the latest PSP game and dressed up like a Viking, complete with a hairy vest, a furry shield strapped to his arm, and a silly-looking hat with horns sprouting from the top. Finally, there was the youngest. She was about four and a bit more normal. (If you call wearing a diving mask, complete with snorkel, normal.)

  TJ looked back to Lady Goo-Goo and answered, “Um . . . er . . . uh . . .” (which wasn’t much of an improvement over when she’d been speechless).

  The pop star smiled. “Their nanny will be here in a few minutes. Just buy them whatever they want.” Before TJ could answer, the singer stooped to give all three children a group hug. “’Cause Momma wants her babies happy and she loves them soooo much.”

  TJ was about to explain that she really didn’t have time to be a babysitter, but she was interrupted by Santa, who bellowed, “Where’s my coffee?”

  She held the mug high over her head. “Right here, sir!” She started making her way through the crowd.

  “Well, hurry up!”

  “Coming.”

  “Faster, you idiot, before it gets cold!”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Herby pointing the blade of his Swiss Army Knife.

  “Herby, no!” she cried.

  Meanwhile, Santa just kept spreading his yuletide sneer. “You’re one sorry excuse for an assistant, not to mention a human be—”

  Unfortunately, he didn’t finish his sentence. It’s not that TJ enjoyed being made fun of, but anything would have been better than hearing the ever-unpopular

  (Which, of course, is the sound a Swiss Army Knife makes when transporting a very cranky Santa on a very cold trip to

  “Stay cool,” Herby called after him.

  the North
Pole.)

  CHAPTER SIX

  An Ideally Unideal Idea

  TIME TRAVEL LOG:

  Malibu, California, December 20—supplemental

  Begin Transmission

  Subject making new friends . . . and they’re even weirder than Tuna.

  End Transmission

  With Santa’s visit to the land of frozen yogurt (and frozen everything else), TJ figured she had the rest of the night off. And she might have . . . if she hadn’t looked down and seen Lady Goo-Goo’s kids waiting to be entertained.

  Actually, it wasn’t that big of a deal. What had the famous singer said? Just watch them for a few minutes till the nanny showed up? No problem. TJ could handle that.

  “Okay.” She smiled at them. “Where would you like to go?”

  The two sisters stared at her and blinked. The brother was too engrossed i his PlayStation to care.

  “How ’bout the toy department?” TJ said. “The toy department sounds good, doesn’t it?” She waited.

  More staring and more blinking.

  “All righty,” she said, finally taking charge, “to the toy department we’ll go. Follow me.” As they started through the store, she turned to the oldest, the one who wore the surgical mask and gloves. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  The girl mumbled, “Mwumber mwone.”

  TJ leaned closer. “I’m sorry; what did you say?”

  “Mwumber mwone!”

  TJ frowned. “I can’t understand you through the mask.”

  “Number One,” her brother said, still focused on his game. “Her name is Number One.”

  It was TJ’s turn to blink. “Really?”

  “What else would you name your first child?” the boy said.

  TJ thought of a thousand other possibilities but decided not to answer. At last they arrived at the toy department. She asked the girl, “And what would you like for Christmas, Number One?”

  “Mwevrything.”

  “I’m sorry?” TJ said.

  “Everything,” the brother answered.

  TJ glanced at the nearest toy display. It held about a dozen dolls. “You want all of them?” she asked in surprise. Talk about spoiled. Then again, their mother was a gazillionaire. “You want all these dolls?”

  Number One shook her head and repeated, “Mwevrything.”

  TJ turned to the brother, waiting for a translation.

  “Everything,” the boy said without looking up. “I told you she wants everything.”

  TJ arched an eyebrow as realization slowly sank in. “Everything?” she asked. “You want every toy in the department?”

  The girl nodded.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Does she sound like she’s joking?” the brother asked.

  “Well, I can’t really tell,” TJ said. “Here.” She reached for the girl’s mask. “Let me take that off so we can have a real conversa—”

  “MWAUGH!” Number One screamed as she scampered behind her brother. Quickly she reached into her pocket, pulled out a can of disinfectant, and began spraying the air. “Mwerms! Mwerms! Mwerms!”

  “What?” TJ asked.

  “She’s got a thing about germs,” her brother said.

  “Ah.” TJ suddenly felt a little sorry for her. “She has a phobia, then.”

  “Whatever,” the boy said, still playing his game. “If you ask me, she’s just crazy.”

  TJ knelt to the boy’s level. “And what’s your name?”

  “Number Too,” he said. (Not only was their mother short in the creativity department, she wasn’t such a great speller, either.)

  “And what would you like for Christmas?” TJ asked.

  The boy raised his Viking battle shield high and cried, “World domination!”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I want to take over the world!”

  “Of course you do,” TJ said as she realized his older sister might not have the market cornered in craziness. She took a nervous peek at her watch. The nanny should be here any second . . . she hoped.

  Finally she spoke to the youngest, who was still wearing the diver’s mask and snorkel. “And what’s your name, princess?”

  The girl took a step backward.

  “She’s kinda shy,” Number Too said as he returned to his game.

  “She doesn’t talk to strangers?” TJ asked.

  “She doesn’t talk to anybody,” the boy said.

  TJ nodded, feeling even more sympathy. This time for all three of them. They were cute kids, but they were sure messed up. “What’s her name?” she asked the brother.

  “Number Thuree,” he said. (See what I mean about the spelling?)

  TJ turned back to the girl. “And what does Number Thuree want for Christmas?”

  The little sister lowered her eyes and shook her head.

  TJ moved closer and smiled. “It’s okay, sweetie. You can tell me.”

  Again she shook her head.

  Finally Number Too answered. “She wants to go home and get back in the tub.”

  “Ah.” TJ smiled. “You like taking baths? Me too. I like big, bubbly ones. Is that what you like, taking big, bubbly baths in the tub?”

  The girl started to look up, then glanced back down and shook her head.

  “No?” TJ asked.

  “Nah,” Number Too said. “She lives there.”

  TJ glanced at him. “Lives . . . in the tub?”

  “Sleeps, eats . . . she does everything there, 24-7. Unless Bertha catches her.”

  “Bertha?”

  “Our handler.”

  “You mean your nanny? The person who looks after you when your mother can’t?”

  “Which is like all the time.”

  “But your mother was just here.”

  “For about 30 seconds.” The boy shrugged. “It’s not her fault. She’s too busy being famous to spend time with us. You know how it is.”

  TJ didn’t know how it was, but the more time she spent with these three, the more she was beginning to understand.

  “There you are!”

  They spun around to see a fierce-looking woman who had definitely lost the art of smiling . . . if she ever had it. As she spoke, all three children stiffened in fear.

  “Get your rears over here. Now!”

  They immediately scrambled to her side.

  The woman approached TJ, suddenly all sweetness. “I do hope they weren’t too much trouble.”

  “Oh no.” TJ smiled back. “No trouble at all.”

  The woman’s upper lip twitched ever so slightly. “I find that rather hard to believe.” Then, turning to the children, she barked, “Don’t just stand there. Get in the limo!”

  Without a word they ran for the door.

  The nanny approached TJ and pulled a pair of tickets from her pocket. “This should cover any inconvenience they put you through. They’re front-row tickets to the next Goo-Goo concert.”

  “No, that’s okay,” TJ said. “I was happy to—”

  The woman shoved the tickets into TJ’s hands. “Believe me, it’s the least I can do to thank you for giving me a break from those brats.”

  “No, really—”

  The nanny caught Number Thuree peeking around the corner. “What are you staring at? Get in the limo! Now!”

  The little girl ducked around the corner and disappeared. Without a word the woman followed, shouting, “Move it. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

  Unsure what to say, TJ heard herself calling after them, “Merry Christmas!”

  The nanny didn’t answer. And as TJ watched her disappear from sight, she felt even more sadness for the children.

  But it didn’t last long.

  “You zere!”

  She turned to see the Bags Fifth Avenue assistant manager glaring at her with the same warmth the store Santa was no doubt experiencing during his vacation up north.

  “Hi.” TJ smiled nervously. “Too bad about Santa.” Then, trying to sound as innocent as possible, sh
e added, “I wonder where he could have gone.”

  But the assistant manager was not in the mood for chitchat. She had more important things on her mind. “Come wiz me.”

  Five hours later (and still wearing her stupid elf costume), TJ dragged herself up the porch steps to her house. She was waaaay more tired than the day before, because she had worked waaaay harder than the day before, because she had worked waaaay longer than the day before, because . . .

  Well, let’s cut to the chase and just say that a thousand screaming kids standing in line with a thousand screaming mothers (and no Santa for them to scream at) made things a little difficult.

  Things got even more difficult when the assistant manager shared her idea. Unfortunately her idea wasn’t as good as TJ’s idea, so it was an unideal idea but a better idea than no idea . . . ideally speaking.

  TRANSLATION: The woman’s idea stank.

  “We need you to take mezzages for Zanta,” she had said to TJ.

  “What?” TJ asked.

  “Juzt for tonight,” the manager said confidentially as she led TJ to the front of the line.

  “Juzt until tomorrow,” she said officially as she stood TJ in front of Santa’s throne.

  “He’ll be back by morning,” she said assuringly as she handed TJ a pen and paper.

  “At leazt I hope zo,” she muttered fearfully as she disappeared into the crowd.

  And so, after five hours of listening to everybody (and their mother) complaining about Santa’s absence and doing her best to smile and take messages, TJ had finally ended her day and arrived home. But she’d barely reached the front door when she heard a terrifying

  coming from inside. She froze in fear. Her mind raced a thousand miles an hour. What could it be? A chain saw? Had someone brought a chain saw into the house?

  Or motorcycles? Had a gang of motorcyclists broken into her home?

  Filled with panic (courtesy of all those creepy movies she’d seen), TJ shouted, “Tuna?! Herby?!”

  But there was no answer. Honestly, where was a good 23rd-century time traveler when you needed one?

  She stared at the door. Her family was inside.

  Who knew what could be happening to them.