The Christmas Grinch

by Rebel Hart

  He flashed an irritated grin. “Look, Hansel…”

  “It’s Hazel.”

  “Things change...and even more so now that we have the internet propelling us forward at such a rapid pace. There’s no use for a frivolous, expensive light show when all people really want to do is click a button on their computer screen and have their Christmas gifts delivered to their door. It’s a waste of time and money, and no offense...but so is this interview. Call my assistant if you have any more questions.”

  And just like that...his designer leather shoes carried him right out the front doors without so much as a single glance back. Which I was honestly grateful for, because it meant he was oblivious to the absolutely mortified look on my face.

  The following afternoon, I sat across from Victoria and Joel with a smug grin on my face, my nose slightly turned up. They were reading my masterful article on Palmers and my behind the scenes look at their big display, which was apparently being killed off.

  “The only thing more disappointing than the lack of care and concern for the display that is loved by so many people, far and wide, is the cold and callous nature of its new owner, Chris Palmer,” Joel read outloud. “If this is what the future of Palmers looks like in its successor’s hands, we can only assume that the annual window display won’t be the only treasure the department store chain loses in the coming years. The next loss might very well be its base of loyal customers.”

  He plopped the article to the table and raked his hands over his face with a groan. “Hazel, we can’t publish this. You accuse the man of being everything that’s wrong with Christmas!”

  “Well, he is!” I shouted. “He only cares about money and profits. That is everything that has been slowly destroying the holidays for years now.”

  “We can’t publish this,” he said again, more desperately this time.

  I looked to Victoria, who simply shook her head with a stern “NO”.

  “You have to rewrite it,” Joel insisted. “Palmers paid for this feature on the blog. We’re not just obligated to run it, we’re obligated to make them look good.”

  “Who the hell agreed to that!?” I shrieked.

  “You did,” Veronica snipped. “Six months ago I proposed seeking out paid features to vetted businesses. You approved of Palmers.”

  “I don’t remember that,” I argued, but truthfully I did. I just didn’t know what it would really mean at the time. “But regardless, I had no idea this would be what was on the other side of those doors. I refuse to lie and paint this as some kind of puff piece just for money. That’s the very root of everything that has started going wrong with Christmas! That’s what stresses people out and makes them resent the whole holiday season!”

  “It’s too late for that now,” Joel shook his head. “You have to rewrite this.”

  I sat up in my chair, crossing my arms with a defiant air. “There is absolutely nothing good I can bring myself to say about Chris Palmer or the whole company’s outlook on their annual display.”

  Both of them stared back at me, unmoved. This was not a battle I was going to win.

  4

  Chris

  The whole city was buzzing with the start of the big Christmas season, but the numbers for our sales were not. Needless to say, it left me unable to share in everyone’s collective excitement. Not that I had ever really been one to be infected by the holiday spirit. But the floundering of my family’s business certainly didn’t help matters any.

  “If online sales are where it’s at, then we need to devote all of our energy to that,” I told Frank, our financial advisor, as I stared at the freshly delivered reports.

  “Yes, sir...I agree. But it will require some changes here around the store. There’s inventory that needs to be cleared. Updates that need to be made to the online presence. Overall, we have to encourage customers to shop online. Historically, they don’t see Palmers as an online destination.”

  “I’ll get with marketing and come up with some ways to fix it,” I assured him, more so attempting to assure myself. “Is there anything else?”

  “I think that’s enough. You’re talking about an entire revamp of the way we do business right in the middle of our biggest shopping time of the year,” he laughed incredulously.

  “Thanks, Frank,” I groaned, making no mistake of just how unassuming I found any of it to be.

  He straightened his expression and nervously gathered his things to bound out the door. As he was leaving, there was an alarming shuffle outside. I jumped to my feet when I heard my assistant threatening to call security.

  The woman who I had been forced to conduct the interview with days prior suddenly appeared in my doorway.

  “I need to talk to you,” she growled.

  “Sir, I’m sorry. I told her you were unavailable. She just barged right in. I’m calling security right now…”

  “No, that’s okay,” I waved.

  I looked her up and down, realizing more than I had before that she really was a stunning woman. With her long red waves pulled back into a high ponytail. She wore red lipstick to match her red gloves, which all popped against her tan freckled skin. Then there were those eyes...piercing, bright green. They might have even been a little intimidating to anyone else.

  “Come in. I don’t have much…”

  “Time, I know,” she huffed, storming in and shooting my assistant a disdainful glare. “I don’t want to take up much of your time. In fact, I don’t want to be here at all.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “Because I need to understand your position on this whole Christmas display thing,” she replied, showing herself the rest of the way in, plopping down in the chair across from me. “Surely you can understand the importance of it...beyond just money and profits.”

  “As a business owner, I’d say I have to base my priorities on profits,” I shot back.

  “But you...you as a person. Forget your role and job title and everything else...How do you really feel about it?”

  My brow furrowed. “Why exactly do you care?”

  “Because I have to write this article raving about what a great guy you are...the mastermind behind this holiday tradition which you don’t seem to give a damn about. Pardon my french.”

  “Sorry for not seeing the problem here,” I laughed sarcastically. “We paid you to run a feature on Palmers. You were the ones who chose to make it about the annual display, which is well past its prime. I don’t see where my personal feelings come into this.”

  “Because my personal feelings are that you’re a total scrooge, ignoring what your customers might actually want from you and throwing out a time honored tradition just because of money! And there’s no possible way I can paint that in a good light!”

  “Again, we’re paying you,” I argued. “Did it ever occur to you to just lie?”

  “I refuse to do that,” she said sternly. “It’s against my morals. Everything about this is against my morals. Could you imagine everyone around the world deciding not to give gifts to their loved ones on the holidays because it wasn’t cost effective!?”

  “Not such a bad idea,” I smirked.

  “It’s the worst idea!” She flew to her feet in a frenzy. “Because it’s not about gifts or money! We give things to our loved ones to show how much we appreciate them. It’s a symbol. It’s not really about the gift at all! And your annual display is no different! It’s a symbol of the magic of Christmas. You can’t take that away from people. Especially not if your only reasoning is money!”

  “My reasoning is that we can’t afford such a lavish expense with so little return. It’s a bad investment.”

  “Did you actually see the people at the unveiling!?” she shrieked. “Did you see the looks on the childrens’ faces? Did you hear the way everyone gasped and oohed and aaahed!? That’s the return on the investment, and it’s priceless. You’re a part of these people’s families...their traditions.”

  A rebuttal was rapidly forming
on my tongue before I had a chance to stop and remember...I didn’t have time for this, and it was an even bigger waste of my energy than the display itself was.

  “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, lady.”

  “Lady!?” she narrowed her eyes.

  “We paid you for a positive feature. Now you write the damn thing. I don’t care how you do it or what precious morals you have to set aside to make it happen. But I don’t have time to debate this with you.”

  “Do you hate Christmas?” she asked suddenly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Christmas. Is that what all of this is about? You hate Christmas, don’t you?”

  I could see a tidal wave of disbelief and horror building up inside of her, as if anyone who didn’t love Christmas as much as her was a travesty to humanity.

  “It’s not my favorite. No,” I answered lightly, bracing myself for the inevitable explosion to follow.

  But surprisingly, with only a minor twitch of her eye, she let out a deep breath and stated calmly, “Well, it’s settled then. I have to make you love Christmas.”

  “Come again?”

  “You heard me. It’s an interesting predicament we’ve found ourselves in, but the trouble is...not only can I not lie to my readers, but I cannot stand the thought of the annual display being tossed aside just because you don’t understand the meaning behind it. I have to teach you about what Christmas is...what it really means. I feel an obligation to do it before letting the annual display just go to ruins at your hands, and it’s the only way I can bring myself to finish this article.”

  I blinked several times, wondering if this woman was in fact certifiably insane.

  “Correction. I have finished the article,” she added. “But it’s not pretty. I’d be more than happy to refund what you paid for the feature and go ahead with publishing the less than flattering piece I’ve already written. Or...we can help each other see all of this in a new light, and maybe if you come around to my way of seeing things...I can rewrite the article with a more positive spin.”

  “This sounds an awful lot like blackmail.”

  “Maybe it is,” she said with a cavalier shrug.

  It was kind of amazing that she could be so bold and then so unapologetic about it to boot.

  “You’re crazy,” I exhaled finally, raking a hand through my hair.

  “And you’re an arrogant, greedy grinch,” she scowled. “But here we both are.”

  I circled around from behind my desk and closed the space between us, towering above her with a defensive, scathing expression. Her nostrils flared, but she didn’t flinch. She showed no signs of backing down, or leaving me the hell alone until she got her way.

  “Just how do you intend on forcing me to love Christmas?” I asked in a low, agitated grumble.

  “I have a plan.”

  “I don’t have time for your plan.”

  “Too bad,” she scowled. “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  The way her eyes sparked at me, mixed with the warm crackle of energy emanating between us, had me a little turned on...I had to admit. It was rare to find anyone who didn’t cower down in front of me, and even if they didn’t know to be intimidated by me right off...they quickly learned after our first disagreement.

  But this fiery red head wasn’t afraid to have it out with me. Which was both insufferable and intriguing. The problem was...I knew there was no way in hell she would ever change my mind about Christmas. And she obviously didn’t know a thing about business.

  “Have you considered what might happen if you can’t change my mind?” I proposed, still not moving an inch away from our closeness. “Which you won’t by the way. And you’ll be right back to where you started from.”

  “But you’re obviously scared of what my current article might say, or else you would have told me to publish it by now. You didn’t even try to call it as a bluff, because you know I’ll do it,” she arched a brow. “So the real question is...Have you considered what might happen if you don’t at least let me try to do this? I have a feeling you have. Or we wouldn’t still be standing here, talking.”

  Without replying, or taking my eyes off hers, I opened my mouth only to call out for my assistant. She flew the door open instantly, giving away that she had probably been listening outside the whole time.

  “You can show Hansel out now,” I told her.

  “It’s Hazel.”

  I grinned, knowing full well what her name was. But getting under this woman’s skin was proving to be a great source of entertainment for me.

  “I expect your reply within twenty four hours,” she called out as she marched away, pushing right past my assistant.

  I slammed the door shut and took a moment, still laughing to myself. What a pistol...to just come blazing through like that, blackmailing me and making demands. It was kind of hot...but mostly just infuriating. Either way, I was dead set on not giving in. Even if there was a small temptation to want to see just how she would try and convert me.

  5

  Hazel

  As much as I loathed the idea of the true meaning and magic of Christmas being overshadowed by the materialistic side of Christmas, shopping and gift giving was still one of my top five favorite things about Christmas.

  I loved everything about Christmas shopping. Making a list, envisioning and finding the perfect gift for each special person in your life, shopping among all the decorations and holiday cheer, wrapping each carefully packaged gift with love and care. It all swirled together and filled me with a buzzing glow that was a lot like swallowing a warm mouthful of hot chocolate. I could feel it spreading through every inch of my body.

  The first order of business in a successful Christmas shopping trip was, of course, the list. And list-making was a love of mine that was almost comparable to the holidays themselves.

  That year I had prepared my best one yet - complete with all members of the family, the perfect ideas for each, and tentative places to find said perfect ideas.

  “I’ve made copies for each of you,” I announced to my mom and Margo.

  Mom smiled politely as she read hers over while Margo read it with the same stern precision I imagined she read her legal briefings over with.

  “Wait. You suggested gift ideas for all of us?” she scoffed. “Hazel, no offense. But do you really feel qualified to tell me what to buy my own husband for Christmas?”

  “Yes, I do,” I smiled confidently. “You’re telling me Tom doesn’t need a new pair of reading glasses? Or that he wouldn’t enjoy that foot warmer slash massager from The Sharper Image?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Anyway, they’re just suggestions. Feel free to take it. Or leave it if you want him to be horribly disappointed with what you decide to get for him on your own.” I glanced down at the time on my phone. “We’re late. If we’re going to make the most out of this year’s first official holiday shopping excursion, we have to leave now. Where’s Payton?”

  No sooner than I said it, the back door flew open and a rather disheveled version of my younger sister came rushing in.

  “Sorry, I’m…”

  “Late,” I finished for her, disapprovingly.

  My sisters and mom shot each other teasing glances, meant for me, which I had grown to recognize all too well. I think they first started appearing among my family when I was five and attempted to plan out holidays with hour by hour schedules of events. But it was that same drive and ability to plan that made my blogging career such a success, so they could all eat it as far as I was concerned.

  We hit downtown in all its holiday splendor...complete with string lights and carols blasting over the store speakers into the busy sidewalks. Everyone was bundled up in their hats, scarves, and beautiful winter coats. In between stores we’d stop into the bakeries and cafes to warm up with coffee or tea or freshly baked breads and soups. Shopping fuel, as I called it.

  But things took a literal turn for the worse when I realized, while
walking and naming off the next string of stores on our route, that I was suddenly alone. My mom and sisters had veered off. I whipped around to see them stopped on the corner, waiting to cross the street to Palmers.

  “Hey! Wait up! Where are you guys going?”

  Payton’s face wrinkled up. “Where does it look like we’re going? Palmers. Duh.”

  “It wasn’t on my list.”

  They looked at each other cluelessly.

  “Well whose fault is that?” Margo gaped.

  “Come on, dear,” my mother laughed. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that we skip Palmers! We go every year! It’s your favorite store!”

  “I just thought...we’d try something different this year,” I defended, swallowing hard as I stared at the towering store waiting on the other side of the street. It had now become a tainted ominous thing in my mind.

  “You? Wanted to try something new?” Margo teased.

  “Hazel, don’t be silly,” my mother shot back with a tone that made me feel five again. “We’re going to Palmers and that’s that. It’s a tradition, and one that you have always loved.”

  Before I could argue any further, the crosswalk light changed and off they went...leaving me frozen there for a moment before I finally submitted to sprinting after them.

  My stomach was uneasy as we approached the massive building with its beautifully arranged windows that once made me so happy. I had given up on trying to fully take in the grandeur of that year’s display, knowing that it would be the last. It was too hard to adore all the big and little touches, while also being painfully aware of the fact that it would never happen again.

  The inside of the store was no better. I used to relish in the feeling, scents, sights, and textures of all the special holiday displays and merchandise. I made a point to include many stops on the shopping list every year, but it was an accepted fact that the majority of the goods would inevitably be purchased at Palmers. Because they were simply the best.