by Sara James
Like Max himself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing Holly would hear him, would know he was sincere. He wiped tears away with the edge of his palm. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m so, so sorry.” It didn’t matter that his rude comment hadn’t been heard by the targets of his attention. The intent was the same. It was just as hurtful. It was just as wrong.
Holly didn’t appear. The men didn’t stop following him, or talking about him, or laughing. The harsh sounds made by those men was like a rusty razor slicing into Max’s tender soul. He had to get away from them. Santa’s Village was on his left. They would just follow him there, approach him and continue the game. To his right was the exit. That was worse. Who knew what they would do if they cornered him in the parking lot? Talk could turn to action, which a could become a waking nightmare Max was pretty sure would haunt him every day for the rest of his life. It would ruin his enjoyment of Christmas forever.
Like an oasis, the entrance of the lingerie store was just ahead.
He fled to it. As a man, he knew first hand the discomfort men felt stepping into such a place. It was a kind of forbidden territory, a no-man’s land where men simply didn’t go unless they were compelled against their will. A husband or a boyfriend looking for a gift might go in, but only for the minimum time it took to get what he needed to buy and leave. No man lingered there or entered without reason.
It worked. The men didn’t even approach the door. The single female employee straightening up displays just inside the entrance was as effective as the most bull necked bouncer. More than one of the men groaned in disappointment. The sound of it was like a weight lifting off of Max’s heart. His pulse slowed and his body unclenched. Not wanting to tempt them to follow him, he headed for the back of the store as soon as he was inside.
As many times as he’d admired this store’s displays, commercials and catalogs, he had never shopped there. The front had pajamas, casual clothing, nighties and the most tame items in the store’s inventory. Almost all of it was branded in the store’s distinctive style. Walking through a narrow doorway, the inventory changed, switching to panties, bras and more practical intimate apparel. Looking back towards the angled main entrance, Max could see it had disappeared from view. He supposed that was by design, to afford the women that shopped in the store more privacy.
The register was near the back. Max walked in that direction, amazed by the diversity of the lingerie on display. He’d had no idea bras and panties came in so many different styles and fabrics for women to choose from. It was a far cry from the sterile plastic packages of boxers and briefs that lined the aisles of the men’s section in the local superstores.
There was one more surprise. There was a third, smaller room all the way at the back. It was at a right angle to the rest of the store, cutting it off from view from the front of the store entirely. Someone would have to be in the store’s second room to even see the door to the third room. The doorway that led to it was again pretty narrow, just ten or twelve feet across. Inside, the lingerie became more provocative. Almost all of it was lace so thin it left nothing to the imagination. The mannequins all wore fishnet stockings with garter belts, or pretty patterns of lace that concealed nothing.
Max had stepped inside the room without thinking. He wasn’t alone. Two more store clerks with nametags were standing with a pair of customers that were together. The four of them all glanced at Max and smiled, probably at his costume, but no one seemed upset by his presence. They were all too busy discussing sizes and styles. Not wanting to seem out of place, Max began to browse through what was on display. He tried not to moan in distress at how uncomfortable the store’s inventory was making him. The selections in this part of the store were all pretty revealing. Even knowing his body was fully female, he felt like a total fraud being there in the store’s inner sanctum.
He felt a tug on his petticoat and looked down, thinking that the delicate fabric had become snagged on a rack. Instead, he found a little girl looking up at him with wide eyes. Based on her size, she couldn’t be more than three or four. “Are you a princess?” She stared up at him, her wide eyes filled with hope.
Max looked to the women for help, his own eyes as wide as the little girl’s, only filled with fear of saying the wrong thing. They all seemed to be holding back laughter. “No, Sweetie,” one of the customers corrected the girl. “She’s one of Santa’s elves. See? She has pointy ears and shoes with curled toes.”
“The hat is a dead giveaway,” added one of the clerks with extravagant seriousness.
The girl was not dissuaded. “You look like a princess,” she insisted. “You’re very pretty.”
Reminded of his nieces, Max squatted down, hugging his knees so he was on the same level as the girl. “Thank you very much. I think you’re very pretty too.”
That made the girl smile. “I know. I’m going to be a princess when I grow up.”
That made all the women laugh. They encouraged her, agreeing she would make a very lovely princess. The girl skipped away, happy, the elf princess she had just befriended already forgotten.
Max stood up, amazed at how casual the atmosphere of the store was. The women continued their discussion of lingerie with a frankness that made his cheeks burn. The girl was telling anyone who would listen a story of how she was going to be a princess and a unicorn tamer, living in a castle made of cotton candy with chocolate chip cookies for a roof. When one of the women suggested she would marry a prince, the girl just made a face and shook her head in clear disgust at the thought of it.
A curtain parted. It had been concealing an alcove with a triple-paned mirror and two partial doors made of wood slats that must lead to dressing rooms. A blonde woman with long curly hair stood there wearing a red nightie made of translucent fabric over practical panties that didn’t match. The thong she was holding up to her groin for consideration was a match with the rest of the outfit. The trim on the nightie was white faux-fur. It was clear it was intended as a sexy Christmas surprise for someone special.
She struck a sexy pose. “OK, ladies, opinions?” The triple-paned mirror at her back revealed her from multiple angles at once.
While the women began a clinical discussion of the merits of what she was wearing, Max tried to pick his jaw up off the floor. The woman was almost naked! In public! And no one there seemed to think anything of it. The only comment about her state of undress came from the little girl. All she said was, “Mommy, you look cold.”
The saleswomen, of course, loved what she was wearing and thought she should buy it. The other women, her friends or relatives, liked it but worried that it was “trying too hard.” The idea seemed to be it made her look too desperate. They wanted her to go with a more modest, opaque nightie in a red, silken fabric that looked like it came from the front of the store. She had apparently already tried it on, but had been worried it wasn’t sexy enough.
The blonde woman looked at Max. “Miss? I could really use another opinion.” She looked down at herself, then back at Max. “Is it sexy enough? Too sexy? What do you think?” She shook the thong panty at her groin and wiggled her eyebrows.
As recently as an hour earlier, he might have encouraged her to buy it. Whoever the man was she wanted to impress would be one lucky guy if she did.
But it wasn’t an hour ago. The memory of being forced to flee into a lingerie store for refuge was fresh on his mind. “I think,” he began, choosing his words with care, “that a man would have to be dead to not feel his pulse quicken if he saw you wearing that.” The saleswomen smiled while the women’s companions frowned. “But,” he added, cautious of his tone, “do you only want him to admire your body? Or do you want him to see you? To appreciate you for who you are? I mean, if you want to turn him on, what you’re wearing is perfect. If you’re looking to rekindle a romance, though, to remind him why he loves you, it’s a little over the top.”
That made the women she was with nod and smile. “Exactly,” one of th
em agreed, looking smug. Even one of the the saleswomen lifted one shoulder in semi-agreement, though the other one seemed unmoved.
The blonde seemed sad. “I want him to see me.” She bowed her head a little in Max’s direction, her eyes growing misty. Thank you, she mouthed.
Max nodded, embarrassed to be the cause of such an emotional reaction.
“But mommy,” the little girl said at full volume, pointing up at her for emphasis, “daddy will see all of you if you wear that!”
Even Max had to laugh at that. The blonde woman bent forward and stuck her tongue out at her daughter. “I know, but I’m still going to buy the other one.” With a laugh, she flipped the curtain closed, though to what end Max didn’t know. She’d already been about as naked as a person could get in public.
“Max.”
He turned to see a familiar face standing in the doorway that led to the second room. “Holly!”
“I should have known I would find you here,” she drawled, though her smile told him she knew exactly what had caused him to be there. “Come on. It’s time to go.” Turning, she began to walk out of the store.
Sparing only a glance over his shoulder and a wave goodbye for the other women, he moved to follow her. He didn’t dare let her disappear on him again. She led him out of the store. He looked all around, worried about being accosted again. The men were nowhere in sight. With them gone, there was no cause to be nervous. He tried not to clench up at the memory of how they had behaved.
Holly seemed aware of the source of his tension. “I see you’ve learned your lesson.”
He nodded. “I think so.”
It was a short walk to the entrance of Santa’s Village. One of the girls that worked there met them. She looked a lot like Holly, only less charismatic. Her face bordered on being forgettable. “Go on in,” the bland woman encouraged Max. “Santa’s waiting to give you your reward.”
He turned to Holly. “Really? That’s it?”
Her shrug seemed oblivious to the gravity of the situation. “Yeah. Just make sure you take your package home and open it in private. I doubt you’ll want to transform in public. Especially in those clothes.”
He paused, waiting for her to say more, but she didn’t. “And then what? There’s got to be a catch.”
“No catch,” she insisted. “Just … remember to be Nice.”
She could have meant that as a reminder, but it felt like a threat. “I will,” he promised, meaning it with his whole heart. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Max.” Her smile seemed to make the air around her head glow.
Leaving her behind, he went to go visit Santa. He found himself growing excited. If this entire experience had taught him anything, it was to believe in the reality of magic. If magic was real, than anything was possible! Who could have guessed that Santa himself was real? Or that he had magic elves that knew if you were naughty or nice? It was a childhood dream come true.
This time, the bounce in his step was caused by pure delight.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” the other said. Her voice was pitched low, to prevent Max from overhearing as he walked away.
Holly willed herself to feel no doubt. “We shall see.”
Delia Knox was an investment banker whose goal in life was to shatter the glass ceiling.
As a young girl, her father had dissuaded her from following him into the world of finance. He had urged her instead to get married as soon as possible and settle down, to put her considerable intelligence and energy into raising good kids. He’d often told her that no amount of money could buy her the love of a family of her own. While she respected her father, she ignored his advice.
Her natural drive and ambition kept her at the top of her class in high school, which led to acceptance at an ivy league college and graduate school. She’d gotten started in the real world with an internship during college. That led to an even better internship during graduate school. Parlaying that experience into a choice entry level position with a large firm after graduation, she’d risen through the ranks at a rate that drew national attention.
At no point was her family life a hindrance. She could afford surrogates for the two pregnancies she hadn’t wanted to endure and the best nannies to raise and care for her children. Her husband understood her need to work late nights and weekends, having similar professional pressures of his own, so they never argued about her work schedule.
She had it all. A well regarded vascular surgeon for a husband. A boy and a girl that were loved and well cared for. The perfect house in the right neighborhood. Memberships with all the right organizations. Pre-acceptance for her kids at all the right private schools. The right friends. A comfortable amount of wealth. All in all, it was an excellent life.
The Friday after Thanksgiving, her life had been at the pinnacle of success. She had been on the verge of closing the biggest deal of her career, a risk arbitrage operation where the assets to be liquidated post-merger would have resulted in huge profits for her company. She’d been days away from signing the contracts. Millions of dollars in bonuses for her were at stake.
Until she found herself transformed into a fat, old man with white hair and a bushy beard, playing the role of Santa Claus.
Her mentor - or coach, or whatever she was - had told her she had been “Naughty.” It was the kind of ambiguous criticism which Delia had always despised. Feedback needed to be specific to have any hope of being practical. But the vagueness of the feedback was part of the point, or so the woman claimed. Figuring out what her failing was and overcoming it was all supposed to be part of the point of the punishment. Or, as her mentor put it, this “opportunity for self-improvement.” All Delia knew was that being a good Santa was the key to getting her personal and professional lives back on track.
Unable to go home, she’d had to scramble to find a place to stay, a job as Santa and a plan of attack on how to earn her life back. From nothing, she’d managed to acquire an apartment, a dependable car, a job as a mall Santa, and grow Santa’s Village into a profitable venture that was driving a record sales season in the mall’s stores thanks to some creative cross marketing. She was more than just a good Santa; she was an outstanding Santa.
It had only been a few weeks, but she only had one final, last minute task left to perform. The finish line was less than twenty minutes away. She was confident that her performance would speak for itself, allowing her to get her life back.
“Ho, ho, ho,” she bellowed. The kids and adults alike always ate that up, as long as none of the kids were close enough to be frightened by the booming baritone of her voice. When children were near her or on her lap, she was sure to use quiet, gentle tones and soft chuckles to soothe them rather than rouse tears of alarm.
This close to the mall’s closing on Christmas Eve, she doubted many shoppers would be lured into the mock village to see the miniature displays of the mall’s many goods and services, or the subtle standing displays that promoted gift giving solutions. Not that a positive outlook made much difference when there were so few people around. No amount of optimism or sales finesse was going to force people to appear out of thin air. There was no line at all and almost no shoppers were left to be lured in.
Still, success looked forward to the next sale. Only complacency looked back at the ones that had already been made.
One of the girls working as his elves was approaching the winter throne where Delia sat. The elves were another idea of hers. Offering them a mall wide discount as part of their compensation let her drop their hourly wages, while driving even more business to the mall’s stores. The discount also increased the volume of young, attractive, female applicants, the kind that drew people of all ages in.
It was only as the elf drew close that Delia realized she didn’t know her. That meant she didn’t work in Santa’s Village, nor was she one of the mall’s employees. Delia made it her business to know them all, along with enough personal information to make the best use of their
talents.
That only left one other option.
“Hello, Maxine,” she greeted the woman as she drew close. Delia eyed her over, wishing she had been one of her hires. She would have drawn in a lot of business. “Have you been a good girl?” The greeting was delivered exactly as she had been instructed.
The young woman, Maxine, was nervous. The toes of her feet pointed inward and her knees were locked together. Her hands were clasped together in front of her waist. From her behavior, she could have been one of the young kids that believed Delia was the real Santa Claus. “Yes, Santa,” she answered in a high, timid voice. “I’ve been trying really, really hard to learn how to be Nice. I think I understand now.”
Delia blinked. The word “Nice” stood out. By the emphasis this woman put on it, it meant something more to her than the traditional meaning.
Kind of like when Delia’s mentor said it.
She would have pursued that line of thought if she hadn’t been strongly warned against breaking character with this woman. Having been coached on what to say and do, asking Maxine for insight or advice was out of the question. Rules, after all, were rules.
She cleared her throat. Time to get to business. “In that case, I think you’ve earned your reward.” Reaching to her right, she lifted a package wrapped in a red and white candy cane pattern. It was one of dozens of gaily wrapped presents that were part of the display. This specific one was the one she’d been told to give Maxine. It was more bulky than heavy for its size, about the right size for a small microwave, but nowhere near as heavy. “This,” she intoned as she held it out, “is for you.”
Maxine took it as if it was the most valuable, fragile thing in the world. “Thank you, Santa.”
Delia felt a pang as she let it go, wondering how much the contents of the package were worth. It was clearly special. Perhaps even magical, considering her mentor’s abilities. Oh, well. It was out of her hands, now, literally. “It’s my pleasure, young lady,” she lied, using every bit of the acting skills she’d been practicing in recent weeks. “I hope you enjoy it. Have a merry, merry Christmas.”