Kelly The ReGen

This evening Kelly found a short story waiting for her in her email, written by her friend of more than five years from the trolley museum. She was laughing as she read it and then told me I needed to read it, so I sat down and did so. First of all, I was surprised by this adult male's ability to write! I never would have thought he had the talent for it! Second, I liked his dark, twisted sense of humor as he rushes a volunteer from the trolley museum to a skitchy clinic in the rear of a pizza parlor where he signs forms totally more than 42-pages and she's given a procedure after which he notices subtle differences in her biometrics, thinking, and behavior. The story is just over a page of single spaced lines with spaces between paragraphs but it contains so many details I recognize (seeing that I am the ReGen's mother) that he had me laughing and going, "Oh, my God!" as I read it through.

Brief, fast-paced, wickedly clever, darkly humorous...I thoroughly enjoyed Kelly the ReGen.

Sometimes you discover a writer in a surprising and unexpected place, as in the somewhat goofy, geeky (he's an engineer) traveling companion of one's own daughter!

Bravo, Galen!

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

It's been a busy week working, finishing up Christmas shopping, doing three requested special pen & ink drawings friends wanted to give as Christmas gifts, writing, and attending fellow author's events to show my support of their work.

Oh, and did I mention I was interviewed for the Springfield newspaper, The Republican, in regards to my black squirrel pen & ink drawings? I responded to the interviewers questions on Wednesday, and she caught up with whirlwind me on Sunday at Blue Umbrella to take some photos. Don't know if it'll turn into anything- she said it's all dependent upon her editor and what he's looking for.

I worked this morning, came home, grabbed something to eat, then took off with Kelly, dropping her off at her house so she could paint another coat on the walls of her future den/library/office while I ran off to buy one last gift. When I returned I hung up a few more holiday decorations in her house, then cleaned the windows of her dining room hutch and wiped down her range top while waiting for her to finish up her painting.

Home tonight with John, Kelly, and the cats. We put the gifts out under the tree, filled the stockings and watched The Muppets' Christmas Carol, a holiday tradition. Got some awesome pictures of Riley Beans who rarely sits still.

Now I'm laying out a holiday gift that will be late, but I hope will have special meaning for the recipient. It'll be a lot of work, but worth it if it comes out the way I hope it will!

Tomorrow is Christmas! I'm wishing you a very Merry and Magical Christmas! The dusting of snow this morning was a perfect mood setter, but it warmed up to 40-plus degrees by afternoon. It doesn't matter what the weather is tomorrow- it will be a perfect and peaceful day at home with family and cats.

AUTHOR/ARTIST...

Since September, penning the two black squirrels for Art Drop Day instead of dropping books I have been burning the candle at both ends with my day job in the middle writing and drawing. The lines between the two are blurred sometimes. I want to do a picture book with some of a friend's photographs that includes small segments of historical prose that sort of blends a number of things together. Finding the time to tackle a project like that is the real challenge!

I have yet another idea as to how to start the Garnet & Quella story for the X-teenth time. This is getting tedious but I want to get it right so it all works.

Meanwhile, it is a week before Christmas and I am busy drawing pictures for friends who all put in their requests TODAY! I am currently doing something for a gift I am giving, so the queue is growing behind my own project with three in line already.

I am taking a vacation day tomorrow to finish my need-to-go-to-an-actual-store Christmas shopping. I also have my sister-in-law's birthday on Friday and my sister's birthday on Sunday. Oh, and did I mention the Small Art ArtWalk on Friday evening? In addition, I was contacted by a reporter for the local newspaper who wants to talk to me about my black squirrel art. I don't mind any of it, I just wish I had the ability to add three or four extra hours to every day of my life so I can accomplish everything I want to do! Melissa Volker gave me the White Queen's wand she made this past Sunday at the WhipCity Wordsmiths meeting and holiday celebration. I am honored to be the recipient of one of her works of art. I would love to wave this wand about and create a window into a room where time stands still but I can move and work and get things done, then when I'm ready, step back through the window and find no time at all has elapsed!

I'm not complaining. I have never been one who can actually sit down and relax. My mind is constantly buzzing with ideas and stories, images and plans. To sit own for an hour to watch something on TV is a struggle for me.

If I was to be asked which means more to me- being an author or being an artist- I don't think I'd be able to answer that. I have been both all my life. I can't really separate one from the other. I can set one or the other aside temporarily (like my art being set aside for 18 years!) but on a whim, I can just pick it up again and set writing aside, sort of. I'm doing both but not to the extent I wish I could be doing both. But, retirement is just a few years away. Unless retirement gets moved up again like some sort of unattainable prize- the time to enjoy ones life before it's over!

Does it sound like I'm complaining? No, I am merely regretting time I wasted when I was younger when I could have been doing this but was wasting my time writing junk stories that never went anywhere because I did not have the discipline I now have. They were wonderful, dramatic, romantic, and sometimes terrible stories with beautiful images and ideas in them...and they all got thrown away.

"Her heart seldom spoke to her, but when it did, it asked for the impossible." That is my all time favorite line I ever wrote, but the story it was written into is long gone.

I am not complaining. I am ruing and regretting (when I should be drawing...so now I'm guilting myself besides!)

But, that's me. I am like a pastel portrait that someone has run their finger down the middle of, smudging the crisp lines dividing art and literature, blending me, blurring me. Yet, what I can produce with a keyboard and a pen, nib, and bottle of ink is crisp and vivid. You don't see the blurring and blending. You only see the end results.

I'd best go apply pen to paper and finish the drawing I started last night so I can check it off my to-do list! Thanks for bearing with me and enduring my ramblings & musings tonight!

Christmas At Frothingham's- the forgotten novella

(this one missed out when I split the three larger volumes into 3 novellas and four anthologies....I got overlooked...not perfectly edited, but it's a nice story just the same...Happy Christmas!)

CHRISTMAS AT FROTHINGHAM’S

    

     Friday, November 27^th, the day after Thanksgiving- Black Friday, in the retail world- was an extremely busy day at Frothingham’s Department Store on Main Street in Fairmont, Connecticut.  The employees arrived early for the 6AM opening despite many of them having entertained family the previous day.  There was a buzz in the air as everyone rushed about making sure their departments were ready for the onslaught of early bird customers seeking holiday bargains as the Christmas season officially began, even though the store decorators had been busy since mid-October transforming the store into a festive holiday wonderland.

     During the course of the day a different sort of buzz went through the store as fifteen employees were summoned to the office of Acting President Ardis Frothingham, the twenty-eight year old grandson of President Abraham Frothingham who had been called back to the states from Florence, Italy when the elder Frothingham had been stricken with a stroke while recovering from a second heart attack in May.  The younger Frothingham had arrived deeply tanned and, though he had been Vice President since he’d graduated from Harvard, inexperienced in running the business that had been founded in 1852 by his great-great-great-great grandfather James Lind Frothingham.  Ardis Frothingham had spent much of the summer working with Operations Manager Joseph West, learning the day-to-day running of the huge store.  He’d moved into his grandfather’s well-appointed office in September from his own smaller office on the same floor.  By late-October he was fairly independent from Joe West.  Abraham Frothingham’s secretary, Diane Colby, was extremely efficient and kept the President’s Office running smoothly.  Ardis relied on her a great deal.

     It was in September that Ardis began seeing twenty-six year-old dark-haired beauty, Michele Langley, from Cosmetics.  She’d made a determined effort to catch his attention practically from the moment he arrived and it had finally brought the results she sought when he invited her to dinner on a Saturday evening not long after Labor Day.  Michele was the kind of girl who liked to have things her way so her smug satisfaction at “landing” the young Mr. Frothingham and her flaunting the fact she was dating the Acting President did not sit well with her co-workers.

     Now it was the day after Thanksgiving and Ardis Frothingham was putting into effect a budget cutting plan he’d devised after the store posted dismal Back-To-School and Pre-Holiday Sales that included the termination of employees as he eliminated their jobs.  By the end of Black Friday a frisson of tension had circulated throughout the ten floors of the store as fifteen long-time employees were summoned to the ninth floor office and then escorted from the building.  By the end of the day at 10PM the holiday spirits of the hundreds of employees who had survived the first day of job eliminations were decidedly less sparkling then they’d been at the start of the day.  None of them could remember such a thing happening in the entire history of the store. Black Friday had taken on an entirely new meaning to the employees of Frothingham’s.

     Diane Colby shook her head as Ed Danforth from Human Resources emptied the cart of files Mr. Frothingham had selected for review earlier in the day.  She stepped back as Ed wheeled the now empty cart through the doorway into the reception area.  He made a wry face as he passed her.  “Am I in that lot?’ she asked.

     “Nope.  Plenty of long-timers are though. Good people. Don’t know what he’s thinking.”  He paused, tapping his long fingers on the handle of the cart.  “This isn’t right.  It’s the holiday season. How can he even think of axing people at this time of year? It’s our busiest season! He’s certainly not like his grandfather! Young, arrogant whelp! He’s not Mr. Popularity around here despite the fact he’s a Frothingham and generally speaking every Frothingham who’s run this store has been kind, generous and a father figure to the employees.”

     Diane shook her head again.  “He seems to be cut from an entirely different cloth to say the least.”

     “Different! I’d say he’s downright difficult and that’s putting it too nicely!”

     She glanced at the wall clock then her watch.  “You’d better get back to your office, Ed.  He’ll be returning from lunch soon. He has a two o’clock appointment with Miss Tucker from accounting.”  Ed’s left eyebrow shot upward as he grimaced. “What?”

     “Her personnel file, it’s in that lot I just put on his desk.”

     “Oh, no! Not Miss Tucker! She’s an institution in her own right around here!”

     “His whetted axe blade shows no mercy. Heads will roll!”

     “Oh, dear,” she murmured as she went to her desk and sat down.  Anxiously she rearranged the pens in the ebony cup.  Her eyes fell on the framed photographs of her three children at the corner of her desk and she felt a clenching sensation in the pit of her stomach. How would she and Charlie ever manage if she lost her job? Candy’s wedding was coming up in the spring, Chelsea was graduating from high school next June, and Sam was back home again after losing his job so they were supporting him again, and his three dogs.  It was distressing to think about all the employees Ardis Frothingham was letting go.  It was unthinkable! Unforgivable!  Her eyes moved to the framed portrait of Abraham Ardis Frothingham, the CEO and President of Frothingham’s.  Old Abe was such a sweetheart! It was a shame he’d had the heart attack and then shortly afterwards a stroke.  He was recovering in a rehabilitation facility but there was doubt whether he would ever be well enough to resume control of the store again. Ardis Frothingham had begun to make changes from practically the moment his foot was in the door and a lot of people were upset by his policy, procedure and departmental changes. Now he was firing people, or as he put it, eliminating jobs as he restructured the business.  Why he was doing this now, with Thanksgiving just over and the holiday rush in full swing she didn’t know.

     “Mrs. Colby! Call that white-haired woman in the restaurant…what’s her name again?”

     “Mildred.”

     “Yes, ask Mildred to send me a fresh pot of coffee, the Columbian roast, not that dishwater swill they serve the customers, and some petit fours, too.”  He smiled at the young woman who was with him.  Diane did not like Michele Langley from cosmetics.  The young woman was a shameless flirt and gold-digger as far as she was concerned.  She had hit on every eligible bachelor in the store since she’d been hired, but Ardis seemed oblivious to her scheming ways.  “Miss Langley, would you step into my office? We’ll finish that stimulating conversation we began over lunch. I have a little time before my two o’clock appointment.”

     “Miss Tucker,” Diane reminded him since he couldn’t be bothered to remember names.

     “That silly old prune face from the business office?” Michele asked as she rolled her eyes, following him into his office.  He closed the door but Diane could still hear the girlish giggles and shrill squeals of the dark-haired temptress.

     She reached over and turned up the volume of the speaker in the wall panel behind her desk.  Bing Crosby was crooning I’ll Be Home For Christmas throughout the store, on all twelve floors from bargain basement to the eleventh floor restaurant.  “We all may be home for Christmas reading the Help Wanted ads the way things are going around here,” she murmured as she reached for the phone to call Millie Jones in the GrandviewRestaurant on the eleventh floor.

     “If Mrs. Harrison gives you any grief about being late you tell her she can take it up with me,” Frothingham said as a flushed and glowing Michele left his office a half hour later.  “Miss, uh…Tucker, would you come in.” He almost seemed to be sneering as the short, stout woman rose and went into his office. “Mrs. Colby? Where’s that coffee? What’s the hold-up?”

     “It should be here momentarily, Mr. Frothingham,” she replied.

     “Would you turn that music down, please? It’s giving me a frightful headache.” He stepped back into his office, closing the door.

     Diane frowned as she turned the volume down on Burl Ives’ Holly Jolly Christmas. “That man doesn’t have a drop of Christmas spirit in his blood,” she said under her breath as Rick Davis trundled in a trolley from the restaurant laden with a silver coffee service, china cups and saucers and a beautiful cut glass dish stacked with an assortment of colorful petit fours. “Thanks, Rick,” she said.

     “Sorry about the delay, had an accident in the elevator. Had to go back and brew a fresh pot.”  She nodded. “Having a party?” he asked.

     “Hardly.”

     “Pretty glum around here. The only cheerful person is Sophie and that’s just because I don’t think that girl ever has a bad day, a bad mood, a bad anything.”

     “She is sweet.”

     “Well, I’d better get back. Lots of shoppers looking for a mid-afternoon pick-me-up.”

     Less then five minutes later Cecelia Tucker left Frothingham’s office clutching a lace-edged handkerchief against her mouth.  Tears streamed down her emotion-mottled cheeks. “Miss Tucker!” cried Diane, rising from her chair.  Miss Tucker shook her head, hurrying to the door, escaping into the hallway beyond.

     “That went fairly well,” Frothingham said from his office doorway. “Oh good, the coffee’s finally here. Bring me a cup, will you, Mrs. Colby.”

     “Did you fire her?”

     “I suggested it would be in her best interest to take retirement. She’s an old lady.”

     “She’s only sixty-three. She can’t collect her full Social Security benefit for another two years.”

     He waved his hand dismissively. “She can get a job as a greeter at…”

     “For minimum wage? She’s supporting her disabled daughter!”

     “Who gets money for her disability, I’m sure.”

     “It’s not enough! It’s never enough!”

     “I’m afraid that’s not my concern.”  He went back into his office. “My coffee please, Mrs. Colby.”

     “Obviously your only concern is yourself,” she muttered as she got up to prepare his coffee. “I should quit. I really should.”

     “Hi Diane! Have a good Thanksgiving?”

     Diane looked up and couldn’t help but smile at the petite young woman with the corkscrew carrot-colored hair.  Sophie Albright from Customer Services was like a candle that never flickered or dimmed.  She had been hired about nine months ago and already she knew every employee from lowly custodian to higher echelon by name. She had a marvelous manner that soothed irate customers, calmed children separated from their parents, and easily diverted employee tensions that flared up from time to time. People simply adored her.  “Yes, it was very nice, thank you. And yours?”

     Sophie shrugged. “I ate a frozen turkey dinner and watched the Macy’s parade. I never got out of my pajamas. I wish Frothingham’s hosted a big parade like that! I’d love to march down Main Street! That would be so much fun!”

     “In your pajamas?”

     Sophie laughed. “Why not? Can you believe Christmas is almost here? I’d better make a list and start my shopping!”

     “Mrs. Colby!” Frothingham called from his office.  He appeared in the doorway. “Is my coffee ready?” He glanced at the redhead in the holly-print jumper and frowned.  “Don’t you have work to do, Miss…uh…”

     “Sophie,” she said.

     “Albright,” Diane supplied.

     “Miss Albright.” His eyes traveled down to her shiny red shoes and his frown deepened. “Go back to Santa. I’m sure you’re missed at the North Pole,” he said curtly.

     Sophie laughed. “I don’t work in the Toy Department! I work in Customer Service!”  He ignored her, going back into his office. “He’s so funny! Thinks I’m an elf!”  She shrugged. “Bye, Diane! Can I take one of these little cakes for Jake in Domestics?”

     “Take two. But is there something you wanted?” Diane asked.

     “Oh, no, just popped in to say hi. I’m on my way back to work. Just got off break.” She waved and was gone.

     Diane prepared Frothingham’s coffee then took the cup and the plate of petit fours into his office.  “Here you go.”  She set them on the great mahogany desk that was nearly as big as her dining room table.

     “Do we have a dress code here?” he asked.

     “I believe there is one.”

     “That girl, her attire is hideous!”

     “Sophie? She’s just full of holiday spirit, that one.”

     “Too damn much holiday spirit and too little common sense. Send her a memo. Tell her to dress appropriately.”

     Diane changed the subject. “Mr. Frothingham, have you had a chance to review the Christmas card list yet?”

     He scowled, his dark chocolate-brown eyes meeting hers.  “Grandfather insists we send a card to every customer and supplier who ever stepped foot into this store! I think that’s unnecessary. It’s a tremendous waste of money! Just take the damn list, cross off eight of every ten names and send a card to the people whose names don’t have a line through them! Forget the rest.”  He motioned for her to leave. “I’m busy. Please buzz Paul Miller and ask him to come upstairs immediately to see me.”

     Diane felt nauseous as she left the office once occupied by Abraham Frothingham. The senior Mr. Frothingham used to hand sign every card, sometimes jotting a short personal message besides.  He knew the value of his customer base and his suppliers. He knew the importance of those people on the list. They were what kept Frothingham’s in the black! This young Frothingham may have attended Harvard but he certainly had no understanding of the real business world, and he certainly had no concept of how Frothingham’s Department Store did business! “I need some Pepto Bismol,” she said aloud as she returned to her desk to summon Paul Miller from Sporting Goods.

     “Good morning, Willie!” said Sophie Albright as Willie Jackson opened the employee entrance door for her.

     “Hello, Sophie, you’re here bright and early this morning.”

     “Happy December first!” she replied, holding up a large, plush red Christmas stocking trimmed with fake white fur.  “Secret Santa starts today!” She shook the stocking. A papery rustling came from inside. “Did you sign up to participate?”

     “Yes, I did, but I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

     “It’s easy! You just draw a name from the stocking and that’s your Secret Santa person. You can spend up to five dollars but its okay if you just write a nice note and wrap it around a candy cane and tie it with a ribbon or something. Some people give a lottery ticket, a bus pass, a gift certificate, or something small like that.”

     “What if it’s someone I don’t know.”

     Sophie smiled. “That’s the fun part. You have to try to find out a little bit about the person. Talk to their department head, their co-workers, people they eat lunch with, or whatever. For example, say you drew Millie’s name and you didn’t know a thing about her. You could observe her at lunch. Maybe you’d notice she wears costume jewelry pins on her sweater, or that she wears her keys on a plastic coil bracelet around her wrist. A pin or a new key ring would be a thoughtful gift for her.  She’s also always drinking tea, so a package of a nice tea from the Gourmet Department would be good too.”

     “And when do we give the gift?”

     “Anytime between now and Christmas Eve.  It doesn’t matter. Just look for an opportunity to leave the gift where your Secret Santa person will find it, and make sure it has their name on it. You can tape it to the front of their locker, leave it on their desk, or at the counter where they work, or send it by interdepartmental mail. You’ll find a creative way.”

     Willie smiled. “Sounds good to me. Let me draw a name.”  Sophie held the stocking up high. “What if I draw my own name?’

     “Then put it back and draw another name.’  He reached into the stocking, drew a slip out and unfolded it.  After reading the name he opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t tell me, Willie! Remember, you’re a Secret Santa! Keep it a secret!”

     He grinned. “All right, Sophie!”  He refolded the paper and slid it into his pocket. “Ah, here’s Miss Juliann Boyce! Good mornin’!”

     Juliann smiled, drew a slip of paper from the stocking and squealed as she clutched it to her breast. “Yes! This is perfect! I know exactly what I’m going to do!”

     The majority of people entering picked slips of paper from the big red stocking.  Only a few grumbled about the job eliminations and worry about their own jobs, declining to choose a name.

     “Good morning, Mr. Frothingham, sir!” Willie called as he noticed the man standing near the security check-in window. He went over to see if there was something Frothingham needed.

     “What’s going on here?” he asked.  He was frowning at the young woman wearing the Santa hat, a red dress with fake white fur collar and cuffs and gold buttons down the front. She had on a wide black patent leather belt, white tights and black ankle high boots. “What the devil is she doing?”

     “It’s the start of Secret Santa,” Willie replied.  “It’s something new the employees are doing this year.”

     “Who authorized this?” he asked. “Who is that girl again?”

     “Well, I don’t exactly know, but that’s Sophie from Customer Service.”

     Frothingham shook his head. “She looks ridiculous.”

     Willie laughed. “Lord, Mr. Frothingham! You should have seen her on Saint Patrick’s Day! The leprechauns were green with envy!”

     “I certainly hope she changes into something appropriate before she starts work.”  He turned and strode away, muttering to himself.

     Sophie came up to Willie.  “I need to get upstairs. If anyone else wants to draw a name they can come see me in Customer Service.”

     “You have a good day, Miss Claus!”

     “See you tomorrow, Willie!” She waved, a jingle bell bracelet jangling on her wrist, as she went off to start her work day.

     Willie checked his watch. “Mike! I’m going up to unlock the doors! It’s eight o’clock! Time to let the Christmas shoppers in!”

     “Ho! Ho! Ho!” replied Mike Lawry from the security check-in window.

  

     Mrs. Colby decided she would hand-deliver Frothingham’s memo to Sophie down in Customer Service.  If anything else, it would be a brief respite from the office.  Frothingham had terminated five more employees this morning and there were five names on a list for her to summon to his office this afternoon.  It was very difficult for her to make the calls.  It made her feel as if she was the one ruining these people’s holidays and quite possibly their lives since many of the people he’d selected had been with Frothingham’s for the greater part of their working lives.

     Having made sure her phone would go to voice mail after one ring, she slipped out of the office, taking the elevator to the second floor.  Grace Noltemy, Denise Kilburn and Sophie Albright were behind the counter.  All three were busy so she slipped through the door to the area behind the counter. “Sophie, when you have a moment?”

     “I’ll be right with you, Mrs. Colby.”  She finished with the refund she was issuing for an ugly pea green and burnt orange cable knit sweater, folding the ugly garment carefully and placing it in the appropriate bin to be returned to the department from which it had been purchased. “What’s up?” she asked.  

     “I have a memo for you from Mr. Frothingham.” She held the envelope out to the girl. “I’m sorry.”

     “Oh, I know. Don’t shoot the messenger. No problem.”  She smiled as she opened the envelope, pulled out the half sheet from inside and read it.  A slight frown creased her brow but then it cleared and she smiled. “I hope he doesn’t come by today,” she said, throwing her arms out wide and spinning around. Today she had on a mistletoe print turtleneck shirt, a pair of holly berry red slacks and green shoes. A sprig of mistletoe was stuck into her red hair.

     “You look very festive,” Mrs. Colby said.  “You look fine. It’s not like you’re wearing something more appropriate for a nightclub or your pajamas!”

     Sophie laughed. “I have Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer on my pajamas!”

     “Then maybe you should wear them to work tomorrow!”

     “Maybe I will!”  She folded the memo and slipped it into the pocket of her slacks. “I need to get back to work. Thanks for taking the time to bring this to me.”

     “You’re the only one who would thank me for bringing a nasty note.”

     “I know you didn’t write it.”

     Mrs. Colby let herself out of the Customer Service area.  That Sophie was such a nice girl.

     That afternoon Danielle Foster walked into the employee’s lounge on the third floor to find her former high school classmate Holly Grant sobbing as several other employees attempted to comfort her. “What happened?” she asked, setting her yogurt down on a table and going to Holly. “Hey, what is it? What’s the matter?” Holly shook her head. Danielle looked up at the other employees standing helplessly around her. “What happened?” she repeated.

     “Frothingham fired Mitch,” one of them said softly before turning away.

     “Oh, no! He didn’t!” Danielle cried.  Mitchell Owens was the store tailor, a position he had held for over sixty years! The tailor shop occupied a small back corner of the third floor which was primarily men’s clothing, but Mitch also did all the alterations for ladies clothing as well with the assistance of Holly.  Mitch was a sweet old man with a horseshoe of white hair from ear to ear around his bald pate, a great beak of a nose over a wide smile and the bluest eyes Danielle had ever seen.  He was a small man, always dressed in a white shirt, bow tie, brown trousers and suspenders. He always wore an old tweed jacket with patches on the elbows he called his “Professor’s coat” when he left the tailor shop, even if it was just to run upstairs for a cup of coffee. He had a store of a million jokes in his head and he never forgot a punch line even though he was nearly eighty years old.

     “I can’t believe that man fired him!” Holly wailed. “What am I going to do? Does he think I can do all that work by myself? What is he? Crazy?”

     Danielle gathered her friend in her arms and tried to soothe her. “When the complaints start rolling in because alterations aren’t getting done he’ll figure out fast enough he’s made a serious mistake!”

     “I feel so bad! Poor Mitch! Dani! He had tears in his eyes when he hugged me goodbye! This job is what’s kept him going! The older Mr. Frothingham knew that! He and Mitch were great friends! They’d play cards in the shop after hours sometimes and just talk! They’d done that ever since Mitch lost Frances. Mr. Frothingham understood what it was like to lose a wife after so many years of marriage! I am so mad and so upset I just want to go upstairs and punch that idiot in the nose!”

     “A lot of us wish you would,” Jason Riley said.  He was a clerk in electronics who had seen his assistant manager one of the first to go on Black Friday.

     “Then she’d lose her job!”

     “No one’s job is secure here anymore!”

     “She doesn’t need to go making a scene and calling attention to herself!”

     “I’m not going to go hit him!” Holly cried, “But I sure as hell want to!” Though her eyes still shimmered with tears she managed a weak smile. “Wouldn’t he be surprised!”

     “Especially if there was a long line of employees behind you waiting to take their turn smacking him!”

     “I’m going to call Mitch when I get back to the tailor shop. I think I’ll go over and see him tonight and we’ll have KFC or something. I don’t think he’ll feel much like cooking or eating but someone has to make sure he does eat.”

     “Want me to go with you?’ Danielle asked.

     “I’m free tonight,” Jason said. “Why don’t the three of us meet at the employee door at five fifteen, I’ll drive.”

     Holly looked at the young man from electronics that was always bringing her small sewing jobs.  He seemed to lose buttons off his shirts on a regular basis and claimed to be all thumbs with needle and thread.  Then she glanced at Danielle. “Okay, is that all right with you, Dani?”

     “Sounds great. This is going to be a bad evening for poor old Mitch. I think he’s going to need some friends, and you’re right. He needs to eat.”

     “Five-fifteen at the employee door,” Jason said. “See you girls later then!”

     The other employees were drifting off, returning to their departments. Danielle looked at Holly, handing her some tissues. “Blow your nose, girl.  Though it may feel like it, it’s not the end of the world.” She gave her friend’s shoulder a little shake. “And if you ask me, I think that guy from electronics is interested in you.”

     “Jason?” Holly said, pausing to blow her nose. “You think so?”

     “Oh, I think so. You told me he’s always at the shop. Do you really think he was there to see Mitch?”

     Holly giggled and blushed. “I’m so stupid! I just assumed he was a moron who kept yanking his shirts open instead of unbuttoning them and that’s why he was always losing buttons!”

     “You need to get out in the real world more.”

     They left the employee lounge together and though Holly was still upset her spirits were a little brighter.

     When Danielle returned to her counter in Ladies Casual Fashions she found a small wrapped package beside her register. She picked it up and read the tag, ‘To Danielle from Secret Santa.’  “Oh!”  Quickly, she unwrapped the little gift. Inside was a small plastic parts bag. In the bag were six subway tokens.  They would get her to work and back for three days! “Wow! This is great!” she said aloud, not noticing the custodian changing a light bulb in a display case at the next counter who was surreptitiously watching her. 

     “Miss? This case is all set now. You be sure to ring me up if there’re any other problems!” he called as he picked up his tool box.

     Danielle looked at him. “Thanks,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she read the name embroidered on his overalls. “Thanks, Theo!”

     “You have a good day now, Miss Foster, and a Merry Christmas if I don’t see you again.”

     “Merry Christmas to you too,” she replied. “Santa just gave me a nice surprise,” she added.

     “That Santa, he’s a good man, for sure.”  He gave her a small wave as he walked away whistling Here Comes Santa Claus.

     As the employees arrived the next morning Holly stood waiting at the nearby subway entrance for Danielle to arrive.  When she saw her friend coming up the stairs she shouted, “You were right!”

     “About Jason?” Danielle asked, hurrying up the last dozen steps to join Holly.

     “Yes! He asked me out! We’re going to dinner and a movie Saturday night!”

     “That’s wonderful!”

     The two young ladies entered the store together, saying good morning to Willie who was always at the door with a smile and a warm greeting.  “What’s the mood of the day, Willie?” Holly asked.

     “Well, it’s hard to say,” he replied. “It’s not like it used to be at this time of year, lots of worried faces, but people are trying to stay upbeat. You girls have a good day.”

     Mrs. Colby finished filing letters Frothingham had given her before leaving for a meeting with Joe West in the Executive Board Room.  Mr. Frothingham had not looked very happy about the meeting.  She didn’t know what it was about, but maybe the Board was getting a bit antsy about all the terminations.  It seemed Frothingham was determined to fire ten people every Monday, Wednesday and Friday until he was happy with the numbers.  It was all very stressful! At least no one would lose their job today!

     The meeting had been arduous but Frothingham had managed to get his points across despite having to argue for keeping every policy and procedural change he’d made.  He’d had to rationalize the job eliminations but he had come prepared for that with all his charts and diagrams and he had not backed down.  The board had not seemed pleased and that had annoyed him further.  No one liked change, but sometimes change was necessary.  They didn’t agree with him.  They’d asked him to stop letting people go until they could examine the figures and come to their own conclusions about the direction the store was taking.  He did not like being told what to do.  He’d left the meeting where the Board members were remaining to begin reviewing his facts and figures.  He strode past the Grandview Restaurant nearly walking into an elderly woman with a shopping bag in one hand and a cane in the other.  “Be careful, young man!” she cried.  “How rude!”  He continued on to the elevators, glad that the car the woman had arrived in was still there. He stepped inside, turned and reached to press the button for the ninth floor.

      “Hold the elevator, please!”  Frothingham grimaced as a petite redhead slipped through the closing doors into the car. “Whew! Just made it!” she said, smiling.

     “Shouldn’t you be on the second floor?” he asked coldly.

     “I usually am but I had to reunite a lost child with her mother in the restaurant. I took her there to buy her a dish of ice cream while we waited for her mom to come upstairs to claim her.”

     “Did the store pay for the ice cream?” he asked.

     “No, I did.”

     He pressed the button for the ninth floor where his office was located and then the ‘2’ button for her floor.  The car lurched then began its descent.  “Did you receive my memo on appropriate attire?” Today she was dressed in a green corduroy jumper over a candy cane print turtle neck, red tights and green shoes.

     “Yes,” she replied.  Before he could continue the elevator car abruptly stopped, throwing them off balance.  “Oh!” she cried as she fell against him.

     He pushed her away as if touching her might contaminate him in some way.  “What the hell!”  He turned and stabbed various buttons impatiently.  “Come on! Why is this damn thing not moving?”  He jerked the alarm knob out setting off a jangling bell.  Sophie put her hands over her ears with a yelp.

     “Shut that off!” she cried.  “We’re stuck! Use the phone!”

     He yanked open the steel door with the picture of a phone receiver on it, grabbed the black receiver and shouted into it as he pushed the alarm button in stopping the bell. “”Hello! Hello! Yes! This is Mr. Frothingham! The employee elevator is stuck between the ninth and tenth floor! I’m trapped in here! Get me the hell out!  Now!”  He listened for a few moments, his face turning red. “That’s unacceptable! Get me out! I don’t care what you have to do!” He slammed the receiver back into place, slammed the small door shut then turned to the girl.  At first he did not see her, then his eyes lowered to where she was crouched in the back corner of the car speaking quietly to herself, her eyes wide, a bit wild, her hands clasped on top of her head.  Her eyes, he noticed, were the color of caramel. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

     “I don’t like elevators! I can’t breathe!” she said, hysteria in her voice.

     “Good Lord! Pull yourself together!” Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head, bit her lip.  “Calm yourself this instant! Don’t make me slap you! There’s no one here to help you! Look at me!”  He crouched down, grasped her wet chin, and shook her head a bit to get her attention. “Stop this! You’re an adult, act like one! You’re fine. The elevator is not going to fall, it has a safety brake. We are not going to be here long. Look at me! Are you listening to me?” He gave her head another little shake. “Did you hear me?”

     Her teary eyes blinked as she focused on him. “Yes,” she replied.

     “Just calm down.” She nodded.  “Here.  Dry your eyes. Blow your nose.”  He whipped his handkerchief from his breast pocket, stuffed it into her clenched fist.  “Go on.”

     “It’s silk, Mr. Frothingham.  I don’t want to get snot all over it.”

     He grimaced as he let go of her chin and stood up. “That’s what it’s for. I pay a laundry service good money to dry clean my handkerchiefs and neckties. Go on, clear your nose. I can’t stand listening to sniffling!”  She wiped her face, blew her nose.  She tried to return the handkerchief but he shook his head. “You may need it again.”

     “Thank you,” she said softly.

     He returned to the far side of the car, leaned against the doors, staring at the framed advertisements on the walls.  He really hadn’t noticed them before. They were antiques, the most recent one from when his grandfather took over as President of the store.

     Sophie noticed him studying the photograph of Abraham Frothingham.  “Your grandfather is a very nice man,” she said.

     “You know him?”

     “Oh, yes! I’m chairperson of the Sunshine Committee.”

     “And this Sunshine Committee is what, exactly?”

     “A group of employees who do nice things for other employees who are sick, in the hospital, have problems at home like sick husbands or wives or kids, or are going through a bad time. We send cards, flowers, fruit baskets, take up collections, go visit them, or whatever.”

     “I see. I’m not surprised you’re the chairperson.” He glanced at her then looked away again.  “So how do you know my grandfather?”

     “I go to see him three or four times a week. We play cards. He loves to play gin rummy. He likes to play penny poker too but you can’t play poker with just two people. I did finally find a few other employees who’ve agreed to play penny poker with him, which reminds me I need to stop by the Credit Department and pick up a half dozen rolls of pennies this afternoon.”  She paused as if making a mental note, then went on. “I’m the only one who can get him to use his walker. He really hates it. He’s very stubborn but if I say I’d like to go to the solarium to see how the flowers look he’ll get up out of bed and go with me.  I found out he likes flowers. He used to grow orchids for your grandmother. He grew the orchids she carried on the day they got married, but you probably knew that.”

     “No, I didn’t know that. We are talking about my grandfather and not some other old man you know?”

     “Yes, of course.”

     “So what you’re saying is you go to visit my grandfather several times a week, you play cards with him, you’ve arranged a poker game for him, and he gets up out of his sick bed and walks with you to look at flowers?”

     “Yes.”

     “You can understand what he says?”

     “For the most part. He’s having speech therapy. His therapist says it does him a world of good to have company because he has to talk and it’s helping retrain his brain to form sentences and speak more clearly. He does quite well, except when he gets tired, then he forgets words or mixes them up and they get a little slurry.”

     “And this poker game you’ve arranged, his doctor will allow such a thing?”

     “Yes, I checked with Doctor Mason and he said it was a wonderful idea as long as it doesn’t go on too long. He’ll have to handle cards and coins, do some analytical thinking, follow the game and socialize. Most of all he’ll have some fun. I’m making brownies. He likes brownies. I make them from scratch, not a mix. That’s how my mom always made them. I have her recipes.”

     He shook his head, stared up at the ceiling.  This homely little creature was something else. “Perhaps I should visit him,” he said. “I’ve been very busy here at the store lately.”

     “Yes, I know, firing people.”  His eyes met hers again. She did not look away.  Incredibly she took a breath and continued, “I think that’s crumby.”

     “Crumby,” he repeated. “Interesting. Thank you for sharing your invaluable opinion.”

     “That’s not exactly my terminology. He said that. I actually think it stinks.”

     “Who said that? That it was crumby? Do you mean my grandfather?” he demanded. “Are you discussing my business with him?”

     “Your business? No, I discuss my friends’ business with him. A lot of my friends have lost their jobs in the past ten days. They’re all very upset and unhappy.”

     “I am not going to discuss store business with you and I strongly recommend you reread the memo I sent you as you’re in direct violation of the dress code in these garish outfits you persist in wearing on a daily basis!”

     “For your information I dress like this because my mother loved Christmas! It was her favorite season! She liked how it brings out the best in people- well, in most people!”

     “She doesn’t like Christmas anymore?” he asked. “I wonder why?”

     “My mother died on Christmas Eve last year,” she said, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes again. “I promised her…!” She struggled mightily to regain control of her emotions.  It took a few long moments. “I promised her I’d keep her Christmas spirit alive. People smile when they see how I’m dressed. It reminds us why we’re all here helping the customers who can be very demanding, angry, annoyed and impolite this time of year! They take their stress out on us and sometimes it’s hard to be polite and helpful and patient! Everyone gets stressed out! If the way I dress makes ten people smile and wish me or someone else a ‘Merry Christmas!’ then I feel like I’ve done a bit of good in this world! I am not going to stop dressing like this because I think I am appropriately attired for the season and if you want to fire me then do it right now!”

     “I have every intention of letting you go. Consider it done,” he replied frostily.

     “Good, because I can’t fathom continuing to work for such a cold, uncaring insufferable man another day!”

     “Miss Albert…”

     “It’s Albright!” she flared.  “You can’t even be bothered to remember your employees’ names! We mean nothing to you! Go ahead! Fire everyone! Let all the people who’ve kept Frothingham’s thriving for decades go! When the liquidators come and plaster those big ugly red and white Going Out Of Business signs in all the windows I’ll be at the nursing home comforting your grandfather because you’ll have broken his heart! Wait, I have a better and quicker solution to this whole scenario! Why don’t you just go over there and stab a sprig of holly through his heart this evening, Mr. Ardis Scrooge Frothingham and save him the heartache of watching you destroy the store he loves so much!”

     Frothingham’s face was livid, his jaw clenched. “How dare you speak to me like this!”

     “Now that you’ve fired me I suddenly find I have the courage to speak up and say what everyone around here thinks! You’re an ass Ardis Frothingham! You’re the one and only mistake your grandfather has made since he became President and CEO! You may have a Harvard education but you have absolutely no concept of what it takes to run this store!”

     “And you think I should take advice from some little frizzy-headed storybook character who thinks she’s everybody’s fairy godmother?”

     “I do not think I’m anyone’s fairy godmother!” she shouted hotly. “And I am not a storybook character! I’m just an ordinary human being who cares about other people!”

     He did not respond turning to face the closed doors, arms crossed, shoulders tense, his whole posture loudly stating that he was furious.  “I expect an apology,” he finally said.

     “Put it on your Christmas wish list but keep in mind that Santa doesn’t always give us everything we want. Life becomes a shallow existence if we get everything we want and need. It eliminates our hopes and dreams and that’s what makes us human beings!”  She sat down on the floor of the car.

     “Have you ever considered counseling, Miss Albert?” She remained silent. “Michele thinks you’ve got a few screws loose in that silly head of yours and quite frankly I’m inclined to agree with her. I have, quite honestly, never met anyone like you. You’re incessantly cheerful. You care too much about people who shouldn’t be any of your concern. You go off visiting near strangers in nursing homes like some fluffy-headed little Florence Nightingale! I don’t want you visiting my grandfather again. Stay away from him.”  The car jolted and began to move. “Finally!” he said. “This has been an intolerable experience!”  The doors slid open and he stepped out. “I’ll ask security to assist you in clearing out your locker. They can escort you out of the building.” He strode away.

     “Merry Christmas, Mr. Frothingham,” she said softly to his stiff retreating back.

     “Did you hear what happened?” Lesley Price said as she slid her sore feet out of her shoes and placed them in her locker.  She took out her boots, sat down on the bench to pull them on.

     “I heard he fired Sophie this afternoon,” Danielle Foster replied.  “They’d gotten stuck in the elevator and had a fight.”

     “Yes, evidently Sophie sacrificed her job for all of our sakes. She let him have it with both barrels. I’m surprised it was she who finally said something. She’s so sweet, but I guess it needed to be said. That girl has guts! Guts and a big heart, but look where it landed her.”

     “On the unemployment line at Christmas. Poor Sophie! It won’t be the same around here without her cheerful greetings and her big smile.”

     “It’ll be absolute hell around here.”

     “We should take up a collection for her. I heard she doesn’t have much after taking care of her mom for over a year, and she’s still paying off those medical bills. Didn’t she just move from her apartment to a studio flat? God, she should have just bitten her tongue and kept quiet! Now she’s in the soup!”

     “He didn’t fire anyone else today.”

     “No, but it’s like the Christmas spirit has been sucked out of this whole place.”

     “She really had a knack for brightening people’s moods and making this a nice place to work, despite him. Do you know her new address?”

     “Maybe Diane has it? Or Ed can get it for us from her records, if he hasn’t thrown her file into the incinerator.”

     “I’ll try to find out tomorrow. We can start collecting for her in the morning.” She stood up, swung her locker door shut. “See you tomorrow then.”

     “Goodnight.” She watched her manager go.  So many people had been let go that the locker room felt like a ghost town. People drifted in and out quietly, their moods subdued. They were like specters, tight-lipped and in a hurry to leave.  As she bent to zip her boots she overheard voices in the next aisle.

     “She called him an ass! Can you believe it? I’m glad he fired her. She was just too weird! I mean, who dresses like an elf and is so damn perky all the time? It’s unnatural! If you ask me, she’s unstable! She needs psychiatric help. Her true colors came out in that elevator. She’s a frightful little bitch and she deserved to be fired for the way she spoke to him!”

     “But Michele, she really is a nice girl.”

     “Oh, Jessie, come on! You saw how she dressed! And that hair! You only get hair like that from putting your finger in a socket! Really! She’s not nice, she’s crazy! Now, enough about her. Here’s a scoop for you! I think he’s going to propose on Christmas Eve! I just have this feeling! I saw the dreamiest wedding gown in the bridal salon when I was browsing after lunch today! It costs a small fortune but it’s too die for and I’ll look amazing in it!”

     “Do you mean Mr. Frothingham?” Jessie asked.

     “Who else, silly goose!  I have him wrapped around my little finger! He’s like a panting puppy dog around me!” She laughed. “When I’m Mrs. Frothingham I’ll make some much needed changes around here! You’ll see!”

     The voices faded as they exited the employee locker room.  Danielle gathered up her tote bag and purse and left the room, heading for the employee parking level.  She had a decidedly queasy sensation in her stomach and the beginning of a headache in the center of her forehead.  Michele Langley and Ardis Frothingham! Everyone knew he was seeing her.  Had it gotten that serious this quickly? If that marriage took place then she was going to have to turn in her resignation.  She would not be able to work another day here, and she felt certain a lot of her remaining co-workers would feel similarly.

     At this hour of the morning the store seemed magical in the subdued lighting before the main switches were thrown bathing every floor in florescent brightness.  The Christmas decorations- green trees and wreaths decorated in gold, white and red, gold tinsel, red balls heralded the season- cheered Willie Jackson’s heart.  He loved the holiday season and was always amazed how quickly the store decorators transformed every floor into a holiday wonderland.

     In the quiet hour before the employees began to arrive Willie made his final round on each floor.  He particularly liked the Toy Department with the fantastical North Pole at the far end the best.  He hadn’t had many toys growing up.  His parents hadn’t been able to afford much.  Willie’d had a rubber ball, a stout stick he’d used as a bat and a few small metal cars his father had retrieved from a trash bin.  Willie had five grandchildren now.  One of his greatest delights was choosing toys for them for birthdays and Christmas.  But the thing Willie liked best to do in these quiet moments before the still store filled up with customers and employees was to climb up the ramp in the North Pole and sit on Santa’s regal gold throne with its plush burgundy cushions.  A sense of peace and benevolence flowed through him as he imagined himself as Father Christmas.  He loved children, loved how their faces lit up with joy at this time of year.  He wished there was a way to preserve that simple belief in the magic of Christmas.

     He sighed as he heaved himself up out of the tall chair where Santa Claus would soon hold court.  There certainly wasn’t much magical about what was happening in Frothingham’s these days.  So many good people had been let go since Thanksgiving. This morning would be the first time he wouldn’t see Sophie Albright’s smile as she arrived for work.  He’d heard she’d been fired yesterday afternoon after an argument of some sort with Mr. Frothingham.  She’d certainly made the store a nicer place to work with her infectious good cheer, her ever present smile and her care and concern about everyone.  He knew she’d gone through some rough times recently with the death of her mother, the loss of her apartment, a health scare of her own.  She never spoke of these things, never complained; never let her own worries overshadow her work here.  Very, very few people knew Sophie was on the verge of bankruptcy due to the medical bills accumulated during her mother’s illness.  Only Miss Tucker had known and she’d only revealed the secret to Mrs. Colby after she was fired.  Mrs. Colby had confided in Patricia Sawyer in Payroll.  He wished there was something he could do for Sophie, for everyone who’d lost their job recently.

     Shaking his head, he made his way out of the Toy Department using the employee elevator to go up to the cafeteria where breakfast preparations were underway.  He always had his morning cup of coffee with Millie.  She was a no-nonsense woman who ran both the restaurant and the cafeteria like a tight ship.  You’d think she was all by-the-book but he knew she’d given sandwiches to younger employees struggling to pay their rent, ice cream to children who wandered into the restaurant to see the big aquarium full of exotic fish Abraham Frothingham had installed when he became president.

     “Mornin’, Millie,” he said as he entered the cafeteria.

     “Good morning, Willie.  I’ll get your coffee.”

     “Any losses in your department yesterday?” he asked.

     She rolled her eyes.  “I feel the axe hanging over my head every day.  I’m just waiting for it to fall.  It may be my head, it may be Angie’s, Bert’s, Tommy’s, Joann’s…there’s no rhyme or reason to it.  Look at poor Sophie.  She was the nicest person in the store and he goes and fires her on the flimsy excuse she failed to dress according to the dress code.  Horse hockey! There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with what that girl wore! She always looked nice.  It’s Christmas for cryin’ out loud!”

     “I heard she gave him a piece of her mind in the elevator.”

     “I’d have given him more than a piece if it had been me stuck in that elevator with him!  Who does he think he is? He’s acting-President! Well, the only thing he’s acting like is a jerk!”

     “Now, Millie, be careful. For all you know the walls may have ears.”

     “Oh, pish-posh! Let those ears listen! I’ve been here forty-five years! We’ve gone through hard times before.  No President has ever let so many people go so quickly for such little reason!  It’s unthinkable and inexcusable!  Trim the fat every which way but don’t send people to the unemployment line simply because you don’t like them or the way they dress!”

     Willie glanced at his watch, stood up.  “Thanks for the coffee, Millie.  I’d better get downstairs.  Time to unlock the employee entrance.  There certainly is a different feel to it now when they come in.  No one’s smiling, except that Miss Langley who looks like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary.  Comes waltzing in like the queen with a big smile every morning then looks down her nose at you the rest of the day.  That young woman irritates me no end.”

     “Mr. Frothingham seems to find her fascinating.”

     “She’s a spider.  He’s a fly.  I have a feeling he’s already firmly caught in her web.”

     “If that’s the case so be it.  They belong together.  Both of them are the most self-centered, arrogant, incredibly shallow people I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing!”  She hoisted herself up from her seat.  “You run along, Willie.  I’ll send Tommy down with a breakfast sandwich for you in a bit.”

     “Thanks, Millie.  That sounds great.  You try and have a good day.”

     He went down to the basement security office, set his coffee on the counter.  “Time to open the door,” he said to Mike Lawry.

     “Yup,” Mike replied.  “Another day, another heap of stress.”

     Willie went out to unlock the employee entrance.  “Mornin’, Mrs. Colby,” he said, opening the door for Frothingham’s secretary.

     “Hello, Willie.  It’s beginning to snow.”

     “Might have us a white Christmas after all,” he commented.  “Hello, Juliann. Is that a new coat?”

     “Yes, it is. I bought it yesterday, just in time for this weather!  Hi, Mrs. Colby! Wait up! We can catch the elevator together!”

     Willie didn’t count many smiles but he did notice that most of the employees filing in were quiet, just sliding their time cards and heading to their various departments with minimal conversation between them, all in subdued tones.  They all seemed to be pre-occupied.  He couldn’t blame them.

     At seven forty-five he went to the first floor.  His job included unlocking the Main Street entrance doors before punching out and heading home.  He hoped that breakfast sandwich would be waiting for him when he returned to the office for his coat and keys. 

      After unlocking the doors for the first shoppers of the day he headed back toward the elevators, passing through cosmetics.  Mrs. Harrison was looking particularly annoyed.  “Something wrong?” he asked.

     “It’s just that Langley girl!  She’s late again.  It’s frustrating but I can’t do a thing about it seeing as she’s Frothingham’s girlfriend.  She’s taken full advantage of that position much to the inconvenience of her co-workers who have to cover her counter as well as their own until she decides to get her little fanny to work!”

     “You try to have yourself a good day otherwise, Mrs. Harrison,” he said.

     “I’ll try. You have a good one, too, Willie.”

     His sandwich was waiting as well as a container of orange juice.  He smiled.  “Mike, my boy, I’m heading home.  I’ll eat this delicious sandwich, drink my juice, feed the cat then hit the hay.  Hopefully I won’t wake up to two feet of snow this afternoon!”  He put on his coat as the phone rang.

    Mike answered the call.  He held up a finger to indicate Willie was to wait a moment.  “All right.  Okay. Yeah, he’s still here.  I’ll send him up.”  He slowly set down the receiver.  “I’m sorry, Willie.  That was Mrs. Colby.  The great Frothingham requests your presence in his office.”

     “I see.”

     “Jeez, I’m sorry, man.  This can’t be good.”

     Willie shrugged out of his coat.  “I’m long in the tooth, son.  I’m not surprised I’m on his list, only disappointed.  I’d hoped to retire from here.”  He set his breakfast bag on the desk in front of Mike.  “Here, you enjoy this.  I have a feeling I’m about to lose my appetite.”

     The snow was falling harder, large fluffy flakes spattering wetly against the glass, accumulating on the granite ledges outside the windows.  Ardis Frothingham sat staring out the window directly behind his desk toward the building across the street.  There were law and medical offices in the Freeman Building, a pharmacy and a café on the ground level.  He’d had lunch with Michele at that café yesterday and it had been quite pleasant.

     In the outer office he heard Mrs. Colby speaking to a man who’d just entered.  It must be Willie Jackson, summoned upstairs at the end of his shift.  Frothingham glanced down at Jackson’s personnel file he held in his hands.  Thirty-eight years on the job, never tardy, seldom sick.  He earned good money as night security supervisor.  Often he covered for day shift guards and that was the problem.  Frothingham didn’t like to pay Jackson’s hourly wage and overtime in place of the lower wage of the younger daytime guards.  The store needed to tighten its belt in these difficult economic times.  His job was to cut the fat.  Last weeks’ payroll had been noticeably reduced but he wasn’t happy with the bottom line figure yet.

     He turned in his chair, tossing the file jacket onto his desk.  The jacket bumped a stack of similar files.  Several fell off the desk onto the floor.  He got up, went around his desk, bent and picked them up.  As he gathered them together a photo slid out of one of them, drifting down to rest at his feet on the carpet.  He bent again to pick up the photograph, recognizing the little red-head he’d fired yesterday- Sophie Albright.

     He stacked the files on the corner of his desk but carried the photograph as he returned to his seat.  In the picture, most likely taken on her first day of employment, she wore her wildly curly hair pulled back into a thick braid that fell over one shoulder.  She must have been hired around Easter because she had on a pastel blue blouse with a yellow chick print and pastel egg-shaped earrings dangled from her pale ear lobes.  Here she wore glasses with copper-colored frames.  She must have changed to contact lenses at some point since he’d never seen her in glasses before.  She was smiling, and he caught himself beginning to smile at the image but shook his head.  The girl had called him an ass!  She’d told him quite bluntly it had been a mistake his being in this position.  She’d brought his grandfather into the argument!  She’d stepped over the boundary in that elevator.  She’d left him no choice but to terminate her employment.

     Her termination had caused a disturbing phenomenon throughout the store.  Since yesterday afternoon no employee had made eye contact with him.  Not one employee had wished him a good night or a good morning.  Only Michele was unaffected by the firing of Sophie Albright.  Michele was happy he’d sent “the ditzy carrot-top” packing.  She’d also approved of all his other choices for termination as well.  At least he had one ally in the store.

     He opened his desk drawer, dropped the photograph inside intending to replace it in the proper file jacket after his meeting with Willie Jackson.  Good riddance, Miss Albright, he thought as he slid the drawer shut, but there was a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach as he reached for the intercom button.  “Mrs. Colby, please have Mr. Jackson step in now.”

     Betty Mitchell hid her distaste for Michele Langley as the younger woman turned this way and that in front of the multi-angle view mirrors in the bridal salon.  This was the fifth gown the girl had tried on this afternoon.  Each gown was pronounced the dreamiest, the loveliest, and the absolute perfect gown before some very minor detail brought a deep crease between Michele’s dark brows and she flounced off to the dressing room to try on the next. 

     “Oh, I don’t like the pattern of the seed pearls on the bodice after all!” Michele huffed as she sashayed across the salon.  “Mrs. Mitchell, be a dear and fetch me that Joyce Jordan gown in a size four, will you? You remember the one, don’t you, with the frothy train?”

     “Yes, Miss Langley, I remember. Let me see if I have a size four in stock.” If that girl was a size four she’d eat her left boot for dinner tonight.  More like a ten, she was.  The gowns she had tried on so far looked as if they were about to burst at the seams.

     “If I choose ivory I can have shoes dyed to match here, can’t I?”

     “Yes, we send them out to be matched to the gown.”

     “And the flower shop downstairs can be counted on to supply the flowers and my bouquet?  They are respectable enough?”

     “Many of our brides have used the florist downstairs.  I’ve never heard a complaint.”

     “Good. It’ll be a February wedding,” she said as she disappeared into the dressing room.

     Mrs. Mitchell made a dour face.  If Frothingham proposed to the girl on Christmas Eve as Miss Langley was telling everyone he would, a February wedding seemed awfully soon.  The little spider wanted to have her big fly all wrapped up tight very quickly.  What an unbearable duo they’d make.  As she sorted through the gowns to find the requested one she ran through her options again.  Her sister in Arizona had often tried to persuade her to move to the southwest.  Her own dream had always been to move to the northwest, to Oregon or Washington state, even upstate California.  It was beautiful out there.  There must be bridal shops looking for experienced help across the country.  If not, she could always find work in some other area of retail.

     “Mrs. Mitchell!  Do you have that gown?” came the ringing imperial request of the future Mrs. Frothingham.

     “Yes, Miss Langley! I have it right here.”  A smug smile tucked itself into the corners of Betty Mitchell’s mouth as she carried the size-four gown across her forearms to the dressing room.  This gown would make the girl look like a sallow-skinned sausage in frills!  Hardly regal!

     Frothingham checked his watch.  It was too late to visit his grandfather again.  He shrugged it off thinking he’d go the following evening to see him.  He just didn’t have a lot of free time these days, and he couldn’t seem to remember to call either, even though Mrs. Colby had found the number of Abraham Frothingham’s nursing home room telephone and placed it in his Rolodex with a red Post-it flag marking the location.  He was just too busy.  When he wasn’t at the store he was squiring Michele around the city.  He enjoyed her company even though the night life in Fairmont wasn’t anything compared to the European cities he’d lived in.  She liked it well enough and it was all right as far as he was concerned, something to do instead of going back to the dreary penthouse apartment on the top two floors of the building that housed Frothingham’s Department Store.  He wished he could live in his grandfather’s penthouse apartment over at the York Building.  It was far grander than the one here.  This one had not been used since the nineteen fifties.  It was sorely in need of updating.  At most, it was serviceable.  Michele had a million plans to renovate the place.  He just shook his head at all her wild schemes.

     As he hung up his coat he heard a crinkle. Sticking his hand in the pocket he pulled out the photograph he’d stuck in there before leaving the store this evening to go to dinner with Michele.  He glanced at the now somewhat wrinkled photograph of Sophie Albright and shook his head.  What on earth had possessed him to take the picture home? 

     He wandered into the kitchen of the apartment, smoothed the picture out on the formica countertop then went to get a bottle of apple juice from the refrigerator.  As he poured a glass he stared at the picture of the smiling girl.  The color of her eyes was quite interesting, like the coating on a caramel apple.  He remembered the first time he’d eaten a caramel apple at the circus.  What a wonderful surprise that had been!  His grandfather and grandmother had taken him.  They’d always had time for him when he was growing up.  Now he wondered how his grandfather had managed running the store and spending so much time with him.  He didn’t seem to have any free time.  “Oops,” he said, as apple juice spilled onto the counter, threatening to run onto the photograph.  He moved the photo, grabbed a sponge to soak up the spilled juice.  A few droplets had spattered the picture, looking like tear drops on the girl’s face.  Tears and smiles did not go together, he thought.  He blotted the photo with a paper towel.  The image was slightly damaged now and he frowned.  “Sorry about that, Miss Albright,” he said aloud, then he shook his head, “Ardis, you’re losing your mind.”

     He put the juice away, turned, and picked up the picture.  “You’re a very unusual young lady, Miss Albright.  As much as you irritate the hell out of me I still found myself donating fifty dollars to the collection Mrs. Price took up for you. Of course I had to make it anonymously by leaving the envelope on her desk when she was on the sales floor because I can’t fire you one moment then give you money the next.  When I asked Mrs. Colby why Mrs. Price felt compelled to take up a collection for you she told me you were having some financial difficulties due to medical bills still coming in for your mother.  It never occurred to me you were responsible for those bills.”  He studied the picture for a few more moments.  “Still you smile like this every day.  How can that be?  There’s not a hint of the worry you must feel.  I’m afraid I feel a bit of a heel now for firing you but what can I do?  You broke the rules.”  He shook his head.  “You went too far, Miss Albright.  You just went too far the other day.”  He went into the study; put the photograph into his desk drawer there.  “I had no choice,” he said to the picture as he slid the drawer closed.  “I had no choice,” he repeated as if trying to convince himself of that fact.         

    “Ardis isn’t this ring lovely?” Michele said as she pulled him to a stop before the jewelry case on the mezzanine level between the first and second floor. “It has such a beautiful sparkle to the cut! And I love the platinum setting. Isn’t it simply divine?”

     “It’s very nice,” Frothingham replied, his eyes falling on the ring she was pointing to only briefly.

     “What girl wouldn’t love to find that in her stocking on Christmas Eve!” she said brightly. “And look, there’s a matching wedding band too! How perfect!”

     “Are you interested in looking at the ring, Miss Langley?” asked Sandra Miller who stood behind the counter barely suppressing her irritation with the pair.

     “Oh, Ardis, do you think I should try it on?” Michele asked, batting her eyes at the man who did not seem that interested in looking at jewelry.

     “If you like, go right ahead. Mrs. Miller, has my watch come back from repair yet?”

     “It’s due to be back in the store tomorrow morning, Mr. Frothingham. I can have George run it up to you the moment it arrives.”

     “Yes, do that.”  He turned to survey the store from the balcony, nodding to himself. The store was crowded with customers. There were some at the jewelry counter waiting for the woman to assist them.  “Michele, come along. Try that ring on another time.”

     Michele pouted but followed Frothingham as he strode away from the counter.  Mrs. Miller breathed a sigh of relief.  If the rumors about an impending marriage were true he certainly wasn’t behaving like a groom-to-be, but then again he was rather a cold fish in this big pond.  If that girl wanted him for a husband then she was welcome to him!  With a smile she turned to the next customer. “May I help you?”

     Michele caught up to Frothingham on the escalator to the second floor.  “Where are you going?” she asked.

     “Customer Service,” he replied.

     She nearly stumbled on the step as she got off the escalator behind him.  “Whatever for?” she demanded.

     He turned and looked at her.  “What?” he asked.

     “Why on earth are you going to Customer Service?’ She looked incredulous. 

     “Customer Service? I didn’t say that. I need a new necktie. I’m going to Men’s Accessories.” He shook his head at her.

     “But you said…”
     “I said Men’s Accessories, Michele. Now you can either go back to work, or you can come help me pick out a tie.” He turned and headed toward the counters where ties were displayed like candies in a box.

     Michele’s mouth twisted in a somewhat ugly sneer for a moment but she followed him.  “Which suit is this for?” she asked, fingering the material of the neckties. 

     “The brown Armani.”

     “Ooh, I like the cut of that one! Very sexy!” she purred.  “This tie would look wonderful with that suit.”  She held up a burnt orange tie with a gold, olive green and beige pattern.  “With your coloring…”

     “Too loud,” he said. The thing looked like an autumnal nightmare!  If that Albright girl was a man she’d pick a tie like that and proudly wear it to Thanksgiving dinner! His mouth began to curl up at the corners in a wry smile.  He caught himself, shook his head, and assumed a sober expression.  “That’s not my style.”

     “You need to upgrade your wardrobe, Ardis. You’re acting President now. You’ll be President soon. I could put together some things that will make you look powerful and fashionable!”

     “I don’t look powerful and fashionable to you?” he asked.

     “Of course you do,” she quickly amended, “but when you’re President you’ll need to exude a whole new aura.”

     He selected a beige tie with a thin squiggle of brown running through it.  “This one will do,” he said.  Behind his back Michele rolled her eyes. It was a hideous tie!

     “If you don’t mind, I’d better return to my counter,” she said.

     “You run along then,” he replied.  He watched her go.  She was quite beautiful, quite shapely and had the longest legs he’d ever seen on a girl.  She really didn’t need to wear those stiletto heels.  They brought her almost too close to his height which he didn’t like. He turned back to the tie salesman.  “Wrap this and send it up to my office.”

     “Yes, Mr. Frothingham.”

     Frothingham passed through Men’s shoes and pressed the button for the elevator.  As he stood waiting he watched the customers on this floor.  His eyes fell on a short figure with red hair peeking out from a knit hat and his heart made a strange skipping beat until the person turned and he saw it was not who he thought it was.  No, that particular little redhead would probably never step foot in this store again.  

     He stepped into the elevator, pressed the ‘9’ button and sighed as the doors slide shut and the car started upward. As they passed the floors, stopping and starting to let customers on and off his mind drifted back to Michele and the stop at the jewelry counter.  She certainly seemed to have her mind set on a ring.  The ring she’d shown him looked an awful lot like an engagement ring, and hadn’t she said there was a matching wedding band? His dark eyebrows rose slowly as her broad hints suddenly came together in a vividly clear picture!  He’d been seeing her for less than four months! Did she expect a proposal this soon?

     Frowning, he stepped off the elevator and walked to the reception area of his office.  “Mrs. Colby? Do I have any appointments this afternoon?”

     She looked up from her desk. “You have an appointment with Alice Peters at two-fifteen, then a three o’clock with Kevin Handy,” she replied, her voice as neutral as vanilla ice cream.

     “Reschedule those appointments for another day, would you. I’m going upstairs.”

     “Are you feeling all right?” she asked. “You look a bit pale, sir.”

     “I have a headache coming on.”

     “Perhaps you should stop by the infirmary for some aspirin?”

     “I have some upstairs, thank you.”  He turned to leave but stopped. “Mrs. Colby?”

     “Yes, Mr. Frothingham?”

     “Can you send Miss Langley’s personnel folder upstairs?”

     Mrs. Colby hid her surprise at the name he had given her. “I’ll ask Ed to run it right up to you, Mr. Frothingham.”

     “Thank you.”

     She watched him go then reached for her phone.  “Ed? Pull Miss Langley’s file and run it right up to the penthouse, will you?”

     “Is he firing her or checking her pedigree?” Ed asked at the other end of the receiver.

     “I can’t say. He’s not looking well at the moment.”

     “Could be the flu.”

     “Could be, could be something else too.”

     “Ah, true love….” Ed mused. “I’ll yank her out and deliver her up to him on a silver platter.”

     “Thanks, Ed.”    

     A short time later Frothingham took the personnel folder from him at the penthouse door. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Frothingham?” Ed asked.

     “No. Thank you.” Ardis closed the door. He carried the folder to the sofa, sat down and pulled out the contents of the folder. Her photo resembled a glamour shot. Her dark hair was perfect, her makeup exquisite. She really was a gorgeous young woman.

     He read her application. It was surprising to discover she was the daughter of Martin Langley the long time mayor of Fairmont. He nodded. That explained why she was treated like a celebrity when they went out. She was well known in the city. Why did she work at Frothingham’s? He continued to read.

     Michele Langley had graduated from Chamberlain Beckwith, an exclusive all female high school on the east side of the city; she’d gone to Smith College in Northampton Massachusetts but only for two years. She’d then returned to Fairmont, worked for a year at Frothingham’s main competitor Thornton and Berkley, then for Frothingham’s for nearly four years. Her attendance was average; she’d taken sick days, personal days like the other employees; not in excess. Her evaluations were good though not glowing.

     He returned all the papers to the file except the picture. He enjoyed his time with her. She liked going out, having a good time. After a few months he really didn’t know that much about her except that she liked to be seen in all the best restaurants, theaters, nightclub and galleries in Fairmont. He didn’t mind taking her places but he did often feel like he was her arm candy rather than the other way around. She showed him off like a prize show dog and basked in her acquaintances approval of him.

     He stuck the picture back in the folder, tossed it onto the coffee table, leaned back and held his head. He had a dull nagging headache. Michele wouldn’t be a bad match. He was fairly sure his grandfather and Michele’s father knew one another. He should call his grandfather and ask him about Langley. His grandfather must certainly know Michele if she’d worked at the store nearly four years! “But not right now,” he muttered. “I think I’ll go lie down.”

     Mrs. Colby sat at a table opposite Mildred Jones. “Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t cancel the Christmas Party,” she said.

     “He’s taken away everything else. I’m as surprised as you are,” Millie replied. She lifted her cup and sipped her coffee. “He waited long enough to give me the menu,” she grumbled. She tapped the papers Diane had given her. “It could have been worse, I suppose.”

     “Do you have enough time to prepare?”

     Millie ate a piece of her apple pie a la mode. “I’ll manage.”

     “If anyone can pull it off in a week’s time it’s you.”

     “I appreciate you confidence, my dear.”

     Diane nodded. “The firings have almost stopped.”

     “Running out of momentum or running out of employees?”

     “I don’t know. I think that Langley girl has distracted him. As much as I can’t bring myself to like that shallow creature I’m glad she’s keeping him busy. The more he sees of her the less time he’s in the office and that means he’s not trying to find excuses to fire us all!”

     “I saw Sophie on Saturday,” Millie said. “She was at Bargain City buying flower pots of all things. She hasn’t found a new job yet. She says she’s doing as well as can be expected, and she said to thank everyone for the money. She’s going to send a card.”

     “She’s such a sweetie.”

     “She had tears in her eyes. The money meant a lot to her. Do you know how much Mrs. Price collected?”

     “I heard it was just over eight hundred dollars.”

     “That should help her out into the New Year.”

     “I hope so. I’m keeping my eyes open for anything that comes along job-wise for her.”

     “It doesn’t hurt to have everyone looking.” Millie finished her pie. “Willie called me.”

     “And how is he?”

     “Has a line on a job as a guard at the community college over on South Elm Street.”

     “Oh, that would be good.”

     “It might be but I’d worry about him. He’s no spring chicken.”

     “True.”

     “It’s lousy all these people losing their jobs so close to Christmas. Mr. Frothingham must be grinding his teeth over there at Evergreen Manor.”

     “I imagine he must know if they let him read the newspaper.”

     “I wish he’d come back.”

     “You and I both, as well as many others.” She finished her coffee and stood up. “Good luck, Millie. I don’t know how many of us will feel festive enough to come.”

     Millie shrugged. “It’s the only Christmas bonus we’re getting, a free meal. People will come. I doubt young Mr. Frothingham will be the center of attention his grandfather’s usually been. He may find himself alone at the head table.”

     “That Miss Langley will sit with him.”

     “Oh, that’s right! She’ll probably plunk herself right down on his lap and tell him she wants to be his wife for Christmas!”

     Diane laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past her!”

     “I’d better go get this food ordered.”

    “You’re the best Millie!”

     Frothingham sat behind his desk tapping the large cream colored envelope on the blotter. The envelope had been hand-delivered by a uniformed courier nearly a half hour ago. It bore his name and the address of the store in elegant script. On the flap, in the same elegant script only in crimson, was written Mayor Martin Langley and First Lady Barbara Langley, City Hall and nothing else. He knew what it was. Michele had told him he was being invited to her father’s annual Christmas Ball. The ball was being held the evening before the store’s annual Christmas Party. He was not looking forward to either event.

     Michele had dragged him to the fifth floor to model at least a dozen gowns. He’d never met anyone so utterly devoted to dressing to the nines. His mother had bought off the rack, only occasionally splurging on a nice outfit from the store for a special occasion. His grandmother, Anne, had always looked comfortable. He’d only seen her dressed up at company parties or events; otherwise she dressed like everyone else’s grandmother. His other grandmother had worn housedresses all the time. She’d certainly not been a fashion plate. Other young women he’d known at school and at college had looked nice but hadn’t spent a small fortune on clothes. Michele, on the other hand, wore only designer labels. After that agonizing visit to Women’s Formal Wear he’d taken a trip to the Credit Department where he’d had a confidential discussion with Martha Muir. He’d gotten a glimpse of Michele’s last credit account statement. The amount she’d charged had raised even his eyebrows.

     Reluctantly, he used the silver-plated letter opener to slit open the envelope. He laid the opener aside, pulled out the heavy cream-colored card inside. It was printed in crimson ink like the return address. “I suppose I’ll have to go,” he said aloud. “Daddy’s little girl gets everything she wants apparently.” He flipped the invitation into his “in” basket, sat back in his chair. He’d have to wear his tuxedo both nights. As much as he liked to look good, and he knew he was quite handsome in the tuxedo, he didn’t relish wearing it two nights in a row. There was no gracious way to decline the mayor’s invitation. His grandfather must have attended, so he would have to attend and besides, Michele was anxious to show him off.

     He blew out his breath. Running this store was more involved than he’d imagined it would be. How in the world had his grandfather managed? Yes he was vice president but he really hadn’t done much in the past four years. He’d spent most of his time enjoying various European cities- Paris, Rome, Venice, Prague, Madrid. Of course Joseph West, operations manager, oversaw a large portion of the day to day operations of the store but still, Abraham Frothingham had a big job holding the reins of his empire. “I’m not cut out for this Gramps,” he muttered. “I thought I could step in and everything would go as smooth as glass.” He shook his head, stood up and went into the outer office. “Mrs. Colby?”

     “Yes, Mr. Frothingham?”

     “Would you RSVP in the affirmative to the invitation in my in basket?”

     “Are you stepping out?”

     “I need to run a few errands.” He started for the door but hesitated, turned back, “Mrs. Colby?”

     “Yes, sir?”

     “Can you check to see if all the arrangements have been made for the Christmas party?”

     “I’ll phone Mrs. Jones after I RSVP to the Mayor’s office.”

     “Thank you.”

     “Mr. Frothingham, will you be returning to the office after your errands are done?”

     “No, I expect it’ll be after hours before I’m done.”

     “Good night then.”

     “Do I have any early appointments or meetings tomorrow morning?”

     Mrs. Colby glanced at the calendar. “You have a nine fifteen with Luke Bishop.”

     He nodded. “Would you cancel that appointment please?”

     “Should I reschedule?”

     “No. Just cancel it.” He left the office.

     Diane Colby pursed her lips. Young Mr. Frothingham seemed unusually subdued this afternoon. It was also not like him to cancel appointments. Did this mean that Luke would be fortunate and not lose his job in electronics? Lucky Luke! Maybe the tide was turning.

     She went to retrieve the invitation from Mr. Frothingham’s in basket. While doing so she glanced at his blotter. Frowning, she walked around the desk to look at the doodles on his blotter right side up. What on earth was he doing sketching gowns? Did he have an interest in fashion design? The dress he’d sketched had a one-shouldered bodice in a peppermint stripe with a full skirt in a sprigged holly berry and mistletoe pattern. “I can’t quite picture Miss Langley in this creation,” she said aloud. “However I could see Sophie waltzing into the annual Christmas Party decked out in this gown!” What a curious thing to find on his desk.

     She returned to her desk to place the call to the Mayor’s Office, then a second call to Electronics. She made the third call at four o’clock, speaking to Millie. According to Millie all was in order for the party and she was sure it would go of like clockwork. “God bless you Mrs. Jones. You’ve worked a holiday miracle!” she said.

     The Mayor’s Annual Holiday Ball was held at the Fairmont Farms Golf Club on the outskirts of the city.  Ardis, who owned a small sports car that did not handle well in snow, rented a limousine for the night.  He had invited Michele to stay at the penthouse Friday night so she could work part of Saturday then run upstairs, rest, shower and prepare for the ball but she had decided to take the entire day off, go to her spa and salon then dress at her parent’s home where he could pick her up at seven-thirty. 

     It was now nearly eight o’clock and he was standing in the grand foyer of the tudor-style mansion waiting for Michele to come downstairs.  The maid who had admitted him to the house had gone upstairs for a second time to let Michele know that Mr. Frothingham was waiting in the foyer.  She came downstairs murmuring an apology, “Miss Langley will be with you shortly, sir. Would you like a drink?”

     “No, thank you.”  He glanced at his watch again and felt a flash of irritation.  There was fashionably late and then there was the kind of late that drew attention from everyone because it bordered on being rude.  He didn’t mind fashionably late, but he did not like being stared at and considered rude.

     “Ardis! I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting,” Michele said as she slowly came down the grand staircase sheathed in a beaded midnight blue gown that emphasized and hugged every curve of her tall frame.  Her dark hair was done up in long spiral curls, a few tendrils left to curl softly around her neck.  She wore stunning sapphire earrings and a matching platinum necklace and bracelet set with sapphires and carried a tiny platinum-colored purse. On her feet were platinum spiked-heeled slip-ons that looked too fragile to support her weight.  He wondered how she could walk in them. “How do I look?”

     “Lovely,” he replied crisply.  She did not look pleased with his curt response. “Do you realize you’ve kept me waiting over a half hour?”

     “Oh, what’s the big hurry? People will be arriving until nine o’clock, at least!” She turned. “Agnes, where’s my coat? I want the sable fur, the knee length one!” The maid scurried off to fetch the requested coat.

     Frothingham wondered how many sable coats she owned. Perhaps they belonged to her mother and she was just borrowing one?  “I don’t like to be late.”

     “Daddy won’t even notice.”  She came up to him and adjusted his black bow tie.  “You look delicious tonight,” she purred.  “I could just eat you up!” She kissed him. “Yum!”

     He removed his handkerchief and wiped his lips. “You’re getting lipstick all over me,” he complained.

     “So what? It looks good on you, and let’s everyone know you’re mine.”

     “Here you are, Miss Langley! The knee length sable, just as you asked.”  The maid had it over her arms.

     “Ardis, will you help me put this on?” Michele asked.

     He took the coat from the maid, held it open so that she could slip her bare arms into the wide sleeves. “You know wearing real fur is not politically correct,” he said.  He was trying to convince the Board to close the fur salon on the fourth floor.

     “Can you tell me what other purpose sables serve other than to provide their fur for coats?”

     “It’s not just their fur, you know, it’s the entire pelt. That means they have to be killed for the fur.”

     “Cows are killed for leather for belts and purses every day. Because they aren’t cute people don’t care.  But if you’re a cute little furry thing people get all up in arms about bashing a few heads! Really!”

     Frothingham bit his tongue as she snuggled into the coat.  “We need to go,” he said.

     The country club was in an old Victorian era building. One wing was an expansive ballroom brightly lit by nearly three dozen big crystal chandeliers.  At the far end was a musician’s balcony where a twenty member ensemble was playing classical pieces suitable for hors d’oeuvres and conversation.  After checking their coats in the entrance hall Frothingham lead Michele to the nearest doorway to the ballroom.  There was a receiving line moving slowly along. “We don’t have to wait, you know. Daddy is expecting us, and I am the First Daughter.”  She turned and said quite loudly, “Excuse me, please! Please excuse us! Mayor Langley is my father!”

     Frothingham felt his face go hot as people parted to make a path for them to slip through into the ballroom.  He followed Michele who skirted a knot of people, then pushed her way upstream through the already received guests who were mingling to where her father stood with Mrs. Langley and other city officials.  “Darling! There you are!” cried Mrs. Langley pushing an older woman aside so she could reach past her husband to pull her daughter into the receiving line beside her. “We were beginning to think you’d changed your mind and gone to that little store party instead!”

     “The store party is tomorrow night,” Michele said. “Mother, this is Ardis Frothingham, the President of Frothingham’s.”

      “Aren’t you fortunate to work with our lovely daughter!” Mrs. Langley said, smiling broadly as if posing for the photographers. “I shop there occasionally, but to be perfectly honest I prefer Thornton and Berkley’s myself. No offense!”  She elbowed her husband, a portly man with salt and pepper hair and a bristly moustache that should have been trimmed more neatly for this occasion.  “Marty! This is our future son-in-law, Arbus Frostingworth! Isn’t he dashing!”

     The Mayor immediately dismissed the guest he was greeting with a flip wave of his hand to turn to Ardis.  “Arbus, my good man! So, you’re the big fish our daughter has on her line! Happy to meet you! As soon as that ring is on her finger we’ll give you a proper Langley welcome into the family! She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Her mother looked like that thirty years ago! Can you blame me for being bedazzled by her?” He pumped Ardis’s hand in his sweaty grip while slapping him on the upper arm. “Do you play golf, Arbus?”

     “No, it’s not my sport, I’m afraid.”

     “I’ll teach you! Stop by the house sometime for cocktails. I’ll have you out on the green before the snow melts! It’s a wonderful way to keep the body in shape!” He grasped his ample girth and laughed uproariously. “Go get yourself a beer, young man!”

     Ardis glanced at Michele who was preening for a suave looking gentleman who had recently arrived. His eyes shifted to Mrs. Langley and two thoughts struck him. The first was that if Mrs. Langley had looked like Michelle thirty years ago she had nearly tripled in size since then.  The second thought was that the sable fur could not possibly belong to such a large woman since it fit Michele like it had been made for her.  He turned away, his eyes desperately searching the room for the bar. When he spotted it he made a beeline for it and ordered a glass of wine.

     He sat uncomfortably at the head table between Michele and her mother. Michele complained about the quality of the food even though she barely picked at it. Her mother loudly extolled the virtues of the caterers who had provided such a sumptuous feast. Frothingham felt the food was good, but nothing to rave about.  It was better then what would be served at the store party the next evening and inwardly he cringed a bit at having given Millie Jones such short notice. He should have given her instructions to arrange for the steamship round of beef and the baked ham he’d considered before the expense of such a meal had swayed him to select the least expensive menu.

     As he danced with Michele he said, “Everyone seems to be under the impression that we’re going to get married.”

     She tilted her head coyly to one side and gave him a sly smile.  “We’re dancing under the mistletoe.” He glanced up, spotted the dangling ball of white berries and greenery tied with wide red velvet ribbon. Fleetingly the mistletoe held his attention before Michele tugged on his sleeve. “You’re supposed to kiss me.” Dutifully he kissed her and as he did so a camera flash went off in close proximity and there was a smattering of applause.

     Toward the end of the long evening Mayor Langley approached Frothingham and offered him his hand. “My boy, I know your grandfather very well. Magnificent fellow! We used to golf together until he broke his hip. How is the old man?”

     “When did he break his hip?”

     Mayor Langley looked surprised that Frothingham didn’t know such a thing. “Why this past summer, or late spring was it? Been in that rehab facility malingering ever since! Probably doesn’t care to be shown up on the green again by us younger pups!” He slapped Frothingham on the shoulder. “Good to finally meet you! Take care of my little girl!”

     In the limousine Ardis turned to Michele. “Do you remember my grandfather breaking his hip earlier this year?”

     “Isn’t that why he’s in the nursing home?” she asked.

     “He had a heart attack and then a stroke.”

     “Well, that’s not what Daddy said. You must be wrong.”

     Frothingham saw her to the door but refused an invitation to go inside. “It’s late and tomorrow is a work day.”

     “I’m calling out sick. I’m tired and I want to look good for the party tomorrow night.”

     Frothingham returned to the limousine. “Take me back to Frothingham’s,” he said.

     “Right away, sir!”

     The company Christmas Party was held on the twenty-first of December in the employee cafeteria that had been transformed into a winter wonderland by the interior design department using many of the props from the North Pole area at the far end of the Toy Department on the sixth floor. They would work well into the wee hours returning the props after the party because the final push toward Christmas would come in the next few days and there would be a rush of children to see Santa with their lists up to Christmas Eve when the store would close at six o’clock in the evening.

     Diane Colby looked around at her glum-faced co-workers.  Quite a few of the remaining employees had come which was surprising considering there were no Christmas bonuses this year.  Frothingham had even cut out the greeting cards his grandfather had sent to employees with an additional employee discount voucher tucked inside and a coupon for a free holiday ham in the food department. It was a canned ham, true, but the best quality, and baked with pineapple rings and decorated with maraschino cherries it made a lovely addition to the holiday table in many employee homes.

     The meal this year had been chicken cordon bleu with scalloped potatoes and green beans almandine. In the past it had always been prime rib, baked potatoes and steamed vegetable medley. Dessert had just been served, brownie sundaes in parfait glasses.  Spoons were clinking against glass in the unusually subdued room when the sound of microphone feedback startled them all.  Heads turned to locate the source of the sound.  Some faces were fearful, as if Frothingham was about to announce that they were all terminated.  “Oh my,” Diane said aloud as her eyes found the young woman at the podium.  She blinked.  Could it really be her? Yes, it was Sophie Albright.  It could be no other, not with that color hair, only she wore it pinned up in a sophisticated up-do this evening that gave her slender, pale neck an elongated appearance. She was dressed in a sparkling winter white strapless gown that gave her an angelic appearance due to the filmy tulle that bordered the sweetheart neckline and draped back over her shoulders. Sophie looked astonishingly beautiful as she finished adjusting the microphone and gave the room a radiant smile.

     “Sorry about that.  Good evening everyone!” There were murmured replies throughout the room.  “I apologize for arriving late with our guest of honor. Traffic is horrendous!”  She turned and smiled as a power wheelchair came from behind a screen. “Ladies and gentlemen, our esteemed guest of honor, Mr. Abraham Frothingham!”

     There were gasps of surprise, then applause broke out and spread throughout the room. People began to rise from their seats, others following suit until the entire room was standing and applauding the CEO and President of Frothingham’s.  Those seated near Ardis Frothingham could see that he was quite plainly stunned by the appearance of Sophie Albright and his grandfather at the party.

     Sophie brought the microphone to the senior Frothingham and placed it into his hand, helping him to get a firm grasp on it before stepping aside. “Good evening,” he said, his voice slow, strong and clear. “It’s good to see all of you.”  He waited for the cheers and applause to subside. “I have Miss Albright to thank for getting me here tonight.  I’ve spent too long lying in bed when I belong behind my desk here at the store.” Another rousing cheer went up throughout the room. “Miss Albright has selflessly dedicated much of her free time in urging me to get well.  When I first fell ill all I wanted to do was join my beloved late wife. I was tired. I was defeated. Miss Albright began to visit me.  Why she would take so much time to visit a crotchety old man, I don’t know, but I am, in the end, thankful to her for being so patient with me, so very good to me. She has been an inspiration to me. The results of her caring, her compassion, and her tireless efforts are before you tonight.  I am here to announce that after the New Year I will be returning to my office. My grandson will resume his position as Vice-President.” There was another rousing cheer and wild, thunderous applause.  Ardis was white-faced.  Beside him, Michele Langley was clearly angry. “And now, Miss Albright, would you join me in the first dance?”  He handed the microphone back to Sophie who set it back into its holder on the podium as the senior Frothingham slowly and carefully rose from the wheelchair, stepping away from it.  He was in a black tuxedo, a crisp white shirt and now they could see he wore a peppermint striped cummerbund that complimented his red bow tie. Sophie took his arm and they slowly made their way to the area at the center of the room cleared for dancing.  The band began a waltz. Abraham Frothingham took the petite redhead in his arms and began to dance with her. He was slow and a bit awkward, but Sophie’s grace and elegance made it appear as if he was dancing on a cloud with an angel in his arms. His smile, a bit lop-sided from the residual effects of his stroke was brilliant and happy.  There was applause and then other couples joined them. 

     As the short waltz ended Sophie led him back to the wheelchair then went to get him some ginger ale. Ardis Frothingham intercepted her at the makeshift bar. “How dare you pull this stunt!” he hissed angrily.

     She calmly looked at him. “He contacted me and asked me to accompany him tonight. I have the utmost respect for Mr. Frothingham. I couldn’t refuse.”

     “He should be in the nursing home!”

     “He’s recovered enough to go home. If you'd bothered to visit him once in a while you’d be aware of that fact. He’s being discharged tomorrow.”

     “That’s unthinkable! He’s not well enough!”

     “He is well enough. He has services arranged for him, people to come in to cook and clean and to help him with certain things, but he’s really remarkably independent. His strength is much improved. His endurance is good. He wants to be home. And he wants to be here.”

     “Did you put him up to this?” he demanded.

     “No.  I told you before, I don’t discuss store business with him. We talk about flowers. I’ve started some for him.  All I’ve done is renew his will to live. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to bring him his ginger ale.”

     Frothingham followed her.  “Ardis! There you are! You’ve been busy, I understand.  What an absolute little angel you have working here for you! She’s been a Godsend to me, a blessing!” He beamed at Sophie. “Without her I’d have been in the grave by now. She helped me to see that I still have much to live for. I was a stupid, angry old man after my stroke. This girl has the patience of a saint and the temperament of a warrior. She refused to let me give up the ghost. Look at me now! I was out there dancing with the most beautiful young woman in the room! I feel so alive!”

     “Grandfather!”

     “Don’t let this one go, Ardis! She is too precious to throw away!”

     “Mr. Frothingham,” Sophie began but Ardis interrupted her.

     “There’ve been a lot of changes in the store recently,” he said.

     “Yes, I read in the paper about the layoffs. Sophie’s told me how some of her friends have been let go. I’m glad you were smart enough to keep this one.” He reached over and squeezed Sophie’s hand.

     Ardis’ eyes met Sophie’s and in their depths he saw a clear message as she ever so slightly shook her head. She had not told his grandfather that she had been fired.  He did not understand why not, but then his eyes fell to his grandfather’s hand clasping the young woman’s.  She meant a great deal to Abraham Frothingham.  She had not told him she was fired because that information would have hurt him deeply, angered him, and perhaps altered the direction of his recovery. Sophie had withheld the information to protect the elderly man. “Yes,” Frothingham said. “Yes, this young lady is something else.”

     “The Frothingham empire would crumble without dedicated employees like her!”

     Ardis caught a glimpse of a glowering Michele Langley in her red dress in the periphery of his vision. Her expression gave her a witch-like appearance he had never noticed before. He returned his eyes to Sophie and it made his breath catch in his chest. The homely frizzy-haired girl had been transformed into a lovely young woman.  How had he failed to see the fact that she was actually quite pretty?  He’d been too obsessed with her holiday fashions, too annoyed with her holiday spirit to see the person inside the clothing. He’d failed to see that her personality outshone those of her co-workers and that the other employees looked to her for relief from the day-to-day frustrations of their jobs. Sophie celebrated their high points and guided them, with her gentle good nature, through the low points. “Miss Albright,” he said.

     “Yes, Mr. Frothingham?”

     “Would you do me the honor of joining me on the dance floor? Grandfather, do you mind if I steal her from you?”

     “I’ll sip my ginger ale. Dancing is for the fleet of foot. I’m not quite as nimble as I once was. Her toes will be grateful for a more skillful partner.” He smiled at Sophie who smiled back at him.

     He glanced at Michele who actually stomped her foot in outrage as he took Sophie onto the dance floor.  “Miss Albright, I’m afraid I must admit that you were entirely correct in your assessment of me several weeks ago.  I am a perfect ass.” Her eyes met his but she did not say anything. “I beg your forgiveness. I said some things to you that were completely uncalled for.  I let my emotions rule my good judgment. I apologize.”

     “I accept your apology, Mr. Frothingham.”

     “You’ve given me back my grandfather. What you’ve done for me is invaluable. You’ve given me time to get to know him again, to learn from him all the things that a Harvard education could not teach me. This is a very special gift you’ve given me. I don’t know how to repay you.”

     “I don’t want to be repaid. I just did what I felt was the right thing to do.”

     “Miss Albright, would you consider working for Frothingham’s again, in your former position?”

     “I’d consider it,” she replied after a few moments..

     “We need you here.”

     “Mr. Frothingham, you need more than just me,” she said.

     He again looked into her eyes, and he understood her meaning. To get her back he would need to rehire the people he had let go.  He needed to rebuild the foundation of the store he had nearly destroyed.  “I have a number of phone calls to make beginning tomorrow morning,” he said. A slight smile began at the corners of her mouth. “Miss Albright…” he began, “Sophie, I may need your assistance in persuading some of our people to return. I believe I was quite harsh with them. They may not be as forgiving as you’ve been.”

     “I would like to help you, Mr. Frothingham,” she said.

     “Would you join me in my office tomorrow at eight o’clock? We can begin making those phone calls.”

     “I’d be happy to do that.”

     He smiled.  She smiled back at him and he felt a loosening in his chest, as if iron bands had let go. His heart leapt and began to beat rapidly. He grinned. Sophie blushed, her dimples deepening as she lowered her eyes. “My grandfather looks as if he wants your company again. I’m afraid I’ll have to return you to your original dance partner.” She nodded. “But, I would like to dance with you again before the evening is over, if that’s all right with you?”

     “I think I’d like that, Mr. Frothingham,” she replied.

     He leaned close, his mouth near her ear. “Call me Ardis,” he whispered.

     “No, tonight I think I’ll call you Secret Santa,” she said softly. 

     Ardis had run into Michele at lunchtime.  She was furious that her department manager had scheduled her to work until closing on Christmas Eve.  “My father expects me at home on Christmas Eve!” she said hotly.  “This is so unfair!” She stamped her foot, grimaced. “Ow! Stupid high heels! My feel are killing me!”

     “Maybe you should invest in a pair of comfortable flats,” he suggested.

     She shot him a laser look of indignation.  “That’s right, you’ve decided you prefer short people! Well, Ardis Frothingham, you’re more than welcome to that elf in Customer Service!” She turned and strode away.

     “Did she mean me?” Sophie asked.

     Ardis turned around. “I believe she did,” he replied. “She’s running out of names to call you if elf is the worst she can come up with today.” He glanced around the employee cafeteria.  “It looks like Millie and her crew want to clean up and close up.”

     “I just came up for some eggnog for Grace and Denise. I have to get back. It’s been a crazy day down there.”

     “Lots of exchanges?” he asked as he walked with her to the elevator.

     “Oh, that and returns and questions. The usual day before Christmas madness.” They stepped into the elevator, Sophie hesitating just a moment before crossing into the car.

     “Worried about getting stuck?’ he asked with a wry smile.

     “I still don’t like elevators,” she replied. “But I don’t mind the company this time.”

     “Are you coming upstairs at six o’clock?” he asked.

     “Your grandfather asked me to come over tonight.”

     “He asked me, too, so why don’t we go together?”

     “All right,” she agreed. "That would be nice."

     He got off the elevator on the ninth floor. “Meet me up in the penthouse.”  She nodded as the doors slid shut and the car began moving downward, carrying her back to the second floor. She smiled even though she was alone in the elevator, her warm brown eyes bright, cheeks flushed. She’d delivered her Secret Santa gift on the way up to the employee cafeteria.

     Ardis entered his office after telling Mrs. Colby she could leave, he would not need her for the rest of the afternoon. He knew she had all her children home for the holiday and was anxious to get home and start cooking. “Merry Christmas!” he called. “See you on the twenty-eighth! Mrs. Colby would have Christmas Day, Saturday and Sunday off before returning to work on Monday. She smiled as she wished him a “Merry Christmas!” He went into his office.

     He had a few small things to do before the store closed. Sighing, he pulled out his chair and went to sit down. “What’s this?” There was a rectangular package on his chair. He picked it up and read the tag, ‘To Ardis Frothingham from Secret Santa.’ He dropped down into his chair, shaking the package before unwrapping it. Inside, wrapped in tissue was a gold-colored necktie with a holly berry and mistletoe pattern all over, and a matching handkerchief.  He laughed.  His Secret Santa was not so secret. There could only be one person in this entire store who would dare give him such a gift!

     That evening, just past six o’clock, Sophie took the private elevator up to the penthouse at the top of the store.  She rang the bell.  When Ardis opened the door she gasped.  He had on a bright red cardigan, a red and white striped oxford shirt and the holly and mistletoe tie.  He’d paired this with casual slacks the color of evergreen trees and red sneakers. “Mr. Frothingham!” she cried. “Are you aware that there is a dress code in this store?”

     “Miss Albright, I believe it is after hours, and the penthouse is a private residence, not a part of the store where rules and procedures have to be followed.”  He stepped back and she entered. “I’m sorry to say, you look rather bland this evening.”  She was still in the plain green dress she’d worn all day.

     “I could go home and change,” she said.

     “Or, you could look under the tree over there. I think Santa delivered a few things early. They were under the tree when I came upstairs at five o’clock.”

     Curiosity aroused, Sophie followed him into the living room. He had an eight foot tall Christmas tree in one corner, gaily decorated and brightly lit.  “So you really do have Christmas spirit,” she said.

     “I’ve rediscovered it,” he admitted.  He sat on the floor, pulling a large box out from under the tree. “Here, this is for you.”

     “What is it?" she asked, kneeling down on the floor.

     He pushed the box toward her. “Open it and see.” 

     He watched her as she untied the red ribbon, tore off the gold paper.  She glanced at him, her eyes alight with excitement and anticipation as she lifted the cover. Her hands shook slightly as she folded the layers of tissue paper back to reveal what lay inside. “Oh!” she said. “Oh, Ardis.”  Tears filled her eyes as she lifted out the sparkling winter white gown she had worn to the store Christmas party, the gown borrowed from Ladies Evening Wear for those brief few hours.

     “You looked like an angel in this dress,” he said. “I want to take you out on New Year’s Eve to ring in the new year. I want to see you in this dress again.”

     “It’s too expensive,” she said softly.

     “You’re worth it.” He slid another box to her, smaller. Inside were the shoes she’d worn. “You can’t go to the party barefoot.”  He slid one more small box over to her.

     “What’s this? It can’t be Meghan, the hair stylist, it’s too small a box to hold her!”

     “Go on, open it.” Sophie nervously opened the little box.  Inside was a single teardrop shaped pearl on a platinum chain and matching earrings. Tiny diamonds accented the earrings and the setting of the pearl. “If Frothingham’s Department Store is the oyster, you are the pearl hidden within it,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Sophie.”

     “Ardis, this is…I don’t have anything….”

     “Sophie, you’ve been giving me the best gifts I’ve ever received from the moment I met you. It just took me a little while to figure that out. Now, even though you hardly look festive in that green dress we should….hey! Hold on a minute! What’s this?” He leaned over and dragged one last box out from far beneath the tree. “Looks like this is for you, too.”

     “Ardis! This is too much!” she protested as she tore the paper off the big, oblong package. Inside was a pair of red boots, green jeans, a Christmas tree print blouse, and a red vest decorated with silver jingle bells. “This is hideous!” she cried, grinning widely.

     “Really?”

     “But I love it! I’m going to go change! Your grandfather is going to get such a kick out of this!”  She moved boxes aside to make room to stand up, but as she leaned forward to push herself up she found herself very close to him.  “Thank you, so much,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his. “This is a wonderful Christmas.”

     “You may have lost your mother a year ago but you have no shortage of friends in this store. Everybody loves you.”  He reached out, caressed her flushed cheek. “Everybody loves you,” he repeated, and then he kissed her.