Ho-Ho-NOOO! Page 5
Somebody had to do something. And since there was no body but TJ’s body, TJ was the somebody whose body had to do it.
TRANSLATION: . . . (Never mind; No translation necessary.)
With a breath for courage and a prayer that she wouldn’t die before being kissed (particularly by a handsome next-door neighbor), TJ threw open the door and leaped into the front room doing her best karate moves and shouting
She had no idea what that meant, which was okay because she had no idea how to do karate moves, either.
The good news was no one had sawed up her family’s furniture (or her family), and there were no unsightly motorcycle skid marks (or bloodstains) to scrub out of the carpet.
The bad news was the noise was louder. A lot louder. And it was coming from the dining room just down the hall. TJ pressed herself flat against the wall. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer on too many cups of coffee. Ever so slowly, she began inching her way along the hall toward the dining room. As she did, the noise grew louder. And the louder it grew, the more she prayed. . . .
“Dear God, about that aardvark I made fun of in Mr. Beaker’s science class? It’s really not that ugly. In fact, I think it’s some of your best work.” (She figured if she was going to die and meet God, it wouldn’t hurt to get on his good side.)
“And about Violet—I’m sorry for not treating her better. But really, you gotta admit she’s awfully—”
“Okay, okay! She’s cool, she’s cool. I’ll be nicer to her; I promise!”
At last she reached the end of the hallway. She paused to listen but heard nothing. Though her jackhammer heart sounded like she’d added a couple of Red Bull drinks to those cups of coffee.
Well, it was now or never. Although she would have preferred never, she took one last breath, said one last prayer (“And please don’t let them bury me in this stupid elf costume”), and leaped into the room to meet her fate.
At first, the only fate she met was the silly white ball on her elf hat bouncing into her face. She flung it aside and saw . . .
Nothing.
Well, nothing except Dad sitting in front of his computer at the dining room table with his head thrown back and
snoring away.
She shook her head. Of course. Dad was a world-class snorer. But never down here in the dining room. He must have been working late on his laptop. She watched a moment as he slept. He seemed so much older than before. It was weird—Mom had died less than a year ago, but Dad looked like he’d gotten 10 years older. Maybe he had. She knew he was under a lot of pressure. Trying to keep the family together and raising three girls on his own was no picnic. Yet he was always there for them—always willing to listen, always willing to understand . . . even when they were being jerks.
As TJ watched, she felt her throat tighten with emotion. His hair was kinda messed up. Without Mom around to remind him, he never quite got it combed right. The same was true with his clothes. With nobody to fix his collars or straighten his sweaters, he always looked just a little rumpled.
Finally she whispered, “Dad?”
He gave no answer.
She walked over and gently touched him on the shoulder. “Daddy?”
He woke with a snort. “Oh, hi, TJ.” He reached to the table for his glasses but couldn’t find them. “When did you get home?”
“Just now,” she said. “Sorry I missed dinner.”
He nodded as he continued his search. “We missed you. It was Violet’s turn to cook.”
“Oh, then maybe I’m not sorry.”
He gave her a look and she shrugged.
“Listen, you haven’t seen my glasses, have you?”
“Here.” TJ reached for them on his head and gently pulled them down onto his face.
“Oh.” He seemed a bit embarrassed. “Thanks.”
She nodded.
“You know, sweetheart, dinner is about the only time we have as a family these days.”
“I know,” she said. “But tonight was kind of an emergency.”
He looked at her a moment. “Are you really sure you want this job?”
“I’m sure, Daddy.”
“Well, all right, then. I appreciated your calling and letting me know you’d be late.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, you’d better be getting to bed, young lady.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She started toward the hallway but stopped and turned back to him. “Do you still miss her?” she asked.
“Who, your mother?”
TJ nodded.
He smiled. “Every minute of every day. You?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice growing hoarse with emotion.
“That’s why it’s so important we spend time together as a family. Especially during this season.” He hesitated, then added more softly, “We’re all each other has.”
TJ tried to answer, but her throat was too tight to speak. Instead, she gave a little smile and headed for the hallway again.
“Good night, kiddo,” he said. She could feel him watching her as he quietly added, “I love you.”
Her eyes burned and she could not face him. But she did manage to croak out a faint “I love you too, Daddy,” before she disappeared around the corner.
And she did love him. More than he would ever know. At least until Christmas Eve, which was when they opened their presents. Because then he would know. In just a few short days, when he opened up the biggest wad of cash he’d ever gotten as a gift, he’d know for sure.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Another Day, Another Job
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, December 21
Begin Transmission
Tuna and I agree: Santa suits are not our subject’s best look.
End Transmission
By the time TJ got to bed, she managed to squeeze in a whole 23½ seconds of sleep before her alarm went off for school. (It might have been 23¾ seconds, but how do you know how long you’ve slept if you’ve slept through it?)
Anyway, it was the last day of school before vacation, and things were a total blur.
First there was the minor problem of dressing herself. She didn’t notice until she was in the school hallway that she’d put her socks on inside out. Luckily, no one paid attention. They were too busy snickering at her jeans, which were also inside out. But none of that bothered TJ. It’s hard to be bothered by such details when you’re busy sleepwalking.
Not only did she sleepwalk, she also managed to sleep-read her way through Ms. Grumpaton’s English class and sleep-volleyball her way through Coach Steroidson’s PE class (not as easy as you might think). Unfortunately, she wasn’t so lucky when she sleep-flunked her way through Mr. Beaker’s science test. It was on the eating habits of aardvarks. (What’s up with Mr. Beaker and aardvarks, anyway?)
But none of that was as embarrassing as when Chad Steel (who was like a dream even when TJ wasn’t sleeping) approached her locker.
“Hey, uh, um, er . . .” Even though they were next-door neighbors, Chad had a hard time remembering her name. Which was okay because when she was around him, TJ couldn’t remember it either. He held up an iSlab he’d been typing on and asked, “Would you be interested in helping my church feed the homeless on Christmas Eve? We need to hire someone to deliver food from the restaurant. The pay won’t be much, about $25.”
“$25?” TJ croaked. From past experience, she knew it was risky to try to talk around Chad. (It’s not that she couldn’t talk; it’s just that she always ended up blurting out such brilliant things as “You’re gorgeous” or “I gotta go to the bathroom” or the ever-popular “I think I’m going to hurl!”) But she figured she was only dreaming anyway, so what did it matter?
“Yeah,” he said. “We were just going to pack sack meals and bring them over, but Hesper thought we should do more.”
“Because it’s Christmas?” TJ asked.
Chad glanced down, a little embarrassed. “No, because the newspeople will be there.”
TJ should have guessed. Just like people needed air, Hesper needed cameras.
“Sure,” TJ managed. She really wanted to shout, “Take me into your arms, you handsome hunk!” but figured, even for a dream, that might be pushing it.
“Great,” he said. “I’ll put you down for food delivery then.” Once again he looked a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry—what is your name?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said, drifting off into her semisleep mode.
He frowned. “I need to put something down.”
“TJ would be nice,” she mumbled.
He began to write. “TJ . . . and your last name?”
“Steel,” she sighed dreamily.
He jerked his head up, surprised. “We have the same last name?”
She smiled. “Not yet.”
“I’m sorry?” The tone of his voice startled her awake.
Realizing what she’d just said dreamily, she replied sternly, “No, no. Your last name is Steel. Mine is Finkelstein. TJ Finkelstein. Big difference. Please try not to make that mistake again.”
“Right . . . sorry.” He gave her an odd look and typed her name on the iSlab. “You’ll be in charge of delivering the food.”
“Great,” TJ said. Then, desperately trying to remember the conversation she’d just slept through, she asked, “And what day was that, again?”
Chad cocked his head, even more puzzled. “Christmas Eve.”
“Right, of course. Christmas Eve. And what type of food?”
He stopped typing.
She felt her face redden. “I’m sorry; I just have a lot on my mind. What did you say we were serving?”
He hesitated, then muttered something.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “What did you say?”
He glanced up, his own face seeming to grow red. Finally he answered, “Cream puffs.”
“Cream puffs?” TJ said in surprise. “For the homeless?”
Chad cleared his throat. “It was Hesper’s idea.”
“Cream puffs?” TJ repeated.
“Yeah,” he muttered, then added, “stuffed with caviar.”
“Caviar? Isn’t that fish eggs?” TJ asked. “Something only the richest of the rich can afford?”
Chad nodded slowly.
TJ gave a shudder. “Inside the cream puffs?”
“That’s right,” he sighed. “We’re serving them caviar cream puffs.”
TJ hoped her next day at work would be better.
(She should have just hoped she’d survive it.)
For starters, Grumpy Claus never showed up.
Rumor was that his parole officer said he was suffering from a bad case of allergies. TJ had her doubts. If the man was allergic to anything, it was probably children. Either that or just being nice.
Fortunately for the department store, they’d found a substitute.
Unfortunately for TJ, it was TJ.
“You!” the assistant manager barked.
TJ turned from the hot chocolate machine in the employees’ lounge as the woman shoved the Santa suit at her. “Try it on.”
“Me?”
“Lazt night you zuccezfully handled zoze zcreaming ankle-biterz.” (The assistant manager loved kids as much as Santa did.) “Zo zlip into ziz zuit.”
“But—”
“And put on ziz beard.”
“But—but—”
“Zee elaztic band goez up around your head.”
“But-but-but—”
Ten minutes later (after TJ had quit her motorboat imitation), she was in the Santa suit and heading for the lobby to face the kids. “Okay, boys and girls, come and join me at—”
“—Santa’s throne and tell Santa what you’d like—”
“—for Christmas.”
The “Oooff!”s were TJ stumbling and tripping.
The THUD was TJ falling face-first onto the floor, which was covered in fir boughs. And the reason she was falling face-first onto the fir-covered floor?
WARNING: DO NOT ATTEMPT READING ALOUD IF YOU’VE RECENTLY RETURNED FROM THE DENTIST (OR HAVE A MOUTH FULL OF CRACKERS)
TJ was falling face-first onto the fir-covered floor because falling face-first onto the fir-covered floor follows staggering with both legs in the same supersize suit leg.
(Too easy, you say? Okay, try this:)
And the situation that started her stumbling on the store’s fir-covered floor with both legs in the same supersize suit leg is Santa’s suit was twenty-two sizes too tall, making her size two too small by twenty sizes.
The good news is that’s the end of the tongue twisters.
The better news is TJ finally made it to Santa’s throne and sat down.
The bad news is with so much extra material for the suit, nobody could tell where her lap was.
“Mommy, Mommy,” the first girl in line cried, “where do I sit?”
“Anywhere on that pile of red material,” Mommy said. “He’s gotta be in there somewhere.”
And TJ was in there. Which explains why, for the next 4 hours and 32 minutes, she heard nothing but “I want this and I want that and I want more of this and I want way more of that.”
Besides all that greed, there were also a few discipline problems.
“Hey, Santa,” a little boy said (although it would have been easier to believe he was a boy if he didn’t weigh 200 pounds and have a five o’clock shadow), “is this beard for real?”
“Ho-ho-ho,” TJ groaned. (It’s hard not to groan when you’re being crushed by a 200-pound boy with a five o’clock shadow.) “Now don’t go pulling Santa’s beard,” she warned.
“Wow, this elastic band holding it in place really stretches.”
“I said, don’t go pulling Santa’s—”
Then there was the matter of bathroom breaks.
Not for TJ (she didn’t get any), but for the cute little three-year-old who was so excited to see Santa that she took her break right there on TJ’s lap.
“Ho-ho-ho!” TJ said, trying to be a good sport as she handed the soggy child back to her mother. “Looks like Santa’s a Porta-Potty. Ho-ho-ho!”
And so the evening dragged on as little Jason and Julie and Heather and Harry kept making their Christmas demands. And even though TJ tried her best to pay attention, eventually all of the “I want this”-es and “I want that”-s started blurring into
Finally nine o’clock rolled around and the store closed. At last TJ was finished.
Well, not quite.
“Remember me?”
She looked down to see Number Too, still wearing his Viking outfit. Beside him stood his sisters, Number One and Number Thuree.
“Hi, guys,” TJ said. She was so exhausted she could barely stand. Still, she managed to be polite. “Good to see you again.”
They stood at her side saying nothing.
“Well,” she said, turning toward the employees’ lounge, “I’ve got to get home. It’s been a long day and—”
“We fired her,” Number Too said.
“Fired who?” TJ asked.
“Our nanny.”
“Oh. Your mother fired your nanny?”
“No, we fired our nanny.”
“You can do that?”As TJ spoke, she was surprised to feel Number Thuree reach up and quietly slip her hand into TJ’s.
“We can and we did.” The boy returned to playing his PSP.
TJ glanced around. “So . . . who’s watching you now?”
“You are,” he said without looking up.
“I’m sorry?”
“You are,” he repeated. “If you want.”
“Me?” she asked.
“Yeah, Number Thuree really likes you . . . and so do we.”
TJ glanced at Number One, who nodded. “Well, thank you. I like you too, Too, but—”
“The money’s really good.”
“Money?” TJ asked.
“We’ll pay you $100 an hour to watch us.”
TJ gasped. “$100?!”
“All righ
t, $150.”
TJ would have liked to gasp again, but it’s hard gasping when you’ve stopped breathing. It took several seconds before she was able to talk. “You would pay me $150 an hour to watch you?”
“Just until Momma gets home,” he said.
“And when would that be?”
“Usually around midnight.”
TJ glanced at her watch. That was three hours from now. And three hours times $150 came to . . . it was time for another gasp. Of course she was already overworked, and of course it would mean missing more family time with Dad, but the total came to $450!
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“Sure,” Number Too said. “Just talk to our limo driver. He’ll fill you in. And when Momma gets back, he’ll take you home.”
TJ’s mind spun. Well, not really spun, more like repeated, $450 . . . $450 . . . $450 . . . Imagine her father’s face when she gave him $450.
“So, what do you say?” Number Too asked.
What could she say? “Sure. Just let me get out of this costume and call my dad. $450, right?”
“Nah, that’s too hard to remember,” Number Too said as he continued playing his game. “Let’s just round it up to an even $500.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Too Much (In a WAY Too Much Kinda Way)
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, December 21—supplemental
Begin Transmission
Subject is so busy we barely see her. Luckily this gives us time to practice our comedy. I’m a zelph a minute. May give up my dreams of becoming a professional surfer and become a comedian!
End Transmission
TJ didn’t want to say that Lady Goo-Goo’s children were spoiled . . . but it was the nicest word she could find.
She thought there might be a minor problem when the back of their limo was filled with so many toys she couldn’t see out the window. She knew there was a major problem when the limo pulled up to a mansion the size of Alaska. Actually, only the first floor was that big. The second floor was much smaller . . . about the size of Texas.