Nicholas Claus was viewing the very wide screen, extremely high definition monitor in Control Central with a frown creasing his unlined brow. Something very strange was happening with a couple of his very favorite people on the blue planet he encircled once a year, bringing joy and good will to children everywhere. Oh yeah. And presents, too.
Martha Claus bustled in silently, the silver tray she carried competently balancing two cups of hot cocoa. Nick's, of course, has the red and white striped candy cane melting into a peppermint kick. After so many years, she couldn't stand the sticky striped stuff. Now, maybe if it was peppermint schnapps…she shrugged. Not quite how Santa's wife should be behavin' she giggled aloud.
He never heard her. Nope, his attention was riveted on the screen that looked like so many jumbled colors to her. It was massive; 10 feet high and thirty feet long and each one of those pixels was a child. Millions and millions of them. And her Nick knew every one of them. Knew their hopes and dreams; knew if they were good or bad that year.
Sometimes, sadly, a pixel would wink out. Nick always grieved then, just as much as he grieved for the empty black spaces that signified that evil lived there. Because evil existed, even in the supposedly tender heart of a young child.
She set his cocoa to his right, marveling as his swift fingers danced over the buttons and lights of the system. It was a technological marvel, one that freed Nick and his elves from laboriously hand printing in the large ledger books that were now, thankfully, stored away in one of the many warehouses that were scattered around the vast compound at the North Pole.
Setting her own cup down, she stood behind his chair and circled his broad shoulders with her arms. It wasn't often he had that sort of bewildered look on his face. Or the little smidgen of regret in his merry blue eyes. "What's up, baby?" she asked, rubbing the soft bristles of his snow-white beard between the thumb and index finger of one hand.
Nick leaned back against her ample bosom. He opened his mouth to speak, when Elmer the Elf stalked into the room, his sharp little face quivering with indignation. "Santa!" he bellowed, as loudly as a squeaky elven voice would allow. Catching sight of Martha, he blushed a fiery green and stammered out an apology. "So..sorry, M…Mrs. Claus. I didn't know you were up here."
Martha hid a smile as she gazed at Elmer. It really was charming how even the tips of his ears turned a bright green. She moved her hands to Nick's shoulders and began to rub them in light circles as she felt him tense up. Elmer was definitely on Nick's short list. Not only had his head swelled when he became Grand Vizier of the Elves or whatever the heck they called it, but at the after party a few Christmases ago, Nick caught Elmer trying to look up her skirt. The next day Elmer blamed it all on one too many shots of Patrón mixed with those awful broken candy cane pieces.
Nick, however, was having none of it, and a rather…frozen civility existed between them since.
Letting out a large, undisguised sigh, Nick asked the question Elmer was not-so-patiently waiting for. "What is it now, Elmer?" Why couldn't Elmer deal with all the elven brouhahas by himself, or with the Elven Council? After all, that's what they elected him to do! Nick was pretty darn tired of hearing all the petty elvish arguments and having to intervene.
"It's those dam…darn reindeer again," Elmer whined, casting a cautious eye on the missus. No sense pissing her off with bad language. "Rudolph is complaining that his stall is too small. He's the star and should have a bigger place. Dancer and Dasher won't eat the oats; they want Starbucks. Donner wants his name changed because it's too close to Donna and everybody is constantly teasing him. Comet and Cupid won't participate in the Reindeer Games. Blitzen and Prancer broke into the wine cellar and are passed out. And Vixen is, well, she's acting like a 'ho."
Nick's white, bushy eyebrows just about crawled up his forehead into his hairline before he broke into a hearty round of laugher. He had to take off his glasses to wipe his streaming eyes, and he felt Martha shake with her own suppressed laughter. Replacing the glasses on his rosy face, he tried to compose himself enough to converse with the very aggrieved elf.
"Elmer, we go through this every year," he countered. "You know the herd is just cutting loose a little bit before the Big Day."
"Yeah, well you try dealing with a couple of drunken reindeer and an extremely horny one," Elmer muttered, a mulish expression on his sharp, pixie face.
"I'll speak to them in a little while." Nick would read them the riot act, like he did every year, and made mental note to himself to increase security at the wine cellar. He really hoped they didn't get into his Shamong White.
"Thank you," Elmer retorted with as much dignity as he could muster. He drew himself up to his full height of just under three feet and gave a bow to the very hot Mrs. Claus. If Santa wanted to believe he was that drunk a couple Christmases ago…well, he wasn't about to contradict the great man. The glimpse of that scarlet excuse for underwear Mrs. Claus was wearing fueled many a decadent and delicious fantasy.
All of which was wrong, wrong, wrong.
He exited the room in what he hoped was a statesman-like manner, up until he tripped on the curly tip of his elf boots. Blushing hotly green once again, the door slid shut behind him, effectively cutting off the peals of laughter from within.
Inside Control Central, Nick and Martha were beaming at each other, their eyes dancing with uncontrolled mirth. "Little big man," Nick said, setting them off once more until his eyes were drawn to the Big Board, and a heartfelt sigh escaped past his lips.
Setting a slender hip on the desk, Martha asked again. "What's the matter, Nick? Usually you're so up at this time."
He patted her knee. "Just a couple of my kids. I've been following them for a long time. Even past the time when they stopped believing in me," he said, a sad note in his normally effervescent tone. It was always distressing when children found out 'the truth.' He couldn't help feeling there was a little less magic in the world then.
And lately, it seemed like the world needed a lot more magic.
Nick picked up his cup of now-lukewarm cocoa, drank the whole thing down, and picked up the remnants of the candy cane, crunching it loudly. In truth, he was sick to death of the peppermint candy, but didn't have the heart to tell Martha. After all, it was tradition.
"So you've been following these kids…" Martha broke into his musing.
"A great group of kids," he disclosed, blue eyes twinkling. "You've heard me mention them. Bob-Whites of the Glen."
"Ah, yes. I remember the name." She stared at him in surprise. "Surely they are much too old for you to follow. Why they might be having their own children by now."
"Mmmm. I'm not following all of them. Just my two favorites."
"Who are…"
"Jim Frayne and Trixie Belden. The co-presidents." Nick's eyes scanned the Big Board, mentally updating the status of a couple million kids." He turned to Martha. "Boy, are they growing up." He ran a finger alongside his nose, up under his glasses.
"Tell me," Martha said gently.
"Jim is head-over-heels crazy in love with Trixie. He has been since he was fifteen years old. You know, he was once one of my worry cases. With that awful abusive stepfather of his, his parents' deaths, he lost all hope." He waited a beat. "Then he met Trixie. And nothing was ever the same for him."
"Then you must be terribly happy he met her," Martha smiled.
"She's a pistol, Martha. Reminds me of you. Headstrong, quick-tempered…hey!" he dodged her elbow. "Beautiful, compassionate, fun. And she's head-over-heels crazy in love with him," he added quickly, keeping a wary eye on her.
"It sounds just perfect," Martha breathed out, her romantic heart aflutter.
"You would think so," Nick said sourly. "All they do is dance around each other. It's driving their friends to distraction. And making me crazy!"
"How so Nick?" Martha was unable to decipher why a stalled romance would have such an effect on her normally even-tempered spouse.
"Geez, Martha, whenever I peek in on them on the console, all I get are these x-rated fantasies they're having about one another. She just used to wish for a horse; he, a puppy. Now I get edible underwear, see-through nighties, something called following the copper treasure trail, and couplings I swear would make a porn star blush."
"Oh my. You…you don't keep watching do you?" Her cheeks flooded with pink. Just…oh my.
"Oh, hell no!" Even though I really want to sometimes! Their fantasies could melt the Pole! "I just wish one of them would take the initiative already. Even the other club members are getting exasperated."
Nick pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure they'll work it out. Eventually." He heaved himself up. "I'm going to ream out the herd for acting unprofessionally," he twinkled. "It should make Elmer's day."
"All right, Nick. I'm going to clean up in here and get dinner started." Martha watched as her husband's very lithe and supple body made short work of pulling on his red winter coat. On Christmas Eve, he would transform himself into the fat, jolly man children were most familiar with.
Alone in Control Central, Martha stacked the cups on the silver tray, her hands stilling as she stared at the Close-Up Monitors. Should she? She knew how to operate the controls, had seen Nick do it many a time. She was also curious about the young adults that had caught Nick's affection. He would be out for at least an hour or more taking care of the herd and various inventory supply problems the elves would tax him with.
Feeling delightfully naughty, Mrs. Claus pressed the red button that locked the door. She slid into Nick's recently vacated seat and faced her first decision. Jim or Trixie? With purely feminine curiosity, she typed in the name of the woman that fascinated her husband. Instantly, the Close-Up Monitor brought up the beautiful blonde, staring thoughtfully at the scarves in the big sporting goods store.
Just for a moment, Martha felt a tiny tug of jealousy. Trixie Belden really was gorgeous. On the second screen were smaller pictures that showed the progression of the young blonde from a rough and tumble tomboy to a teenager with the promise of great beauty and right through to today. A small ticker on the bottom scrolled through the highlights of her life.
Trixie was in a sporting goods store, and she was looking at the expensive woolen scarves. Jim had complained last year that his scarf was pretty thin and not keeping him warm at all.
Jim. She sighed once and picked up an emerald green scarf, and a green and black checked one. She pulled out her credit card as she walked to the long line at the checkout. He was twenty-two and going for his doctorate. She was twenty and a junior in college. And the oldest living virgin in New York City. She was certain of it.
Allowing her mind to wander, she missed the interested glances from male shoppers in the store. She was finally starting to get discouraged. When he asked her to his prom, she was sure they'd begin dating.
Nada.
He escorted her to her prom, gave her a mind-blowing kiss, pulled her tightly against him and she could tell he was um, aroused.
As was she.
And then…nothing.
As she stood in line, her mind suddenly slipped sideways in that way that has nothing to do with the current activity or place.
She was walking into his student apartment in the City, bringing him some Chinese and returning a book. It was quiet, and he was looking at her with blazing emerald eyes. He shut the door, locked it, took the Chinese from her suddenly nerveless fingers and plopped it on a small side table, with those amazing eyes still locked on hers.
Martha Claus looked in fascinated horror as Trixie's fantasy played across the screen in vivid, high-def, 3-D glory. Oh my! I didn't know you could do THAT against a wall! The rose color washed across her cheeks as she pressed the close button and quickly typed in James Winthrop Frayne II.
Jim was at the pricey boutique in the city, looking longingly at the festive display of Christmas lingerie. Red see-through babydolls with white trim. Tiny, satiny red thongs. Long red lace gowns that left absolutely nothing to the viewer's imagination.
Instead of clutching that little nothing that would make his special girl a delight to unwrap, he had a cashmere red scarf and gloves set.
Part of him really, really wished the long line would move faster. The other, less honorable part, the part that he was trying to tame since he didn't want to look like a pervert, was imagining Trixie…
It was a stifling summer night, and they were alone at the lake, letting the hot breeze dry them off. Their blanket was spread out on grass, to the rear of the boathouse, where they were guaranteed all the privacy they could want. She had on this tiny red bikini, and the devil was sparkling in her china blue eyes. Suddenly, her soft, warm, delicious lips were on his and her slender hands were doing the most amazing things to him…
Martha was now a vivid red, covering her eyes, but couldn't resist one more peek through her fingers before she closed out the screen that broadcast the handsome redhead's thoughts. Oh dear, those two have got it bad.
She unlocked the door, and made her way to the kitchen, deep in thought.
Nick finally came home, several hours later, and did not sound at all like the jolly man of legend. In fact, as he stamped the snow off his boots before entering the foyer, he had a delightful picture of several of the elves beneath his black footwear. Grumbling under his breath, he entered the foyer and placed the boots in the tray, and went in search of his wife.
He walked into the spacious kitchen and over to the stove, where she had a pot of thick, fragrant stew bubbling merrily. He heard her in the pantry and called over. "Geez, Martha, just shoot me now." He snuck a spoonful of the stew from the pot while she was out of sight. Darn, it was delicious.
"What's the matter now, Nick?" her voice was muffled.
"Not only did I have to deal with a herd of recalcitrant reindeer, but I forgot it was elf mating season." He closed his eyes, but the images were forever burned in to his retinas.
A very girlish giggle emanated from the pantry. "Oh, my, Nick."
"Oh, my, my butt," he retorted. "Everywhere I looked in the warehouses. Elves in various states of undress. Elves kissing in dark corners. And I won't even mention the ones I caught, um, canoodling."
"My poor Nick. Bad reindeer and now, horny elves. You've had a really bad day, dear," she sympathized with him.
Still hearing sounds coming from the pantry, he slid a glance at the doorway and felt brave enough to sneak another spoonful. "You have no idea, Martha." He gave a rueful laugh. "At least Elmer was totally embarrassed. That may make this day almost worth it." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. What the heck was taking her so long in the pantry?
"Oh, I think I have a way to take your mind off your troubles." She was leaning against the doorjamb, and as he put his glasses back on, she swam into focus. And his heart gave one great leap in his impressive chest.
There she was, dressed in a green, tiny, two piece set. The barely-there fabric of the top and bottom was cut into triangles, each with a little red jingle bell hanging from it. She had a Santa hat perched jauntily on her white curls, and had on green fishnet stockings.
She ran a slender hand over the triangles covering her chest, setting the bells to tinkling cheerfully. "Wanna come over and," she paused, "Jingle my bells?"
A few weeks later…
Elmer was dragging his feet, a worried look on his sharp, pixie face. Santa had ripped him a new one a couple of weeks ago about the elvish behavior in the warehouses. And now, the summons from Mrs. Claus. Now what could she possibly want? He didn't think she was going to discuss um, what he privately termed I Know What You Saw After Christmas. The dress incident was long over. The tips of his ears were beginning to twitch in a nervous tic as he knocked on the door. Her lovely voice bade him in, and he looked around cautiously. Santa was out on the trial run, would be gone for several hours. Elmer didn't see any aggrieved reindeer lurking about so he relaxed just a bit.
"I'm glad you could make it, Elmer," Martha smiled at the big-eyed elf. He owed her one for the dress incident, and she was about to collect. Big time. "How are you?"
How am I? What does she mean, How Am I? "I…I'm okay." His lime green elven eyes slithered from side to side in an effort not to look at her. Why did he feel he was somehow being maneuvered into a corner?
"Sit down, Elmer." Martha gestured to one of the elf-sized chairs they had scattered about the main house. She sat in the comfortable, overstuffed chair across from him, her lips slightly tilted at the corners. "I need a favor."
A favor. A favor, he pondered as he tipped his pointy chin to his chest and raised questioning eyes to her cheerful face. "A favor?" His brain couldn't conjure up what kind of a favor Mrs. Claus could possibly want from him.
"Yes, a favor. And we have to keep it a secret from Nick," she winked at him conspiratorially.
He suddenly felt like a mouse trapped by a big, black cat. "Uh, Mrs. Claus, you know it's really hard to keep secrets from Santa." He was still smarting from the blast he received when touring the warehouses a few weeks ago and finding all those elven couples in flagrante.
"Oh, I think you'll be able to keep this one, Elmer." A smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat's spread across her face, and if her eyes had a mean little sparkle, he hoped the next words wouldn't cause him too much pain. "After all, we both know you weren't that drunk at that Christmas after-party a few years ago, even if Nick thinks you were." She sat back as she watched his eyes open until they were huge lime green orbs, and the hated green blush stain his cheeks.
A sigh, much too large for his small frame, blew past his rubbery lips. "Okay. Okay. What do you need me to do?" The words were dragged out, reluctantly, slowly, as he wished whatever it was, he wouldn't end up squished like a bug under Santa's big black boots.
"Well, you see," she whispered to him, her eyes alight with victory, "There's this little town called Sleepyside and…"
The Bob-White After Christmas Party at the Manor House…
Trixie Belden was trudging up the stairs that she must have climbed a million times since the Wheelers moved into the mansion. Only, this time her destination was not Honey's room, but a guest suite of her own. Madeleine Wheeler had caught the remodeling bug from a very odd addiction to HGTV. A few hundred thousand dollars later, the upper floors of the old mansion were transformed into beautiful, self-contained suites, and Honey's old twin beds relegated to the attic. Therefore, while all the Bob-Whites were home for the holidays, and all at the Manor House for the huge house party from right after Christmas to New Year's, they all were ensconced in their own separate bedrooms with lake-size beds and bathrooms to die for.
A week of partying, reconnecting and fun with her six best friends in the world. Really, she should be happier. They had all given each other the gag gifts that had become a tradition ever since that wild Christmas in Arizona. They laughed and joked and she couldn't be more jealous when Mart and Di wandered off, ostensibly to get more chips, but she knew they were wrapped in each other's arms in the kitchen. Honey decided she needed to show Brian something in the library. I can just imagine what she's showing him.
Dan just nodded off, a victim of too much eggnog, and that left Jim and her. Feeling uncomfortably strained around him, she pretended to yawn and gave what she hoped was a convincing smile. "I guess I'll turn in now," she said quietly.
"Um…yeah." Jim felt helpless. He had no idea how to get her from friend to girlfriend. And oh, how he wanted to, so badly. His special girl stood up, smoothed out her jeans. "Trix, wait. We forgot to exchange our personal gifts." He offered her the box he kept hidden carefully behind him, with the little tag that read 'Trixie'.
Her eyes widened. "Right!" She moved a pillow on the couch, took out a gaily wrapped package of her own. "Merry Christmas, Jim," she said, rather sadly as they exchanged gifts. "Umm, I hope you don't mind if I take this upstairs with me." She just couldn't face another glove and scarf set or a book about Great Detectives in History.
"Uh, no. Merry Christmas, Trix." He tamped down on the strong feelings that were threatening to surface, and watched as she walked away. A few minutes later, he also went upstairs, after being boring, responsible, stagnant, honorable Jim and covering Dan with an afghan.
Jim was almost on the landing when he heard Trixie's door snick closed. He leaned against the wall, outside his room, and closed his eyes. He was so brave and strong in everything else. How could one little pixie of a woman flummox him so badly?
He dragged himself into his room, shutting the door with a decided click, and ambled over to his bed. His restless hands kept turning the package over and over, until he shrugged and tore into it. Probably a scarf. Trixie knows I need a new one. Before he opened the box, he read the little gift card attached.
Merry Christmas Jim! I hope you like them. I so want to see you in them! Love, Trixie
His fingers slid under the taped edges of the box and lifted up the top. His mouth fell open as he viewed the contents. This was certainly not what he had been expecting!
Trixie set her box on the bed, pulled off the little card and read Jim's familiar, bold handwriting.
Merry Christmas to my favorite Schoolgirl Shamus. I hope you like it Trix. Come over and model for me. Love, Jim
She finished unwrapping the gift, lifted the lid and unfolded the delicate tissue paper. The blush must have started at her toes and worked upward at the speed of light, increasing in intensity the higher it climbed.
James Winthrop Frayne II had rarely been rendered speechless in his young life, but Trixie's gift robbed his vocal cords of the ability to make any sort of coherent sound, other than a groan. There appeared to be hundreds of them in the box. Hundreds.
Day-glo ones. Edible ones. Minty-fresh ones. French ticklers. Warm ones. Ones that said Welcome Aboard! Glow-in-the dark ones. Smiley-faced ones. God, there were even studded ones.
As he sifted his long fingers through the foil wrapped packets, his mind's eye filled with the most tantalizing images of using them. All of them. Every single night for the next three years.
Trixie Belden ran soft hands over the rather transparent red lace in the box, and removed it with shaking fingers. What there was of it.
He wanted her to model this for him?
She shucked her clothes and carefully eased into the chemise. It was a halter neck style, with a neckline so low, well, it was probably outlawed in a couple of states. The matching panties, or what there was of them, made her thankful that she endured the tortures of getting a Brazilian wax.
Then there were the four-inch see-through plastic heels with the little red puff of marabou feather on the vamp. She slipped them on, looked at herself in the cheval-glass full length mirror. Even though she was petite, Honey always said she was like Tina Turner…all legs. The shoes made her long legs look even longer; gave her round bottom just that little extra oomph.
So he wanted her to model this for him, huh? She smiled wickedly at the reflection in the mirror. Grabbing a robe, Trixie opened her door, peeked out to make sure the coast was clear, and sashayed her way down the hall. She knocked lightly at Jim's door. She just hoped she didn't fall flat on her face.
Jim was still sitting on his bed, staring at the box of condoms with a look of complete amazement. She wants to see me in these? His mind was again filling in all the ways she could see him in those when a soft knock interrupted his prurient fantasies.
The door began to slowly open and he quickly plopped a pillow over the box. He really didn't want to explain to Brian (or anyone else, for that matter) why Trixie would be giving him a box of condoms. Especially since they hadn't gotten beyond a few steamy kisses.
It wasn't Brian. Or Honey. Trixie sauntered in, a robe held in front of her. A robe she allowed to drop in messy pool on the floor. The soft lighting in Jim's room cast a seductive glow over the woman in the red lace, almost transparent babydoll set. For a moment, Jim's mind went totally, completely, utterly blank as his blood began a slow thrum through his veins.
She clicked the lock behind her, trying desperately not to let him see how nervous she really was. She walked a bit closer, did a slow pirouette. When she spoke, her voice was low, husky. "What do you think?"
Jim scrambled off the bed, pulled her into a tight embrace; so tight she could darn well feel the physical manifestations of what he thought. She lifted her mouth as his came crashing down, his hands running over her mostly bare bottom, while hers were busy pulling his shirt out of his pants.
The warm, liquid gold that seemed to be lighting every part of them burst into a white-hot conflagration. Tugging on her hand, he whispered hoarsely in her ear. "Bed." It wasn't a question. Releasing a moan as his hands brushed lightly over the tips of her sensitized breasts, her body took over and told her exactly what to say. "Bed. Your bed"
They stumbled over to the bed, tumbling down upon it as he began to place wet, open mouth kisses down that astoundingly low neckline. Her hand reached out to…
Nick's large hand closed the screen, leaving the couple to some privacy, and turned the seat around that Martha had co-opted. Shaking an index finger at her, he said, "Not supposed to intrude on private moments, my dear." The twinkles in his eyes belied the scolding. Cocking his head sideways, looking at her quizzically, he was puzzling something out.
"Last time I looked, she bought him a couple scarves and he bought her a scarf and gloves set. In red. Now, I wonder how two prosaic gifts like that could possibly change into a sexy red chemise and a box full of condoms?"
"Um, mix-up at the warehouse?" Martha gave a little smile. It was lame, but the best she had to offer.
"Nope. They bought each other gifts. Not from me," he countered. "Do you want to know what I think?"
"Do I have a choice?" Martha arched an eyebrow.
His lips curved into a smile. "I think someone deliberately exchanged those boxes. Now I wonder who would do that?"
"Maybe there was a mix-up at gift wrap?"
"No…you know Martha, Elmer came along for the ride this year. He nearly made me late when he disappeared for a bit in Sleepyside. And I had two presents left over." He went in for the kill. "A scarf and glove set and two scarves."
Martha lifted her hands, palm up, and shrugged her shoulders. "So sue me." She stood up, ran her hands along his suspenders. "Sometimes even grown-ups need a bit of Christmas Magic."
Her arms circled his neck as he bent in for the kiss. "You're absolutely right, my dear. Absolutely right."
His special girl was lying in his arms after the most amazing night of his life. His lips curved against her hair; luckily his parents had the sophisticated opinion that since the Bob-Whites were all adults now, and all had their very own rooms, they would simply ignore any foot traffic during the night.
"I love you, Trix," he murmured. "I just love you so damn much."
Her sapphire eyes sparkled into his emerald ones. "And I love you, Jim." She snuggled against his chest while his arms tightened possessively around her. "I didn't think we'd ever get together, but once I saw that chemise set you bought me…"
He pulled away a little, staring into her eyes. "But I didn't buy you that, Trix. I bought you a scarf and glove set."
"No, Jim. That was what was in the box you gave me." Her blue eyes darkened. "And I would like to you why you have a huge box of condoms at the ready."
"Well, I wouldn't have had them except you gave them to me for Christmas," he said, a bit perturbed.
"But I didn't either, Jim. I bought you two scarves." They were staring into each other's eyes.
"I could say it was a mix-up at gift wrap, but what are the odds?" Jim mused. "Two different stores, two different times…"
Trixie placed a small kiss on his chest, his copper curls tickling her nose, and sat up, her bare chest bouncing and drawing his eyes. "You know what I say?" she asked, an exuberant tone in her voice, "Who cares?"
Jim bent his lips to hers, following her back down onto their bed. "You know," he said kissing her deeply. "You're right." His voice was hoarse. "Let's chalk it up to Christmas magic."
Her lips curved against his as she murmured, before she couldn't talk at all, "Yeah. Christmas magic."