Chapter Two
Chris stood on the sidewalk outside the department store for the longest time. The wind picked up again, nipping at his cheeks and jaw. He was thankful in that moment for the beard that he was sporting. At least it served to keep him warmer than he would have been finding himself otherwise at that moment.
"What are you doing, Evans?" he asked out loud to himself, glancing at the window display.
Currently being set up in the window was a "Countdown to Christmas" display. There were two people working around in the cramped space of the display. One person (the taller out of the two) was trying to hook the large foam December calendar into place while the other was busy propping up little elves and reindeer in their winter wonderland looking set. As Chris continued to watch them, the one propping up the elves noticed him, and stared at him with his mouth wide open. It took Chris a second to realize he was being gawked at, and feeling a bit flustered by it, he ducked his head to move. He pushed inside the building, needing to get away from the stare happy employee. As he pushed through the door, he heard a small bit of crashing coming from the window display followed by many quick and rushed apologies. Soon enough the gawking employee could be heard running after him, quickly moving to stand right in front of him.
"You're Chris Evans, aren't you? Captain America?"
He paused then (not like he had a choice really with the employee blocking the one and only path to the toy department). He nodded his head, allowing his hands to migrate to the insides of his pocket as the employee looked at him like a giddy child.
"It's an honor to actually meet you sir," said the bumbling employee. "My name is Smithy, sir."
"Nice to meet you, Smithy," said Chris with a small smile at him, "And there really is no need to call me sir."
"Right, sorry sir...I mean, Chris...Oh...Mr. Evans?"
Chris chuckled a bit at the way Smithy became flustered. The chuckle caused Smithy to pause, taking a deep breath to settle himself.
"Please. You can call me Chris, or whatever you're comfortable with," replied Chris sincerely as Smithy just rapidly nodded his head in understanding.
"What are you doing here?" Smithy asked before immediately beginning to backpedal, "I mean, you're of course always welcomed here. It's just that I didn't expect to see you in a toy store...Do you have kids?"
"No," said Chris then, removing his hands from his pockets. "I'm here for the Santa Claus position."
"You're the Santa Claus this year?" Smithy asked before beginning to laugh. "Oh. Wait until my boss finds out."
Chris furrowed his brows then, wondering what Smithy was going on about.
"Is he not expecting me or something?"
"No, actually. He wasn't even expecting a male. Thought he was gonna have to order a Santa dress."
"Why?..." asked Chris, clearly confused by the whole thing.
"I'll let him explain," said Smithy slowly stopping with his chuckling now. "Come on. I'll lead you to his office."
Chris watched Smithy begin to walk off down the hallway, pausing then to cast a glance backwards at the door. It was far too late to go back now. Taking a deep breath, he turned and followed Smithy down the hallway. The hallway itself wasn't anything special. It lay off to the left of the toy department; it's skinny gray walls surrounding you on all sides, only broken up by the occasional chipping white door. Finally Smithy came to a stop at one of the doors that happened to be cracked open. He reached up a fist and rapped it on the gray door frame.
"Mr. Sweet, your Santa is here."
Chris stayed behind Smithy, completely out of view as a friendly voice bellowed out, "Well, escort the young lady right on in. What are you waiting for?"
Smithy turned halfway to look at Chris over his shoulder with a small sheepish look on his face before turning back around and opening the door wider.
"Actually, sir, our Santa is a man."
Chris stepped into view then, standing in the doorway as he looked into the interior of the office. The color on the walls of this tiny office matched the ones in the hallway. It was completely bland and gray. The only splashes of color in the room came from a variety of cards that hung on several strings on the left wall like laundry on a clothes line. The man sitting behind the chaotic desk wore a white dress shirt with a candy cane striped tie. In front of him sat an old Dell PC that was still kicking, making a loud humming sound. The man cast his gray eyes up at Smithy as he and Chris stood near each other in the doorway; the florescent light from above bouncing off the balding spot on the top of his whitening head.
Upon seeing Chris standing behind Smithy, the so called Mr. Sweet gave him a wide smile, gesturing a hand towards the rickety looking chair in front of his desk.
"Please have a seat, and we shall discuss the position," said Mr. Sweet before flicking his gaze back at Smithy in the doorway. "Thank you for escorting him down here. Now go back to helping Scott with the display."
"Yes, sir," said Smithy with a slight nod. He cast one more look at Chris as he took a seat in front of Mr. Sweet's desk before turning to leave and shutting the door behind him.
As Smithy's footsteps died away down the hallway, Mr. Sweet's full attention returned to Chris. Chris sat a bit anxiously on the seat, balling his hands together as he watched Mr. Sweet stare at him for a few moments. The spell was soon broken though as Mr. Sweet moved to pick up a clipboard that lay on his desk.
"I take it your name is not Chrise then," he said as he kept looking at the clipboard in his hands. "I mean, I've never seen a spelling of Chrissy like this before, but I wasn't going to say anything..."
"May I see?" Chris asked softly, holding a hand out for the clipboard.
Without question, Mr. Sweet handed the clipboard over for Chris to look at. As his eyes scanned the page in front of him, he recognized Sebastian's handwriting. In true Sebastian style, it was a bit hard to make out his name. It looked as if he had spelled his name as "Chrise Vans" instead of "Chris Evans".
"I'm sorry for the confusion," said Chris as he moved to hand the clipboard back to Mr. Sweet. "My friend's handwriting is hard to decipher at times."
"As are all of ours. Everyone has their moments," said Mr. Sweet with a small chuckle as he looked at Chris. "Don't worry about it."
Chris nodded his head, giving Mr. Sweet a small smile as he watched him lean back in his chair and begin to look at the clipboard once more.
"Well, it's nice to finally meet you. I can clearly see that you aren't a girl, and that you're a young gun."
The way that he called him a young gun made him a bit uneasy. He cocked an eyebrow at Mr. Sweet and asked slowly, "Is that alright?"
"Of course it is!" said Mr. Sweet with a smile. "The beard puts on fifty years at any rate, so to speak."
Chris cracked a small smile at that, nodding his head.
"I really do appreciate you giving me this chance."
"Well, you came highly recommended," said Mr. Sweet as he threw the clipboard down onto the desk and stood up. "Come along, I'll show you where you'll be working for the next few weeks."
Chris slowly rose from the chair that creaked at his departure. Following after Mr. Sweet as he opened his office door and walked down the hallway, Chris remained silent, just trying to take everything in. They soon found themselves back out in the entryway that Chris had found himself in to begin with. Loud noises could be heard being generated from the window display, which caused Mr. Sweet to chuckle.
"Sending Scott and Smithy to set up a window display is always a disaster waiting to happen," Mr. Sweet remarked as they headed towards the toy department.
"Then why do you continue to let them do it?" asked Chris.
Mr. Sweet shrugged.
"I suppose because it keeps life interesting," said Mr. Sweet.
Chris nodded his head, not having much time to think on what Mr. Sweet had just said as they entered the toy department. It looked like the Christmas scene in the toy store from the "Elf" movie. Christmas lights were strung from shelf to shelf like a spider's web; flickering red and green in a rhythmic manner. Fake snow decorated the ground at both their feet as Mr. Sweet led the way down one of the aisles. The fake snow lined the path to where Santa's throne chair sat; a cardboard cutout of Santa's toy factory in the background. The red cushion of the Santa chair looked a bit sick color wise, as if it either hadn't been properly dusted off or it had been bleached by repeated exposure to light. Perhaps it was a combination of both.
"I suppose this is where I'm going to be planted for the foreseeable future?" asked Chris with a faint smile, stepping around Mr. Sweet to walk towards the throne chair.
"Yes, yes. That's Saint Nick's chair," said Mr. Sweet with a tinge of pride in his voice. "Feel free to have a seat and test it out."
Chris slowly took a seat on the throne chair, surprised that he could see a good portion of the store from his position. As he leaned back in the seat, he looked towards Mr. Sweet again with a small smile.
"Nice chair," he said. "Very Santa Clause like."
Mr. Sweet smiled at that remark, watching Chris sit in the chair.
"So," said Mr. Sweet as he took a deep breath, "Ready to hear the details of your job? It's rather straight forward."
"Of course. Go right on ahead."
"The deal with this job is that you'll be here from opening to closing for the next several weeks, listening to all of the children's request for Christmas presents. Your elf helper," said Mr. Sweet as he gestured towards another, slightly smaller, chair beside the one Chris was in, "will issue the children's parents with coupons for whatever item in the store they asked for, for Christmas."
"That's kind of you," said Chris.
"Well, it's Christmas. Can't have a child going without what they asked for if it can be helped."
Chris smiled a bit more at that. Perhaps the job wouldn't be so terrible after all. His boss seemed nice, and his end of the job didn't seem like it would be that terrible. Relaxing a bit more on the chair, there was only one more thing he needed to ask.
"Just one last question," said Chris as he crossed his legs, "if you don't mind, of course."
"I don't mind at all," said Mr. Sweet. "Please ask away."
"Who's my elf helper?"
Mr. Sweet smiled a bit, chuckling as he replied, "Smithy, of course."
