1987 - The Coat Closet

Pamela Jenkins didn't usually work on Christmas Eve. Strictly speaking, she wasn't working Christmas Eve this year, either. The Luthors paid well in general, but they hadn't hired her in for today.

Of course, they were used to seeing her around at hours for which she wasn't paid. Alexander had begged her to stay for the Christmas party, and Lillian had offered a formal invitation. Pamela didn't have family nearby to visit—half of her family had broken contact with her when she had gotten pregnant, the other half when Lutessa was taken away—so she agreed. She knew how tough the Luthor family gatherings could be on the little guy.

She was making stilted conversation with some of Lillian's friends, watching Alexander out of the corner of her eye. He alternated between eyeing the dessert table, fidgeting with his suit, and submitting to cheek pinching and awkward conversation with Lionel's extended relatives. She took her eye off of him for a moment, and he was gone.

Pamela didn't put up any pretense of caring about the conversation she was having. As soon as she lost sight of Alexander, she searched the penthouse for him. The past few years of taking care of him had taught her all of his favorite hiding places; she found him huddled in a coat closet.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind herself, crossing her arms. "Alexander, what are you doing in here?"

"Hiding."

"Why are you hiding?"

"Father was talking about . . . finance and business deals. And they said mean things about some of my friends from school. I asked if I could have my GameBoy."

"Your what?"

"It was an early Christmas present from Father's friend Mr. Yokoi. It's a video game, but it kind of looks like a calculator."

"I see. What did your father say?"

"He pulled me aside and said he was going to smash my GameBoy if I kept asking."

Pamela's blood ran cold. It was Christmas Eve, for heaven's sake.

"Can you get it for me?" He tugged at his necktie.

Pamela winced. If Lionel had taken it, she wouldn't be able to find it easily; even if she could, he would likely notice it missing before she had a chance to replace it. "Your father said no," she said.

"Aww." He fiddled with his cuff link. "This is the worst Christmas Eve ever. Except for last year's party."

"What happened at last year's?"

His cheeks turned scarlet as he spoke: "Father told people I wet the bed. They were laughing at me."

"Oh, Alexander." She'd long given up any hope of ever telling the boy how wrong his circumstances were, or how sorry she was. He believed his life was normal. It was almost kinder that way. She straightened out her skirt and sat down on the carpet beside him, opening her arms to him. He melted into her embrace, and she ran her fingers through his hair.

"I'm really hungry," he whispered.

"Well, maybe we should go back out there."

"No!" He shook his head and clung to her all the harder. "Please no!"

She sighed. "Let go of me, Alexander."

"You can't make me go out there!"

"I won't, if you let me go."

He pulled back, sitting on the floor and pouting.

"I'll be right back."

She left him and went out to the buffet table. She took a plate and began to fill it with Alexander's favorites, to the degree that she could—it had to be believable that she was picking up food for herself—and snuck it back to the coat closet.

Alexander flinched as the door opened, but he grinned when he saw her with the plate. "For me?"

"For you." She took out a step stool from the back of the closet and unfolded it with one hand, making a little table for the plate.

He sat in front of the step stool and ate happily. While he ate, she snuck her way back out into the party, giving pleasant smiles and nods to each person she passed, and approached the dessert table. She piled a few treats onto a plate—more than she'd usually let him have, and much more than she normally would have eaten herself, but little enough to avoid suspicion—and brought it back to him.

He had inhaled the entire plate of food when she returned to him with the plate of desserts. He actually jumped up when he saw it. "Yay!"

She sat with him while he ate. He told her funny stories about the people he'd met that night, and he chattered away happily about all of the games he could play on that handheld gaming toy. As he nibbled his way through the last cookie, his eyelids began to droop.

Sneaking out to find his pajamas was more difficult, and finding a story book for him—the kind Lillian read, with the colorful pictures, rather than the ones Lionel read, with the terrifying historical narratives—was even more challenging. But Pamela found she didn't have to be sneaky. It was late enough that no one was really looking for the boy anymore, assuming he'd gone up to bed. When Lillian passed by, she glanced down at the bundle of bedtime supplies in Pamela's arms and merely nodded.

It occurred to Pamela then that Alexander really didn't need to be hiding in the coat closet anymore, but if it made him feel more secure, she wasn't going to take that away from him.

She helped him into his pajamas, then she let him curl up beside her as she read him stories. His eyes had long fallen closed, but as she closed the last book, one sleepy eye fluttered open. "Pamela?" he whispered.

"Yes?"

"This is the best Christmas Eve ever." He snuggled in a little closer and fell back asleep.

Pamela put a hand on his back and rubbed gently. Somehow, despite everything, she couldn't have agreed more.