The gig appealed to Pam’s feminist instincts as much as to her pocketbook: Play the role of Mrs. Santa Claus at the Maple Grove Mall from the day after Thanksgiving till Christmas Eve. Why should Santa get all the glory? Surely Mrs. Claus did more than stay home and bake cookies for the elves. She liked the idea of sitting on a throne alongside Santa, dressed in a similar white-fur-trimmed red suit, and listening to the little kids talk about their Christmas wishes.
Pam’s own son and daughter were grown and gone. Now in her mid-forties, divorced for nearly a year and recently “excessed” from her job due to budget cuts, she felt at a crossroads. She ' d been spared a midlife crisis, having hit forty and most recently forty-five without a whimper, only to have life hit her with the one-two punch of losing her marriage and then her job. Pam was an optimist, the eternal glass-half-full type, however, and instead of going into a tailspin, she welcomed the new opportunities that she was sure were around the next corner. She didn’t know what her next regular job would be but meanwhile welcomed this temporary gig as Mrs. Claus. It wasn’t a high-paying job or a prestigious job and wouldn’t add much weight to her résumé, but it would bring in some much-needed money and, besides, it would be fun.
Pam arrived at the Maple Grove Mall on the morning after Thanksgiving, ready to get into costume and go to work. Unlike Santa’s costume, hers involved no padding. After an earnest discussion with the Special Events Coordinator, who had hired her, Pam had persuaded Reg Winkelhof that the 2012 version of Mrs. Claus should be a lean, health-conscious, vibrant woman, neither chubby nor white-haired. She was pretty much going onstage as a red-suited version of herself.
Reg led her to the newly set up Toyland in a vacant store in the mall. In a back room, she changed quickly into her costume. When she emerged, Santa , a jolly, beaming, white-haired and white-bearded gent in the best Santa tradition was already in place on his throne. Pam wondered if the belly was pillow-padding or real. Beneath the voluminous whiskers, it was hard to get a good idea of the man’s face. He looked properly old, as a Santa should. Pam supposed he was a local retiree looking for a little Christmas money.
“My name’s Pam,” she said with a smile, offering Santa a hand to shake.
“Mine’s Santa…but when the kids aren’t around you can call me Ed,” he said w ith a smile and a conspiratorial wink, standing up with old-fashioned courtliness . He took her proffered hand, shook it, and resumed his seat on the throne on the raised platform.
“Is this your first year working the Santa gig?” Pam asked.
“Yes, although I played Santa for our condo association’s Christmas party last year,” he acknowledged. “I’m looking forward to it. Who wouldn’t love to play Santa? Everyone loves Santa, and we all need to be loved.”
True words indeed, thought Pam, who was ready to be loved again herself.
“Have you been a good girl this year?” Santa asked.
“Too good. No opportunities to be bad,” Pam answered with a sad smile.
“What would you like Santa to bring you, then?”
“A new husband…or at least a lover.” She was surprised at her own candor, but somehow wearing the Mrs. Claus outfit and pretending to be someone she wasn’t was a remarkably liberating experience.
“Hmmm…that’s a tall order, but I’ll see what I can do. A charming, vivacious, and attractive woman like yourself shouldn’t have much trouble attracting a man, though.”
“Ah, there, you see? That’s the problem. I have no trouble attracting a man, but it’s always the wrong one. Either they’re twenty - something cougar aficionados or they’re senior citizens looking for ‘young stuff’—which, at forty-five, I still qualify as, by geezer standards. No offense meant,” she hastily added as she remembered the bewhiskered Ed’s supposed
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