Thanksgiving Day, 10:22 A.M.
"I don't know why I'm doing this." A cluster of balloons bopped Dorey Walker in the face.
She pushed them aside and walked through the crowd.
COLE'S , the balloons said. The largest department store in New York. Her employer.
For now.
"I don't know why I'm breaking my neck on this stupid parade," Dorey went on. "Cole's is going to be taken over by Shopper's Express anyway. We'll all be out of work."
Her assistant's voice piped up, "They said in the paper that the takeover's not going to happen.
Myrna Foy wasn't much shorter than Dorey. But somehow she needed to take two steps for each one her boss took.
"Victor Lamberg owns seventy-five hundred Shopper's Express stores across the country," Dorey replied. "If he wants something bad enough, he gets it. We're dead."
"What if we have a really big Christmas?" Myrna asked. "Won't that make it difficult for Lamberg to buy us?"
"A big Christmas in these times? Nobody has any money. Whatever they do have will end up in Lamberg's pocket. How do we compete?"
Myrna shrugged. "Well, we're the store that brings Santa Claus to town."
"Lamberg's worth a billion dollars. I guarantee he's not worried about Santa Claus.
Bleeep! Bleeep!
Dorey looked at her beeper. "It's my boss," she said. "Emergency."
The TV-control booth was only a few yards away, but Dorey practically had to fight her way through the crowd. She spotted her boss, Donald Shellhammer, huddled over a TV monitor. He did not look too happy.
"What's the problem?" Dorey asked.
"Your Santa Claus is wearing an old topcoat and a fedora."
" What? " Dorey leaned closer to the monitor.
There was a stranger on the Santa float. He was sitting inside the makeshift sleigh and reindeer display, cracking the whip.
* * *
Snnnnap!
The white-bearded man smiled. "It's all in the wrist, you see." He pulled in the whip, picked up his cane, and stepped off the float.
On the street stood Tony Falacchi, Cole's official Santa. He took a swig from a bottle and tucked it in his waistband. "I think we're about to shove off, old dude."
The old man's smile vanished. "You were drinking. You're intoxicated."
Tony burped. "And you're a nuisance. Gimme my whip."
His hand darted out, but the old man blocked it with his cane.
"You're a disgrace," the stranger said. "Do you know how many children are watching you right now?"
"Gimme the whip!" Tony growled.
The old man lifted the cane high. "Young man, when you put on that suit, you represent something that has great meaning and significance to people all over the world. Especially to children. I can overlook a badly made suit, an unconvincing beard, and a poorly padded tummy . . ."—he poked at Tony's red polyester Santa suit with his cane, tugged at Tony's fake beard, jabbed him in the gut, then grabbed away his bottle—" . . . but I won't tolerate public drunkenness. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
" Can we get a cop over here? " Tony shouted.
A nearby policeman dropped his doughnut wrapper in the trash and ambled over. He gingerly lowered the old man's cane, which was now pointing at Tony's face. "If you're not with the parade, sir, you have to get up on the sidewalk with everybody else."
"I need to see whoever is in charge and alert them to this man's drunken condition!" the old man demanded.
"Kiss my—"Tony snarled.
The old man drew back his cane— thoonk —right into the policeman's hand. "That's enough, gramps," the officer said. "Let's take a little walk."
Silently the old man handed back the whip. He held his head high as the cop walked him to the curb.
Tony climbed onto the float. The end of the whip twisted around his ankles. He wobbled a bit as he stood up. His pants slid off his waist, revealing the bottom of his white belly-pad.
He lifted his pants but they fell again. Cursing, he yanked out the pad and threw it.
With a dull thump, the yellowish, sweat-stained pillow fell to the street like a dead animal.
"Ewww!" a child
"I don't know why I'm doing this." A cluster of balloons bopped Dorey Walker in the face.
She pushed them aside and walked through the crowd.
COLE'S , the balloons said. The largest department store in New York. Her employer.
For now.
"I don't know why I'm breaking my neck on this stupid parade," Dorey went on. "Cole's is going to be taken over by Shopper's Express anyway. We'll all be out of work."
Her assistant's voice piped up, "They said in the paper that the takeover's not going to happen.
Myrna Foy wasn't much shorter than Dorey. But somehow she needed to take two steps for each one her boss took.
"Victor Lamberg owns seventy-five hundred Shopper's Express stores across the country," Dorey replied. "If he wants something bad enough, he gets it. We're dead."
"What if we have a really big Christmas?" Myrna asked. "Won't that make it difficult for Lamberg to buy us?"
"A big Christmas in these times? Nobody has any money. Whatever they do have will end up in Lamberg's pocket. How do we compete?"
Myrna shrugged. "Well, we're the store that brings Santa Claus to town."
"Lamberg's worth a billion dollars. I guarantee he's not worried about Santa Claus.
Bleeep! Bleeep!
Dorey looked at her beeper. "It's my boss," she said. "Emergency."
The TV-control booth was only a few yards away, but Dorey practically had to fight her way through the crowd. She spotted her boss, Donald Shellhammer, huddled over a TV monitor. He did not look too happy.
"What's the problem?" Dorey asked.
"Your Santa Claus is wearing an old topcoat and a fedora."
" What? " Dorey leaned closer to the monitor.
There was a stranger on the Santa float. He was sitting inside the makeshift sleigh and reindeer display, cracking the whip.
* * *
Snnnnap!
The white-bearded man smiled. "It's all in the wrist, you see." He pulled in the whip, picked up his cane, and stepped off the float.
On the street stood Tony Falacchi, Cole's official Santa. He took a swig from a bottle and tucked it in his waistband. "I think we're about to shove off, old dude."
The old man's smile vanished. "You were drinking. You're intoxicated."
Tony burped. "And you're a nuisance. Gimme my whip."
His hand darted out, but the old man blocked it with his cane.
"You're a disgrace," the stranger said. "Do you know how many children are watching you right now?"
"Gimme the whip!" Tony growled.
The old man lifted the cane high. "Young man, when you put on that suit, you represent something that has great meaning and significance to people all over the world. Especially to children. I can overlook a badly made suit, an unconvincing beard, and a poorly padded tummy . . ."—he poked at Tony's red polyester Santa suit with his cane, tugged at Tony's fake beard, jabbed him in the gut, then grabbed away his bottle—" . . . but I won't tolerate public drunkenness. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
" Can we get a cop over here? " Tony shouted.
A nearby policeman dropped his doughnut wrapper in the trash and ambled over. He gingerly lowered the old man's cane, which was now pointing at Tony's face. "If you're not with the parade, sir, you have to get up on the sidewalk with everybody else."
"I need to see whoever is in charge and alert them to this man's drunken condition!" the old man demanded.
"Kiss my—"Tony snarled.
The old man drew back his cane— thoonk —right into the policeman's hand. "That's enough, gramps," the officer said. "Let's take a little walk."
Silently the old man handed back the whip. He held his head high as the cop walked him to the curb.
Tony climbed onto the float. The end of the whip twisted around his ankles. He wobbled a bit as he stood up. His pants slid off his waist, revealing the bottom of his white belly-pad.
He lifted his pants but they fell again. Cursing, he yanked out the pad and threw it.
With a dull thump, the yellowish, sweat-stained pillow fell to the street like a dead animal.
"Ewww!" a child
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