A Visit from St. Nicholas
(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)
Lady Shade
Episode 7: Home for Christmas
December 24, 1942
It was the night before Christmas- Christmas Eve that is- and I was making my way home from a huge gala party uptown at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel that I had been covering for my job with the World News Radio as on air correspondent, Lisa Lord. It was, of course, a Christmas celebration, and anyone that had a name in New York City had been there, and not a few people from around the world as well. It was a benefit, as most parties are these days with all the proceeds of the $100 a head plates going to help the US war effort overseas.
I had been there with my aide-de-camp and confidante, Stewart 'Stubby' Stubbins who was my partner in crime so to speak when it came to reporting for the World News. Stubby was, nine times out of ten, my radio technician when we were out on site at a story. He worked the sound gear and gave me my cues so that I could lay on the words with my golden tongue and let the world know what was happening then and there, wherever we were. Occasionally Stubby would be called upon to work a newsreel camera as well, and even more rarely my mug would be centered in his lens when we got a newsreel gig. Stubby's job that night however was to snap photos of the rich and famous that had all gathered together at the Waldorf. Stubby was a shutterbug for the World News- the paper, not the radio- as well, and a damn good one if you'll pardon my French. It was his job this time and I had been tagging along with him for a change, hoping to snag an interview or two to stuff into my own portfolio as I hoped to get a better job someday if the opportunity presented itself. Hey- Walter Winchell won't live forever, right?
The party was held in the Waldorf's main dining hall, which was decked out in lights and tinsel for the occasion and was packed to the gills to boot. Stubby said that the hall could seat hundreds, and I didn't doubt him for a minute as we shoved our way inside literally rubbing elbows with some of the most famous folk in Manhattan. I saw Mayor La Guardia right off the bat standing near the buffet table giving a casual speech to some of his staunchest supporters while one of his 'men' loaded up a plate of food for him. John D. Rockefeller was beside him, smiling and nodding but looking bored and beside him stood one of the Vanderbilt Clan wincing on a bite of potato salad as John's son Nelson smirked. On the far side of the table was Howard Hughes regaling some tale to a man with an eye patch who seemed more worried about Hughes' waving arms than anything the man really had to say. I spied Kate Hepburn and Tracy sharing a drink and a quiet moment in one corner near the huge sparkling Christmas tree that had been put up for the holidays. Everywhere I turned it seemed that I saw someone that I would have dearly loved to corner for an exclusive. So many in fact that I did not know where to start. I took a deep breath and plastered my most congenial smile on my face, then dove in both feet forward.
To make a long story short, the evening was a total success, for everyone but me that is. Right off Stubby went out and started snapping pictures. The party guests seemed to take him and his antics in stride, most of the ritzy crowd smiling and mugging for the camera as Stubby made several circuits around the dining hall. At one point the mayor got up on his soapbox and gave the traditional 'thank you' speech to all in attendance, saying how many thousands of dollars they had raised for the fight against the Axis. I jotted all of that down, and some bits from others that threw in their two bits, but that political fluff was really all I got out of the night's hob-knobbing. As I made my own way around the room, looking in awe from the fabulous decorations of silver and gold streaming from the rafters, to the heaping tables of food, to the guests themselves, all that I got from the snobs in attendance was a polite decline or a not so polite cold shoulder, if even that. They were tight-lipped as clams for some reason, and not a one wanted to give me an interview, no matter how hard I nagged. And believe you me, I did!
I was ready to go within an hour or two and met back up with Stubby near a sparkling ice sculpture that was surrounded by twinkling lights and empty boxes done up in shiny wrappings and ribbons. It was a glitzy thing- a six-foot tall rendition of the Empire State Building surrounded by bottles of champagne arranged like the other buildings in the area with an ice bucket situated where Pennsylvania Station would be. My friend of course was having a far better time at the party than me, and was not quite ready to leave just then. I had learned not so long ago that Stubby had friends in high places when he had introduced me to our mutual boss, the owner of the World News in all of its media glory and heiress to the Pulitzer fortune- Diane Williams. Oddly, Stubby seemed to know quite a few of the partygoers as well and I soon added a tinge of jealousy to my long list of dismal hurt feelings for the night. I was tired and annoyed by then, and told him so in not so many nice words and so, not unlike Cinderella at the stroke of Midnight I left the party with my feelings and dreams crushed. I did not think that there would be any handsome prince in my future anytime soon either.
There was a light snow falling when I stepped back out onto Park Avenue wrapped up in my best coat and hat. I was still freezing though, despite having my 'Lady Shade' muffler snuggled up under my nose and my leather gloves cinched up to my elbows. The wind whistled right up my dress as I stepped up to the curb and into a long line of cars and cabs waiting to pick up anyone from the party. The doorman flagged down a hack for me with a tip of his hat and a smile. He held the door of the cab open as I swung my legs into the back seat, and I thought he had been checking out my gams as he paused in the opening. It was only after the cabby ground the gears and we lurched into the flow of traffic onto Lexington that I realized he was waiting for a tip.
The cabby dumped me out onto the corner of Thirty-fourth and Third with a half-mumbled apology. Not that I blame him as the remainder of my ride- barely a block- would have netted him nothing by way of cold hard cash. I slipped the man a buck, remembering the tip this time and slid out of the back seat onto the slushy streets. Of course the gutters were backed up and overflowing and I instantly felt the icy waters of melted snow seeping in through the open toes of my pumps. I cursed; stepping out of the slush and briskly trotted my way down Third Avenue towards my home.
As my building came into view I noted that it was dark for the most part, just a dim glow of flickering lights escaping from behind the drawn curtains and window shades in some of the windows. There was still a war going on with a 'lights out' curfew, and it was going on one in the morning after all, and I supposed that most of my neighbors were nestled all snug in their beds, which was where I wanted to be right then and there. I was shivering as I clacked along the sidewalk in my heels, mumbling and cursing under my breath in a very unlady-like manner that would have given my grandmother Bessie a seizure. I was feeling pretty miserable with myself as I tiptoed up the outer steps, biting my tongue and trying to be quiet as I rattled my key into the building's front door.
Not a creature was stirring as I slipped into the dimly lit hallway and eased the door shut behind me. It was deliciously warm inside, and I could hear the radiator hissing and squealing as hot water churned through the old and rusting pipes. I sighed, feeling just a little better to be back home and looked longingly at the dark stairwell wishing I was upstairs already. I started up the steps, my feet squishing in my shoes and the old stairs creaking loudly under my weight. It seemed a long noisy climb to the third floor apartment that I shared with my mother, sister and uncle Jake, but by then I was past caring that I might be disturbing the neighbors.
The apartment was dark but warm, and for a moment I thought that everyone was already fast asleep when I remembered that the rest of the family had taken the ferry to Hoboken that afternoon to spend the night with my mother's sister, my Aunt Lucy. I envisioned them all sitting around the fire place in her huge house enjoying the holiday- drinking egg nog and hot toddies while Uncle Jake entertained them all with stories of his days in the Army back in World War I. I envied them as I slipped out of my waterlogged shoes and made my way through the quiet apartment to my room. I wished that I had gone with them instead of working, as that had been a total bust, but I was also glad that I had the place to myself right then as I was in the mood for a good sulk.
I undressed in the room that I shared with my sister Doris, taking care to hang my best dress back in the closet. I tossed the rest of my clothes in a heap on my vanity chair and dug my nightgown from under my pillow before walking naked back to the bathroom. I would have been embarrassed beyond belief had my family come home at that moment to see me parading though the house in the buff, but I took my chances that they would not surprise me and trudged on. Pulling on the overhead chain I lit up the bathroom and stared into the mirror. I was still cold and damp, clammy even and I looked a mess. The wind had blown my hair about something fierce except for a little molded patch atop my head where I had pulled my hat too low. My face was flushed in the cheeks from the chill, but my skin was pale in the garish light over the rest of my body. My feet and hands were filthy from leather stains and the lines I had etched onto the back of my legs to imitate stocking seams were smudged and blurred. I thought about taking a long, steaming bath but did not really want to wait for the tub to fill so decided to simply wash off in the sink instead.
Finally clean and feeling somewhat better about myself I wrapped a kerchief about my still damp hair and slipped into my flannel nightie and slippers before heading for the kitchen to get a bite to eat. I had expected Momma to leave me a plate in the icebox, but like Mother Hubbard's cupboard the box was bare save for a chunk of cheese and the last of the days' milk. Momma had apparently taken what little we had on to Jersey figuring that I would eat at the party. I wrinkled my nose at the fare she had left behind, ordering my stomach to stop rumbling when I spotted two bottles of beer hidden back behind the milk bottle. I settled happily on one of Grandpa Jake's beers and shuffled back into the living room hoping to lift my spirits with some spirits and a bit of Jack Benny's Christmas Show on the radio.
I turned on the big Victrola and tuned through the dial as the box warmed listening for something that might entertain me for a bit. Out of habit I turned to the World News and heard Alan Scott's deep voice droning on about the war in the Pacific. The Japanese were still advancing through the countless islands apparently, and Roosevelt was none too happy over the affair. I'm as patriotic as the next guy or gal, but I was not really in the mood to hear the latest casualty reports and finally settled on a rebroadcast of the Mercury Theatre playing a Christmas Carole. I turned the volume down to a whisper and curled up on the sofa to sip at my Schotz and hopefully mellow my mood.
I glanced about the room, soon feeling warm and content and happy to be home safe and sound. Momma and Doris had decorated the walls and the tall, bushy tree that Grandpa Jake had brought home just last week. Not having an actual fireplace like Aunt Lucy, our stockings were hung on the wall above the old wood stove with care and were already bulging with small gifts, a sure sign that St. Jake had been there. Garlands of shining silver drooped along the upper molding of the walls all the way around the room, the sparkling rope broken occasionally by a hanging Christmas ornament. The tree itself was overloaded with strands of tinsel and fancifully painted balls, a delicate angel sitting precariously at the very top, almost brushing the high ceiling. There were a few presents piled beneath the tree, none of which were wrapped as beautifully as the empty boxes at the party uptown. Grandpa Jake's gifts were in fact wrapped in old sheets of the World News sealed up with brown packing tape. I had to smile, and I wished my absent family- including my father who was fighting the good fight overseas- a Merry Christmas…
Episode 8: Deck the Dolls
I woke to a crash and a clatter! I sprang to my feet, wondering what was happening, the half-empty beer bottle falling from my lap and hitting the floor with a loud thud. I cursed; rubbing the sleep from my eyes even as I crouched down to pick up the bottle before the last of the beer seeped into Momma's rug. I was patting the foaming beer into the rug with the sole of my slipper, hoping that it would not stain and trying to think up a lie to tell Momma if it did when I heard the noise that woke me again, only then realizing that it was coming from outside on the fire escape.
I ran to the window and threw up the shade, flinging up the sash in a flash before leaning out to see what was the matter. The moon had pierced through the clouds overhead giving the thin layer of snow that had fallen a glowing luster as though it were Midday. A cold wind whipped down the top of my nightgown sending a shiver through my body as I glanced about the silent street. Third Avenue was empty save for a bum shuffling along a block up the way huddled against the cold and snow. I was watching him trudge along when a flicker of movement caught the corner of my eye and I turned just in time to see a shadowy leg slip into the window of Momma's bedroom just two windows away. I gasped, shocked and realizing that someone had broken into our home just on the other side of the thin wall to my right.
I pulled back into the apartment, goosebumps popping up all over my body as I scurried back against the wall in a panic, wondering what to do. My first instinct was to call the police, but god knows just how long it would take them to respond. It was Christmas Eve after all, and I'm sure that they were understaffed and what few were on duty were probably uptown closer to the mayor and all the ritzy people attending the party at the Waldorf. I figured that I was on my own, as most of my neighbors would be fast asleep for a long winter's nap. I pictured old Mister Reid shambling down the hall in his nightcap to help me and found it hard to suppress a giggle. I was getting giddy with excitement I realized, and bit my cheek trying to calm down.
I took a deep breath, realizing that I was a little drunk from the beer and tried to screw up my courage. I was the Lady Shade for crying out loud, and had thumped more than my share of Nazis in my brief career as a masked marvel. What was a common burglar compared to that?
I pushed off the wall and tiptoed across the room pausing only long enough to scoop up the metal poker beside the wood stove in passing. I held it like a baseball bat, imagining myself as the Great Bambino stepping up to the plate as I cautiously reached out and turned the knob on the door leading to Momma's bedroom.
I stepped inside, wielding the poker like a sword, whipping it in an arch before me as I tried to see into the darkness. My mother's room was small, dominated by a huge four-poster bed and dresser that took up most of one wall. I could see the jagged hole in the window where the burglar had shattered the glass to get in, but beyond that the room was draped in thick shadows of dark and darker. I held the metal poker out before me in one hand, brandishing it menacingly as I fumbled along the wall with my free hand in search of the light switch. Finally I found it and quickly turned on the overhead light.
To say the least, I was shocked. I had been expecting to find the stereotypical thug dressed in cheap clothes and a domino mask like one of the Beagle Boys in a Carl Barks funny book. I was astounded when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a raggedy man dressed in a ratty red suit, dirty and smudged with grease marks, lined with faded white fur at the collar and cuffs and topped with a floppy red hat. He looked like a peddler just opening his pack, but I knew that he had come to fill the bulging bag he carried over his shoulder rather than to empty it out. His face was grizzled and sallow; his eyes tinted pink as they focused on me standing in the doorway. He smiled and I saw the gaps in his teeth as he raised a nasty looking revolver in my general direction with a rasping chuckle.
"Reach for the sky, Chicken Little, an' drop that rod 'fore I plug ya!"
I ask you, what else could I do? The robber dressed as St. Nick had caught me flatfooted. I tossed down the poker, hoping that it might make enough noise to wake my downstairs neighbors as it clattered across the hard wood floor, but I knew that the Barlows were a kindly old couple that could barely hear when they were wide awake. I sighed as Santa waved his .38 at me, motioning me to the floor as he stepped forward. A kindly old elf he was not, but I slowly did as he said then quickly felt his bulk as he sat on my legs.
I whimpered as he jerked my arms back and struggled a bit as I felt him wrapping my wrists in the silvery garland that had been lining the walls just a moment before. The sparkling rope was not too thick or strong, but Santa wrapped loop after loop over and over and I could feel with every turn my bindings getting tougher. He knotted the garland several times, crossing the bonds between my wrists back and forth, but I could tell that he was no expert at tying people up. He quickly finished with a flourish, cinching the final knot until I cried out from the pain of the thin cord biting into my wrists. He chuckled and spun about then, grabbing me by the ankles.
He looped another bit of the Christmas garland about my legs, tying my feet together with only a couple of quick turns before drawing my legs up and back and tying them off to the rope already binding my wrists. He was finished within a few minutes, and I found myself in a makeshift hog-tie, squirming on the floor as he stood. I could hear his laugh as I struggled at my bonds, then heard the click of his gun as he cocked the hammer back.
"Just lay still, Chickie, an' ya won't get hurt!" I felt his hand on my legs, sliding up my nightgown to get a better view. "Yer a pretty package, doll, but I ain't here fer that." He snickered at his little joke and I could smell the liquor on his breath. I squirmed and struggled to his delight, and stupidly threatened him-
"You'll never get away with this!" I cursed, and I heard his sick laugh again.
"I already have, toots, in case ya didn't notice. You sure ain't gonna stop me. But…"
He stepped away for a moment and I helplessly watched as he slipped a case off of one of Momma's pillows. He twirled it about, making it into a tight, twisted strand then straddled me again.
"I don't need ta hear ya whinin', doll. I get enough lip at home. So open wide!"
I felt the gun as he pressed the barrel to the back of my head and did as I was told. A second later St. Nick had wedged the pillowcase between my lips and teeth and was knotting it off behind my head, effectively gagging me. I knew from past experience that without something stuffed into my mouth to hold down my tongue that I could still cause a ruckus, but I remained silent, letting Santa think that I was helpless and stifled.
"That ought'a do it!" He stood again and stepped over me, no doubt thinking that I would be no problem from there on. I saw him stalking about my mother's bedroom, whistling 'Jingle Bells' as he dug through her closet and bureau, tossing stuff all about. He found her jewelry box but I knew that there was really nothing of value within. The only thing that she really cherished never left her finger. He tossed the box aside and turned to glare at me-
"I don't need this costume crap, Chickie!" he snapped, stuffing a few dollars of Momma's 'mad money' into his sack. "Where's the real booty, cutie?"
I shrugged in my bonds trying to indicate that he should go into the living room. I tried to look terrified, and really, it was not all that hard. I was lying on the floor, bound and gagged with some burglar waving a gun around. I don't think he really wanted to shoot me, but accidents did happen, and I could tell that he had drank a bit to screw up his own courage before the big break in. Regardless, I wanted him to leave me alone. There was no way in hell that I could slip out of my bonds with him stumbling about in the bedroom like a drunken sailor.
He got the hint and headed towards the door, pausing just long enough to warn me to keep quiet again. I closed my eyes and nodded fearfully- at least in his eyes- but as soon as he left I was struggling to reach the knots that trussed me up like the Christmas goose…
Episode 9: Here Comes Lady Shade
I could hear St. Nick rummaging around in the other rooms and figured that I did not have long before he came back to me. We were not rich, not by a long shot, and I knew that it would not take my captor long to find Momma's silverware and the little bit of money that Grandpa Jake had squirreled away for a rainy day. I had just a few minutes to get free of my bonds and figured that I had better make the most of them, an idea already forming in my head.
Being tied up with ropes is one thing, and I had been there before more than once. The garland that Santa had used to bind me however was another story entirely. The strands of garland laced with short strips of shining tinsel were not too tough in itself. I had snapped the decorations easily before when it was just a single line, but St. Nick had looped the stuff about my wrists for quite a few turns and layered over and over as it was I have to admit that it became quite sturdy. I pulled on my bonds with all the strength that I could muster but quickly found that the garland was far too strong to snap. Immediately I switched tactics and started probing the knots with my fingers.
Of course my initial struggles had simply tightened the knots, which were now biting into the flesh of my wrists. I flicked at the garland with my fingernails but could not get a good grip on the thin cord that was almost hidden beneath the clumps of tinsel. It was annoying, frustrating work as I picked at my bonds, expecting Mister Claus to come bounding back into the bedroom at any moment. Worse, the radiator was pumping out the heat full blast, and me in my nightgown was sweating like a pig as I wallowed on the floor. I was starting to smell, and damp spots were forming between my legs and breasts as I rolled around struggling. I was gasping for air too, breathing through my nose as the gag, while not all that stifling did fill most of my mouth and bit into my cheeks.
I twisted my wrists about, stretching my fingers to their limits as I scratched at the knots that were binding my ankles and tying them off to my wrists. I had been paying attention as Santa tied me tight, and realized that he had not bound my legs quite as thoroughly as he had my wrists. There were just a couple loops holding my ankles together, and one knot pulling my legs back in the hog-tie. With some effort, arching my back and straining to reach I found the knot that held my ankles to my wrists and started picking at that.
I heard a crash and a muffled curse from the kitchen and assumed that Santa had found Momma's flatware. If he was making his way through the apartment with any kind of order I figured that I did not have too long before he came back to me. I bit into my gag and struggled all the harder, finally rewarded as I felt the knot of the hog-tie loosen at my worried fumbling and slip away. I eased my legs to the floor, sighing at the little bit of freedom that I had gained as I stretched. I had only been tied up for a few minutes, but I had been on my feet for a few hours before that and my legs were throbbing from the strict bondage.
I had no time to lie about however, and I quickly rolled onto my back and forced my tired body to sit up. Though I had not been able to snap the garland rope binding my wrists I knew that I had gained some slack as the cord was still biting into my flesh. That slack had come from somewhere, and I hoped that it had come from the turns holding my arms. I wriggled forward, forcing my bound arms down and forward up against my buttocks. I slumped my shoulders, stretching my arms down as far as I could manage as I forced my wrists forward against the soft flesh of my derriere. It hurt, and I whimpered as the tight cord bit into my wrists while I struggled to get my hands past my big butt. Tears welled in my eyes as I gritted my teeth, biting down on my pillowcase gag to muffle my sobs. I wanted to quit, but dammit, I was not about to let this bum steal what little we had. I imagined the faces of my family coming home on Christmas Day to find our home ransacked and me bound and gagged on the floor. I was not about to let that happen! I steeled myself against the pain and tried all the harder.
I squealed as my hands finally slipped around my buttocks. I was breathing heavily, trying to will the pain away, eventually tumbling onto my side in agony as I cried. I could feel the slickness of blood coating my wrists, and I could taste the bitterness in my mouth as well, and knew that I had bit through my cheek or tongue. I was over the hump however, and it took only a little more effort to pass my bound wrists past my feet and get my hands in front of me where I could see what I was doing.
I pulled my gag down immediately and instantly attacked my wrist bindings with my teeth. It was a simple matter then to undo the knots. As I said, Santa had no real skill at binding apparently, and his knot-work consisted mainly of granny knots and slipknots doubled over and over with every loop. It was not all that complicated, but it was tedious. With my arms in front of me however, I was soon free and working on the last strands wrapped about my ankles.
I rubbed some feeling back into my wrists and ankles, listening all the while for any sign of the burglar in the other rooms. I heard the occasional thump of a drawer sliding shut or a muffled footfall and figured that he was still searching for loot. I rose to my feet using the edge of the bed for support and still swayed a bit. Even for the short amount of time that I had been bound my circulation had been cut off and it was taking me a little time to regain my footing. I bent low and scooped up the poker I had discarded not so long ago. I felt a little better with a weapon in hand as I inched my way up to the doorway listening for any sign of the burglar again.
I peeked around the corner and saw shadows shifting still in the kitchen. The front door was just a few feet away and I had the choice of running out into the building and hoping to find someone willing and able to help or dealing with this bum myself. It was really no decision. I twisted my grip about the handle of the poker and tiptoed towards the kitchen…
Episode 10: Black and Blue Christmas
I found Santa rifling through the cupboards in the kitchen. What he was expecting to find I don't know, but he had made a mess of things, that's for sure. There were Corn Flakes scattered across the floor and the last of the milk dripping down from the counter. He had his gun stuffed down the back of his wide black belt while he dug into the bottom of the cookie jar, maybe thinking that we hid all of our riches there like they did in the movies. What an idiot!
I crept forward, bringing the metal poker up and back in order to hit a home run off of the back of Santa's head. I had no qualms about doing him any damage. He had invaded my home and tied me up. He had rifled through my family's privacy and was trying to take what little we had for his own ill-gotten gain. If I could grow a few lumps on the top of his head before kicking him out into the street I'd be happy. I held my breath, drawing back to swing-
"What the-"
I'll never know just what it was that made him turn around. Maybe he saw my shadow, or maybe he heard the floor creak as I leaned in to hit him. Whatever, he spun about at the last possible instant with just enough time to deflect my blow. He brought his arm up to protect his head but still he screamed as I slammed the metal poker down with all my might. He staggered back, slumping against the kitchen counter as he wailed in pain. I whipped the poker back again for another blow, but even in his agony he thought to protect himself and too late I saw his hand come up. He caught the fire poker before I could connect again.
We struggled briefly, Santa spitting and cursing as I gritted my teeth trying to hold onto the poker as he tried to wrench it away. I like to think that I'm just a little stronger than the average woman, or at least in a little better shape. Santa however proved to be stronger than me as with a mighty grunt he shoved me back and pulled the poker from my grasp. I went sprawling to the kitchen floor, moaning as I fell on my butt and skidding across the hard wood floor. I looked up to find the burglar staring down at me, anger in his red-rimmed eyes as he rubbed his arm where I had hit him-
"Bitch!" he cursed and stepped towards me, holding the poker high. I knew then and there that he planned to bash my brains in as I had offended his masculinity by getting the better of him. He wanted revenge, despite the fact that I was a helpless girl on the floor at his feet. To heck with that-
I leaned back and kicked out, dropping fully onto my back on the floor as I swept my legs around. I slammed one foot into the side of his knee and heard him cry out in pain even as I hooked my other foot up and behind his ankle. I shoved for all I was worth and felt his legs give as I swept him off of his feet. He crashed to the floor beside me, a stupid look on his face as the poker clattered away out of reach again.
He was hardly helpless however as I saw him reaching for the gun stuffed into his belt at the small of his back. He had murder in his eyes but I tried to ignore his foul looks as I kicked out again. I rammed my heel into the side of his face and was delighted to hear him groan in shock and pain. I kicked again, slamming my heel up under his nose and shoving him back against the heavy iron stove. His head slammed against the metal with a hollow echo, but somehow he was still conscious. He cursed around my slipper that was jammed into his mouth and brought his gun to bear. I tried to act without thinking as he drew the gun in my direction trying to get a bead on me.
I rolled over onto my belly and lashed out, my legs scissoring blindly as I kicked, hoping to do some damage. I wondered if he was drunk enough that he was not feeling anything, but I heard him cry out as my foot slapped him upside the head and then slammed down on the arm holding the .38. There was an explosion of sound and I screamed from the sudden noise. My skin was burning down about my ankle where the fiery powder had flashed. I winced, drawing my legs to me but saw that Santa had buried a bullet into his leg firing blindly as he had.
He was cursing like a sailor now, but I could tell that the fight had gone out of him. Santa raised his gun, wincing as blood spurted from the wound in his leg. His face twisted as he tried to focus on me, and it looked as though he was winking as he tried to blink the sweat from his eyes. I kicked out again, this time with both legs and slammed my heels into his fist clenched about the gun. I heard a crunch of bone as I forced his hand back against the heavy stove and Santa cried out like a little girl, dropping the revolver.
I was just lashing out blindly, hoping for the best and holding my own as I pummeled him with my feet. I lost my slippers in the struggle, and felt the bristle of his beard every time I would ram my feet into his face. He was screaming the whole time, batting at me with his hands and actually trying to bite me. Finally I landed a solid blow into his chest and saw him slam back stunned against the stove. It was then that I made my mistake.
I sat up quickly and lunged for the gun that he had dropped, hoping to scoop it up and get the drop on him again. He was not so stunned as I thought though, and as I was leaning in to grab the revolver he decided to lean in and hit me. I saw his fist racing towards me but I was already committed, and before I knew it I felt his knuckles plow into my cheek just under my left eye.
I screamed more in shock at first than in pain, but the force of his blow still sent me skidding back. I felt the pain then, and being a woman I did all that I knew how under the circumstances: I started to cry.
My face felt as though it was already puffing up as I wailed, rubbing my sore cheek. I tried to get a grip on the situation, and through a teary blur I could see Santa grab the gun with his off-hand and struggle to his feet. He had to use the stove for support to stand, and I felt warm blood splattering me in the chest and belly as he tried to steady his aim.
"Ya stupid frail!" he whimpered trying to hold his jiggling revolver on me as he held his busted hand up under his arm to ease the pain. "I wasn't gonna hurt ya! Why'd ya go an' put up a fight?" I heard the hammer of the gun click as he cocked it back. Instinctively I raised my arms in front of my face to try to fend off the bullet coming my way. I was really crying about then and started to curl up into a ball for protection.
I heard a loud 'thump', followed by something hitting the floor with a wet thud not too far from where I was whimpering. Slowly, gingerly I lowered my arms and opened my eyes to see what was the matter when what to my wondering eyes should appear but an unconscious Santa sprawled at my feet. I blinked, looking about in surprise, wondering what had happened. I figured at first that all the kicks I had lain into him, not to mention the bullet he had put in his leg had finally got the better of him. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my nightie, trying to get a better look, and then I saw it-
The metal fire poker was lying off to the side, not quite where it had fallen. Stranger still was the fact that it was almost doubled over, bent in a bow as though it had come down hard on something with enough force to bend it out of shape. I glanced at Santa and noticed that his hat had fallen off when he had collapsed in a heap and there was a definite pink goose-egg swelling on the back of his head, pushing up through the wispy patches of his gray thinning hair.
I blinked and sniffled back the few tears that were still trying to fall and leaned forward on my knees to shove the poker out of reach. With a second thought I pocketed the burglar's gun, still trying to figure what had happened, but not wanting to lose advantage of the situation. He was breathing raggedly, but he was breathing. There was blood pooling out from beneath his leg in a steady flow, and I knew that that was not good. He was scum, and he would have killed me I know, but I did not have the heart to let the rat bleed to death on my kitchen floor.
I had ripped away the hem of my favorite nightgown and had managed to tie it off in some semblance of a bandage around the gushing wound on his leg. It was still seeping blood though, and I was considering tying a tourniquet (about the only thing I remembered from my Civil Defense classes) when I heard another ruckus coming from outside on the fire escape again.
"What now?" I mumbled as I sprang to my feet again, or tried to at any rate. The long night in heels at the party followed by the brief bout in bondage was starting to take its toll on my gams and dogs. I staggered over to the window on my last legs, expecting to see Santa's accomplice, some dwarf in an elf suit waving a gat at me. Cautiously I leaned out over the sill and glanced around as quickly as I could.
The noise of dashing feet clanged on the metal rungs of the fire escape above me and I craned my neck up and about- and gasped out loud!
If it was Nick's partner I have to admit that he was better dressed than the crumb lying unconscious on the floor of my kitchen. He was wearing a Santa suit as well, but it seemed brighter and redder, the fur about the cuffs and collar fluffier. This guy looked the part too, with rosy cheeks and a big old belly that really did jiggle like jelly when he laughed- and he was laughing for some queer reason. I started to speak, but he put his finger to his lips to shush me before I said a word. He gave me a wink and a nod then laying his finger aside his nose up the fire escape he rose.
I was out onto the slippery metal in a flash, the original Santa's gun in hand as I charged up the slick rusting steps. It was cold and damp, and my aching feet were freezing after just a few steps, but I tried to ignore the chills and ran on. The wind had picked up its pace and threatened to blow up the remnants of my nightie, which now left little room for modesty since I had ripped a sizable swath away. I lunged up the metal steps, two at a time when I could manage it. I was not about to let this guy get away.
I had realized, but it had not registered as I was trying to figure out what had happened to Santa number one. His bag of loot was missing. It did not take a sheepskin to figure out that Santa number two had cold-cocked his partner then lammed out with the goods while I was crying on the kitchen floor like a little girl. Santa Claus my big toe! He was getting away with Momma's silver!
I climbed the ladder the last of the way up and swung onto the roof. I dropped into a crouch by the ledge, giving the rooftop a quick scrutiny as I held the revolver out before me ready to blast anything that came my way. Everything had a weird misty glow about it as the moon swam in and out of the clouds overhead. Smoke billowed from stovepipe chimneys, quickly carried away on the wind. Little Jimmy O' Conner's pigeons fluttered and cooed in their chicken-wire coop. I heard a fire siren somewhere uptown screaming like the devil himself!
Something scrambled in the eerie darkness back behind the little building where the stairs opened out onto the roof. I heard a clawing and scratching as though something was trying to gain traction in the slick snow. I was on my feet and huffing across the rooftop in an instant. The icy air stabbed into my lungs with every breath and little puffs of steam trailed from my gasps. I heard someone shouting as I got closer-
"God dash it all! God damn, sir!" or something like that. My ears felt like they might snap right off in the cold and I figured that I was not hearing straight.
There was an explosion of bells as I rounded the corner of the hut and all of a sudden something big and furry slammed into me, throwing me back into the snow. The revolver went flying when I hit, landing where I do not know and I felt my breath go gushing out of me with a whoosh. A flurry of shadows flew by overhead and snow whipped up and billowed about like dry leaves in a hurricane. I was battered and bruised as with gasping breath I buried my head under my arms, and feeling like a team of horses was galloping up my backside. And all the while I heard that voice-
"Dash away! Dash away! Dash away!" over and over.
Whatever had been thumping me on the back finally stopped after a bit, and I heard the jangling, jingling bells receding into the distance. I raised my head slowly, moaning, trying to see where my assailant had gotten to. My whole body was aching now, but still I tried to get up. Even if I did not catch the burglar, I had to get back inside before I caught my death a cold. I was freezing!
I had just forced myself back to my feet when from somewhere above I heard a sharp whistle. Stupidly I looked up, and almost soiled my panties! My mouth dropped open as I blinked in surprise.
Arching up into the sky, silhouetted by the moon was what I can only describe as a miniature sleigh being pulled by eight tiny reindeer. The man I had been chasing sat in the rear of the sleigh on a heaping mound of canvas bags, one hand tightly gripping the reins and leads of the team, the other cracking a whip over their heads. He was laughing, almost cackling, and I heard him exclaim 'ere he drove out of sight-
"Head's up!"
And my world suddenly went black…
Episode 11: Jingle Bell Rocked!
Little Jimmy O' Conner had found me apparently before I managed to freeze to death. Something had spooked his pigeons and he had gone up to the roof to make sure that they were all right as he had heard them panicking. I can only imagine his reaction to finding a half-naked me knocked out and turning a pale shade of blue in the snow beside his pigeon coop. I'll think good thoughts of little Jimmy since he did save my life, I guess.
I woke up in a bed in the O' Conner's apartment. I had an ice bag on my throbbing head and I was surrounded by a half-dozen hot water bottles while buried under several layers of thick quilts and afghans. I could barely open my eyes, and when I moaned in protest of my aching body a thermometer fell from under my tongue. I was trying to figure out where I was when Mrs. O' Conner poked her head around the corner and beamed at me-
"Merry Christmas, Lisa! How're ye feelin'?"
Miserable, though I did not tell her that.
***
Later, after I had warmed up and convinced the O' Conners to let me go home I made my way back downstairs. I called the coppers to come and pick up St. Nick who was still out like a light on the kitchen floor. They bought my story that he was a burglar and he had shot himself in the leg while we struggled. I told them that I had bopped him with the poker, and he must have ditched his loot out the window, maybe to an accomplice. They seemed satisfied but found nothing like I figured they would. They told me Santa would live- despite the amount of blood that was staining the hard wood floor- and I guess I was happy about that.
Merry Christmas, ya bum!
I neglected to tell the cops about what happened up on the roof though. I doubted that they would believe me anyway, and truth to tell, I barely believe it myself. It did happen though, and I have the lump on my noggin to prove it. And Momma's silver is still gone.
***
So I sit here on the sofa watching the sunrise come through the window waiting for my family to come home. It's Christmas Day but there's no presents under the tree, and my head is throbbing from the goose egg still there. Bob Hope's on the radio, and I have my aching feet soaking in a steaming pan of hot water and Epsom salts. I'm contemplating a baseball-sized lump of coal, turning it over and over in my hand. It's black and dirty and fits the knot on my temple like a glove.
I smile, visions of sugar plums dancing in my head-
"You'll get yours, you dirty old elf!" I chuckle.
I've got a whole year to plan my revenge…
END
© Curt F
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