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At the end of the basketball recap Tuesday night, Steve said, “Ho, ho, ho. It’s time to announce the Spirit of Christmas winner.” Man, the Santa suit was itchy. And it stunk. Two shows with him sweating under the spotlights hadn’t done it any favors. If he worked as a drycleaner, he’d refuse the suit at the door. He turned to Brie, who looked overdressed in her royal blue sheath and dangling earrings. “My stalwart companion, do you want to do the honors?”
“Of course not, Santa,” Brie said. “It’s your time to shine.”
Directing his focus to the camera, Steve said, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we have the entrants from the two days.” He held up two three-by-five cards filled with information. “One of these lucky families will win the grand prize. Are you ready?” He cupped his ear as if waiting to hear the audience’s reply.
I’m a phony, he thought. Big phony.
Forcing a grin, he shouted, “Okay, then. Here we go.” He folded the cards in half, dropped them into a clear glass bowl, and stirred. Then he offered the bowl to Brie.
She dipped her hand in, selected one of the two, crooned, “Fa-la-la,” and gave it to Steve.
Steve raised the card and read: “Todd and Melody Lyons. Congratulations. You’ve won!”
Red and green confetti popped out of cannons and showered Steve and Brie. The strains of “Jolly Old St. Nick” rang out.
Steve spit confetti out of his mouth. “Todd and Melody, if you’re listening, we’ll be in touch.” Then he gave his signature sign-off and leaned back in his chair. Done. Finito. He wouldn’t have to wear this suit again, and he could once again look for a new job. Los Angeles or New York, Chicago, or wherever, here I come.
The cameras turned off and lights dimmed.
At the same time, Dave rushed onto the set. “You dolt. Those are the kids who didn’t give you any information other than their mother’s place of business.”
“Hey, what do you want from me?” Steve spread his arms. “It’s not like I could rig the thing. We had two names. One of two would win. A fifty-fifty chance.”
“Voice, they’re from your home town,” Brie said.
He threw up both hands. “Whoa! I didn’t rig it.”
“Not saying you did. But maybe you know them.”
Steve scratched his ear. Lyons. No, he didn’t know anyone named Lyons.
“You need to go there,” Dave said.
“Huh?” Steve coughed.
“Are you deaf? You need to go there! To Hope Valley!” Dave ordered. “Dress up as Santa and find this mother and get her permission in writing to award the prize.”
“Dress up as—”
“Santa!”
“I can’t go,” Steve countered. “I’ve got—”
“Interviews?”
“KPRL donor events.”
“You’ll do as I say, or else.”
“But—”
“Job security.” Dave chopped the air. Once. Twice. Steve got the message. Or else Dave would give him the ax.
Behind Dave’s back, Brie was joyfully miming his erratic movements.
Steve bit back a smile . . . and tamped down bile. “Fine. But Brie is going with me.”
“Good idea,” Dave said. “Take your camera, Brie. Document everything.”
Brie gave a celebratory whoop. “Road trip!”
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On Wednesday morning, Steve awakened and groaned. For two hours last night, he’d complained to Harker on the phone while drinking beer. Dumb, dumb, and dumber. In the end, Harker had convinced him to follow through with the road trip saying Steve needed his job. For now.
At eight a.m., Steve, yet again dressed as Santa, was on the road in his SUV with Brie. At least Dave had provided a new suit so Steve wasn’t stinking up the car. Brie looked cozy, bundled in a cocoa-colored parka, cream turtleneck, and tapered blue jeans.
“You okay, Santa?” she asked between sips of coffee from her to-go cup. “A little hot under the fur collar?”
“Ha-ha. Can it!” He pressed his foot on the accelerator, teeth tight.
Brie tapped the radio station buttons until she landed on a station playing “The Little Drummer Boy.” She said, “What an apropos song for you, don’t you think? Dave commands. You march to his beat.”
“Funny,” Steve sniped. “Very funny. Ever thought about doing standup?”
“Thought about it. Passed.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s my brother’s favorite song.”
“Aw.”
“Explain why you’re accompanying me?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“You picked me.”
“You could have opted out.”
“And miss this hometown opportunity to see you grovel to give away a prize? Way too much fun. No way would I pass.”
Humiliation was making Steve hungry. He pulled over at a gas station. They both got out and entered the mini mart. Steve purchased a donut.
“Want one?” he asked Brie.
“No thanks. You’d better watch the calories, Santa,” she quipped. “You don’t want to burst out of that suit.”
“You’re a laugh riot.”
“You used to think so.”
He and Brie had formed a good bond over the years. They had each other’s backs. He loved her, but right now, he loathed her. The moment they climbed into the SUV and secured their seatbelts, Steve ground the car into gear.
“A little hostility on the road isn’t smart, Santa.”
“Kiss my reindeer.”
“You know, I’ve never been a fan of Christmas,” Brie said, “but driving through Oregon, seeing town after town dressed up for the holidays, I’m getting in the spirit. Your parents decorate, don’t they?”
“Yeah,” Steve muttered. “In all its glory. They even sponsor the town’s gingerbread house contest.”
“Fun! I’ve never made one.”
“Lucky you.” Steve couldn’t count how many gumdrops he’d eaten over the years. If he never ate another one, he wouldn’t regret it. However, he did like the way his mother beamed at the event. She truly enjoyed engaging her customers.
Brie turned up the volume on the radio. “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” blared through the speakers.
“Switch it off,” Steve said.
“Touchy touchy.” Brie lowered the volume. “Are your folks excited to see you?”
“Over the moon.” Steve had called them before leaving. His mother promised not to let Lincoln in on the secret until Steve arrived. His brother couldn’t handle anticipation.
Brie swiveled in her seat. “I think I’m going to retire.”
“Serious?”
“As a heart attack. I’d like to do it while I’m young enough to enjoy it.”
“I thought you were a lifer.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but I’d like to worship at the altar of Fun for the remainder of my life. Hard to do paying rent in a big city. I think I’ll move to a remote village, become a hermit, and finally publish my book of photography. It’s written and ready to go.”
“How do you write a photography book?”
“I add comments to each of the photos I’ve included. I’d like to publish it before I die. I’ve submitted it to a few publishing houses. Now it’s the waiting game. And I’d like to travel. Maybe get paid to do some freelance work while I do so. What about you?”
“I’ve got years before I rest.”
“Are you saying I’m old?”
“No, ma’am, you’re mature.” Steve threw her a wicked grin.
“So, tell me, why are you keen on leaving KPRL?”
He cut her a look sideways. “Who told you?”
“It’s general news. You’re not subtle, dude.”
“Are you the reason Dave knows?”
“Moi? Not a chance.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’d bet he’s bugged your dressing room.”
Steve groaned. Of course. That made sense.
“So why? You’re a big deal in a medium market. Is it because of Gloria?”
“No,” Steve said a tad too quickly. “I just need a change. Like you. And, let’s face it, Dave isn’t easy to tolerate.”
“Tell me about it.” Brie slotted her cup into the cupholder. “Have you ever considered radio? You are the Voice after all.”
“Get out of here.” Steve threw her an incredulous look. “Radio is a dying art. Podcasting could be where it’s at, though.”
“And how does one make money doing a podcast?”
“Not sure. Ad buys?”
“I suck at promotion.”
“Nothing’s easy,” Steve said.
Brie faced forward and smiled, enjoying the view. “I can’t believe how white the snow is. It’s so beautiful and serene.”
And boring, which was why Steve had left Hope Valley for college and had never looked back. He’d wanted adventure. He’d wanted to travel the world. He’d wound up in Portland. Big whoop!
