Part 4 (1/2)
”Well,” Lauren said.
”See, this is the hostile takeover alarm, and every time the Federal Reserve adjusts the interest rate it beeps.”
Lauren read the tag.” 'Portable Plutocrat. $74.99.'”
”Great,” Scott said. ”We'll have money left over.”
”To invest,” Lauren said.
He went off to see if they had seventy-two of them, and Lauren wandered over to the bank of televisions.
There was a videotape of Miracle on 34th Street lying on top of the VCR/shower ma.s.sage. Lauren looked around to see if anyone was watching and then popped the Wonderful Life tape out and stuck in Miracle.
A dozen Edmund Gwenns dressed as Macy's Santa Claus appeared on the screens, listening to twelve store managers tell them which overstocked toys to push.
Scott came over, lugging four shopping bags. ”They come gift-wrapped,” he said happily, showing her a Portable Plutocrat wrapped in green paper with gold dollar signs. ”Which gives us a free evening.”
”That's what I've been fighting against for years,” a dozen Edmund Gwenns said, tearing a dozen lists to bits, ”the way they commercialize Christmas.”
”What I thought,” Scott said when they got in the car, ”was that instead of going out for supper, we'd take these over to your apartment and order in.”
”Order in?” Lauren said, clutching the bag of Portable Plutocrats on her lap to her.
”I know a great Italian place that delivers. Angel-hair pasta, wine, everything. Or, if you'd rather, we could run by a grocery store and pick up some stuff to cook.”
”Actually, my kitchen's kind of a mess,” she said. There is a Christmas tree in it, she thought, with organic by-products hanging on it.
He pulled up outside her apartment building. ”Then Italian it is.” He got out of the car and began unloading shopping bags. ”You like prosciutto? They have a great melon and prosciutto.”
”Actually, the whole apartment's kind of a disaster,” Lauren said, following him up thestairs. ”You know, wrapping presents and everything. There are ribbons and tags and paper all over the floor and-”
”Great,” he said, stopping in front of her door. ”We have to put tags on the presents, anyway.”
”They don't need tags, do they?” Lauren said desperately. ”I mean, they're all exactly alike.”
”It personalizes them,” he said, ”it shows the gift was chosen especially for them.” He looked expectantly at the key in her hand and then at the door.
She couldn't hear the TV, which was a good sign. And every time Fred had come over, the spirit had disappeared. So all I have to do is keep him out of the kitchen, she thought.
She opened the door and Scott pushed past her and dumped the shopping bags onto the coffee table. ”Sorry” he said. ”Those were really heavy.” He straightened up and looked around the living room. There was no sign of the spirit, but there were three Evian water bottles on the coffee table. ”This doesn't look too messy. You should see my apartment. I'll bet your kitchen's neater than mine, too.”
Lauren walked swiftly over to the kitchen and pulled the door shut. ”I wouldn't bet on it.
Aren't there still some more presents to bring up?”
”Yeah. I'll go get them. Shall I call the Italian place first?” ”No,” Lauren said, standing with her back against the kitchen door. ”Why don't you bring the bags up first?” ”Okay,” he said, smiling meltingly, and went out. Lauren leaped to the door, put the deadbolt and the chain on, and then ran back to the kitchen and opened the door. The tree was still there. She pulled the door hastily to and walked rapidly into the bedroom. He wasn't there, or in the bathroom.
”Thank you,” she breathed, looking heavenward, and went back in the living room.
The TV was on. Edmund Gwenn was shouting at the store psychologist.
”You know, you were right,” the spirit said. He was stretched out on the couch, wearing a ”Save the Black-Footed Ferret” T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans. ”It's not a bad movie. Of course, it's not as good as It's a Wonderful Life, but I like the way everything works out at the end.”
”What are you doing here?” she demanded, glancing anxiously at the door.
”Watching Miracle on 34th Street,” he said, pointing at the screen. Edmund Gwenn was brandis.h.i.+ng his cane at the store psychiatrist. ”I like the part where Edmund Gwenn asks Natalie Wood what she wants for Christmas, and she shows him the picture of the house.”
Lauren picked up Fred's video and brandished it at him. ”Fine. Then you can change Fred's video back.”
”Okay,” he said, and did something. She looked at Fred's video. It showed Edmund Gwenn hugging Natalie Wood in front of a yellow moon with Santa Claus's sleigh and reindeer flying across it. Lauren put the video hastily down on the coffee table.
”Thank you,” she said. ”And my dress.”
”Natalie Wood doesn't really want a house, of course. What she really wants is for Maureen O'Hara to marry John Payne. The house is just a symbol for what she really wants.”
On the TV Edmund Gwenn rapped the store psychologist smartly on the forehead with his cane.
There was a knock on the door. ”It's me,” Scott said.
”I also like the part where Edmund Gwenn yells at the store manager for pus.h.i.+ng merchandise n.o.body wants. Christmas presents should be something the person wants.
Aren't you going to answer the door?”
”Aren't you going to disappear?” she whispered.
”Disappear?” he said incredulously. ”The movie isn't over. And besides, I still haven't gotten you what you want for Christmas.” He did something, and a bowl of trail mix appeared on his stomach.
Scott knocked again.
Lauren went over to the door and opened it two inches.”It's me,” Scott said. ”Why do you have the chain on?”
”I . . .” She looked hopefully at Chris. He was eating trail mix and watching Maureen O'Hara bending over the store psychologist, trying to wake him up.
”Scott, I'm sorry, but I think I'd better take a rain check on supper.”
He looked bewildered. And cute. ”But I thought. . .” he said.
So did I, she thought. But I have a spirit on my couch who's perfectly capable of turning you into a Brazilian rain forest byproduct.
”The Italian take-out sounds great,” she said, ”but it's kind of late, and we've both got to go to work tomorrow.”
”Tomorrow's Sat.u.r.day.”
”Uh ... I meant go to work on wrapping presents. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, and I haven't even started my wrapping. And I have to make cheese puffs for the office party and wash my hair and . . .”
”Okay, okay, I get the message,” he said. ”I'll just bring in the presents and then leave.”
She thought of telling him to leave them in the hall, and then closed the door a little and took the chain off the door.
Go away! she thought at the spirit, who was eating trail mix.