Carol for Another Christmas (22 page)

Tina nodded gravely and Ms. Banks opened the lid. Tina had to lean over quite a ways to see into the box, but when she did, tiny white paws stretched up to meet her. It was the most beautiful, little, green-eyed, fluffy yellow kitten she'd ever seen. “Oh, he's beeoooteeful. What's his name?”

“I don't know. He's an orphan, I guess. You want him?”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Banks . . . and Tina, honey, but you know we can't have pets in this building.”

“You can now,” Monica said. “I called the Realtor this morning. Your landlord had been meaning to sell in order to turn it into condos. I prefer the rental market myself, but I do need to protect my investment, so there'll be some changes made around here very soon. However, in the meantime, I do allow Christmas kittens in my building.”

“You've been a busy woman, Ms. Banks.”

Ms. Banks grinned and followed Curtis and the pretty lady out the door. “You betcha, Mr. Timmons. Merry Christmas, everyone. Please report to Databanks tomorrow long enough to pick up your paycheck from your former employer, Mr. Timmons. I think you'll find it quite sufficient to tide you over until after the New Year when your new job begins.”

“Merry Christmas, Ms. Banks,” he said, and so did Tiffany and Jamie and Brianna. Tina, cuddling the kitten, used the furniture to make her way to the door to watch Ms. Banks go, too.

“Merry Christmas!” she called down the steps after the lady. She leaned against her grandpa and waved with one hand while making the kitty's paw wave with the other, “From me and Scroogie!”

Seventeen

Monica left Curtis and Melody at the curb. “I've given all the authorizations. All of our other donations will be kept anonymous, okay?”

“Okay, Monica,” both Curtis and Melody said.

“The others know what to do and where to go, too. Now, I want you guys to go skiing or something while I'm gone. We'll sort out the legal thing later.”

“Monica, my mom's, like, this really top attorney, except you probably never heard of her 'cause she's, like, a liberal?” Melody said.

“Give her my cell-phone number. And be sure and watch the news for Bambi Billings's scoop about what good old Bob intended our Get a Life program to do on the side so the consumers will know why it's not coming out as scheduled—”

“You know, Monica, it was really cool how Buddha-like you were with Jamie and Billings and the house and all,” Curtis said. “Turning the other cheek and everything. I've been thinking about a replacement product. What about maybe a Holiday-Maker—”

“With a vastly comprehensive shopping feature that plugs in local small businesses as well as malls and catalogs and TV options—” Melody added.

“As well as folklore, customs, cross- referencing the teachings of various religious and secular leaders, and a list of organizations and causes that need help locally, nationally, and internationally, plus maybe parties for people with different interests to celebrate together—”

“That's work,” Monica said sternly.

“But programming is my life!” Curtis protested.

“So have fun,” Monica said, ducking into her car. “But, Curtis, I do like it.”

She saw him beaming through her rearview mirror as she drove away. Both he and Melody were waving and yelling, “Merry Christmas.” She waved and yelled back.

Wayne threw a robe around himself and answered the door. He almost fell over when he saw Monica standing there, wearing a smart trench coat and bearing a fruitcake. “Hi, Wayne. I came to spend Christmas with you like you keep asking me to, okay?”

“M-Monica. But . . . you said—”

“A lady can change her mind, can't she?”

“Yeah, but—”

“But?”

“Nice trench coat.”

“Thanks. I got it at Nordstrom's this morning along with a few other things. I can show you later. You're not even dressed.”

“I wasn't expecting you. You've only been turning me down for twenty years.”

“Well, I'm not turning you down now,” she said. “But hurry. We have to get on the road right away.”

“On the road?” he asked.

“The snow has cleared down South and we can make it to Portland in time if we hurry.”

“In time for what?”

“To catch a plane to Florida, silly.” She loosened the neck of her trench coat and pulled out a little bit of lace. “I'm wearing your mom's collar. Think it might bring back some memories?”

“Oops, watch out! Major mistletoe attack!” he said, and swept her up in a big hug, kissed her the way he'd always wanted to, and waited for her to reject him.

“What mistletoe?” she mumbled.

“It's virtual mistletoe,” he whispered into her hair.

“Oh, okay then.” She kissed him back and grinned. “Watch out what you ask for, they say. You just might get it. Coming?”

“On my way. What happens if we don't outrun the snow in Portland?”

“We keep driving till we hit an open airport or Florida, whichever comes first.”

“You've gone nuts. We'll have to get you into therapy when we get back, of course, but right now, I'm just going to enjoy it.”

A few minutes later, they were driving in a winter wonderland, agreeing that it was a good thing they were rich enough that they didn't have to pack.

Epilogue

The Get a Life team met, as they'd arranged among themselves, back at their own cold, empty Databanks building at the end of Christmas day. By mutual agreement, they entered the building and made their way to Curtis's office.

“That's everything then?” Curtis asked.

“Yeah,” John said with relish. “I accomplished the liberation of Mrs. Johansen's cat and reunited her with the kittens Melody got from Bonita, and they're staying at my place till Wayne and Monica get back.”

“Cool.”

Then Sheryl said what everyone else had been thinking since Curtis and Melody contacted them earlier. “We need to get this project up and ready with a big bow around it by the time Monica gets back, or this big shopping spree is going to be her last one before she loses her butt.
Our
butts. So, okay, Curtis, boot up and let's get started mapping it out.”

He turned on his machine, only to find it filled with static snow. He was just starting to fear something was wrong with it, when the familiar face of Ebenezer Scrooge appeared on the screen.

“Of course, he'd be wanting a report. Hey, Scrooge, everything's great. You made a real human being out of the boss, and I think it's going to be a lot different around here.”

“I'm so glad,” Scrooge said. “The Program Manager seems pleased, but I can't help feeling sorry that all of you still have so many problems—with the shopping and the commercialization and that sort of thing—enjoying Christmas.”

“Think nothing of it, Scrooge,” Miriam said, kissing her fingers, and laying them against his face on the screen. “With you around to entertain me, it's been a better Christmas than I've ever had and December twenty-fifth will never pass again without me thinking about this one.”

“Me, neither,” Curtis said, and all of the others seemed to concur. “Everyone in this business with an ounce of imagination and a background of reading too much pulp science fiction as a kid dreams that one day computers will come to life and take over, and you showed us something as close to that as I ever hope to come. It was a rush, man.”

From all around him came nods of agreement. Scrooge noticed, incidentally, that Melody now stood much closer to Curtis than she had before, that Harald and Miriam were holding hands, and John and Sheryl were exchanging glances.

“But, Ebbie, just one thing,” Melody said. “Now that you're, like, finished here, do you have to go back to being dead again?”

“Oh, my dear young lady, it's not so bad as everyone seems to think, you know. But as a matter of fact, the Program Manager was sufficiently impressed with my—I should really say
our
, since you were of so much assistance to me with the morphing and everything—performance, that he wishes me to do an encore. I believe our Monica's departed brother is also to be a part of the festivities, since he was also acquainted with the new . . . er . . . subject.”

“Really? But Christmas is nearly over.”

“Not for me, my dear. Never for me,” Scrooge said. “I seem to have—ahem—developed a knack for time travel. Now if you'll excuse me, I must board a flight for Hong Kong, last night when Christmas had yet to spread its wings over the world.”

He vanished with a last tip of his top hat, leaving his friends to enjoy their holidays, as indeed they did.

Starting with that Christmas, and on all of the Christmases to follow, Monica Banks was better than her word. She did it all, and more. She was like a second mother to Tina, who did not die but lived to become one of the most brilliant programmers and cybernauts in the history of technology. Her family fared equally well, as did the many other people throughout the city that Monica's new school and Databanks benefited. She did not queen it over everyone, but became the best friend, the best boss, and the best woman in Seattle or any other city, town, or county in the world, as Wayne was fond of telling her.

Under her leadership, Databanks, in association with Wild Web, was known nationwide and worldwide as an example of the New American Corporation—the company with a heart. At first, the press laughed at Monica and said that she had merely changed image consultants, but she, Wayne, and her former employees, now new associates, just laughed with them and said people could use a good laugh these days. Their happiness spread, not like ripples in a still pond but more like oil (nonpolluting, of course), soothing the troubled waters of a wider and wider population as it touched every product the company designed. The new line began with the World of Christmas and added more products with such wit, intelligence, good humor, and creativity in their design that new offerings from Databanks, at affordable prices and with excellent consumer support, were soon even more eagerly awaited than the latest ice cream from the beneficent ice cream company or the salad dressings from movie stars.

The press laughed even harder when Monica Banks paid not only her fair share of taxes but a bit more because, as she said, why should the poor bear the brunt of the taxes? She would prefer they had a bit more to buy the products her company had designed to improve their lives.

Although she had no further close encounters with spirits—ever afterward staying on the wagon where they were concerned—it was always said of her that Monica Banks was the woman who knew how to make Christmas merry, and the season happy, if anyone alive did. And so, as Tina put it every year, quoting Tiny Tim, with whom she had much in common, “God bless us, every one.”