The Miracle on 34th Street (3 page)

A warm smile spread across the mother's face. "That's the spirit."

"Now, Dorothy," Kringle said to the girl, "if you're a good girl and do what your mother says, you're going to have a Patty Pollywog."

Shellhammer beamed. He hadn't seen crowds like this in years. But his favorite part was standing by the exit, watching the expressions on the children's faces. They were ecstatic.

"You the boss?" a woman called out to him.

"I'm the general manager," Shellhammer replied.

"My kid asked Santa Claus for a Barf Gun. They're ninety bucks without batteries or barf!"

"Prices do go up," Shellhammer said

"Not at Bargain Village. Fifty-two fifty, and they throw in the batteries—according to your Santa Claus."

"Excuse me?" Shellhammer asked. He was sure he hadn't heard right.

"Your Santa's telling people where to go to shop. If you don't have it here, or it's too expensive, he's sending people to where they can get it, and at the right price."

Suddenly Shellhammer was feeling faint. "Ma'am, could you excuse me for a moment?"

His mind reeling, he darted down the hallway.

Kriss Kringle, indeed.

This man had to be fired at once!

"You tell your Santa he made a Cole's shopper out of me!" the woman yelled after Shellhammer. "I'm coming here for everything but toilet paper and bananas."

Shellhammer stopped short. He turned slowly around.

"Any store that puts a parent ahead of the almighty dollar at Christmas deserves my business, she continued, grinning. "You tell Mr. Cole, if he's still alive, that his Santa Claus ought to get a raise!"

With a friendly wave, she walked away.

Shellhammer watched her go. Thoughts jumbled around in his head.

Then he sped off—toward Dorey Walker's office.

He pushed the door open. "Santa Claus just gave me a great idea! Listen: What can we offer shoppers the discount places can't?"

Dorey looked up from her laptop, startled. "Uh higher prices"

"
Service
. And why are we different?"

"Higher prices?" Dorey asked.

"We
care
," Shellhammer barged on. "We're not some big barn full of bargains where you can't get a question answered. We offer friendly, traditional service. We're a company you can trust. And do you know how we prove it?"

"Lower prices."

"No! If Cole's doesn't have what you're looking for, we'll find it for you—even if it means sending you somewhere else. How's
that
sound?"

"Sounds like a great way to go out of business," Dorey remarked.

"Mr. Kringle's been doing it all morning and we've had nothing but compliments. We're going to the chairman with it."

Dorey's jaw dropped. "We?"

"Mr. Cole
loves
you. He listens to you about things like this. If we don't turn this store around, we're all gone—from the chairman to the janitor."

"I don't know. . . ."

Shellhammer leaned forward, his eyes blazing. "Do we save this grand old store, or do we see it stripped of everything but its name?"

Dorey thought for a moment. Then she slammed her laptop shut. "Let's go."

Across from Mr. Cole's long desk, Dorey could feel her knees shaking. It hadn't taken long to pitch their idea. But Cole was taking an hour to respond.

Well, at least it
felt
like an hour.

The dark mahogany walls seemed to be closing in. The office was like a museum of antiques—and Mr. Cole was one of them.

Cole was old. He was also heavy, and from the expression on his face, you'd think he had permanent indigestion. He leaned over his desk and glared over his wire-rimmed glasses.

"I like it," he growled. "It's bold. It's fresh. It'll drive Victor Lamberg nuts."

Dorey felt like screaming with joy.

"Can you be ready with this for the morning paper?" Cole asked.

Dorey gulped.
The morning paper?
Hoo, boy. This was going to be a long night.

Lamberg scanned the newspaper ad "service" . . . "truth" . . . "referrals to other stores" . . . "no pressure" . . .

And signed at the bottom by C. F. Cole!

Lamberg slammed his fist on his desk. "Why didn't
you
think of this?"

Jack Duff and Alberta Leonard stood across his desk, staring numbly at him.

"If this campaign is successful, Cole's is going to make a lot of money," Lamberg bellowed. "The more money they make, the harder it is for us to buy them out. I want something done about this!"

Duff and Alberta nodded so hard, Lamberg could feel the breeze.

Susan and Bryan were next in line at Santa's Workshop. Kriss Kringle was talking to a little boy, nodding deeply. The boy's mother stood nearby, dressed in a faded cloth coat that was torn but carefully mended.

"This seems like a pretty pointless exercise, Bryan," Susan said.

"Well, we were in the store, so I figured you might as well say hello to the old guy," Bryan replied.

"Why?"

"Let's just say, for the sake of argument, that there
is
a Santa Claus and you don't believe in him," Bryan said. "Is it worth the risk that you might not get anything for Christmas?"

Susan shrugged. "I didn't believe in him last year, and I got everything I asked my mother for, except for the overly violent and antisocial stuff."

"Well . . . you can get a free candy cane," Bryan tried.

"I'm trying to limit my intake of sugar."

Bryan nodded.
This girl is some tough cookie
, he thought.

Neither of them noticed the little boy hop off Kriss Kringle's lap. Nor did they see Kringle whisper to the mother, "Your son wants a bicycle. They're very expensive, but I want him to have one.

He reached into a pocket, pulled out a crisp, hundred-dollar bill, and put it in her hand.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She leaned over and gave the kind old man a kiss. "You
are
the real Santa Claus."

As the woman left, Bryan nudged Susan forward.

She stuck out her hand for him to shake. "Hello, sir."

Kriss Kringle grinned and shook her hand. Then he gently patted his knee, and Susan climbed onto it.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Susan Walker. What's yours?"

"Mine? I have many names. Kriss Kringle. Santa Claus. Father Christmas. St. Nicholas. In Holland I'm
Sinterklaas
. In Italy,
Befana
. I have to speak many languages because I travel a lot."

"My mom is Mrs. Walker, who runs the parade," Susan said. "I know how all this works You're an employee of Cole's. But you're a very good Santa Claus. Your beard's realistic."

"That's because it's real. Give it a tug."

Susan pulled on the beard and nodded. Then she asked, "Your suit isn't the regular one, is it?"

"This is the
real
Santa suit," he said cheerfully.

Susan narrowed her eyes.

"Ask your dad if I'm real," Kringle suggested.

"I don't know where my dad is. That guy's my friend, Mr. Bedford. I don't have a dad anymore."

Kringle's brow creased. He nodded and cleared his throat. "Well . . . what would you like me to bring you for Christmas?"

"Nothing. My mother buys my gifts. If I don't want something too stupid or dangerous or—"

Susan suddenly stopped. Dorey was marching grimly toward them.

"Nice to see you again," Dorey said coldly to Kringle. "Susan, I think you've taken enough of the man's time. There's a very long line of customers.
They
come first."

Susan took her mom's hand and jumped off Kringle's lap.

"Nice to meet you, Susan," he said

"Nice to meet you, too."

As they walked away, Bryan gave Kringle an embarrassed smile. "Nonbelievers."

Kringle nodded politely. Then he watched Bryan tag along after Dorey and Susan.

He sighed and signaled for the next child in line.

Dorey and Susan zigzagged through customers.

"Are you mad?" Susan asked.

"No," Dorey said angrily.

"He's a nice old man. You know, his whiskers are real."

"Lots of men have real whiskers."

Bryan ran up behind them. "Dorey?" he called out. "I'm sorry. The baby-sitter wasn't feeling well, and she asked me if I'd bring Susan here. I figured we might as well say hello to Santa Claus."

"I didn't mind," Susan insisted. "It was kind of fun."

The three of them entered the outer section of Dorey's office. "Susan, would you mind sitting here with Myrna for a moment while I talk to Mr. Bedford?" Dorey asked.

Asked?
It was more like
commanded
. Susan sank down on a chair opposite Myrna's desk while Bryan and Dorey went into the inner office.

Dorey closed the door behind her. She sat at her desk and crossed her arms. "If it mattered that she saw Santa Claus, I'd be more than happy to take her."

"I didn't see any harm in her saying hello to an interesting old gentleman," Bryan replied.

"There
is
harm," Dorey retorted. "
I
tell her there's no Santa Claus.
You
bring her down here and she sees thousands of gullible kids and meets a very good actor with a real beard and a beautiful suit, sitting smack-dab in the middle of a child's fantasy world. Who does she believe? The myth or the mom?"

"I'm sorry." Bryan hung his head and walked toward the door. "I'm here. I can help. All you have to do is ask."

"Will you please take Susan home with you?" Dorey asked.

With a nod, Bryan left the inner office and shut the door.

Dorey sat still for a few moments. This Santa was good, she thought. Too good.

She opened her desk drawer and pulled out the old man's employment file. She couldn't help but smile at the jolly photo of him.

Then she began to read:

NAME: Kriss Kringle

ADDRESS: Mt. Carmel Senior Center

124 W. 114TH Street

New York, NY

Her eyes stopped when they reached the next line:

AGE: 441.

Jack Duff and Alberta Leonard tiptoed into the Central Park Zoo. They followed Kriss Kringle into the reindeer section. Quietly they hid behind a bush and listened.

Kringle took some carrots out of his pocket and stuck them through the fence. A reindeer ambled over.

"The reason I haven't been by to see you is I'm working at Cole's," Kringle said to the reindeer. "All I have to do is be myself. But more important, I guess, is that I'll be doing what I most need to do—prove myself."

Duff and Alberta walked slowly into the light and approached the old man from behind.

"People don't have the faith they once had," Kringle continued. "If I can help restore some of that it will be well worth it."

"Excuse me," Duff interrupted "My name is Jack Duff, and this is Alberta Leonard."

Kringle turned around. "Good evening. I'm Kriss Kringle."

Duff and Alberta smiled at the joke—until the expression on Kringle's face told them it was no joke.

"We're with Shopper's Express," Duff explained. "We'd like you to be our main Santa Claus. We have over seven thousand stores worldwide, but you'd be our number-one guy."

"There's only one true Santa Claus, of course," Kringle said.

"Right. But we want you," Alberta replied. "We work for Victor Lamberg, Chairman of Shopper's Express. He's a big fan of yours. He'll pay you twice what you're making at Cole's, plus take care of you for the whole year."

"I'm very sorry," Kringle said. "I've given my word and put my signature to a contract. I can't help you." He looked at his watch. "It's getting rather late and I have a ways to go before I'm home. Merry Christmas."

"Would you like a ride?" Duff offered. "Where are you going?"

"West 114th Street," Kringle answered. "Mount Carmel Senior Center."

"We're going right by it!" Alberta shot back.

She and Duff escorted Kringle to the street, where a limousine was waiting. The three of them climbed inside.

"So tell me, Santa," Duff said, "how can one guy go to every house around the world in one night?"

"That is a vexing question, isn't it?" Kringle chuckled. "If you were able to slow time down so that a second was like a year and a minute like a century and an hour like a millenium, you'd be able to do it quite easily, wouldn't you? I must say, a hundred years ago, before the population exploded, I could deliver all my goods and have time for a late dinner, a nap, and a game of golf with the Easter Bunny. Now, of course, I haven't a moment to spare."

"I guess not," Alberta said

She and Duff exchanged a look that said,
Weirdo
.

The limo pulled up to a crumbling brownstone on West 114th Street. Kringle thanked Duff and Alberta, then walked into the building.

"He's completely out of his mind," Albert remarked.

"Imagine Cole's hiring a guy as nutty as that." Duff smiled slyly. "It could become a
problem
for them."

Alberta nodded. "I know what you mean."

A nutcase. Mentally unstable.

If they could prove it—in public—Cole's would have a lot of explaining to do.

"This holiday season, Cole's department store just may change the way New Yorkers and the world will shop," a TV reporter was saying.

Victor Lamberg could not unclench his jaw. Cole's Santa was the lead story on the 11:00 news.
The lead story!

Now the reporter was in front of Santa's Workshop, interviewing shoppers. "Santa Claus sent me to another store because Cole's didn't carry what I wanted," said one shopper "I was amazed."

Another said, "They're not just doing it in the toy department. I wanted a pair of boots. The guy in the shoe department sent me to a shop down the block."