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But if I didn’t try a little of the old Gumdrop charm with the dancing ladies next door, Santa was going to have a date with Zsa Zsa on Misfit Isle—and that was going to be a bad breakup.

CHAPTER 21

Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies

As I shut the door, the nine ladies stopped dancing. One of them glided over, locked the door and put the key in a place where only lucky keys go. She was beautiful, with skin soft and fine and white as the good dishes. Her hair was pulled straight back over her tiny, perfect head framing a face that belonged on top of a Christmas tree. She smiled and I felt my tinsel tingle.

Then she hoisted a leg as long as a country mile up in the air, and pointed her toe in a way that made you think of poetry. Eventually. As much as I hated tearing my peepers away from her face, studying that leg was nice work. And when she lifted herself across the air like a magic butterfly, the whole view got better, especially when she landed beside her eight other friends who were beautiful enough to raise the property values even in Pottersville.

Nine Ladies Dancing lined up in front of me like prize roses. Six inches behind me, on the other side of the wall, there was a mob of crazy trying to kick, scratch and bash their way through to tear me apart, but I didn’t really hear them. All I heard was the soft whoosh-whoosh of the ladies’ feet as they teased the ground with a kiss from their beautiful little toes. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Like the ticking of a clock. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. The girls glided across the floor like a cloud, twirling and swirling in a song of arms and backs and toes and legs. Especially legs. They spun as quietly as a snowflake to the other side of the room and then stopped, and I thought my heart would break. Then they smiled at me, all of them. These girls were better fishermen than Saint Peter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful,” I said, trying not to gush. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh.

I forgot what I was going to say next. It was just so nice there. Then, I remembered. “Excuse me, ladies. I don’t want to seem rude, but is there a way to sneak out of this place?”

Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh.

“I don’t want to leave. Really. But I have something I need to take care of.”

Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh.

“I would come right back. Promise.”

Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh.

I was getting a little sleepy. The past few days were becoming a blur and my eyes were getting heavier and heavier. Forty winks would do me. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Santa would still be fine if I got there a couple of minutes late. He could take care of himself. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Dingleberry and Rosebud could handle Zsa Zsa. They didn’t need me. I’d just be in the way. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Everything’s OK. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Santa. . . Sant . . .

Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh.

I don’t know how I got to the street. My head felt like it was hatching an elephant and I could barely keep my eyes open. I reeled down the road like a kicked can. The street was empty, and as bleak as a spinster’s Saturday night. Something wasn’t right. The stores were boarded up, dark and ugly, selling midnight.

At the end of the block stood a little church. It was in worse shape than the stores. Someone was keeping sentry in a pool of dirty yellow light at the bottom of the church’s stairs. It was a man, old and dirty. He was dressed in red rags and he hunched in the gloom by an old trash can. He was ringing a bell that sounded like it had the croup. It was Santa. A skinny, sickly, mangy Santa. There was no twinkle in his eye. His beard was clumped and gray. Santa didn’t even have much of a lap to crawl into and whisper a wish. The Fat Man had disappeared.

I tried to call out to him, but I couldn’t find my voice. He just stood there, ringing the bell, but the sound wasn’t making a dent in the gloom. It just snuck down to the gutter to hide in the muck.

Then Santa noticed something. He lifted