The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [29]
“I can see the elf’s underpants,” a little boy called, pointing at her.
Suspended above the ground, Cassie watched as several mothers covered their children’s eyes.
“Get her to the ground fast,” Cassie heard Daisy hiss.
The men released the rope and Cassie plunged downward. “Yiiiiiii!” she screamed, all the while struggling to pull up her tights. She’d partially succeeded—then saw that she was about to make a crash landing.
Just when it seemed she was destined to slam into the ground, a tall man emerged from the crowd and deftly caught her in his arms. The impact would have been enough to send them both sprawling to the floor if not for the fact that he’d braced his feet. Together they staggered backward until her hero recovered his balance.
Cassie opened her eyes to see that the stranger who’d rescued her wasn’t a stranger at all. Her startled eyes met Simon’s, and they both breathed a sigh of relief. For a long moment, they stared at each other. Cassie’s arms were tightly wrapped around his neck. It took time for her to find her voice and, when she did, it came out in a high-pitched squeal.
“You’re paying for this,” she told him, her pulse hammering in her ears. Why she’d ever agreed to this ridiculous scenario she’d never know. One thing was for sure; there wouldn’t be a repeat performance.
Simon lowered her to the ground. “A simple thank-you will suffice,” he said calmly.
Fortunately the audience was distracted by the flying reindeer, and no one could hear her X-rated response. Santa made his appearance, slipping out from behind a curtain. Santa Floyd carried a large bag over his shoulder, presumably filled with candy canes.
Santa ascended to his special chair, a huge cushioned monstrosity set up on the curtained dais, and Cassie took her place beside him. She looked around for Simon but he was nowhere in sight. The boys and girls lined up with their parents, and the photographer was ready with his camera.
The first boy clung to his mother. “He’s a little scared,” the woman explained, prying her son loose from her leg.
The poor kid was panic-stricken. Cassie couldn’t understand why the mother felt it was so important to make him sit on Santa’s lap.
“There’s no need to be frightened.” Cassie crouched down and tried to reassure the boy, who couldn’t have been more than four years old.
“Go away!” he shouted.
Cassie straightened and stepped back. Her timing was perfect. The boy, without even a hint of warning, vomited on one of her shoes.
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry,” the mother said a dozen times. “I had no idea Jason was going to do that.”
Cassie hopped around on one foot until the photographer produced a small towel. If Jason was any indication of what she should expect, Cassie could only imagine the rest of her day.
“Why don’t you sit on Santa’s lap with your son,” the photographer suggested. The mother appeared eager to do anything that would remove attention from Cassie and the results of her son’s queasy stomach. She clambered onto Floyd’s lap, her son dangling from her arms.
After cleaning off her shoe, Cassie returned to her duties. The next few children had obviously had prior experience. They all told Santa their Christmas wishes, rattling off everything on their lists.
The line moved relatively well for the next half hour or so. There was the occasional crying baby and one pair of twins who took up more time than allotted, but all in all, it was a smooth-running operation.
Cassie had worked about two hours of her three-hour shift and was just beginning to think this job was tolerable. A lot of the children, while frightened, were eager to meet Santa. “Who are you?” a little girl asked as she waited patiently for her turn some time later. Cassie’s shift was almost over by then, and there were only a few more kids in line. Other than a harrowing entrance and one small boy with a queasy stomach, it hadn’t worked out so badly.
“Who am I?” Cassie repeated the question. “I’m one of Santa’s helpers,” she