THE LAST CHRISTMAS EVE
A Holiday Story for Our Time
A Holiday Story for Our Time
The new Three Kings, in New York. Their guide, Annie Williams.
Chapter One: The Snowstorm
The first king appeared on the corner of 5th and 53rd in a blinding gust of snow just as twilight fell on Manhattan. Christmas Eve, and lights all down the Avenue—store windows, light poles, building lobbies, buzz bars—were just flickering on. Little white stars were sprinkling the sidewalks.
One moment he wasn't there, the next he was.
No crown this time. He wore a white Stetson, rough-out Louis Vuitton ranch coat, MoJo jeans, and $400 a pair Tony Lama boots with a vermilion vamp, cornflower rosettes, and a steer’s head on the instep. Wisps of blonde hair stuck out under the hat, over a pink Southern face quickly reddening in the snow. It had just started, after several dry cold days.
Over the centuries, he’d been sent out several times. But this Christmas Eve, the child was crucial to all mankind, not just one group. Billions of lives were at stake.
Frustrated, he looked around. No one he knew in sight. “Hey, buddies, where are you?” His voice had a Tennessee twang. “Mackie, late as usual. No surprise. But B?” He drew a breath.“Where are you? You know this is life and death.” He shrugged. He rolled his collar against the wind. “OK, guess I just wait.” He looked around. “This city is pretty tonight. The lights, the snow…a fairyland!”
[SOME OTHER SONG?]
Grinning, he cleared his throat, threw out his arms, and sang. “New York…NewYork….” in a rich, golden voice. From deep within his chest it carried, even in the cold. People stopped and stared and listened. He was that good. He kept right on singing.
* * * *
Across the city, Annie Williams and best work friend Julie stood under the towering skeleton of the Tyrannosaurus Rex in the American Museum of Natural History where the New York Office of Tourism always held its annual Christmas party. They sipped their complimentary Santa’s Little Helper cocktails amid the happy holiday hubbub of their colleagues among halls replete with bones of stegosauruses, diplosaurs, brontosauruses, and other hard-to-believe-in creatures from long ago.
Julie was plump, with a round, pink face, puffy white vest, slacks with whales, and a calm face like a pond. Annie was all elbows and knees. She had dark eyebrows, black eyes like beach pebbles, dark skin that flushed quickly. Right now Annie was dressed in her red holiday dress.
A platform was set up with a podium and mic. Under the great dinosaur a tall, big-boned woman with big hair, Sammy Jacques, was waving at the group, finishing her speech. She wore a dazzling white Hermes knock-off. Behind her was a huge video screen. In a voice that needed no mic, she blasted, “Merry almost Christmas, everyone! Thank you for another year as the most fabulous tour guides in the entire United States.” She raised her hands and applauded. The crowd joined her.
“Finally, we come to the most important item, the Parker Bixby Award. As you know, Parker was our most beloved guide—.”
Here Julie and Annie glanced at each other.
“--until his retirement six years ago--.”
“—because he was caught extorting tips from his guests--” Julie knocked back her drink.
“Shhhh.”
“—recognizing, that while everyone in this room—everyone in this room—does an outstanding job, it’s so important to encourage our younger guides. They may not know what you know, but they are trying.”
Again Annie and Julie looked at each other.
“The Parker Bixby award recognizes that guide who’s been with us at least five years and shows promise for a career with us as long as Parker’s. He was with us fifty-three years. This year the award goes to---Annie Williams!”
Annie grabbed Julie.
Julie grabbed Annie.
The lights dimmed. The screen behind Sammy flicked on. There was Annie standing in Battery Park pointing over the water to the Statue of Liberty, a big smile on her face. A moment later, there was Annie, her arm around a little old lady with a kerchief on her head, in front of the Empire State building.
“That’s you on the Alice statue?” shot Julie.
Sure enough, there was Annie, up on the statue with a bunch of kids, arm around Alice, flashing the peace sign, tongue out. Annie…. in the pouring rain. Speeding up, the images ended in a mad collage, then froze abruptly.
Sammy said, “Annie’s persistent.”
Annie whispered, “Yes, I wouldn’t let the kids go in. Let it rain. We were going to do it.”
“Annie came to us straight out of Elon,” Sammy continued. “She seems to get along with everybody, young and old.” Scattered applause. “Annie? Come up here!”
It was actually a very nice pewter bowl, with her name on it, and all Annie had to do was accept it, and wave to the crowd, and blush, and listen to a few rowdy cheers from her classmates. “Annie! Annie! Annie!"
“Sammy continued, “Annie earned always goes the extra mile. So Annie is doing one more tour tonight. Yes, even on Christmas Eve.” She looked at Annie. “You don’t know it yet. It’s a short VIP at Rockefeller Center. A late add. The mayor of Dublin and his family. Thank you so much!”
Julie hissed, “How dare she?”
Annie waved her quiet. “What was I doing tonight, anyway?
“Aw, Annie. She’s a ----”
“I know. Except now, am I trapped forever? A life full of strangers? No one I know, hour after hour? I don’t want a life like Parker’s.”
* * * *
The second king showed up in another burst of snow. A woman with arms full of packages ran right into him. He was big, burly, broad, brown, and tattooed. The purple spirals spun in tight circles on both cheeks, ran up over his forehead, then back down to his chin. His head was shaved. His oversize cashmere overcoat flapped in the wind, exposing a luxurious purple lining. When he saw the man in the cowboy hat, he threw out his arms. They hugged on the corner. The snow, falling faster now, covered even the streets, softening the air, damping the city's noises—bus tires, car horns, cop whistles, boots crossing at intersections.
The men drew apart.
“We really haven’t much time,” said Cowboy.
“Just tonight,” nodded Overcoat.
“It’s not just the one. It’s all the others, too.”
"I know, I know.” Overcoat’s head, face, and neck were so big and blocky they looked like they’d been hewed from a chunk of mahogany. But a gleam in his eye and his ready smile softened the whole effect. He was always hard to figure out (one way or the other). Would he knock you over or hug you so tight you’d laugh?
“Where is she?”
“Our guide?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t know. Just got here myself.”
“I hope she's real good. This a big city. This ain't no ‘little town of Bethlehem.’”
* * * *
Julie was saying, “I just love Christmas Eve. Almost anything, you feel, can happen.”
“I don’t know. When you’re a kid, maybe,” replied Annie.
“All those wonder stories. Angels appearing. Flying reindeer. A big, amazing star. Three kings out of nowhere. A miraculous birth. In a barn!”
“Manger.”
“Oh, right. But seriously: Christmas Eve is so full of magic. Especially when you're a kid. Surprise gifts the next morning! New clothes! A bike! Your life transformed!”
“Life transformed? I’d like that. I’m ready for a change.”
“Annie, what do you want for Christmas?”
“Time off. With buddies on Harbor Island. That’s where I’m going. Sorry you couldn’t come.”
“Me, too.”
“I don’t do Christmas, Julie. You know that.’
“I do. I know.” She sighed. “Do you like anything about Christmas?”
“Oh, yes. The snow, giving the city a makeover. And the Nutcracker! T hat’s magical for me. The way life should be. Elegant. Beautiful. Happy ending.”
“But if you did do Christmas, honestly, what would you really want?”
“Truly? Honestly? A real life. A deep life. All I do now is show other people other people’s exciting lives. For an hour or two. I’m just not There yet.”
“Where’s There?”
“I don’t know. Where I really belong. Not just job, subway, home, job, subway... the usual rut. I want to know I’ve lived when I die. Big. Big as T Rex there."
Julie said “That T Rex has scared me ever since I was a kid. I kept thinking it might come after me.”
“It might, tonight. You said it, Christmas Eve is magical.”
“Stop that!” She giggled.
Annie wheeled. “Julie, look out!”
“What?”
“It moved.”
“You’re impossible.”
* * * *
The third king was slight, Black, thin as a stick, dressed for hiking in a downpour, with Gore-Tex shoes, gray nylon pants, limp olive rain jacket, navy watch cap, and a frayed backpack with a red cross. He stood still looking back and forth as if he had no idea where to go. The other two stepped up and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “B!” Hey!” He lifted his hands to them, but his expression didn’t change. He said in a dead flat voice: “We’ve only till dawn. Then it’s too late. It’s all over.”
“B, Merry Christmas to you, too,” roared the big man.
Cowboy just hushed him. “Smile more, man; smile more.”
“You see her?” asked B.
“Not yet,” said Overcoat.
“Which way to this Center?” the third man just asked.
Cowboy pointed.
A blast of snow whirled over them.
“Let’s go,” said B.
And the men started walking.
END OF EXCERPT
One moment he wasn't there, the next he was.
No crown this time. He wore a white Stetson, rough-out Louis Vuitton ranch coat, MoJo jeans, and $400 a pair Tony Lama boots with a vermilion vamp, cornflower rosettes, and a steer’s head on the instep. Wisps of blonde hair stuck out under the hat, over a pink Southern face quickly reddening in the snow. It had just started, after several dry cold days.
Over the centuries, he’d been sent out several times. But this Christmas Eve, the child was crucial to all mankind, not just one group. Billions of lives were at stake.
Frustrated, he looked around. No one he knew in sight. “Hey, buddies, where are you?” His voice had a Tennessee twang. “Mackie, late as usual. No surprise. But B?” He drew a breath.“Where are you? You know this is life and death.” He shrugged. He rolled his collar against the wind. “OK, guess I just wait.” He looked around. “This city is pretty tonight. The lights, the snow…a fairyland!”
[SOME OTHER SONG?]
Grinning, he cleared his throat, threw out his arms, and sang. “New York…NewYork….” in a rich, golden voice. From deep within his chest it carried, even in the cold. People stopped and stared and listened. He was that good. He kept right on singing.
* * * *
Across the city, Annie Williams and best work friend Julie stood under the towering skeleton of the Tyrannosaurus Rex in the American Museum of Natural History where the New York Office of Tourism always held its annual Christmas party. They sipped their complimentary Santa’s Little Helper cocktails amid the happy holiday hubbub of their colleagues among halls replete with bones of stegosauruses, diplosaurs, brontosauruses, and other hard-to-believe-in creatures from long ago.
Julie was plump, with a round, pink face, puffy white vest, slacks with whales, and a calm face like a pond. Annie was all elbows and knees. She had dark eyebrows, black eyes like beach pebbles, dark skin that flushed quickly. Right now Annie was dressed in her red holiday dress.
A platform was set up with a podium and mic. Under the great dinosaur a tall, big-boned woman with big hair, Sammy Jacques, was waving at the group, finishing her speech. She wore a dazzling white Hermes knock-off. Behind her was a huge video screen. In a voice that needed no mic, she blasted, “Merry almost Christmas, everyone! Thank you for another year as the most fabulous tour guides in the entire United States.” She raised her hands and applauded. The crowd joined her.
“Finally, we come to the most important item, the Parker Bixby Award. As you know, Parker was our most beloved guide—.”
Here Julie and Annie glanced at each other.
“--until his retirement six years ago--.”
“—because he was caught extorting tips from his guests--” Julie knocked back her drink.
“Shhhh.”
“—recognizing, that while everyone in this room—everyone in this room—does an outstanding job, it’s so important to encourage our younger guides. They may not know what you know, but they are trying.”
Again Annie and Julie looked at each other.
“The Parker Bixby award recognizes that guide who’s been with us at least five years and shows promise for a career with us as long as Parker’s. He was with us fifty-three years. This year the award goes to---Annie Williams!”
Annie grabbed Julie.
Julie grabbed Annie.
The lights dimmed. The screen behind Sammy flicked on. There was Annie standing in Battery Park pointing over the water to the Statue of Liberty, a big smile on her face. A moment later, there was Annie, her arm around a little old lady with a kerchief on her head, in front of the Empire State building.
“That’s you on the Alice statue?” shot Julie.
Sure enough, there was Annie, up on the statue with a bunch of kids, arm around Alice, flashing the peace sign, tongue out. Annie…. in the pouring rain. Speeding up, the images ended in a mad collage, then froze abruptly.
Sammy said, “Annie’s persistent.”
Annie whispered, “Yes, I wouldn’t let the kids go in. Let it rain. We were going to do it.”
“Annie came to us straight out of Elon,” Sammy continued. “She seems to get along with everybody, young and old.” Scattered applause. “Annie? Come up here!”
It was actually a very nice pewter bowl, with her name on it, and all Annie had to do was accept it, and wave to the crowd, and blush, and listen to a few rowdy cheers from her classmates. “Annie! Annie! Annie!"
“Sammy continued, “Annie earned always goes the extra mile. So Annie is doing one more tour tonight. Yes, even on Christmas Eve.” She looked at Annie. “You don’t know it yet. It’s a short VIP at Rockefeller Center. A late add. The mayor of Dublin and his family. Thank you so much!”
Julie hissed, “How dare she?”
Annie waved her quiet. “What was I doing tonight, anyway?
“Aw, Annie. She’s a ----”
“I know. Except now, am I trapped forever? A life full of strangers? No one I know, hour after hour? I don’t want a life like Parker’s.”
* * * *
The second king showed up in another burst of snow. A woman with arms full of packages ran right into him. He was big, burly, broad, brown, and tattooed. The purple spirals spun in tight circles on both cheeks, ran up over his forehead, then back down to his chin. His head was shaved. His oversize cashmere overcoat flapped in the wind, exposing a luxurious purple lining. When he saw the man in the cowboy hat, he threw out his arms. They hugged on the corner. The snow, falling faster now, covered even the streets, softening the air, damping the city's noises—bus tires, car horns, cop whistles, boots crossing at intersections.
The men drew apart.
“We really haven’t much time,” said Cowboy.
“Just tonight,” nodded Overcoat.
“It’s not just the one. It’s all the others, too.”
"I know, I know.” Overcoat’s head, face, and neck were so big and blocky they looked like they’d been hewed from a chunk of mahogany. But a gleam in his eye and his ready smile softened the whole effect. He was always hard to figure out (one way or the other). Would he knock you over or hug you so tight you’d laugh?
“Where is she?”
“Our guide?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t know. Just got here myself.”
“I hope she's real good. This a big city. This ain't no ‘little town of Bethlehem.’”
* * * *
Julie was saying, “I just love Christmas Eve. Almost anything, you feel, can happen.”
“I don’t know. When you’re a kid, maybe,” replied Annie.
“All those wonder stories. Angels appearing. Flying reindeer. A big, amazing star. Three kings out of nowhere. A miraculous birth. In a barn!”
“Manger.”
“Oh, right. But seriously: Christmas Eve is so full of magic. Especially when you're a kid. Surprise gifts the next morning! New clothes! A bike! Your life transformed!”
“Life transformed? I’d like that. I’m ready for a change.”
“Annie, what do you want for Christmas?”
“Time off. With buddies on Harbor Island. That’s where I’m going. Sorry you couldn’t come.”
“Me, too.”
“I don’t do Christmas, Julie. You know that.’
“I do. I know.” She sighed. “Do you like anything about Christmas?”
“Oh, yes. The snow, giving the city a makeover. And the Nutcracker! T hat’s magical for me. The way life should be. Elegant. Beautiful. Happy ending.”
“But if you did do Christmas, honestly, what would you really want?”
“Truly? Honestly? A real life. A deep life. All I do now is show other people other people’s exciting lives. For an hour or two. I’m just not There yet.”
“Where’s There?”
“I don’t know. Where I really belong. Not just job, subway, home, job, subway... the usual rut. I want to know I’ve lived when I die. Big. Big as T Rex there."
Julie said “That T Rex has scared me ever since I was a kid. I kept thinking it might come after me.”
“It might, tonight. You said it, Christmas Eve is magical.”
“Stop that!” She giggled.
Annie wheeled. “Julie, look out!”
“What?”
“It moved.”
“You’re impossible.”
* * * *
The third king was slight, Black, thin as a stick, dressed for hiking in a downpour, with Gore-Tex shoes, gray nylon pants, limp olive rain jacket, navy watch cap, and a frayed backpack with a red cross. He stood still looking back and forth as if he had no idea where to go. The other two stepped up and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “B!” Hey!” He lifted his hands to them, but his expression didn’t change. He said in a dead flat voice: “We’ve only till dawn. Then it’s too late. It’s all over.”
“B, Merry Christmas to you, too,” roared the big man.
Cowboy just hushed him. “Smile more, man; smile more.”
“You see her?” asked B.
“Not yet,” said Overcoat.
“Which way to this Center?” the third man just asked.
Cowboy pointed.
A blast of snow whirled over them.
“Let’s go,” said B.
And the men started walking.
END OF EXCERPT