Romancing Rudolph - Chapter 2

(If you’re just joining us, the story began on December 15th–click here to start at the beginning.)

Chapter 2

Rudolph hated being out-numbered.

“Absolutely not. I’m not going shopping,” he said, throwing an exasperated look at his team. Three guys and six gals, and look how they ended up spending their off hours. “I’m going into the Watering Hole for a drink.”

Donner and Blitzen both chimed in, a note of desperation in their voices. “Yeah, us, too.”

They were standing on the snow-covered sidewalk in front of the bar, across from the Wrap Factory. A very busy sidewalk, clogged with scurrying members of the Christmas Crew all frantically trying to get things done before the big day.

Vixen pitched Rudolph an unpleasant stare. “Hello? You’re supposed to be encouraging teamwork, not creating dissension in the ranks.”

Vixen was a stunning example of the female reindeer, with gleaming cream and brown fur and an incredible rack. She was also the unofficial spokesperson for the ladies on his team. Normally, Rudolph would’ve offered her a sultry smile and coaxed her into a better mood. But, frankly, today he didn’t give a damn.

“I need a drink,” he said stubbornly.

Vixen rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you heard? When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.”

“I’d rather mope.”

“Do you want us to mope with you?” Comet asked, blinking her sweet brown eyes.

“Nah,” Rudolph replied with a short smile of thanks for her empathy. “I’m not going to be very good company. I intend to drown my sorrows.”

Vixen glared. “If you miss take-off practice tomorrow, Santa will kick your butt.”

Rudolph closed his eyes and sighed. Much as he wanted to, he had no intention of missing tomorrow’s practice. He had big plans for Santa’s number-crunching little efficiency expert. “He’s already kicked my butt.”

“He only suggested you needed help.”

Rudolph opened his eyes. “Only? He said we barely got the sleigh off the ground last year. How is that only? He might as well have called me a freakin’ wuss.”

“Santa would never call anyone a wuss,” Comet said nicely. Comet was always nice. And she pulled her weight, too. “And I’m not sure he’d say freakin’, either.”

Dasher stomped her shiny painted-black hooves. “Are we going, or what?” she asked Vixen.

Vixen nodded, then shot one last look at Rudolph. “What time are we meeting tomorrow?”

“Eight.” There was a chorus of moans, but Rudolph ignored them. “I want everyone warmed up and at peak performance when Santa gets there.”

“Just make sure you’re there,” Vixen said pointedly.

“Oh, I’ll be there. Count on it.” Rudolph grimaced. The Christmas Flying Team was not a bunch of statistics to be analyzed. No calculator could determine their lift capability. The efficiency expert had bitten off more than she could chew, and he was going to prove it to her.

With a snort, he stomped into the Watering Hole and ordered a double.

***
“God, Mandy. Why didn’t you tell him you had another job?” Tess wailed.

Mandy waded through the fresh-fallen snow toward the tinsel-wrapped, wrought-iron gate of Christmas Village. Unlike during the summer months, the doors were closed. “I confess, ok? I didn’t have the guts to say no to Santa Claus.”

She grimaced. Say no? Hah! She’d barely been able to stutter a yes. She’d stared into that rosy-cheeked, jovial face that she’d previously only ever seen during parades or far across the Toy Shop floor and come close to fainting. Analyze the Christmas Flying Team? Holy crummoly. How does one say no to that?

“But what about the Finnish herd?” Tess asked. “They’re counting on you. If you don’t test out their new migratory path, they might end up going right through the heart of a human housing development.”

Mandy halted and heaved a big sigh. Did Tess really think she hadn’t thought of that? She’d lain awake all night, for cripes sake. “It’s only November 6th. I figure if I study the Flying Team for a week, then make a recommendation, I can still assess the satellite shots of Finland before the December migration.”

“A week? That doesn’t seem like enough time to make a fair decision.”

Resuming her slow trot toward the gates, Mandy winced. “Yeah, well, I don’t have a lot of choice.”

“Yes, you do. You could just tell Santa to find someone else.”

Mandy tried to picture herself standing in front of the big man in the red suit and saying just that. Her chest constricted and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like she was eating peanut butter. Nope. No way.

“Ain’t going to happen.”

The pair of nine-foot-tall tin soldiers smiled as she held up her photo passcard, and the massive doors swung open on well-oiled hinges.

Mandy turned to Tess. “Look, I don’t intend to let anyone down. I’m going to do the best I can. Ok?”

“Ok.” Her friend smiled tremulously. “Your best is pretty darned good.”

Mandy glanced up at the clock set in the Village tower...the one that counted down to Christmas Eve. The face of the clock was a giant picture of the big guy. Her best had better be enough. Going before Santa to explain that she’d failed was simply not an option. She’d die first.

On that thought, she strode through the gate and down a light-spangled Santa Claus Lane. "See ya in a week."

(To go to Chapter 3, click here)