CALAMITY JIM
©December 1999
Jim Reed hefted his wailing, squirming two-year-old son onto his other
hip and rubbed his leg where the toe of Jimmy's cowboy boot had buried itself
in the muscle not two seconds before. "Jean, whose idea was it to buy Jimmy
cowboy boots?"
"I think it was yours, dear," Jean replied absently as she dug through
her purse for Jimmy's pacifier.
"Oh." Jim winced as the decibel of Jimmy's wails reached a pitch that
usually shattered crystal. A woman in the line just ahead of them turned around
and gave father and son a dirty look. Her little three-year-old girl was
behaving like an angel, whereas Jimmy-well, at the moment, the only heavenly
beings he could be compared with were of the fallen variety. Jim turned his
back on the woman and her perfect child. "Uh, Jean, I don't think Jimmy
likes this whole Santa idea."
Jean found the pacifier and stuck it in Jimmy's mouth. The wails magically
vanished. "He just needed his binky."
"How do you know these things?" Jim asked in a tone of awe.
"It's a genetic thing, hon. Don't worry about it. You don't have the
gene."
I can subdue a three-hundred-pound maniac berserk on LSD, but I can't
quiet my own kid. Jim patted a now docile Jimmy on the back, turned
around to check on the progress of the line and caught another dirty look
thrown by the Evil Mother ahead of him. Her toadying little brat gave him
an echo of the look from knee level. Caught like a deer in the headlights
in the twin beady glares, Jim was tempted to go for his gun. He shifted
Jimmy and managed to pull his own shirt-tail up high enough for the woman
to catch a glimpse of his off-duty holster on his belt. The woman blanched
and turned hurriedly back around.
Jean's elbow buried itself between his ribs. "Ow," he whined. "What'd
you do that for?"
"Behave," she hissed.
"What?" Jim asked innocently. "I'm just trying to keep a good hold on
our son."
Jean rolled her eyes, and Jim grinned and went back to watching the line
ahead of him. He was tall enough to be able to see over the heads of most
of the parents to where the action was. A bored-looking man in a phony
white beard and ill-fitting red velvet suit was mechanically going through
the motions of listening to one child after another recite his or her list
of Christmas wishes. The man's eyes didn't twinkle. He didn't have rosy
cheeks. Heck, he isn't even fat. "I could be a better Santa than
that guy," Jim muttered to Jean. "Look, why don't we go to the Sears downtown?
I bet they have a good Santa there."
"Jim, we have stood in this line for forty-five minutes. I'm not going
to leave to go stand in some other line just because this guy's Santa suit
doesn't fit him."
"But, hon, this guy's a joke. He doesn't even look like Santa!"
Jim's voice got a little louder than he intended, eliciting another glare
from the Evil Mother ahead of them.
"Jim, hush," Jean said quickly, giving the woman a weak smile. The woman
sniffed and turned around again.
"I don't like him," Jim whispered loudly, but Jean just shook her head
at him. So he went back to watching the pseudo-Santa's lackluster performance.
One particularly snotty kid whacked the man in the head with his toy baseball
bat. The man yelled out a word Jim thought was particularly inappropriate
for Santa to say and threw the kid back at his mother. "Jean, I don't like
this guy," Jim said again. "There's something hinky about him."
"'Hinky', listen to you. You're not on duty, and he's not a criminal,
Jim. He'll be fine when it's little Jimmy's turn, I'm sure."
Jim had his doubts. "He's a phony, Jean!"
"Oh, like there's a real Santa?" Jean whispered.
"No, there's not a real Santa," Jim scoffed, again forgetting to keep
his voice lowered, "but there's gotta be a better-"
The four-year-old kid behind them suddenly shrieked. "Mommy! That man
said there's no Santa!"
Jim felt his face turn sixteen shades of red. "Ma'am, I didn't say that,"
he stammered as he tried to explain. "I mean, I said it but that's not
what I meant-"
"How could you say such a thing!" the woman interrupted. "And in front
of my baby!"
"Look, lady, let me explain . . ."
But the woman grabbed her screaming child's arm and hurried away before
he could finish. In short order, four more crying children were led away
by mothers giving him looks most people reserved for Hitler.
Jean shut her eyes wearily. "Jim, will you please be quiet before you
ruin everyone's Christmas?"
"Well, bah humbug to you, too," Jim whispered, stung by the fact that
Jean wasn't standing up for him.
"Look, Ebenezer," Jean hissed. "If you would just settle down and keep
your mouth shut for the next fifteen minutes, we can get the stupid picture
and go home."
Jim lowered his voice to match hers. "If it's such a stupid picture,
then why are we spending my hard-earned cash on it?"
"Because we want to look back on Jimmy's second Christmas with warm memories!"
"Warm memories of an idiot in a red suit pretending he cares?" Jim asked
incredulously, his voice rising again.
"He does too care!" piped a grating little voice from knee height.
Jim looked down at the Perfect Angel Spawn of the Evil Mother, who was
glaring at him with twice the fury of her mother. Oh, no, here we go again.
He tried to smile at the little girl. "Uh, sorry. Of course he cares."
The little brat reared back and kicked Jim in the shin. He yelped and
danced out of the way, bumping into Jean, who in turn bumped into the lady
behind her, knocking her off balance. As Jim grabbed for his wife with one
hand, he watched in horror as the rest of the mothers and their children slid
domino-style to the floor. He helped Jean to her feet, trying to ignore
the fact that now not only was the woman ahead of him glaring, but forty other
women behind him looked like they wanted a piece of his hide. "You okay,
Jean?"
"I'm fine, aside from being embarrassed to death. Jim, why in the world-"
Jim noticed a security guard walking purposefully toward them. The shorter
man's walk looked vaguely familiar. "Oh, Lord, kill me now," Jim begged
under his breath.
"Reed, havin' a little problem here?" Ed Wells tipped his head back to
stare up at Jim. He wore his security guard hat the same silly way he wore
his LAPD uniform hat, pulled down nearly to the top of his eyebrows so he
had to tilt his head back to see under the brim.
"Uh, no, no problem. Ed, what're you doing here?"
"Moonlighting, Reed. It's called moonlighting."
"Officer, I want this man arrested!" the Evil Mother suddenly intoned,
elbowing her way between Jim and Ed.
Jim glared at her. "Lady, if your daughter hadn't kicked me, none of
this would . . ." He suddenly clamped his mouth shut as he realized that
he sounded just like all the bickering people he encountered on patrol.
"Ed, look, we'll leave. I don't like this Santa anyway."
Ed looked up and down the line of outraged women. "Anybody hurt?" he
called. A chorus line of shaking heads answered, so he eyed Jim up and
down. "Look, kid, before you turn this mall into a full-blown 415, try
the Sears downtown." Ed leaned closer. "The Santa over there's a lot better
than this one anyway."
Jim gave his wife an I-told-you-so glance, then stepped out of the line.
"Oh, and Reed!" Ed called after them.
Jim was tempted to pretend he hadn't heard, but he paused and turned.
"What?"
"I'll be sure to give Sears a call, let 'em know Calamity Jim's on his
way!"
Jim didn't answer. He put Jimmy in his stroller, then pushed it rapidly
toward the mall exit, walking so fast that Jean had to practically run to
keep up with him. He finally slowed down as they approached the doors.
"Jean, I don't think I'm going to have warm memories of this."
Jean looked at her husband, then at her son, then started giggling. "I
will!"
"Jean!" Jim protested.
She held open the door for him. The jingle of a Salvation Army volunteer
greeted them on their way out. Jim bumped the stroller over the door jamb.
He paused to dig out some change to drop into the red bucket hanging in
a stand beside the door.
"Merry Christmas, sir!" called a hearty, cheerful voice. As Jim dropped
some coins into the slot, he glanced at the man ringing the bell. The man
had twinkling blue eyes above a carefully trimmed white beard. Jim looked
closer. He even had rosy cheeks. Jim's eyes widened in surprise as the
man winked at him.
Jim looked at Jean, then back at the man, who had bent down to show Jimmy
his bell. A slow smile crawled across Jim's face. "Hey, Jean," he said
softly, nodding at the man. "Get out our camera."
"Why?" Jean asked.
"I think we found the real Santa," he said softly. He took the money
he was planning to use for Jimmy's Santa Claus photo and stuffed it in the
bucket. "Hey, mister? You wanna hold my son for a minute?"
The man smiled as Jean handed their son to him. "Hey, young'n! Looks
like you got you a smart papa!"
Jim felt himself blush as he focused the camera. Through the viewfinder,
he watched as the man tickled Jimmy's tummy. Jimmy smiled broadly and Jim
snapped the picture. As he watched Jean take Jimmy back, he felt a warm
glow settle somewhere to the left of his heart.
Jean caught his eye and smiled. "What'd I tell you?" she whispered.
Jim smiled at her, then turned and shook the man's hand. "Merry Christmas,
sir."
The man winked again and laid his finger alongside his nose. "And to
all a good night!"
Author's Note: Merry Christmas to Adam-12 fans every where!
