Happy Christmas to All

by Jan Christensen

"Are you finished yet?" Margaret yelled.

Marty swore under his breath as he tightened the screw on the toilet seat decorated with Bugs Bunny, trees and wreaths. "Even for a guest bathroom, this is going too far," he muttered.

"What did you say?" Margaret asked. She stood in the doorway with a string of lights in her hands.

"Nothing," Marty said, straightening up from his task. "All finished."

"Did you put up the musical toilet-paper roller?" Margaret asked.

Marty nodded.

"Good," Margaret said, her pretty face marred by its perpetual frown. She barely glanced at what he'd done. "I need your help with these lights." She turned away from him, and he followed her tiny figure into the living room.

The eight-foot tree loomed over them as they straightened out what seemed like miles of lights. Then Marty started putting them on the tree under Margaret's direction.

The back door banged open, and Kim came in, bringing the cold air with her. Dressed in her fake fur jacket, black leggings, boots and a jaunty fur hat, she would have been adorable. Except she wore her usual five pounds of makeup, a row of fake diamonds spiked into each ear, and the hair that peeked out of the hat was dyed bright green. To go with the season, Marty supposed.

"My gawd," Kim exclaimed. "That tree tall enough?" She proceeded to remove hat, gloves, coat and boots, piling them on or next to a chair in the corner.

Margaret glared at her. "Where have you been? I thought you were going to help us."

"I had some shopping to do, sister dear," Kim replied.

"I don't see any packages," Margaret said.

"There're still in the car. I had to be sure the coast was clear before I brought them in. Since you and Marty dear are here, I can't bring them in quite yet."

"I see," Margaret said.

Marty continued to string lights. "Not like that!" Margaret complained.

Kim rolled her eyes at Marty. "Why don't you do it yourself, Maggie? That way we could all be spared your complaining."

"Don't call me Maggie," Margaret said through clenched teeth. "You know I hate that nickname."

Kim began to gather up her clothing. "You hate most things, sister dearest. Except ordering everyone around."

Margaret gave Kim a look full of hate. Kim missed it since she was already leaving the room.

"I told you, not like that," Margaret snapped at Marty.

He stepped away from the tree, silently handed her the string of lights, and followed Kim towards the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Margaret screeched.

"To get a drink," Marty said, not raising his voice. He refused to get angry, deliberately loosening his tight shoulders.

He found Kim at the open refrigerator door grabbing a wine cooler. Her green tresses gleamed eerily in the light coming from the appliance.

"Let me have a beer, will you?"

She handed him one and closed the door. "How can you stand her?" she asked, unscrewing the top of her bottle and taking a sip.

Marty popped his beer and shrugged. "Used to it, I guess."

"Did she treat you that way when you were dating?"

Marty thought for a minute. "No," he said slowly. "She got irritated sometimes, but didn't nag like she does now."

"She's always treated me like that," Kim said, grabbing a chair and sitting at the kitchen table. "I can't believe I asked to move in here with you guys until I can get back on my feet."

Must be hard job hunting with that hair, Marty thought as he sat down, too. But he couldn't be sure she even hunted very much. They certainly wouldn't hire her at the accounting firm where he worked.

"What're you thinking about?" Kim asked.

"Wondering how you're doing in your search for a new job."

Kim sighed and took a sip of her wine cooler. "It's hard, you know. Would you believe sometimes I get the feeling they won't hire me because of the way I do my hair?"

Marty swallowed some beer. And wear all that make-up and six pierced earrings in each ear, he thought.

"Have you tried the hair salons? Maybe they'd be okay with it."

"Gosh, Marty, sometimes you're a genius! I never thought of that. First thing tomorrow, I'll go to the one I use and see if they need a receptionist."

"Good idea," Marty said. "And if that doesn't work, you might consider dying it back to your natural color, covering your ears, and wearing less make-up."

Kim stared at him, her mouth slightly open. She looked as if he'd slapped her, and he supposed in a way he had. A slight shock treatment might be good for her, he reasoned.

"How can you say that to me?" she asked, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "How could you? You never talk to Maggie like that."

"She'd kill me," he admitted, finishing his beer and getting up to throw away the can. He felt bad about what he'd said, but he still thought it needed saying. And frankly, he didn't want his sister-in-law living with him for the rest of his life. Which it looked as if she might do if she didn't find a job soon. "Why would I kill you?" Margaret asked as she entered the kitchen.

"If I made suggestions about how you should change your appearance." Not that I need to, he thought. She looked as good as when they'd gotten married. And she used restraint.

One of Margaret's fine eyebrows lifted as she stared at her husband. "Did you say something to Kim about hers, then?"

Marty nodded.

"Good for you. How she expects to get anywhere looking like that, I'll never know."

"How dare you? How dare both of you?" Kim said, her voice trembling. She dashed out of the room.

The doorbell rang, and Marty and Margaret walked toward the front of the house. Kim reached the door first and pulled it open with an angry jerk, gasped, and backed away from the entrance. A man stood there, pointing a gun at her, and she seemed to shrink inside herself. Then Marty saw the second gunman, shorter than the first, with a little rat-like face. They both wore jeans and plain white t-shirts. The second man jiggled in their doorway, the gun wavering in his hand. An ugly tattoo on Rat-face's left arm showed a serpent coiled, ready to strike. The other guy looked strikingly handsome beside his partner.

Marty realized that Margaret had grabbed his own arm. He looked at his wife. Her pale skin made her brown eyes seem almost black. Her lips trembled slightly as she stared at the two men. Kim missed bumping into Marty and Margaret as she continued to back away from the door. The burglars followed her into the house, Rat-face closing the door behind them.

"Don't get excited now, folks," Pretty-boy said in a raspy voice. "Just go into the living room and sit yourselves down."

Marty clutched Margaret's hand and backed them toward the living room.

Margaret matched him, step for step, for once speechless.

They passed through the archway into the living room. Rat-face looked at the tree, half-strung with lights, and said, "That tree big enough?"

"Of course it's big enough," Margaret said. "It goes all the way to the ceiling. What do you want?"

"What do you think?" asked Rat-face, still staring up at the tree, the gun jerking in his hand.

"Money?" Kim asked, hope in her voice.

"Among other things," Pretty-face leered.

"Oh," Margaret moaned, her step faltering.

"Hang on," Marty said quietly, grasping her arm firmly and leading her over to the couch, almost suggesting she lay down, but then thinking better of it. Margaret pulled away from him, refusing to sit.

Kim had turned a slight shade of green under her make-up. It clashed horribly with her hair.

"Where's the bathroom?" Rat-face asked suddenly.

Everyone stared at him.

"You can't go now," Pretty-boy protested.

Rat-face jiggled some more. "I'd better." He pointed the gun directly at Margaret. "Where's the bathroom?" he asked again.

Margaret waved her hand. "Down that hall, to your right."

"Cover them," Rat-face said to his partner.

Pretty-boy shook his head. "Should never get together with someone with a weak bladder. Not in this line of work."

They heard a shout from down the hall. Then high, maniacal laughter. "Hey, Jerry," Rat-face yelled. "She's got Bugs Bunny painted on her toilet seat! With Christmas decorations. You should see this." The door slammed and all was quiet for a few minutes.

Rat-face returned, humming, "Fa la la la la," and grinning.

"The toilet roll plays Christmas tunes. You should go check it out. Got anything else cute in here, Lady?"

"Look," Marty said, his voice sounding weak in his own ears, "We'll get you anything we have. Get what you want and leave." He looked at the two men glaring at him. "Please. Anything you want."

"Of course you will," Rat-face said.

"Don't be a pig," Margaret said, glaring at the man.

Marty winced.

"What have we here, a little spitfire?" Petty-boy asked, coming toward Margaret. He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up, seeming to forget the gun, now pointed at the floor. He kissed Margaret sloppily.

Suddenly, Marty jumped on the man, knocking him over. The gun fell to the rug. Face down on the floor, Pretty-boy tried to throw Marty off his back, but Marty grabbed a large crystal angel off the coffee table and knocked Pretty-boy unconscious.

Gasping for breath, Marty stood up and came face-to-face with Rat-face whose gun pointed at Marty's stomach. He had grabbed his partner's weapon and slipped it into his waistband.

"Don't!" Margaret screamed. "Marty, don't try it. Please."

Marty forced his muscles to relax. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples. Making himself slow his breathing, he stared at Rat-face.

"Why don't you take your friend and leave?" Marty suggested.

Rat-face's eyes moved restlessly from Marty to his partner, then back to Marty. He looked at the floor, looked at the ceiling, looked at Marty.

"I don't know, man," he said finally.

"What's to know?" Margaret demanded. "Just get the hell out of here."

Rat-face stepped toward Margaret. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you, lady? Maybe if I pop you in the chest with a small bullet, you'll be quiet. Huh?"

Margaret stood speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"Please, oh, please," Kim moaned. "Don't hurt us. Just take what you want, and go."

"No one in their right mind would touch you, baby. You fall into a bottle of ink head first? Use a spatula to scrape off the make-up at night, do you?"

Anger flashed in Kim's eyes. "How dare you?"

Rat-face laughed mirthlessly. "I dare because I've got the gun. In case you haven't noticed." He pointed it at her face, his hand a bit steadier than it had been. "The truth hurts sometimes, I know. But you need some serious help, you know?"

"Look," Marty said. "You're wasting time here. What do you want?"

"Well, we're just a couple of reverse Santa's. We've come to get the goods instead of giving. Ho, ho, ho."

Pretty-boy groaned and opened his eyes. "Wha' happened?"

"Hey, you all right? Can you stand up?" Rat-face asked.

Pretty-boy moaned again, and clutching his head, tried to get up. "I'm gonna be sick," he said.

"Not on my rug!" Margaret said through clenched teeth.

"Shhh," Marty said.

Rat-face shook his head back and forth. "Lady, I don't know how these two stand being around you all the time. I've been here ten minutes and already I want to bop you alongside the head. Don't you every shut up?"

Margaret began to shake, her head bobbing curiously. Marty took her arm again and tried to make her sit on the couch. She pulled away from him, glaring defiantly at Rat-face.

Pretty-boy now stood, swaying slightly.

A siren sounded in the distance. Everyone froze. Rat-face looked at Marty, then Kim, then Margaret. The gun began to wobble in his hand again.

Pretty-boy grabbed at his head. "Let's get out of here," he said.

Silently, Rat-face handed him the gun he'd put in his waistband, and the two began to back up towards the door. The other three stood motionless, watching the would-be robbers depart.

The burglars didn't bother to close the door behind them. After they crossed the threshold, they ran flat out to the white van parked curbside.

"Get the license number," Margaret said.

"Are you crazy?" Kim asked. "Let them go. You could have gotten us all killed, you know that?"

"What are you talking about?" Margaret demanded.

Marty sighed as he closed and locked the door. He noticed he could no longer hear the siren. He picked up the phone on the hall table and dialed 911.

"I mean you're always talking, never listening," Kim said. "Most of the time it's merely annoying. Tonight it was dangerous."

"Oh," Margaret said and sat on the couch at last. "I was so mad!"

Marty briefly explained to the dispatcher what had happened, then hung up.

"You're mad most of the time, it seems. I'm amazed Marty's stayed with you as long as he has. Believe me, I won't."

"You might if you don't do something about your hair," Margaret said, her voice starting to rise again."Even the crooks didn't like it."

"You're impossible, you know that? But I am going to fix my hair. I'll never be able to look at it again without thinking about tonight. I've never been so scared in all my life." Kim started shaking as she spoke, then collapsed into an armchair.

"Marty, get us all some brandy, why don't you?" Margaret said.

Instead of heading toward the bar, Marty sat down on the couch next to his wife. "You're the strong one. Why don't you get it? Things could have gone a lot worse, you know, Margaret. When people are pointing guns at you, it's really smart to keep quiet and do what they say, not aggravate them further. Those guys could have been on drugs. They could have been killers, not just robbers. Everything you said made them mad. We've been very lucky tonight."

Margaret surprised both Kim and Marty by bursting into tears. "I can't seem to help myself," she said between sobs. "I'll try, honestly, I will."

Marty put his arms around her, rocking her gently. "That's all I ask," he said, patting her shoulders. He hated to see her cry--she almost never did. But a feeling of relief welled up inside him. Maybe things would get better.

After a while, Margaret calmed down. She smiled bravely through her tears. "The next time I get too bossy, use the code word, 'robber,' and I'll try to stop. Okay?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Marty said. "I'll get the brandy."

Later that night, after the cops left and the excitement wore down, Marty laid in bed next to his sleeping wife. He let a big grin cross his face. He'd had doubts about his plan to hire Jerry and Snooky to pretend to rob them. And he hoped he hadn't really hurt Jerry when he tapped him with the angel. But it seemed his plan might work. And, if Kim and Margaret didn't do what they'd promised, he'd have to think of something else to get them to change. It might be a happy Christmas after all.

End