“Hey, bad, bad Leroy,” she said, smiling as she pictured his happy little face under his shock of little-boy-blond hair. “Isn’t it time you were in bed?”
“Yes. And then Santa will bring me a ’Guffin. Hurry up and come home so you can see.”
“You know, Leroy,” Trudy said, looking at the box in her arms. “There are several kinds of MacGuffins and they’re all good—”
“I want the one with toxic waste,” Leroy said clearly. “It’s okay. I told Daddy, and he told Santa, and Santa said he’d bring one. And Nanny Babs said Santa never lies.”
I’m going to kill that fucking son of a bitch. And then I’m going to kill that fucking nanny. Assuming they ever come back from Cancún. “Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we? Now you go to bed—”
“I know, and when I wake up, Daddy will be on vacation, but he loves me, and Santa will be here with my ’Guffin.” He breathed heavily into the phone for a moment and then said, “Brandon said there isn’t any Santa Claus.”
Rot in hell, Evil Nemesis Brandon. “What do you think?”
“I think there is,” Leroy said, not sounding too sure. “And I think he’s going to bring me a ’Guffin tomorrow.”
“Right,” Trudy said, holding on to the box tighter.
“With toxic waste,” Leroy said.
Oh, just hell. “Merry Christmas Eve, baby. Go to bed.”
“Aunt Trudy?”
“Five hundred,” the woman in front of her said. “And that’s my final offer.”
“For the love of God, no,” Trudy said to her, and then said, “Yes, Leroy?”
“Do you believe in Santa?”
What is this, a movie of the week? “Well…”
“Mommy says Evil Nemesis Brandon is wrong.”
“Don’t call him that, sweetie.”
“Is he wrong?” Leroy’s voice slowed. “It’s okay if there isn’t a Santa.” His voice said it wasn’t okay.
Nolan nudged her gently, and she realized the line had moved again. “Well, Leroy, I don’t really know if there’s a Santa. I’ve never seen him.”
“Oh.”
Trudy swallowed. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. I’ve never seen SpongeBob, either.”
“SpongeBob?” Nolan said from behind her.
“SpongeBob is real. He’s on TV.” Leroy sounded relieved. “So is Santa.”
“Well, there you go,” Trudy said, feeling like a rat.
“That’s the best you’ve got, SpongeBob?” Nolan said.
Trudy turned and snarled, “He loves SpongeBob. Shut up.”
“I know there’s a SpongeBob,” Leroy said, happy again.
“As do we all,” Trudy said.
The woman in front of her let her breath out between her teeth, clearly frustrated. “It’s the old MacGuffin; it’s not worth more than three hundred.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Trudy said to her. “Leroy? Honey, it’s time for you to go to bed.”
“And when I wake up, I’ll get a ’Guffin,” Leroy said. “Good night, Aunt Trudy.”
“Good night, baby,” Trudy said, and the phone clunked again as he dropped it.
“Your nephew’s name is Leroy?” Nolan said.
“It’s a nickname,” Trudy said, not turning around. “His real name is Prescott Thurston Brown II.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Good call getting a nickname.”
She heard the phone clunk again as Courtney picked it up.
“That little bastard Brandon,” Courtney said.
“I think I prefer ‘Evil Nemesis,’” Trudy said. “He’s just a kid, Courtney.”
“His mother is a hag,” Courtney said. “After she offered Leroy a hand-me-down MacGuffin, she asked me if I’d found another nanny.”
“Bitch,” Trudy said, and then smiled when the woman in front of her finally turned away, offended.
“He’s counting on that toxic waste.” Courtney’s voice was still teary, but now she sounded a little slack.
“Court? You haven’t been hitting the eggnog, have you?”
“No, the gin. I’m a terrible mother, Tru.”
“No, you’re not.” Trudy shifted the boxes again.
“I can’t even get my baby toxic waste for Christmas.”
Trudy heard her sob. “Okay, step away from the gin.You’re getting sloppy drunk in front of your kid. Do something proactive. Wrap some presents. Ice your gingerbread.”
“I’m out of Christmas paper. And I tried to ice those little bastard gingerbread men, but their arms kept breaking off.”
“Were you twisting them?”
Above Trudy’s head, the ancient speakers blared Madonna singing in baby talk again.
“Sing ‘The Little Drummer Boy,’” Trudy said to the speakers. “Anything but ‘Santa Baby.’ God, Madonna is annoying.”
“She’s a good mother,” Courtney said. “I’m a terrible mother.”
“No, you just have terrible taste in husbands and nannies.”
“I wasn’t the one who picked out the nanny,” Courtney said, her voice rising.
“Right.” Trudy moved up another step. “Sorry. She came highly recommended.” I’m pretty sure yours is the first husband she ran off with.
“I wasn’t the one who brought home the husband, either,” Courtney cried.
“Okay,” Trudy said, tempted to fight back on that one.