Miracle by Connie Willis Read Free Book Online Page B

ornaments.”
    “No,” Lauren said. “How much money do we have to spend?”
    “The PMS Committee budgeted six thousand, and there was five hundred left in the Sunshine fund. We can spend …” He picked up a pocket calculator in the shape of Donald Trump and punched several buttons. “Ninety dollars per person, including tax. How about this?” He held up an automatic cat feeder.
    “We got those last year,” Lauren said. She picked up a digital umbrella and put it back down.
    “How about a car fax?” Scott said. “No, wait. This, this is it!”
    Lauren turned around. Scott was holding up what looked like a gold cordless phone. “It’s an investment pager,” he said, punching keys. “See, it gives you the Dow Jones, treasury bonds, interest rates. Isn’t it perfect?”
    “Well,” Lauren said.
    “See, this is the hostile takeover alarm, and every time the Federal Reserve adjusts the interest rate it beeps.”
    Lauren read the tag. “‘Portable Plutocrat. $74.99.’”
    “Great,” Scott said. “We’ll have money left over.”
    “To invest,” Lauren said.
    He went off to see if they had seventy-two of them, and Lauren wandered over to the bank of televisions.
    There was a videotape of
Miracle on 34th Street
lying on top of the VCR/shower massage. Lauren looked around to see if anyone was watching and then popped the
Wonderful Life
tape out and stuck in
Miracle.
    A dozen Edmund Gwenns dressed as Macy’s Santa Claus appeared on the screens, listening to twelve store managers tell them which overstocked toys to push.
    Scott came over, lugging four shopping bags. “They come giftwrapped,” he said happily, showing her a Portable Plutocrat wrapped in green paper with gold dollar signs. “Which gives us a free evening.”
    “That’s what I’ve been fighting against for years,” a dozenEdmund Gwenns said, tearing a dozen lists to bits, “the way they commercialize Christmas.”
    “What I thought,” Scott said when they got in the car, “was that instead of going out for supper, we’d take these over to your apartment and order in.”
    “Order in?” Lauren said, clutching the bag of Portable Plutocrats on her lap to her.
    “I know a great Italian place that delivers. Angel-hair pasta, wine, everything. Or, if you’d rather, we could run by a grocery store and pick up some stuff to cook.”
    “Actually, my kitchen’s kind of a mess,” she said. There is a Christmas tree in it, she thought, with organic by-products hanging on it.
    He pulled up outside her apartment building. “Then Italian it is.” He got out of the car and began unloading shopping bags. “You like prosciutto? They have a great melon and prosciutto.”
    “Actually, the whole apartment’s kind of a disaster,” Lauren said, following him up the stairs. “You know, wrapping presents and everything. There are ribbons and tags and paper all over the floor and—”
    “Great,” he said, stopping in front of her door. “We have to put tags on the presents, anyway.”
    “They don’t need tags, do they?” Lauren said desperately. “I mean, they’re all exactly alike.”
    “It personalizes them,” he said, “it shows the gift was chosen especially for them.” He looked expectantly at the key in her hand and then at the door.
    She couldn’t hear the TV, which was a good sign. And every time Fred had come over, the spirit had disappeared. So all I have to do is keep him out of the kitchen, she thought.
    She opened the door and Scott pushed past her and dumped the shopping bags onto the coffee table. “Sorry,” he said. “Those were really heavy.” He straightened up and looked around the living room. There was no sign of the spirit, but there were three Evian water bottles on the coffee table.“This doesn’t look too messy. You should see my apartment. I’ll bet your kitchen’s neater than mine, too.”
    Lauren walked swiftly over to the kitchen and pulled the door shut. “I wouldn’t bet on it. Aren’t