Tim Dorsey - When elves attack

“Okay, everyone, bow your heads.” Serge closed his eyes and devoutly folded his hands. “Dear God, please ask your followers not to start any more wars.”

Martha’s head fell back over her chair.

Jim nearly fainted.

Nicole cracked up.

Rita Davenport slowly turned toward Serge. “That was a very interesting prayer. And a very good prayer. I know exactly what you mean: You’re talking about the people in those other countries.”

“Well, what I actually meant was-”

Jim’s hand shot out and grabbed Serge’s arm. “Leave it.”

Serge shrugged.

Dinner and conversation proceeded with the tension of a midnight execution.

At the end, Rita set down her fork. “I’ll be dead soon.”

“That’s an excellent philosophy,” said Serge. “Don’t take a single day for granted. Live life to the fullest!”

“No,” said Rita. “I’m talking about getting old. I’m worried what will happen to me.”

“What’s to worry about?” said Serge. “You can always move in here. I’m sure they’d love to have you.”

Martha spit out her food.

“Serge,” said Jim. “We don’t have enough room.”

“What are you talking about?” Serge spread his arms. “You’ve got plenty of room. I know the layout of the whole place, especially upstairs, except that’s a touchy subject. The point is, it’s a golden chance for all of you to spend a lot more time together.”

Martha began shaking, and grabbed a fork like a weapon.

Rita set her napkin on her plate. “I need to powder my nose. Jim, where do you keep the bleach?”

Serge’s head snapped back. “Back up. Did you say ‘bleach’?”

“Yes?”

“Bleach,” said Serge. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“No, is there something wrong with that?”

“Not if you’re cleaning needles to shoot heroin, but otherwise, yes.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Rita.

“Jim,” said Serge. “I just ran the floor plan through my head, and you’re right. There isn’t enough room after all.”

Rita looked perplexed. “But I thought you said a minute ago they had a lot of space.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of room, just not for you.”

“Did I say something wrong?” asked Rita.

“ ‘Bleach,’ ” said Serge. “There’s a lot I don’t know about women, but I was married briefly, and I know about ‘bleach.’ ”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You’re talking to someone who practically invented mind games.” Serge stood and sneered. “Martha invited you into her home, and Jim is your loving son. And you come in here with so-called idle comments, which disrespect Martha, put Jim in an awkward spot, and insult their marriage. And somehow you enjoy deliberately fanning this unpleasantness.”

“Well!” said Rita. “If I’m not welcome here!”

“Don’t stay on my account,” said Serge. “I’ll even kick-start your broom.”

“Oh! I never!” Rita grabbed her purse and stormed out the door.

Serge turned back to face the stunned expressions around the table. “Oh my gosh, what have I done?” He lowered his head. “You must think I’m horrible. I can’t stop screwing up when it comes to your family. So I’m going to leave now, and I promise you’ll never see me again.”

He started for the door.

“No,” said Martha. “Come back and have a seat. Would you like some dessert?”

A ’72 Chevelle whipped up the driveway.

Coleman pulled something out of a bag. “It’s called a Yule log.”

“Put that away,” said Serge. “It’s disgusting.”

“Women dig it.” Coleman slid a switch. A humming sound. “Got three speeds. And a Christmas theme. Here are little reindeer along the side, and Santa’s cap on the end.”

They got out of the car and headed for the house. “But why would you think a vibrator would be an appropriate gift for Martha?”

“You said Jim asked you for help with a present.”

“Just put it back in the bag before the neighbors see that horrible thing… Wait, what’s that music coming from the house?”

“Early Jackson 5,” said Coleman. “ ‘Dancin’ Machine.’ ”

“I know the song. It just sounds extra loud, and the girls usually aren’t up this early.” He stopped at the Christmas tree stuck in the doorway.

“What’s that hanging from one of the branches?” asked Coleman.

Serge held the satin in his hand. “First-place ribbon from the neighborhood committee.”

They got on hands and knees, and crawled into the house.

Serge slowly stood. “What the hell?”

City and Country were dancing up a storm.

“Yo, Serge,” said Country. “Your friends are a hoot.”

City spun a shorter person, busting a tango move. “Never would have guessed you knew normal people.”

Coleman nudged Serge in the ribs. “I think it’s the G-Unit.”

“I know who they are… Hey, Edith, what on earth are you doing here?”

Edith moved her arms up and down to the lyrics, performing the robot. “Just gettin’ my swerve on.”

“I sensed that vibe.” Serge set his McMuffin breakfast on the table. “But how did you find me? I’m off the grid… If you could, then the cops…”

“Take a chill pill,” said Country. “We get the credit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I went to check our Facebook page, except you were signed in, so we decided to take a peek at your circle of friends and found their message…”

“… Figured why not invite ’em over?” said City. “At least it would break this stupid boring routine of you obsessing about Christmas.” She casually lifted a foot as a model train ran underneath. “Turned out they’re a blast.”

“What’s that?” asked Edna.

“What’s what?” asked Coleman, wadding up a shopping bag.

“That thing you stuck on the shelf.”

“It’s called a Yule log. It’s a-”

“I know what it is,” said Edna. “Let me have it.”

Coleman tossed, and Edna caught it on the fly.

Edith reached. “I want to see it.”

Edna pulled away. “I spotted it first.”

Serge suddenly jumped.

“What’s the matter?” asked Coleman.

“Someone just goosed me.” Serge turned and wagged a finger at Eunice, who giggled and ran away.

Coleman elbowed Serge again. “Old times.”

No response.

“Serge?… Serge, what is it?”

Serge was concentrating on the view out the window. “There’s that Ford Focus station wagon again.”

“What’s it doing?”

“Slowing down outside the Davenport place. Now it’s speeding away, just like the Dodge Ram that won’t be coming by anymore. And the black Delta 88 I saw again this morning.”

“Probably a coincidence.” Coleman raised tequila to his lips. “Let’s do something. It’s Christmas Eve.”

Serge snapped his fingers. “You’re right! It is Christmas Eve. We’re required to do something, and I know exactly what that is.” He turned to a roomful of dancing. “Yo! G-Unit!..”

“… Stayin’ alive! Stayin’ alive, ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo… Stayin’ aliiiiiiiiiiive…”

“Serge, the music’s too loud.”

Serge made a shrill wolf whistle with two fingers in his mouth. “May I have your attention, please!”

“Still too loud.”

Serge reached for the volume knob on the stereo.

“… Stayin’ alive-”

Silence.

“Hey!” said Edith. “That’s our theme song.”

“I have an important announcement to make.” Serge clapped his hands sharply for emphasis. “How’d you girls like to have some fun?”

“We’re down with fun,” said Edna. “Count us in!”