There’s Always Time to Play Santa

76

Starsky ropes Hutch into playing Santa at a Christmas party at the Marshall Center. In spite of his misgivings, Hutch finds meaning and joy in the part.

 

Wightfaerie wrote most of this story and I added in a few bits approximately nine years ago for a Secret Santa gift exchange on live journal.

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Walking into the Marshall school auditorium, Hutch surveyed the room with a smile. This looked like a real Christmas party. A construction paper garland was strung between the basketball hoops and glitter stars were stuck on the backboards. Little Christmas trees made from dyed green cotton balls and jelly beans for ornaments were scotch taped to the walls. The decorations were handmade, probably by the kids in the classrooms, but they were worth more than all the glitz at the local mall. The artificial tree showed loving wear and tear, and Hutch was glad he wouldn’t be sneezing all afternoon from pine tree allergies.

Two tables at one end of the hall were over flowing with cookies, Yule log cakes, and lumpy dipped chocolates, plus an enormous bowl of guacamole and corn chips. It was good party fare. Small tables with clusters of chairs were arranged around the room, each bearing a tiny live evergreen growing in a Dixie cup.

“Where you been, Hutch?” Starsky barreled into the auditorium clutching a stack of records. “The party’s gonna start in ten minutes.” He dumped his handful onto a table next to a portable record player.

“Just admiring what Terry did to the room.” Hutch walked up on the stage, skirting the wooden chair accessorized with a green velvet throw and two gold pillows for the man of the hour.

Him. Hutch still wasn’t quite sure how he’d let Starsky talk him into this. He had nothing against Jolly old St. Nick. He hadn’t ever expected to dress up in the red suit. His mother had discouraged belief in fantasy characters so he’d never had a real belief in Santa Claus.

“It’s for the students at Terry’s class!” Starsky had wheedled two days ago.

Starsky’s girlfriend, Terry Roberts, was a special needs teacher at the Marshall Center. They’d been dating for the past two months, and Starsky was smitten. Terry seemed to understand Starsky in a way that few of his other girlfriends had. She never gave him grief when his job came first, or when he had to break a dinner date to run to a crime scene. The two of them had met while Hutch was laid up with a broken leg and Starsky had had to go to a “Policemen are Our Friends” classroom presentation on his own. He’d asked Terry out that evening.

Hutch had been really happy for his partner. Starsky hadn’t had a permanent girlfriend since Helen, and she’d been dead for a year.

“The students’ve met me, so I can’t do it—besides,” Starsky had grinned that self-depreciating grin that somehow always got under Hutch’s defenses. “Santa ain’t Jewish.”

“No, that would be correct.” Hutch had laughed and before his brain kicked into gear, he’d heard himself agreeing to spend his Saturday off dressed in red. Starsky knew how to play Hutch’s compassion like a finely tuned instrument.

“Terry’s really grateful you’re doing this.” Starsky bounced in place and mimed tossing a ball into the decorated net. “Get dressed back there,” he ordered.

A red velvet suit trimmed in white fur hung on a rack that was probably usually used for wardrobes changes in the school plays. Hutch frowned, nerves suddenly jangly. He always got stage fright before playing his guitar. Apparently being Santa was no different. At least he’d probably have an appreciative audience.

“You’ll be a great Santa!” Starsky said enthusiastically.

“Shh, they’ll hear you,” Hutch hissed. Already, there were sounds of the auditorium doors opening and students coming in, chattering with excitement.

Starsky peered around the edge of the proscenium into the auditorium. “Terry’s class is here already.”

Hutch pulled on the wide red pants. After donning the jacket, he adjusted the belly padding and tightened the black belt around his waist. The suit was thick, and he was hot already. The outfit was better suited for a snowy climate, not a mild Southern California winter.

“Here, hurry up, put this on.” Starsky thrust the fake white beard at Hutch’s face, pulling the elastic around so quickly it snapped against Hutch’s ear.

“Oww. You’re going to damage my ear drum, you putz.” Hutch yanked the synthetic whiskers down onto his chin. The final part of the costume was a pair of shiny black boots. Amazingly, they fit his feet perfectly.

“Is Santa ready yet?” Terry poked her head into the dressing area. “They’re clamoring for you—and the cookies we don’t usually allow.”

Hutch swallowed. This was the moment of truth. “I think I need to sit down,” he said, nerves twisting his stomach. Not to mention that the black knee high boots were very restrictive as he strode the few paces to the chair. Sitting down, he readjusted his belly again, widening his legs to accommodate the extra bulk. Santa’s grotto was decorated with a phalanx of potted poinsettias and little mounds of white laundry detergent to represent snow.

“You look fantastic!” Starsky cried, circling Terry. He leaned over to kiss her on the mouth, lingering for probably a second longer than necessary when they were in such a public place.

Terry dimpled. “Thank you, best friend.”

Terry was dressed as an elf. Her gamin face and petite figure were exactly right for the short green skirt, red and white striped stockings, and pointed green felt slippers. A green cap tipped with bells adorned her short curly hair.

“I’ll be right beside you, Ken.” She winked, handing him a sprig of holly to pin on his coat. “Thank you for doing this.” Terry pointed to a second woman in a similar green elf costume. “That’s Lucinda. She’s got the Polaroid.”

“And ten boxes of film,” Lucinda added, positioning herself to Hutch’s right.

“I’ll go be DJ,” Starsky said, leaping off the stage. He lifted the needle on the record player and set it down on a vinyl pizza. The song Jingle Bells started up with a loud chord.

While Hutch was dressing, the place had filled up rapidly. Starsky had told him that Terry’s class were all fourteen through eighteen year olds, most with developmental delays, autism or Down Syndrome. There was a second class of high school aged kids with physical disabilities, many of them in wheelchairs accompanied by watchful teachers and aides. All were dressed in bright holiday colors, most wearing sweatshirts or turtlenecks adorned with holly and Santa Claus. The Christmas spirit suddenly seemed very present.

Hutch took a cleansing breath, telling himself to calm down.

The students headed straight for the snack tables, lining up to pile treats on their paper plates. The teachers herded their charges around, making sure they each got something to eat before sitting at the square tables around the perimeter of the auditorium.

“Look!” a blond haired girl with slightly tipped wide blue eyes and a round sweet face pointed up at Hutch. “Santa Claus came!”

“Can we talk to him?” a small black boy asked, clearly star struck. Moving awkwardly, he nearly dropped his plate of guacamole. The aide helping him walk had to make a quick grab for the falling chips.

Hutch looked out at the shining faces staring up at him in awe. “It’s my pleasure,” he whispered in Terry’s ear.

“Santa Claus came straight from the North Pole to hear what you’d like for Christmas!” Terry said, sitting on the edge of the stage with a grin at Starsky.

A tall thin boy with intense gray eyes came up close to the stage, staring at Hutch. He tapped his fingers against his left palm three times, paused and then repeated the pattern. Finally, he squinted and tapped the air near Hutch’s black boot three times. “Are you really Santa?”

With no family history of Santa to fall back on, Hutch had never known how to respond to those sorts of questions. His niece had asked him once and he’d started in on a long treatise on the miracle of Christmas until her eyes had glazed over. His sister had had to rescue him with a quick, “Eliza, this is Santa’s helper. Santa is up in his workshop making toys.”

So short and sweet was the way to go.

“I’m Santa’s helper,” Hutch responded. “Santa Claus is really busy.”

Bing Crosby’s version of Santa Claus is coming to Town followed Jingle Bells as if on cue for the conversation. Starsky was singing along, slightly out of tune, but then, he was stuffing an iced sugar cookie in his mouth.

“My mom says there’s no Santa,” the boy continued, tapping the air three times near Hutch’s boot but slightly closer this time.

“Larry!” an older woman wearing a dress printed with red and white candy canes put an arm around his shoulder. “Remember what we talked about?”

“Some kids don’t know that there’s no Santa,” Larry repeated dutifully, tapping his palm three times. “Can I have a cookie?”

“Right over there.” The woman directed him to the desserts.

“Form a line if you want to talk to Santa and get your picture taken!” Terry called, pointing to the left side of the stage. “Once everyone has a chance, we’ll play some games.”

“I can sing Silent Night!” a girl with curly red hair and snaggly teeth said proudly.

“I’ve heard you,” Terry said. “You know all the words.”

“Hutch!” Starsky hissed, “you’re supposed to make like St. Nick!”

“Ho, ho, ho!” Hutch chuckled, trying to sound like that was his normal laugh. He patted his padded belly as the students gathered at the foot of the stage.

Starsky kept the records spinning, encouraging a gaggle of students to dance. One of the aides corralled two errant boys, patiently guiding them back into line and away from the door of the auditorium.

Hutch marveled at the calm and patient way the adults dealt with the kids. He’d learned that each class had a special needs teacher and at least two aides so that the students all had plenty of help. The only special needs kid Hutch had ever known was Lisa Graham. She had surprising smarts despite her mental disability. He was well aware that these kids weren’t as helpless or stupid as the average public thought. And although he hadn’t spotted Lisa in the crowd, she did attend this school. If she saw him, would she break his cover?

“Ho, Ho, Ho,” he said, as loudly as he could over Nat King Cole singing Joy to the World. “Ready when you are, Elf Terry.”

Terry grabbed the hand of a girl with long, brown hair, and blue flowery dress “You’ve been standing there so nicely, Sally. You can go first.” She ushered the girl up the ramp to Hutch.

Sally looked intently at Hutch, clearly nervous.

“Hello, what’s your name?” He’d heard Terry call her Sally, but he wanted to sound friendly.

She halted a short way away from Hutch and grinned shyly, pleating her skirt between her thumb and forefinger. “Sally.”

“Do you have a special request, Sally?” Hutch asked, suddenly feeling light-hearted. This was going to be fun.

“Yeth,” Sally said, sweetly.

“Please,” Terry prompted from the side of the stage.

“Pleath,” she echoed, sitting on the bench to Hutch’s left.

“Have you been a good girl this year?” Hutch consciously tried to keep his voice deep and jovial.

Sally nodded, and reached over to stroke Hutch’s beard. “Soft.”

“I washed it this morning, especially for you.” Hutch grabbed her hand; he could feel the beard shifting on his face with every rub. “What would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

From the record player, Starsky gave Hutch thumbs up. Several of the kids were standing around, requesting songs from the stack of records beside him.

Apparently, Starsky was having them pay him in cookies. Hutch noted the Partridge Family Christmas album on the top and groaned. He’d heard that one before.

“An Osmond Brotherth album,” Sally said promptly, turning to look at the stack of presents under the slightly crooked Christmas tree.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he answered, not wanting to promise anything her parents might not buy. He and Sally smiled as Lucinda snapped a quick photo. “Elf Terry?”

“This is for you,” Terry said brightly, holding out a box wrapped in silver paper with a pink bow.

“I want the blue ribbon,” Sally declared, pointing to a different box.

“The blue ones are for the boys,” Terry said. “Pink ones are for girls.”

“Don’t like pink,” Sally said stubbornly.

Oh, God, please. Not the first one. Hutch didn’t think it would turn out well with the other kids if Santa’s first customer started crying.

Terry glanced at him over Sally’s shoulder and raised her eyebrows with an encouraging grin.

“It’s okay, Elf Terry.” Hutch nodded as if he even knew what was in the boxes. “She can have a blue one.”

Sally dropped the package and selected one with a bright blue bow. “Thank you,” she said politely, waving as she walked down the ramp.

“There are extras of each color,” Terry whispered in Hutch’s ear. “And they’re all are the same, t-shirts with the school logo on the front. Stops them arguing over who got the best present.”

She went to get the next teen before Hutch had the chance to ask why the volunteers had bothered using pink and blue bows if it didn’t matter which kid got which box.

He snorted into his beard as the Partridge Family sang a pop version of Winter Wonderland. He’d heard that song sixteen times in a single day when he and Starsky had to stake-out the mall on Thursday, watching for a gang of thieves known to hit jewelry stores. He and Starsky had arrested the trio trying to make off with six Yamamoto watches, but he’d never get the damned song out of his head ever. Damn Starsky!

Terry apparently liked it. She sang the first few bars, ushering the small black boy with the ungainly stride to Hutch.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently.

“You know my name.” The boy looked at him with a serious expression, all eyes and teeth. “You’re Santa.”

Hutch hadn’t expected that response. “That’s true,” he admitted, “but you know us old men, we’re forgetful.”

Terry waved her arms, mouthing something to him.

Hutch raised his eyebrows, trying to follow the shape of her mouth. John, Tom, Jim. What was she saying?

She made a sign language T with her thumb tucked under her first finger. She must have known he and Starsky had learned sign language last year when they investigated a case involving a mentally challenged deaf man who liked to steal candy bars.

“Tim?” Hutch guessed smoothly.

“Timmy was on my presents last year. I like Tim.” He looked Hutch in the eyes. “I’m big now. I like Tim.”

“Tim it is,” Hutch agreed. “What do you want for Christmas, Big Tim?”

“A car,” he said promptly. “A real car.”

“How old are you?” Hutch stroked his beard, actually trying to push it more firmly against his chin. He should have got some of that spirit gum to stick it to his face.

“I’ll be sixteen soon. I’m Big Tim.”

He was tiny for a fifteen year old. “I won’t be able to fit a real Mustang in my sleigh,” Hutch hedged. He shouldn’t promise anything, but a small suggestion wouldn’t hurt. “What about a Matchbox car?”

“A big one?” Tim pressed.

“How about this gift?” Terry asked brightly, thrusting a silver box with a blue ribbon in his hand. “I’ll bet Starsky will let you pick a song next.”

“I’ve got Beach Boys singing Little Saint Nick,” Starsky called, beckoning him.

Hutch was surprised to find that he liked talking to the students. Most of them had specific requests for gifts and he saw that Terry was taking notes, probably to tell their parents. They didn’t want anything different than a typical teen—and he found that oddly refreshing. These kids had such daily challenges but ultimately, they simply wanted to be like their friends: listening to the top forty hits on a portable radio, eating at McDonald’s, and wearing the popular pair of sneakers.

He hadn’t expected to have such a good time, but this was so different than his usual day chasing down criminals that he found himself relaxing and taking his time with the kids. Even the lousy Christmas music faded into the background as he chatted with each boy or girl. It had been such a long time since he felt inspired by Christmas—and the one day stake-out in Bay City Mall had convinced him that ninety percent of the local citizens only cared about overtly conspicuous consumption. They gave extravagant gifts for Christmas and then ignored their fellow man for the other eleven months of the year. That sort of euphoric sentimentalism reminded him of his ex-wife Van. She’d always demanded the most expensive clothes, restaurants, and cars even when he’d been a rookie on the force and couldn’t afford such excess. She’d been too well aware that he had a trust fund and had wanted to empty the account for her own needs. He’d aspired to living on his own meager income without going to the family for a hand-out. No wonder they’d gotten a divorce.

He spotted Lisa Graham standing in line, second to last. She had a red headband in her white blond hair and earrings shaped like Christmas trees.

“Lisa!” Hutch exclaimed before she could rat him out. “You look so festive. What would you like this year?”

Lisa narrowed her eyes, peering at him. “Hu–?” she asked cautiously, turning toward Starsky. “He looks like…”

Both Starsky and Terry put their fingers to their lips. The last girl in the line looked on curiously.

“Tell Ol’Santy Claus what you wished for, Lisa,” Starsky encouraged.

“I got a dog for my birthday,” she said, giggling at the deception. “His name is Fred. Fred’s cold, he wants a red sweater. And I want one to match.”

“You and Fred will match!” Hutch said joyfully. “I’ll put that on my list.” Easy enough to phone Lisa’s mother, a good friend to Hutch and Starsky, to tell her—although he suspected she already knew.

“Will you come to my house on Christmas?” Lisa asked shrewdly.

“I certainly will!” Hutch promised. One he would keep. He and Starsky had been dropping by the Graham house every few months ever since Detective Sargent Bill Graham was shot down in the line of duty at a robbery.

“Thanks, Santa,” Lisa emphasized the name, grinning broadly.

She knew who he was, and that was just fine. Being Santa had stirred something deep inside Hutch—the spirit of the holiday. No matter how many people overspent, yelled at their co-workers or stressed about finding the right gift, there was always a small pocket of love to be found. These kids at the Marshall Center had it in spades.

“Last one, Santa. This is Delilah,” Terry announced. She’d started telling him each name in advance. She obviously didn’t want a repeat of the Timmy incident.

Delilah had black braids all over her head, adorned with colorful plastic barrettes. She also wore metal braces on both legs and walked with Canadian crutches. It took her several minutes to get up the short ramp to Santa’s grotto, but she did it by herself. The aide standing next to Terry watched serenely, even though Hutch had his heart in his throat the whole time, afraid Delilah would tumble and be unable to get back up.

Hutch plastered on his jolly face one more time. His cheek and jaw muscles were tender from all the smiling. “Hello, Delilah, and what can Santa do for a pretty lady this Christmas?”

Delilah studied him, purposely placing the toes of her shoes almost against Hutch’s boots. “You’re not the real Santa,” she said with regal authority.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, playing for time. This was a little different than Larry who was convinced there was no Santa. This would take more finesse.

Starsky eyed him with a smirk and dropped the needle on a record. Up on the Rooftop blared from the speakers a moment later. Another song Hutch wasn’t particularly fond of.

Clearly amused, Terry had her lips pressed together to stop herself from laughing.

“Santa has white hair, and he’s older than you.” Delilah leaned on a crutch and pointed to a lock of Hutch’s hair that must have escaped from his hat. “You have a wig.”

“Oops.” Hutch chuckled, tucking it back under. “Ho, ho, ho. You’re clever to spot the difference. I’m Santa’s helper. The real guy is busy making the presents he delivers to all the good girls and boys. He asked me to do him a favor and come to see his friends here, because he didn’t have the time to do it himself this year.”

Delilah shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway,” she said, apparently satisfied with his answer. “But I never get what I ask for. Mom says there’s no money for shit like that.”

“Delilah!” Terry hissed. “Language.”

“It’s all right,” Hutch waved Terry and the young aide away, focusing on the girl beside him. Delilah hadn’t sat down, he assumed because she might need help with the metal knee joints on her braces. He put his hands out touch hers resting on the crutches. “Tell me what’s happening at home.”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she said, glancing back at her aide.

“I’m tight with Santa,” Hutch whispered, not wanting to get the other two women involved. “I won’t tell anyone but him.”

She studied her sturdy oxfords for a moment. “My dad got arrested,” Delilah said softly, her brown eyes filling with tears. “And mom has to work all day so we can eat, but it ain’t enough. So I stay here until she picks me up and…” She was fighting the pain as valiantly as a fourteen year old could but it had to come out somewhere. “Santa, I know you’re not real but we ain’t got enough to pay the rent…”

Hutch would help her, no matter what. This is why he’d put on the red suit and scratchy beard today. “Delilah, do you believe good things can happen?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, defeated.

“Well, I do,” he assured her. “There’ll always be hardship in life, but there’s powerful love, too. Your mom is doing the best she can. Santa Claus will come through. Can you believe that?”

Delilah took a deep, shuddery breath. “I want to.”

“You’re so strong, but we all need a little help, right?” Hutch stood and put his arms around her, holding her tightly. This was what Christmas was about. Connecting to people, reaching out and finding a reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other. “Merry Christmas, princess.”

“Thank you, Santa,” Delilah said with a watery smile. She waggled her fingers at Hutch, still looking at him. “All I really want is to pay the rent to help my mom.”

The bright light from the Polaroid flash brought Hutch back to the auditorium as Lucinda clicked an instant photo.

“Merry Christmas.” Terry guided Delilah toward the ramp, handing a box with a pink bow to the aide. “Ken, what did you tell her?” Terry whispered. “I couldn’t hear with all the music and the kids playing holiday trivia over there.”

“What’s her last name?” Hutch asked, ready to peel off his costume. His skin was dripping with sweat under the red velvet.

“Morgan,” Terry replied.

“She wants Santa to pay her rent so her mom will have money for food.” He rubbed his forehead, recalling the sumptuous Christmas dinners he’d enjoyed as a kid. Never thinking once of people less fortunate.

Terry sighed, nodding. The bells on her cap jingled merrily in spite of the serious conversation. “Delilah’s here on scholarship because of her family situation. But Marshall Center doesn’t have funds to help with something like that.”

“I do,” Hutch said firmly. “Let me take care of it.” He glanced around, observing the people in room. There were no high priced gifts, no one wore the most expensive clothes, and most of the students would probably never hold down a job. Yet he heard laughter and joy from every corner.

Sitting in the throne again, Hutch dropped his head to his chest, exhaled, and stretched his legs out in front of him. The Hutchinson family had a trust for needy charities and he’d just identified a really worthy cause.

He even found himself humming along with Bobby Sherman singing Beethoven’s Song of Joy. That was Christmas music he could get into.

“My turn,” said a familiar voice.

Hutch gazed into his partner’s smiling face. “Seriously?” he asked Starsky.

“Yep. I want a present, too,” Starsky insisted.

Starsky sat heavily on Hutch’s leg, wiggling his butt on Hutch’s bony knee.

“Hey!” Hutch protested. “Everyone else sat on the bench.”

“You’re not at all like the Santa at Bay City Mall.” Starsky stood up, smirking.

“Good thing,” Hutch muttered. Starsky was not going to spoil his mood now. “What would you like for Christmas, young man?” he said loudly so that the few stragglers still watching Santa could hear.

“I want a reindeer,” Starsky said, winking at Hutch.

Hutch frowned under his fur brimmed hat. Damn, trust Starsky to wind him up when he couldn’t retaliate. “I’m sorry, son. Only Santa is allowed to keep reindeers. They don’t make good pets. They’re working animals.”

“Rudolph!” Sally cried happily, munching on corn chips. “I know all their names.”

“Dasher, Dancer, Dopey…” Tim listed, tapping his finger with each name.

“Dopey’s a dwarf,” Lisa corrected. “You know, Snow White’s friend.”

“You all should be playing trivia,” Terry urged. “You would win with answers like that.” She sent them toward the group in the opposite corner.

“I want a reindeer,” Starsky repeated. Mischief twinkled in his indigo eyes.

Terry smiled and crowded onto the bench beside Starsky, grabbing his arm. “I think that Santa needs to rest.” She pulled him to a stand. “Dance with me, Dave.”

Hutch nodded gratefully, surprised at how tired he was despite the deep satisfaction in his heart. Gathering his clothes, he changed back into his alter ego, mild mannered Ken Hutchinson. He hadn’t wanted to be Santa but he’d hold this special afternoon inside for a long time. This had given him more gifts than he’d ever expected to receive.

Starsky and Terry were waltzing around to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing O Holy Night when he walked back into the hall.

“Hi, Hutch!” Lisa greeted. “Did you come late.” She giggled at her joke. “My mom made the Mexican Wedding cake cookies.”

“Then I’ll have one of those first.” He was starving and hadn’t really realized it. Hutch filled a plate with guacamole and chips plus one of the white, sugary pecan cookies, to please Lisa.

Leaning against the wall, he drank a cup of sparkling cider and watched Starsky and Terry holding each other, their love glowing like a neon sign. He was happy for him—missed hanging out with his partner when Starsky wanted to spend time with Terry, but he would not have deprived Starsky of happiness for all the toys at the North Pole.

Starsky and Terry finished their dance and walked over to Hutch, hand in hand.

“You all right, buddy?” Starsky snagged an iced sugar cookie, eating in two bites.

Hutch estimated that Starsky had eaten his weight in cookies in the last hour. Yet, there were still many left on the plate. He saw Delilah tuck a couple in a napkin printed with Santa’s face and slip them into her pocket. Good for her.

“I kinda feel bad about guilt tripping you into playing Santa for us tonight,” Starsky said.

“I’m glad you did.” Hutch surveyed the room. “This is what I call Christmas spirit. Taking pleasure from the simple things in life.” He could still feel the warm buzz being Santa had provided. He was actually having fun in the days before Christmas.

“I can’t thank you enough, Ken,” Terry said, kissing him delicately on the cheek. “You saved the party. They loved you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hutch hugged them both. “I already have plans in mind for Delilah. I’d love to spend more time with the youngsters.”

“Funny you should say that.” Terry looked incredibly coy. “We were thinking of starting a Saturday morning club; doing basketball, indoor activities, walks, and other stuff. We need all the help and ideas that we can get. Dave said he’ll be around on his Saturdays off.”

Hutch snickered. “I really walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“You sure did, pal.” Starsky boogied around Hutch. “Told you he’d be up for it, schweetheart.”

“Count me in,” Hutch said to Terry. He swatted his partner out of the way. Walking over to Sally, Hutch held out his hand. “Would you like to dance, little lady?”

“Yeth, pleath,” she said sweetly, taking his hand to lead him into the center of the room.

Fin