The Elf and the Prince (Prequel to Ringo, Son of Santa)

Ringo Claus here. You may not know me, but my pop is Santa. I trust you've heard of him.

I recently told the tale of how I came to marry the most beautiful elf in all of North Pole in spite of my father's vigorous objections. I went on to let you know how Santa came to broaden his views a bit after he held my son, Bono, on Christmas Day. Marrying Callista turned out to be not only the best decision I ever made, but also the catalyst that spurred Santa to make life better for every elf in North Pole.

But in hindsight, it seems I neglected to mention how I came to meet my beautiful wife. That too is a story worth telling. Thinking back on the life I lived as a single prince with no real sense of responsibility or accountability to anyone, it's amazing to see how far I've come in so short a time. Callista didn't change me and never tried to. But I changed myself because of her. She makes me want to be the best man I can be. It's the only way I can feel worthy to have her by my side.


I met her at a bar, not a very romantic place to meet the love of your life, but that's how it happened. She was performing that night and the place was packed almost to capacity. I didn't come to the bar alone. Four friends came with me, including Vic. He's my best buddy. He noticed her before I did.

"Hey dude, check out the hot elf with the voice!" he said. We had a clear view of her singing her heart out, even from the very back of the place because, being the only non-elves patronizing the joint, we stood about a foot taller than anyone else.

I gave her a cursory glance.

"Oh yeah," I said to Vic. "She's hot." But I hadn't really noticed her yet. There were too many other sizzling little numbers in attendance to be focusing on one just yet. I hadn't come to Elf Rest that night looking for love. I came to party. Judging from the raucous crowd of young elves around me, I held those intentions in common with most. But the moment my friends and I entered the bar, a hundred pairs of little eyes bore into me and the place seemed to hold its collective breath, waiting to see if I was friend or foe. Being a prince carries with it a certain celebrity and I was used to the attention, but here the looks held a degree of hostility that was more than a little uncomfortable.

I understood their apprehension. Elves were not supposed to party like this, at least not without expressed permission and supervision from their overseers, and there were certainly no overseers in sight in this place.

I sensed a pause in the festivities as they waited to see if my presence would bring their revelry to a crashing halt. But of course, I had no such intentions.

I was moved to let them know.

"By Santa's moldy, black boots!" I exclaimed at the top of my lungs to be heard over the sublime voice of my future wife. "Elves know how to freakin' paaarty!" I punctuated my words by raising my arms in the air, showing off the baggie full of fairy dust in my right hand and the fifth of Rudolph's Red-Nosed Rum grasped in the other. I had already partaken liberally of both that night and had no plans of ceasing my consumption of either any time soon.

My exuberance satisfied the good patrons of Elf Rest and the party rolled on without further delay. Shortly, I was having a blast, mostly because I knew there wasn't another thing that would have irritated my father more than this.

Eventually, becoming intoxicated enough to attempt to dance, I stumbled out to the dance floor, aiming to make the acquaintance of a cute little elfin chick with a miniskirt that was far too tight and plenty short as well. The gyrating strobe lights reflecting off the floor only added to my inebriated state as I began to dance and romance her. No thought of rejection crossed my mind. I was the crown prince of North Pole after all. Any elf should have been ecstatic to earn a moment's attention from the likes of me.

But as soon as I made eye contact with this elfin vixen, she shot me a look that was downright hateful.

"Get away from me you arrogant clod," she said. "You make me want to puke."

Her words both shocked and sobered me.

'Who in the name of Saint Nick did this girl think she was?' I asked myself.

I was Ringo Claus, heir apparent and she was a lowly elf. I could have her whole family thrown out the North Pole gates into the slums of New Elf City with a single word to my father. She had no right to insult me.

But in another moment, my anger passed. She was right. I had come on to her like a boorish drunk and her actions were totally understandable. She was correct to accuse me of arrogance. But a clod? That was the insult that stung! Finally, I shrugged and took another sip of rum, allowing the spirit of the party to seep back into me.

Smiling my winningest smile as she glared at me, I said, "Sorry, I was just admiring your beauty and couldn't help myself."

Her glower softened a bit, but didn't leave her face. "Well go admire someone else's beauty, ok? You aren't my type." Then she turned her back to me and lost herself in the music.

It was only after giving up on scamming for eligible elfin females for a moment that I allowed myself to really hear the music. It wasn't until then that I truly noticed the band's lead singer.

She sang with the sweetness of a child and the power of a sledgehammer. Her voice was a mighty instrument.

I don't remember the words of the song, but it certainly wasn't some corny Christmas carol ditty. It had a hard edge to it and coming from her mouth, it pierced my soul like a bullet. This girl was feeling what she sang. It had something to do with living a hard life without much hope of it ever getting better and being angry about it. I had never known that kind of music existed in the North Pole before that night.

Fascinated, I really looked at the woman singing for the first time. She was on the stage holding the microphone to her lips and belting out the song with her eyes shut so tight it must have been painful. I knew she didn't see the throng of writhing adolescent elves moving to her music right below her. I knew she didn't really sing for them. She was lost in her own voice. Nothing else existed for her. My heart skipped a beat as I stared at her and tears no doubt helped along by the dust and the rum spilled from my eyes.

In spite of my liberal views, possibly inspired more by rebellion against my father than my true feelings, I had always viewed elves with an unconscious contempt. I had come to this party with aspirations of wowing one of these fine elfin females and taking her to my pad for some fun, but would never have dreamed of anything more. Elves were quasi-people in my mind. It wasn't fair, but that's how it was. Upbringing is a hard reindeer to buck.

But this was one elf that seemed to belong in her own category. Besides being the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, elf or otherwise, there was something in the way she carried herself. She had a presence and a dignity that was familiar to me. After a moment's thought I knew why. It was the same dignity and presence that Mom possessed. Pop could be a demanding, overbearing blowhard quite often, but a stern look from Mom could tame him in a moment. Pop intimidated nearly everyone he came into contact with, but Mom would have none of it. Many nights he'd come home roaring about something that didn't go right at the office and ranting about this and that, but she would stop him in his tracks with a few pointed words and in no time, he'd be jolly as you please, eating his dinner as mild as a kitten, and even ho-ho-ho-ing a bit with the gathered company.

This elf carried herself like Mom. That's why I had to meet her.

She didn't open her eyes until the last song of her set was done and it was all I could do to take my eyes off of hers. I must have been quite conspicuous, towering over the dancing elves around me, but hardly dancing myself. I'm not much of a dancer anyway and wanted to hear the music more than move to it. She must have felt me looking at her because when she did finish, she looked my way. There was a look of unmistakable recognition and then she announced she was taking a break. It did not escape me that she hadn't looked entirely pleased to find me in attendance. But this was a woman I had to know.

I told my friend, Vic, as much too.

"Oh dude, Ringo," he said, upon hearing my intentions. "I wouldn't if I were you, man. They say that chick's a hard nut to crack. She don't talk to nobody. Tells dudes she's married to her music and they'd best leave her alone. Folks say her daddy was taken out past the gate some years back and he's the one who organized all the reject elves into New Elf City. People say he's crazy. Talks about the elves risin' up and havin' a revolution. She's 'bout as bad, if what she's singin' is any indication. Nah, Ringo, I wouldn't mess with her. She's bad news."

"Is that right?" I said, intrigued. "Stay here and don't worry if I'm not back soon."
I handed him my cup of rum and the fairy dust baggie and left him.

"Where you goin'?" he yelled. But I ignored him.


I went out the back door of the club and spied her talking to her drummer. The drummer was a diminutive elf so green-skinned he might have been a leprechaun. He was obviously wasted, his eyes glazed and his face slack. He listened to Callista rant about something with half a pointed ear and a miserable expression. Seeing her mood, I paused, not wanting to be rudely rebuffed twice in one night, especially by a woman of such obvious quality.

"Gerns!" I heard her say. "Why do you insist on using that garbage? Don't you know nothing good is ever going to come from it?"

"How would you know?" he replied. "I bet you've never touched the stuff."

"No, I haven't. Because I'm not stupid!"

"You're calling me stupid now?" There was more hurt than anger in the question.

"No, Gerns," she replied in a softer tone. "I don't think you're stupid. But using that dust is bad judgment. It might make you feel good for a little while, but in the end it will just bring pain to you and everyone you love."

"Yeah, well, I don't how else to escape."

"Escape in the music," she answered. "That's what I do. Now let me see that baggie."

Reluctantly, Gerns handed it over. She poured out the contents and spread it all over the peanut-brittle alleyway with her feet. Gerns watched with a forlorn expression.

Then, for some reason, she turned towards my hiding place around the corner of the building.

"Gerns, who's that hiding around the corner?" she said, with an note of alarm in her voice.

"What?" he said. "I don't see anyone."

She came to investigate. Embarrassed to be caught scrounging about like a thief, I tried to strike a suave pose as she approached, glad I'd left my bag of dust and bottle of rum with Vic. She stopped in her tracks when she saw me, her eyes narrow with suspicion. I leaned against the wall on one arm and smirked at her. I rubbed my fingers through my thick, black hair and tried my best woman wooing smile.

"Hey there, sweetie," I said. "Just came out here a minute to cool off. It's hot in there, you know it? I have to tell you. I never heard a set of pipes like yours in all my life."

"What are you doing here?" she asked in an accusing voice, ignoring my flirty tone. "Were you spying on me?"

I winked, not put off quite yet, thinking maybe she was just playing hard to get.

"Spying on you? Baby, I don't need to spy. I prefer the direct approach. What say you skip the rest of this gig and I'll take you out and show you around. I take it you know me?"

"Yeah, I know you, Ringo Claus. But I don't know what you're doing here. This party was for invited guests only. Somehow I doubt your name was on the list."

"Well, you could be right," I admitted. "But royalty has its privileges you know? Being the son of Santa tends to get me where I want to go."

"I bet it does," she said, disgusted. "Well why don't you take your royal highness elsewhere and let us have our party in peace?"

"But I don't want to go anywhere else. You're at this party and I want to be where I can hear you sing."

"Is that right?" she said, still holding the look of distaste. But I could tell my compliment had softened her the slightest bit.

"Besides, you elves know how to throw a party! It's totally wild in there! I don't want to leave. I want to stay all night."

"You ought to leave," she said. "Find your own party. All these hard-working elves have to take abuse from your kind all day and they want a break from it at night. Can't you understand that?"

"But I'm not like them. I feel your pain and the pain of your people. I want to help change things."

"Sure you do," she said. "Do you try that line on every elf you want to sleep with?"

"It's not a line. I mean it."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm going in to finish my set. If you come back in, I'll call you out in front of everyone. I can have every elf in that bar tear you to pieces if I want. So I suggest you and your lame little entourage find somewhere else to get high and drunk and leave us alone!"

I stared back at her, more than a little intimidated, I'm not ashamed to say, and struggled for a clever come-back. But nothing came to mind.

"Ok," I said, finally. "No problem. I'll just go in and get my friends and we'll go. But I want you to know. You really do have the most amazing voice I've ever heard and you're beautiful too."

"Beautiful for an elf, you mean," she said.

"No," I answered, exasperated. "You're beautiful for a woman."

She said nothing back for a moment, but only stared at me, searching my face for any sign of insincerity. Then the faintest ghost of a smile flitted across her face before she turned her back to me.

"Get your friends and get out," she said.

So I did.

They found another party, but I walked home and went to bed. Her voice and face lingered in my mind deep into the night and it was nearly morning before I realized I didn't even know her name.

Nearly a month passed before I saw her again.

Pop was always on my case to take my duties as a Prince more seriously. He called me at my pad late in the evening to tell me he wanted me to spend the following day walking through the toy-making factories to check conditions and to speak to the elves and overseers. He sensed morale among the elves had been quite low in recent days and wanted me to see what could be done to boost it.

I had planned a day of ice fishing and drinking Blitzen Beer with my buddies and was more than a little miffed Pop felt he had the right to change my plans on such short notice.

"I'm a grown man," I protested "Why do you still think you can tell me what to do?"

"Because I'm your pop," he answered. "I'll see you in the doll-making section of Donner Building at 0700 sharp and don't be late!" He hung up before I could argue.

'To hell with that old man!' I told myself. 'I'll do what I want and there's not a damn thing he can do about it!'

Then I set my alarm for 6 a.m. and went to sleep. The next morning at 0700, I found myself walking through the entrance of the Donner building, bleary-eyed and irritated to be incapable of disobeying my father.

Pop was waiting on me. "Glad you could make it, son!" he said. "Now go up there and see the overseer in the doll-making department. I hear there's some kind of situation going on. I've got to go feed the reindeer."

"Sure, Pop," I said without enthusiasm. I made my way to the elevator and punched the button for the tenth floor, still lamenting my lost sleep. Usually, I slept until nearly noon.

I stepped off the elevator and immediately heard the harsh voice of an overseer coming from a room near the end of the hallway.

"Three dolls?" he yelled. "A month of working twelve hours a day and all you have to show for yourself is three lousy dolls?"

I heard a muffled voice in reply and then the overseer started up again, more angry than before.

"Well I'll tell you what, Miss Fleecelace! Let me show you what I think of your art!" He spoke the word with a sneer as if art was a despicable concept. I rushed down the hall to see what was going on, passing the heads of curious elves poking their heads out of their workspaces along the way.

Reaching the doorway, I saw the backside of a large heavy-set overseer carrying three dolls towards the window. The elf he had been berating sobbed in a corner with her head buried between her knees. The window was open and the overseer tossed one of the dolls out of it. This action brought the elf to life.

"Give me those two dolls," she said. "I don't care if you have me banished to New Elf City. I won't allow you to destroy another one."

She stood and I saw her face clearly before she charged him. I gasped in recognition. It was her: the singer I had been so smitten with that night at Elf Rest. The overseer was a big man, but he had to struggle with this hellcat who had pounced on him. He managed to toss another one of the dolls through the window, but she was able to jerk the final one from his grasp. With a cry of triumph, she made to flee out the door.

She might have made it if I hadn't been standing there. She never saw me until her face struck me right in the chest with enough force to nearly knock me over.

The overseer was on her in an instant trying to jerk the doll from her grasp. He ignored my presence completely until I spoke.

"Hey!" I said "What's all this about?"

"Who the Scrooge are you?" the overseer said, still struggling to wrest the doll from the girl's grasp. She held on with a death-grip, cursing him all the while.

"Leave me alone, you fat, smelly yak!" she said.

"I'm Ringo Claus!" I bellowed. "Now both of you cease this nonsense and tell me what's going on!"

The overseer finally recognized me and immediately let the girl go. He stood up, red-faced with shame. I looked down at the girl and saw a look of recognition in her eyes. She wrapped her arms tight around the doll, meaning to protect it as if it were a real child.

"I'm sorry, Sir," the overseer said. "I didn't know it was you at first. I'm Mr. Selly Lorgo, Doll-Division Manager-in-Chief."

He extended his hand, which I shook without enthusiasm.

I made no reply, but waited for him to offer an explanation. After a few moments of awkward fidgeting, he did.

"Well, Mr. Claus, you see, this employee, Miss Fleecelace, has a quota to create sixty dolls every month. But this morning I discovered she's made only three. Three dolls, Mr. Claus! In an entire month's work! I tell her she's fired and demote her to the candy cane production shop and she has the nerve to say she'll be glad to not have to work for a slime like me anyway and that I have no appreciation for art. She has the gall to inform me that her three dolls are more valuable than a thousand of the dolls made at this factory. That's when I'm sorry to say I lost it a bit, Mr. Claus. I take doll-making very seriously and also take pride in my workers meeting their quota every month, and this elf's insults and disrespect just got to me. I'm sure you understand, right, Mr. Claus."

I didn't answer him, but spoke to Miss Fleecelace instead.

"What's your first name, Miss Fleeclace?"

"Callista," she said with a tinge of defiance.

"May I see the doll?" I asked. "I promise not to harm it or give it to Mr. Lorgo here."
She hesitated, looking at me with the expression of a cornered wild animal. Apparently finding the look of truth in my eyes, she offered her prize to me.

For a moment, I was convinced she had been holding a real baby after all. Its features and shape were incredibly delicate and lifelike. Even when I held it in my hands, the illusion persisted. Its ears were a bit pointier than normal, its hands and feet appeared smaller than the average baby, and its skin was a tint of pale green, but every detail of the doll had obviously been painstakingly crafted. Then the reason for its greenish skin and smallish hands became clear to me. The doll was not meant to resemble a baby human, but a baby elf.

The feel of its skin, the fineness of its hair, even the gentle expression upon its face spoke of the love, the brilliance, and mastery with which it had been created. Knowing that Mr. Lorgo had so callously tossed two other such amazing works of art out the window made me hate him.

"May I see an example of the average doll your factory produces, Mr. Lorgo?"

"Certainly," he said. He walked next door and returned with a plastic, generic-looking doll that was functional enough, but only a doll and nothing more. It had no soul or animation. It was a toy. Callista's creation, in contrast, inspired wonder.

"Mr. Lorgo," I said. "It appears to me that you are not properly utilizing Mrs. Fleecelace's talents. Can you not see the artistry of the dolls she has made?"

"But Mr. Claus," Lorgo replied, frustrated. "This factory is not concerned with art. We are concerned with production. Your father will fire me if I don't meet the quota he has set. Mrs. Fleecelace has displayed defiance and disrespect since the day she began working here and I'm not going to tolerate it for another day."

Mr. Lorgo was becoming angry again. His face was as red as my father's famous suit and he was maintaining his self-control only through a monumental effort. I was tempted to inform of his blindness and idiocy, but knew that would only make matters worse. Diplomacy was what was needed.

"Mr. Lorgo, I will suspend Mrs. Fleeclace for the day and speak to my father about having her reassigned. But just as a word of advice, I would encourage you to take into account the quality of your employees' work as well as their quantity.

Mr. Lorgo recognized this statement as the rebuke it was and opened his mouth to tell me what he thought of it, but then reconsidered, probably thinking that making rash remarks to Santa's son might hurt his standing with my father.

Without another glance at the oafish overseer, I took Callista's hand and left the building with her. She didn't speak on our way out and her beautiful face was impossible to read. Once we were out of sight, she jerked her hand away from me and gave me a defiant glare.

"Don't think doing that for me is going to win you any favors," she said.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I replied. "But it will require you to have a cup of coffee and a conversation with me."

"Is that right...? Well, I guess it's the least I can do. Thanks, by the way. You might be a nicer guy than I had you pegged for at first."

"Well...I just try to do what's right."


Fifteen minutes later, we sat across from one another at a booth in Charlie's Cocoa Café, or The Triple C, as it was more commonly known. It was a cozy little coffee shop I frequented quite often. Charlie, the owner, was a good fellow, and a friend of mine. I informed Callista they served the best joe in town. She said she already knew that, and that she could use a big hot mug of some right about now. She kept her doll close beside her, but no longer seemed to fear I might snatch it from her at any instant. She had relaxed considerably.

Now, it was my turn to be nervous. Though I fancied myself a ladies' man, Callista was by far the most beautiful and interesting woman I had ever held aspirations for and now my false air of confident bravado seemed to be deserting me.

Her opinion of me seemed to have improved, but she wasn't ready to see me as the man of her dreams quite yet.

"You don't make sense, Ringo," she said. "You tell me you always try to do what's right, yet you spend half your time drinking and snorting fairy dust. How's that doing what's right? Seems to me, that's doing what feels good without any thought to what's right?"

"Well...," I answered a little taken aback. "I don't see how it's hurting anybody. I'm just having fun."

"But you're being immature, Ringo. You're a Prince. That's not just a title. There's a responsibility that goes along with it. You should live in a way that makes people feel proud to be a citizen of North Pole. You and your father are symbols of this place. If we see you at a party, drunk and stoned, we assume the worst. We take it as a sign North Pole itself is in serious decline."

"You sound like my father," I told her.

"Well, your father is probably a wise man."

"No, he's not," I answered, irritated. "He'd have a heart attack if he knew I was here sitting with you right now just because you're an elf. If it had been him instead of me who came to the doll factory today, you might have been exiled instead of just reassigned. I don't know if he would have cared any more than your overseer about how beautiful of a doll you can make."

"So, the fact that your father's attitudes are unenlightened and antiquated gives you the right to live like an overgrown teenager, doing nothing more substantial than picking up women, drinking and smoking your whole life?"

Now, I was beyond irritated and completely exasperated. "Listen, condemn me if you want, but the fact is I came to your rescue today like a knight in shining armor, and now all you're doing to thank me is telling me what a lousy kind of guy I am. Why do you have to be so harsh? Why can't we just sit here and enjoy our coffee and talk about the weather or something?"

She opened her mouth to shoot something back, probably to tell me what a favor she was doing me by letting me know what a flawed, foolish human being I was, but then she stopped herself, and seemed to really consider my last words. Her face softened and she grinned at me.

"It was nice out today, you know?" she said. "Not a cloud in the sky and not too hot or too cold."

"You know my dad makes the weather however he wants it, don't you?"

"Yeah, well he did good today."

"I guess he did."

Then, we took simultaneous swallows of our respective drinks and regarded each other, waiting to see who would make the next move in our verbal sparring match.

Suddenly, we both laughed at once. After it subsided, we drank our coffee silently, but it was somehow a very comfortable silence.

"I'm almost done," she finally said.

I had half a swallow left that I'd delayed drinking for the last ten minutes. When it was gone, I feared I'd have no excuse to keep her here.

"I am, too," I confessed.

She drank the last of hers and sat her cup back down with a flourish. I drank the lukewarm remnants of mine and followed suit.

"Time for me to get home," she announced.

"Okay," I agreed, reluctantly.

We went outside and lingered for just a moment beyond the door. I tried to think of something witty to say, but nothing came to mind. Then, she did the last thing I would have expected. She lifted herself on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. My face blushed scarlet.

"I'm singing at Elf Rest again Saturday night," she said.

"Okay," I answered. Then, she turned her back to me and walked away.

I left The Triple C in a daze, trying to will the feel of her kiss to stay on my cheek.

The next four days passed in agonizing slowness as I waited to see her again.

The following morning, I visited my father at work. A plaque on his office door unnecessarily read: S. Claus. Everyone knew whose it was. The office was a plain, sparsely furnished space with hardwood floors and a huge mahogany desk. The only picture in the room was a framed one of him and Mom taken only a few weeks after their wedding back in 1930. Below the plaque was a reminder that there were only 125 days left until Christmas Eve, the day all the millions of toys created in North Pole were distributed in one madhouse of a night. Pop was wearing his omnipresent overalls over his sleeveless t-shirt, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to the fact that this outfit accentuated his pot-belly to the utmost. He wore spectacles and was concentrating intently on an invoice of some sort when I entered.

He didn't look up even after I'd closed the door behind me. I started to say something but he beat me to the punch.

"Heard you handled that problem over in the doll department yesterday."

"Yeah, I handled it," I said, unsure of Pop's opinion on the matter.

"Mr. Lorgo informed me he thinks you've got some growing up to do."

"Is that right?" I said, getting defensive. "Well you can tell Mr. Lorgo to..."

"You did well, Son," he interrupted. "I reassigned Miss Fleecelace to a specialty shop after Lorgo showed me one of the dolls he tossed out the window. It was a little ragged after the fall, but the fine workmanship was obvious."

I felt absurdly proud of myself, hearing Pop say I'd done well, and his recognition of Callista's talent boosted me even more.

"I'll save those dolls for the extra good children. It's been many a Christmas Eve since I've seen a doll as finely crafted as those two. She's a talented little elf, even if she is more than a little sassy, according to Lorgo's account. That Lorgo's a bull-headed one, but he's got his place I suppose. Production. That's all he thinks about. The man's got a one-track mind, but sometimes that's what you need in this business."

"Lorgo's dumber than a melted snowman if you ask me," I said.

"Probably so," Pop said, seeming to lose interest in the subject. "Well, find something productive to do with your time today, son."

"Yeah, Pop, I think I can do that."

"Good to hear it," he answered, turning his attention back to the invoice.

I started to leave his office and then inspiration struck.

"Pop, would you mind if I took those two dolls with me? I'd like to take them to that little sassy elf so she can repair them. She'd probably be happy to have them back."

"Oh...sure, Son."

He walked over to a file cabinet in the corner, retrieved the dolls, and handed them over. It was like he said. They were a little unraveled and disheveled, but I had a hunch Callista could make them good as new without breaking a sweat.

I left his office, took the dolls back to my apartment, and deposited them deep in the confines of my closet. It wouldn't do for a buddy of mine to find them lying about somewhere.

Pop had told me to do something productive with my day and I figured fishing and drinking a Blitzen or two was as fine a way to spend a day as any, so I grabbed my fishing pole and a six-pack and walked down to Lake Navidad. I wasn't surprised to find my buddies, Vic and Treyn there already, with half-empty Blitzen cans sitting beside them.

"Catch anything yet?" I said, coming up behind them.

"Not a thing," Vic said. "What are you doing here? I thought your pop was trying to instill a work ethic in you these days."

"I already got a work ethic, man. I came down here to work on some beer with you guys."

Treyn and Vic laughed a little at that. They were about the only two guys I knew who didn't try to kowtow to me because of who my pop was. I appreciated that about them more than they could know.

"What you fellas doin' Saturday night?" Treyn asked after a minute.

"I ain't decided yet," Vic said. "Might head to that elf bar again. That little girl singing was pretty tough. She's fine to look at and a killer voice too. What about you, Ringo? You thinking about giving her another shot?"

"Thinking about it," I said. "To tell the truth I've got a game plan this time. Only thing about it is, it doesn't include you guys. It has to be a solo operation."

"It's like that is it?" Vic said, a little miffed. "Well you do what you got to do, my man. Me and Treyn here'll find some other doe-eyed things to chase."

"You betcha' all the toys in Big Foot's stocking," Treyn said.

We all chuckled at that.

A long silence ensued and we stayed at the lake until the beer was gone and the sun was low, and left not at all disappointed we hadn't caught a single fish between the three of us.


Time dragged on until Saturday finally came.

I got to Elf Rest a full hour before Callista was scheduled to start, wanting to arrive before the crowd to avoid the grand entrance of my earlier visit. Everyone knew who I was, but my cap was pulled low over my eyes anyway. I sat at the bar against the wall, sipping sodas and keeping quiet. A bag with two important items was stowed beneath my bar stool. Every now and then, I tapped it with my foot just to make sure it hadn't disappeared.

By the time, Callista and her band came on stage, the club was packed, and from my seat, I could barely make out the top of her beautiful head over the crowd.

I was tempted to stand up so I could see her, but preferred to hold onto my anonymity as long as possible.

She started off with a thrashing rock number that turned the crowd to a frenzy. I prefer my music a little more mellow as a rule, but she was such a performer and her voice was so sublime, I found myself caught up in the energy of it as much as anyone.

She followed the rock number with a pop song with a snappy beat and an irresistible hook. Something about kissin' a boy beneath the moon, talkin' and huggin' and makin' eyes 'till noon. Bubblegum dribble that was somehow a hit song on Earth, I understood, but out of Callista's mouth, even it had an edge to it.

Her band did their best to keep up with her, but she clearly outclassed them, not that they minded. They were proud just to share a stage with her. And they should have been.

Then, she got down to business with her last song of the set. It was a 'blues song,' according to the elves around me. The dancing ceased when the lyrics flowed like honey and gravel from her mouth. Elf Rest went eerily silent to hear her and she sung every syllable like she was spilling her soul to us.

My man was honest and he was loyal
Every mornin' he rose to toil
Makin' molasses on Santa's presser
Kept clothes in baby's dresser
Then the machine smashed his leg
And my man was too proud to beg
Santa sent him past the gate
Where his good heart froze with hate
Says he's sick of all this silence
Time to stand and fight with violence

I tell myself my man ain't right
But it sure is cold in here tonight.
I loved him like a woman's s'posed to
And now I don't know what to do
Livin' in a land of Christmas joy
And cain't buy my boy a single toy.

Watching her, it seemed that every word brought her pain, but letting them loose somehow gave her joy. When she finished, her face was wet with sweat or tears, I couldn't tell which. She sat the microphone she hardly needed back in its place and the crowd erupted in cheers and cat calls. Having lived a life of privilege, I couldn't relate to the hardships she sang about, but I knew good music when I heard it, so I stood and cheered as hard as anyone.

Callista left the stage through the back door before the applause died down, but Gerns, the drummer elf, tarried for a bit. I saw my chance and rushed to see him with my bag in hand. He didn't see me until I called his name.

"Gerns," I said. "Remember me?"

He was surprised to see me, but he remembered.

"Mr. Ringo!" he said, with a look of wariness in his eyes. "Nobody's forgetting you. You're a famous boy."

"Yeah, I forget that sometimes," I said. "I just wanted to know if you could deliver this to Callista. I took the two tattered dolls from my bag and handed them to him.

"Ahh," he exclaimed. "I think she'll be happy to get them." He smiled and winked at me as he left the stage. "You're a good man, Mr. Claus. A good man!"

I returned to my seat and ordered another soda, waiting for Callista to finish her break. I hoped I could catch up with her after the show. I didn't flatter myself with any higher expectations than a short conversation and some words of thanks. I remembered coming here just a week earlier and feasting my eyes on the breasts and back sides of every female in attendance, but now I had eyes for only one.

She came back on the stage and the patrons of the bar immediately ceased their milling about and idle conversations to give her their attention. She had cast a spell on them with the final number of her set and they were still buzzing from its affect. Then I noticed she carried her two creations and wore a huge smile on her face. She looked to be searching the crowd for someone and it took me a second to realize it was me she was looking for.

"I'd like you all to meet the sweetest guy in North Pole," she announced to the crowd. He recently rescued me from a bad place and I didn't give him much for gratitude but a hard time and if he'll let me, I'd like to make it up to him...Ringo Claus, I know you're out there somewhere. Come up here and talk to me!"

Chills rode up my spine and my heart skipped a beat to hear her call my name. I stood up from my stool in the corner and walked up to see her, feeling the eyes of a hundred elves against me as I went.

She hugged me and whispered in my ear.

"I'll meet you at The Triple C after the show."

Then she held up the dolls for all the elves to see and told of how I had rescued her from the clutches of Mr. Lorgo and talked my pop into having her reassigned to a more upscale doll shop where she could take all the time in the world creating her dolls. By the time she finished, every elf there was ready to make me an honorary member of their race, because how could someone as kind as me possibly belong to the same family as my cruel father? They applauded and cheered for me, seeming ready to anoint me as their savior. But I questioned the sincerity of their applause. I had always observed that elves were generally jovial sorts who tended to do their best with what they had without complaint. But they must have regarded me as a living symbol of their oppression before Callista granted me her enthusiastic endorsement that night, and I wondered if their hearts were so easily changed by her words.

As for me, I harbored doubts that I would ever succeed my father at all; much less lead a movement to better the lives of elves. Such grand ambitions were not in my mind that night. I was happy to be standing there with Callista Fleecelace. She inspired me and made me wish to be a better a man in a way that Mom and Pop had failed to do, in spite of the vigorous and loving upbringing they had given to me.

All of these thoughts flashed through my mind in the moment before Callista thrust the microphone in front of my face.

"Just say a couple of things from the heart," she whispered. "Be yourself."

I took the microphone and was terrified I would have nothing to say, or worse, my words would reveal me as the immature, spoiled brat I was.

"Thank you for welcoming me to your party tonight with such open arms," I said. "Without elves there would be no North Pole. You guys are the backbone of this land and I'm proud to be among you tonight."

I held the microphone for a few more seconds but could think of nothing else appropriate to say, so handed it back to Callista. To my surprise and gratitude, the crowd cheered my short speech as if my words were their salvation. Pleased, but embarrassed, I blushed scarlet and hastily made my way off the stage back to my seat. I ordered a Blitzen, and drank most of it in three gulps.

Callista signaled the band and they began another set. She sang her heart out for the crowd, and I suspected all thoughts of me fled from their consciousness the moment the first perfect note left her mouth. For two hours, she sang for them while I bought drinks for many an elf, but only nursed a second Blitzen for myself.

She ceased her songs at last, to the disappointment of the throng, who thrashed, danced, and reveled in her music to the end and still wanted more. She glowed with sweat and energy as she left the stage and disappeared into her dressing room. After she was gone, Elf Rest emptied itself with amazing speed.

I finally finished my second beer and pondered the idea of waiting for her to return from her dressing room, but concluded it would seem too eager. Instead, I left and wandered through the streets, passing a handful of begging elves, ramshackle bars, and desperate-looking dwellings. I handed coins with my father's image engraved on them out to the beggars, but left enough in my pocket for plenty of coffee. Finally, I found my way to another street where the dwellings and businesses were slightly more prosperous and reached Charlie's Cocoa Café or The Triple C, as it was more commonly known. The coffeehouse was bustling, but I found a corner booth and sat down, hoping to not be alone for long.

Charlie, the owner, came to take my order. He was always a step ahead of the latest gossip, it seemed.

"Ringo, my good man," he said. "I hear you're sweet on a certain honey-voiced elf-lass these days."

I just smiled and gave him a wink. "Give me the strongest cup of joe you can brew, Charlie."

He leaned over and looked me in the eye, deadly serious, and placed a hand on my shoulder. "You be careful, man. There's those around who don't like the sight of a happy couple, if you get my drift, especially when one of them's green and the other's a high-bred princely type."

"I get your drift, Charlie," I told him. "And thanks for the heads up."

He nodded and turned away. "In the back there!" he barked. "Get something strong brewed up for my man, Ringo, you here?"

"You got it, boss!" someone responded.

I had almost finished a cup of coffee so strong it made my toes curl before she came in.

She was wearing a red, tight fitting t-shirt and green Capri pants that clung to her hips in a way that made me pull in my breath when I saw her. Her long, dark hair was down and flowing over her shoulders. Our eyes locked for a moment. Her expression was unreadable.

She sat down across from me without a word of greeting. Charlie had already set a coffee mug in her place and I filled it up with the muscular liquid. She took a sip and put it down again with a sour face. I filled my own cup and took a healthy swig.

"Delicious!" I lied, and looked into her eyes with an attempted solemn expression. She looked back at me just as serious, but I could see her smirk behind it, and could no longer hold back my own. Then, we burst into laughter simultaneously, so loudly that every table around us peeked over to see what was so funny. Some made disapproving faces, seeing an elf and a non-elf enjoying themselves so thoroughly. I was recognized on all sides of course, but none deigned to speak their opinions of us and for that I was grateful.

She took another sip of the coffee and drank it down without a grimace. Impressed, I managed to follow her lead.

"Good show tonight," I said.

"I was glad to see you there," she answered.

"How long have you been singing?"

"Since before I could talk, probably."

"You're such a talented girl. You make dolls that almost breathe and your voice is just too much for words."

She nodded, seeming unaffected by my compliments.

"What are your talents, Ringo?"

"None to speak of. I'm good at slacking off all day and getting away with it and making Pop believe his only son's a disgrace to the family name."

"Well, your pop wouldn't have thought that about you tonight, Mr. Ringo. I've got another talent too. I can look into a fellow's heart and see what he's made of."

I took a hard swallow of the coffee and considered that.

"Is that right?" I said.

"Yes, and when I see you, I see a Prince with a beautiful soul, but he doesn't quite see it himself, I don't think."

"Can you help me see it?" I asked.

"I'll try."

I nodded. We drank our coffee and were comfortably silent for awhile. But before the night ended we spoke of many things and drank four pots of Charlie's hair-raising coffee. When the fourth one was dry, he came to our table.

"Okay, you two lovebirds, I've got to close up," he said.

I saw that the three of us were alone now and had the feeling we had been for quite some time.

"Sorry about that, Charlie," I said. "How much do I owe you?"

"Not a thing, Ringo. You just take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Sure thing, man. I appreciate it."

I left three Santa coins on the table and she and I walked out holding hands. I tried to remember who had reached for whose hand first, but couldn't recall.

Outside, in the street, the weather had turned cold and rainy. My father must have been having a bad dream, I figured, probably one about his son.

We faced one another and I kissed her as well as I'd ever kissed a woman. It left me breathless. There was a promise of more in that kiss, I noted. But not tonight.

"You know," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "This is going to be complicated."

"I don't care," I said.

She looked at me for a long moment then, studying my face and seeming to look inside my head and heart all at once. Finally, she nodded.

"Neither do I," she said.

We kissed again and our kiss was full of passionate conviction. I had kissed my share of women, but never quite like that. We understood it was a kiss to seal our intentions.


Then, we stuck to them.