Christmas Full Throttle
Part 10: Santa Is Replaceable
Backstage smelled like cold coffee, cable insulation, and that strange mix of stress and cotton candy. Tom sat on a wooden crate and stared at his red gloves, as if they might give him an answer.
“Five minutes,” a voice said from somewhere. Not to him. Just into the room.
Tom nodded, even though no one was looking at him.
He wasn’t wearing the costume yet. The jacket hung over a chair, the beard lay neatly folded next to it. Everything was ready. Except him.
The door opened. A man in a dark coat stepped in. Headset. Clipboard. A friendly smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Tom,” he said. “Everything okay with you?”
“Sure,” Tom lied automatically. “Why?”
The man flipped through his clipboard as if it were the most important thing in the world right now. “Just a quick update,” he said.
Tom hated that sentence.
“There are a few adjustments to the schedule,” the man continued. “Nothing dramatic. You stick to the script, we’ll take care of the rest.”
“And if not?” Tom asked, without really knowing why.
The man smiled just a little wider. “Then we have alternatives.”
Tom looked at him. “Alternatives?”
The man nodded. “Backup Santas. Just in case.”
It took a moment for the words to really sink in.
“You have… several?” Tom asked.
“Of course,” the man said calmly. “This is a system. We always plan redundantly.”
System. That word stuck.
“So that means,” Tom said slowly, “if I just leave today…”
“Then someone else takes over,” the man interrupted him. “No drama. No pause. The audience won’t notice a thing.”
Tom let out a short laugh. Not a real laugh. More like a sound.
“So I’m replaceable.”
The man tilted his head. “Not interchangeable,” he said. “Replaceable.”
That was worse.
Outside, applause surged. Someone called his name.
“You have a responsibility,” the man said. “To the children. To the atmosphere. To the project.”
“To WinterSpark,” Tom said.
A brief twitch crossed the man’s face. Too quick for the crowd. Long enough for Tom.
“Exactly,” the man said.
Tom stood up. He was suddenly very calm.
“What happens if I don’t stick to the script?”
The man exhaled. “Then it gets complicated.”
“For whom?”
The man looked at him for a long time. “For everyone.”
Applause again. The music grew louder.
“Two minutes,” someone shouted.
The man moved toward the door. “Get dressed,” he said. “Do your performance. We’ll talk more afterward.”
The door closed.
Tom stayed where he was. Looked at the beard. The jacket. The gloves.
He got dressed. Slowly. Deliberately.
Not because he was obeying. But because he needed time.
When he was finished, he saw someone in the mirror who was smiling because he had to.
Tom leaned forward and whispered to his reflection: “If I’m replaceable, then I’m dangerous too.”
Outside, the host called: “And now… our Santa Claus!”
Tom took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped into the light.