Christmas Eve was supposed to be perfect. Pam Halpert knew she was sometimes stubborn and inflexible, but tonight was one of those nights. Everything had to be ready. That’s why she was in her living room on that evening doing all the last minute checks. The food for the next day was all set in the kitchen, the gifts were wrapped and ready to be put under the big Christmas tree Jim insisted he set up all by himself, the ornaments were hanging in their rightful places, Cece would soon be waking from her afternoon nap, and Jim was… still Jim. She sighed.
“Please ?”
“No.”
But even a very resolute Jim knew this wouldn’t stop there.
“Jim! Pleeeaaase?”
“Still no.”
She pouted, not in any way ready to give up.
“Jimmy Halpert would do it.”
“Well, Jimmy Halpert got bitten by a radioactive bear. I'm sure there's a lot of things he would do,” he dismissed mockingly.
“He would do it because he’s nice and helpful.”
“He would do it because you write and draw him,” Jim snorted.
“For your daughter?”
“Okay, first of all, using Cece as the ultimate argument, with the whining tone and your infamous pout? Way to play a game, Pam. And second of all... No.”
“But it’s her first Christmas!” she protested.
“You said it, it’s her first. As in, ‘she’s not even one-year-old.’ As in ‘won’t remember any of it.’ Or worse, as in ‘will vividly remember everything and be scarred for life by her mean ol’ daddy who just dresses to scare her.’ You wouldn’t want that for all of us, would you?”
“You dressed up for Halloween. And you were my hero. And the funny dad.”
A dreamy smile came to Jim’s lips.
“To be honest, I dressed up for you. And dressing up as Popeye is nowhere near dressing up as Santa.”
“But look, I already have the costume!” She picked it up from the couch where Jim had left it, hoping she would forget all about it. Nice try. “And the cookies. And the milk. And the wrapped presents. And Cece's Christmas dress. And the camera. I even bought myself a Christmas outfit Santa would definitely say 'yes' to,” she winked.
“Bribery. Nice. Still no.”
“Why not? You're good with the impersonations and the weird voices.”
Maybe the pleading tone and the flattery could work.
“Because Pam, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not the kind of guy who dresses up. Besides, a 6'3 lanky Santa with no belly and an obviously fake beard?” He made a face that totally contradicted his claim he couldn’t be a good Santa. “I didn't know you wanted to ruin the whole believing in Santa thing for our daughter.”
Okay, maybe the pleading tone and the flattery couldn’t work.
“You just say that because you don't want to dress up,” Pam grumbled.
“I'm serious! Santa is more like... Stanley. Without the bored attitude. Hey, remember when we went caroling a few years ago? He even has a whole song ready for him. There, Stanley could be a good Santa. Stanley Claus is Comin’ to Town…” he began humming.
“But I don't want a Stanley Santa, I want a Jim Santa!” she said in her best childish voice.
“Why don't you ask your father to help? I'll be happy to take the pictures. I'll even coo if that helps,” he offered.
“He's out of the state with his girlfriend, remember?”
“Darn. Forgot that.”
“So you're not going to put on that Santa suit for Cece?” she asked, eyes locked in his, her hands coming to rest on her hips.
“Sorry Pam. But no, I won't.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” It wasn’t like her to drop the subject like that. This was almost too easy.
“Well, you leave me no other choice.” She stepped away from him, walking towards the phone. “I'll just have to ask Dwight and see if he'd like to perform Santa's part for your child.”
Jim gasped. “You're not serious.”
“Her dad won't do it, but maybe her sitter will.”
He choked. “He is not her sitter! No way that psychopath could be Cece's sitter. And there’s no way he’s her first notion of Santa. I don't want her growing up thinking Santa only brings beets and dead birds,” he muttered.
“He could be good at it. After all, those snowmen he built – real work of art.”
“And now you're just mean.”
“It's because someone won't just share the holiday spirit. Must be contagious.” She crossed her arms and turned to the Christmas tree, watching it with an intensity that could suggest to an outsider that the fairy lights would stop working if she didn't watch them so closely.
Jim took a deep breath.
“Okay. Fine. I'll do it. But,” he paused, raising his finger and pointing it towards an excited, almost jumping Pam, “you shouldn't expect anything except a lump of coal for yourself, Mrs. ‘You know that Santa knows if you've been bad or good.’”
“Yeah, I'm so naughty Santa should just skip the coal and aim for the spank right away,” she grinned, helping him to put on the red suit.
He stopped and dropped his hands, staring at her while she giggled.
“I should have known. You're turned on by Santa.”
“I'm turned on by one Santa.” She smirked, reaching up to fasten the last button under his chin. “You forgot the beard.”
“And you noticed,” he sighed, putting together the last pieces of his outfit. “There, better? All right, let's do this!”
“Yay!”
On their way towards Cece’s bedroom, she stopped him without warning.
“Oh, and before we get Cece?” She caught his arms, forcing him to lean over her. “You're the best, handsomest, sexiest 6'3 lanky Santa ever,” she murmured, making her best silly sexy face.
Jim lifted his eyebrows, trying to hide his smile behind a grimace. “Pam. That wink was just... weird. Bordering on obscene.”
“Great, I won a prude Santa.” She rolled her eyes, without letting him totally go.
“As prude and innocent as our poor child who has no idea what's in store for her. Speaking of which, isn't the whole point of dressing up to be at least in the same room as her?” he asked, pretending to be annoyed by her ignorance of the Santa etiquette.
“Just one more thing.” Pam stood on her tiptoes, cracking a small smile as her face grew closer to his. “Just giving a little kiss to poor Santa, who doesn't receive anything on Christmas Eve.”
Santa couldn’t indeed have thought of a better present.
“You've earned yourself a Santa for the night, my lady. All right, let's go. Ho ho ho!”
