Rudolph's Tijuana X-mas - 1. Chapter 1

It was Christmas Eve and I watched the snow collecting on my antlers and fur. It wasn't light and fluffy like a snow-globe or a favorite artist's holiday rendering, more like when we dumped the whole box of white glitter in the elves toilet. Who knew it would be such a mess? A fast, wet coating turned my glowing nose into a cheap lava lamp. Wonderful.

I shook off inside the main workshop, the clop of my hooves masked by the insane flurry around me. Hammers and soldering guns were making quick work of the last loads of toys needed for the holiday. The cacophony of industry echoed in the factory as the horde of workers struggled to keep up with the Christmas toy demand. The enormous red sleigh was the centerpiece of the workshop with an overflowing sack of gifts weighing down the rear end. The little toymakers were dumping more packages into it from an endless hand-off assembly line. I could imagine the seams bursting in mid-flight, spewing little Timmy's Tonka toys all over the northern continent.

I looked at the eight reindeer strapped to the front of the sleigh and looked out the window. The snowfall was getting heavier. It was only a matter of time before a new bridle and harness would be added to the front. I wondered if there was time to sneak out without being seen.

“Rudolph!”

Darn it. It was too late.

All dressed up in his red and white fur, finished off with the high shiny black boots I liked so much, the old man smiled at me with his naughty & nice list trailing in a long spool behind him. Usually my heart skipped when I saw his round belly and silver beard. Usually, whenever he was in full uniform, I found myself wanting to obey his every wish. Tonight, not so much.

“Oh, Rudolph, with your nose so bright. Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?”

Lovely. All these years and he can't come in with a new starting line.

“Why? Because I'm special?” If I had fingers, I seriously would have done that with air-quotes. Since I didn't, I had to settle for high sarcasm.

Maybe I was in a bad mood, maybe it was the crazy last minute noise, maybe it was the warm glow of the keg of peppermint schnapps I broke into earlier that was being saved for the after-Christmas party. Whatever the reason, I copped an attitude.

“Fuck off, you fat bastard. Go get a flashlight.”

Every elf stopped working with a collective gasp and stabbed me with their accusing little eyes. The sudden silence only heightened my already raw nerves and pushed me further over the edge.

“Rudolph! Where did you learn that kind of language?” Santa shouted.

Workshop foreman, Little Barty, piped up. “He's been watching too much cable TV.”

“Screw you, midget.”

I know, I know. Everyone keeps telling me how midget is a horrible, politically incorrect word. But the elves were just undersized magical beings serving the purpose of cheap labor. Am I right?

Of course, I couldn't think that clearly right then as the peppermint warmth reached up into my head. It made the roar of little voices echo into something scary, but I was feeling very courageous. And punchy.

“Oh, I'm the bad guy here? You're all blaming me, but what about Santa? What happens when the lights are out in the workshop, huh? I see things.”

Santa stepped forward, his voice firm and calm like always. “Rudolph, maybe you should lie down.”

“Oh, I bet you'd like that! Don't touch me! I saw you! I saw what you did with the elves in the Adult Toy Shop!”

Another roar of shock filled the workshop. The color in Santa's rosy cheeks filled his whole face. For a change, he was the spotlighted reindeer.

“Where was Mrs. Claus during all of this? Huh, Santa?”

My temper was like black licorice, so bitter no one wanted it. I kept spitting it out at everyone around me.

“How could you do that, Santa?” Little Barty shouted at his boss, his tight little fists on his hips screamed his outrage.

Vern, one of Santa's most fervent supporters, shoved Barty down to the ground. “Don't you judge him, you little twerp!”

And just like that, it escalated. A few elves rushed to Barty's defense and slapped Vern, whose friends then added to the fray. The fracas just kept building until the entire workshop was in a riot. Toymakers beat one another senseless with Barbie dolls and Clown hammers. They rubbed Play-Doh in each other’s faces and stuffed Lite-Brite pegs up each other’s noses.

It was pandemonium.

“Stop! Stop!” Santa shouted. “You're ruining the toys!”

It was a waste of breath; no one could hear him over the crash of music boxes and Tinkertoys. The packed sleigh rocked as a group slammed against its side, the giant sack dumping over and spilling its treasures all over the workshop floor only to be crushed in the chaos. Santa sat in the thick of it all, his once joyful eyes sad and horrified. I did that to him. In one drunken moment of wanting to get back at him, I succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. Nothing about it made me feel better; it was awful.

I crushed the man responsible for the joy and laughter of millions of children. How could anyone ever forgive me for what I'd done? How could Santa?

Crying like a baby doll as I charged out the front door, I think I trampled a couple elves who got in the way. They even squeaked like toys, but I was too drunk and upset to look back.

I had to escape.

The snow was a sheet of brutal cold flakes and I leapt into the air, my magical gift taking me high into the sky, swaying and swerving to the song of the schnapps. My nose shined, carving a path through the storm, but I could barely see through the blur of the schnapps and tears. I wasn't going to let that stop me.

With one poorly planned moment, I brought the holiday to a standstill. No one would forget. No one could forgive. There was nowhere for me on the North Pole now.

I'd ruined my life here, now I had to find somewhere else to go. The only city I could think of as magical as the Workshop was Las Vegas. Why else would it be such a popular place to be? I could start my life over and make something of myself.

* * *

Whatever the magic was that lets reindeer fly on Christmas must come with a compass, because otherwise I don't know how I made it to Las Vegas. The bright lights of the strip somehow managed to burn through the peppermint haze and acted like a beacon. I don't remember much of the landing, but was thankful for the homeless man who cushioned the impact before I passed out.

I was shaky and nauseous as I left the alley I woke up in. There wasn't any snow on the ground at this time of year and the concrete sidewalks felt weird under my hooves; I was so used to cobblestone and ice. A gross smell lingered in the air, but I couldn't tell if it was the city or the remnants of the vagrant I skidded across.

I felt awful. The fiasco at the North Pole was unexpected. If I'd been thinking clearly, I would have never said those things no matter how hurt I was by what I'd seen. Even as outraged as I felt by Santa's actions, the guilt for the pain I caused him was much, much worse. It added to the churning sickness in my chest and stomach in a way I'd never known.

People stared at me as I staggered down the sidewalk. Jumping out of my way, their wide eyes proved they'd never seen a live reindeer before. Or at least not one with a red light at the tip of his snout.

“Mommy, look! It's Rudolph! Christmas is still coming!”

The shrill cry of a little girl sliced through my skull like icicle daggers. Barely large enough to be in grade school, she dragged her mother by the hand to get closer to me.

“Cindy, be careful!” the mother said. “You don't know that's Rudolph for sure. He could have rabies.”

“Yes I do, Mommy! His nose glows and everything!”

Little Cindy wavered in my vision as she reached up to my glowing nose. Her tiny, cute fingers grazed the glowing tip and a whiff of peppermint scented body wash went right to my stomach. With a rolling gurgle, I opened my mouth and belched, causing gallons of bile to spew forth, soaking the child from head to toe.

The little girl started shrieking, crying for her mother who refused to come near her as she stood dripping in the middle of a vile puddle. People on the street were equally offended, murmuring their disgust as they kept their distance.

I, on the other hand, felt a whole lot better.

Since everyone kept giving me funny looks, I decided to head down the street and take a peek at some of the shops. I didn't have to go far before I found an electronics store with televisions lining the front window. Every screen was filled with a news program, the sound up loud enough to be heard outside.

“Reports are coming in from all around the world. Children are unhappy their Christmas holidays were not so bright. No presents were found under any tree as it appears Santa did not make his annual flight. Were all the children found to be naughty? Our source, a worker at the North Pole, who prefers to be anonymous, says no.”

The image changed from the newscaster to an elf in silhouette. With a squat nose, it could only be Little Barty. I never liked him. His voice was all garbled and distorted as he started answering questions.

“Everything was going fine. Like clockwork. But a snowstorm blew in and Santa asked Rudolph to help like he always does. But Rudolph said no and caused a riot. Christmas was ruined by Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

All the pedestrians gasped and pointed their fingers my way as they realized who I was. A greasy unshaven man with a bad haircut pushed forward from the crowd and pointed his angry finger at me.

“My son didn't get the Barbie dolls he asked for, which I'm kinda happy about, but now he won't stop crying and I have to go wandering the city to get away from his noise. It's all your fault!”

Just like at the North Pole, the noise grew as more and more people found the courage to speak. All their frosty voices overlapped each other, directed solely at me.

“Now I have to buy the toys with my own money!”

“I don't have kids and this doesn't really affect me, but you're still evil!”

“That was my friend you landed on last night!”

My hooves scraped on the pavement as I scrambled backwards to get away from the growing mob. When I tried to fly, nothing happened. Christmas was over; I was grounded. The crowd loomed closer, shouting profanities, and I ran away as fast as I could. Anything to get some distance from the disaster I created.

Several blocks later, I lost the mob, but others on the street still whispered and pointed at me. Every one of them had a right to hate me. All it took was one poorly timed moment of hurt and everything snowballed into something huge, collapsing like a regiment of toy soldiers.

The ache in my chest over how badly I hurt Santa continued to grow. It wasn't a look of rage in his sparkling eyes last night; it was a giant, “How could you?” Why couldn't I have just forgotten the things I'd seen with Santa and the elves? Why couldn't I keep it to myself? I didn't have to make the whole sordid thing so public. Out of all the things that went wrong, I regretted the hurt I gave him most.

Depressed like cookie batter, I laid down next to a fire hydrant and closed my eyes. Maybe I'd get lucky and a hunter would find me and put me out of my misery.

“Oh, honey, this is my corner.”

I opened my eyes to see a pair of glittery shoes with really tall heels. Some of the elves would have liked them, being so short. I followed them upwards to a skinny blonde woman, with really large hoops hanging from her ears. She wore a lot of makeup and needed new clothes, because hers were all too small—she was probably very cold.

“I said, this is my corner. You go work it someplace else.”

With her hands on her hips and her heels tapping the sidewalk, she made it clear this was another place I wasn't wanted. Even as I stood up, I couldn't raise my head up high or look her straight in the eye.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know. I don't have any place to go.”

Her hands relaxed and dropped to her side. “You get kicked out of your house?”

I shook my head. “I ran away.”

“Old man touch you?”

“No.” The sadness in my sigh surprised me. “He touched a bunch of other little guys, though.”

“That's not right.” Dodging my antlers to keep from poking her eyes out, she put her thin arm around my shoulders. “Well, stick with me, honey. We'll help you out.”

* * *

Another customer drove off when I couldn't answer what my rates were for the services he requested. I didn't understand the question. I walked back to Papa Slinga trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. Papa Slinga wore funny clothes with really tall shoes and lots of jewelry. He looked like a really big elf, so I knew he was a good guy. Papa Slinga was my boss and he was really helpful. He collected the money so I didn't lose it and kept the girls in the house together so they couldn't get lost. It was a big city after all.

It had only been a few days and I was trying to learn, but this was so different than my life up north. I found myself being distracted easily by the flashing lights of the strip and missing a lot of my instructions. Even what I did hear, I barely understood. But I was determined to be a good worker and make my way in the big city. I tried to remember the things I'd seen Santa and the elves doing, but it didn't help. It would have been easier if the customers would quit asking for things I just found really bizarre.

“Papa Slinga, what's a Dirty Sanchez?”

My boss shook his head and sighed. “Rudy, this ain't working, man. You're running off my business.”

“I'm sorry, Papa Slinga. After I poked one guy in the face with my antlers in the backseat, I'm having a hard time bringing them around.”

“Not your fault, dude. My clientele just don't know what to do with a reindeer. You're too high profile.”

“But what am I supposed to do? I can't go back to the North Pole now.”

“Tell you what.” Papa Slinga looked back and forth over his shoulder and leaned in close. He spoke really quiet, so I knew it was important. “I know a guy… deals in specialty acts. He's always looking out for new talent.”

Specialty acts? Like in a show? I was so excited. Here was my chance to make my dreams come true.

“Thanks, Papa Slinga. I'll do just about anything right now.”

* * *

Since I couldn't fly anymore I had to travel in the back of a van. When we got close to the border, Papa's friend had me play hide and seek under a blanket. It was a game I was really good at. No one saw or heard me, although he said it was easier going in this direction than going back.

I found myself in Tijuana working for a little club on the outskirts of the city. It was a little dirty and run down, but I figured I had to start out small before I could make myself famous for something other than destroying a major holiday. It was exciting to find out I'd been recruited for a new headlining act.

The owner's name was Pablo. He sweated a lot and his English was spotty, but he couldn't wait to star me in his “Donkey Shows.” I told him I wasn't a donkey, but he said it didn't matter. Lots of people would come to see me perform. That sounded so awesome!

The performance was a little weird though.

I felt a little sheltered from the real world, because I didn't get my character's motivation. I asked a lot of questions, but I didn't speak Spanish, so they pretty much just stuck me on the stage and let it happen. The club was dark and smoky and I couldn't see much of the people watching. The music started and a couple other performers appeared and started to undress. It was hard to get into the things they wanted me to do; it reminded me too much of Santa and the elves. But rutting season started by the third or fourth production and it got a lot easier and made a lot more sense.

The audience loved me. I was a star.

* * *

I lost track of how many months went by, but I was making good money for the club as the premiere attraction. I didn't see much of the money, but busloads of businessmen and fraternity brothers came every week just to watch me perform. The house was packed for every performance with standing room only. I kept thinking, “If Santa and the elves could only see me now.”

I licked at a block of salt as I was being hosed off from the night's show. I still had a lot of energy left after the new stunt we planned with the tamales and re-fried beans wowed the crowd. Pablo came out back just as the water was being turned off.

“Hey, donkey.”

I rolled my eyes as I told Pablo for the millionth time, “I'm not a donkey.”

“Hey, donkey. A gringo's asking for you.”

“Aw, come on, Pablo. You promised no more private shows.” After what that guy last month asked me to do… I just can't even talk about it.

“He said he don't want no private show, donkey. He wants you to be his guest.”

I looked at Pablo and questioned him with my eyes. No one ever did those kinds of things here.

“Really?”

Pablo shrugged and shook his greasy head. “Yeah, donkey. I don't get it either.”

In one of the private suites upstairs, I met with the man who asked for me. I could tell he was American by his accent, blond hair, and blue eyes. He introduced himself as Branson. The American was well-dressed and talked really fast; even faster after we inhaled lines of powdered sugar off the bare rear end of the bartender, Manny, who was hanging out with us. I always thought Manny was awfully young to be serving drinks, but Branson said it was why he came out to Tijuana in the first place, so I didn't worry about it for long.

“What are you doing in a place like this, Rudolph?”

I couldn't look at him; some memories still stung. “You heard what happened. I can't live at the North Pole anymore.”

“But here?” He swallowed down a shot of warm tequila and offered me some peppermint. I refused with a cringe. After the whole North Pole thing, I couldn't touch the stuff.

“They like me here. I'm a star here.”

“What if I can make you a star back in the U.S.?” Branson poured another shot of tequila. He kept a close eye on the worm at the bottom, making sure it didn't come out.

I found myself obsessively licking the salty areas on Manny's skin. “What do you mean?”

“I'm a publisher. I could hook you up with a ghost writer and tell your life story. People would love it! Celebrity tell-alls are hot, baby! It'd be a best seller in no time! We could be rich!”

“Really?”

“Just stick with me, kid. We're gonna make them all sorry they turned their backs on you.”

* * *

Branson wasn't kidding. After another trip in the back of a van and game of hide and seek, I found myself in California. He put me up in a nice condo, with the advance on the book deal, and set me up with a man who helped write my story. I agreed with him if I was going to tell it, I needed to tell it all.

For weeks I poured out my life story. My father had been a victim of hunting season before my mother and I traveled north. I talked about how difficult it was to grow up different, how all the other reindeer didn't want to play with me because of my glowing nose. I spoke about the pain and hurt at how they laughed and called me names. I talked about the isolation and the poor self-esteem I suffered without a father figure and how I was drawn to Santa's Workshop as an adolescent.

I admired Santa so much. He was powerful and wise and always had something nice to say to me. In his presence, I always felt safe and warm. It didn't take long before my every thought was how to be near Santa for as long and often as possible. Yes, I thought it was odd he kept his wife in a remote location and spent all his time with elves and reindeer, but around him, I couldn't find the reason to care about those kinds of things.

I couldn't stop the words about the first big snowstorm Santa asked for my help. He couldn't possibly understand how painful it was after everyone cheered for me when I saved Christmas. After so long of being the outcast, I wanted them to like me for being me, not because I could do something for them. My value to the North Pole was measured in what I could provide. It made me feel cheap, like a penny gumball machine.

The story ended with the scandal at the North Pole ending Christmas. I didn't really want to put it in, but Branson insisted. He swore it would guarantee the book's success, and I really wanted it to be successful.

And it was.

Rudolph's Story: Scandal at the North Pole was a smash success. It streaked to the top of the best seller's list and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was once again a household name. Talk shows kept calling for interviews, but after Dr. Phil made me cry talking about what my mother would think of my career in Tijuana, I swore I wouldn't do any more of them.

Even so, the popularity of the book was amazing and kind of scary. People flocked to get near me, almost to the point of where I liked it better when they didn't like me.

There was a lot of security at the book signing in Barnes and Noble. Who knew there were this many people who could read in Los Angeles? Droves of hopeful faces stood in line carrying copies of my book in their eager hands. I had to sign with a pen in my mouth—the no fingers thing again—and a few people had to be tended to by the medics standing by. From the beginning, we put up signs about the antler risk to alleviate any legal issues.

The lines were long and I lost track of how many people asked me to sign their books to eBay. I thought it was a strange name for a person, but considering I couldn't write much more than my own name, the laugh was on them.

This went on for hours until I heard a familiar voice arrive at my table.

“Hello, Rudolph.”

He wasn't wearing the red suit or the black boots I loved so much, but the twinkle was still in his eye, even if it was toned down. My heart was beating louder than little Andy Pickering's drum set. Hearing his voice so close once again, brought back all the wonder his presence instilled in me for so many years. I barely squeaked out a response.

“Hi, Santa.”

I took in his tidy beard and barrel chest, looking like he'd never changed in all these years.

“How have you been doing?”

“I'm doing well.”

“I can see that. I'm very impressed and very proud of you.”

“Thank you. How have you been?”

“I'm doing better.”

“How's the workshop?”

Santa shrugged like it wasn't important. “We're piecing things back together. Mrs. Claus divorced me and took half the elves to work for Amazon. But we'll be back up for next Christmas. Mark my words.”

“That's good to hear.”

It was so odd to talk like this to each other. We both were being polite but so casual. It was as if nothing happened and it felt so wrong. I didn't want this mundane conversation, I wanted to say more; I wanted him to say more. Holding back was making me antsy, and the impatient people in line were making it worse.

Santa looked around as the waiting fans tried to move him along. He leaned forward so only I could hear.

“I wondered if there was somewhere we could talk privately.”

The fluttering in my chest grew so strong it frightened me. “I don't know.”

“Please, Rudolph. There are things we need to talk about.”

Every doubt-filled memory I'd had since the awful night on Christmas Eve came forward. Was he here to exact his wintery revenge in front of all these witnesses? That didn't sound like the Santa Claus I knew. But could I take the chance? I was gripped in an irrational fear like nothing I'd ever known before.

“I can't.”

“Please, Rudolph!”

The sound of his pleading voice was more than I could stand. “I just can't!”

I leapt away, upending the table in my rush to get some distance. My nose glared bright, bathing the room in alarming red, and someone screamed, “Zombie Apocalypse!” Chaos erupted as the crowd began screaming. Book shelves toppled over like the toys in Santa's sleigh as the panicked people scrambled to escape. I didn't look back as I burst through the doors and raced for my waiting limousine.

I was still crying when the manager let me into my hotel suite. Partly because I was so upset to see Santa again after all this time and partly because I didn't have thumbs to grip the doorknob.

I paced around in circles trying to calm myself after the door closed behind me. What was I supposed to do now?

“Please talk to me, Rudolph,” Santa said.

The voice startled me. Standing in the middle of the suite, Santa looked crestfallen and vulnerable. The gleam in his eye, now all moist and painful, lacked the killer instinct I worried about. Even so, the sight of him made me babble like elves on a chocolate binge.

“How did you get in here?”

“I've been coming down chimneys into people's homes for centuries. Making my way into a locked hotel room is not much different.”

“You should go.”

“Not until you tell me if what's in your book is true. It sounded horrible. Helping me on Christmas hurt you? Is that what it's really like for you?”

The question halted my pacing. I expected Santa to chastise me for everything I did wrong, for all the damage I caused. I ruined Christmas. How do you forgive that sort of thing? I hadn't anticipated him being concerned for my welfare.

“Mostly, yes.”

“I never realized. The last thing I would ever want is for you to think you were less than anyone else.”

My response was a bitter lemon drop. “How would you know? The elves were more important to you.”

“That's not fair, Rudolph. I ask for your help each snowy winter because it's the excuse I need to include you.”

I paused. “I don't understand.”

“I'm Santa Claus. I have an entire magical workshop at my disposal. I could strap a, how did you say it, fucking flashlight to Dasher and Dancer's heads if I needed to.” Santa's voice dropped in volume. “I just wanted you to come with me.”

“You did?”

His smile was crooked and a little sad. “I didn't have a way to tell you without upsetting the candy cart. You were always special to me.”

“Really?”

Santa nodded, his sparkling eyes bright once more. “I wish I could have told you sooner.”

“What about the elves I saw you with?”

The sparkle left his eyes as he sighed. Santa stepped in a circle before sinking into the armchair. The pain in his face was obvious. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temples for a long time before he gathered himself enough to speak.

“That was a moment of very poor judgment on my part, born out of loneliness.”

“Did Mrs. Claus know?”

“She's known for centuries. Our marriage has been just for show for a very long time. She was content as long as the truth wasn't public knowledge.”

A new pang of guilt rose up as I realized what I'd done. “Then I drove her away.”

“If not then, she would have left eventually. It was for the best in the end. We had both lied to one another for a very long time. Now we all have a chance at happiness. Even you and me.”

“You really believe that?”

Santa's smile brightened the room. “I have always taken great stock in the presence of miracles.”

My nose began to shine warmly as I stepped forward to be greeted by his outstretched hand. The feel of his fingers petting through the fur on my head made me nuzzle into the touch. All the craziness and doubts just melted away and I could feel the truth in his words.

Santa reached into a bag I hadn't noticed on the far side of the chair, and held up a familiar batch of leather straps. “I brought this with me, Rudolph. Just in case.”

Without thinking twice, I assumed the position. He put the bridle in my mouth, fastened the harness around my chest, and climbed on, his weight a delicious luxury I'd always wished for. He rode me hard and fast, all through the night, until we both crashed heaving and sweaty on the floor. As we recovered, giggling like little children, I nestled into his comfy chest like I'd always dreamed of, believing for the first time how special he thought I truly was.

My eyes were glistening in joy as he held my head up to his. “Rudolph, will you please come home? I've missed you.”

“I've missed you too. I'm ready when you are.” The glow at the tip of my snout matched the unending warmth filling my heart. It bathed the room in a vibrant shade of rose and chased away every shadow.

The smile on Santa's face washed out all the years of anger and resentment and made me feel wanted. Which in all honesty is what we all wish for, right?

And with a twinkle in his eye and a finger alongside his nose, Santa held me tight as we vanished from the hotel room in a shower of magical snow and sparkles.

* * *

Santa's workshop was busier than I'd ever seen before. There were fewer elves but they worked twice as hard, working to play catch up, determined to succeed. The atmosphere was lively and exciting and I was proud to be part of it.

I helped where I could, in whatever way I could, but without fingers I often focused on moral support. I joked with the elves and helped cart loads of newly made presents to the staging area before loading would begin on Christmas Eve. The harness gripped my body as I pulled a cart of Raggedy Ann and Andys thorough the room. I caught Santa's eye and he winked. Everyone said they'd never seen him happier, even when he was with Mrs. Claus.

The last I heard was the former Mrs. Claus took a group of elves to work with Pablo as a new headlining act. If it's what it takes to make them happy, I wished them the best.

I shucked off the harness as the whistle blew ending the work day. The elves stepped down to head to the pub and asked me to join them. A lot has changed over the years and I couldn't be happier.

Santa scratched my head and said, “Go on, Rudolph. Have a good time. I'll see you tonight when you get back.”

I was so happy my nose glowed bright as I caught up with the gang as they stepped out into the snow.

“Hey, guys! Who's up for a Dirty Sanchez?”

Welcome to my version of a holiday classic... if you can call it that. I hope you never forget my Christmas tale of magic and wonder! Feel free to Review! I'd love to hear your comments!