Episode 19: Job (in)security

Pineapple Daddy sat in the cafeteria and watched as three eggs, though poached to perfection, grew cold. He’d had little appetite since the recent demise of The Clauses. Gazing around at the numerous elves, who were busily conversing through breakfast as though all were well in the world of Christmas, Pineapple Daddy felt increasingly paranoid, as if all eyes were upon him. He struggled without success to sit comfortably at a table that had been clearly built for individuals far shorter than him. Instinctively, the magician sorted through a trick deck of cards but felt no inspiration.

Regina Steelbottom, whose name rhymed with angina still autumn, placed her wooden tray on the table across from Pineapple and sat. Her petite frame and picturesque good looks seemed strange among the gruff elf population, but like most good comedians, she never failed to blend in with a crowd.

Regina gazed across the table at Pineapple. “What’s wrong, PD? You look as worn down as that yellow suit you’re sporting.”

Pineapple frowned and tugged at his lapels. “Don’t you find this all just a bit unsettling?”

“People die all the time.”

“Not these people,” Pineapple said, a bit louder than intended. “How can you be calm at a time like this?”

“It’s either that or take up smoking,” Regina said, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket. “Oops. Too late.”

Pineapple ran the fingers of his right hand through his lengthy blonde locks. “This entire organization’s soon to be under new management. Doesn’t that concern you? We could both be out of work.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Claus appointed us.”

“Claus is dead.”

Regina nodded. “And there’ll be a new Claus.”

“Who may or may not enjoy magic and stand-up comedy.”

“Try not to worry about it. Have a smoke.”

“I’ve worked as the official magician to The Clauses for over fifty years. I like it here. And you know I gave up smoking months ago.”

Regina pointed past Pineapple. “If you’re that concerned about job security, then there’s the man to ask,” she said, as Salem Torque of The Order of the Beard entered the cafeteria. “Yo, Salem Torque! Got a minute?”

“What are you doing?” Pineapple attempted to shrink into his seat but it was too small to enable the feat. “Don’t call him over.”

Salem Torque, dressed in a black shirt and matching slacks the accentuated his lithe physique, approached the duo. “Pineapple Daddy and Regina Steelbottom. Le comédien et le magicien. I’d all but forgotten you both still reside here.”

“Pineapple and I were wondering about our continuing employment or potential lack thereof.”

“Some matters are beyond, or rather beneath, The Order. You know as well as I it’ll largely depend upon the new appointees, and whether they feel that animateurs de votre qualité, are a necessity. Fortunately, you won’t have long to wait for an answer. I’ve received a telegram from the other members of The Order affirming that successors have been found.”

“So quickly?” Pineapple asked. “I thought the search would take weeks if not months.”

“It might have, but as fate would have it, only one viable candidate has emerged.”

“That sounds hard to believe,” Regina said, “but who am I to question The Order?”

“Who indeed?” Salem remarked. “It’s a different world. You may want to brush up on your acts, make a good first impression and such.” Salem turned to Pineapple. “Might I also suggest you retire that suit. Yellow does not suit you, and it the fabric looks older than Agnetho’s holly berry pudding.”

Agnetho gazed up from the grill area. “In the name of Blitzen, man, I’m within earshot!” he shouted, then resumed chopping onions.

Salem nodded to Pineapple and Regina, feigned a weak smile, and stepped away.

Pineapple’s face sank. “I can’t go back to the states.”

“Chin up. Salem makes a good point. We should try to wow the new boss and the Mrs. Got any fresh material?”

“Not much,” Pineapple lamented. “A few illusions. Rope and card tricks, mostly.”

“What about that underwater escape act?”

“The one I taught Houdini? Haven’t performed it in years. Not sure I could still pull it off.”

“On the positive side, PD, if you die trying, they can’t fire you.”

“That’s so helpful. How about you?”

“I’m working on a bit about a rouge elf who violently kills other elves and devours their flesh.”

“Is that really appropriate?”

“Given the amount of underlying, seething tension prevalent in this place I guarantee it’ll put asses in seats and smiles on faces.”

“Noted.” Pineapple Daddy stood up, his pale complexion looking especially ashen.

Regina lit one cigarette with another. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got an act to polish. I wonder if our new overlords are fans of the cups and balls trick.”

Regina considered a wry response but declined on the basis that it was simply too easy. “Take Salem’s advice and get some new threads. Frederik Andersen’s the elf for that. He’s a mean, cranky, uptight son of a bitch, even by elf standards, but his fashion skills are beyond mad. And like the theologian Erasmus once noted, ‘vestis virum facit.’”

“Vests vermin faucet?”

“Clearly your comprehension of Latin is as weak as your levitation illusion. It means clothes make the man.”

“That was going to be my second guess. Good luck with the murder skit,” Pineapple said, and bade farewell.