Page 33 of All About Christmas

How much do feet pictures go for? My index finger lingers hesitantly over the enter button.

I’ll be out of work next month, and a logical consequence is that my income will stop, but googling this is kind of sad.

With a deep sigh, I delete the search terms again and rest my head on the tabletop with an agonized groan.

I haven’t been home much these past few months for anything other than eating and sleeping, and certainly haven't had time to lavishly hang out on the couch watching Gilmore Girls . Normally, as soon as the leaves on the trees turn red, I return to Stars Hollow for pumpkin spice-lattes, snow, and quirky villagers. But now I sit at the computer, searching for jobs in television that are very few and far between. I heave a frustrated sigh. Maybe it’s not such a crazy idea to leave that field behind and look for a job in a field less dominated by cronyism.

Maybe I could learn to crochet and sell fuzzy octopuses and turtles made of fluffy yarn.

I grab the last chocolate from the box I got from Olivier and bite off a piece. The caramel flows out of the diabetic bomb.

Part of me had wanted to throw them in his face one by one, but... chocolate.

They are very tasty. It’s not one of those cheap packs from the supermarket; according to the ribbon around the package, it was bought from a chocolatier in the Hoog Catharijne shopping center. I wash down the chocolate with a third glass of wine.

Maggie and Olaf’s wedding is tomorrow, and I am in a grave mood.

Everything has been arranged. We begin the broadcast—after a previously recorded interview by Gabriel and an introduction showing the wedding preparations—with the ceremony.

That’s actually the only part of the wedding that will be broadcast live.

There will still be interludes of people celebrating, but nothing more than that.

The reason for this is Olivier’s blind dates, which will take place at the wharf cellars on the Oudegracht canal and will also be broadcast live.

When the dates are over, the candidates will be driven by van to Hilversum where they can choose whether they want to enter the Mistletoe Madness room.

In the time it takes to transport them, footage from the Christmas Market in Cologne will be broadcast, allowing viewers to enjoy an evening of Christmas cheer.

Before showtime, I’ll make my way to the office first thing in the morning to go through everything one last time. And I’m in anything but the mood for that.

“What’s wrong with you anyway?” asks Noor as I dip my bag of Earl Grey into my cup of hot water. “You’ve been acting so strange these past few days.”

I lean my hip against the kitchenette countertop and deposit the tea bag in the designated trash can.

Noor’s freckled forehead is marred by a worried frown. “You have everything in place for the wedding; everyone is impressed with the interview Gabriel conducted with Maggie and Olaf. You have a really good chance at José’s job.”

I look at my workmate sadly. I haven’t told her yet because I don’t want to throw a wrench in the works.

At Olivier’s head perhaps, but that’s beside the point.

There’s no reason to kick up a fuss now, just before the filming.

It wouldn’t help the contestants either. And certainly not Maggie and Olaf.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I say. “For now, let’s just focus on the live shows.”

Noor’s frown deepens. Then she grabs the jar of chocolate wreaths from the counter, removes the lid and holds it in front of me. “Here,” she says. “This’ll fix you up.”

I slip my hand into the glass container, taking not one, but a whole handful. And then another one.

Noor chuckles, follows my lead, and breaks off a piece of the chocolate with her front teeth. Some sprinkles fall to the ground.

“Nice,” she says with her mouth full. “And now, let’s watch Gabriel have a nervous breakdown when I tell him that he has grey hair.”

“Where?” Gabriel ruffles his hands through his hair and looks at Noor, startled. “Where are they? I just went to the barber yesterday.” He walks over to the window of the conference room and spins around. “Is it very visible?”

The corners of Noor’s mouth curl up, and Gabriel’s sink down in response. “Damn it, Noor,” he mutters. “Every time. There’s a special place in hell for people like you.”

Noor’s smile widens, and she raises one shoulder. She tosses her pen in the air and catches it again. “Sorry, but you always fall for it so easily.”

“Of course I do. We’re going live tonight, Noor,” Gabriel whines. “And if I have a grey hair, then...”

“...people have to zap it away?” she finishes his sentence mockingly.

Gabriel throws her a furious look. “Ah, you work behind the scenes,” he says with a careless hand gesture. “You’ll never know how important these things are.”

Noor opens her mouth to reply to him, but just then the door opens and Norbert steps in.

His shirt is tighter than it was earlier this year, the buttons just barely showing.

It’s as if a small dark snow cloud is hanging over him.

And not only because his dandruff has gotten worse recently, but also because he seems not at all happy about anything.

His mouth forms a line on his face. Behind him walks José, who gives me a warm smile before taking a seat on a vacant chair, and Pippin follows in their wake.

Last to enter is Olivier. He holds his laptop so firmly in his hands that his fingertips turn white.

His stubble is a little longer than usual, and he has dark circles under his eyes.

His gaze sweeps over the group already present and lingers on me for a few seconds too long.

His eyes look tired and a little sad. He swallows and looks away.

Then he walks over to an empty chair and sits down.

I haven’t spoken to him since our argument.

We’ve come to some sort of unspoken agreement where one of us runs off as soon as the other sits down at their desk.

The situation would have been completely messed up in any scenario, but the fact that I know what he sounds like when he reaches his climax makes everything even more complicated. And more painful.

Norbert stands up and addresses everyone.

He proclaims that this will be a Christmas-tastic —really, shoot me now—evening and that we expect high ratings.

Every so often, he looks disapprovingly at Olivier, who doesn’t seem at all bothered by it.

He continues to stare stoically at the screen of his laptop while typing along to what Norbert is saying.

My eyes are drawn to him every so often.

To how his lips move when he says in a hollow voice that he has everything in order for tonight.

To how his upper arms contract when he explains with hand gestures what it will look like at the Oudegracht canal.

To the way his hand goes through his hair like mine did when…

With a jerk, I turn my head back to Norbert.

No. I can’t think about that.

Olivier is a pompous jerk who was allowed to lick his baby food off silver spoons as a toddler. Who ran off with my job and used me to uphold his name.

“Holly?” My name is called suddenly.

“Huh, what?” I feel Olivier’s gaze burning a hole in my cheek, but I try to ignore it. Not that I succeed. I’m suddenly very aware of how my hands are on the tabletop. And how I’m breathing. And what I’m saying.

Norbert looks at me, annoyed. “Where were you?”

In Cologne.

“Nowhere,” I say quickly. “Sorry, what was the question?”

“I hope you’re sharper tonight.”

And I hope you fall into a ditch tonight , I think. But thank God I keep my lips together.

Norbert has a cooked-through spaghetti noodle where his spine should actually be. A good boss would not go along with such a demand. He would choose the person he considers best for the job.

“I asked,” Norbert repeats, “if you’re all set for tonight.”

“I am.”

“Well, all right then. Then we’ll go...”

I don’t hear the rest of the sentence because I’ve already zoned out again. I’m already looking forward to next week when I can finally throw my resignation letter on Norbert’s desk.