Wally’S Christmas Odyssey

By R. J. Feliciano

When Wallys misses the last train home and losses his estrange childrens gifts, he mysteriously encounters Ah-Hel, his Puerto Rican guardian angel and Chastity, a beautiful angel-of-a-hooker. During his desperate all-through-the-night New York City search for the toys and a way to get home, Wally meets a bevy of bizarre characters in some unusual places. With time running out and no way of escaping the certain three-prong medieval butt-chewing from his exs, Wally ends up riding everything but Santas sled to be with his kids on Christmas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477282175

R. J. Feliciano

R. J. Feliciano was born in Puerto Rico and raised in New York City’s El Barrio (East Harlem) section of Manhattan. He is father of five children and three grandchildren. Graduated from the State University of New York (SUNY) and currently lives with his wife, Cecilia and his step dog, Scotty in St. Augustine, Florida where he works as a High School teacher, is a real estate agent and runs a karate school, all of which he claims serve as a wonderful source of writing material. Along with Kite Wars, he is also the author of the novels: Wally’s Christmas Odyssey and Mayonnaise and several short stories.

Book preview

Chapter

1

On special occasions, such as this, Wally would hold his own lavish pity-party. And for him, what better, more wonderfully depressing day than Christmas Eve? He sank deep into his high-back chair, and with downcast eyes, reflected on his lack of accomplishments: his failed marriage, his marginal business, his bad luck, bad timing and his lack of joy, on this, the merriest of seasons.

What crap. He looked around at his office as if for the first time. The room had accumulated the elegance of a flea market. It was an interior designer’s nightmare replete with dated magazines, gold tasseled floor lamps, a plastic-covered love seat, and two large master works of art on black fluffy fabric.

He stared down on 42nd Street from his fourteenth floor window at the assortment of X rated movie houses, seamy adult book stores, greasy luncheonettes, twenty-five cent peep shows, and other Times Square tourist traps welcoming wholesome families to the city.

A plunge from here would really give those sightseers a memorable Kodak moment and something nice to show the grandkids, Wally said aloud. "No, not a plunge—an Olympic-caliber dive—a swan dive. Yes, a swan into a record breaking reverse quadruple somersault in the tuck position, two full twists ending in a beautiful backward jackknife opening into a clean toes-pointed-to-the-sky entry splat.

That kind of exit would certainly call for a special good-bye note, Wally’s spirits rose at the thought. "No, not a note, rather a momentous final shout:

CHOPPED EGG ON WHIIIIIIITE!

He could see teams of learned social scientists, deciphering its meaning as other suicidal copycats with similar slogans on T-shirts tried for their own six—point-two seconds of fame. None of them, of course, would come even close to his reverse quadruple somersault.

Mrs. Harris peeked into his office. Excuse me, Mr. Winslow, are you alright? She wore her graying hair in a tightly wound bun held together by chopsticks.

Yes, of course, why do you ask? he said without turning.

No reason, it’s just well, you see, it’s, eh…

It’s what, Harris? Speak up woman, can’t you see I’m busy?

I can see that, but it’s… it’s the time sir.

What about it?

It’s four o’clock, Sir, and it is Christmas Eve and I was just wondering if today’s report could wait till Monday.

Christmas Eve? He widened his eyes as if it was a big surprise. Not again!

You know very well what to day is, Sir, she huffed. It happens every year around this time.

Wally gave her a weak smile. I’m sorry, Mrs. Harris, I’ve just got too much on my mind. Go ahead, go home. Have yourself a Merry Christmas.

Thank you Sir, but again, are you okay? Is something the matter?

I’m okay. I only wish I could enjoy the holiday like everyone else.

What do you mean? Aren’t you visiting your children tomorrow?

It’s not the same, he explained. A few hours with them and then it’s back to an empty house.

Sounds like you’re feeling lonely, Mr. Winslow. Mrs. Harris pulled her coat from the closet. Why don’t you try calling a friend and…

A friend? he bristled. I had a friend. I had a wife!

I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to upset you. Her face went from pale to red. But I still think you should go out and find yourself some nice lady.

Do you? Wally said. And where do you suppose I’d find such an angel? At the movies, in some bar, walking the streets?

Maybe, but sure as I’m married, it’s not going to be here, she chuckled.

Besides, what kind of lady can I expect to find in those places?

I wouldn’t knock it, she said. That’s where I met Mr. Harris and we’ve been blissfully married for twenty-four damn years.

You’re kidding. Twenty-four years?

She admired her wedding ring. Yes, Sir. Ever since the night I pulled him by his feet from under a pool table.

Under a pool table?

Long story.

Very touching, Mrs. Harris, but a pool hall or liquor joint is not where I’m going to find love.

What ever you say, Sir. She grabbed her purse and was almost out the door when the phone rang.

Before you skip out, Harris, can you see who that is?

That’s probably your accountant again, she said as she stormed back to her desk. You have him on your calendar for Monday… something about the IRS and some dubious deductions.

Wally’s face soured as his secretary yank the phone off the receiver. Winslow Enterprises, how may I help you? Oh, hello Mrs. Winslow, yes he’s here. Let me get him.

Is it him?

She shook her head. It’s your wife, Sir.

Why did you say I was here? he said in a loud whisper.

"Because your wife asked me, and you are here!"

That’s my ex-wife. Thank you. Oh damn, I almost forgot. I’m not supposed to be here!

And neither am I. Mrs. Harris transferred the call to his desk and ran out the door.

Hello Deborah. Yes, I’m still here, you know how it gets this time of year. No, no of course I haven’t forgotten. Of course I got their gifts, he lied. Yes, I know they’re expecting me first thing in the morning. Tell them not to worry and that I’m not going to miss my train again.

He calculated a quick bite at Virgil’s BBQ, would still give him plenty of time to get to Grand Central, and if by some crazy reason he did miss the 7:32, there was always the 9:47. The threat of a double-sided tongue lashing from Deborah and her mother was all the incentive he needed not to miss his train.

He was about to flick off the lights when the sound of a vacuum cleaner made him stop. Wally peeked into the reception room and saw the back of a man whose jacket read: Santo’s Maintenance Services Inc.

Hey, what are you doing? Wally yelled.

The man did not hear him over the sound of the machine and the pulsating music from his headphones. A big smile etched his face as he danced a Merengue with the vacuum cleaner.

Hey! Hey! Wally yelled again.

The man was really into his dance, happily twirling to the music before spotting Wally.

Hola, he said.

Are you supposed to be here today? Wally asked, but the man simply nodded and smiled. Who are you?

The man pointed to the name over his pocket.

Wally took a step closer. Angel?

Yes, but it’s pronounced An-Hel not An-jell, the maintenance man said in a heavy accent.

Okay, An-Hel, where’s our regular guy?

Murray—that was the name of your regular guy, Angel said. After twenty years on the job, the Big Boss decided it was time for Murray to rest.

Wally looked for his keys. That’s a shame. Listen, do I have to stick around till you’re done? Because… what’s-his-name?

Murray.

Yeah, Murray. Well, he used to lock up when he was done.

Don’t worry, mister. You can leave whenever. You’ve a lot of places to go tonight and you don’t want to be late.

Hey, that’s right! But how did you… Wally stopped to look at his watch. Oh my God! Look at the time! Which reminds me, I’ve still got to get Becky that special watch. What was it called? Wally scratched his head.

The Cinderella Anniversary Collector Watch. A knowing smile crossed An-Hel’s face.

That’s it. That’s the one, Wally said. Now, if I could only remember the name of that train set for Donny? It was something like The Casey Stengel…

An-Hel unplugged the vacuum and started to leave. The Casey Jones Limited Collector’s Edition Train Set.

Hey, how did you know that, An-Hel? You’ve got kids or what?

No kids. Not allowed.

What?

An-Hel placed the coiled wire on vacuum. Never mind.

Okay, but right now, I’ve got to grab a quick bite and get over to FAO Schwarz if I’m going to make my train.

Don’t waste your time. They don’t have what you’re looking for.

Wally grabbed his coat. What do you mean? You don’t know what you’re talking about. FAO Schwarz has got to have them.

Whatever, but just in case they don’t, here’s a place you might try. I think they’ll have what you’re looking. An-Hel handed him a flyer that read: Benny’s Bodega Sixty-six East One Hundred and Eleventh Street.

Hundred and Eleventh Street? That’s East Harlem. I’m not going there—not at night!

"Listen, amigo, that’s a special Bodega. You won’t be disappointed, but you’re gonna have to get there before nine. An-Hel placed the vacuum in his cart and scooted out the door. Before it closed behind him, he turned and said, ¡Felíz Navidad, Wally!"

Hey, wait a minute. Who told you my name? How did you… Wally ran after him. An-Hel? An-Hel? he called into an empty hallway.

Chapter

2

Times Square at night was usually a treat, but during the holiday season, the overload was awesome. Automated multi-colored neon lights and enormous TVs flicker down at an ever changing swirl of people. While at the corner of Forty-Second Street and Broadway the latest news loops around the narrow building like a huge ticker-tape machine.

Everywhere eye-catching signs reveal everything from sexy underwear to the latest Broadway productions. On one billboard a huge baby with a distinctive tan line moons the crowd, while at another, a cowboy puffs giant smoke rings high above the crowd.

Weary pedestrians are buffeted by steady streams of Christmas music from every storefront, street musician and die-hard carolers. Adding to this holiday cacophony of cheer is the ever-present blare of car horns, street hawkers and all too assertive New Yorkers.

Into this milieu of sight and sounds are the seductive scents of hot dog vendors, Orange Julius, Tad’s Steak House, Mi Chinita Puerto Rican/Chinese Restaurant and chestnuts roasting at every corner.

Wally left his office and staggered into this busy, noisy and odorous night. Turning east on Forty-Second Street, he was encouraged by a huge digital clock that read five forty-five. Plenty of time to get to Virgil’s, FAO Schwarz and still catch the seven thirty-two—no real need to hurry.

If it wasn’t for his fascination for watches, Wally’s plans might have gone well. Instead, he stopped at a store that was closed for the night and peered into the window that was pasted with signs that read, Going out of Business, Everything Must Go, and Final Days Sale like they had from the first day it opened.

With scarcely a fraction of an inch between them was an endless collection of portable TVs, electronic gadgets, swords and hunting knifes. Among this treasure-trove of bargains festooned with garland were rows and rows of cameras and watches, which Wally found mesmerizing.

Hey, buddy, he heard someone whisper into his left ear and instinctively, like a true New Yorker, Wally felt for his wallet.

What? He took a quick sidestep from the tall stranger in a Yankee cap and dingy trench coat.

Looking for a watch? Check these out. He looked over both shoulders and pulled his sleeve up to the elbow.

Wow! Wally said at the armful of watches.

Yeah. Aren’t they great?

Yeah, but I’m not interested.

Come on man. Which one do you like? This is good stuff I’ve got here.

No thanks. Wally started to walk away.

How about this one? You’ve got to like this one. He pointed to one near his wrist.

Yeah, it’s okay, I guess. Wally was careful not to offend the stranger or to make eye contact.

You guess? Man you don’t know nothin’ about watches. That’s a Rollex. That’s a beautiful watch man. Look-a here. He un-strapped it from his wrist and pointing at the band. That’s 100% genuine lizard skin. Try it on, man.

Nah, not today.

You can’t beat my price, the man said.

Oh yeah? How much?

Well for you, and this being Christmas and all, I’ll let you have it for two hundred bucks.

No way. Wally pulled out a bill. Will you take a twenty?

Oh man, you’re killing me. He handed over the watch, pocketed the money and slinked away.

Wow, genuine lizard. Wally held the watch to the light as the man put distance between them. These days, you’ve got to be pretty dumb not to negotiate.

There was a new bounce to Wally’s step and a feeling of smug satisfaction as he headed towards Virgil’s. While waiting for the walk signal, a smile came to his face when saw another store announcing its final days. The instant the light turned, he started across and was nearly hit by a cyclist.

Hey, watch it! The rider looked very much like An-Hel, the maintenance man he’d met back in his office. Only his jacket now read: Heavenly Courier Service. Wally thought it odd when the man turned and gave him a friendly wave.

Determined not to again be sidetracked, Wally tried to walk briskly by stores plastered with Distress Sale signs. Regrettably, he slowed just enough to peek into a shop window with a wide collection of cameras.

Mis-tah, Mis-tah, came the raspy voice of a small man standing by a bus stop. He wore a black Navy pea coat and knit sailor’s cap.

Wally pointed at himself. Are you calling me?

Yeah you. Come here. The small man held a lip-lock on a half lit stogie.

What do you want?

Look-a here mate. I saws ya looking at ’em cameras and I was wondering if you’d ever come across one of these? He held the smallest camera Wally had ever seen.

Wow! What kind of camera is that?

It’s a Steky, mate. The kinds that spies use. He handed it to Wally.

I’ve never seen such a tiny camera.

Of course you ain’t, the man said between raspy coughs. "It’s made for spies I told ya, but I needs some cash to get back to my ship, The S.S. Megamula. She’s docked in Perth Amboy."

How much do you want?

I don’t know. What you want to give me?

You take twenty? Wally responded with the shrewdness of a seasoned negotiator.

Sure. The sailor stuffed the money in his pocket as the bus pulled to the curb.

What’s it called again? A Ste…

A Steky! Came the raspy voice of the old salt as the bus closed its door, hissed and pulled away.

Chapter

3

Wally turned the corner towards Virgil’s and was slapped by a frigid blast. He pulled his coat’s hood over his head, leaned into the wind and warmed his hands in the pockets that held his two new treasures. By the side of a news kiosk, a man in an old army jacket had set up a game of three-card Monte. Several folded bills stuck out between his fingers as his shill and four bystanders looked on.

Where is she? Where’s the queen of spades? the man said as he shuffled three worn cards in tight figure eights on a cardboard box.

I’ll take a shot, a pot-bellied middle-aged man said as he stepped up from the crowd. The young blond on his arm squealed when he pointed to the middle card and plunked down a fiver. To their amazement, it was the seven of clubs. The hustler showed them the queen and pocketed the money as quickly as he flipped the cards.

Wally smiled. He had followed the action and knew, or he thought he knew, where the Queen was.

The man shrugged in quiet defeat and walked away with his girlfriend giggling.

Don’t go! You were really close, the hustler called after them. Listen, try again. I’ll go slower.

Wally put on as good a poker face as he could muster. If you don’t go so fast, I’ll try it.

Sure, I’ll go slow for you, he smiled. Here’s the Queen. Just keep your eye on her. Flip, flip, flip went his hands over and under, as he laid a card down and picked up another. When he stopped, Wally took a breath, pointed to the one on the left and put down a crisp five dollar bill.

Hey, we’ve got us a winner! You’ve got really good eyes. He handed Wally two fives and said, Give it another try.

Wally nodded, certain he could follow the Queen. The hustler began his shuffle to the beat of his chant. Round and round she goes, where she stops no one knows.

I bet I know, Wally said.

Are you sure? How about double or nothing?

Wally grinned, plunked down ten and pointed to the card on the right.