An original Christmas short story by Michael Melgaard.

An original short story by Michael Melgaard Illustrations by Chantal Bennett

‘It’s not a polo shirt.”

Matt stopped pulling the shirt over his head and said, “What?”

“You’re not a little kid pulling on a polo shirt.” Matt didn’t know what to say. The wardrobe guy sighed. “Use the buttons.”

“Sorry.” He took the shirt off, unbuttoned it, put his arms in, and buttoned it back up.

“You’re a forty-two tall?” Matt tried to think what that could mean. The wardrobe guy sighed again and walked into the clothing racks. He returned with a beige suit. Matt pulled on the pants, which were too short and left his calves exposed. The jacket fit a little better. The wardrobe guy crouched down and took out the hem stitches and safety-pinned them lower. He took a step back and said, “Button up the jacket,” and then added, “Not the bottom one. What barn dance do they find you people at?”

Matt apologized. The wardrobe guy looked him over, then dug three ties out of a bin and held them up in front of Matt. “Tell me you know how to tie a tie?”

“Yeah.”

“A miracle.” He handed Matt a tie and waved him away.

Matt walked over to one of the full-length mirrors against the wall of the wardrobe tent. The tie was a half- foot wide with a sequin Santa Claus on it. The background talent agency that had replied to his emailed headshot let him know the scene was a toy- industry Christmas party. They said they would pay him fifteen dollars an hour while taking the industry-standard twenty per cent. The shoot was overnight and would go at least ten hours— Matt could count on a hundred and twenty dollars, plus dinner. No previous experience was necessary. It took him four tries to get the tie to the right length.

Outside the wardrobe tent, three hundred other extras were scattered around a bare conference hall, either dressed as or waiting to be dressed as toy-industry executives at a Christmas party. There were no seats or benches, everyone stood or sat on the floor. Matt dropped his street clothes and backpack against a wall and sat beside them. People seemed to know each other; little groups had formed into closed circles. Matt pulled out his phone.

After he caught up on Twitter, he looked up and wondered why nothing had happened. He looked up again after he finished a long-form article, and then again when his phone let him know it had twenty percent of its battery power left. All the extras were now dressed for the Christmas party— drab suits with an item or two of Christmas flare. He made eye contact with an extra in a grey suit with a reindeer-horn headband who said, “You’re new?” “First movie.”

“Jerry Anderson, I’m with Regent Castings.” Matt stood up and shook the offered hand.

“Me too, I guess. I mean, they’re the ones I emailed.” He added, “They told me to come here.”

“Regent are good. They get on most of the movies that come through. You stick with them, you can work steady.”

Relieved to be talking but with nothing to contribute, Matt said, “Oh?”

An extra in a Christmas- tree sweater with a fringe of little presents around the bottom said, “For sure. We get a ton of movies in town. The low-budget stuff shoots here for the tax break. The last two weeks, I’ve done It’s a Dog’s Christmas, Triple Trouble Christmas, The Hanukkah Prince. You’ll work steady all summer if you stick with it.”

Matt was saved from responding by the appearance of a production assistant calling everyone onto the set. The room they funneled into was the same shape and size as the one they’d left, but decorated to look like a Christmas party. Christmas trees reached up to the ceiling. Tinsel and giant red bulbs hung down. Wrapped boxes were scattered all over the floor in piles. The floor- to- ceiling windows were frosted. Outside white puffy fabric had been rolled out around the entrance. A wide decorated staircase inside went nowhere. The centrepiece of the room was a large, circular stage; in the middle, a podium was covered by a drape attached to a rope that ran up to the rafters. Three cameras were positioned on dollies around the room. Stacks of film equipment and cables took up one wall.

A man who seemed to be in charge split the extras into groups. He told Matt’s group to head to the entrance and then did a double take. He said, “What is that?” Matt looked behind him. When he turned back, the man was still pointing directly at him. “What is that? You look like Lurch in a flesh suit. Go change.”

Matt said, “This is the only suit they gave me.”

A production assistant touched Matt’s elbow and whispered into his ear, “Go to wardrobe. Get them to get you a new one.”

Matt went back to the tent and the wardrobe guy rolled his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

“The director didn’t like the suit.” “Any specific complaint?”

“I think the colour.”

There was no one to approve the new suit or to tell Matt where to go when he got back to the set. He couldn’t see Jerry anywhere, so he slipped under the stairway to nowhere. An older man in a light- up reindeer turtleneck and blazer held out his hand and said, “Astley Cooper, Journeyman Bookings.”

“Matt Grenadier, Regent Castings.”

“Oh yes, Regent are very good.” “They get on most of the movies that come through.”

“That’s true. Journeyman is a bit of a smaller outfit, but they treat me well.”

Matt smiled. Astley smiled back. Matt looked at the crowd and then outside. The extras there had been given parkas, which they put on the ground, along with their blazers. The sun was down, but it was still over thirty with the humidex.

Astley said, “Looks like it’s going

to be a late one. I keep telling my agent I’m getting too old for these overnights, but he says it’s too good a movie to turn down.” Matt nodded. Astley said, “I remember I was on Big Dilla’s Day, big shot, crowd scene, took sixteen hours. I got overtime, of course, but it’s hardly worth it. I’ve got other gigs.” Matt said, “Oh?”

“A regular acting gig out in Niagara. Two shows a night, four days a week. It’s dinner theatre, which is… you know. But it keeps me working. It’s important to treat acting like a job. You can’t just sit around and wait for a big break.” Matt nodded. “‘If you’re not creating, you’re waiting.’ But you know that. So, I tell my agent to take anything he can get me, within reason. Right?” “Right.”

“Something like this though? Big star, great story, I had to take it, even if it goes all night.” Astley smiled wistfully at the space behind Matt and added, “Who knows what might come of it.”

Matt said, “Regent said this movie was about a toy…?”

Astley focused. His expression changed to excitement. “Oh, so much more than that. It’s got intrigue. Conspiracy. Corporate greed. You wouldn’t believe it, but it’s based on a true story.”

The movie, Astley explained, was a biopic about the man who invented a toy that could learn. “They all do that now,” he said, “but this was the first one.” The man had come up with the idea while working as a clerk at a large toy company. He drew sketches of the toy and wrote the learning program on his home computer. He snuck into an executive meeting and presented his invention. They laughed him out of the room and then produced the toy for the next Christmas season. There was a lawsuit. The case was tangled up in the courts for nearly two decades before finally being resolved in favour of the inventor. He had received a substantial settlement, which he put into a script and movie production company to tell the story of how he took on the big guys and won. The movie was called How the Finch Stole Christmas.

“Why?” Matt asked.

“I believe one of the toy executives is named Finch.”

A cart full of drinks wheeled by. Astley took a beer and Matt followed suit. He took a sip. It was iced tea. Someone shouted outside. Matt couldn’t make out the words, but the man who had him change suits seemed to be mad the extras weren’t in costume. They were all pulling their suits and parkas on.

The man came inside and got up on the stage. He introduced himself as the assistant director. He explained there was going to be three parts to the shoot that evening. For the first, the star, Kep Reynolds, would walk into the party through a snowstorm; second, he would approach the stage and confirm his toy had been stolen; and finally, he would be taken out by security while the party went on around him.

The assistant director said, “Remember, you’re all just here for the party. Unless you’re right beside Mr. Reynolds, you don’t know what’s going on. It’s a party. Move around. I want it to be dynamic. I want it to be fluid.” He waved and crossed his hands in front of him, showing the movement he wanted. He said, “Movement. Fluidity. All right. Places.”

Everyone had been in their places for over an hour.

After nothing immediately happened, Astley suggested they practice the scene. He took a fake sip from his drink and gestured to Matt, who nodded and smiled. Astley opened and closed his mouth. Matt did the same. Astley suggested to Matt a few movements that would be less wooden.

When they’d got their actions down and gone through twice more, they stood silently for a minute before Astley started telling Matt about the many movies he had been in and the stars he had worked with. Matt thought “worked with” was a bit of a stretch, but listened to Astley’s stories, saying “Oh?” when needed. Outside, the extras unzipped their parkas. A bit later, some pulled them off as far as their elbows.

“… but this is the first time I’ve had an opportunity to work with Kep Reynolds.” Astley said, “Such an honour.”

“He’s good?” Matt had IMDB’D Reynolds before he came in. He recognized a few of the listings from the nineties, but almost nothing else up until his last indie movie, which had got a surprise Oscar nomination for Best Picture and Reynolds himself for Best Supporting Actor. Neither had won.

Astley said, “He’s very good. In the midst of a career renaissance after that nomination.”

“The Reynolds-sance,” Matt said, remembering a headline that had come up.

“That’s right.”

“So, what’s he doing in this movie?” “I believe he signed on before the nomination was announced.”

Matt checked the clock on his phone. It had been four hours since he got there, and they had not shot a minute of film. All of the extras outside had finally given up and taken their parkas and blazers all the way off again.

Kep Reynolds took his place in the crowd outside and Matt felt a thrill of recognition. Looking closer, he realized it was just a man the size and shape of Reynolds the crew were using to set the lights and cameras. Some time after, Matt saw the real Reynolds getting his makeup touched up under a tarp. The thrill of recognition was less.

And then everything started happening. The assistant director screamed loud enough to be heard through the glass for the extras to get into their costumes. He came inside and shouted “Places” again. Everyone adjusted slightly. He said “SFX action” and a machine sprayed fake snow outside. And then, “Action.” Matt froze. His armpits got damp and he felt himself flushing. Astley opened and closed his mouth, waved his drink around, gave a quiet laugh and motioned a friendly jab to Matt’s shoulder that didn’t make contact.

The assistant director said, “Cut. Let’s do another.”

Astley said, “You might try a little more movement this time.”

Matt went over the motions he was to make. Twenty minutes later, he was ready when the snow started to flutter down. Astley shook Matt’s hand and complimented him after that take. The third went smoother still. The assistant director called “Cut,” and, after conferring with a PA, told them to take lunch. On his way off the set, Matt saw that none of the cameras pointed anywhere near where they had stood.

The cameras had moved around when they were called back onto the set two hours later. A production assistant divided everyone up while another handed out new fake drinks. Astley said, “We should try to get in front of one of the cameras,” and stage waved to no one while slipping by the PA sorting the extras. Matt followed. They ended up standing in front of the stage with the covered podium. Matt noticed all three cameras pointed at him and felt the nerves from the first take return. The assistant director climbed up on the stage beside Matt. “This is the big reveal. The MC introduces the toy. The drape goes up. You all clap. Then Mr. Reynolds is going to say his line before the bouncers ask him to leave. Remember, it’s a party. Fluidity. Movement.” His hands waved. He stopped when he noticed Matt. “You. Emo Frankenstein. Out of the way.” He grabbed Matt’s shoulders and pushed him backward toward the side of the stage, away from Astley. They stopped. The director held Matt in place and said, “Yes, I know. No, we’re going to do it from a boom….”

Matt said, “What?”

The AD glared at him and went on, “Hopefully just two… yeah, I know, we’ll get through it quick.” “I don’t know…”

A PA stepped into Matt’s line of vision and pointed at the assistant director’s headset and motioned he was talking to someone. The assistant director made a number of small adjustments to Matt while he spoke— tilted a shoulder, absently touched his hips. For a long time, he smoothed Matt’s tie while listening to something in the headset. He stepped back and said loudly, “Okay, we’re going to go.”

Matt felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned. A guy in a black shirt said, “You have to move.” “I don’t think I should.”

The guy pointed to the camera Matt stood directly in front of. Matt said, “Oh,” and found a spot near the wall to stand.

The Kep Reynoldsshaped man came out again for the lighting. Two models with elf ears, Santa hats, and Christmas bikinis got on the stage beside the podium. Some time later, the assistant director called action.

“And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for...” The booming voice came from a man in a tuxedo who walked down the stairs to nowhere. Matt had not been expecting this and stared a moment before remembering he was meant to be acting. He had no one to faketalk to but realized it was believable for him to be watching the guy coming down the stairs, so he kept doing that. The MC was saying, “… an amazing toy that walks. That talks. And that… LEARNS.” The cover lifted off the podium to reveal a furry ball with large eyes and short arms. The two models waved their hands in front of it. The creature rocked from side to side while its beak opened and closed without sound. Everyone applauded and then Matt did too. He widened his eyes and nodded eagerly.

And then Reynolds appeared at the foot of the stage. He said, “But… That is…that is my Qweeble,” Two bouncers pulled him away.

They tried the shot twice more over the next hour. Reynolds pushed through the crowd, said his line – “But that… is… my…. Qweeble.” And, less successfully Matt thought, “But that is my Qweeble!”— before the bouncers removed him.

After that final take, the assistant director said, “That’s a wrap for Mr. Reynolds.” The extras and crew applauded. Reynolds waved a thank you, lowered his eyes and put his hands together in silent prayer, and then waved again. Cameras were moved. Extras re- positioned. It took two more hours before the assistant director appeared again and told everyone to stand up, look sharp. “Up up up,” he shouted. “This is a straight crowd shot. The toy has just been revealed. You’re all clapping. There’s music. It’s a big event for you. Your lives have been leading up to this. Congratulate each other. Have a good time.” He added, “I want to see fluidity. Movement.”

That last scene was the only one Matt could find himself in when he watched How the Finch Stole Christmas on Christmas Day seven months later. He hadn’t been able to afford to travel or take time off from his kitchen job, so he had his house to himself while all his roommates were away for the holidays. He was bored and trying to think of what he could do with his day when he remembered the Christmas movie he’d been in was probably out. How the Finch Stole Christmas was not available on any of the major streaming services, so he had to pay the $2.99 watch-now Youtube fee.

Matt watched the first eight minutes. At the end of the montage that started with Reynolds saying “All I need is one brilliant idea,” to his wife and ended with him frantically sketching out designs for the Qweeble and writing code, Matt jumped ahead until he found the scene where the toy is revealed. He went back a minute and let the movie play.

Reynolds walked down a snowy street. He saw a poster in a toystore window for a Qweeble. Reynolds turned and stared off into the snow while a Santa Claus rang a bell by a donation bin. Then Reynolds walked through the snow in a different outfit. He looked into the well- lit party, pushed through the doors into a room of digitally enhanced Christmas colours and glitter. The voice of the MC introduced the Qweeble while Reynolds worked his way through the crowd. The cover rose, the models waved. The toy bounced from foot to foot and said, “Qweeble happy to see you. Qweeble love you.” Reynolds looked up, stunned. They’d used the first take of Reynolds’s line-“But… That is… that is my Qweeble.” The bouncers led him away.

The MC walked down the stairs, singing, “Oh, oh, Qweeble, you’re just like people/ Oh, oh, Qweeble, full of love.” There, Matt saw himself behind the stairs. He paused and zoomed in. His expression was shock; it was the first take they’d done and he had not expected the singing. He hit play and the scene ended. The whole sequence was under thirty seconds.

Matt watched a little more, but gave up in the middle of a scene where Reynolds told his character’s wife he had “put too much of himself into the Qweeble to just ‘ let it go.’”

Matt closed the tab and Googled things open on Christmas Day.

What is that? You look like Lurch in a flesh suit. Go change.

Michael Melgaard is an author from Toronto. His short story collection Pallbearing will be available Feb. 4.