Christmas unwrapped

What do you call a girl wearing nothing but jingle bells? Not a ho ho ho.

by Camille Dodero

A stripping Mrs. Claus? Really, now. The joke's set-up is its punch line. And it's the kind of joke that seems too unsettling to tell.

Ever wanted to sneak a peek beneath Mrs. Claus's apron? Probably not. Mrs. Claus's bun and spectacles weren't alluring enough to earn her even a cameo in "A Visit from Saint Nicholas" (you know, 'Twas the night before Christmas . . . ), so it's no surprise that Santa's wife never came to appear like anything but a doughy, white-haired woman -- much less a seasonal sexpot. Lusting after Mrs. Claus is comparable to talking about orgasms with Grandma Moses. Both are, for lack of a better word, icky.

But, apparently, the thought of Mrs. Claus as a sexual being isn't all that icky. Hundreds of New Englanders have no qualms imagining the plump matron 50 years younger, 100 pounds lighter, and strapped into a thong.

You see, about this time of year, a local entertainment agency called Boston's Broadway Babies starts getting requests for Mrs. Claus. Some customers want Mrs. Claus to sing "Santa Baby" at their family Christmas party. Others want Santa's wife to embarrass old Uncle Jack on his 70th birthday. And others simply want Mrs. Claus. In more ways than one.

"I'll go down to bra and panties," says Angel, a lithe twentysomething who performs as Mrs. Claus during the holiday season. "And sometimes I'll do topless shows. But these days, I only do a few totally nude ones. I've been in the business for a little while, so I've gotten a little choosy about what I do."

By "a little while," Angel means eight years. And by "the business," she means exotic dancing -- a field in which pornography becomes three-dimensional, an "Angel" is anything but, and Santa's wife is a petite, thigh-high-wearing hottie.

"Mrs. Santa's outfit is short and mostly red velour with white trim," Angel says. "Underneath, you have a little thong and white chiffon. For the bra, it's the same red velour, covered with little jingle bells and holly berries. And then I wear little white thigh-highs, Santa boots, and a Santa hat.

"It's all very classy and very professional," she adds.

So classy that Angel's worked gigs as Mrs. Santa at prestigious law firms such as Hale and Dorr, on WEEI's Dennis & Callahan Show, and as James Earl Jones's co-host during a Bell Atlantic promotion. But for these jobs, she didn't shed her duds.

"As Mrs. Claus, I do a lot of balloon- and champagne-o-grams where I sing, dance, and stay fully clothed," Angel explains. "I've even gone to dancing schools and Children's Hospital.

"I'm sure they'd be thrilled if they knew what Mrs. Santa was doing three nights earlier," she says.

Three nights earlier, Mrs. Claus might have been a French maid. Or a policewoman. Or a mermaid. She might have been gyrating at a bachelor party, an anniversary bash, or a farewell gathering. Or she might have been accompanied by a dancing Santa or a cluster of dwarves dressed up as elves. And Boston's Broadway Babies could have charged anywhere from $100 to $200 for her performance, depending on variables such as travel time, costume, and special requests.

"If a customer wants to have me present something, I'll come with a gift or holly berries, and sometimes planted flowers or candy," Angel says. "I try to work this all out beforehand, but any of the outfits can be modified, whether they want more or less coverage." But she makes no bones about the basics. "The more clothes that come off, the more money it is."

IT'S THE Saturday before Thanksgiving, the last Saturday before the Christmas season officially kicks off, and Angel is demonstrating how to lap-dance.

"I lean back and touch the floor," she says, straddling a bench at the Cask 'N Flagon. "Then I'll stand up and --" She stops mid-sentence, getting up from the booth. "Here, let me show you." Angel pulls a chair out from an adjacent table and mounts it, facing its back. "See, there's no hands allowed, so no one can touch you." Then she steps up onto the seat, rises up on her right foot, and swings her left leg up, pausing midair in a graceful variation of the Karate Kid's perched fighting stance. She dismounts and slinks down the L-shaped curve. "Then, my whole body falls down into this person's body."

It's early afternoon, and about 20 customers are in the Brookline Avenue bar. No one seems to notice the pale blonde giving an intimate lap dance to an empty chair.

"That makes everybody go crazy, you know, because that," she says, pointing to her crotch, "is right in front of their face." Angel pauses and then giggles sweetly. "Sorry to be so blunt.

"For a finale, sometimes I'll stand up and kick. That's a separate thing though, and I'll only do it once I'm in there and I know the crowd's cool."

Unfortunately, the crowd isn't always so cool.

"I've had guys who have wanted to be strippers," Angel says with a laugh. "So I'll be dancing and they'll take off all their clothes. Big beer-belly guys late at night, that's always fun." She rolls her eyes.

Aware of the potential dangers of a houseful of aroused men, Angel hires a driver/bodyguard to escort her to garment-dropping events. "If someone gets out of hand, I'll say once, in a joking way, `Na-uh-uh, not again' -- you know, kind of making a joke out of it," she explains. "I don't want my driver to jump in yet." She hesitates, gazing down at her Coke. "If the same guy does it a second time, then I'll tell him to leave. And if that person doesn't leave, then I'll leave."

After disclosing her thoughts on the dark underbelly of stripping, the loquacious young woman goes silent. "I've got to tell you that aspect of it -- otherwise I'd be lying to you," she says finally.

By stereotypical stripper standards, in fact, Angel seems downright preoccupied with honesty. But as a "naughty" Mrs. Claus, she sheds norms along with her red velour ensemble. She's fusing traditional folklore with fetishistic fantasy. It's not surprising that she'd be a little unusual.

Yes, a stripping Mrs. Claus is a joke whose set-up is its punch line. And it is the kind of joke that's too unsettling for most people. But somebody with just the right delivery, somebody with Angel's demure immodesty, might be able to pull it off -- at least for a few years. Maybe even eight.

"I sound so righteous for a stripper," Angel admits. "Sometimes when I'll caution someone not to do something, they'll say, `What's the matter with you? You're not supposed to be like that.' " She tilts her head thoughtfully.

"It is possible to have a conscience and be a stripper."