Diva Wraps It Up, The

by Davis, Krista

  Nina set her purse in a chair, and in such a cheerful voice that it almost sounded like she had burst into song, she said, “Hello, Horace! How are you feeling? You look wonderful. I hear you did splendidly in surgery yesterday and that you’re healing well.”

  I threw Nina a questioning glance. Why hadn’t she told me? “Where did you hear that?” I whispered.

  Clearly annoyed, she grabbed a pad of paper from her purse and scribbled, You’re supposed to say encouraging things to a patient!

  “Hi, Horace. It’s Sophie.”

  Nina rotated her hand in front of her face. Evidently I was supposed to say more.

  Instead I reached for his hand and clasped it in mine. “We’re so worried about you.” His cold hand lay in mine, motionless as a dead fish.

  Nina babbled brightly, telling him what a glorious day it was and that his Christmas party had been fabulous. Throughout her cheerful rambling, Horace showed no recognition that we were in the room. I feared for him.

  When Nina ran out of steam, I sat in the chair and spoke with him softly, holding his hand and telling him to be strong and that we were all pulling for him.

  I couldn’t help noticing that the nurse hovered protectively just outside the door.

  And then Nina leaned over him and, right in his face, said, “Moondoggie, we’re looking for Brown-Eyed Girl. I’m sure she’d want to know that you need her now.”

  To my total amazement Horace’s fingers curled just enough to give my hand the slightest squeeze.

  “I saw that!” gasped Nina. “Horace, I know you’re in there. I know you can hear us. Does Brown-Eyed Girl live in Old Town?”

  The soft pressure pressed my fingers again. It was nothing more than an attempt to curl his fingers really. I gazed at Nina and said in a low voice, “You have to tell him what a squeeze means. One squeeze for yes, and two for no.”

  The nurse interrupted. “Did he really squeeze your hand?”

  We nodded.

  “Have you been having a good visit, Horace?” she asked. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to change your bandages.”

  She shooed us out in the nicest way, saying she hoped we would return because Horace needed interaction with his loved ones.

  As we walked down the hallway, Nina said, “He needs Brown-Eyed Girl.”

  “Isn’t it interesting that horrible Edith hasn’t been to the hospital?” I didn’t think I was particularly critical of people, but I couldn’t imagine anything harsher or more cold. “She must despise him,” I said. “Maybe Edith knows about Brown-Eyed Girl and that’s why she’s so unhappy.”

  “He squeezed your hand. I saw him.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Let’s be realistic. If Brown-Eyed Girl lived in Old Town, wouldn’t he have contacted her?”

  “Maybe not.” Nina scowled at me. “You know things are different when you’re married. Most people don’t go calling up old flames. That’s extremely poor form.” Nina grabbed my wrist. “Look! That’s her! How could we have been so blind?”

  Horace’s secretary, Phyllis, walked toward us. “Have you seen Horace? How’s he doing?”

  We filled her in, omitting the fact that his wife hadn’t paid him a visit yet.

  Nina widened her eyes and tilted her head toward Phyllis in little jolts. Phyllis definitely had brown eyes. She wore her hair yellow blond, but her dark eyebrows gave away her natural color.

  When I didn’t take Nina’s oh-so-obvious hint, she burbled, “Phyllis, do you know the song ‘Brown Eyed Girl’?”

  Phyllis smiled. “I do! It’s one of my favorites.”

  Nina turned a smug, satisfied face toward me.

  Nina was such a romantic. We couldn’t walk around questioning every woman in Horace’s general age range. I asked Phyllis to keep in touch and let us know if she heard about any changes in Horace’s condition.

  Nina didn’t say anything until we were out of earshot. “We found her! Right under our noses. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “First of all, everyone likes the song ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’ That doesn’t prove anything. Second, unless I’m mistaken, over half the population has brown eyes. Are you planning to ask every brown-eyed woman in Old Town if she likes that song?”

  “We’ll know soon enough anyway. I bet if she’s Brown-Eyed Girl, he’ll respond to her and get better right away.”

  We drove out of the parking lot, Nina still insisting that Phyllis had to be Horace’s long-lost love. “Horace is such a nice guy. I can’t imagine how he tolerated Edith all these years.”

  I couldn’t help thinking about Horace’s upset stomach the day before. “I don’t want to be swayed by the fact that Edith is such an unfriendly person, but the spouse is always the first suspect when something happens. It would be so easy for her to slip something into his food.”

  Nina dreamily said, “He and Phyllis worked next to each other all along, never able to share their true feelings.” She choked. “Is Phyllis married? Do you know?”

  “I have no idea.” I parked the car close enough to my house to have walked easily, but I needed my hybrid SUV to transport the pine roping and wreaths home. I thought I’d better get them up before Mars covered the house with lights.

  Old Town was beginning to put on its Christmas finery. Lush pine boughs surrounded store windows and cheerful wreaths seemed to have appeared overnight. Even though it was early afternoon, lights sparkled everywhere I looked. Nina and I peered into a paned store window. A silver and white winter wonderland glistened inside. Giant three-dimensional snowflakes hung from the ceiling, lights glinted off their fuzzy spokes and gleamed on little beads. Stunning silver pieces graced a table set as though for a holiday dinner. The centerpiece took my breath away. Two elegant silver reindeer pulled a foot-high silver sleigh filled with white blown-glass ornaments. On the buffet behind it, silver candleholders in the shapes of stag heads with antlers held white candles laced with tiny silver stars.

  “Ohh,” sighed Nina. “Do you think Jill could do my house in silver and white? There’s something so clean and wintery about it.”

  I understood completely. It sparkled in a crisp, elegant way, making me long to change my traditional red and green Christmas décor to silver and white. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

  We moved on to Rocking Horse Toys.

  Jonah and Twiggy Lawrence had outdone themselves decorating the window of their new toy store. Jonah had been a sales representative for a major toy company in Arizona. He’d bucked the corporate life to pursue his dream—a toy store of his own. He and his wife, Twiggy, opened it with great fanfare in June, but this was their big season. They had re-created Santa’s workshop. Two-foot-tall elves wearing red and green outfits wrapped packages. Dolls in lacy dresses looked on. The giant unicorn and huge pony behind them were so cute I wanted to buy them. Colorful books lay in artistically arranged piles, waiting their turn to be wrapped. Gleaming red fire trucks competed for attention with a four-foot-tall sailboat. If none of that was enough to lure children inside, bright gift tags bearing names like Emma, Sophia, Kat, Jacob, and Michael were scattered around, as if they were waiting for the elves to assign them to gifts. A tower of colorfully wrapped gifts with mysterious contents waited to find homes.

  It was that wonderful time of year again. I took a deep breath of the frigid air and couldn’t help smiling. There was simply something magical about the Christmas season.

  Nina tugged me inside, and I didn’t resist, even though my niece had outgrown the toy stage. A collection of huggable white snowmen, polar bears, and dolls had been arranged in a pyramid. A train circled in the store, tooting its horn, and in the background, soft music played “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” which I remembered from my childhood.

  Twiggy was decked out in red and white striped tights, green elf shoes that curled at the toes, a green jumper, and a green elf hat
. Her name suited her perfectly. Almost as slender as a young boy, Twiggy sparkled with enthusiasm and seemed far younger than her forty years. Her cropped hair, the color of chestnuts, followed the shape of her head. Today wisps stuck out from under her hat. There wasn’t a child in the world who wouldn’t confide in this adorable elf.

  “You look so cute,” I said.

  “Thanks, Sophie! We have children coming by any minute. Santa will be here soon, so I thought I’d dress in the spirit of things. This is my official helper. You know Kat, don’t you?”

  Kat Babineaux wore an outfit exactly like Twiggy’s, but she held a live long-haired white cat who appeared to be very much at home in her little arms.

  “Who is this pretty kitty?” I asked.

  “Snowball.”

  Maybe she was right about not being allergic to animals. She didn’t seem to be in any distress at the moment, and she couldn’t get her nose any closer to Snowball if she tried.

  A loud cantankerous demand stilled the other voices in the store. “Just how long do you expect me to stand here?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dear Natasha,

  My daughter has been begging for a bicycle. We think wrapping it is the best way to hide it, but how do we wrap something so awkward?

  One of the Elves in Santa Claus, Indiana

  Dear One of the Elves,

  Disguising gifts takes cardboard boxes, masking tape, and a little creativity. It’s easiest to slice one side off a large box and tape two sides or three from another box to the first one, thus creating a new shape that fits around the item. You can even bend one into an arc, or use another household object like a ball or a lampshade to give it a different shape. Then wrap with gift wrap.

  Natasha

  Twiggy’s eyes flew open wide. “Heaven preserve us,” she muttered, adjusting her hat. She hurried to the cash register, where her mother-in-law, Claudine, was ringing up someone else’s purchases. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Scroggins. We’re a small store and only have the one cash register.”

  Petite Claudine had turned the color of beets. Silver hair in a bob style that she’d tucked behind her ears emphasized the blaze on her face. The gentleman customer before Mrs. Scroggins grabbed his purchase and practically ran for the door, brushing by me in his haste.

  Claudine rang up the stuffed mouse Mrs. Scroggins wanted to buy. It wore glasses and a Santa hat.

  “The price is wrong. I have a coupon!” Mrs. Scroggins couldn’t have spoken louder without yelling. Although she could certainly make a big fuss, she was actually fairly scrawny. Even her bulky wool coat didn’t add much to her girth. But her scowl and contemptuous manner were enough to intimidate anyone.

  The other customers stared. Kat retreated to safety behind the counter with Snowball.

  The deep red color drained from Claudine’s face. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Scroggins. This coupon is for another store.”

  “That makes no difference to me.” She reminded me of an unpleasant schoolteacher who could make a student squirm with a mere glance.

  Mrs. Scroggins wasn’t physically imposing, but Twiggy looked to Claudine in desperation and hissed, “Give her a discount.” She smiled sweetly at Edith. “Mrs. Scroggins is an excellent customer.”

  Claudine stared at Mrs. Scroggins for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. We cannot honor this coupon, Mrs. Scroggins. If you want to use the coupon, you’ll have to go to that store. I believe the closest branch is in Falls Church.”

  “Why, no one has ever been so rude to me. You’ll rue this day. I shall inform my husband and from here on out, we’ll do our shopping elsewhere. How ungrateful! I’ll go on the Internet and tell everyone what a despicable store this is. I’ll run you right out of business. How dare you treat me like this? You’ll wish you had given me a discount when you’re sitting in the poorhouse all alone. All you Lawrences deserve to be cold and hungry!” Mrs. Scroggins smacked money on the counter, turned on her heel, and marched out of the store gripping the mouse.

  Twiggy called out a weak, “Merry Christmas!”

  “Wow. That was quite a scene.”

  In the commotion, I hadn’t noticed my new neighbor Liza Simon, who always introduced herself as Liza with a Z, like Minnelli. Reddish blond hair curled into her face in an unruly manner that gave her the appearance of being carefree and fun. She made little effort to tame it, other than pushing parts of it back with her hand, which emphasized the roundness of her face and a slight double chin. She was married to Luis, the psychiatrist who had wanted to look at the dirk at Horace’s party.

  “People say New Yorkers are rude, but I never saw anything like that in the city. I thought Southerners were supposed to be super-polite. What’s Scrooge’s excuse?”

  “Scrooge?” asked Nina.

  “That’s what people call her. Luis gets mad at me, but the woman is always a grump. What is her problem?”

  “Maybe she’s stressed because Horace is in the hospital.” My path had crossed with Mrs. Scroggins’s several times, but only on a surface level. I had no idea what her story was.

  Nina leaned in and whispered, “But she hasn’t been to see him.”

  “Could she have bought the mouse for him?” I suggested halfheartedly.

  “Do you think she ever gets away with that coupon scam? I’m not much of a coupon clipper, but if I could use them anywhere, it might be worth it.” Liza laughed aloud, which assured me she meant it in jest.

  The hostile air left in Mrs. Scroggins’s wake dissipated, and it wasn’t long before shoppers were merrily enjoying hot cider that Twiggy brought around on a tray.

  “Are you three invited to the cookie swap of all cookie swaps?” asked Twiggy.

  “You mean at Gwen Babineaux’s house?” Liza sipped a little cup of cider. She held her free hand up in the air and waved it. “Please explain this to me. Why on earth am I supposed to bake thirteen dozen cookies?” She looked up toward the ceiling and moved her fingers as though she was counting on them. “One hundred forty-four . . . that’s like a million cookies! What is she going to do with all those cookies?”

  “She’s having twelve guests,” I explained. “One dozen of each type of cookie will be shared at the cookie swap, so we can all try them. Then everyone gets to take home one dozen of each type of cookie.”

  “Instead of you baking a dozen kinds of cookies for yourself, everyone bakes enough to share, and we all end up with a variety of cookies.” Twiggy grinned at her. “With the store so busy, I don’t have time to do a lot of baking this year, so I’m thrilled. I’m bringing no-bake cookies,” said Twiggy. “They’re our favorites.”

  “No-bake? Why didn’t I think of that?” Liza pouted. “I’m not much of a baker. Gwen is out of her mind crazy! It would take me months to bake that many cookies. And I’d have to go to a spa for another month just to recover. Do you think anyone would notice if I brought store-bought cookies?”

  Twiggy nodded. “Natasha and Gwen will know the difference. And believe me, they’ll say something. We’ve been renting the apartment over Natasha and Mars’s garage since June, and she has the nerve to sneak in there when we’re not home. Can you believe she told me I don’t fold my towels correctly? Like anyone cares? It’s not as though she’s the one using them!”

  Liza moaned, turned her eyes up to the ceiling and cringed. “They’re such domestic divas! It makes me crazy. I think they’ve rubbed off on Luis. The man was always content with a fake Christmas tree and an artificial wreath slapped on the door. This year he’s completely consumed by the Christmas decorating contest, and he expects me to be a holiday domestic goddess. I told him I’m a goddess all right, and he’d better remember that, but not a domestic one.”

  Twiggy gasped and focused on me.

  Looking slightly sick, Liza said, “Oh no! You’re one of them, too, aren’t you? I feel like I’ve moved onto the Stepfo
rd Wives street!”

  “Not to worry,” I said. “There are plenty of people on our block who don’t cook and bake, and frankly, I’m not much into cleaning.”

  “Cleaning?” Liza’s eyes swept heavenward again, and the corners of her mouth plunged. If nothing else, she was amusingly dramatic.

  “I’m not joking when I say I’m not a domestic type. What am I going to do?” Liza asked.

  Nina giggled. “Shh. Don’t tell, but you won’t be the only one. I won’t be baking cookies for the swap or for any other reason. Buy cookies from a bakery and put them in cute little containers. Gwen and Natasha will be so absorbed with their own cookies that they probably won’t notice.”

  “Nina, you’re a doll! Finally, a woman after my own heart.”

  The door banged open and adorable children trundled in bundled up in colorful coats, boots, and hats.

  “They’re so sweet it almost makes me wish I had one of my own,” said Liza.

  Wistfully, Twiggy said, “We’ve been trying to have one but no luck yet. We’ve put in an application to adopt.”

  “You’d make great parents. Besides, what kid wouldn’t want to have his or her very own toy store in the family?” I asked.

  “That’s what I think!” Twiggy smiled broadly. “I swear we’d keep Kat if we thought Baxter and Gwen wouldn’t notice!” Twiggy excused herself and flitted over to the kids.

  “I’m off to buy pine for my crazed husband.” Liza frowned like a clown.

  “At Fleur de Lis? That’s where we’re headed,” said Nina.

  A hearty ho ho ho boomed from the rear of the store. Santa had arrived, complete with red suit, fuzzy white beard, and Jonah’s kind brown eyes. A few children squealed at the sight of him. Some drew away to the safety of their parents.

  Nina, Liza, and I slipped out and headed next door. A cascade of ready-to-use arrangements for front doors and walkways flanked the entrance of Fleur de Lis, Old Town’s floral and garden supply store. Evergreens spilled out of the tops of Santa’s boots. Bells, hearts, and stars made of birdseed hung from jaunty red bows on miniature Christmas trees, and stunningly elegant topiaries of greens that alternated with rings of rosy apples were topped off by the traditional colonial sign of welcome—a pineapple. I loved them all. A thick garland decorated the doorway. Huge magnolia leaves twined with holly, various kinds of fir, red berries, giant pinecones, green and red apples, and mistletoe. It was nothing short of amazing. I studied it for a moment, wondering if I could re-create it.