A Piggly Wiggly Christmas

by Robert Dalby

  “What’s the real estate market like down there right now?” Petey continued even before Gaylie Girl could react to his many revelations.

  “Oh, I’ll have to ask Renza Belford’s brother-in-law Paul about that. He was the one that got us such a great deal on our new place. As you know, Hale and I finished the renovation in record time and moved in right after the honeymoon. Everything couldn’t look spiffier, and I’ve spotted more than a few fixer-uppers around town that could use some tender loving care.”

  “Excellent! Meta and I really want to become Second Creekers and do the whole thing up right just like you’re doing with Hale!” He let out a peculiar little snicker that went on a bit longer than it needed to.

  “What’s so funny, son?”

  “Meta’s across the room on her cell phone right now giving her mother the news. I can see the face she’s making from where I’m standing.”

  Gaylie Girl winced ever so slightly. Oh, the inevitability of Renza! Possibly forever. “I hope it’s a happy face.”

  “You’d have to see it to really appreciate it. At any rate, you’ll probably be hearing from Mrs. Belford when everybody hangs up.”

  “Oh, yes. As sure as the sun rises faithfully in the east every morning, I will.”

  Petey indulged a hearty laugh at his mother’s expense. “By the way, you call up Sis and let her know, okay?”

  “I’ll be sure and do that now. And we’ll talk again soon. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get back to work. There’s a meeting with Hale and the councilmen coming up in about five minutes, and I’ve got to get myself ready for it since I’m the one taking all the notes now.”

  “I know you’ll do a super job with all that secretary stuff,” Petey added, though it sounded to Gaylie Girl for all the world like a hurried afterthought. “I bet Hale’s the best boss in the world to work with. He sure is a great stepfather.”

  “No complaints so far. I imagine we’ll tally up the final results around the dinner table when we both get home.”

  There was indeed no shortage of things to discuss when the Mayor and his new secretary sat down to their evening meal. The list was so long and involved that neither was paying much attention to their food, and the sautéed chicken breasts, buttered succotash, and rice and gravy that Gaylie Girl had thrown together were lukewarm by the time they both fell to.

  “What did Amanda have to say about the engagement when you phoned her up?” Mr. Choppy was saying after Gaylie Girl had brought him up to speed on Petey’s exciting news.

  “Surprisingly, she was in favor of it. I think she likes Meta quite a lot. Says she believes Petey’s finally got it right.”

  “Let’s all think positively, then.”

  Gaylie Girl shot him a skeptical glance with the suggestion of a smile there at the end. “I will, as all good mothers do where their children are concerned. But there’s still going to be Renza to deal with. In fact, I’ve already received an earful.”

  Mr. Choppy took a sip of his beer and shook his head sympathetically. “Ah, yes, the feisty Miz Renza. And what did your favorite Nitwitt have to say for herself today?”

  “Oh, she pretended to be happy about it all when she first came on the line, but I could sense she was just getting wound up for one doozy of a curveball. And she delivered, I have to admit. She finally got around to the subject of Petey’s divorces. ‘They’re just out there hanging, aren’t they? And not like ornaments on a Christmas tree,’ she said in that syrupy judgmental tone of hers. I just took a deep breath and let that slide.”

  “Wise move.”

  “Of course, she wasn’t finished. She kept talking about the two of them moving down here together without the benefit of marriage right away. I pointed out that Petey was over forty, and Meta had a big toehold on her thirties. They hardly needed adult supervision and would certainly resent ours. Finally, I changed the subject to our Caroling in The Square project, but I probably would have been better off sticking to Renza’s fretting about our children getting married.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Gaylie Girl pushed her rice and gravy around with her fork for a second or two and then managed a plaintive little sigh. “She’s on Denver Lee’s case like you wouldn’t believe. It seems Denver Lee wants to host our next Nitwitts’ meeting and has been calling everyone up telling them about a big surprise she’s got that will make our Caroling in The Square project even more appealing. Although I’m not crazy about Denver Lee’s house, I’m perfectly willing to show up there and listen to whatever she has to say. But Renza is completely territorial as usual and dead set against it. Relentless is her middle name.”

  Then Gaylie Girl sat back in her chair and quietly put down her fork. “But enough about all my Nitwitt business. I’m sure we’ll work it out. What’s the Mayor’s official verdict on his new secretary? How did she perform as his Gaylie Girl Friday on her first day?”

  Mr. Choppy matched her playful gaze, smiled, and cleared his throat as if he were about to read a proclamation. “The Mayor is officially impressed. Cherish Hempstead would be impressed, too. You did just great, sweetheart. Right after you left the room, all the councilmen commented on how well you kept up and read everything back perfectly. Not to mention, you got all my messages straight, and I’m sure you filed everything properly.”

  “So you’d call me a keeper?”

  Mr. Choppy leaned toward her as they gave each other a peck on the lips. “From the first time I laid eyes on you in the Piggly Wiggly fifty-something years ago.”

  Four

  Blame It on the Bossa Nova

  Despite Renza’s ongoing protestations, the next official meeting of the Nitwitts was definitely going to take place on a late October Saturday afternoon at the house that Eustice McQueen had built long decades ago for his ever-faithful wife. All the others were simply too curious to ignore Denver Lee’s insistent promise of a first-rate surprise to boost the success of their Caroling in The Square event on Christmas Eve. In fact, everyone except Renza had been wagering among themselves behind the scenes as to what that surprise might turn out to be. The Nitwitt that came closest to the truth, however distant that guess might be, would walk away with the kitty.

  Gaylie Girl had offered the notion that it might somehow be connected to one of Euss McQueen’s inventions, hidden away in some closet all these years and now to be revealed in all its glory or probable lack thereof; Laurie had put her money on Denver Lee’s never-realized ambition to be a trained singer dating all the way back to her college days at Ole Miss; always the party planner, Myrtis leaned toward some sort of special reception that Denver Lee might spearhead either before or after the caroling; Novie fell back on her obsession with travel and suggested that Denver Lee would propose a nice trip for the choir that did the best job—upon which the Nitwitts would vote, of course; while Euterpe’s entry wafted in straight out of left field. She claimed to have dreamed what Denver Lee was actually up to when images of people engaged in some sort of exotic dance step came to her in her sleep.

  “It was my interpretation that Denver Lee was conducting an orchestra. I could see the baton swinging from side to side, but all these people couldn’t seem to stop this fevered dancing,” Euterpe had elaborated with each of the other bettors in turn over the phone. “So I’ll just take a wild stab and say she’s going to go with a marathon Christmas dance in The Square after the caroling is over. I’ve been right to trust my dreams so many times in the past.”

  It had fallen to secretary Novie to record and date each of the guesses and note the amount of each bet to keep the competition on the straight and narrow. So it was she who took the liberty of revealing all the club shenanigans to Denver Lee in a polite phone call the evening before their meeting.

  “We Nitwitts are a creative bunch, I have to admit,” Denver Lee responded, utterly delighted by the news of the contest. “But you’ll get no hint from me as to who might be on the right track. That is, if anyone is at all.” Then, a sour note: “I
s Renza coming? She’s made me well aware of her opinion in the matter.”

  “She didn’t much like being overruled by the rest of us,” Novie admitted. “But she’s likely as not to appear anyway. She’s still entitled to preside over all of our meetings no matter where they’re held. I rather think she’ll get over herself and show.”

  “Well, I’d hate to see her miss a treat, Novie. This may be remembered as my finest hour.”

  Gaylie Girl was surprised to find that she was the last to enter the foyer of Denver Lee’s house right at two o’clock Saturday afternoon. It was totally out of character for every Nitwitt to be on time for one of their meetings. Usually, someone would develop car trouble and have to be picked up at the last minute, or thought they could get away with running to the grocery store for a few staples and then invariably bump into an old friend they hadn’t seen “for ages.” For this meeting, however, every Nitwitt—including a reluctant President Renza—was already enjoying her customary libation or nibbling at something decorative and savory on a cracker as Gaylie Girl greeted and joined them with gusto.

  “Welcome to our First Lady!” Denver Lee exclaimed, warmly embracing Gaylie Girl when the others had finally relinquished her. “The gang’s all here. Now run and go fix yourself a little happy and hurry on back. I can’t wait to tell all of you what this is about.”

  “After you’ve allowed me to open the meeting, I presume,” a kibitzing Renza interjected none too amicably.

  It was only after returning from fetching herself a Bloody Mary in the kitchen that Gaylie Girl noticed how much open space there was surrounding the group. That enormous whatchamacallit Euss McQueen had saddled Denver Lee with since long before he had left the planet was no longer in evidence, leaving plenty of room for all the Nitwitts to maneuver socially.

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what happened to that wheelie-looking thing in the center of the room?” Gaylie Girl said after downing one of the olives that was floating between her ice cubes.

  Denver Lee quickly lowered her voice as if passing along a well-kept secret. “I had my handyman lug it upstairs to the attic, where it will now gather dust judiciously forever and ever. No more paying the maid to clean it every week while suffering through all her strange looks.”

  “Well, good for you,” Gaylie Girl added. “And by the way, what the hell was that?”

  Denver Lee enjoyed a prolonged laugh, her generous girth shaking with delight.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ve been telling the others over the years. I have no idea what it was. I don’t even think Euss knew what it was. My suspicion has always been that it was just something that got the better of him, and he couldn’t let go of it. Maybe it was a crazy reflection of all the whirligigs and doodads he had running around inside his head. But that’s in the past—over and done with.” Denver Lee turned and gestured dramatically toward a far corner of the room.

  “Over there is the wheelie-looking thing’s most practical and melodious replacement and the reason for this meeting.” She spotted a spoon on a nearby hors d’oeuvres tray, chimed her drink several times, and raised her voice. “Ladies! Fellow Nitwitts!” She waited briefly until all the chatter had died down. “If you will all direct your attention to my new organ in the corner of the room. I know some of you have been asking me about it from the moment you walked in, but I wanted to wait until everyone was here to unveil my surprise.”

  Renza and proper protocol were not to be ignored, of course. “Then may I now open our meeting?”

  “By all means,” Denver Lee replied, remaining unruffled throughout Renza’s rote declaration of club business officially under way.

  Everyone quickly gathered around the organ, murmuring pleasantries while sipping their drinks, and Gaylie Girl was particularly complimentary. “It certainly does something for the room. I know what a difference my grand piano makes now that it’s at home in our drawing room on North Bayou Avenue. Since I didn’t know how to play it before, it did nothing but sit there and soak up furniture polish all those years up in Lake Forest.”

  “This one’s a beauty, isn’t it? A Hammond with a Leslie speaker,” Denver Lee continued. “That may or may not mean something to any of you, but this is a state-of-the-art instrument. I can do the most fabulous things with it, and I can’t wait to show you all.”

  Renza resumed her contentious line of questioning. “So we’ve come here this afternoon for an organ recital? This is your surprise? Horse apples! Now really, Denver Lee, what does this have to do with Caroling in The Square? We still have serious matters to decide.”

  “If you’ll just let me finish explaining, everything will become clear. You see, my piano lessons have been going so well, I decided to take things to the next level by purchasing this organ. I’ve always wanted one, and now I can actually play, thanks to the expert instruction Euterpe’s been giving all of us.”

  The town’s Mistress of the Scales held tightly on to Pan with both hands as she shifted him from his recumbent spot just below her shoulder. Then she acknowledged Denver Lee’s praise with a little bow and whispered to her most precious pet. “There, there. Mommy just wanted to make sure her baby didn’t fall.”

  “I can appreciate this mutual admiration society the two of you have got going as much as the next person,” Renza put in, “but I’m still waiting for the payoff. What does this organ of yours have to do with our Christmas Eve event? You’re not thinking of dragging it down to The Square to accompany all those choirs, are you? That would be one mighty damn long extension cord. Besides, it was my understanding that all these carols were supposed to be sung a cappella.”

  Denver Lee ignored Renza’s prattle and made a big to-do of taking her seat on the bench. “If that’s what all the choirmasters prefer, then so be it. Euterpe says some of them might prefer a bit of background music. So I was going to offer to make up a mix tape accompaniment for any of the choirs that wanted to play it back while they’re singing up on the balconies. My stomp box can duplicate tons of delicate, Christmasy sounds—like harps and flutes and even the jingling of bells.”

  Gaylie Girl immediately verbalized the question that was on everyone’s mind. “What on earth is a stomp box?”

  “Oh, that’s the buzzword for the effects pedal. I manipulate it with my feet, which I will soon demonstrate. I thought I’d play ‘It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.’ That’s always been my absolute favorite, and it’s sure to be one the choirs will choose.” After turning on the power, Denver Lee began walking everyone through the procedure out loud. “Next, I press the rhythm key in play mode—”

  An insistent, exotic beat suddenly exploded from somewhere within the organ, and Denver Lee’s language took a salty turn. “Well, dammit to Sam! I pressed the wrong rhythm pattern for playback! Somehow I’ve turned on the bossa nova—and the fast version at that!”

  “No harm done, I’m sure,” Gaylie Girl said. “Just change it to angelic sounds or something churchy like that. You implied you had tons to choose from.”

  Denver Lee fumbled around for a few seconds, but the bossa nova beat would simply not back down. “The key seems to be stuck. Now how in the world did that happen? Let me go have a look at the manual.” For the next few minutes, Denver Lee thumbed through the brochure she had retrieved from inside the bench, spent some time poring over one particular page, and then gave a resolute little sigh. “I know what. I’ll just shut everything down and start from the beginning. As Gaylie Girl put it—there’s no harm done!”

  But when Denver Lee tried the sequence again, the bossa nova beat remained loudly intact. “I guess I’ll just have to call up that technician and get him to come down from Memphis to look at it. I haven’t had the least bit of trouble with it until now. But I was careful to pay for an extended warranty. There’s probably something very simple I’m not doing. Oh, foot! Everything was just perfect when I practiced last night.”

  Despite her frustrations, Denver Lee tackled the first few bars of “
It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” anyway, even if the end result was more like Carnival in Rio than Christmas in Second Creek. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Meanwhile, some of the Nitwitts decided to make the best of it, being the good-time girls full of giggles and snickers and liquor that they were.

  “Please keep on playing, Denver Lee,” Myrtis begged. “It sounds a bit perverse, but I kinda like it anyway. By the way, would someone care to dance with me? This reminds me of the time back in the day when Raymond brought home ‘Blame It on the Bossa Nova’ from his record shop. We both loved Eydie Gormé and that big clear voice of hers at the time, and that was one of her biggest hits in the early sixties—if I remember correctly. In fact, I still have the original forty-five in my back porch collection, and I can’t resist giving it a spin on the old turntable every now and then.”

  Denver Lee momentarily stopped her recital to turn and stare Myrtis down, but she couldn’t keep a straight face for long. Finally, she gave in to the absurdity of it all and continued with the south-of-the-border rendition of her favorite Christmas carol. In rapid succession, Novie decided to join the fray and fulfilled Myrtis’s request for a dance partner; Laurie and Gaylie Girl decided to try their best bossa nova steps together; and Euterpe lowered Pan to the floor to take the briefest of turns with Renza, who had finally given herself permission to unwind and stop being such a pain in the rear about every little thing. Even with all the added space, however, there was a collision or two, followed by a few impulsive partner switches in hopes of smoother results.

  Eventually, they all had their fill of cavorting at about the same time Denver Lee grew tired of producing such unorthodox, surreal sounds. No matter which Christmas carol she summoned from her repertoire—“Away in a Manger,” “O Holy Night,” “The Little Drummer Boy,” or “Greensleeves”—they each had that frenetic bossa nova beat beneath them. It was way past time for the Nitwitts to catch their breath with fresh cocktails and address the more serious club matters at hand.