A Piggly Wiggly Christmas

by Robert Dalby

  “That’s all well and good,” Lady Roth answered, staring down into the bottom of her empty Gibson glass as if she had just received a “bad news” telegram. “But the fact remains that I shall not be singing during this caroling event. That is what you just said to me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I did say that. But in this case, I believe silence is golden. What could be more dramatic than you portraying the Star of Bethlehem on the widow’s walk atop the courthouse? As a practical matter, you’d be too high up for your voice to be heard, but everyone in and all around The Square below will see you. We’ll have a special spotlight rigged up for you on one of the balconies across the way. You’re certain to be the center of attention throughout the entire event.”

  There was a hopeful pause from Lady Roth during which her wrinkled features softened somewhat. “But what sort of costume shall I design? How on earth do you make someone resemble the Star of Bethlehem? Susan B. Anthony was nothing in comparison to this. I simply went to the library and Lovita Grubbs helped me look her up.”

  Laurie had rehearsed every possible response with her Powell standing in as Lady Roth and had her reply at the ready. “After some consideration, our idea to suggest to you was a long, flowing dress made of a heavy white fabric of some kind. Floor-length with lots of folds and perhaps gold sequins for accents. You’ll want to keep warm up there if the weather isn’t cooperating. And then we envisioned some sort of brilliant gold headgear in the shape of a star. Lightweight, of course. We don’t want you losing your balance and tumbling over the railing up there. We want you portraying a star, not a comet.”

  “Are you implying I am unsteady on my feet? I know I have a touch of arthritis, but I get around quite handily, I’ll have you know. I’ve never taken a pratfall in my entire life.”

  Gaylie Girl cheerfully chimed in. “That was the last thing on our minds, we can assure you. Think of what everyone will be saying about you, Lady Roth. What dedication to the spirit of the season to portray such a glorious symbol atop the greatest of Second Creek’s buildings! You’ll be towering over everything—keeping watch over your flock just as the shepherds once did on that eventful night long ago!”

  An even longer pause suggested that Lady Roth might finally be buying into the scheme. But, no, another objection. “Suppose it’s not just cold? Suppose we’re having one of our unpredictable Second Creek storms?”

  This time it was Powell who spoke up with a conspiratorial expression on his face. “In that case, all bets are off anyway. We’d have to cancel the event, God forbid. But for anything short of that, you’ll put on your trusty long johns beneath that dress. No one will ever be the wiser. And since when has a veteran Second Creeker like yourself ever allowed the weather to keep her from her appointed rounds?”

  There were hopeful smiles all around the table, and Lady Roth quickly responded. “I have to admit this is just the sort of unforgettable moment I’ve always tried to achieve in my career. But I still wish I would be allowed to sing. Couldn’t they rig up a microphone for me up there somehow?”

  “Not easily, I don’t believe,” Powell said. “I briefly looked into it, and Mr. Choppy said he doubted it could be done without taking some risks. You never want to take chances with jury-rigging things.”

  In fact, neither Powell nor anyone else had looked into the matter. But they had all huddled about anticipating the detours and dead ends of Lady Roth’s circuitous thought processes. Their conclusion was that a firmly discouraging position from the outset would be advantageous to bringing her aboard.

  “Let me think on it throughout the meal,” Lady Roth proclaimed. “A few more questions will no doubt occur to me.”

  Lady Roth had just downed the last of her stuffed portabella mushroom appetizer, along with the third pearl onion of her second dirty Gibson. She was clearly in her element now, having waved to a few people she had recognized at nearby tables, smiled obsequiously in their general direction, and then given her dining partners hushed summaries of their deepest, darkest secrets.

  Did they all know, for instance, that Adelia Marlowe Standard over there underneath the ceiling fan had once been nearly convicted of embezzlement when she had briefly worked for a bank down in Yazoo City before she was married? Why, it was rumored that her wealthy father had paid a pretty penny to get her off scot-free. More’s the pity, however, he had been unable to rescue her from bad taste since that hat she was wearing this evening looked like it had been decorated with spoiled supermarket produce. Now, what on earth could she have been thinking?

  And were they aware that the overdressed Renette Pauly Pierce in the opposite corner of the room had once tried out at Radio City Music Hall eons ago but was told her legs were far too spindly to look good doing fan kicks? And that the reason she always wore those floor-length dresses even to this very day and on this very evening was to hide her offensive chicken legs from the eyes of the general public? Lady Roth went on and on, eliciting only patient nods and forced smiles from Gaylie Girl, Laurie, and Powell all the while.

  When Lady Roth had finally concluded her scathing review of much of the Tea Room’s clientele, she decided to embark upon another of her famous tangents. But at least it was relevant to the task at hand. “I couldn’t help but wonder how you came up with the idea of juxtaposing the Star of Bethlehem with someone such as myself, Laurie. It’s not like you can run across that sort of thing as an adorable piece of fluff in the latest issue of Better Homes and Gardens.”

  Having just finished off Vester’s signature salad of arugula, red onion, mandarin orange slices, and slivered almonds with a balsamic vinaigrette dressing, Laurie was fueled for battle in proper gourmet fashion. “You’re right about that, of course, but my inspiration was rather mundane as these things go. I just happened to remember the specially designed Christmas cards I had ordered this year from one of those catalogs, and the focus was the Star of Bethlehem. Several of us had been wondering all along how to create a spotlight role for you, and everything just fell into place from that point on.”

  “You never know how, when, or where one of Laurie’s schemes is going to pop up,” Powell added, nodding affectionately in his wife’s direction. “She can sometimes seem to be all over the map, but she never gets lost.”

  Then Gaylie Girl joined the triple team. “I truly believe that featuring you as the Star of Bethlehem puts the spotlight on you far more effectively than a mere choir solo would.”

  Lady Roth carefully adjusted her turban and then leaned in, lowering her voice. “Of course, you all know my most heartfelt ambition was to sing and dance and act on Broadway as Vocifera P. Forest. I wanted the biggest stage possible for my talents, but, alas, it was just never meant to be. So perhaps settling for staging on the widow’s walk atop the courthouse shouldn’t be all that much of a stretch for me. There have been worse venues in my life. My entire marriage to Heath Vanderlith Roth, for instance. Believe me, you didn’t want tickets to that.”

  “Then does this mean you accept our Christmas Eve vision for you?” Gaylie Girl asked. Her tone was nothing if not hopeful, while both Laurie and Powell looked as if they were waiting for the opening of an envelope at an awards ceremony.

  “Let me enjoy the rest of my dinner first. I shall inform all of you of my decision over dessert.”

  A third Gibson and an expertly prepared entrée of grilled mahimahi with a crawfish cream sauce had Lady Roth letting down her hair, even though she kept her turban rigidly in place.

  “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed food or company more,” she was saying. “I do spend an inordinate amount of time alone out at my Cypress Knees. It’s difficult to have stimulating conversation with a roomful of family heirlooms, particularly when most of them came from Heath’s family. His mother, Julianna, was insufferable. She practically claimed that every stick of furniture they owned came over on the Mayflower. Of course, I don’t know how she would know something like that unless she was there, helping them unload it all, the old reli
c!”

  Gaylie Girl quickly swallowed a bite of her medium-rare steak and decided to run with the opening. “You must come into The Square more often, Lady Roth. Now that I’m a working girl, I’m always looking for someone to have lunch with downtown. Hale is so frequently tied up with his duties or the councilmen that we rarely get to eat together. But you and I could be girlfriends together over soup and salad somewhere if you’d like. All you have to do is give me a little notice so I can square it with my schedule.”

  The ploy clearly caught Lady Roth off guard. “That’s most gracious of you, Gaylie Girl. I’d have to classify it as being very much in the approaching Christmas spirit. But are you sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for?”

  “As the First Lady of Second Creek, I can honestly say that I do. Part of my job description, informal as it may be, is to interact with Second Creekers in meaningful ways. Only then can I really feel a part of the community. That’s why I came up with Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve.”

  “Well said, of course. But despite what all of you probably think, I do know that I can be a pain in the derrière.”

  “Why, nothing of the kind!” Gaylie Girl insisted, though her words were strictly a reflex action.

  “You’re just being tactful.” Lady Roth paused for an introspective chuckle and surveyed the table. “The truth is, once I started being deliberately difficult all the time, I discovered my brain wouldn’t allow me to back out of the agreement. I read an article in the dentist’s office once about synapses and wiring and all that sort of clinical stuff, and it made perfect sense to me. At this late stage in my life, I don’t think I’m capable of learning a new language of behavior.”

  She cackled with an edgy robustness that suggested the Gibsons were taking their toll, even on a full stomach. “Now this is priceless. I wish I had a mirror to hold up to all your faces. You’d think I’d just discovered the meaning of life and passed it along. I must try this again sometime. Lowering my guard, I mean.”

  Though truly nonplussed, Gaylie Girl somehow found the right words. “You can always be candid with us, Lady Roth. Speaking of which, have you reached a decision yet?”

  “Ah, but I haven’t had my dessert, and I do think I’ve left room. Vester is such a naughty boy tempting us with all these calories the way he does. We must summon him to the table at once for the indulgent finale.”

  Warm walnut-pecan pie seemed to be the most popular choice when Vester took the dessert order a short time later. There was, of course, the piece that Gaylie Girl would be taking home to Mr. Choppy for a treat, but Powell and Lady Roth each opted for a slice of their own then and there.

  “I like to say that we stole the recipe for it from Mount Olympus,” Vester commented with a playful wink. “Zeus, but it’s wickedly good!”

  Laurie managed a polite smile. “That it is, but I think I’ll settle for a bite of Powell’s tonight. Otherwise, just decaf for me with cream and sugar.”

  It did not take long for Vester to reappear with the dessert course and make his usual tactful exit. Then followed the moment of truth—inelegant and rambling as it turned out to be.

  “What the hell!” Lady Roth began. “Or should I say, ‘Why the hell not?’ Yes, why should I not grab the Star of Bethlehem by the horns and wrestle it to the ground?” She paused long enough to roll her eyes a couple of times. “I realize that my metaphor was probably mixed. But then I always like things well mixed. Which reminds me—they do a first-rate dirty Gibson here, don’t they?”

  As it was completely unclear to whom Lady Roth was addressing the comment, and the others were occupied with their coffee and pie, Gaylie Girl decided to field the question. “Judging by the Manhattan I sipped and savored, I’d have to agree. But just to clarify—am I hearing that you want to be our Star of Bethlehem?”

  “You hear correctly. If I can’t shine on Broadway, I can sure as hell shine on top of the courthouse. And I am a widow, so I have every right to walk the widow’s walk.” Obviously amused with herself, Lady Roth produced more raucous laughter. “And talk the widow’s talk, for that matter.”

  “Right on both counts,” Gaylie Girl added. “And we’re all absolutely delighted to hear that you’ll be gracing our little production come Christmas Eve. Your star will never shine brighter, I’m sure.”

  It was nearly eleven o’clock, and Mr. Choppy had just finished the last of his warmed-up walnut-pecan pie and pushed back from the kitchen table. Meanwhile, Gaylie Girl had contented herself with watching him indulge while sipping her coffee and bringing him up to date on the evening at the Victorian Tea Room.

  “Of course, you and Miz Laurie planned everything perfectly,” Mr. Choppy commented at one point. “The way to Lady Roth’s heart is definitely through her ego. Winin’, dinin’, the whole kit and caboodle. I’m not surprised you finally wore her down.”

  Gaylie Girl could not resist a triumphant little chuckle. “And literally got her to agree to keep her mouth shut on Christmas Eve.”

  “Hoo, boy! I wonder how many people have ever gotten that kinda result before?”

  “You may be looking at the first one.” Then she decided to switch subjects. “How’s your work on the overlay bond issue coming?”

  “Well, I got most of the changes we needed worked out tonight. Then it’s back to the councilmen for their approval. The books say we can swing it from a bonded indebtedness point of view, but it’s still gonna be up to the voters when we tackle it next spring.” He turned and pointed toward the refrigerator. “Oh, sweetheart, could you get me a little swallow a’ milk. Nothin’ like this kinda sugary pie to coat your windpipe somethin’ awful.”

  He waited for the milk to arrive, downing it quickly and clearing his throat before resuming his train of thought. “Yes, indeed! That does hit the spot! Anyway, if the general public is as upset with all those potholes as you and Miz Laurie were that day Miz Novie drove you all over creation without seat belts, I expect we’ll win this thing handily.”

  Gaylie Girl leaned in on her elbows. “Then it looks like both our projects are well on their way to success. My latest report from Euterpe says all the choirmasters have been cooperating with her on the selections, and we shouldn’t have any more complaints from Lawton Bead now that Lady Roth has agreed to refrain from her screeching.”

  “Oh, I meant to tell you,” Mr. Choppy put in. “Henry Hempstead called up while you were out this evenin’. He just wanted to give us an update on things. Two trimesters down and one to go. Cherish is in great spirits and would love to have us drop by anytime. With a little advance notice, of course.”

  “I’d love to, but I don’t know when we’d find the time. Maybe when we get a little closer to Christmas, and we both get some time off from the office. A visit in the spirit of the season might be just what we all need about then.”

  Mr. Choppy leaned back in pleasant contemplation. “You know, I really do think of Cherish as a daughter more than ever now. Seems both she and Henry have lost their parents, so maybe I fill the void from their point of view, too. Do you think it’d be too pushy of me to suggest myself as the godfather of their child?”

  Gaylie Girl reached over and gently patted his hand. “That’s a lovely idea, Hale. All she can say is no, and something tells me she won’t. First things first, though. Let’s just concentrate on getting the baby here safe and sound.”

  Six

  Getting Wired

  Meta Belford turned to her fiancé, Petey Lyons, and gave him a lengthy bear hug just inside the doorway of 18 Courthouse Street North—the somewhat antiquated store on The Square they had just purchased for a song. It was typical of commercial buildings put up in the late 1800s throughout the South, featuring two stories of brick, shuttered windows, and a fanciful lacework balcony. Back in the day, the merchants who owned them had kept their stores on the ground floor while living above with their families. The concept was now returning to favor amid a new wave of adaptive restoration, and Second Creek
was becoming a prime example.

  Meta finally loosened her hold slightly, and Petey managed to suck in a draft of air and exhale dramatically—all in one seamless maneuver.

  “You’ve got quite a grip for a . . . girl!” he exclaimed.

  She pulled back a bit more, feigning offense with an impish glee. “You just said ‘girl’ as if it were a dirty word. It was there in your hesitation. But I am a girl, at heart. An honest-to-goodness, romantic, artistic, daughter-of-a-Nitwitt girl. So don’t hold the fact that I work out at the gym against me. Which reminds me, does Second Creek have a gym where I can keep on exercising once we move here?”

  Petey flashed a broad, triumphant smile. “Just so happens that the company I bought down here has a very state-of-the-art exercise center for the benefit of employees and their families. So I’d say the future wife of the owner of Pond-Raised Catfish certainly qualifies. You’ll be able to get all the reps you need.”

  She scoured his tall frame and then playfully pointed at his stomach. “We should work out together, you know. I think I detected a hint of those dreaded love handles the last time we did it.”

  “You detected nothing of the sort.” He gently grabbed her and pulled her toward him with a wicked grin. “I’m as fit as they come. Weigh the same as I did in college.”

  “And I can go you one better, Mr. Peter Armistead Lyons Jr. Since the summer I shot up a tad bit over six feet at the age of fifteen, my weight hasn’t varied more than two pounds either way.”