A Cherry Cola Christmas

by Ashton Lee

  Periwinkle perked up as she heard her name mentioned. “Anyone need anything down there? We got plenty in the kitchen. Just say the word, and it’ll appear as if by magic.”

  “Can’t think of a thing,” Waddell called out. Then he quickly surveyed the long table that had been pieced together from smaller ones by the staff of The Twinkle. “How about the rest a’ you guys?”

  Some of the band members and the roadies happily offered up phrases like, “No complaints!” and “We’re fine!” and “Full as a tick!”

  But Fingers stopped chewing long enough to raise his hand. “I’m on my second helping, Waddell. We’ll see if I have room for a third.” Then he turned toward the head of the table. “Guess you won’t tell us what’s in your batter that makes it taste so darn good, huh, Miz Periwinkle? Are you the type a’ chef who gives out her recipes? If ya do, maybe I could take one home to the wife.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind tellin’ you at all,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “It’s no big secret. I put a little cayenne pepper and a few red pepper flakes in the batter to give it just that little kick. That’s what you’re tastin’. But save a little space for one of my pastry chef ’s sinful desserts.”

  She gestured toward Mr. Place a few chairs away as he smiled, nodded his head, and said, “Believe me, you’ll be in Sweet Tooth Heaven.”

  Periwinkle quickly glanced at her watch. “And it shouldn’t be long before our Councilman Sparks arrives to welcome you officially to our little town. He promised to stop by for dessert and give you the key to the city. Seems he had a little food poisoning incident last night and is trying to take it easy on himself until his stomach settles down. But no way could he ever resist a bite of one of my Parker’s famous confections. You’ll see for yourselves pretty soon.”

  In truth, Maura Beth had wondered why Councilman Sparks hadn’t shown up yet, but then again, she had not had a chance to address the subject with Periwinkle, being as busy as she was all evening—the proverbial blur between the kitchen and the dining table. It sounded about right, however—Cherico’s head honcho trying to make a lasting impression as Waddell and his band found themselves smack dab in the middle of a sugar high. How could they not find whatever he had to say fascinating with that kind of buzz circulating throughout their veins?

  “Haul out the sweet stuff, then!” Waddell exclaimed, right on cue. “Been a long time since I’ve had a meal this good. Maybe I’ll even be inspired to write a song about it on my next CD.”

  For an instant, Periwinkle looked as if she might just fall out of her chair. “Oh, would you? That’d be too much to ask!”

  Caught off-guard, Waddell resorted briefly to a frown but quickly recovered. “Maybe I just will, Miz Periwinkle. I could call it something like—oh, I don’t know—‘Down at Periwinkle’s.’ ”

  “Or ‘Down at The Twinkle,’ ” Fingers put in. “I can see it movin’ up the charts right now in my mind’s eye.” He paused dramatically and pointed to one of the mobiles dangling from the ceiling. “Wait—there it goes—straight to the top. Number one with a bullet!”

  Waddell started improvising music and lyrics spontaneously, but it all sounded like he had been working on it for weeks to include in his repertoire:

  Oh, down at The Twinkle,

  People come tuh eat . . .

  Down at The Twinkle,

  The food can’t be beat . . .

  You can find your friends there,

  Every single one . . .

  Oh, go to The Twinkle when the day is done....

  “How do you do that?!” Periwinkle exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “Do all your songs come out of you so easy? It must be wonderful to have the sorta talent you have!”

  “Oh, shucks, it ain’t nothin’, ma’am. I was just playin’ around is all,” Waddell told her while waving her off at the same time. “There’s lots more to it than that, believe me.”

  “You bet there is,” Fingers added after finishing up his coleslaw. “That sounded like a commercial. A right good one, mind you, but still a commercial that drives you crazy on TV.”

  Waddell pretended to be mad with a playful scowl. The two of them were good at this kind of give-and-take and enjoyed the one-upmanship. “Ah, why don’t you shuddup and have some more catfish!”

  “Works for me.”

  “Well, I’d settle for a few autographed pictures of y’all to hang on the walls,” Periwinkle added.

  Waddell emphatically pointed his index finger in her direction. “Now, you know good and well that’s a done deal, Miz Periwinkle. And I’m gonna send a few tweets out about this place to boot. You can count on it. I hope a lot more people come here and eat under your danglin’ stars!”

  “Move just a little more to your right,” Periwinkle told the roadies, gesturing to them while holding her smartphone in her hand. “You fellas have gotta bunch up a bit more to get in the picture.” She paused briefly to frame the shot but came away shaking her head once again. “No, I still can’t get you all in. There are just too many of you even for a wide shot. I can’t back up far enough.”

  Councilman Sparks spoke up, annoyed by Periwinkle’s ineffective directions. “Look, I have an idea here. Why don’t you do a shot with me presenting the key to the city to Waddell first? Then Waddell and the band. Then Waddell and the roadies. That way everybody gets in at least one shot, and we finally get this thing done before midnight.” The impatience in the councilman’s voice was very evident, causing Evie to chastise him ever so subtly with a nudge of her elbow.

  Watching from her seat at the table, Maura Beth continued to speculate on Councilman Sparks’s irascible mood. He had made his entrance a few minutes earlier with Evie on his arm, looking the part well enough at that point. But his trademark reelection smile was patently missing, and when he introduced himself to Waddell and the rest of his band, he had projected an air of merely going through the motions as they all jumped up out of their seats to greet him. Perhaps, Maura Beth reasoned, it was just a hangover from his hospital emergency of the evening before, whatever that had actually involved.

  “He clearly doesn’t want to be here. I know him like the back of my hand,” Maura Beth had leaned across and whispered to Jeremy while all the handshaking was going on nearby but out of earshot.

  When Periwinkle began to follow through with the snapshot suggestions, however, there was a slight improvement in the councilman’s tone. “Waddell,” he said, “I hope you’ll take advantage of this key to our city anytime you’re in this neck of the woods, and be sure and let us know you’re coming so we can plan ahead. Lord knows, we could use some excitement in our little town.”

  Waddell brandished the big, plastic gold key and smiled big. “We sure will keep in touch, Councilman Sparks. I do b’lieve we can find us a way to route ourselves through Cherico on all our Deep South tours if we possibly can.”

  “We’ll look forward to that.”

  “I gotta tell ya, this little restaurant here is as good as advertised. No two ways about it!”

  Then Councilman Sparks nodded toward Periwinkle. “You got all the shots you need now? Seems to me like you’ve got plenty for your wall.”

  Periwinkle was beaming, holding her phone above her head like a sports trophy. “If they all turn out, I do. But even if they don’t, Waddell has already signed six glossies for me.”

  “My tried and true head shots,” Waddell added, pushing out his chest. Then he suddenly lowered his voice and cocked his head. “Except I really should update ’em, ya know. I’ve been sendin’ these out since I was twenty-two. In case you were wonderin,’ I’m pushin’ thirty now.”

  “In my opinion, you haven’t changed a bit,” Periwinkle told him, unable to resist the opportunity to flirt. Then she snapped her fingers, remembering her hostess duties. “Well, now that that’s outta the way, are we all ready for some dessert? Our Mr. Place here has some wonderful choices for you. We have his famous crème de menthe cake, chocolate-chip crème br
ûlée, and chocolate éclairs with amaretto filling. Who’s interested?”

  When a forest of hands went up, everyone moved back to their places at the long table, and Lalie Bevins, her son, Barry, and the rest of the restaurant staff shifted into high gear taking orders.

  23

  Crème Brûlée Saves the Day

  Councilman Sparks and his Evie had pulled up a couple of extra chairs on either side of Waddell Mack to continue their conversation with him while the dessert course was being served. Periwinkle had particularly recommended Mr. Place’s chocolate-chip crème brûlée when she had been pressed further.

  “Which dessert do you like best?” Fingers had asked her. “Come on, now. Cross your heart and hope to die.”

  And Periwinkle’s answer had resulted in a flurry of crème brûlée orders, with Councilman Sparks and Evie in that number. Now, everyone had started to dig in, and the compliments were flying across the table.

  “You sure didn’t lie, Miz Periwinkle!” Fingers exclaimed. Then he turned in Mr. Place’s direction and nodded. “My compliments to the chef!”

  “I thank you,” Mr. Place said. “It’s fast becoming our best-selling dessert here at The Twinkle.”

  Meanwhile, Waddell had pulled his chair back from the table just enough so that he was face-to-face with Councilman Sparks while the two of them continued to hit it off. “My uncle, Billy Monroe Mack, was in local politics over in East Tennessee,” Waddell said, carefully balancing his crème brûlée dish on his knees. “He didn’t run his hometown the way you do, but he always had a vote in whatever was goin’ on. I think the two a’ you would’ve gotten along famously.”

  “Well, the Sparks family has been running Cherico for over seventy-five years now,” Councilman Sparks continued. “I take it all very seriously. I only want what’s best for our little town.”

  Across the table, Maura Beth exchanged furtive glances with Jeremy but said nothing. At least Councilman Sparks seemed to be rounding somewhat into form. His energy level had picked up, and there were even hints of his reelection smile now and then. She couldn’t help but think—with no little amusement—that perhaps it was in his genes, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  “What’s the population of Cherico?” Waddell wanted to know in between bites of his dessert.

  Councilman Sparks put down his spoon and shook his head. “I wish I could say five thousand and counting, but I’m afraid it’s going the other way these days. We’re not exactly setting the woods on fire. Unfortunately, some downtown bid’nesses are leaving and their owners are going with ’em. We’re in a kinda slump, I’m afraid.”

  “Aw, I’m just as sorry as I can be to hear that. Seems like a real nice place to live to me.”

  Maura Beth could not resist speaking up. “Oh, it is, I can assure you. And things aren’t completely gloomy. We’ve got a brand-new library going up on the shores of Lake Cherico. We’re all right proud of that.”

  “That’s just great,” Waddell said just as he lifted his spoon to his lips for another mouthful of crème brûlée. “I always did like goin’ to the library during the summer when I was growin’ up.”

  And that was when it happened.

  Somehow, a generous blob of Mr. Place’s sensational chocolate-chip crème brûlée fell off Waddell’s spoon and landed smack dab on the very respectable toe of his left cowboy boot.

  “Oops!” Waddell cried out. “Looks like I made a mess. You can’t take me anywhere these days!”

  “And on your beautiful cowboy boot, too,” Evie added, sounding as solicitous as possible as she craned her neck.

  Waddell picked up his napkin and leaned down, carefully enveloping the custardy mass and tossing the wadded cloth on the table. “Oh, no harm done,” he said. “It’s not like it was blood or red wine or somethin’ even worse. Snakeskin don’t take too kindly to nasty spills like that, ya know.”

  “Cowboy boots are big business these days,” Councilman Sparks remarked. Then without even thinking twice, he decided to elaborate. “We almost had one of the big names locate here in Cherico—Spurs ’R’ Us. I thought we had it in the bag, but the CEO backed out at the last minute. We were all set for a new plant with hundreds of new jobs and a real Christmas high this year. It really would’ve pulled us out of the doldrums.”

  Waddell put his unfinished dish of crème brûlée on the table with a look of astonishment. “You’re kiddin’ me?”

  “What? About Spurs ’R’ Us? I wish I were.”

  Now Waddell was looking up at one of Periwinkle’s mobiles, shaking his head. “When did this happen?”

  “A month or so ago.” But there was genuine puzzlement on Councilman Sparks’s face.

  “I can’t believe it. Dillard did somethin’ like that?!”

  Councilman Sparks drew back dramatically, almost as if Waddell had sneezed on him. “You know Dillard Mills?”

  “Know him? Heck, I’m one of his major investors. When I was lookin’ for a smart place to put some a’ my money a while back, I put a huge chunk of it in Spurs ’R’ Us. Hey, I own near ’bout forty percent of the whole company, and I never leave the house without Spurs ’R’ Us boots on my feet. Got a pair on right now, crème brûlée traces and all!” He pointed to the floor and then narrowed his eyes. “You mean Dillard snatched that new plant away from you folks down here and didn’t tell me about it? Did you know about this, Rankin?”

  At the other end of the table, Waddell’s manager had a defensive look on his face. “I never have any contact with him at all, Waddell. I just concentrate on your bookings—you know that.”

  Waddell’s easygoing charm dried up instantly as the anger continued to rise in his voice. “Maybe this is all my fault. I haven’t checked in with Dillard in well over a year. I mean, the company’s doin’ real well—I’ve gotten a great return on my investment so far—so I haven’t been keepin’ up with it. I even missed the last stockholders’ meeting. Guess it’s time for me to put my hand back in.”

  Councilman Sparks was tentative but hopeful as he spoke up. “Does . . . could this possibly mean . . . Cherico has a chance of getting that plant to locate here after all, Waddell?”

  “If I have anything to do with it, yes. I’m gonna get on this right after we wind up the tour in Tupelo and Natchez, I promise you that. Rankin, you be sure and make a note of it and remind me.”

  “Will do.”

  Councilman Sparks looked and sounded like a man reborn, finally returning to fighting form. “That’d be terrific, Waddell. I mean, if you could actually pull that off for us!”

  Waddell leaned over and stuck out his hand, and the two men shook on it firmly. “Hey, if you folks down here need a big economic boost like that, I’ll see to it that you get it. You can bank on it. Dillard wouldn’t dare go against my wishes. No way, no how.”

  The excitement that quickly spread throughout the room was palpable, and Maura Beth was the first to express what everyone was thinking. “That would be some Christmas present for Cherico, Waddell. What a wonderful and generous gesture on your part.”

  “It’s more than a gesture,” he continued. “It’ll be good for business, having you folks behind the plant the way you are. Spurs ’R’ Us sells to the small-town guy or gal who wants that country and western, cowboy look. I can see myself doin’ a print ad or two down here, too. I’ll do what I can to put Cherico on the map.”

  “Strange the way things work out, idd’n it?” Periwinkle said. “And I’m proud The Twinkle could be a part of all this.” Then she quickly surveyed the table. “Do I have any seconds on the crème brûlée, by the way? One for the road or for those sweet dreams tonight, maybe?”

  Waddell laughed and hoisted his dish. “I’ll take you up on that, Miz Periwinkle. Especially since I got a little sloppy with that first helping.”

  24

  A Cherry Cola Christmas

  The last thing Maura Beth had expected from Councilman Sparks was an invitation to his “Inaugural Cherico Cit
y Hall Christmas Eve Celebration.” Boy, was that a mouthful! But that was precisely what had arrived in the mail addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy McShay at their little cottage on Painter Street. Now, she and Jeremy were less than an hour away from the big event and were putting the finishing touches on their Christmas outfits of choice. The PS on the invitation had read: FUN CHRISTMAS COSTUMES OPTIONAL BUT SUGGESTED! Was this a new and different Councilman Sparks or what?

  So in that spirit, Maura Beth had decided to wear the absolutely awful green and red large, checkerboard pattern sweater Cudd’n M’Dear had sent along from New Orleans as a present.

  “It’s . . . well, it’s just plain ole loud, and I’ll bet she painstakingly knitted it herself,” Maura Beth had told Jeremy the moment after it had been unwrapped and the light of day had revealed the scope of its lack of style. In addition, Cudd’n M’Dear had made sure that her idea of Christmas fashion would not be postponed until Christmas morning. Open well before the 25th, dear Maura Beth, the card Scotch-taped to the wrapping had read. “But since I’m not exactly sure what Councilman Sparks is up to with this first-ever holiday bash of his,” Maura Beth had continued at the unveiling, “I’ll happily wear it and pretend it’s the most glorious garment I’ve ever lifted over my red head. I mean, what do I have to lose? If the party turns out to be lousy, I’ll be dressed for the occasion.”

  For his part, Jeremy had gone more conventional—even a bit on the corny side—opting for a clip-on Santa beard and pointy green elf ’s cap that tilted ever so slightly to the left.

  “You’re a mixed metaphor if there ever was one,” Maura Beth said while he was checking himself out in their full-length bedroom mirror, obviously unable to find an angle that suited him.

  But he had a snappy retort at the ready. “And you are the Queen of Ugly Christmas Sweaterdom!”

  “Touché!” Maura Beth chuckled and then glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “We’d better get a move on, though, if we don’t want to be late.”