He walked down the street toward Bishop Hardware, admiring the Christmas tree in the park along Ballad Road as he went. The town really was at its best for the holiday season. The season’s first snowfall was forecast, and it would just dust everything with a painting-worthy coat of white. The place would look like a Christmas card scene over the weekend. Not only was that nice to look at, it brought the tourists out in droves, and tourists spent money. Charming weather meant chiming cash registers, and Mac knew many of the retailers in town were counting on a good holiday season this year.
He was just finishing his purchase when he caught sight of Mary Thorpe in the aisle where Janet kept her small selection of Christmas lights. They hadn’t left things well at their last encounter, and he couldn’t decide whether or not to get back on better terms. She’d jumped down his throat. Then again, he’d done whatever the musical version of eavesdropping could be called.
She walked up to him. “Hey, Mac.” She had a “Can we start over?” expression on her face.
“Hi. Adding to the decorations on your tree?”
She managed a smile. “No, the tree’s actually pretty full. Emily’s been busy. I think I’ve only paid for about one tenth of the stuff on my tree. She’s calling it overstock, but I don’t believe her.”
“She loves that stuff. And she loves doing things for other people. She went a little nuts when I first moved into my house. I thought she was going to throw me one of those shower things women do, she kept bringing me so many household gadgets. I’m here to tell you, men do not need a garlic press. We smash garlic with knives.” He was running on at the mouth, nervous about how they’d gotten down each other’s throats so quickly at their last meeting. She made him antsy, and he wasn’t used to that.
“Look,” she offered, “I wasn’t very nice to you the other day. I guess I’m a little wired up about this holiday and you hit a nerve or something.”
“I wasn’t too friendly, either. Seems there are a lot of people on their last nerve.” He thought about the last customer service rep he’d talked to earlier this morning in his endless search to score a Bippo Bear for something less than three times the manufacturer’s price. That poor employee sounded like she wasn’t going to make it through the day, much less the remainder of the holiday shopping frenzy. “That was unfair, listening in on you like that. But really, I wasn’t snooping or anything. Your voice just caught me by surprise.”
“Violin, I do in public. My singing is more personal. But you couldn’t have known that.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’d like to make a peace offering. Pie at Deacon’s? That is, if you’re not busy. I’d understand if you had work to do and all. But seeing as you’re already out…”
His first impulse was to decline. They seemed to be able to rile up each other too easily. Not only that, but small-town eyes would catch the two of them together, one-on-one, and might start small-town tongues to wagging. He definitely wasn’t ready to give anyone reason to pair them off. Still, for all his thought of being the more “mature” in his faith, it was her extending the olive branch when he’d hesitated to do so.
She was putting in an effort, and they really did need to clear the air between them. You’d be a louse to say no, he told himself. No one in their right mind said no to pie at Deacon’s, anyway—she’d picked up on the local habits right quick. “I think that’d be fine. Nothin’ waiting for me back at the office but more reports, anyway. A little pie might be just the ticket to get me over what I just forked out for the nephew’s Christmas present.”
“Do you have any little people you have to buy for this Christmas?” Mac started the conversation as they slid into a booth at Deacon’s Grill.
“My brother is married, but they’re not the family type. He and his wife travel all over the world for his exporting business. No kids, no plans for kids. I don’t think I’ll get the chance to be an aunt anytime soon.”
“Well, this year, count yourself in good standing. I just paid an unnatural sum for one of those Bippo Bears, even though I knew better. Those advertising people should have their heads examined.”
She got that odd look on her face again, growing quiet. Finally, he saw her make a mental decision of sorts.
“Yeah, about that….”
“About what?”
He couldn’t quite place her expression. It was a trapped, end-of-my-rope kind of look in her eyes, but then again not. A half nervousness, half ashamed, cornered look that seemed completely out of place for their circumstances.
“About the Bippo Bears. I…um…well, there’s something you should know about me and Bippo Bears.”
He didn’t think she’d asked him out to pie to talk about Bippo Bears. What did this year’s toy fad have to do with anything? Why did she have such an odd, pained look on her face?
“You’re a closet Bippo Bear fan and you wanted to know where I scored mine?” He tried to lighten the mood, unsettled by how tense she was.
Mary laughed casually, but it came out a bit choked and forced. “No, not at all. It’s more the other end of that.”
“You’re morally opposed to Bippo Bears? Or uncles splurging for unwary five-year-olds?”
At that point Gina arrived to take their order. Mac ordered his usual, with ice cream, and Mary went for the triple berry. Once Gina left, Mary spread her hands on the table. “I’m trying to figure out how to explain this. I suppose you don’t even have to know, but, well, I suppose someone should know. The whole Bippo Bear thing,” she went on, looking supremely uncomfortable, “well, I’m partially responsible. Actually, I feel like I’m a lot responsible. I suppose that’s debatable, but not really to me.”
She wasn’t making sense. “Mary, what are you trying to say?”
“It’s what I used to do before I came here, Mac. I wrote…” she winced on the word “…I used to write jingles, and I wrote the Bippo Bear song. The reason all those kids can sing that song endlessly to their parents? That’s me. The reason you felt like you had to shell out whatever it took to buy one of those? It’s me. I wrote the song, I created the frenzy.”
She wasn’t explaining, she was confessing. She squinted her eyes shut, as if some force would come out of the blue and knock her over for her crimes. “You? You’re the evil Bippo Bear mastermind? No offense, but you just don’t look the type.” Sitting endlessly on hold, he had imagined the guy behind Bippo Bears as a cross between Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch. A slimy guy in a shiny suit punching triple-digit profits into his laptop. Not a soft-spoken blonde who barely topped five and a half feet tall.
“I’m just the mastermind behind the Bippo Bear song.” She said it as if it would brand a scarlet B onto her chest.
“That silly song? That incredibly annoyingly silly song? That’s yours? You wrote that?” He stared at her, still trying to put the information into some kind of context that made sense. “Well, if you’re working on commission, I can see how you can afford to live on what MCC can afford to pay you.” He regretted that remark the minute it left his mouth. That was a lousy thing to say. No one held a gun to your head to make you plunk down that money for that bear, Mac. You’re to blame for how much you spent, not her. He’d said something wounding at a vulnerable moment. He’d done that more than once now, hadn’t he? What is it with this woman that brings out the worst in me?
“I’m not particularly proud of myself, if it makes you feel any better.” Her voice sounded definitely hurt. “Yes, I seem to be able to write tunes that stick in people’s heads. I’m very good at it. And before…before I woke up to faith, as I like to put it…it didn’t bother me at all, because I made a lot of money in music, which was something I loved. I had the kind of job other people dreamed about. I could do as much or as little work for the ad agency as I wanted, depending on my schedule with the orchestra. I could support myself as a musician, and not a lot of people can say that.”
“I suppose that is an accomplishment. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal.”
“
Like most sweet deals, it tends to get to you after a while.” The pie arrived, providing irony and a bit of a break in the serious nature of the conversation. Mac was having a serious conversation about Bippo Bears. It was just too odd. “Well, at least it got to me,” she went on. “The funny thing is, once I realized how big Bippo Bears were going to be, once I realized what was going on and what I was helping to create, I couldn’t stomach it anymore. Now that I’ve learned what Christmas is supposed to be about, I couldn’t be part of the buy this, buy that, put yourself in debt to give your kids ten seconds of hollow bliss machine. That sounds simplistic, but it was like I was choking on my own work. I was getting physically ill. I couldn’t sleep at night. I’d cringe anytime I heard the commercial—I still do. And so while it wasn’t exactly a brilliant plan, the best thing I could do was just leave.”
Mac felt like whacking his forehead. “And since you’ve met me, I’ve spent a good chunk of time railing against the sinister fiends who made little kids want Bippo Bears. Mighty hospitable of me. Look, I’m sorry. If I’d have known…”
“You’d what?”
She had him there. “Well, I might have kept my mouth shut for starters.”
She eyed him, a little bit of that spine he saw over the potluck coming back. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who holds back an opinion on anything.”
“Still, I might have used nicer adjectives than ‘idiotic.’ You were just doing your job. You were hired to sell bears, and believe me, you’re selling bears. Your little song just duped me out of a hundred and fifty dollars plus shipping and handling.”
She pointed at him with her fork. “See? That’s just why I left. Yes, I was doing my job, and people pay lip service to the idea at first, but then there comes some remark about how my song took their money. You did it yourself.” Mary speared her pie with a little too much emphasis. “Most people draw a very thin line between advertising and manipulation, and I’ll tell you, it’s no fun living on the dark side of that line. That’s why I don’t tell people. That’s why I had to get away.” She shook her head. “The funniest thing of all is that I came to Middleburg to find someplace where all the commercialism and fighting over Christmas didn’t reach. And I found you forking more than one hundred dollars for a Bippo Bear and a town fighting over mayors. Where’s this simple life I keep reading about?”
Mac felt stung by the lecture, mostly because she was dead on. He could have easily said no to Robby’s nonstop requests for the bear. Probably should have. And yet he had attached her talent to his weakness—personally—the moment he’d found out. Suddenly, her former employment didn’t seem such a dumb secret to keep after all. “Simple life? Here in Middleburg? No such thing. We like to make everything complicated.” He looked at her. “Why tell me? Couldn’t have been my overwhelming sensitivity. I know I wouldn’t have told me if I were in your shoes.”
She seemed stumped by the question. “Actually, I’m not sure. Probably just to get you to stop complaining about it, I suppose. You and I do seem to have a talent for stomping on each other’s last nerve.” She dragged her fork through the huge dollop of whipped cream Gina had doused onto her pie. “You paid how much for that bear?”
“A hundred and fifty plus shipping and handling.” He’d felt pained but victorious when he’d secured the bear. Now he just felt conned and stupid.
She managed a smile. “Thornton lives for people like you.”
“Thornton?”
“My boss. My ex-boss, that is. Thornton hired me out of grad school, thinking he could get a few catchy tunes out of a music major. I can blame him for discovering my dark talent for earworms.”
“Earworms? Sounds gross.”
“Earworms are those tunes you can’t get out of your head. Jingles, television show themes, that sort of thing. They’re an incredibly powerful marketing tool because you can’t get rid of them even when you want to.” She pointed to herself. “And that, sir, is what I seem to be able to do better than anyone in the Midwest.” Her hands dropped, and her shoulders with them. This really did bug her. She definitely classified this as a curse rather than a talent.
Suddenly he had to know. “What else have you done? Are there others I would know?”
She blushed. Actually turned crimson right there in front of him. And he realized what a mean question that was. “I mean, you don’t actually have to tell me,” he backpedaled. “It’s your business.”
She looked down at her pie for a moment, then said quietly, “Jones Bars.”
“The ice cream bar?” That song had been so effective ice cream trucks had taken it up as the tune they played as they came down the street. “The ice cream truck song? Whoa, I know parents who would do you bodily harm.”
She grimaced. “I got a double Christmas bonus for that one. And a weekend in Bermuda. And then there’s Paulie’s Pizza.”
Even his nephew could sing the Paulie’s Pizza song. And yes, it was annoying. But, like she said, almost anyone could dial the Paulie’s Pizza 1–800 number from memory.
“See?” she said with a lopsided, bittersweet grin, “I’ve got a résumé that would make your ears burn.”
Chapter Nine
She’d told him. She’d actually told someone and she hadn’t spontaneously combusted. Nor, evidently, had he. He was a long way from impressed, and he definitely looked at her a bit sideways, but he hadn’t up and left the room. And he had a one-hundred-and-fifty-dollar reason to hate her now that he knew. While Mary could argue with herself that this didn’t rank very high on the scale of possible human secrets, she still felt like a thousand pounds had just flown off her shoulders. “I’m not proud of what I did,” she admitted. “Actually, I was proud of it back then, but now it just feels, well, hollow. A lousy use of whatever talent God chose to give me.” She dared to look him in the eye. “I won three awards for the pizza song, you know. And, according to Thornton, the Bippo Bear jingle has already been nominated twice. I could write my own ticket with Thornton if I wanted to go back. If.”
“But you don’t, do you?” Mac leaned back in the booth. “Mary Thorpe, jingle star. Man, I’m not sure I could walk away from all that money and attention. I’ve been trying to figure out how someone like you landed someplace like this, but it sort of makes sense now.” He shook his head. “Bippo Bears aren’t cute, you know. They’re all bug-eyed and smiley-faced.” He made a disturbingly accurate impersonation of the distinctive Bippo Bear face. “No offense.”
She managed a laugh. She hadn’t yet been able to laugh about her former job. The last day had been so horrible with Thornton. You’d have thought he’d never lost an employee before, the way he had ranted and raved. Granted, she hadn’t exactly given two weeks’ notice, but this wasn’t a situation that fell within the confines of normal personnel policies. Those final days, when the store orders came flooding in for Bippo Bears and the manufacturer’s rep had taken her and Thornton to lunch at a very ritzy restaurant and crowed about how much money they were going to make, how desperate kids would be to get their hands on Bippo Bears, Mary had been unable to eat. From that lunch until the moment she typed up her résumé, she’d barely been able to keep anything down. And here she was, laughing about it over pie. If that wasn’t God’s grace showing up in her life, then she didn’t know what was. “I can’t believe I actually told you. I told myself I wouldn’t tell….”
At that moment, as if by horrible design, the television behind Gina’s counter kicked into a commercial for Bippo Bears. Mary felt the tune and lyrics as if they were physical blows. She closed her eyes and gripped the table. And waited. For the excruciating moment she knew would follow.
“See that?” a tiny voice from across the room said. She didn’t even have to turn. She could picture the tiny, chubby hand pointing to the television while the other hand tugged insistently on Mommy’s sleeve. “I want that. I really want that. I gotta have one, Mommy! I gotta!”
“You and every other little guy on the planet, sweeti
e,” came Gina’s voice. “Rare as hen’s teeth, those are.”
Mary felt the collar of her turtleneck sweater tighten around her throat.
“We’ll see,” warned whoever’s Mommy, in that parental tone of voice everyone knows really means No, but I’m not going to say no right now.
She opened her eyes to find Mac staring at her. “Wow,” he noted quietly, “that really gets to you, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t wait to have success in something less dastardly.” Mary gulped down some coffee, feeling the warmth ease the ice-cold viselike grip that song had on her neck. “I used to love hearing my stuff on the television. Now it’s just awful.” She put down her mug, feeling the old anger rise up. “Did you know the company actually scans the Internet to find the highest current going price and sends out a press release? If they spent as much time and money on making more bears as they do on feeding the frenzy…” she didn’t even finish the thought.
The child at the diner counter had now dissolved into a nonstop, earsplitting “I wanna Bippo Bear” whine. “Okay,” he relented. “I can see why you might want to keep this under wraps.”
“I did that,” Mary confessed, inclining her head toward the drama playing out behind them.
“You did your job. And now you don’t do that job anymore. You got a fresh start, and maybe that was the best choice to make if it bothers you so much.”
Despite earlier frustrations, Mac had to consider it a pleasant evening. He’d scored his Bippo Bear—even if it had made him crazy and broke to do it—and patched things up with Mary Thorpe. Mac decided he couldn’t complain.
Until his phone rang within thirty minutes of getting home.
“Hello, Ma,” Mac greeted as he answered. “I got Robby his bear, so we’re all set.”
“Are we?” Ma asked in sugary-sweet tones. “Audrey Lupine just called to say she saw you and Mary Thorpe having a very serious conversation in quiet tones over at the diner. She’s a pretty girl, Mary is. Anything you want to tell me?”
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