by Annie Tipton
“CoraLee, thanks for your help.” EJ said. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come over.”
“Well, I probably wouldn’t have—except I remembered what you said to me in our babysitting class after that ridiculous robo baby’s head came off,” CoraLee said. “You said nice things to me when you saw I was embarrassed in front of those older girls. You were nice even after I had been nasty to you. And, well …”
“Hey, what’s going on in here—bathtime?” Mom popped her head through the bathroom doorway. “Oh, hi, CoraLee.” Mom gave EJ a look that EJ clearly read as “CoraLee is visiting? This is new….”
“Hi, Mrs. Payne.” CoraLee wiped her hands on a towel. “EJ asked me to come over because she just needed a little babysitter backup. And we infant home care professionals need to stick together, right, EJ?”
EJ nodded, speechless.
“EJ is an excellent babysitter, Mrs. Payne. Very patient and levelheaded. Faith is lucky to have her.”
“And me—the infant home care assistant!” Isaac ran past the open bathroom door, shoving an Oreo in his mouth.
“Sounds like you all had an eventful evening,” Mom said. “Did you have fun with your big sis, Faith?”
“Meh. Sss!” Faith pounded the tub water with a rubber duck in each hand, sending a cascade of water on EJ’s lap.
EJ shook her head and grinned. “Yes, Faith. Mess is right.”
Chapter 11
THE BACHELORETTE SPINSTER PARTY
April 24
Dear Diary,
Tonight is a first for me—I’m going to Mrs. Winkle’s bachelorette party!
Well, technically it’s not a bachelorette party. According to the invitation, it’s a spinster party. Mrs. Winkle hand-delivered the invitations to us a couple of weeks ago, popping in the back door during breakfast.
Mrs. Winkle: [hands invitations to Mom and me] Here you are, dears! Invitations to my spinster party! Mom: Wilma! [laughs] You are not a spinster! Mrs. Winkle: [smiles] I most certainly am a spinster, Tabby. I fit the very definition: an older woman who has never married and has no children. But my Prince Charming, Mr. Johnson, will soon rescue me from spinsterhood.
(Side note: Even though Mr. Johnson is way better now than he ever was as the neighborhood grump, I would never describe him as “Prince Charming.” But I have to admit that it is pretty sweet how Mrs. Winkle’s face lights up so beautifully when she talks about him. Love is a mystery, Diary.)
Mrs. Winkle: Anyway, my lovelies, doesn’t a spinster party sound better than the other option—an old maid party?
Me: It does sound better, but Old Maid is one of my favorite card games!
Mrs. Winkle: Great minds think alike, EJ. Playing Old Maid is absolutely on the agenda for my spinster party.
Mom: Well, girls, this sounds like a bachelorette party that we won’t soon forget.
Mrs. Winkle: Spinster party, dear. Embrace the word! Spinster!
A few years ago when I found out that Mrs. Winkle had never been married, I asked her why she was called Mrs. instead of Miss or Ms. Her answer was so delightfully Winklely: “My first year of teaching art at Spooner Elementary, there was a typo on the nameplate on my classroom door,” she said. “And once I heard my students call me ‘Mrs.’ I realized I liked the sound of four syllables in my teacher name instead of three—Missus Winkle is just so much more melodic than Miss Winkle. So I decided to stick with Mrs., and that’s what I’ve been called ever since.”
Apparently Mrs. Winkle has always been a woman who knows what she wants, and it’s one of the reasons I love her (and want to be just like her when I grow up).
So Mom, Faith, Macy (Mrs. Winkle said I could invite a friend!), and I will party hard with Mrs. Winkle tonight. In two short weeks, her name will legally change to Mrs. Johnson. But truthfully, Diary, she’ll always be Mrs. Winkle in my heart.
EJ
“Aw, nuts!” Macy looked up from the playing card she’d just drawn from EJ’s hand. “Old Maid!”
EJ smiled as she laid down her final pair of cards—two matching mail carriers—on the coffee table in Mrs. Winkle’s living room, clinching the win. “Good game, Mace,” she said, collecting the cards into a stack and away from Faith, who was making a toddley beeline toward them as she rounded the coffee table. EJ knew Faith would love nothing more than to rip the deck of cards into 857 tiny pieces.
“Ladies, please make yourselves at home.” Mrs. Winkle glided into the living room and set a final tray of snacks on the small buffet table against the wall. The party guests gathered around to chat and enjoy the finger foods and dainty desserts. Along with EJ, Macy, Mom, and Faith, other party guests included Miss Adele and two other ladies from Mrs. Winkle’s bowling league.
“How are the wedding preparations coming, Wilma?” Miss Adele asked, between bites of a cranberry-orange scone. “Is the theme still a top secret?”
“Everything’s going according to plan.” Mrs. Winkle adjusted her tiara that spelled out the word spinster in multicolored gems. “And yes, it’s a secret. I decided it would be fun to surprise everyone on the big day. But all of you will get to help with a very important part of the plans tonight—”
“The men are crashing this women party!” Isaac’s voice burst through the front door before his body did. All eyes in the room swiveled toward Mrs. Winkle’s front door as it swung open and Isaac bounded in, flexing his arms. “Here comes the macho muscle!” The ladies in the room tittered in amused chuckles.
“Oh, it’s my favorite little man!” Mrs. Winkle smooshed Isaac’s cheeks between her hands, and Isaac grinned, making him look like a chipmunk. Mrs. Winkle had a way of doing things that would be hugely annoying if any other adult did them, but somehow they weren’t annoying and she made you feel special when she did them. Isaac threw his arms around Mrs. Winkle’s waist and hugged her tight as Mr. Johnson and Dad trailed behind Isaac, making a much less impressive entrance into the house.
“We’re going to the arcade for Mr. Johnson’s bachelor party!” Isaac announced. “And I get to spend ten whole dollars’ worth of quarters!” Isaac jingled the forty quarters in his pants pockets to prove it. Secretly, EJ was a little jealous. She loved the arcade—especially skee-ball.
“I’m gonna teach these young gunslingers how it’s done in the arcade’s old-time shooting gallery,” Mr. Johnson said, aiming his cane like a shotgun at a nearby lamp. “I wonder if my top score from 1963 is still on the leader’s board.”
“Whoa.” EJ did a quick calculation and whispered to Macy, “That’s more than forty years ago. Mr. Johnson is o-l-d.”
“If your name isn’t there anymore, you’ll just have to set a new record tonight, dear.” Mrs. Winkle pecked a kiss on Mr. Johnson’s cheek. “Go easy on these two. They’re inexperienced.”
“Hey! I—” Dad stopped short and picked up Faith, who was running toward him with her arms outstretched. “Oh, who am I kidding? You’re right, Wilma, I can’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
“All right, you macho muscle, time for you to go to your own party.” Mom took Faith from Dad, and the toddler took the cue to start waving bye to the men. “Have a fun evening.”
Isaac made pistols with his fingers and jingled his quarters as the three men (two men and one wanna-be, EJ thought) said their good-byes and left.
“Girls, it’s time for the big event of the evening!” Mrs. Winkle rubbed her palms together in eager anticipation.
“Games?” one of the bowling ladies asked.
“A game of sorts, but more of a contest.” Mrs. Winkle’s eyes twinkled, and she winked at EJ. “If everyone will follow me to the basement, we can get started.”
Mrs. Winkle’s basement—her art studio—was absolutely the best spot in the house. Wilma Winkle thrived on creating new and exciting (and usable and wearable and sometimes even edible) art. “I am always amazed by the beauty of God’s creation,” she’d told EJ once. “When I am making a piece of art, I talk to God and thank Him for all the wei
rd and wonderful things He made for us to enjoy.” But Mrs. Winkle not only loved making art, she loved encouraging creativity in others, too, which was why she’d made such a great teacher.
EJ had spent some of the best hours of her life with Mrs. Winkle in her basement studio. From magazine collages and watercolor to clay sculpting and stained glass art, they had done it all. But EJ’s absolute favorite memory in the art studio was the time when Mrs. Winkle invited the Paynes over one evening and told them to wear clothes that they didn’t mind ruining. When they arrived, they found Mrs. Winkle had covered every square inch of the art studio in white paper, and she had more than a dozen spray bottles, each filled with a different paint color. The only instruction Mrs. Winkle gave was, “Go!” and what transpired was a glorious mess of color, laughter, and a story that they would talk about for years to come. Now each of them had a small framed sample of the giant canvas to remember the fun they had. EJ’s hung on the wall next to her bed.
“Here we are!” Mrs. Winkle flipped on the studio’s light switch to show … well, EJ wasn’t quite sure what to make of what she saw in front of her. Four Hula-Hoops leaned against a giant plastic shopping bag full of feathers of all colors. A stack of newspapers and magazines. A shoe box full of buttons and Ping-Pong balls. A crate full of different kinds of ribbons. Empty paper towel and toilet paper rolls. Several bolts of fabric in bright colors. A cardboard box filled with packing peanuts and bubble wrap. And a sewing box overflowing with scissors, tape measures, pins, thread, and duct tape—rolls and rolls of duct tape in lots of patterns and colors.
“Um, what are we looking at?” Macy bit a fingernail nervously. She was a Mrs. Winkle art rookie. “What do you think the contest is going to be?”
EJ was immediately drawn to the bag of feathers of all shapes and sizes. “I have no idea, but the possibilities are endless!”
“Here’s the contest, ladies—make an outfit from anything you can find in the room. You have fifteen minutes.” Macy and a couple of the bowling ladies looked uneasy, but EJ was ready to go—this was Winkle fun at its finest. “Ready, set, create!”
EJ’s pencil hovers over her fashion sketchbook and waits for inspiration to strike. She is the very best, most talented fashion designer in all of Los Angeles, and her stylish studio in sunny Beverly Hills is buzzing with activity as actresses hunt for the perfect dress for the upcoming awards season.
Designing for the Hollywood star, Miss Macy Russell, however, is proving to be a challenge for her. EJ crumples her current sketch and tosses it over her left shoulder, landing in a pile of fabric scraps. A clean slate, that’s what she needs.
“Miss Russell, would you mind throwing a handful of feathers into the air?” EJ points to a bag of feathers next to Macy.
“Throw them?” Macy sounded shocked that EJ would suggest such a thing. “I don’t want to make a mess in Mrs. Winkle’s house.”
“No, no, dear!” Mrs. Winkle called from across the room where she was helping a couple of the bowling ladies make a skirt out of Hula-Hoops, bubble wrap, and orange duct tape. “Messes are what the studio is for. The very best art comes from the messiest mess!”
“Yes ma’am.” Macy grinned at EJ as she clawed two handfuls of feathers from the bag.
An explosion of fluff and color shoots straight into the air and hangs for a split second before the shower of feathers falls to the floor—some twirling, others floating softly on a passing air current, a few landing quickly, as though gravity has a stronger hold on them than it has on the others. All activity in the studio seems to stop as every eye watches the simple but beautiful mess take shape.
“Perfect!” Inspiration strikes, and EJ’s colored pencils dance on her sketchbook. The studio resumes its buzz as glamorous garments take shape. A minute later, EJ finishes her sketch with a flurry and turns the paper to show her famous client. “Voilà! What do you think? I know you will love it! It is the best I have ever done, if I do say so myself.”
Macy excitedly takes the sketch from EJ, but her face quickly changes from eager to confused. “It certainly is a good picture….” Macy turns the sketch toward EJ. “But this is a sketch of a peacock. I thought you were sketching my dress.”
“Macy, my dear Macy, you must trust me!” EJ grips Macy’s shoulders and looks her straight in the eye. “I have a vision, and this peacock is the inspiration for the most perfect dress ever made!” Before Macy can reply, EJ snatches the sketch and pins it to the wall.
“I trust you, madam designer.” Macy gives the peacock sketch one more sideways glance before nodding at EJ. “Do your stuff.”
EJ drapes a measuring tape around her shoulders, and adds a white feather boa to get her in the feather mood. Proving once and for all that she’s not a diva in the slightest, Macy offers to help, and EJ gives her the job of sorting the bag of feathers by color. EJ quickly cuts pieces of green fabric and pins together a simple knee-length dress on Macy.
“Now’s when the real magic begins.” EJ loosely ties a scrap of fabric around Macy’s head like a blindfold so she can’t see the dress till the big reveal.
EJ begins her work in a flurry of feathers. She starts at the top of the dress with striking dark blue feathers, and as she moves down, she uses lighter blues that lead into greens, and then pink, next purple, and finally to a deep red at along the hem of the skirt. She whistles as she works, answering Macy’s questions of “How does it look?” “Exactly as I pictured it!” and “How much longer?” “Just a few more minutes.”
As a final touch, EJ creates a stunning feathered headpiece that she pins to Macy’s hair before stepping back and admiring the finished product.
“Lovely, simply lovely. The best I’ve ever done.” EJ leads the still-blindfolded Macy to stand in front of a full-length mirror. “Fun, fabulous feathers, with just the right amount of bird.” EJ removes the cloth from Macy’s eyes.
Macy peered at herself in the mirror, and a look of horror crossed her face as she took in the mishmash of feather boas and loose craft feathers haphazardly pinned to her clothes, sticking out at awkward angles. Macy’s reaction to the outfit was exactly what EJ was hoping for—the outfit she’d just created in twelve minutes looked like something only a crazy person would wear.
“It’s … interesting.” Macy didn’t want to hurt her best friend’s feelings.
“I call it the ‘insane peacock’!” EJ laughed, breaking the tension Macy was feeling.
“Oh, EJ, I look hilarious!” Macy laughed and turned a circle to take in all the crazy that was happening on her outfit. “I could pass as Big Bird’s weird cousin.”
Faith made a squawking noise that sounded very birdlike from the Pack ’N Play a few feet away, which made EJ and May laugh even harder.
“Time’s up!” Mrs. Winkle called. “Judging will begin now.”
Mrs. Winkle walked around the room to take a close look at what everyone had made. Mom modeled a garbage bag shirt that was belted with a blue duct tape belt and a striped skirt made out of several different colors of duct tape. Miss Adele’s bubble wrap and Hula-Hoop skirt had become a full-fledged ball gown, although EJ thought it looked pretty uncomfortable.
“Lovely! Simply superb!” Mrs. Winkle gushed. When she caught a glimpse of EJ’s creation, Mrs. Winkle gasped. “Oh, girls, this feathered ensemble is positively inspired. This is what my wedding dress will be.”
EJ was sure she must’ve heard Mrs. Winkle wrong.
“You’re going to wear that?” EJ pointed at the outfit that looked like a pile of molting bird feathers. “But … you can’t! It’s your wedding. You have to wear a wedding dress!”
If only Mrs. Winkle had explained the contest more thoroughly, EJ would’ve designed something completely different!
“Oh, now, EJ, I think we’ve always known that I wouldn’t be a traditional bride.” Mrs. Winkle smiled.
A clump of feathers fell off of Macy’s dress, leaving a large bald spot on her left hip.
What had EJ done?
Chapter 12
ESPIONAGE EAR PIERCING
May 5
Dear Diary,
After six long years of asking (and begging) to get my ears pierced, I’m finally allowed to get it done—and today is the day—just in time for the wedding next weekend!
Mom and Dad have always said that having pierced ears is a big responsibility and that I would be allowed to get it done when I was old enough. (Dad actually said once that I wouldn’t be allowed to pierce my ears until I turned thirty, Diary! Thirty! That’s positively ANCIENT!) Macy got her ears pierced when she was five, and she never had any problems. So for a long time I thought it was supremely unfair that Mom and Dad were so firm about not letting me do it, too. But one time when I was in an extra-whiney mood about it, Mom told me the story of she got her ears pierced when she was only six years old, and they got so painfully infected that she had to go to the doctor to get antibiotics AND she had to let the holes grow shut so the infection could heal completely. (“She was lucky the doctor didn’t have to amputate her ears,” Dad teased. At least I hope he was teasing.) Mom said the experience was so bad that for more than ten years, she didn’t even want to get her ears pierced. Finally when she was in college she got them pierced again, but she was extra careful about keeping her piercings and earrings clean so that she didn’t get another infection.
Mom and I are going to The Golden Jewelry Company in downtown Spooner to get it done. It’s the same place where Dad and Mom bought their wedding rings for each other and where they bought the silver star-shaped locket necklace that they surprised me with two Christmases ago. The owners of the shop, Mr. and Mrs. Golden, go to our church, and they are pretty cool. They’re originally from Germany, but they’ve lived in the United States for longer than I’ve been alive. I love listening to their German accents, and sometimes it makes me wish that I spoke with an accent.