Deck the Halls

by Heather MacAllister

  Laurel looked as if she’d been slapped. “You don’t need a business degree to rent Christmas-tree decorations.”

  “There is a lot to running your own business.”

  “How would I know?” Laurel asked caustically. “You keep the records; You make the decisions. You didn’t even trust me to decorate a tree by myself until this year.”

  “You can’t earn your living acting!”

  “I want to try!”

  The room went horribly quiet.

  “I can’t allow it, Laurel,” Holly said unyieldingly.

  “It’s her life, Holly,” said Adam’s calm voice behind her.

  “You, too?” Holly was stung. “She doesn’t know anything about acting.”

  “She can learn.”

  “She’ll ruin her life. I didn’t work this hard so she could waste everything on a whim.” How could the man she loved take Laurel’s side?

  “This isn’t a whim,” Laurel said.

  “It’s her life,” Adam repeated. “And she’s old enough to know what she wants.”

  Laurel nodded regally. “Thank you, Adam.”

  Holly’s lip quivered and no one was fooled into thinking it was from impending tears.

  Laurel put a hand on Holly’s shoulder and Holly shrugged it off. “Holly, nothing will happen right away. I just wanted you to know, because I won’t be spending as much time with Deck the Halls. Mr. King offered me a job as a receptionist, so I’ll work there and save money for acting classes.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Holly said icily.

  Laurel stood there a moment more, then she and Ivy left the room.

  Holly whirled on Adam. “Traitor!”

  “Now who’s the actress?”

  “I know.” Holly squinted at him. “You took Laurel’s side because you think I’ll give up the business then.”

  “Holly . . .” he began with exasperation, but she ignored him.

  “Nothing can interfere with Deck the Halls. I won’t let it. I will do anything to make it succeed.” Holly shook her head. “Anything.”

  “Thus proving you aren’t in love with me.” Adam’s voice was cold. “You’d sacrifice us to Deck the Halls. But I wouldn’t choose my job over you because nothing is as important as what we have together—what we could have together.”

  “Being a success is important to me, Adam,” Holly said urgently. Why wouldn’t he understand?

  Adam’s eyes searched her face. “You’re trying to be a success at Laurel’s expense.”

  “That’s not true,” Holly lashed out, hurt at Adam’s betrayal. “For two years, Ivy and I worked so Laurel could get her degree. Now she wants to throw it all back in our faces.”

  “Let her go, Holly.” Adam reached out to caress her cheek, but Holly batted his hand away. He sighed. “People have different definitions of success. For me, achieving happiness is success.”

  “If I’m a success, I’m happy,” Holly shot back.

  “Then I’m sorry for you.”

  “I don’t want your pity!” she snapped.

  At Adam’s silence, Holly began to feel uncomfortable. “You remind me very much of my family,” he commented at last. “It’s money, power and winning. Nothing else matters.”

  That was easy for him to say. He’d never been poor or powerless. “You’d better believe it.”

  Adam looked directly into her eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

  Holly met his gaze unflinchingly. “Oh, yes, I do.”

  Now Adam’s eyes mirrored Holly’s feeling of betrayal. “Then we have nothing more to say to each other, do we?”

  Chapter Eight

  “I DON’T WANT TO go to SMU,” Ivy stated flatly. “It’s too expensive. I had no idea you were trying to save up that much money.” She followed Holly into their office.

  Why were both her sisters being so unreasonable all of a sudden? Holly wondered, tired from a day of tree dismantling and decorating for a client’s dinner party. “Actually, if you live at home, it won’t cost that much more than going to a state school.” Holly sat back in her father’s leather chair, unconsciously echoing a posture he’d assumed many times.

  “Laurel got her degree from a state school. She didn’t finish at SMU and—”

  “And she’s been upset ever since.”

  “I’m not Laurel. I’m not the sorority type,” Ivy said. “I know our whole family went to SMU, but I don’t want to. You should be glad—my plan’s cheaper. I’m going to register at the college next week,” she said resolutely.

  Holly gave up. “If you change your mind about SMU, let me know. We’ve booked some parties for January. Little ones, like tonight, but it’s a start.”

  “Have you and Adam made up yet?” Ivy asked.

  Holly shook her head. It had been three days since New Year’s Eve.

  “Why not? You and Laurel have.” Ivy handed Holly the phone. “Call him and take him with you when you go check on things tonight. He’ll add to the decor.”

  Holly snatched the phone from Ivy and glared until her unrepentant sister left the room.

  It didn’t help that Ivy was right. She owed Adam an apology. She’d overreacted just because he disagreed with her.

  Holly slowly punched out Adam’s office number.

  “Markland.” Adam’s voice was impersonal.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. This was going to be harder than she thought. “Adam, it’s Holly. I’m sorry. Laurel and I made up. Mama’s diamonds and I are going out to check on a dinner party we did today. If you and your tux would like to come with us, I’ll pick you up at seven. We’ll stay there during cocktails and then we could get coffee or dinner or something.”

  There was a silence of several heartbeats—interminable to Holly. It made her realize how much she hoped Adam wasn’t the kind of man who carried grudges.

  “I think I’ll choose the something,” she heard Adam say at last.

  In the end, they did have dinner, in a chain restaurant where they were overdressed.

  “What’s the story behind those?” Adam tugged at Holly’s necklace, mimicking Laurel’s gesture on New Year’s Eve.

  “You mean Laurel’s reference during her dramatic scene?” Holly swirled the coffee in her cup before answering. “Dad bought Mama this necklace. It was her only piece of ‘important’ jewelry.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows. “She didn’t need anything else.”

  “She didn’t want anything else.” Holly bit her lip and went on. “I tried to sell the diamonds and replace them with fakes before the auction.” She looked at Adam defiantly. “We needed money for lawyers. Someone had to fight for us before everything was taken away. But guess what?”

  Adam watched the bitterness cross Holly’s face and tried to imagine how he would have reacted if his world had fallen apart when he was only twenty-two. “Do you think that necklace might be a copy? It isn’t unusual to have copies made for insurance reasons. There could be a real one somewhere.”

  “That’s what we thought, but it appears Mama had been selling diamonds out of it for a long time. We found . . . papers.” Holly gestured expressively. “I guess things weren’t going well in Dad’s business.”

  She fingered the necklace. “Anyway,” she said, lightening the mood, “I’m making this black dress and the diamonds my signature look—like Lillie Langtry. I’ll stop in during parties and eventually everyone will recognize a Deck the Halls design.”

  Adam raised his coffee cup. “To new ventures.”

  IT BECAME A routine that on a party night they went out after Holly’s appearance. It wasn’t like any relationship Adam had ever had before. The barrier of Holly’s responsibilities still came between them, frustrating him enormously. At least, he had to acknowledge, they were spen
ding time together—without her entire family looking on.

  “My social life has improved markedly,” he commented one evening. “I kind of miss the trees, though.”

  He poured Holly a glass of red table wine. They’d found a small Italian restaurant they now thought of as “theirs.” It reeked unashamedly of garlic and tomatoes and fresh baked loaves of crusty bread. They rarely ate a complete meal, having nibbled at parties, but Holly immediately became addicted to the oversize mugs of cappuccino, topped with an extraordinary amount of whipped cream.

  “You miss all that work, huh?” Holly dipped her spoon into the whipped cream. “We’ve still got one tree left to take down.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows in mock horror. “It’s January!”

  At her happy face and throaty laughter, Adam ached with a sweet yearning. “It’s Mrs. Fitzhugh’s,” Holly was saying. “She left town right after New Year’s and just got back. I’m taking it down tomorrow morning.”

  “So you are slowing down a bit.” It was time to push their relationship forward. During his week in Boston at Christmas, Adam realized the only way to keep Holly from thinking about her sisters or her company would be to take her away from them. Not forever, just a weekend. A weekend for the two of them.

  “A bit,” Holly replied cautiously. “We have to do inventory and get rid of damaged ornaments, and check our books and—”

  “Come away with me.” Adam reached across the table and held both her hands in his.

  “I can’t,” Holly protested automatically.

  “You can. For a weekend. I’ll plan everything.”

  Holly gazed into Adam’s brilliant blue eyes and was lost.

  His voice was quietly mesmerizing. “You won’t have to think. You won’t have to do anything. I want to take care of you—just for a weekend. Let your soul heal.”

  Holly closed her eyes. “When?”

  It was barely a whisper, but Adam caught his breath. Holly opened her eyes and looked at him with so much longing, his hands began to shake. He released hers before she noticed.

  “The last weekend of the month,” he said with such certainty that Holly asked why.

  “Where’s your optimism?” Adam scolded her gently. “Deck the Halls will be booked for Valentine Day. I’m allowing plenty of time.”

  The next morning, a dreamy fog enveloped Holly as she tackled Mrs. Fitzhugh’s tree. She suspected that Adam would have been gratified, if he’d been there to see it.

  Her daydreams shattered at the sound of Mrs. Fitzhugh’s scream.

  Holly scrambled down the stepladder and raced into the study, where Mrs. Fitzhugh sat at a cherrywood escritoire, clutching her heart.

  “No, no,” Mrs. Fitzhugh moaned. She held a letter crumpled in one hand.

  “Mrs. Fitzhugh!” The matron turned to her and Holly was alarmed at the gray tinge in her face. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No!” Mrs. Fitzhugh visibly composed herself. “This has never happened to me before and now twice in one month . . . Martha is completely insane.”

  She handed the letter to Holly. “This probably came the day we left. I should have had our mail forwarded.”

  Holly recognized the pale green engraved notepaper instantly. Mr. John Kelly, Event Designer, regretted that he would be unable to keep his commitment to the Ballet Guild’s Winter Ball due to his hiring by the Heart Foundation for its annual Valentine’s Heart Ball.

  “Martha and I had words,” Mrs. Fitzhugh explained. “The committee and I were shocked at her behavior over the New Year’s Eve reception. I expressed my concern at her unreliability, and she resigned as chairman of the Winter Ball. I, of course, was elected to replace her. And now this.”

  Holly leaned against one of the floral chintz chairs. “She hired him out from under you.”

  Mrs. Fitzhugh pulled a check for five hundred dollars out of the envelope. “His donation to a worthy cause,” she said dryly. “Oh, you can hardly blame the man. Our ball is more select, but he’ll get better exposure at the Heart event. Diseases are always more popular than the arts.”

  “I can do it.” Holly took a deep breath. “Deck the Halls will do the Winter Ball, Mrs. Fitzhugh. We’ll donate our services to the Ballet Guild.”

  “Oh, Holly, dear.” Mrs. Fitzhugh smiled and shook her head. “You are so like your mother. Much too generous. I can’t let you.”

  “How much time have I got?”

  Mrs. Fitzhugh pressed her lips together. “Less than three weeks,” she said crisply. “The ball is the twenty-ninth, the last weekend of the month.”

  The date jarred Holly’s memory. She had something scheduled. Well, whatever it was, she’d cancel. This, so close to the New Year’s symphony party, was a gift from fate. Fate, which had treated her horribly, was making up for lost time.

  “Please, Mrs. Fitzhugh.”

  Mrs. Fitzhugh gazed at the determined woman before her. “Sit down, Holly,” she said, all traces of flighty society matron gone. “I’m going to be very frank. You don’t have the experience and you’re not going to get it at my ball.” She went on, softening her words. “We start planning a year in advance. We’ve been working with Mr. Kelly for weeks, contacting florists to donate flowers, underwriters for caterers, door prizes, the printers—”

  “You won’t be able to find a big-name decorator,” Holly interrupted flatly. “They don’t have enough time to start from scratch, and they’re not about to link their name with anything less than successful.”

  “There you go!” Mrs. Fitzhugh flung up her hands. “If a professional can’t do it—”

  “I am a professional, Mrs. Fitzhugh. And I won’t be starting from scratch.”

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Fitzhugh was quick to grasp the lifeline Holly threw her.

  “John Kelly isn’t stupid. There’s going to be publicity over this. Now, if I were Mr. Kelly, I would hope that you and your committee plan to keep his defection quiet so you’ll still sell tickets.”

  Holly had Mrs. Fitzhugh’s complete attention. “Go on.”

  “I’ll pay a call on Mr. Kelly,” Holly said, her mind working furiously. “He’ll cooperate and give me his lists and discuss his plans in return for stories about how helpful he’s been.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “After several articles about how he backed out at the last minute, do you think anyone will ever hire him again?”

  Mrs. Fitzhugh hesitated, obviously wanting to believe Holly.

  “Would you?” Holly asked, pressing her point.

  “It could ruin you.”

  Holly smiled. “Or it could send me right to the top.”

  Mrs. Fitzhugh studied Holly a moment longer. “So help me, I think you might just do it.” A sly smile curved her lips. “Martha will be very annoyed.”

  Her sisters weren’t home when Holly breezed in after her meeting with John Kelly. In her office, she began to schedule what had to be done and who was going to do it. When her sisters finally came in from who knew where, she was ready.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Laurel snapped. “We can’t do it. Certainly not in three weeks.”

  “Not by ourselves, no. But I’ve got a list of florists and caterers and others who are donating to the ball. There’s a committee to oversee everything. We’ll coordinate and do the decor.”

  “But Holly, my classes begin that week,” Ivy protested.

  “We can do this!” Holly insisted. “Can’t you two see that this is the chance we’ve prayed for? We’ll never have to waste our time on small jobs again. We can hire help. We won’t have to struggle—we’ll hire Exemplary Temporaries for a switch!”

  “I’ve started drama classes,” Laurel announced quietly.

  “What is the matter with you two?” Holly stared in disbe
lief. “Don’t you understand? This is it, our big chance!”

  Both of her sisters sat in the office and stared back at her stonily. “Our chance for what?” Laurel asked.

  Holly couldn’t believe they didn’t see the possibilities. “To make a lot of money,” she said distinctly.

  “How much are they paying you?” Laurel asked quickly.

  Holly took a deep breath. “Nothing. I’m donating our services.”

  “Forget it, Holly.” Laurel stood up. “You can donate your services.”

  “You could have asked first,” Ivy said, preparing to follow Laurel.

  “There wasn’t time. Listen to me.” Holly hurried to the door to keep them from leaving. “I’m doing this for the contacts. The Winter Ball is big news. It gets national coverage.” Holly emphasized the last two words and saw interest in Laurel’s eyes,

  “That’s right, it does,” she mused, looking fixedly over Holly’s shoulder.

  “Now do you understand? People all over the country will hear about Deck the Halls. You two can help me and we’ll make this the best Winter Ball Dallas has ever seen, or I’ll do what I can by myself. Either way, we’ll be noticed.” Ivy and Laurel exchanged glances. Ivy shrugged. “Okay,” Laurel said slowly, “but the next time you get the chance of a lifetime, check with us first.”

  “I will, I promise.” Holly hugged them both. “You won’t regret this, you’ll see.”

  The days slipped by, with Holly spending most of her time on the telephone. She redid the theme. There was no way she planned to use a secondhand theme. She did like Mr. Kelly’s idea of covering the ballroom in white silk, though. The room at the Landreth was heavily ornate, decorated in multihued reds. A huge quilted hanging, glorifying the Alamo, was displayed on the back wall.

  Finding that much silk was a problem. Holly called a number of fabric mills to locate the hundreds of yards needed. All wanted a deposit.

  Holly had just hung up the phone after talking to a sales rep at one of the mills. She was going to have to buy some and rent a lot. But she couldn’t spend thousands of dollars on draping the walls without considering the rest of the room.