A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (9 page)

“Come on, now. You Nitwitts always manage to put yourselves in the damnedest situations, and you know it. Hey, the entire club deliberately chose to waltz down the produce aisle with me at the old Piggly Wiggly. And you all took on the Hokey Pokey at Gaylie Girl’s Labor Day wedding without batting an eyelash. You have to know by now that the Nitwitts hold a special place in my heart. Especially the one I’m gazing fondly at right this instant.”

Laurie swallowed a bite of her stuffed pepper and then gave him a flirtatious glance. “Okay, okay. I’m a sucker for sweet talk. It’s just that there’s something I haven’t told you yet. I was the unanimous choice of the girls to come up with another of my brainstorms to keep Lady Roth out of our hair, and I’m afraid I might be running dry.”

“What’s the dear ossified thing up to now?”

Laurie took a sip of wine for courage and began explaining Lady Roth’s ongoing tiff with Lawton Bead. “Bottom line here is that she sings even worse than she dances, and we all remember what a ham she was hoofing it at the Piggly Wiggly last summer. But this is supposed to be Christmas, not Halloween or the Miss Delta Floozie Contest. Mr. Bead assures us that the second she opens up her mouth, people will run out of The Square as fast as their legs will carry them. And then some.”

Powell looked amused at first. Then he sat back in his chair, briefly thinking things over while stretching his long legs under the table. “I can’t imagine you running dry of ideas. It would be totally out of character.”

Laurie looked sheepish, averting her eyes. “There are only so many times a thirsty person can go to the well. Besides, I told all the girls you’d be happy to help me come up with something brilliant. You know—two heads, et cetera.”

“I think you ladies are going to have to admit your first male member if this keeps up. Seems I’m in on everything eventually, whether I want to be or not. I’m already working with Renza, Denver Lee, and Myrtis on the publicity campaign, as you know, and now this.”

He paused to take a healthy swig of his wine. “Oh, I meant to tell you—we’ve just received a commitment from WHBQ in Memphis to bring a crew down and cover the event on Christmas Eve. Got the e-mail just before you got home. We’re going to get that helpful television coverage again, just like we did for all the waltzing at the Piggly Wiggly.”

Laurie brought her hands together prayerfully and rested them under her chin. “That’s wonderful news. Have you told Gaylie Girl yet? She’ll be thrilled to pieces, of course.”

“I thought I’d let you do the honors.”

“You lovely man—letting me be the bearer of such good tidings. Are you sure you really want to be a Nitwitt, though? I think you may be missing the all-important gossip gene.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Among other things. For now, just let me kibitz brilliantly on the side and lead the occasional Nitwitt around the dance floor.”

On that note, they opted for a prolonged session of brainstorming, eating the rest of their food largely in silence. They were almost like a couple of cows chewing their cud. Every once in a while, there were barely audible grunts in place or the customary soft lowing. For all intents and purposes, however, they appeared to be stymied. They could tell just by exchanging frustrated glances that nothing remotely suitable was coming to mind.

“Have we both finally run dry?” Laurie said later over their coffee and crème brûlée.

“Looks that way. I don’t see how we can satisfy Lady Roth if we deny her the spotlight she always craves. She’s like a veritable barracuda once she goes after something.”

Suddenly, the spark that Laurie had needed this time around surfaced, and her eyes were flashing as she dramatically pointed her finger at Powell. “That’s it! What you just said! Say it again!”

He put down his coffee cup and looked at her sideways. “Uh, I have no idea what I’m looking for.”

“Never mind. I’ve got it now. You mentioned denying Lady Roth the spotlight. But that’s exactly what we shouldn’t do. We must let her have yet another fifteen minutes of fame.”

He was squinting now. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. We inflict that voice on the general public?”

“No, no, no. It was the word
spotlight
that gave me the idea about the same time I remembered the Christmas cards I’ve ordered for us this year. If we could convince Lady Roth to portray Susan B. Anthony during Mr. Choppy’s campaign, I know she’ll agree to what I have in mind,” Laurie explained further. “But I’d like for you to come along with Gaylie Girl and myself when we make our pitch. After all, we’re the three most compelling people she knows.”

Powell listened intently as Laurie fed him all the minute details, nodding enthusiastically there at the end. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. It accomplishes everything in one fell swoop.”

Laurie could hardly keep still, savoring the smugness that had enveloped her like a long, warm soak in the tub. “Lady Roth is about nothing if not getting as much attention as possible.”

“Do you think we should use a special setting? Maybe invite her over here for one of your special dinners to really set the hook?”

Laurie reviewed everything and shook her head emphatically. “No, I think a reservation at the Victorian Tea Room might be the better ploy. I don’t want to be distracted by slaving over a hot stove and putting things on the table at the last minute. I know I make cooking look like a breeze, but it’s a diligent and time-consuming affair. Plus, you know how I always manage to burn the bread. It’s my one failing over the years. I just turn my head for a second, and I’ve got carbon on my hands. No, let’s put the food and wine in Vester Morrow’s capable hands, and the three of us will triple-team Lady Roth with our irresistible words.”

And with that, Laurie shot up from her chair and headed over to the phone.

“Gaylie Girl is just going to fall out when she hears what we’ve come up with. Not to mention all that good news about the television coverage. I can’t see anything to stop us now. I predict our Caroling in The Square will be a smash success!”

V
ester Morrow was in rare form as he continued to fawn over his most anticipated diners on this chilly November Saturday evening. The moment Laurie and Powell, Gaylie Girl and Lady Roth appeared at the door for their eight o’clock reservation at the Victorian Tea Room, his behavior had shifted into an even higher gear of fastidiousness. He had ushered them across the floor of chatting diners and tucked them away into a cozy, fern-potted corner with an enormous stained glass window for a backdrop. Now he intended to wait on them himself. Not even the most experienced of his waiters would do for this high-profile party of four. But first—a bit of seamless prying with no one the worse for wear.

“It isn’t every night I have the privilege of hosting the Mayor’s wife, the town’s most elegant dancing couple, and, of course, the nonpareil Lady Roth at the same table,” the tuxedoed Vester was saying, swaying this way and that and gesturing broadly all the while. “And is our fabulous Mayor Dunbar so busy watching over our fair Second Creek that he couldn’t join you?”

“How perceptive of you, Vester!” Gaylie Girl exclaimed. “He did bring some important work home with him, as it happens. He’s working on a bond issue—The Pet Pothole Project, as he likes to call it. If he’s able to get Second Creekers to pass it, we’ll get a much-needed overlay of all the downtown streets. But he definitely asked to be remembered to you and your divine cuisine meanwhile.”

“Ah, each to his own purpose in time. Mayor Dunbar to mind the potholes, and Vester Morrow to mind the pot roast. Perhaps we’ll see him another evening, then. I know with that enormous sweet tooth of his, he won’t be able to stay away from us very long. He’s never been able to resist our warm walnut-pecan pie à la mode.”

“Oh, don’t you dare let me forget,” Gaylie Girl added, touching a finger to her temple smartly and then patting her perfect coiffure. “I’m to bring home a healthy slice in a to-go box. Minus the à la mode, of course. But don’t you worry. He’ll still get that big sugar high as he burns the midnight oil.”

“Duly noted. Our naked pie should do the trick quite nicely,” Vester said, his pencil immediately poised for cocktail orders.

A minute or so later, he was reviewing the instructions for the bartender out loud. “Now, let’s see—a Manhattan straight up for Mrs. Dunbar and don’t forget the cherry, a glass each of our own delicious Delta muscadine wine for Mr. and Mrs. Hampton, and for you, Lady Roth, a dirty Gibson with not one, not two, but three pearl onions. Do I have everything straight?”

Lady Roth immediately delivered a monologue in her barking mode even as everyone else was nodding pleasantly. “Just be sure you don’t skimp on those onions! Oh, and I forgot to tell you to put them on one of those little plastic swords that you find in all those fussy umbrella drinks. I don’t like my garbage resting on the bottom like so much Mississippi mud. The way I’ve devised for drinking a Gibson is a very important ritual to me, and I simply must have the convenience of that little skewer. I start out with an onion just before I take my first sip, then have a second halfway through, and finally—en garde—the one that’s soaked to the gills after my very last drop.”

Vester appeared to be writing an essay on his ordering pad and mumbled out loud while casting surreptitious glances at Lady Roth.
. . . The . . . one . . . that’s . . . soaked . . . to . . . the . . . gills . . . after . . . the . . . very . . . last . . . drop.
Then he straightened his tall frame and crisply bowed his head. “I’ll run this order right over to the bartender and get your very special evening here at the Tea Room under way posthaste.”

Lady Roth continued her running commentary the instant Vester was out of earshot. “You would think he knew why we were all here the way he was carrying on so. Not that he doesn’t usually flit around the premises that same way. I get exhausted just watching him. But did he somehow hear through the grapevine that my role in the upcoming Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve is finally to be revealed to me tonight?”

Laurie stepped up with the perfect retort. “When we called up for the reservation, Lady Roth, we told Vester that we expected the best of everything the Tea Room has to offer. Nothing less would do on this momentous occasion. But we didn’t reveal anything more than that.”

Lady Roth appeared supremely pleased but did not maintain that demeanor very long. “I will admit that I like your approach, dear. This keeping-me-in-suspense business has its charms, I suppose. I enjoy parlor games as much as the next person. But by the time I’ve gobbled up that third cocktail onion, I expect to have every little detail of my Christmas carol assignment under my belt.”

While Laurie and Powell exchanged hasty glances, it was Gaylie Girl who seized the moment, keeping the mood upbeat. “That will happen shortly, and we’re certain you’ll be pleased with the very special role we’ve created for you.”

It was a few minutes past the third cocktail onion, and Lady Roth was still trying to digest everything she’d just been told. Since Laurie was the one who’d been appointed the official messenger, it was she who was now handling Lady Roth’s reaction with kid gloves.

“I just remembered how pleased you were to portray Susan B. Anthony during the recent mayoral election,” Laurie was saying. “No one could have done it better—your historically accurate costume and demeanor were dead-on. It was a role played to perfection and with passion to boot. As a result, I truly think you got the women of Second Creek excited about taking part in the process. Think of this new assignment in the same vein. I’m sure you’ll be an inspiration to everyone.”

“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?”