“Yes, we do,” my mother said, nodding. “Fair wages, fair benefits. Medical, dental, eye care for the whole family. Vacation time. That’s why people hardly ever leave, and I am proud of that. It is my proudest professional accomplishment.”
My mother loves talking to people. She likes to listen. She likes to say outrageous things. She likes being the star at Lady Whiskey’s. She likes that she’s well known in town and popular. She loves that she provides a place for people to make friends, to be seen and noticed, to be part of a friendly community whereeveryone is welcome, and her employees openly say that she is the best boss they have ever had, and they will never leave.
Lady Whiskey’s isn’t just a bar. It’s my mom’s life’s work. It’s as important to her as my life’s work—writing books for kids—is to me.
Which made me think I should stay and run the bar.
But there was another reason I couldn’t—Logan. I could not be with him. I would not be able to stand it when he eventually found a wife and had six kids. But was my mother’s need for the bar to continue running more important than the pain I would feel watching Logan and his new life over the next fifty years?
I turned to my mother after Mrs. Books ran after a fallen Christmas ornament. She was watching me. I watched emotions, one after another, flashing in and out of her eyes. Sadness. Acceptance. Happiness. Pride. And then, as if she’d made a decision, she nodded a bit.
“What are you thinking, Mom?”
She blinked and paused, coming back to me from her deep thoughts, then she flashed her huge smile. I’ve been told a million times I have my mother’s and my aunts’ smiles and dimples.
“I’m thinking about your Christmas presents. Have you been good this year? Santa told me that you’ve been a little too good. Haven’t had enough time for naughty fun. Maybe you should go and find Logan and see if you can get in a little naughty trouble. Santa would be happy, and Mrs. Claus would be thrilled for you.”
“What were you thinking, Mom?” I asked again.
“I was thinking that you are splendiferous.”
“Sure, you were. Are you going to tell me?” There was something she’d accepted. A resolution. An understanding. She’d had an “inner peace” moment. What was it?
“Go out and be naughty, Bellini. In celebration of Christmas.”
I gave up. She wouldn’t tell me. We agreed I would try to be naughty. I thought naughty thoughts of Logan.
The cats meowed.
The meeting in a private room at the bar for Lady Whiskey’s T and A Christmas Burlesque Show went well. I reminded everyone, again, that the T was fortinsel, and the A was forAllI Want for Christmas Is Santa.
“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Whang, the librarian, drawled. “Thank you for clarifying. I thought that the T was fortimeto read, and the A was for Austen, as in Jane Austen.”
“I thought the T was fortelescoping, and the A was forabsoluteelectrode potential,” David Singh said. He’s an engineer.
“I thought the T was fortarotcards, and the A was forastrology,” Maya Garcia said. She’s a nurse and a part-time fortune teller. It’s almost creepy how often she’s right about what’s comin’ down the line for people.
“I thought the T was fortits, and the A was forass,” Mabel Sherton, who is ninety years old if she is a day, croaked out. “It was in my day!”
“Ho ho ho! Aren’t you all funny?” I said as everyone reveled in their clever jokes.
“What’s funny is…” May Ling Lao paused dramatically, and everyone quieted down. She wriggled her fingers up in the air, creating suspense. “Lettuce.”
I knew what she was talking about, but I could see that Logan, leaning against the wall in the back because there were no more seats, did not. No, he did not get this particular inside joke. How embarrassing! I could feel my cheeks growing hot as everyone laughed, so I decided to quickly change the subject.
The room was jammed with people from Kalulell who were willing to participate in the burlesque show or to volunteer tohelp put it on, so I began my formal presentation. I had made a list, a long list, and I put the information up on a slide deck so we could go over everything together. I had also printed out the list and put it on the tables before people walked in. The list was probably too elaborate, too detailed, but it calmed my nerves.
The first thing the list did was clarify what a burlesque show was, as there was deep confusion. This was where all the photos of people in burlesque outfits in my slide deck came in handy. “But in terms of wearing a burlesque-type outfit, the elves have told me that, in the spirit of the holidays, you should wear what best suits your act—whether it’s dancing, playing an instrument, singing, or juggling.”
“Aha!” They nodded. They liked the artistic freedom.
I talked about the rules for the acts, how long the acts should be (short), and that they had to “keep it clean” because children would be there. I added information on the location of the burlesque show and thanked Logan and his team for building the stage and catwalk. Everyone clapped and cheered, and Logan waved. So devilishly handsome he was. I stared at him, and the applause died down, and then I remembered tostop staring, especially because Logan was smiling his sexy smile at me, and I mumbled a bit, then went back to my slide deck.
I talked about the rehearsals, and dress rehearsals, and the show itself, and how that would be organized, who would be going first, second, third, etc., and I discussed the potluck, and if your last name started with A through L, you were to bring a main dish. M through R, bring a salad or side dish. S through Z, a dessert. I talked about the size of the stage and catwalk, the lighting, and where the food tables would need to be set up for the potluck. I showed them a map on the slide deck so everyone would understand the placement of everything. I had a list of people who had volunteered to decorate the tables and the venueitself, and I talked about where they could buy supplies, etc., and made suggestions for the decor.
I’d broken up the info in the slide deck with pictures of Rudolph, Santa’s sleigh, snowmen, and snowwomen.
“I like the pictures of Rudolph and Santa,” my cousin Colin announced in a booming voice. “But where are the pictures of…” He paused, and I braced myself. “Lettuce?”
