The whole rehearsal was a mess. Peopled were not organized, they had not read my two-page email, and they wanted to socialize! We had tech issues for the lights, and the music had glitches, the spotlights blew out, and the acts were a bit of a wreck. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone there. They were all acting like we were partying with the Clauses and the elves in the North Pole with Christmas merriment and wine.
On the last run-through, the overhead lights were turned down, the spotlights now fixed and bright, the colored lights flashing and the music blasting, so everyone would know what to expect during the T and A performance in front of the town.
I momentarily gave up my leadership position when it was time for me to dance with Logan. We twirled and twisted and jived and grooved. Our dance was best described as a blend of swing and hyperactive waltz. At one point, Logan threw me in the air. Another time, I went sailing between his legs, then rolled over his back, then I kicked my leg up, and he scooted under. Four minutes—wham and bam—and we were done.
Whew! Logan winked at me. I grinned like a fool, still panting from all that dance work!
No one left until about eleven o’clock that night. Everyone had been asked to bring a dinner dish, and we’d had dinner together. The T and A show was not going to be perfect—these shows never are, but that’s what makes them fun and funny. Plus, my mother was going to emcee it. She’s hilarious, personable, popular. She would make her jokes, many subtly raunchy—she had to be mindful of the kids—and away we’d go.
After Lady Whiskey’s T and A Christmas Burlesque Show, everyone would go outside to watch the town’s Christmas fireworks, which, thankfully, I had nothing to do with.
Logan and I locked up after everyone left and headed upstairs. We did not bother practicing our dance routine again as we had our own dance routine in bed.
The dress rehearsal the next night was much like the first, but somehow…worse.
Even less organized. More lighting and tech issues. One man, a member of a rock band, fell off the stage. The band laughed so hard they couldn’t play for long minutes. For some reason, even though everyone had a list with the order of the acts, numbers five and twenty-one were flipped, as were sixteen and eleven, which messed up the music.
I had to use a microphone and a bullhorn sometimes to talk over the din of laughter and chatter. Mrs. Kerns’ dance was exquisite. She’s a trained ballerina. But there were forgotten jokes, out-of-tune singers, jugglers not juggling right, an offbeat drummer boy, and the male tutu dancers couldn’t find their rhythm, which they thought was hilarious.
“Whew,” I said to Logan when we were in bed after taking a sweet-hot shower together. “This might be the worst Lady Whiskey show yet.”
We started laughing. Somehow it was the funniest thing ever. The worst show yet! It was going to fall apart! It was going to bomb! We laughed until we about cried.
When we’re together, we like to laugh.
In bed that night, however, there were magical moments where we were not laughing at all…
The day of Lady Whiskey’s T and A (T is fortinseland A is forAllI Want for Christmas Is Santa) Christmas Burlesque Show was cool and crisp, but not death-defyingly cold, as it can be up here in Montana.
I left the bar in the capable hands of Javier and Marcos and scooted out the door at twelve o’clock. The bar was closing in two hours so all the employees could come. Many were participating.
“See you soon!” I called out to everyone.
They smiled and waved and said, “Can’t wait to see you onstage, Bellini!” and laughed.
I wasn’t laughing. I was scared to death. My knees were practically knocking.
The people in charge of the decor were working like madwomen and madmen, scurrying here and there. Logan’s employees were also helping. Across the ceiling, Logan and his crew had hung string after string of white lights. With the overhead lights down, those lights would transform a working space into a winter fairyland.
Tables and chairs had been rented and covered with red and green tablecloths. A Christmas wreath decorated the center of each table, and a vase with a Christmas bouquet graced the center. Tea lights ran through the wreaths to sparkle things up. Every white ceramic plate had a gold charger, the crystal wine and water glasses shining. Garlands were wrapped in white lights surrounding the edges of the stage. The back of the stage had been painted by a local artist, Shell Maggs, with eight-foot-tall white and gold Christmas trees. They were gorgeous. No wonder her paintings sell for so much. A silver disco ball hanging from the ceiling set the mood.
Huge snowflakes, artistically cut out by a team of women, were also hung from the ceiling, one over each table and over the stage. Mini white birch trees were grouped in corners and wrapped in white lights. It would soon look like we had a magical forest in here. One huge Christmas tree that Logan had bought and decorated towered over the whole event, the white lights flicking on and off, an angel at the top.
I took a deep breath. We would get this done… We would get this done… We would get this done.
And there was Logan. He was setting up the mini birch trees. He grinned at me. What a handsome Santa he was! Oh, cease my romantic and lustful heart.
“Hi, Stacy. How are you? I’m scared to death. Where’s my costume?” I asked Stacy when she rushed in later that evening, her hair a mess around her head. My voice wobbled with nerves.
The show would start in two hours. I was as frazzled as a panicked elf on Christmas Eve. I had hoped to have the costume for the dress rehearsal the night before so I could make sure that dancing around in it wouldn’t give me any “attire surprises,” but Stacy hadn’t been done with it quite yet.
“I’ve got it, Bellini,” she panted. I think she’d run up the stairs. “It’s in my car. Sorry I was late getting it done. I was having problems with my own costumes. I had to make five for my own act, and I got behind.” She was performing a mock striptease to Christmas music in which each layer she pulled off would reveal yet another Christmas dress, each funnier than the one before.
“Can I try it on quick?” Honestly, I was as worried about my burlesque outfit as I was about the dance.
“It’s under a bunch of my dresses. I’m bringing them all in. Don’t worry. It’ll fit. It’s super cute, and you can dance in it.” She wrung her hands together. She wouldn’t look me in the eye. She was nervous. Anxious. Oh please.Oh no.
“Tell me it will cover my own T and A.”Tell me the truth.
