Everyone was having a marvelous Christmassy time.
“Shall we go and dance?” he asked, offering me his arm. “We’re up next. Don’t break a leg.”
We danced our way out to a swinging, waltz-y Christmas song.
We held hands in the middle of the stage, and when we heard the first notes, we bravely began our dance. Logan threw his red “boa constrictor” into the audience to get their attention. We shimmied and shook, wiggled and wriggled, and tossed his black hat back and forth.
We strutted and grooved down the catwalk, our feet flying, to applause and laughter. He flipped me over his back, I scooted through his legs, he ducked under my raised leg, and we danced again, Logan twirling me, then I twirled him. Like awkward ballet dancers. At the end, where the mistletoe hung, we stoppedand kissed in front of my mom, and there was a huge, “WOO HOO!” from everyone, which was fine with us.
I jauntily lifted my knee-high red shiny boot up behind me. I heard my mother laugh.
After our dance, I got back into my regular outfit—dark blue jeans and a Christmas sweater with three singing reindeer. I wore the knee-high red shiny boots, though, and continued organizing who was up next…and next…and next.
The “burlesque” costumes were colorful and creative, but some went far beyond burlesque and into drag, the 1920s, the Victorian era, hippie chic, and there was a definiteAlice in Wonderlandfeel with a few of them. There was confusion about whatburlesquemeant, or people decided to ignore that part or didn’t read my detailed emails. At least we did not see any T and A.
One woman had decided thatburlesquemeant that she should have a faux Christmas tree attached to her back. She used to play for the Oregon Symphony. Wearing a red silk dress, she played Christmas songs at an ultrahigh speed on her violin. She asked everyone to sing and “try to keep up.” We couldn’t. We tried. She brought the house down with laughter.
Another woman wore a four-foot hat filled with red and green flowers and birds. She used to sing opera professionally. Wow. A man in an emerald-green dress fit for Queen Elizabeth wore a gold crown and did a comedy routine about the people of Kalulell. It was a roast. He was dead-on with the humor.
An eighty-year-old man wore a tuxedo jacket and a gigantic, blow-up dragon tail. With his grandson, who was eight, also in a tuxedo and dragon’s tail, they played guitars and sang a song about Christmas love that they’d written themselves. It was very touching.
Benny and Justin Rhodes’ “major secret” was that they were now “Rudolph magicians.” They had been working all year on their magic show. They performed one trick after another, then a huge smoke plume went off, and a friend dressed up like Rudolph—poof—appeared out of nowhere, red nose flashing. The kids screamed with excitement.
People played their acoustic guitars, electric guitars, and flutes alone and in groups. We had two rock bands. Brad and Dr. Brenda sang a clever song about colonoscopies and mammograms and checkups, and it had everyone bent over double, laughing. We had two comedians. Mrs. Kerns’ dance received a standing ovation. It was stunning and, somehow, quite emotional.
I was, as always, stunned at the talent among the people of Kalulell. Almost everyone worked “normal” jobs, except for the surgeons who regularly cut people open and sewed them back up again.
At the end, my mom, those white feathered wings outstretched, invited all the performers back up onstage. A standing ovation went on for a long time.
My mother reminded everyone that the red buckets on their tables were for donations for the “sweet kids of Kalulell. We take cash and checks! Thanks again to Bellini for organizing and Logan and his team for letting us be here and building us a stage and catwalk. Merry Christmas, everyone! Merry Christmas!”
Jer Stonigan, eighty-eight years old, and his ninety-year-old wife snuck in via the fire escape stairs. They had a little help. They bid the highest for Grenadine Scotch Wild’s painting/collage. Their bid was so high it would provide many, many gifts for the kids of Kalulell.
The fireworks started later, lighting up our Christmas sky.
The day after the burlesque show, Logan, Jaxi and Helena, Collins, Beck, Colt, and I shopped for the kids’ presents and clothes. We had raised a lot of money from generous people—including all of us. We piled all the gifts at Logan’s office, and on Monday his whole team, plus twenty of my cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends, helped to wrap, label, and distribute them to the families in the area who needed a little help this year. Everyone wore Santa hats. We also gave away the coats, scarves, hats, and mittens we’d collected at the bar.
“Whew,” I said to Logan at his place later that night after a twelve-hour day. We were lying in his bathtub—a huge one, fit for two, which Logan said he bought because one time I had said that I would love a “humongous bathtub.”
“I was in a hopeful mood when I bought it,” he said.
“I’m hopeful we can make love in here again,” I said. “How about tomorrow?”
“Gee whiz, I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule. I could be busy. I’ll think about it. I’ll try to fit you in. Thank you for the invitation, though, Bellini.”
“You’re welcome.” I leaned against his chest, tilted my head up, and got a kiss. “Let me know when you’re done thinking about it.”
The lights were off, the candles lit, and it was an ooh-la-la setting for two exhausted people.
“I’m wiped out,” Logan said. “I can’t imagine how Santa feels after a day like this.”
“Yes, but he’s magic, and he has elves to help with the wrapping and a team of reindeer.”
“That’s true. You think of everything.”
“Plus, be honest. Mrs. Claus probably does all the organizing, works with the elves, gets the gift lists going, figures out who is naughty and nice, feeds the reindeer, fixes the sled. Her jobs are endless.”
“I think that’s a given. But give Santa some credit. He has to fly all over the world and make sure that the presents get to the right homes.”
