“I’m gettin’ better at it. Merry Christmas, Gerome.”
“Merry Christmas, Miss Goldie.”
She started to head for her door, but as she did, she turned back and said: “Talk to your brother about puttin’ in a good word for you at that shoe store.”
“Oh, believe me,” he answered, “I have.”
She returned to Sparkledove to find both the town and her hotel pretty busy. Indeed, on the ride back to town her bus was nearly full. It didn’t take long for her to figure out that the community Christmas dance, like the tree lighting ceremony, was a big deal, and the more people she passed on the street and in the lobby of her hotel, the more she wished she had sprung for a new dress. She had to wait to get a table for an early dinner, then wait again to get access to the bathroom on her floor. But by 6:20 p.m., she was headed over to the Sparkledove Community Center.
The center was the newest building in town, built in 1928. It was designed to look like a horse barn with a single-story section on either side, then a taller two-story section in the middle. But it was much larger than a traditional horse barn. The exterior was painted red to look like a barn, complete with a fake hayloft door on its upper middle section. It was almost too far to walk from Goldie’s hotel, and thankfully, she didn’t have to. Maddie told her employee, Josie, to take Dean’s car and drive her to the center. Josie was working behind the front desk, dressed up as a reindeer, and had to remove her antlers and fluffy white tail to put on her coat and take the hotel’s special guest to the dance.
As they rode, Goldie lamented her appearance. “I only packed three dresses and I’ve worn all of them,” she complained. “I didn’t bring any jewelry to speak of or pack curlers for my hair. I feel dowdy.”
Josie smiled. “I’m wearing a brown terrycloth jumpsuit that’s supposed to look like fur. From where I sit, you’re Miss America.”
Goldie looked her younger friend over, recalling. “I’ve seen you dressed up as a Native American for Thanksgivin’, an elf decoratin’ the Christmas tree in the hotel lobby, a Charles Dickens caroler for the community tree lightin’, now a reindeer—don’t you ever wear regular clothes?”
“I wonder that myself sometimes,” Josie replied.
The car pulled into a circular drive and up to the two front doors of the center. The building was outlined with hundreds of colorful Christmas tree lights. It was an ornamentation Goldie had seen hundreds of times before in her New York life, but in 1942, it was a novelty. It was also against blackout restrictions, so the lights were only on for a limited time.
After thanking Josie for the ride and walking through the front door, the first thing Goldie did was get a layout of the place. To her immediate right was a ticket table and coat check area. Near them were bathrooms and dual swing-open doors that led into a kitchen. In the taller middle section, some white linen-covered tables and chairs could accommodate up to two hundred guests. They were spread out in a square horseshoe around a dance floor. On the far side of the middle section was a stage where a thirteen-piece band was setting up. On either side of the stage were Christmas trees that Stephie Banyan and some friends had set up and decorated. To Goldie’s left were more bathrooms and a storage and supply closet with a temporary bar set up in front of it. Up against the exterior wall of the bathroom was a line of more white linen-covered tables where no less than twenty gingerbread houses were displayed. Some were houses modeled after real houses in town, others were churches, one depicted Santa’s North Pole workshop, and another was the Statue of Liberty that sat on a five-sided star base and featured a lit torch. All in all, the collection of offerings was very impressive and smelled wonderful.
Even though the doors didn’t officially open until 7:00 p.m., Goldie wanted to get there early and find out what her duties were regarding judging. No guests had arrived yet, but the center was bustling with activity.
“Good evening, Goldie,” Stephie called. She had just walked through one of the swinging doors of the kitchen and looked fabulous in a red cocktail dress that had white sequins outlining her waist and the bottom of her skirt.
“Ay, Stephie,” she greeted. “You look killer!”
“Killer?”
“Eh, really nice,” Goldie corrected.
“Um… thank you.”
“I wanted to stop by early and find out what I’m supposed to do as a judge tonight.”
Stephie walked her over to the display of entries on the other side of the center. “Just look over each design one by one. There’s a number beside each entry, and simply pick the one you like best. Most people understand this is just a subjective call. You’ll announce the winner at 8:00 on the stage over there, and there’s a nice golden cup trophy that goes with it. Charles will go up first and introduce you. Before announcing the winner and presenting them with their trophy, remind participants that they can bid on any entry by completing a form that includes their name, phone number, address, the item number they’re bidding on, and their bid amount. There are boxes for the bids, paper, and pencils at both ends of the gingerbread tables. Winners won’t be announced tonight, but all winners will be contacted by the historical society, and they can pick up and pay for their houses here this Sunday between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m. For those who don’t have a phone, volunteers will deliver them within three days and collect the money upon delivery. That’s it.”
“Okay. Sounds simple enough,” Goldie decided. She looked at a few women who were putting finishing touches on their gingerbread creations. All of them smiled at her warmly with high expectations, like a bunch of high school girls flirting with boys at a soda shop.
“I hope those who don’t win won’t hold it against me,” she quietly said to Stephie.
“Well, everyone’s got an opinion,” Stephie replied. “But since you don’t live here, you won’t have to put up with anyone’s disappointment. Besides, oftentimes, people bid a lot more on houses that don’t win. So, there’s consolation in that.”
Goldie looked behind her at the ticket table. “And you sell tickets to the dance?”
“Yes. Then there’s a cash bar, plus a photographer who’ll roam around, take photos of each table, and people can buy them from him here on Sunday as well. All in all, we traditionally make a pretty tidy sum on the dance. People come from all over. Of course, the band’s a big draw too.”
Goldie looked at the kitchen. “Are you serving food?”
“No. Tonight, the kitchen is acting as the second bar.”
Goldie nodded, then slipped off her coat. She was wearing her black dress with the daisies and short sleeves, which was definitely out of season.
“Hhm… that dress is very lovely, dear. But aren’t you going to be cold with those sleeves?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what I was thinking when I packed, but it’s the nicest thing I brought.”
