A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (8 page)

Everyone quickly gathered around the organ, murmuring pleasantries while sipping their drinks, and Gaylie Girl was particularly complimentary. “It certainly does something for the room. I know what a difference my grand piano makes now that it’s at home in our drawing room on North Bayou Avenue. Since I didn’t know how to play it before, it did nothing but sit there and soak up furniture polish all those years up in Lake Forest.”

“This one’s a beauty, isn’t it? A Hammond with a Leslie speaker,” Denver Lee continued. “That may or may not mean something to any of you, but this is a state-of-the-art instrument. I can do the most fabulous things with it, and I can’t wait to show you all.”

Renza resumed her contentious line of questioning. “So we’ve come here this afternoon for an organ recital? This is your surprise? Horse apples! Now really, Denver Lee, what does this have to do with Caroling in The Square? We still have serious matters to decide.”

“If you’ll just let me finish explaining, everything will become clear. You see, my piano lessons have been going so well, I decided to take things to the next level by purchasing this organ. I’ve always wanted one, and now I can actually play, thanks to the expert instruction Euterpe’s been giving all of us.”

The town’s Mistress of the Scales held tightly on to Pan with both hands as she shifted him from his recumbent spot just below her shoulder. Then she acknowledged Denver Lee’s praise with a little bow and whispered to her most precious pet. “There, there. Mommy just wanted to make sure her baby didn’t fall.”

“I can appreciate this mutual admiration society the two of you have got going as much as the next person,” Renza put in, “but I’m still waiting for the payoff. What does this organ of yours have to do with our Christmas Eve event? You’re not thinking of dragging it down to The Square to accompany all those choirs, are you? That would be one mighty damn long extension cord. Besides, it was my understanding that all these carols were supposed to be sung a cappella.”

Denver Lee ignored Renza’s prattle and made a big to-do of taking her seat on the bench. “If that’s what all the choirmasters prefer, then so be it. Euterpe says some of them might prefer a bit of background music. So I was going to offer to make up a mix tape accompaniment for any of the choirs that wanted to play it back while they’re singing up on the balconies. My stomp box can duplicate tons of delicate, Christmasy sounds—like harps and flutes and even the jingling of bells.”

Gaylie Girl immediately verbalized the question that was on everyone’s mind. “What on earth is a stomp box?”

“Oh, that’s the buzzword for the effects pedal. I manipulate it with my feet, which I will soon demonstrate. I thought I’d play ‘It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.’ That’s always been my absolute favorite, and it’s sure to be one the choirs will choose.” After turning on the power, Denver Lee began walking everyone through the procedure out loud. “Next, I press the rhythm key in play mode—”

An insistent, exotic beat suddenly exploded from somewhere within the organ, and Denver Lee’s language took a salty turn. “Well, dammit to Sam! I pressed the wrong rhythm pattern for playback! Somehow I’ve turned on the bossa nova—and the fast version at that!”

“No harm done, I’m sure,” Gaylie Girl said. “Just change it to angelic sounds or something churchy like that. You implied you had tons to choose from.”

Denver Lee fumbled around for a few seconds, but the bossa nova beat would simply not back down. “The key seems to be stuck. Now how in the world did that happen? Let me go have a look at the manual.” For the next few minutes, Denver Lee thumbed through the brochure she had retrieved from inside the bench, spent some time poring over one particular page, and then gave a resolute little sigh. “I know what. I’ll just shut everything down and start from the beginning. As Gaylie Girl put it—there’s no harm done!”

But when Denver Lee tried the sequence again, the bossa nova beat remained loudly intact. “I guess I’ll just have to call up that technician and get him to come down from Memphis to look at it. I haven’t had the least bit of trouble with it until now. But I was careful to pay for an extended warranty. There’s probably something very simple I’m not doing. Oh, foot! Everything was just perfect when I practiced last night.”

Despite her frustrations, Denver Lee tackled the first few bars of “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” anyway, even if the end result was more like Carnival in Rio than Christmas in Second Creek. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Meanwhile, some of the Nitwitts decided to make the best of it, being the good-time girls full of giggles and snickers and liquor that they were.

“Please keep on playing, Denver Lee,” Myrtis begged. “It sounds a bit perverse, but I kinda like it anyway. By the way, would someone care to dance with me? This reminds me of the time back in the day when Raymond brought home ‘Blame It on the Bossa Nova’ from his record shop. We both loved Eydie Gormé and that big clear voice of hers at the time, and that was one of her biggest hits in the early sixties—if I remember correctly. In fact, I still have the original forty-five in my back porch collection, and I can’t resist giving it a spin on the old turntable every now and then.”

Denver Lee momentarily stopped her recital to turn and stare Myrtis down, but she couldn’t keep a straight face for long. Finally, she gave in to the absurdity of it all and continued with the south-of-the-border rendition of her favorite Christmas carol. In rapid succession, Novie decided to join the fray and fulfilled Myrtis’s request for a dance partner; Laurie and Gaylie Girl decided to try their best bossa nova steps together; and Euterpe lowered Pan to the floor to take the briefest of turns with Renza, who had finally given herself permission to unwind and stop being such a pain in the rear about every little thing. Even with all the added space, however, there was a collision or two, followed by a few impulsive partner switches in hopes of smoother results.

Eventually, they all had their fill of cavorting at about the same time Denver Lee grew tired of producing such unorthodox, surreal sounds. No matter which Christmas carol she summoned from her repertoire—“Away in a Manger,” “O Holy Night,” “The Little Drummer Boy,” or “Greensleeves”—they each had that frenetic bossa nova beat beneath them. It was way past time for the Nitwitts to catch their breath with fresh cocktails and address the more serious club matters at hand.

Gaylie Girl was the first to update progress on Caroling in The Square from her perch on one of the sofas. “I spoke again with Lawton Bead of St. Luke’s just yesterday, and he informs me that Lady Roth is still bugging him around the clock about that solo business. We all know how impossible she can be. But Mr. Bead insists that she simply cannot come close to carrying a tune. It would be an unmitigated disaster and even cruel to put the spotlight on her. He’s at his wit’s end, so I think it’s going to be up to us to figure out a way to placate Lady Roth before she makes big trouble for all of us.” Gaylie Girl gestured broadly to where Laurie was sitting across the room. “Therefore, I think we should call upon the Nitwitts’ most astute, veteran problem-solver for the way out of this maze—the one and only Mrs. Powell Hampton.”

Laurie gave her a sideways glance, her smile projecting just the appropriate touch of resignation. “I should know by now that it’s always up to me.”

“And why not?” Gaylie Girl declared. “You found a way to keep Lady Roth under control during all those waltzing at the Piggly Wiggly antics last summer. And then you were absolutely brilliant the way you convinced her to portray Susan B. Anthony during my husband’s election campaign. She would have been a genuine liability otherwise, phoning up people and telling them how they should vote. Or else. That alone could have swayed the election for Mr. Floyce. Let’s face it—Lady Roth is best taken in thimble-sized doses.”

“Gaylie Girl is right, Laurie,” Renza added. “You know good and well that you’re the only one who can come up with a solution to this.”

Laurie accepted the challenge with a nod of her head and then said: “I’ll get Powell to put on his thinking cap, too. Between the two of us, I’m betting that we zero in on something that’ll work.”

Gaylie Girl gave a sudden gasp. “Oh, speaking of betting, shouldn’t we decide which one of us came closest to winning that money we had on the line? It came to me just this second who I think the winner should be.”

A wave of bewilderment swept across the room, but Gaylie Girl was determined to enlighten everyone. “Think about it now. We just finished all that frantic dancing, and Denver Lee’s rhythm key or whatever you want to call it got stuck. Isn’t it obvious who called this one? Or got close enough.”

Then Novie gasped, too. “I’ll be damned!”

Renza folded her arms, indulging one of her more potent frowns. “Well, I don’t have the degree in sleuthing that you two apparently do. Stop all this theatrical, I-know-whodunit gasping and let me in on it!”

“Don’t you see? Euterpe’s dream was all around it!” Gaylie Girl exclaimed. “Denver Lee’s surprise had to do with music, of course, and there she was conducting an orchestra in the dream. Not to mention all that furious dancing that wouldn’t stop. We were pretty much a passel of bossa nova demons there at the end, weren’t we?” Gaylie Girl sank back against the sofa with an incredulous expression on her face. “Now how in the world did you manage to conjure all that up, Euterpe? I’ve positively got goose bumps.”

“How shall I put this?” Euterpe began, her tone very measured. “I never know when something is going to be leaked to me through my dreams. Because I firmly believe the universe works just that way. We only have to be open to all the helpful voices that are out there speaking to us. Perhaps they’re angels, or perhaps something more momentous.”

Gaylie Girl was nodding thoughtfully. “That certainly is a Christmasy sort of message.”

Then Novie spoke up in her official capacity. “Ultimate sources aside, is everyone agreed that the kitty concerning Denver Lee’s surprise should go to Euterpe?”

Oddly, the only dissenter was Euterpe herself. “To be fair, my prediction was that Denver Lee would have everyone participating in some sort of marathon dance competition in The Square. Instead, she wanted to provide a musical accompaniment to any choir that was interested.”

“A mere technicality!” Gaylie Girl exclaimed. “You had elements that were close enough, and let’s face it—this isn’t rocket science.”

Euterpe thought for a while as she gently stroked her Pan. “Very well, then. But I will accept the money on one condition. That you let me donate it right back to our slush fund for our next project.”

“That’s certainly in the spirit of the upcoming season,” Novie said. But she was quick to point her index finger at everyone else in turn. “Although we all came off pretty cheap with our bets. There’s barely enough money in the kitty to buy one of us a good dinner at the Victorian Tea Room.”

“Just how cheap were we?” Euterpe wanted to know. “I know I threw in ten dollars, and I think that’s a decent amount.”

Novie drew herself up, but the air she exhaled immediately after had the effect of an indictment. “You’ll be pleased to hear that your ten bucks officially made you Mrs. Moneybags among us. If everyone had been at least that generous—and I’m not excusing myself here—we’d be talking about rustling up a banquet somewhere. Unfortunately, our grand total came to only twenty-three dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

“You’re right,” Gaylie Girl added. “That
is
dinner for one at the Tea Room—without an appetizer or dessert, of course.”

Euterpe shrugged it off with her customary wit. “To the slush fund with my fortune, then! Isn’t it written somewhere in our bylaws that no Nitwitt shall ever dine publicly without benefit of at least four courses?”

“No. But it’s not a bad idea,” Novie added, as everyone enjoyed a good laugh and the issue of the kitty was put to bed.

Despite the unexpected mechanical problems with her new instrument, Denver Lee remained upbeat and put the exclamation point on the proceedings. “I just want everyone to know that I still fully intend to offer that accompaniment tape to any of the choirmasters that might be interested. That is, if I can get Xavier Cugat and his orchestra out of my stomp box.”

Laurie had just finished summarizing for Powell the gist of what had transpired at Denver Lee’s meeting earlier in the day. They were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, just beginning another of her gourmet dinners, and he couldn’t stop snickering between bites.

“I can’t get the part about that rhythm glitch out of my mind,” Powell told her. “I would have given anything to be there, if for no other reason than to show all of you how to do the bossa nova up right!”

“Yes, I’m sure you could have done just that,” Laurie said, feeling as if he were being too cavalier about the entire business. “Once a ballroom dance instructor, always a ballroom dance instructor.” She didn’t bother to disguise the slight irritation in her voice.