Christmas in Wine Country

by Addison Westlake

“Captain Planet.” Annie nodded with confirmation.

  “He’s really nice, but…” Lila recalled the truck ride at the vineyard, thankfully punctuated by multiple stops with the door open. “Kinda ripe.”

  “Oh, they met in a hot tub,” Annie explained. “So he was all hosed down. It didn’t last too long after that.”

  Later that morning, market goods put away back in her apartment, Lila reported for her shift at work. Storytime wasn’t for another half an hour but the store was already teeming with toddlers and their mothers. Even with the expanded showtimes, now Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays, they were playing to a packed house. Last week they’d run out of room in the carpeted children’s area and a few moms had actually stood holding their child in the outer ring. Toddlers could get heavy. Lila was aware that with that kind of pressure in the audience, she needed to deliver.

  Thankfully, Mr. Meows—rapidly becoming the star puppet due to popular demand— never failed to disappoint. He was developing a rambunctious personality, liking to interrupt Lila and almost willfully misunderstanding the stories she tried to read. It was a low tech affair—no marionettes or ventriloquism with a dummy (too scary, anyway, they always seemed to get demonically possessed), but thankfully preschoolers didn’t seem to require much more than wiggling the puppet to make it entertaining. Take it one extra step—an interrupting, somewhat fresh puppet—and it became drop down, kick your feet on the floor hilarious. They nearly peed their pants. Actually, one had a couple weeks back but Lila chalked that up to incomplete potty training.

  It also helped that Redwood Cove didn’t have much going on; Lila wasn’t exactly competing with a Disney ice show. Hand puppets still stood a chance in Redwood Cove. She was pretty amused by the whole thing. Becoming a village’s favorite puppet storytime lady had never been her life’s ambition. But perhaps this was what her old boss had been referring to when he’d laid her off, telling her “It’s not the right fit for you, Lila.” Perhaps it was because she had Mr. Meows inside her all the time waiting to break free…

  The bell on Cover to Cover’s door jingled as yet more people entered the store. Lila turned to greet what were likely more storytime arrivals, then quickly ducked down behind the cash register. Jake Endicott. In the book store. Pretending to look for something in the shelving below, Lila wasn’t exactly sure why her instinct had been to hide. Perhaps now she was not only entertaining preschoolers, she was becoming one of them. Now that she was down there, though, she worried that not only had he seen her duck down but when she came up he’d be standing right there looking incredulous. If only they had a secret passage from the front desk to the stockroom. She’d have to talk to Marion about that. She was a Brit—they loved that sort of thing.

  “Who are we hiding from?” Godfrey whispered, suddenly crouched by her side. All in black, he lent an air of stealth to the operation.

  “No one,” Lila laughed nervously, loving Godfrey for being even weirder than she was.

  “I’m great at spying if you need some intel,” Godfrey continued whispering.

  “Excuse me,” a woman’s voice sang over the cash register. “Can someone help me?” With a guilty look, Lila bounced up while Godfrey slowly rose. Searching for gift wrap while Godfrey rang up the sale, Lila snuck a glance toward the entryway where the best-sellers, employee pics (Fresh and Local cooking was Lila’s repeat choice) and local travel books all were displayed for easy gifts and browsing. The area was Jake-free.

  Tearing off some Scotch tape, she snuck another glance toward the gathering crowd and, amidst the moms in sweatpants and oversized bags (not the trendy kind, the kind harboring apples and wipes and first-aid kits), she spotted Jake. Hair rumpled and wearing faded khakis, old running sneakers, and a wine-colored Henley t-shirt he was bending down to talk to one of the little kids. Grabbing Jake’s wrist, the toddler firmly pulled him through the throng toward the front where she set down her blankie close to Lila’s chair.

  Lila taped her finger to the book as she tried to register the seeming reality that Jake was here for storytime. With her and Mr. Meows. How could this be? Picking at the tape to try to get it off the shiny hardcover book so she could re-wrap, Lila snuck another glance. Jake was pointing to all of the other children seated behind the little girl in what looked to be an unsuccessful attempt to relocate her further back. Yes, he appeared to be with the child. What was he, her dad? Watching him awkwardly rake his hand through his hair, give up and retreat toward the outer circle of parents leaving the girl front and center, she didn’t think so. He looked too out of his element. Plus, she remembered, that magazine spread definitely would have mentioned fatherhood.

  Lila watched as the presence of the Bay Area’s 7 most eligible bachelor sent a ripple of flirtation through the moms. One stood a bit taller, sucking in her tummy and thrusting out her chest. Another took her hair out of her scrunchie and shook it down as if in a slow-motion shampoo ad. Another threw her head back to laugh and laugh at something someone said. Surveying it all, an idea struck Lila. Had he rented the little girl? Perhaps from an Adorable Rent-A-Child service? That would be a fantastically evil ploy, drawing in the ladies with a pint-sized cutie pie and then keeping them there since he was no baby daddy, just a good guy helping out a needy child. Squinting her eyes to inspect the girl at a distance, Lila didn’t see anything like an “if found, please return to…” tag on her back or an ID bracelet on her wrist.

  “I want cat lady!” a shrill, demanding child’s voice broke through the hubbub.

  “Cat lady!” Another yelled.

  “You’re on,” Godfrey murmured, taking the gift-wrapped book out of her hands with a questioning glance at the job. It looked like one of the toddlers had broken into Mommy’s gift wrap and had a party.

  Her legs feeling wooden, mouth dry, Lila began inching her way toward the story area. Where she would put on cat ears and engage in puppet play in front of the scowling Mr. Endicott. Could she cancel? Too risky. The children might turn on her, Lord of the Flies style. Perhaps she could feign a sudden illness? Too complicated. The requisite fainting or vomiting would create even more of a scene. Picking her way around the edge of the circle, she made her way over to the twin baskets she’d laid out with books and puppets. Jake stood near them.

  “My son just loves you,” a mom said to Lila, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “He talks about Mr. Meows all the time.”

  “Thanks,” Lila choked out, wondering why she hadn’t kept storytime simple. A few sweet stories, holding the picture book out and showing it around the room for all to see. Why puppets? As she approached the baskets, her feet moving twice as slowly as usual, Jake turned. Though she kept her gaze steady on the baskets—just a few more feet away—she could sense him looking at her.

  “Lila?” he asked.

  “Hey, Jake,” she mumbled.

  “Busy in here today,” Jake observed as a toddler stepped on his foot and shoved his leg in an effort to make it to the front of the crowd. “I’m taking my niece to storytime. I had no idea it was so popular.”

  “Your niece?” Lila asked, looking at the little blonde girl. She did have curls like him. Now that she got a closer look, she thought she recognized her. She usually came with her nanny.

  “Yeah, my brother Oliver’s kid, Emma.”

  “You’re taking her to storytime?” Lila asked, her brain apparently only working well enough to repeat his words.

  “I’m out of town a lot so I don’t get to see her much,” he explained. “I try to do something with her when I can.”

  “Cat lady!” One of the children spotted her and yelled with glee. Other children joined in with “Cat Lady! Cat Lady!”

  “Emma’s been talking about this Cat Lady.” Jake looked around the room.

  “Right,” Lila said, struck for the first time with the full realization of exactly how crazy the title sounded. The Cat Lady. She had truly become one. Much like an old lady living with twenty cats in a shoe—or was that the old lady with
too many children? She couldn’t remember, but she could see it vividly, her hair wild and frizzy and gray as she cursed the meddlesome kids brave enough to run up to her dilapidated porch…or shoe.

  “This crowd is getting restless,” Jake observed, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looked out over the teeming sea of preschoolers. “Cat lady better show soon or we’re going to have a riot on our hands.”

  Reaching for her basket, Lila grabbed her cat ear headband, placed it on her head and turned toward Jake, daring him to say something.

  Jake’s eyes widened as he glanced up at her head, now sporting black, furry ears. His mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “And so you are she.”

  “I am she,” Lila nodded, placing her Mr. Meows cat puppet on her hand.

  “There! There she is!” one of the children yelled. Some clapped while others yelled “Yay!”

  “All right,” he said, nodding. “Let’s see what you can do.”

  Gauntlet thrown down, Lila knew she had to rise to the challenge. It was time for her and Mr. Meows to get their show on.

  It only took a few pages into Cinderella to get in the swing of things. The story practically begged for Mr. Meow’s color commentary. Never one for quiet, well-behaved listening, Mr. Meows was prone to frequent interruptions, offering his side of the story and making sure the kids didn’t fall for any baloney.

  As she reached the fairy godmother transformation scene, Mr. Meows interrupted with his signature, “Hold on a minute,” sending kids rolling with laughter in anticipation. “Are you trying to tell me,” Mr. Meows asked, ever the realist, “That she turned a pumpkin into a coach?” As Lila tried to calmly explain to him that this was a fairy tale and that’s the sort of thing that happened, Mr. Meows interrupted again with, “and what’s a coach, anyway?” Laughing herself at the kids’ roars of laughter, Lila knew whatever she did in the future she’d never find a better audience. As one of the girls yelled out, “What’s a coach anyway?” Lila realized she just didn’t care how stupid she looked or how ridiculous Jake thought her; she was having fun. Turning it up a notch, Lila made Mr. Meows heave forward, hacking and wheezing because the only thing funnier than Mr. Meow’s interruptions were the occasional hairballs he had to work out. Boys especially loved that.

  The next time she looked up at the large black and white clock above the register, she was shocked to see it was nearly eleven already. Of course, she hadn’t looked up past the kids at all during story time, not wanting to derail her train with a glimpse of Jake, whose arms were likely crossed against his chest in derision. Closing the last book—Snow White, with a lot of exasperation from Mr. Meows when she kept opening up that front door—Lila announced it was question-and-answer time. The kids loved wrapping things up with some Q&A, generally taking it as an opportunity to make declarative statements regarding their lives and accomplishments.

  Nodding with interest at one boy’s account of how his baby brother had taken his favorite Spiderman cup, Lila noticed chunky Emma raising her hand. Always one to reward a raised hand, Lila called on her. “Yes, do you have a question?”

  “My Barbie has two puppies,” Emma announced with gravitas.

  After a few seconds wait to see if that was all, Lila thanked her for sharing and glanced up at Jake. Fist at his mouth, he was clearly struggling to keep his laughter in check. The task grew harder for them both once they each realized the other was also trying not to laugh. It only lasted a moment, though, before a girl quite insistently—and literally—pulled Lila’s attention away with an urgent need to discuss her stuffed bear.

  Announcing the official end of storytime, giving the moms who needed to get going the entrée to do so, Lila found herself swamped like a celebrity by five or six toddlers who weren’t ready to go. A girl on each leg, she opened Cinderella once more and let them page through as two of the moms chatted with her about maybe doing an extended storytime next week.

  “An hour would be great,” one of the women sighed. Catching herself, she added, “for the kids, I mean. They’d love an hour.”

  Agreeing to think about it, Lila filed the idea away for the business plan for the bookstore café. She and Annie wanted to make the most compelling case possible to conservative Marion, recognizing her support—as the owner of the bookstore and only one with enough cash to lease another storefront—was the cornerstone of the plan.

  By the time the crowd had cleared, Jake and Emma were gone.

  CHAPTER 7: Hit Me with your Best Shot

  The late June day was blessed with clear, blue skies reaching the low 80s, perfect for Charlotte’s 2 birthday party. Mr. Meows made an appearance and remained on his best behavior with the exception of refusing to use a fork to eat his cake. Face first, he attacked his frosting with the ferocity of his jungle cat ancestors, much to the delight of the squealing toddler party guests.

  Lila did her best to create diversions as Annie needed a distraction; her imperious mother was making a rare appearance up in Redwood Cove for the party. Having disapproved of Annie’s choice in a husband, she didn’t visit that often. A social climber, she didn’t see Annie’s little cottage and contractor son-in-law as movin’ on up. Thankfully, they day had passed without anything said on the subject and Annie and Lila decided that night they’d have a celebration of their own.

  The evening continued on unusually warm and fog-free with stars twinkling overhead. Lila still had on the spaghetti-strap tank top and jean mini skirt she’d been wearing that day and wasn’t tempted to add a layer. A typical Redwood Cove summer day could swing as much as 30 degrees from high to low, but it was already seven at night and still mild and balmy. The warmth reminded Lila of evenings back on the Cape growing up, hanging out on the beach or on the porch. It made her want a big, fat ice cream in a homemade waffle cone. Comforted by the fact that she had something just as delicious in her hand, she took another sip of her mojito.

  Windows flung open to the warm early evening summer breeze, Lila, Annie and Zoe were joined by Madonna as they danced around making mojitos in Lila’s kitchen. They were off to Ted’s later that night, but not before the all-important pre-party. Lila had bought fresh mint for the occasion and now was pleased she’d made the extra effort.

  “It’s the little things,” Lila said, savoring her drink. “Fresh mint in your mojito. Cilantro in your salad.”

  “The hint of fresh grated orange in your dark chocolate,” Annie added.

  “Or when you can really catch hold of your toes in a full pigeon twist,” Zoe said.

  Lila watched Zoe cross the room and wondered if she was about to demonstrate. Instead, Zoe stood at the window sill, took a deep breath of ocean air and declared, “This, my friends, is summer.”

  “Yes it is!” Annie exclaimed and they all three joined at the window.

  Pat Benatar came on the iPod singing, “Well you’re a real tough cookie with a long history”, prompting Lila to begin strutting around the kitchen and singing along. By the chorus, all three were yelling “Hit me with your best shot!” and adding the requisite pantomime. At “Fire away!” Lila blew the tip of her imaginary gun and placed it back in its holster.

  “This song is so cool,” Annie said, pouring herself another mojito. Thanks to Lila’s persistent DJing—car and apartment always outfitted with 80s hits—Zoe and Annie were beginning to fully appreciate the breadth and depth of the genre. Between the dentist drill beats of Venice and Valerie’s Euro techno and the continuous loop of lite saxophone in Phillip’s smooth jazz, Lila was DONE with music she didn’t like. Now, it was 80s all the way, baby.

  “Mo-Mo-jito!” Zoe exclaimed with appreciation for the fine drink. Lila clinked glasses with her. She had to admit, this batch had come out great. Maybe this summer would be about signature cocktails? Enough with the soups and pastas. It was time to mix it up.

  A couple of weeks ago she’d actually thrown a dinner party and made sangria with fat peaches and strawberries along with lemons, limes and oranges. Pete, A
nnie, Zoe and the surprise guest Godfrey had drank every last drop. It had taken some coaxing to get Godfrey to join; he didn’t usually go in for that sort of thing but Lila had been persistent, promising him a small group and assuring him that if he just had to leave he could do so at any moment by simply using the code phrase of his choosing: “My dog has fleas.” As the evening progressed and Godfrey met Zoe’s non-sequiturs with obscure Checkov quotes, Lila knew she’d been right—offbeat meets harmlessly off-his-rocker worked. She didn’t see them as Redwood Cove’s new hot couple—she still couldn’t tell whether Godfrey liked girls or guys or maybe just cyber versions of either one—but they certainly enjoyed each other’s company. Lila had grilled some fish and asparagus and topped it with fresh mango salsa, then served apple cobbler for desert, recipe courtesy of Gram. As the evening had ended with them all eating the wine-soaked fruit out of the sangria pitcher, candles down to the melty wax base, Lila had felt happier than she had in years. Maybe ever.

  Signature cocktails, she decided over at the blender, that was the next step. Maybe it was time to get old school? She wasn’t sure what a sidecar was, but maybe it was time to find out?

  “Don’t you wish we had some 80s outfits?” Zoe asked. “You know, big hoop earrings and maybe a ripped, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt like Flashdance.”

  “I could see Lila in a killer side ponytail,” Annie said, enjoying setting her friend up for a scheme Zoe would most certainly want to execute.

  “Not tonight,” Lila intervened. As much as she was getting into the “anything goes” Redwood Cove spirit, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hit the local bar in costume on a random night in June. If she did, though, she knew she was guaranteed to see Jake, but only if she dressed up in full costume, legwarmers included. “Too much effort,” she added. The answer seemed to satisfy Zoe, who spun off to examine some of the framed photos Lila had on her bookcase featuring Gram, her mom, and a few from college including one of Lila, Annie and a couple of other girls wearing snowshoes. Phillip had been fully purged; not that it was too hard when you only had three or four photos in your total collection.