Beast of a Feast

by Melanie Jackson

  * * *

  “Gee, Mom. Did you ever get revenge on Mr. Long?”

  “No, I still owe him one to this day.”

  “Do you think he’ll be here for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll be keeping my eye out for him.”

  After our fourth glass of brandy, when the bottle was empty, I excused myself to go lie down in my bedroom for a few minutes. The bedroom was as I had left it in the morning, except that Apollo and Aphrodite were hiding in the closet. I lay down on the bed and luxuriated in its comfort. Blue joined me on the floor. I soon fell sound asleep and didn’t wake until early the next day.

  Chapter 8

  Finally, the big day had arrived. Thanksgiving Day. And on that day I woke with a horrible hangover to find it pouring rain outside. I staggered into the bathroom after life-sustaining aspirin and a hot shower. Afterward, I felt better but still wasn’t operating at peak efficiency. I dressed in a warm turtleneck sweater, jeans, and a pair of boots. Shuffling through the living room, I noticed that matching chairs had been set up, providing seating for some thirty people. Thanksgiving decorations, complete with autumnal wreaths and garlands, adorned the walls and streamers hung from the ceiling. I searched frantically for the coffee maker in the kitchen only to give up in frustration. I heard voices out back and decided to see if they would take pity on me. Along the way I found that my back door was missing.

  “Coffee,” I moaned, sounding like a java-addicted zombie, as I made my way through a covered walkway into the tent.

  Once inside the tent I stopped and stood looking around in amazement. All the tables and chairs had been set up, adorned with white tablecloths and elaborate table decorations. Once more, wreaths and garlands hung on the walls. Colored lights had been strung throughout the space. There was even a Christmas tree in the far corner. Several heaters were running to keep the inside comfortably warm.

  “Wow!” I exclaimed, reluctantly impressed.

  A group of women from the garden club were still working to decorate the inside of the tent. My nose picked up an unmistakable scent that led me to a set of large coffee makers brewing in the corner of the room. I grabbed a mug from a large stack of trays on an adjoining table and poured myself a steaming brew. The smell was heady as I held the warm mug in my hands and brought it to my face for a sip. Ah. I recognized that I might live after all.

  “What do you think?” I heard a familiar voice ask from behind.

  I turned and there was Tara Lee, fashionably dressed and refreshed, looking like a queen standing watch over her dominion. In my fuzzy state of mind I almost curtsied.

  “It’s amazing,” I confessed.

  “Yes, it is,” Tara Lee admitted with smug self-satisfaction.

  “How will you serve so many people from my small kitchen?”

  “We won’t. Arturo will be shuttling the food here in a large delivery van to be served through an opening in the side of the tent.”

  “But I thought Arturo was serving Thanksgiving dinner at his restaurant.”

  “He was, but he had to cancel his plans,” she said with a smile. “It seems that everyone in town will be showing up here instead. We plan on serving over four hundred people this afternoon and this evening. Even the Morningside Inn won’t have this many at their dinner.”

  “But that’s not possible,” I gasped.

  “Oh, but it is. And before this day is out, you shall see it unfold before your very eyes.”

  Tara Lee cast a confident gaze over the tables in the tent. I half expected her to burst out in megalomaniacal laughter, but she didn’t. Instead she shifted her eyes back to me and bestowed a simple smile to show that she was plain folks at heart after all, though I still harbored my doubts.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

  “What do you think, dear?”

  “I think I should go sit in my living room and stay out of the way.”

  “That’s a good girl. However, when the festivities begin, there is one important mission that you can fulfill.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “I’d like you to be the head greeter of our guests. After all, it is your home. It would be the graceful thing to do.”

  The thought of standing out front and welcoming so many people to my home for Thanksgiving dinner almost brought a tear to my eye. After all the frustration involved in trying to set up my own little Thanksgiving gathering, I felt glad to fill such an important and easy position.

  “I’d be honored,” I said.

  “I thought you might,” Tara Lee responded with a knowing nod. “By the way, have you seen the menu?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Tara Lee presented me with a large sheet of paper covered in writing. Again, my mother’s calligraphy had been used to present the text.

  Shrimp Cocktail

  Antipasto Platter

  Buffalo Wings

  White and Wheat Dinner Rolls

  Corn Bread w/Honey

  Minestrone Soup, Country Potato Soup, and Clam Chowder

  Tossed Green Salad and Caesar Salad

  Fresh Fruit Salad

  Oven Roasted Turkey

  Honey Glazed Ham

  Roast Beef

  Mashed Potatoes and Gravy

  Sausage, Apple, and Cranberry Stuffing

  Sweet Potatoes

  Green Bean Casserole

  Four Cheese Macaroni and Cheese

  Steamed Vegetables

  Cranberry Sauce

  Apple, Pecan, and Pumpkin Pie

  White and Chocolate Cake

  Coffee, Milk, Soda

  Wine and Beer

  “But, Tara Lee, this is so much food,” I exclaimed.

  “The more the merrier, I always say,” Tara Lee replied, accepting the menu from me.

  “Thanks for serving the green bean casserole and the dinner rolls.”

  “I have ears in the back of my head, my dear,” she said with a wink. “I know they’re your favorites.”

  I smiled, gave Tara Lee a big hug, and took a seat at a far table so I’d be out of the way but could still watch all the activity. People rushed in and out, here and there, many of them stopping by my table to thank me for hosting the party and commenting on how brave Alex and I were to be doing this. I smiled and agreed. Taking a look out front, I found that a covered walkway had been constructed between my front door and the street. There was a row of Port-a-Johns screened with a bamboo shade. Also, my car was missing, apparently the first target of valet parking. As I watched the preparations proceed, my hangover disintegrated as did the hours. Before I knew it, it was late afternoon and time to get dressed and assume my post as official greeter.

  I discovered that my bedroom had been turned into the coat check room, filled with rolling racks and hangers. I grabbed a dress that I’d bought back in July especially for this occasion and changed in the bathroom. It was a two piece with a pleated skirt in fall colors. After I applied makeup, I thought that I looked rather pretty. When I stepped out of the room, I was met by Andrew and Marcie, my church friends, who seemed to agree. Together, the three of us were to be the greeters, welcoming people to my home and handing out commemorative menus with a map of the various service stations set up on the property printed on the back. I was happy to see that Alex’s office was grayed out to mark it as being out of bounds. I was hoping he would also appreciate it when he finally arrived.

  Standing out front, I nervously awaited our first guest. Dr. Plante, Gracie Everett, and Elvira Smith, all members of my writers’ group, the Lit Wits, manned the cashier’s station to my right. It didn’t take long before a car pulled up for valet parking. When the driver’s side door opened, I was pleased to see that it was Mr. Jackman who got out. I watched with a smile on my face as he stepped around the car and opened the passenger door for Mrs. Graves. Mrs. Graves held onto Mr. Jackman’s arm as they walked to my front door.

  “Good afternoon, Lawrence. I’m so glad to see
you. Welcome to my home,” I said, giving Mr. Jackman a big hug and a peck on the cheek.

  Following suit, and because it was their natural calling, Andrew and Marcie did the same, much to Mr. Jackman’s surprise.

  “And you, Agatha. I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, hugging Mrs. Graves and kissing her as well.

  Seeing what had happened to her partner, Mrs. Graves was quick to dodge behind Mr. Jackman thus avoiding her hugs and kisses from Andrew and Marcie. Used to such a response at the farmers’ market, they took the snub in stride.

  “I take it we aren’t too late then,” Mr. Jackman commented.

  “Oh, Lawrence,” Mrs. Graves chortled.

  “Nope, you’re just on time. Your nut cups and wine await,” I replied, handing him a menu. “That is, as long as you have tickets.”

  Mr. Jackman handed me two tickets with a smile.

  “I hope to be seeing you again later,” Mr. Jackman said, taking my hand and squeezing it.

  Apparently the arrival of Mr. Jackman and Mrs. Graves was the proverbial first crack in the dike, because soon after they entered my home the first shuttle bus full of people arrived and the flow of people into and out of my home didn’t stop from then on out. I was happy in my assignment and all was going well until I recognized that Alex was the next person in line.

  “Hello, Alex. Welcome to your home,” I said, trying to make a joke of this insane situation.

  “Chloe, do you mind if we have a word alone?” he asked, taking my arm and guiding me to a rare quiet spot in the corner of our property.

  Fortunately, it had stopped raining. Unfortunately, Alex looked pissed. Quickly, before he could say something he’d regret, I put a finger to his lips to shut him up.

  “Alex, before you say anything, please let me have the first word,” I said.

  I pulled my finger away from his lips before he got even more annoyed.

  “Alright, explain,” he said.

  “I can’t,” I replied. “But I can say this. Today we have the opportunity to live and breathe a once in a lifetime experience, together. I can’t explain how it happened, but it did. Now, you can either take my hand and help me greet the people coming to our home to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner, or you can say something really stupid that I assure you I will make you regret for the rest of your life.”

  I reached out my hand. Alex paused for a moment, looking as if he was about to say something stupid. I wiggled my fingers as an enticement. He ultimately clammed up and took my hand. I’ve always said I married a smart boy.

  We returned hand-in-hand to the receiving line where we each greeted people to our home. We didn’t know many of the people we greeted since they were tourists or out of town friends and family of other guests, but we were glad to meet them. The ones we did know shared hugs and kisses in recognition of the joyous occasion. As we admitted people to our home, there was a steady stream of revelers leaving as well. Everyone appeared to be happy and enjoying themselves, which made me feel warm inside. I could tell that Alex was feeling it too by the enthusiasm with which he greeted each new guest.

  Midway through our tour of duty, Cassie Rowell appeared carrying a dish of her famous casserole. I had always enjoyed Cassie since she was my height and therefore the only person with whom I could speak eye-to-eye.

  “Cassie, this isn’t a potluck. You didn’t have to bring anything,” I told her.

  “My grandmother taught me to never show up at a party empty handed,” she explained, holding out the dish to show me.

  The warm contents of the casserole smelled wonderful and reminded me that I was getting hungry. Cassie and I shared a laugh and a hug before I introduced her to Alex and I moved on to the next person in line.

  Andrea was there with her two boys, Jonathon and Philip. The boys had won the watermelon eating contest at the fair last year and I was sure they would make inroads on the pie.

  Not too much later, I recognized the Chief standing in line with a beautiful blonde woman on his arm. Though I tried like the dickens to pay attention to the people I was greeting, I couldn’t keep my eyes from returning to the Chief and his date. They looked so cute together. As they moved through the line, they leaned close together in conversation and shared laughter. At one point, I even saw them share a kiss. When the Chief caught me watching he blushed a bright red, then ultimately beamed a sheepish grin. I could see, even at a distance, that he was happier than I’d ever known him.

  “Chloe, Alex, I’d like you to meet my date for the evening, Ms. Barbara Simms,” the Chief announced when he’d made it to the head of the receiving line.

  “Chloe, I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Randy, I feel like I already know you.”

  I almost asked her, Who’s Randy? Fortunately decorum won out over curiosity.

  “Hello, Barbara. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope the Chief, I mean Randy, has only told you the good stuff.”

  “He’s been singing your praises,” she replied. “And you must be Alex.”

  While Barbara and Alex spoke, I took the Chief’s hand.

  “Chief, she’s a real beauty,” I said.

  “She is, isn’t she,” he agreed. Then he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Chloe, for the first time in my life, I think I’m really in love.”

  “Oh my,” I replied. “That’s wonderful. Just be sure you go slow and don’t scare the poor girl off.”

  As the Chief and Barbara passed into my home, I looked up to see Gwen, Alex’s wretched sister, halfway through the receiving line. Fortunately, just as my knees were about to go weak with dread, I felt a hand fall on my shoulder.

  “Need a break?” Rosemary asked.

  My mother-in-law was standing behind me with her husband, Bob. In a rush of relief, I threw my arms around her and gave her a quick hug.

  “Oh, thank you so much,” I exclaimed. “I feel like I’m ready to drop.”

  While I had the opportunity, I grabbed Alex’s hand and made good my escape.

  “But Chloe, I see my sister in line,” Alex protested.

  “Oh?” I replied, playing it dumb. “What a pity, but I have to use the facilities.”

  “Why don’t I meet you in the dinner tent,” Alex suggested. “I’m going back to greet Gwen and her family.”

  I stopped in midflight to consider his statement. He looked so sweet and innocent, but most of all, he looked happy.

  “Good idea. I love you, Alex Lincoln,” I declared.

  “I love you, Chloe Boston,” he replied, puzzled, but giving me a kiss before disappearing back into the crowd.

  And things were crowded. I exchanged pleasantries and apologies with several people as I stumbled and jostled my way through the living room toward the back door. Along the way, I stopped by my kitchen, now the bar, to grab a glass of wine. When I arrived in the dining tent, I couldn’t help but stop and marvel.

  The dining tent was a whirlwind of activity amid a sea of festively dressed people. Every table was packed, there wasn’t an empty seat in the place. Groups of people were being ushered to and from tables as quickly as they could be served. Most didn’t know each other but were sharing Thanksgiving dinner together anyway. Amid the Christmas music playing on the PA system was the sound of laughter and people exchanging stories.

  Stories, the heart of any holiday gathering. I’d heard a lot of stories during the holidays over the years. Heck, I’d heard a lot of stories during the week leading up to this Thanksgiving. As I looked out over the happy throng, I realized that I was involved in creating a wonderful story myself, a story that would be told throughout town this year and through the years to come. The story of a huge Thanksgiving party, a beast of a feast.

  Continuing to observe, I saw children playing in the aisles and beneath the tables, just as I used to do in my own youth, and wondered what stories they might take away from this evening. I spotted Althea and Gordon playing with little Reginald, looking like a happy family together, entirely un
like their normal selves. I spotted Mrs. Smith slow dancing with Dr. Plante in front of one of the PA speakers to the tune of “White Christmas.” I felt something nudge my knee and looked down to find Blue, who had taken a break from visiting tables in search of food to come and greet me. As I leaned over to scratch her behind the ears, I spotted my father sitting at a table with my mother, arm thrown around her shoulders, and wondered what such unexpected intimacy might portend.

  Little did I know it at the time, but the night was to become rife with stories including the arrival of Marshal Alistair McPherson, Hawaiian Elvis, but not in costume. My Aunt Dorothy and Alex’s Aunt Mary Elizabeth were to share a civil word about growing up together, though one sold Avon and the other Mary Kay, which had driven a wedge between them in recent years. More than one business deal was struck that evening as businessmen grew mellow, and Arturo was to have his most profitable Thanksgiving ever.

  “Amazing view, isn’t it?” I heard Tara Lee ask from behind me.

  “Yes, it is,” I replied, and then I turned and hugged her.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Chloe Boston.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Tara Lee.”

  Bringing Blue with me, I made my way to a free seat I spotted next to my parents. Greeting everyone at the table, I sat down, which got my father’s attention. His arm remained where it was, wrapped around my mother’s shoulders.

  “Hello, Chloe. Quite a bash you’re throwing this evening,” he commented.

  “You have Mom to thank for it,” I replied.

  “Yep, she’s quite a woman, your mother,” he said, squeezing her shoulders and turning to smile at her.

  Mom blushed and turned away, but did not attempt to free herself from my father’s grasp. I took this as a very good sign indeed. Before I could comment on their intimacy, our discussion was interrupted by a loud voice calling for everybody’s attention. The music was turned off. I looked up to see that it was Mr. Jackman.