Charming Christmas

by Carly Alexander

  So . . . It wasn’t just slacker tendencies that had me under the covers until noon. When you’re in a construction zone till three in the morning, you gotta pull the swing shift. I was working my way to a workout, having plunked the videotape the physical therapist gave me on top of the television and set my weights onto the floor when my cell phone began to chime its reggae tune. It was Charley from Rossman’s, telling me I was hired. Swinging into a victory dance in the kitchen, I suddenly noticed how enormous my butt looked reflected in the toaster. I stopped dancing and heard him say that I needed to report for training the next day, but could I stop in this morning to fill out some forms?

  I looked down at my flannel pajama bottoms, sweatshirt, and fluffy slippers. “I’m afraid I’m unavailable this morning,” I said in my most corporate voice, “but how about this afternoon?”

  Most Wednesday nights were an abbreviated girls’ night out for us. Since Lanessa and Bonnie had to work in the morning, we kept it short—usually just a dinner. Since I had spent the afternoon doing paperwork at Rossman’s, I was the last to arrive at Bertha’s, a Fells Point restaurant famous for their delicious mussels and hence the bumper stickers that read, EAT BERTHA’S MUSSELS. Fells Point resembles a colonial seaport village set in the middle of a city, its cobbled streets and brick houses much coveted since it was saved from demolition in the 1970s. It’s also a hub of activity, with dozens of antique stores, novelty shops, restaurants, and popular bars.

  “Drinks are on me!” I announced as I unwrapped my scarf and took a seat. “As of tomorrow, I’ll be earning a paycheck, at least for a while!”

  Bonnie and Kate applauded, but Lanessa lowered her menu and cocked one eye. “Oh, Liv, I know you’re cutesy-wutesy, but don’t tell me you’re playing a Christmas elf?”

  “Even weirder,” I said. “I’m going to be Mrs. Claus at the new Rossman’s.” I filled them in on my new job, the posh new look of Rossman’s, the ZZ Santa, the skating rink. “They’re hoping to put together a show on ice, though it doesn’t sound like they’re very organized. Either way, the pay is good, and I’ve got a job, ladies! I’m coming out of the slump. Once my bank account is solid and my ankle healed, I’ll be on my way again.”

  “Going back to New York already?” Bonnie stuck her lower lip out. “You just got here, honey.”

  “I am already so done with Baltimore,” I said, thinking of the mantra that had sustained me: This is temporary. This is temporary. “After Christmas, I’m out of here.”

  “Mrs. Claus—how cute is that?” Kate said. “And it will keep you too busy to worry about your mother and Bobby and the show.”

  I sipped some chardonnay and nodded. “Bobby who?”

  We exchanged news in rapid-fire delivery. Lanessa had begun pining for another lawyer she’d been working with lately, someone who worked in the office of a senator from Wisconsin.

  “Dairy lobby meets state of Wisconsin,” Bonnie mused. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

  “We’ll see,” Lanessa said. “Right now I can’t tell if he’s frightened or awed by me. Everything’s still so new.”

  “Has he seen you chew up a brief and spit it out?” Kate asked.

  “Sure. Just not his briefs.”

  We all laughed, but Bonnie couldn’t seem to stop. I turned to her as she put down her wine and dug into her purse for a tissue. She was crying.

  “Bonnie . . .” I touched her arm. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Fine. I just . . .” Her words were swallowed by a sob, then a hiccup.

  “It’s Jonah, isn’t it?” Kate said, and as Bonnie nodded quickly I was once again amazed at Kate’s uncanny sensitivity, as if she sensed and could monitor a living pulse that the rest of us weren’t aware of. No wonder Kate was so good with animals.

  “I just . . .” Bonnie sobbed again, and Lanessa pulled two clean tissues from her bag and thrust them across the table.

  Kate pressed her fingertips over the back of Bonnie’s hand. “You miss him?”

  Bonnie nodded.

  “You wish it weren’t over?”

  Bonnie shrugged.

  “You know, it doesn’t have to be,” I said. “That’s the beauty of a separation. You’re not divorced yet.”

  Bonnie shook her head. “He served me with the papers today. He wants the divorce now.”

  “Oh, Bonnie . . .” Kate continued to massage her hand.

  “You don’t have to sign anything right now,” I said, glancing back at Lanessa. “You were a lawyer once. She has time, right?”

  Lanessa’s dark eyes softened. “Plenty of time. Don’t let the man rush you, honey. You take your time, and chances are, everything will fall into place. You just think of how you want it to work out and it’ll happen for you.”

  Bonnie took a deep breath and blew her nose into the tissue. “Thanks, guys. I’m going to be okay. Just going through a bad patch now.”

  “Take your time with it,” I said. “Don’t close the door on him if you still care.”

  Lanessa shot me a lethal look, but I had to be true to myself, knowing that if Bobby walked through Bertha’s door right now and showed the slightest interest, I would forgive all his transgressions and welcome him back into my life.

  Bonnie sniffed. “I feel so stupid.”

  “Intelligence and reason have no place in certain matters of the heart; sometimes you fit another person into your life, trimming this and curtailing that to make it a good fit, and the adjustments you make become so second nature that you don’t know how to undo the changes when they’re gone. Suddenly, the guy is gone and so is your self-instinct, your strong sense of choice and direction.” I knew it was true for me, and I thought Bonnie should have the space to take her ex-husband back if that was what she really wanted.

  “Hold everything.” Lanessa’s hands splayed over the table. “Instead of pulling the man back as a quick fix, wouldn’t it make sense to rediscover your sense of self so you’re not reliant on someone else?”

  Bonnie and I looked at her, then back at each other. “No!” we answered.

  “Didn’t I just say that it doesn’t always make sense?” I said.

  While Bonnie dashed to the ladies’ room to wash up, Kate brought us up to speed. “Turtle and I had a huge fight.” Kate twirled her wineglass, not meeting our eyes.

  I bit my lip, waiting for Kate to tell her side of the story. Turtle worked for the same institution as Kate—the National Aquarium, where he was a turtle specialist—and he and Kate had been dating since college, sharing an apartment for almost a year now. Maybe it was because Turtle had more longevity than any of the other boyfriends, but I felt very comfortable around him and was always glad to run into him with Kate or see him at a party. There’s something very turtlelike about his appearance—his helmet of straight hair and pale eyes that seem to recede beneath his glasses—but he’s also a wealth of information and a fun conversationalist. The guy can talk about the stock market or the latest Hollywood scandal just as easily as he discusses captivity of the Indian star tortoise in Singapore or the Aboriginal harvest of long-necked turtles in Australia.

  “Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” Kate said. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but he freaked me out, making a move without discussing it first. He’s applying to an aquarium in San Diego. Can you believe it?”

  Lanessa shrugged. “So is he planning to move?”

  “That’s what I said. I feel like he’s making plans without me. Pulling away.”

  “And what does he say about that?” I asked.

  “He says no. If he gets an interview, he wants us to fly out together. They’re always looking for marine biologists, and I could probably find a job.”

  “Could be good,” I said.

  “You’re right.” Kate sighed. “I just hate it when we fight.”

  Bonnie returned. “So what did I miss?” She squinted at Kate. “Not you and Turtle?”

  “Sounds like he’s packed his bags for sunny So-Cal,”
Lanessa said.

  We ordered mussels (and a burger for Bonnie, who can’t stand to eat anything that resembles a diaphragm) and tried to assess whether Turtle had emotionally checked out of the relationship. Somehow the talk spun back to Lanessa’s new hottie. Nessa was going through various scenarios for getting the man alone in the conference room when two servers delivered our food.

  As they lifted the domes from the steaming clams, I sensed the servers staring at me, studying me. “There you go.”

  The woman, a petite thing with hair streaked in various shades of butter, unfurled the napkin and placed it in my lap.

  “Here are some extra hand towels for when you’re done.” The waiter placed a fat wad of them in front of my place. I sensed heads turning toward me in Bertha’s dining room.

  Did they think I was a celebrity? Or was I just looking particularly hot tonight?

  “Enjoy your food,” the waiter said. “And let us know if you need anything else, Olivia.”

  I thanked the quickly disappearing staff.

  “Well, that was weird,” Lanessa said.

  Kate stole a fry from Bonnie’s plate. “Do you know them?”

  “No, but they seem to know me,” I whispered, feeling flattered.

  “Maybe it’s your picture in the ladies’ room,” Bonnie said.

  “What?” the rest of us chimed.

  “There’s an ad for the TV show. A tiny little billboard in each stall, and you’re right, Liv. That chick in the illustration is a dead ringer for you. I’ll bet Bobby gave the graphic artist one of your photos to work from.”

  The thought of it, my screaming shrew head blaring at every Baltimore girl taking a pee, gave me a sinking feeling. “I knew my life was in the toilet, but this gives it all a whole new meaning.”

  “So when does the show air?” Lanessa plunged a mussel into garlic butter and waited till the sauce stopped dripping. “It’s so exciting—our own Liv on television. We should all watch the first episode together. When’s it on?”

  “It premieres Tuesday,” I said sullenly.

  “Tuesday’s bad for me,” Kate said. “The aquarium is open late.”

  Bonnie added ketchup to her burger. “I have yoga.”

  “I’d miss yoga to see Olivia on television,” Lanessa prodded her.

  “It’s not me. That’s what people just aren’t getting. I had absolutely nothing to do with the show, except that my former boyfriend seems to have modeled it after my former life. I thought you guys would understand the betrayal in this.”

  “I totally get it, Liv.” Kate broke off a piece of bread and passed me the basket. “What Bobby is doing is a violation of your privacy. To portray his main character in your likeness and use your name? It’s not fair to you.”

  “Thank you, Kate.” I took the basket gratefully. “At least someone sees my point.”

  “I get it,” Lanessa said, “but I think the whole TV angle is just too juicy to resist. If my ex were launching Lanessa the Ball-Breaker, honey, I would arrive on the red carpet in a Versace gown.”

  “TV shows don’t do red-carpet premieres,” Bonnie pointed out.

  But Lanessa just shook her head. “My point is, suck up the glamour and attention while it lasts. Instead of denying your connection, let it work for you, Liv.”

  “I wish I could. I’m just not like you, Lanessa.”

  “And maybe Olivia doesn’t want to be connected to Bobby’s creative vision, whatever that is,” Kate went on. “So far, we’re just talking about the way the star of the show looks. We don’t even know if he’s used personal anecdotes from your life. Like the time you two sneaked onto the golf course at night and got buzzed by that helicopter. Or your driving test. Remember that shirt you loved with the loose buttons in front? And the way the man from the DMV stared at you after the test, after the seat belt had worked your shirt open?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory. “Ugh. Tell me he’s not going to get that personal.”

  Lanessa and Bonnie were laughing.

  “Oh, God, I forgot about that,” Bonnie said.

  “And did you pass the test? Did you get your driver’s license? Of course, you did,” Lanessa said smugly. “And you girls think it’s wrong to use sex appeal to swing things your way? I rest my case.”

  “Come on, guys. That open blouse has always been a source of embarrassment for me.” Bad enough that my friends found so much humor in it. Kate’s suggestion slammed me with a frightening epiphany, making me realize the extent of the damage Bobby could do with this show. “Would Bobby really show something like that on television?”

  “He could,” Bonnie said. “There’s no copyright on your personal life events.”

  “Oh, God.” The horrid possibilities hit me with a dull thud. Or maybe that was the sound of a black shell dropping into the reject bowl. “What if he does use my life? What if he uses my most embarrassing moments? My secrets? Our sex life . . .”

  “You have secrets?” Lanessa licked her lips. “Do tell all.”

  “Nessa . . .” Bonnie shot her a warning look. “It’s all fun and games for you, I know, but Olivia is in a real dilemma here.”

  I was. And since, for once, it was a dilemma I did not create for myself, I was clueless as to how to get myself out of it. “Oh, God.” I tore open a moist towelette. “This is bad. I may have to change my name. Dye my hair. Move somewhere else.” Perhaps I’d be heading back to New York sooner than I’d planned.

  “Where can you escape to?” Bonnie asked. “It’s a national show. It’ll play in Peoria.”

  “For those Peorians who have cable,” Lanessa added.

  Kate pressed a napkin to her mouth, her eyes huge with worry. “Don’t panic. You don’t know what the show is going to include. Most likely it has nothing to do with you.”

  “But what if it does? What if he mocks me on national TV?”

  No one had an answer. I looked from one face to another, Bonnie’s nervous blink of sympathy, Kate’s fawning look of compassion, Lanessa’s cool, what-the-hell flip of a mussel shell.

  “Listen up, Olivia . . .” Lanessa dipped a mussel in spicy red sauce and popped it into her mouth. “I know it seems like this man has got you by the short and curlies right now, but there’s something you need to remember. He might be a backstabbing, low-life bottom feeder, but you, girl, have your dignity. You got your pride, and nobody can take that away from you.”

  Kate was nodding, her eyes burning with staunch support.

  “And you have us,” Bonnie said. “We’ll do whatever we can to help.”

  “Starting with watching that show next week.” Lanessa wiped her hands on a napkin, then pointed one manicured finger in the air, instructing all of us. “Ladies, clear your calendars for Tuesday night. We are going to watch the premiere episode of the Nutcrapper together.”

  5

  “Your turn, Rocky,” ZZ said in a gravelly voice that resembled rocks churning in a mixer.

  Just my luck. He’d been hired not only as a Santa, but head Santa, the big cheese of all five male Clauses and Mrs. Claus, too. My immediate boss. I didn’t catch his name, so I still thought of him as ZZ Top, although this morning he’d revealed a softer side, leading the group gently through introductions. At the moment, the odd assortment of Santas and elves was waiting for me to cough up my name and a few touchy-feely details to be lapped up by our “caring, sharing circle,” as ZZ called it.

  I thought of Mrs. Atwater, the manager of the Rockettes, who resembled a Barbie doll and seemed to have been with the dance troupe since its 1932 debut. Mrs. Atwater would not approve of head Santa, nor would she spare the time for flowery employee orientations. In fact, I think she would enjoy frosting over some of these lost elves with her ice queen glare, especially when they crooned of their “Luv fer the little woons,” and their desire to make Christmas special in every heart.

  “God bless us, every one,” I said caustically, checking for signs of intelligent life in the eyes of this motley
crew. The gawky former exchange student from Australia seemed to catch my drift, as did a well-dressed African American woman who kept her enviable purple leather Coach bag close to her body.

  “Care to introduce yourself, Rocky?” ZZ prodded.

  I gave him a sour look. Not to be the problem child of the group, but when they said orientation I didn’t envision hours spent singing “Getting to Know You.”

  Well, at least I was getting paid for this.

  “Sorry.” ZZ grinned. “I call her Rocky because she was a Rockette at Radio City. Danced in the Christmas show last year. She’ll be our Mrs. Claus.” He folded his arms over his belly. Today he’d traded the leathers in for jeans with red felt suspenders, and with his beard looking a little better groomed, white and fluffy, he did resemble St. Nick. “Want to fill in the blanks, Olivia?”

  “You want the standard setup? I’m a single white female. I like Broadway musicals and moonlit walks on the beach. My favorite color is blue and I’m a Taurus, so don’t get in my way, okay?” I shrugged. “Next?”

  “Thanks, Olivia. Let’s move right along . . .”

  Personally, I wanted to move right out of this windowless conference room in the Rossman’s building and scope out the activity in the rest of the store, where scores of employees were scrambling faster than these elves, mounting shelves, lighting up glass display counters, wheeling in racks of merchandise. As I’d peeked in over the two-story main sales floor, I was amazed at how much of a department store is portable; it’s all in the merchandise. I wanted to be a part of the action out there, not cooped up in here discussing the dreams and goals of strangers.

  Besides, as seasonal employees, we got a 10 percent discount, and I was dying to be the first to rifle through a pile of cashmere sweaters. Ka-ching!

  “I’d like to seed one more activity before we break for lunch.” ZZ clasped his hands together and pressed his fingertips to his lips. “When we head over to our ‘space’ this afternoon, you’ll see that there’s a large gas fireplace with a mantelpiece perfect for hanging stockings. Each of you will hang one stocking this afternoon, and inside you will place your ultimate Christmas wish written on a piece of paper.”