Christmas at the Hummingbird House (3 page)

“Very true.”  Derrick gave an adamant nod of his head.  “Plum it is for the Phipps.  Although …” He tilted his head toward Paul.  “We have
got
to come up with better nomenclature for the yellow room.  It’s really more canary, don’t you think?”

Paul shook his head.  “No birds.  We’re not naming a room after a bird.”

“Lemon?”

“Seriously?”

“Sunflower,” declared Harmony.  “The color is sunflower.”

Paul and Derrick gave one another a considering look, but Harmony’s attention was on the reservation board, her expression dreamy, as it often was.  “Hildebrand, Matheson, Phipps, Bartlett, Windsor, Canon … Just names on a board, but they’re going to be part of your family for the holidays.  Don’t you wonder who they are? What their stories are?”

“Oh, we know most of them already,” Paul assured her cheerily. “Bryce Phipps is a rather prominent surgeon, according to his online bio, and his wife is in interior design, although it seems to be mostly a hobby these days.”  He glanced back at the computer, scrolled down a page, and added, “They’ve been married almost forty years, no children.  She was on the board of the San Francisco Symphony 2005 to 2008, and they’re both major sponsors of the theater, which will certainly give them something to talk about with Mr. Canon, who’s retired from Pinnacle Records. 
His
wife is a fanatical gardener—second wife, I understand—and mad about specialty roses, which is why, you understand, they
must
be in the rose room.”

“We’re decorating their tree with living roses,” explained Derrick.  “Exquisite.”

“And of course,” Paul went on, “everyone knows Mr. Windsor, who is one of only two of our single guests. One might dare hope for a little holiday romance to blossom, except the other single guest is well past eighty years old, Mrs. Hildebrand.”

“Delightful to talk to on the phone,” Derrick put in, “very spry, a world traveler. She was the executive editor of
Seasons
Magazine
until she retired last year.  Starts every morning with a shot of espresso, ends every day with scotch on the rocks.”

“The Mathesons are on their honeymoon, although I gather this is only one of many stops. Carl Bartlett is a senior vice president with Apricot Foods, and his wife Leona is an attorney with a non-profit in Richmond, mostly part time, I believe, just to keep her hand in. They both are quite well known in the Richmond social scene, I understand. I can’t say I know much more about them, but the gentleman seemed quite nice on the phone, wants to give his girls an old-fashioned Christmas, which is exactly what we’re offering. As for everything else, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?  And of course, we already know they all have one thing in common—they all have excellent taste.”

“As demonstrated by the fact that they’re spending their holidays with us,” agreed Derrick.

Harmony looked from one to the other of them in bemusement.  “How on earth do you know all of this?”

“Well,” replied Paul as though the answer should be obvious, “that’s our job, isn’t it?”

Harmony laughed and looped an arm through each of theirs as they moved back out into the hallway.  “Well, congratulations, boys!  You’re booked up for your first holiday in the business!  Quite an accomplishment.”

“That ad we placed in
Travel and Leisure
was pure genius,” agreed Derrick, “if I do say do myself.”

“Disguising it as an invitation was beyond brilliant,” pointed out Paul, eyebrow raised, “if I do say so myself.”

“And don’t forget all the free publicity you got with your grand opening,” added Harmony, “which was nothing but the spirits at work.”

Paul and Derrick exchanged another look. “Harmony,” said Paul, who, generally speaking, was known to manage Harmony with a much firmer hand than Derrick, “if you’re building up to that whole issue of painting cherubs on the ceiling of the massage room again, I’m afraid our decision on that is final.”

“Not,” Derrick added quickly, “that it isn’t a perfectly lovely idea.”  He ignored the warning look Paul cast him and plunged on, “It’s just that, seriously, who would see them? I mean, one’s eyes are generally facing the floor during a massage, or closed entirely, am I right?  Not to mention that finding a competent muralist this far from civilization is next to impossible.”

“Angels, my darlings,
angels
, not cherubs.”  Harmony slipped an arm through each of theirs with a confident smile on her face; never a good sign.  “And don’t you worry about a thing.  I’ll take care of it all when I return.”

Derrick said, “Return from where?”

And Paul added suspiciously, “When you return from town, right?  When you return from Christmas shopping?  When …”

“When I return from India in the new year!” she announced triumphantly, her eyes shining.  “When I return transformed by six weeks of meditation with one of the most acclaimed spiritual teachers of our time!  I leave tomorrow.  Aren’t you thrilled for me?”

As one, the two men stepped away from her, regarding her with identical expressions of shock and disbelief.  “You can’t be serious,” Paul said.

“But our Christmas extravaganza!” Derrick cried.

“We’ve promised massages to fourteen extremely well-paying guests …”

“We only built the spa because you assured us you could accommodate the traffic …”

“All right,” Paul said, drawing a deep and pained breath.  “I know we never talked about compensation, but we’re willing to pay …”  He darted a quick glance at Derrick for confirmation.  “Once and again the hourly rate.  For the holiday season only,” he was quick to add.

Harmony was, to put it bluntly, a rather homely woman, but when she laughed that light, tinkling laugh of hers, as she did now, her face was transformed into something almost lovely.  “Boys, boys, I don’t want your money,” she said with a wave of her arm that sent two dozen silver bracelets jangling.  “I’ve got plenty of my own.  But a place at the ashram?  There’s a waiting list two years long!  Why, if that poor old professor from Illinois hadn’t had a heart attack—may God rest his soul—I’d still be waiting!”

“And we’d have a massage therapist,” Derrick pointed out, a little desperately.

Again she waved it away, bracelets tinkling like jingle bells.  “Not to worry, I’ve already arranged for a perfectly marvelous couple to take over for me.  They do amazing chakra work, and he’s board-certified in reflexology.  Our guests will adore them.”

Cautiously, Derrick relaxed.  “Well, I suppose if you’ve made the arrangements …”

But Paul was less forgiving.  “Honestly, Harmony, this is most inconsiderate,” he said, exasperated.  “We were counting on you.”

She beamed at him and gave his arm a reassuring pat.  “You can always count on me, darling. I’ve checked off everything on my project board, haven’t I?  Horse-drawn sleighs and drivers are all lined up, the window van for the tour of lights will be here promptly at six on the twenty-third, chamber music, boys’ choir, carolers all set to perform.  Now I’m off to pack.  And don’t you worry about those angels,” she added over her shoulder. “I’ll get it all taken care of.”

She turned down the corridor that led to her room, caftan fluttering.

Purline approached from the opposite hallway, ponytail swinging, gum snapping, vacuum cleaner clattering behind her.  She was somewhere between eighteen and thirty—neither man had ever had the courage to ask her age—dressed today in bright red leggings, shearling-lined moccasins and a green “Go Elf Yourself” tee shirt. She was something of a challenge, it was true, but she went through the place like a cleaning tornado, and was more than just a little competent in the kitchen.  For a good cook and someone who sprinkled the sheets with orange water before ironing them, the men could put up with a lot.

“Y’all ain’t planning on holing up in that office, are you?” she called out.  “I need to get in there and clean.”

Paul protectively picked up the box of glass ornaments from the hall table.  “Not now, Purline,” he said.  “We have all our plans and samples set out just where we want them, and if you move anything we’ll never find them again.”

“You’ve been saying that for two weeks,” she replied.  “You’re gonna get mice if you’re not careful.”

Derrick looked alarmed, but Paul assured him, “We won’t get mice.”  For a moment he looked a little unsure of himself, and then recovered his composure with a frown.  “Why don’t you finish the guest rooms first and come back this afternoon, Purline?” he said.  “We have a lot to take care of this morning.”

Purline craned her neck to peer around him into the office.  “My cousin left a cheese sandwich on her desk one night,” she said.  “Got up the next morning to find a mouse’d had babies in her top drawer, right on top of her income tax forms.”

Derrick’s eyes flew wide, but Paul said, “Not now, Purline.  We have a full house for Christmas, and we just found out Harmony isn’t even going to be here.”

Purline returned a skeptical look.  “You boys don’t know when to count your blessings, do you?”  She made no secret of the fact that there was no love lost between Harmony and herself. Then she frowned, her expression turning suspicious.  “Full house, huh?  I hope that don’t mean you expect me to work on Christmas Day.”

Paul looked insulted.  “Purline, don’t be ridiculous! We know you have little ones at home. The magic of Christmas morning, and all of that.”

“We’d never dream of asking you to come in on Christmas,” Derrick added earnestly, “until after noon.”

“At time and a half,” added Paul quickly.

The corners of her mouth turned down as she regarded them. “Well, I guess I can’t leave you with a full house,” she decided at last.  “I’ll come in and change the sheets and clean the bathrooms, but that’s it.”

“Thank you, Purline,” Derrick said.

“Our guests deserve clean sheets on Christmas Day,” Paul insisted gravely, and she considered this.

“I guess,” she agreed, and then added, “but I’m not staying more than an hour or two.  We’re all going over to my granny’s for Christmas dinner and more present-opening, and my husband Bill always plays Santa Claus.”  She paused and glanced around. “Kinda sad, though, when you think about it, ain’t it?”

Paul’s expression clearly showed he was having trouble following her thoughts.  “What is?”

She said, “All these people, coming in from all over the country, with nothing better to do than spend Christmas with you-all.  Makes you wonder where their grannies are, don’t it?”

Paul and Derrick looked equally startled and confused, clearly having never considered this before.  But before either of them could form an answer, or even think of one, Purline shrugged it off with a snap of her gum.

“Anyhows,” she said, “what I wanted to ask you was what’re you going to do with all them boxes of flowers and stuff still sitting on the back porch in the cold where the UPS man left them.  Didn’t you say that woman was in charge of the decorations?” 
That woman
was Purline’s preferred way of referring to Harmony.

“The poinsettias and evergreen garlands,” Paul explained to Derrick.  “I was so excited when I saw the boxes of ornaments I forgot about them.  We’d probably better get them into the storeroom.  And let’s not forget to leave a
huge
tip for the UPS driver this Christmas.”

Derrick looked uneasy.  “That’s right,” he said, glancing back toward Harmony’s room.  “Harmony was in charge of the floral decor.  I assumed that meant actually arranging everything, not just ordering it.”

“We always had a crew do the decorating at home,” Paul remembered, sounding a little concerned himself.  Sometimes they still referred to their former house in the suburbs—and, in fact, their former condo in Washington—as “home.”

“I didn’t see ‘hire a decorating crew’ on Harmony’s project board,” Derrick said.

Paul looked worried.  “I didn’t see it on anybody’s board.”

“And that’s another thing,” Purline said, oblivious.  “I wish to high heaven somebody would explain to me why you’ve got to order pine branches from some fancy florist in Washington, DC, when you’re sitting smack dab in the middle of a forest, practically.”

“Well, Purline, it’s really not quite that simple,” Paul started to explain in a faintly condescending tone, but she waved him away.

“Whatever,” she said.  “Just go on and get them things off the porch so I can get out there and sweep.  By the way,” she added, “just so you know, I’ll be bringing the kids with me tomorrow.  Don’t worry, I’ll keep them out of the office.”

“Kids?” Derrick echoed.  “Your kids?”

And Paul added quickly, “Purline, I’m afraid that’s simply not appropriate …”

“No children under twelve are allowed at the Hummingbird House,” Derrick put in.  “It clearly states so in our policy.  No pets, no smoking, no children under twelve.”

Purline snapped her gum. “My kids don’t smoke.”

“Purline, seriously …”

“It’s just till my mama gets back from Arizona,” she interrupted impatiently.  “You won’t even know they’re here.”

“Your mother?”  Derrick seemed to be able to do little more than parrot her words.  The thought of children running amuck in the Hummingbird House had completely stripped him of his nerve.