Diva Wraps It Up, The (6 page)

It was that wonderful time of year again. I took a deep breath of the frigid air and couldn’t help smiling. There was simply something magical about the Christmas season.

Nina tugged me inside, and I didn’t resist, even though my niece had outgrown the toy stage. A collection of huggable white snowmen, polar bears, and dolls had been arranged in a pyramid. A train circled in the store, tooting its horn, and in the background, soft music played “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” which I remembered from my childhood.

Twiggy was decked out in red and white striped tights, green elf shoes that curled at the toes, a green jumper, and a green elf hat. Her name suited her perfectly. Almost as slender as a young boy, Twiggy sparkled with enthusiasm and seemed far younger than her forty years. Her cropped hair, the color of chestnuts, followed the shape of her head. Today wisps stuck out from under her hat. There wasn’t a child in the world who wouldn’t confide in this adorable elf.

“You look so cute,” I said.

“Thanks, Sophie! We have children coming by any minute. Santa will be here soon, so I thought I’d dress in the spirit of things. This is my official helper. You know Kat, don’t you?”

Kat Babineaux wore an outfit exactly like Twiggy’s, but she held a live long-haired white cat who appeared to be very much at home in her little arms.

“Who is this pretty kitty?” I asked.

“Snowball.”

Maybe she was right about not being allergic to animals. She didn’t seem to be in any distress at the moment, and she couldn’t get her nose any closer to Snowball if she tried.

A loud cantankerous demand stilled the other voices in the store. “Just how long do you expect me to stand here?”

Dear Natasha,

My daughter has been begging for a bicycle. We think wrapping it is the best way to hide it, but how do we wrap something so awkward?

One of the Elves in Santa Claus, Indiana

Dear One of the Elves,

Disguising gifts takes cardboard boxes, masking tape, and a little creativity. It’s easiest to slice one side off a large box and tape two sides or three from another box to the first one, thus creating a new shape that fits around the item. You can even bend one into an arc, or use another household object like a ball or a lampshade to give it a different shape. Then wrap with gift wrap.

Natasha

Twiggy’s eyes flew open wide. “Heaven preserve us,” she muttered, adjusting her hat. She hurried to the cash register, where her mother-in-law, Claudine, was ringing up someone else’s purchases. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Scroggins. We’re a small store and only have the one cash register.”

Petite Claudine had turned the color of beets. Silver hair in a bob style that she’d tucked behind her ears emphasized the blaze on her face. The gentleman customer before Mrs. Scroggins grabbed his purchase and practically ran for the door, brushing by me in his haste.

Claudine rang up the stuffed mouse Mrs. Scroggins wanted to buy. It wore glasses and a Santa hat.

“The price is wrong. I
have
a coupon!” Mrs. Scroggins couldn’t have spoken louder without yelling. Although she could certainly make a big fuss, she was actually fairly scrawny. Even her bulky wool coat didn’t add much to her girth. But her scowl and contemptuous manner were enough to intimidate anyone.

The other customers stared. Kat retreated to safety behind the counter with Snowball.

The deep red color drained from Claudine’s face. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Scroggins. This coupon is for another store.”

“That makes no difference to me.” She reminded me of an unpleasant schoolteacher who could make a student squirm with a mere glance.

Mrs. Scroggins wasn’t physically imposing, but Twiggy looked to Claudine in desperation and hissed, “Give her a discount.” She smiled sweetly at Edith. “Mrs. Scroggins is an excellent customer.”

Claudine stared at Mrs. Scroggins for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. We cannot honor this coupon, Mrs. Scroggins. If you want to use the coupon, you’ll have to go to that store. I believe the closest branch is in Falls Church.”

“Why, no one has ever been so rude to me. You’ll rue this day. I shall inform my husband and from here on out, we’ll do our shopping elsewhere. How ungrateful! I’ll go on the Internet and tell everyone what a despicable store this is. I’ll run you right out of business. How dare you treat me like this? You’ll wish you had given me a discount when you’re sitting in the poorhouse all alone. All you Lawrences deserve to be cold and hungry!” Mrs. Scroggins smacked money on the counter, turned on her heel, and marched out of the store gripping the mouse.

Twiggy called out a weak, “Merry Christmas!”

“Wow. That was quite a scene.”

In the commotion, I hadn’t noticed my new neighbor Liza Simon, who always introduced herself as
Liza with a
Z
, like Minnelli
. Reddish blond hair curled into her face in an unruly manner that gave her the appearance of being carefree and fun. She made little effort to tame it, other than pushing parts of it back with her hand, which emphasized the roundness of her face and a slight double chin. She was married to Luis, the psychiatrist who had wanted to look at the dirk at Horace’s party.

“People say New Yorkers are rude, but I never saw anything like
that
in the city. I thought Southerners were supposed to be super-polite. What’s Scrooge’s excuse?”

“Scrooge?” asked Nina.

“That’s what people call her. Luis gets mad at me, but the woman is always a grump. What is her problem?”

“Maybe she’s stressed because Horace is in the hospital.” My path had crossed with Mrs. Scroggins’s several times, but only on a surface level. I had no idea what her story was.

Nina leaned in and whispered, “But she hasn’t been to see him.”

“Could she have bought the mouse for him?” I suggested halfheartedly.

“Do you think she ever gets away with that coupon scam? I’m not much of a coupon clipper, but if I could use them anywhere, it might be worth it.” Liza laughed aloud, which assured me she meant it in jest.

The hostile air left in Mrs. Scroggins’s wake dissipated, and it wasn’t long before shoppers were merrily enjoying hot cider that Twiggy brought around on a tray.

“Are you three invited to the cookie swap of all cookie swaps?” asked Twiggy.

“You mean at Gwen Babineaux’s house?” Liza sipped a little cup of cider. She held her free hand up in the air and waved it. “Please explain this to me. Why on earth am I supposed to bake thirteen dozen cookies?” She looked up toward the ceiling and moved her fingers as though she was counting on them. “One hundred forty-four . . . that’s like a million cookies! What is she going to do with all those cookies?”

“She’s having twelve guests,” I explained. “One dozen of each type of cookie will be shared at the cookie swap, so we can all try them. Then everyone gets to take home one dozen of each type of cookie.”

“Instead of you baking a dozen kinds of cookies for yourself, everyone bakes enough to share, and we all end up with a variety of cookies.” Twiggy grinned at her. “With the store so busy, I don’t have time to do a lot of baking this year, so I’m thrilled. I’m bringing no-bake cookies,” said Twiggy. “They’re our favorites.”

“No-bake? Why didn’t I think of that?” Liza pouted. “I’m not much of a baker. Gwen is out of her mind crazy! It would take me
months
to bake that many cookies. And I’d have to go to a spa for another month just to recover. Do you think anyone would notice if I brought store-bought cookies?”

Twiggy nodded. “Natasha and Gwen will know the difference. And believe me, they’ll say something. We’ve been renting the apartment over Natasha and Mars’s garage since June, and she has the nerve to sneak in there when we’re not home. Can you believe she told me I don’t fold my towels correctly? Like anyone cares? It’s not as though
she’s
the one using them!”

Liza moaned, turned her eyes up to the ceiling and cringed. “They’re such domestic divas! It makes me crazy. I think they’ve rubbed off on Luis. The man was always content with a fake Christmas tree and an artificial wreath slapped on the door. This year he’s completely consumed by the Christmas decorating contest, and he expects
me
to be a holiday domestic goddess. I told him I’m a goddess all right, and he’d better remember that, but not a domestic one.”

Twiggy gasped and focused on me.

Looking slightly sick, Liza said, “Oh no! You’re one of them, too, aren’t you? I feel like I’ve moved onto the
Stepford Wives
street!”

“Not to worry,” I said. “There are plenty of people on our block who don’t cook and bake, and frankly, I’m not much into cleaning.”

“Cleaning?” Liza’s eyes swept heavenward again, and the corners of her mouth plunged. If nothing else, she was amusingly dramatic.

“I’m not joking when I say I’m not a domestic type. What am I going to do?” Liza asked.

Nina giggled. “Shh. Don’t tell, but you won’t be the only one. I won’t be baking cookies for the swap or for any other reason. Buy cookies from a bakery and put them in cute little containers. Gwen and Natasha will be so absorbed with their own cookies that they probably won’t notice.”

“Nina, you’re a doll! Finally, a woman after my own heart.”

The door banged open and adorable children trundled in bundled up in colorful coats, boots, and hats.

“They’re so sweet it
almost
makes me wish I had one of my own,” said Liza.

Wistfully, Twiggy said, “We’ve been trying to have one but no luck yet. We’ve put in an application to adopt.”

“You’d make great parents. Besides, what kid wouldn’t want to have his or her very own toy store in the family?” I asked.

“That’s what I think!” Twiggy smiled broadly. “I swear we’d keep Kat if we thought Baxter and Gwen wouldn’t notice!” Twiggy excused herself and flitted over to the kids.

“I’m off to buy pine for my crazed husband.” Liza frowned like a clown.

“At Fleur de Lis? That’s where we’re headed,” said Nina.

A hearty
ho ho ho
boomed from the rear of the store. Santa had arrived, complete with red suit, fuzzy white beard, and Jonah’s kind brown eyes. A few children squealed at the sight of him. Some drew away to the safety of their parents.

Nina, Liza, and I slipped out and headed next door. A cascade of ready-to-use arrangements for front doors and walkways flanked the entrance of Fleur de Lis, Old Town’s floral and garden supply store. Evergreens spilled out of the tops of Santa’s boots. Bells, hearts, and stars made of birdseed hung from jaunty red bows on miniature Christmas trees, and stunningly elegant topiaries of greens that alternated with rings of rosy apples were topped off by the traditional colonial sign of welcome—a pineapple. I loved them all. A thick garland decorated the doorway. Huge magnolia leaves twined with holly, various kinds of fir, red berries, giant pinecones, green and red apples, and mistletoe. It was nothing short of amazing. I studied it for a moment, wondering if I could re-create it.

Stepping inside was like walking through a portal to a winter wonderland. Glitter sparkled on poinsettias, and bare white branches dripped gleaming icicles and ornaments. I selected plain white pine roping and balsam wreaths that I could decorate myself.

Thinking I should add some holly and magnolia leaves, I strayed to the back of the store in search of florist wire.

Liza Simon studied boxes of rat poison with a steady eye. Silver tinsel roping draped over the top shelf, and Burl Ives sang “A Holly Jolly Christmas” over the speaker system in the store.

I watched the incongruous scene longer than I should have. She selected a box, tucked it under her arm, and ambled away. I wanted to ask if she was experiencing a rat problem—after all, I lived across the street and two houses down. If she had rats, I would too. I hesitated only out of sheer politeness. Gasping,
Good Lord! You have rats?
seemed the height of rudeness. Especially in front of so many shoppers. No need to embarrass the poor woman when she was still new to the area. Maybe I could ask her in private at the cookie swap.

I found the wire and hummed along with Burl as I picked out a few Christmas decorations in the front of the shop. I didn’t need them, but half the fun of the holiday was decking out the house, and really, shouldn’t everyone have a tiny puffed-up bird with a red and green knit stocking cap on his head?

Nina spotted the bird in my hand. “Where did you find that? I have to have one!”

I pointed her in the right direction. “On the left, just past Jill Kinghorn.”

Nina elbowed me. “Jill has brown eyes, and she’s about the right age.”

“What if ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ was their song but she really had blue eyes?”

Nina scowled at me. “Spoilsport. Jill says she can decorate my house in silver and white. My monster-in-law should be duly impressed. And FYI, you and I just invited Liza to lunch on Saturday. She seems like a lot of fun.”

I should have stopped shopping, but Christmas was just too tempting. I added a few sprigs of mistletoe to my selections and then pretended to be like a horse wearing blinders so I wouldn’t be seduced into buying anything else.

Nina helped me load everything into my car. Minutes later, we pulled into a parking spot in front of my house to unload. Across the way in his tiny snippet of a front yard, my new neighbor Luis wrestled with a blow-up reindeer so large that it looked like a balloon from the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade had broken loose and landed on our street.

Mars and Bernie, who was the best man at our wedding, glared with outrage at the mammoth creature.

Nina and I stepped out of the car, focusing on the leg that blocked traffic. The reindeer dwarfed Luis, who had to be at least six feet tall. The eyes could have peeked into Luis and Liza’s second-story windows.

“How big
is
that thing?” asked Nina.

Mars growled, “Eighteen feet.”

“He can’t leave it there,” I said, watching cars slow to veer around it.

Bernie, whose British accent made him sound brilliant no matter what he said, raised his eyebrows. “He’s talking about putting it on the roof, which is simply ludicrous. The first strong wind would blow it off.”

Luis dodged traffic and jogged across the street to us. “Looks like my eyes were bigger than my front yard,” he joked. “I’m envious of you two and Baxter. I think outdoor decorating is best done in teams.”

“Horace was supposed to help you, right?” asked Mars.

“That was the plan,” Luis sighed. “Did you hear the latest about Horace?”

My breath caught. “What?”

“That fall probably saved his life.”

Nina and I exchanged a confused look.

“Turns out,” said Luis, “that he had taken too much of his blood-thinning medicine. He could have died from internal bleeding if he hadn’t gotten immediate medical attention. Ironically, the dagger wound might have helped save his life. They caught the blood-thinning medicine overdose just in time.”

“Everyone’s saying it was a close call for Horace. Poor bloke.” Bernie cocked his head toward the sidewalk, prompting us to turn around.

Edith Scroggins walked along the sidewalk toward the monstrous reindeer. With a dirty look at Luis, she walked underneath it, her head high and her back ramrod straight.

“Is she spying on us?” asked Mars. “She’s been by a couple of times.”

“She probably thinks Horace is the one having an affair with Gwen.” Nina turned her head to watch Edith. “The Christmas letter Gwen sent has half the women in Old Town spying on their husbands.”

Bernie chuckled. “Maybe she’s planning to replace Horace with you, Mars.”

“Very funny.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re already busy having a fling with Gwen.”