A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (14 page)

Laurie’s barely disguised reprimand seemed to have had the desired effect, and it was Mr. Billings whose attitude crumbled first. “Well, when you put it that way, Miz Hampton . . . maybe it would be a novelty to include one a’ those foreign carols. Or even that Australian song about the suntan, even though that’s not a connection I’d ordinarily make around this time a’ the year. Hey, but whoever said you can’t have a little fun with Christmas? Besides, my choir members are quick studies.”

Mr. Styles immediately followed suit. “I’m-I’m on b-board, too, I guess. W-we could t-try one or the other at F-First P-Presbyterian. I’m s-sure Reverend G-Greenlea w-would approve.”

That left the ever-recalcitrant Mr. Headley to draw himself up and declare: “Then if it’s all the same to the rest of you, the Second Creek Church of Christ will include ‘O Holy Night’ in its medley as we had originally intended. The gist of this seems to have been that you ladies want us all to perform something different, and it looks like that’s going to happen now.”

Laurie maintained rigid eye contact with the choirmasters, remembering her final directive to
close the deal
. “Yes. And I trust you gentlemen implicitly not to let us down and to work everything out in the Christmas spirit. That said, I believe our work here is done.”

“I just can’t say it enough. You were beyond magnificent, Laurie!” Gaylie Girl exclaimed as the Nitwitts settled in around one of Vester Morrow’s largest tables at the Victorian Tea Room.

Since it was nearly five o’clock when their chamber session had successfully concluded, they all decided that a celebratory cocktail or two was in order. Not that they would have passed up the opportunity had things not gone so well. Thus, the short jaunt en masse to their favorite restaurant and watering hole just off The Square. On the way, Gaylie Girl and Renza had briefly lagged behind and peered into one of the windows of 18 Courthouse Street North to monitor the progress of the wiring crew. It appeared that they had caught them on break, however, since what they saw was two men in overalls huddling around a space heater, one warming his hands and the other reading a newspaper.

“Well, nothing to report to Petey and Meta there,” Gaylie Girl had observed to Renza as they walked away, thinking it wiser not to barge in and bust up the crew’s downtime. “But the last time I spoke to Petey over the phone, he indicated that things were flowing smoothly for Meta, Unlimited, Art Gallery.”

At the moment, however, nothing could have been flowing more smoothly than the libations the Nitwitts were enjoying during the Tea Room’s official two-for-one happy hour. It was currently Renza’s turn to praise Laurie’s flawless performance at the courthouse.

“You know, I still think we should put this issue to bed of who our next president will be by installing you for life, Laurie. I wish I’d had one-tenth of your tact and patience as president these past six months. Those choirmasters were putty in your hands this afternoon. Well, all except for that Mr. Headley. He was just full of horse apples the whole time.”

Euterpe was nodding enthusiastically after taking a sip of her white zinfandel.

“You do have the touch, Laurie. I was just caught in a loop with them these last few days. But you made it look so easy.”

Laurie briefly allowed herself to savor her Bloody Mary and kudos together but soon put down her drink and drew herself up with some authority. “I have to level with you, ladies. I really can’t take all the credit. My Powell engineered most of this for me when I asked for his input. He ends up being in on all of our schemes sooner or later because we do make a good team. Which reminds me—I’ve been halfway serious about this with Powell, but I think I’d like to propose it now in earnest to all of you. What would you think of making him the first male member of the Nitwitts?”

That caused an audible and visible ripple around the table, and Renza said: “You say you’ve mentioned this to Powell before? Well, I’d love to hear what his reaction was.”

“It was a very respectful ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ ”

Renza’s brows lifted dramatically. “I think I can read between the lines and appreciate his position. Shouldn’t that be the final word then?”

“Ordinarily, I would say yes,” Laurie explained, pressing on. “But I have a slightly different take on this, if you’ll hear me out. My idea was to put him in a special category. He’ll be a member of the group but not actually a Nitwitt the way we are. Instead, his title would be our official Go-to Guy, capitalized and with a hyphen thrown in there somewhere. Because the truth is, that’s what he’s been for us the last couple of years. We’ve gone to him for all that wonderful ballroom dancing and then writing radio spots and press releases and now this latest. I really do think he’d appreciate the recognition in this very unique way.”

After a brief period of everyone sipping while mulling things over, Novie said: “Shall we take a vote on it then? As usual, I have my trusty secretarial notepad in my purse.”

A few minutes later, Powell Hampton had been unanimously appointed the Go-to Guy of the Nitwitts’ Club of Second Creek, Mississippi.

“You’re on a roll, Laurie,” Gaylie Girl said. “And that makes you and Powell our official Go-to Couple. Next question. Do you think Powell will accept?”

“I’ll go out on the proverbial limb and say yes. He’s really very fond of all of you, as I’m sure you know, and I think this concession to his masculinity will seal the deal for us.”

Denver Lee and Myrtis were whispering and giggling next to each other, and Laurie couldn’t help but notice. “What on earth are you two plotting over there? You’re acting like a couple of schoolgirls.”

It was Myrtis who answered with a naughty smile. “That’s not far from the truth. We were just saying to ourselves how nice it would be if we both had our own personal Go-to Guys at this time in our lives.”

“I second that!” Euterpe exclaimed. “It’s been a while since my David rode off into the sunset.”

Then Laurie crisply raised her glass. “Let’s have a toast, then.” The others quickly hoisted their drinks. “To all those wonderful Go-to Guys in our lives—past, present . . . and why not hold out hope for the future, as long as we’re at it!”

T
he on-again, off-again bus trip, which would carry some of the residents of Delta Sunset Village to Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve, was now officially off for good. On a rainy Sunday morning a mere eight days out from the event, Dr. Curtis Milburne had just phoned Gaylie Girl and interrupted her breakfast with the bad news.

“I told you from the beginning that I would give this careful consideration, Mrs. Dunbar,” he had begun. “I made no hasty judgments. But I have an obligation as the facility’s physician on call to look after the best interests of our residents. And, yes, I’m aware that those who don’t require scooters and walkers were good candidates to attend your event. But it would still be a logistical nightmare with some undesirable side effects. You just don’t realize how much our people depend upon routine. Maybe
require
is a better word than
depend
. Routine becomes an old friend to them in their retirement years—and we particularly wouldn’t want to upset them at Christmastime. Even for something as special and inspirational as this caroling sounds like it will be.”

But Gaylie Girl chose not to leave it at that, thinking on her feet with Laurie Hampton’s constant example for inspiration. “Perhaps we’ve been looking at this the wrong way around, Dr. Milburne.”

He listened patiently while she suggested that if the residents couldn’t go to The Square, then perhaps The Square should go to the residents. “How disruptive would it be to have one of the choirs perform their program over there between now and Christmas Eve? All the residents and patients would have to do would be to come down from their rooms into the lobby,” she concluded.

Dr. Milburne’s reaction was a distinct mixture of support and relief. “I think that’s a wonderful suggestion. I don’t much relish being thought of as the bad guy in all this. Give Lisa a call as soon as we hang up and see if she can wedge something into the activities schedule. It may not be too late.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Lisa Holstrom, the crisply efficient director of Delta Sunset Village, found an immediate opening on the upcoming Thursday schedule. A much-anticipated presentation from a husband-and-wife Christmas storytelling team had fallen through at the last minute, and booking a choir would be the perfect replacement.

Next, Gaylie Girl continued her flurry of activity with a call to choirmaster Press Phillips of the Second Creek First United Methodist Church, recalling his exceptionally affable nature. And Mr. Phillips had eagerly agreed to Gaylie Girl’s spur-of-the-moment proposal.

“I don’t have to think twice,” he assured her. “We would be happy to go over and deliver some musical cheer to the residents. We Methodists are very good at our bus trips, whether to the Smokies or the outskirts of Greenwood!”

All that had been accomplished in the space of twenty or thirty minutes, but Gaylie Girl was determined to go for more. “I’d like to round up the girls and have us all go over for Sunday brunch with Wittsie. I can’t wait to give her the good news,” she told Mr. Choppy as he was finishing up his breakfast of buttered grits and blueberry pancakes.

“Best move I ever made—hookin’ you up with the Nitwitt ladies!” he quipped.

After that, Gaylie Girl was glued to the phone the rest of the morning. Her efforts, however, were spotty at best. Denver Lee, Myrtis, and Euterpe insisted they had other plans that could not be broken, although none of them chose to reveal what they were. Of course, they all wanted it understood that they were not abandoning Wittsie and would see her during their weekly lunch outings. Novie was having Marc and Michael over for a Sunday brunch of her own, while Laurie and Powell had committed to a theater trip up to Memphis for a performance of
Chicago
they’d been anticipating for months now.

That left Gaylie Girl with Renza as her solitary traveling companion, and she was approaching the short trip from Second Creek to Greenwood with no little trepidation. The reluctant in-law issue kept rearing its annoying head even after she got behind the wheel and they had left Second Creek in the rearview mirror. Would she be in for yet another session of second-guessing from Renza about the impending marriage of their two children? Perhaps she could forestall the possibility with small talk and not give Renza an opening. As the rain was slacking up a bit, she switched the wipers to intermittent and bravely took the plunge.

“I meant to tell you. I got a long-distance call from my daughter, Amanda, yesterday.”

Renza barely seemed to be paying attention. “Oh?”

“Yes. It seems she’s not going to be able to swing coming down for Caroling in The Square since it would mean spending Christmas down here instead of up in Chicago. She said the children just wouldn’t like it, and I totally understand why they’d feel that way. Besides, she and Richard are trying to patch things up, so I gather she wants to hold on to what’s more comfortable and familiar. There was talk of divorce this summer right around the time of my wedding.” As soon as she’d let that last sentence slip out, Gaylie Girl mentally cringed. That was hardly where she wanted to go, inadvertently offering Renza another opportunity to pounce.

“It’s funny that you brought that subject up just now. I’m speaking of divorce, of course,” Renza observed without missing a beat.

Gaylie Girl was steeling herself for another shot across the bow. “Yes?”

“What I mean to say is . . . well, I’ve been wanting to tell you something . . . and I haven’t been able to find the right time and place—not to mention the words. But this is long overdue.”

Renza’s hesitant tone caused Gaylie Girl to cut her eyes sharply to the side for just an instant—no small risk considering the spray being thrown against the windshield from a passing semi. Amazingly, these were not the abrasive sounds of the Renza they all knew so well. Instead, there was a suggestion of vulnerability, tentatively poking its head out from deep inside her protective shell.