The Calendar of New Beginnings (19 page)

Her cousin should have been in sales. “You’re terrible, but I love you.”

Jill brought over her glass of wine and plucked her pumpkin beer off the counter. “Here’s to considering new possibilities.”

Moira lifted her glass. “Here’s to.”

Chapter 12
      

Lucy’s mother had orchestrated her introduction to The Calendar of New Beginnings’ volunteers with as much mystery as would surround a spy ring. She’d even purposely invited Lucy late so everyone could enjoy appetizers and cocktails beforehand to loosen up.

The plan was for the volunteers to introduce themselves in order, starting with January. Apparently, a few volunteers had expressed preferences for certain months, like April Hale, while the order of the rest had been chosen by drawing the remainder of the names out of her dad’s ball cap. The kicker for Lucy was her mother’s insistence that each person come into the room one at a time to maintain the element of surprise.
 

As soon as Lucy arrived, she’d been led to the empty family room, which now featured a makeshift bar stocked with enough alcohol to intoxicate all the citizens of Dare Valley.
 

Ellen’s infamous cosmopolitans shone bright-pink in her crystal punch bowl. Lucy’s grandmother’s sterling silver ladle was sticking out—a reminder of why her mother had helped orchestrate this calendar. An array of beers lay nestled in a bed of ice in a red barrel. And there was an assortment of wine, whiskey, and bourbon, which made Lucy wonder if the female volunteers were hardcore grain alcohol drinkers or if there were more males in the group than she’d expected.

It was an uncomfortable situation, made more so by the element of surprise. Had her mother somehow corralled one of her grade school teachers into posing? How mortifying. She forced her features to take on a blank slate as the first woman sashayed into the family room.
 

“I’m Miss January,” Deidre Gadlons said, posing like a woman who had always hoped to be in
Playboy.
“I’m hoping we can rig up special sparklers around these beauties.”

A cheer erupted from the kitchen, where her mother had parked the waiting volunteers. When Deidre gestured to the breasts underneath a fake-fur vest shot with silver thread, Lucy’s good eye twitched.

“I might be nearing fifty, but men around town have been hoping to see me naked for decades,” she continued. “Fortunately my Eddie decided he wouldn’t get bent out of shape because this is for such a good cause. He’s usually the jealous type.”

The poor woman. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Gadlons. You’re looking as great as ever.”

“I know. It’s been years since I’ve seen you, Lucy, but please call me Deidre.”

Her mother popped out from behind the kitchen doorway, scaring the bejesus out of Lucy. “Might be best if you call everyone by their first names. After all, you’ll be on an intimate basis with all of us.”

She held her tongue about her new idea for The Calendar of New Beginnings, wanting to listen to the volunteers’ thoughts first. So far, the sparkler comment wasn’t exactly encouraging.

“Next,” her mother called, and in strolled the only male volunteer Lucy knew about.

“I’m Mr. February,” Dr. Jeff said, flipping open the gray suit jacket he’d worn over designer jeans. “Like Deidre, I have a feeling all of the women in Dare Valley have wanted to see me naked.”

The women hooted from the kitchen, and Dr. Jeff executed the splits like John Travolta on
Saturday Night Fever.

Oh, God. Did every volunteer have some secret fantasy posing for this calendar would help them fulfill? “Are you hoping for a hot dog as a prop?”

More people guffawed, and Dr. Jeff looked down at his crotch. “Depends on the kind. It would need to be a kielbasa or a frankfurter. I’ll leave that to you.” The hoots continued as he headed to the bar.
 

The next woman entered. “I’m Miss March. You know me better as Linda Feathers, from your mother’s bridge club.”

And her cosmo-drinking comrade in all the pictures her mother sent her overseas. “Hello, Linda.”

She tucked her head like she was suddenly shy. “I was thinking… Well…”

“Spit it out, honey!” her mother shouted. “We’re all in this together. There’s no shame.”

“Well, my idea is to cover my lovelies with white feathers…since that’s my last name. I found some beautiful feather fans at an online vintage shop. I think they’d be captivating as well as concealing. My husband, Harold, doesn’t want anything really good to show.”

The husband factor wasn’t something Lucy had considered, probably because her dad wasn’t concerned about her mother posing in her unmentionables. She’d pretty much showed it all during her breastfeeding fair and afternoon hot tub sessions.

“Thank you for sharing, Linda,” she said, annoyed to hear the primness in her voice. “Next!”

April Hale stepped forward and gave her a wide smile. “Miss April, obviously. Lucy, we’ve discussed the cantaloupes.”

“They’re out of season,” someone shouted from the other room, causing a ripple of hilarity to start again.

“That’s what I said,” her mother interjected from the doorway. “We might need to use bowling balls for April’s tits.”

“Mother!” Lucy cried.

Snickering could be heard amidst the laughter.

“Oh, lighten up, Lucy Lu,” her mother said, rolling her eyes. “What are you planning to do? Pretend we don’t have parts?”

Nice one, Mother.
“Thank you, April. Next.”

A sweet old lady stepped forward, wearing a yellow knit dress and sensible flats. She seemed vaguely familiar, but Lucy couldn’t remember her name.
 

“Miss May or Joanie Perkins. People around town call me and a couple of my friends the Easter Brigade since we wear pastels. Since April has her month namesake, we decided to move me to May.”

The forethought of the group astounded her. It wasn’t going to be easy to convince them all to go along with her new idea. “I’m sure you’ll make a lovely Miss May, Joanie.”

“I was thinking I could frolic around a May pole. Maybe some colorful ribbons could cover me up.”

“Won’t cover much,” an older woman shouted, a voice Lucy recognized as Ester Banks, her mother’s cousin.
 

Ester made her mother look like a Puritan. Lucy was doomed.

“How does your boyfriend feel about this, Joanie?” Ester shouted. “Let’s hope you don’t give Arthur Hale a heart attack when the calendar comes out. Would be a shame to have him go that way after all he’s done for our town.”

Lucy’s mouth dropped. “Mr. Hale?” she asked blankly.

Joanie gave her a saucy wink. “He’s my boyfriend, dear. I know he thinks the world of you.”

Lucy flushed from the compliment as much as the surprise. Arthur Hale had a lady friend? How had her mother not mentioned this? He was nearly eighty. They both were. Not that age should matter. But Arthur had loved Harriet like crazy… Lucy reminded herself life moved on. She was happy for Arthur. Joanie seemed like a nice lady—pole and ribbons and all.

“Thank you, Joanie,” she said. “Next.”

Joanie hustled off to the makeshift bar and poured one of her mother’s famous cosmos. Lucy was going to need a few after the introductions wrapped up.

“Mr. June,” the next man said as he entered, grabbing her full attention.

She might have lived overseas, but even she knew about the famous super-chef, Terrance Waters.
 

“I was thinking a meat cleaver,” he said, his face deadpan.

“I’d be happy to hold it for you, Chef T,” Ester barked out from the other room.

Lucy blinked as the women all dissolved into giggles, but she had to admit he was drool-worthy in a white T-shirt and faded jeans.

“Are you sure they make a meat cleaver big enough, Chef?” her mother asked from the doorway.

The mega-watt glare Lucy sent in her direction didn’t even dim her mischievous smile. Landing Chef T for the calendar was a big coup. Interestingly, her mother hadn’t told her. Then she realized why. This calendar was going to sell buckets if Chef T was baring all, covered only by a meat cleaver. Which meant people outside of Dare Valley would hear about this project and Lucy’s involvement in it. Her glare deepened. Not that it had any effect on Ellen O’Brien, who gave her a saucy, checkmate wink.

“Good to meet you, Lucy,” Chef T said, reaching out to shake her hand. “Jane says you’re the tops, and that’s important in my book. Look forward to working with you.”

They shook hands, and he stepped aside as an even taller man walked in at her mother’s signal—one who was actually more masculine than Chef T, to Lucy’s mind. He had a devil-may-care smile, guaranteeing the kind of fun that could get a person in trouble.

“Mr. July,” the man drawled.
 

This had to be the famous poker player and Jane’s former boss. “Rhett Butler Blaylock, I presume.”

He raised a hand to his forehead like he was tipping his hat to her. As an old-school gesture, it was charming. “We haven’t met, Lucy, but everyone I care about cares about you. As far as I’m concerned that makes us friends.”

His sincerity made her smile, even though she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Good Lord, he was as tall as a sycamore.

“My wife is expecting,” Rhett informed her, “so being a daddy and all, I’d like to keep my photo a bit…I can’t believe I am saying this…in good taste.”

A chorus of boos sounded from the women in the kitchen and those gathered around the bar. Someone emitted a hiccup as well, clearly intoxicated by her mother’s strong cosmos.

Rhett turned to face the women standing in the family room, putting his hands out like he was reining in a mob. “Ladies, please. Try and be understanding. God knows, I’ve done plenty of things in bad taste, but my wild days are behind me. When Ellen asked me to participate, I couldn’t rightly say no, what with it being for such a good cause and all. My great-uncle Jackson Lee died of lung cancer when I was a sprout. He was the first person to teach me poker, and I miss that old man like crazy.” Rhett turned back to Lucy. “But my wife…she’s a bit modest, if you understand me. Plus, I have a teenage stepson and one on the way. I need to be a role model.”

“That’s very admirable,” she said, liking him already. “I’m sure we can come up with something that’ll please you both.”

The next woman emerged—the one Lucy feared more than anyone. Ester Banks might be eighty, but she was no one’s version of a good grandma. The older woman and her mother had been friends since meeting in a stained glass class when Lucy was a girl. She had a blue streak running through her silver hair, a low-neck top showcasing her double D’s, and a fake candy cigarette in her mouth. Ester also had a potty mouth that could beat out Betty White.

“Hello, Lucy,” she said in a throaty voice, pretending to smoke her candy cigarette. “I’d prefer to include my current boyfriend—he’s at the retirement home—but your mama’s being a real bitch about doubles. How do you feel about it?”

With the fake cigarette pointed in her direction, Lucy struggled not to laugh. “Honestly, I have to agree with the bitch,” she said, making everyone laugh, including Ester, like she’d hoped. You couldn’t show fear to that woman. She ran over people like tanks rolled over protesters. “I don’t do couples, Ester.”

“Then you’re a bitch too,” she said in a throaty voice, laughing. “Well, I had to try. If it’s only going to be me, I’d like to lie naked in the back of my red ’67 Pontiac Firebird. I had a lot of fun in that car with my husband, Howard, before he died of prostate cancer fifteen years ago. Seemed like the thing to capture.”

Lucy suspected Ester had never planned to include her current boyfriend. She was only going for shock value like she usually did.

“I appreciate the compromise,” she said as Ester blew fake cigarette smoke in her direction and walked to the cosmo punch bowl.

When Hairy’s’ main bartender, Mike Dougal, walked in next, Lucy was knocked off balance.

“Hiya, Luce,” he said, giving her one of his lady-killing grins. “Mr. September at your service.”

“Does my dad know about this?” she asked him before swinging her head to stare down her mother.

Her mom crossed her arms over her chest. “Your father doesn’t want to know any of the details about this calendar. We made an agreement.”

Likely to preserve his sanity as much as to prevent her mother from embarrassing him with tall tales of the photo shoot. Her dad was one smart cookie. “Fine. Mike, what do you have in mind? To be honest, I’m almost afraid to know.” The bartender’s reputation as a ladies’ man was well known, but he’d never so much as looked at her wrong. Her dad would have killed him, and he knew it.

“I was thinking you could rig something of me building a Guinness at Hairy’s,” he said, gesturing to his front. “Beer has a head, after all, and—”

“Stop! I get the picture. Thank you, Mike. Next!”

Jill sauntered in. “Personal introductions aren’t needed,” she said saucily, hiking up her hip like an old movie bombshell. “Miss October in the flesh.”

Lucy expected her cousin to suggest adding milk foam to cover her sizable rack or something since she owned the town’s coffee shop. A headache spread across the base of her neck to her temples.