Jill Churchill: The Merchant of Menace

“How does this work?" Addie asked. "If everybody's singing, who's being sung to?”

Shelley answered. "The couple at the far end of the street start by going next door. Then the people in that house can join them to go to the next. There are a number of neighbors, some of the older ones in particular, who don't want to go out in the cold. And there are a few like Jane who couldn't carry a tune if it had handles attached."

“Cruel, Shelley," Jane said with a laugh. "True, but cruel.”

Shelley and Suzie left together, but Shelley was back a moment later, looking grim. "Jane, you're not going to like this," she said. "But there's a television camera crew set up at the end of the block.”

As Jane had feared, Lance King's gracious bowing out had been a sham. For reasons of his own, he'd gotten his teeth into the neighborhood party and was determined to do his newscast from the site.

“But why?" Jane wondered aloud to Shelley. "His speciality is rabid exposés. How could he have whipped one up so fast and who's his intended victim?"

“I have no idea. But there might be a bright side," Shelley said. "I never watch the channel he's on anymore because he's so nasty it makes my blood boil to even see him. Maybe he's mellowed."

“Or maybe the station manager had forced him to do some positive stories. Unlikely, but possible," Jane said.

“Who is this person you're talking about?" Addie put in. Jane had forgotten that Addie was there.

“A local rabble-rouser television person. Lance King."

“Lance King!" Addie exclaimed.

“You know about him?" Jane asked, surprised that his notoriety reached as far as Atlanta.

“I've seen him on television when I visited Mel. Thoroughly distasteful man. And he's out there filming the caroling? He's not coming to your house with them, is he?”

She seemed overly alarmed by this, considering how little she knew about Lance King, Jane thought. "Unfortunately, I imagine that's what he has in mind."

“So, what are you going to do, Jane?" Shelley asked.

“I don't know. If I let him in, he'll ruin the party. If I keep him out, he'll make a scene and still ruin the party. And probably find a way to ruin me as well.”

They heard the singing start and Shelley said, "I'm going to join them. Send one of your kids over for the hams. The kitchen door's unlocked.”

Jane would have liked to indulge herself in a good cry in the bathroom, but even that was denied her. The phone rang and it was Mel. "I'll be over in a couple minutes, Janey. The furnace fixer didn't show up and I'm going to have to start over tomorrow with another company, I guess."

“Okay," she said between gritted teeth.

She sent Todd and Elliott for the hams and made Katie go along to find and identify the pineapple-mustard sauce. "As soon as you've got everything, you can go join the rest of the singers.”

She bundled herself up and went to observe and listen from the front porch. A couple deep, cold breaths helped her calm down slightly and the sound of the neighbors' voices raised in a rousing version of "Jingle Bells" didn't hurt. She reminded herself of her long-standing party philosophy, which was that it's pointless to have a party if you're not going to enjoy it yourself. The planning and preparation might be tough, but the panic to get ready had to stop the moment the first guest stepped through the door.

“I can do this," she said to herself. "And Lance King can't wreck it." She watched as a television cameraman posed a small collection of singers in front of an especially pretty house. A man in a Santa suit — King himself — was standing in the middle of the arrangement.

As she stood, watching and listening to the ever-growing group going from house to house, one of the television people broke away from the group and walked briskly down the street to Jane's house. The woman approaching her was young, very tall, and had a mop of curly maroon-red hair escaping her stocking cap. She walked leaning forward, hands plunged into the pockets of a pea jacket and a clipboard under one arm. "Are you Mrs. Jeffry?" she said. "I'm Ginger Wrightman, Mr. King's assistant. I need to take a look at the house layout and figure out where to set up the lights and camera."

“Mr. King wasn't invited to my house," Jane said. "Or, he was, but without my permission.”

Ginger said, "Oh, I didn't know. I'm so sorry. But—"

“But I don't dare lock him out," Jane finished. "I'm aware of that. Come on in, Ginger.”

As Ginger shed her cap and coat, she apologized again. "I'm just an employee, Mrs. Jeffry. I don't know how much longer I can take it, either. I'm just too damned nice for this job.”

Jane studied Ginger. She wasn't pretty by any means. Her face was too elongated, her nose and teeth too big, her eyes too close together and her hair was dead awful. But there was something terribly vulnerable about this plain young woman's honesty that charmed Jane. "I understand. Make yourself at home.”

Jane went back out on the porch. When she judged the carolers were close enough to arriveat her home in another ten minutes, she went inside.

Addie pitched in and helped set the food out, annoying Jane enormously by changing where Jane had chosen to put the dishes. "There," Addie exclaimed. "That looks much better with the hams farther apart, doesn't it?"

“I guess so," Jane said wearily, wishing she could shove Addie into a closet for just long enough to get the table set up the way she'd intended. As soon as everyone had been through the line once, Jane was going to put the desserts out on the kitchen table and counter. Mel had better be there by then to keep his mother out of her hair.

Ginger found Jane in the kitchen. "I think we can set up in a way that won't completely destroy your party. Lance will be doing a short commercial feed live at eight. Just a fifteen-second bit. Then later he'll open the news live with a two-minute piece. Of course, we can pray there's real news by then that'll take precedence."

“A nice plane wreck or a bomb going off somewhere?" Jane said.

Ginger grinned. "Something like that. Think you could arrange it?”

People started coming in the front door, shaking snow off their clothes, piling coats, hats, and mittens on the stairs, the banister, and the coat-rack Jane had borrowed from Shelley. Pet was among the first to arrive, and being a model child, she assigned herself the job of making sure the hats and gloves stayed with the right coats.

“I'm hiring that child the next time I put on a do," Jane said as Shelley came inside.

“It's starting to rain," Shelley said. "All the snow will have melted by morning.”

Jane looked at her with amazement. "Are you actually making light meaningless chitchat to take my mind off that horrible man who's going to invade my house any second?”

Shelley grinned.I guess I am. Listen, Jane, you have to think about this like I do about getting a Pap test. No matter how awful it's going to be, in X number of hours it's going to be over."

“Well, X number of hours can't pass fast enough for me," Jane said grimly.

The party got off to a rousing start, everybody being glad to get out of the cold and eat themselves silly. But when Lance King finally re‑ j oined the group, with his cameraman, lighting people, and equipment, the crowd in Jane's house grew significantly quieter and more subdued. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to attract his attention except a couple malcontents who fell on him with suggestions for individuals they personally wanted skewered.

Jane lurked at the kitchen door, watching Lance move through the room like a bad smell. Nobody actually recoiled, hand over nose, but they looked away, got very interested in minute items on their plates, or struck up quietly animated conversations with each other.