Susan Mallery: A Fool's Gold Christmas

She heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the studio. A few seconds later, a smiling woman with brown hair hurried into the reception area. Evie recognized her as one of the mothers but had no idea of her name.

“I’m running late,” she proclaimed, handing Evie three CDs in cases. “Here’s what you need. I hope. I mean I know it’s what you wanted, I just hope they help.”

The woman was in her late twenties, pretty, wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with a large embroidered cartoon turkey on the front.

The woman laughed. “You look blank. I’m Patience McGraw. Lillie’s mother.”

“Oh. Lillie. Sure.” Sweet girl with absolutely no talent, Evie thought. But she loved dancing and worked hard. Sometimes that was more important than ability.

“Charlie called me,” Patience continued. “OMG, to quote my daughter. Miss Monica ran off with a man? I haven’t been on a date in maybe three years, but my daughter’s seventy-year-old dance teacher gets lucky? I can’t decide if I should be depressed or inspired.”

“I’m both,” Evie admitted. “Slightly more depressed, though.”

“Tell me about it.” Patience gave a rueful laugh. “Anyway, Charlie explained that you’re feeling completely abandoned and pressured. I can’t help with the dance stuff. Lillie inherited her lack of coordination from me, I’m afraid. But I’m good at getting things done. So those are recordings of previous years’ shows. One is mine. The other two come from other mothers. They’re also for different years. I thought that might help.”

Evie tightened her hold on the CDs. Right now, these were her best shot at figuring out what the program was supposed to look like.

“Thank you. You’ve saved me.”

Patience laughed. “I’m barely getting started.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her jeans’s front pocket. “My phone number. I’ll help get the work party together for the sets. Charlie mentioned those, too. So, a Saturday would work best. I suggest the first Saturday in December. All that’s going on in town is the tree lighting and that’s not until dusk. We’d have all day to spruce and paint and do whatever needs doing.”

Evie took the paper with her free hand. In addition to Patience’s phone number was a man’s name.

“This guy is your contact at the hardware store in town. Tell him who you are and what you need the supplies for. He’ll give you a great discount. Once you get that coordinated, get back to me and I’ll spread the word about the work party. Oh, we’ll also need to coordinate for the costumes.”

Evie felt as if she were being pushed by an out-of-control tide. “You sew?”

“Enough to repair a costume. But I have the names of the talented ladies who do the real work. Plus, we need to schedule the fittings and then the run-through for hair and makeup.” She drew in a breath and planted her hands on her hips. “Drat. There’s one more thing that I can’t... Brunch!” She grinned. “Thanksgiving morning we all meet at Jo’s Bar. We have yummy brunch food, enough champagne so that we don’t care about the turkey we’re cooking and we watch the parade on TV. Girls only. You have to come. It’s really fun. After we’re stuffed and drunk, we head outside to watch the Fool’s Gold parade through town.”

“Okay,” Evie said slowly, still overwhelmed by names, promises and information.

“Be there at nine.” Patience pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “I’m running late. Nothing new, right? I have to get back to work. Call me with any questions.” She started for the door. “And pick a date for the work party. We need to claim our labor.”

Evie stood in the center of her studio. She was holding three CD cases and a small piece of paper, but she would swear she’d been buried under a giant mound of boxes or something. She tucked the CD cases into her purse. Tonight she would watch the recordings and start to make notes. As for the rest of it, she would have to sort through all she’d learned and make up some kind of schedule. She still wasn’t convinced about the work party, but maybe a few parents would be willing to help.

She walked into the main studio and settled in front of the barre. A half hour or so of practice would settle her mind for the lessons to come. Slowly, carefully, conscious of her still-healing leg, she began to warm up. Two minutes later, her cell phone rang.

She straightened, slid her right foot back to the floor and walked over to where the phone sat on the reception desk.

The calling number was unfamiliar.

“Hello?”

“Evie? Hi, it’s Heidi.”

Heidi was Rafe’s new wife. She lived on the ranch and raised goats. A pretty blonde who had welcomed Evie with genuine warmth.

“Hi,” Evie said, more cautious than excited about contact with her family.

“I wanted to make sure you knew we were having dinner at four on Thanksgiving. Rafe couldn’t remember if you’d been told.” Heidi sighed. “Men. Because social details aren’t that interesting to them, right?”

Thanksgiving dinner? Evie held in a groan. She wasn’t up to dinner with her relatives.

“Oh, and that morning we watch the parade at Jo’s Bar. You know about that, right? It’s a huge crowd. Girls only brunch. You’ll love it. It’s a great chance to meet everyone. Just be careful. The champagne goes down way too easy. Last year I had to call my grandfather to drive me home. I vowed I wasn’t touching the stuff this year and I’m holding myself to that. Oh, it’s on a local channel that starts the replay at nine our time. Just so you don’t freak out and think you have to get up too early.”

Evie heard a crash in the background.

Heidi gasped. “I think that was my new batch of cheese. I gotta run. Save the date.”

The phone went silent.

Evie slowly pushed the end button, then replaced the phone in her bag and set the bag in the bottom drawer. As far as Heidi was concerned, Evie had just accepted both invitations. Calling back to say no would mean answering questions and coming up with a reason why she wasn’t joining the only people she knew in a town she’d just moved to. Talk about awkward.

In truth, she didn’t mind spending time with her brothers. With new wives and fiancées hanging around, Evie should find it easy enough to avoid her mother.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, then walked to the stairs. Once she was on the main floor, she stepped into her brother’s offices and moved toward Dante’s desk. He was staring at his computer screen but glanced up as she approached.

“Hey,” she said. “I wanted to warn you that tonight there’s more clog dancing. No tap classes until tomorrow. Ballet the rest of the time. Ballet is quieter. Except for the music. But you seem to have this thing against the clog girls, so I’m letting you know in advance.”

Dante sat at his desk, his blue eyes fixed on her, the oddest expression on his face.

“What?” she demanded, raising her hands to her head to make sure her braids were tightly in place.

He swore under his breath. “Is it legal?”

“Clog dancing? The last time I checked.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. “What you’re wearing.”

She glanced down at herself. She had on black tights and a leotard. It was exactly what she wore nearly every day of her life. Scuffed ballet shoes covered her feet. Later, she would put on toe shoes to demonstrate some steps, but she wasn’t going to walk around in them. She found that awkward and, okay, a little pretentious.

She pulled at the stretchy material. “It’s worn, I’ll admit, but I’m dressed.”

Dante glanced around, as if checking to see who was watching them. As far as Evie could tell, everyone else was busy with work.