Page 56 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Oh, God. I’ll head out.” Leah rolls her eyes. “We’re going to miss you so much, you know.” She gives me a quick one-armed hug before skipping up the steps to the stage and disappearing into the wings to head for the street parking out back.

Maybe Victor has good news for once. Maybe he’s found someone to repair the theater in the next week and we’ll be able to perform here after all.

But that thought, which should be a relief, unexpectedly disappoints me. Guess I’m totally all in for the outdoor on-ice play at this point. And not just because it was Gabe’s idea. But because it’s agreatidea. It’s original and inventive and will be a special way for me to leave my mark on my last play.

I turn back to my boss and find he’s striding down the center aisle with someone by his side—a woman whose garments appear to float behind her like she’s walking toward a wind machine.

“Morning, Victor.” I fold up the icicle hat.

“Indeed it is an absolutely fine morning.” Victor and his companion come to a stop at the bottom of the aisle, a few feet away. “Because look who I’ve brought to meet you.”

He gestures to the person next to him like a magician’s assistant drawing attention to a particularly spectacular trick that the audience should be applauding more enthusiastically.

Now they’re in the light I get a better look at her. Her neck and chest must be chilly. As must the tops of her boobs. Actually, all of her must be quite cold because she’s come in from outside not wearing a coat, and what sheiswearing is somewhat diaphanous. There are certainly lots of layers, but none of them are substantial enough to protect from sub-freezing temperatures.

“Divina Montclair,” Victor adds with a flourish, taking a step back as if to leave more space for her greatness.

My heart plummets to the floor, then crashes through it. Oh, dear God. Isthismy replacement?

Clearly Victor has no intention of telling her who I am. So I don’t bother offering my hand for a shake. Instead, I hold the icicle costume tight to my chest and fold my arms over it.

“Hi, Divina.”

But she’s not listening. She’s too busy looking around the place. The ceiling appears to be particularly fascinating. She tips back her head—a headthat’s covered in copper-colored curls that look like they’re on invisible rollers.

“Oh, how quaint,” she cries, projecting her voice as if she’s on stage and trying to be heard in the back row of the upper circle. “You know, it reminds me of that time I worked with Al Pacino. Oh, Al…”

She closes her eyes as if drifting off into another world, and places a hand on her bare chest, pausing for a moment of reverence for his name. “We were doing Shakespeare in the Park?—”

Victor gasps and clutches his own chest. “Romeo and Juliet?” he asks, seemingly hoping he might have employed Pacino’s leading lady.

“Love’s Labour’s Lost,”she says as if it’s a superior play.

“You must have been the princess.” Victor is very sure of himself.

She gives him a coy smile and an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

“Rosaline?” Victor asks, having turned this into a guessing game. “Maria? Katherine?”

“It doesn’t matter who I was.” Divina wafts a little to the left. “It’s all a team effort when you’re…treading the boards.”

Maybe she worked the concession stand.

“So how is this similar to that?” I ask her.

“What?” Divina spins to face me, her skirts lagging slightly behind.

“This theater,” I remind her. “How does this small community theater in Warm Springs make you think of performing Shakespeare in Central Park with Al Pacino?”

“Oh, you know.” She circles her hand vaguely.

Clearly it doesn’t remind her of that at all. Clearly she just wants to use the words Shakespeare, Park, and Pacino.And I bet she tosses them out at every available opportunity.

“The children are going to love you,” Victor gushes.

The children are going to fucking hate her.

How can I leave the poor kids with someone who, although I’ve only known her for approximately thirty seconds, is so obviously focused solely on herself?

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