Page 49 of The Calendar of New Beginnings
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 waswell 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.
“I should have guessed you’d volunteer,” Lucy said, cocking her brow.
Jill was going to be worse than Ester, and she proved it by sticking her tongue out at Lucy.
“As I told my cousin recently, I’m a genius. So, Lucy, I’ve been racking my brain for the best pose, and I think I want to go all Latin.”
Chef T spewed out his bourbon and started coughing like it had gone down the wrong pipe. Poor guy. Her mother had regaled Lucy with the hilarious stories of Jill teaching Chef T Latin dance moves so he could win a date with his now-fiancée, Elizabeth.
Jill looked over her shoulder at him. “Sure you don’t want to pose with me, Chef T?”
More hooting erupted as the chef narrowed his eyes. “Not a chance in hell,” Chef T ground out.
“Your loss,” her cousin said, executing a flawless salsa move.
“I see you have hidden skills,”Lucy said, crossing her arms.
“They aren’t so hidden anymore,” Jill informed her. “You’ll have to come to our Latin dance class, Luce. It’s so much fun and a great workout. Now back to my pose. I was thinking feathers too—the kind women dancers wore in old movies—but if Mrs. Feathers wants to use them, I could use a hat covered in fruit to cover these beauties.” She extended her hand to her boobs like Vanna White introducing the next letter onWheel of Fortune.
Chef T groaned and covered his eyes. Like that would do any good. The image was already seared into Lucy’s brain. “Very Carmen Miranda of you. Thanks for sharing.”
“I have more ideas!” she declared.
Lucy turned her around and pushed her toward the bar. “I think that’s enough for the moment. Next.” She was starting to feel more in charge as each new subject emerged, and it felt good. This was going to be her photo shoot, and her mother needed to understand that.
She blinked rapidly when Old Man Jenkins shuffled forward in a plaid shirt tucked into brown pants. Lucy didn’t know when everyone had started calling him Old Man Jenkins, but she’d never heard him called anything else. He used to be one of the biggest volunteers in Dare Valley, always leading one church or town improvement committee after another.
“Mr. November,” he said in a gruff voice through a lopsided grin. “I’m the oldest of this motley crew. I’m ninety-one.”
He was adorable. Lucy gave him a soft smile. “We’re lucky to have you.”
His scoff made everyone chuckle. “I might not have a young body anymore, but I’ve fought in two wars and devoted a lot of my time and energy to this town. I run Bingo night now when I’m not spending time with myfriends at the senior citizens’ home. I’m representing all the old folks who’ve lost someone to cancer. While some people suggested I incorporate a Bingo theme—which I nixed because the balls are too small—I was hoping you could drape a flag over me since I’m dedicating my month to my brother. He died in Korea fighting beside me.”
Any laughter generated by his Bingo ball comment faded. Everyone seemed moved by his earnestness, and in that moment, Lucy knew she was going to treasure hearing his stories while she photographed him—her way—capturing the hard angles of his cheeks and mouth, chiseled from age and experience.
