Page 24 of The Holiday Hate-Off
Now, the time has come for Devil Woman’s big moment: Santa Speed Dating.
Did I temporarily lose my mind last night at Hidden Italy?
Yes, but I have a competitive streak that doesn’t quit, and Devil Woman challenged me by claiming her event would be better than ours. Then the mayor inadvertently threw down the gauntlet when he told me about the auction at Hook, Wine, and Sinker. To carry on with our evening as planned would have been unthinkable. I couldn’t let the evening be a forgettabledud, a hiccup in Hideaway Harbor’s jam-packed holiday calendar.
So I pivoted, the way I’ve trained people to do throughout my consulting career.
And look what happened—I danced on a table and caught a bra in my teeth, all while my grandmother was watching, probably saying the rosary for me the whole time.
In some ways, the evening backfired. My brothers are pissed at me, because we all got purchased by women who planned to torment us as payback for my grandmother banning Eileen and her “girls.” But at least we raised money for charity, and we definitely made a splash.
The party only got wilder after the auction, with limoncello and champagne flowing freely. People really did come in from off the street, attracted by the chaos.
We sold out of a few of our artisanal pasta and olive oil imported from the hills of Sicily and handed out dozens of cards for catering orders.
So I’m calling it a success, if only because I need a win.
Of course, Giovanni, Chief Shit Stirrer, recruited a friend to capture video footage of me table dancing. He sent it to Aria, so she’s been laughing at me all day, sending memes of dancing men.
I’d be more pissed at my brother, but when I told him we needed to do some surveillance on the Sip to make sure Santa Speed Dating didn’t out-do our event, he agreed with an eyeroll. Which is why we’re sitting across the street by the front window of Kippis, the Finnish bar that has karaoke on Thursdays and is thus a good place for a pint on any night but Thursday. It gives us a distant view of the comings and goings of the coffee shop, although we have to peer past a whole host of tourists milling around Town Square to see it. Still, I used to go bird watching with my grandfather when I was a kid. I learned how to spot Maine’s rare birds from a distance. I cansure as shit spot a douchebag, like the one who just walked into Love at First Sip.
Call it a stakeout, if you will, but I like to think of it as vigilance. I want to know who’s in the running for Devil Woman’s virginity. Someone has to look out for her.
“Do you want a pair of binoculars?” Giovanni asks with an amused twist of his mouth.
“Do you have any?”
He gives me a sidelong glance. “Want me to ask around? I can let everyone know why you need them too.”
I shake my head dismissively, then gesture to the window. “The guy who just went in there….he’s the weirdo who got caught jerking off into our English teacher’s handbag.”
Giovanni laughs. “And guess what? Now he folds women’s underwear at the lingerie store.”
“No shit.”
“Sometimes God works in mysterious ways.”
I snort, my gaze still glued across the street. “You sound like Nonna. God,allthese guys are douchebags.”
My brother lifts his beer for a drink. “Yeah, that’s probably why they decided they had nothing better to do on Friday night than go to Santa Speed Dating. I’d sooner give up my left nut. I’ll bet no one’s ever washed those beards they’re handing out. But you know what? At least those guys have a choice in the matter. I bet they didn’t have their big brother whispering in their ear.”
“You’re still pissed about the taffy thing,” I reflect, my gaze locked on the small storefront across the way. I watch as another douchebag struts up. Sure, he’s a stranger to me, so it’s possible I’ve got him all wrong, but I don’t think so. He’s wearing a black coat that has the brand emblazoned across the back. Only douchebags choose to be walking advertisements. If you’re going to advertise for someone, you makethempay for the pleasure.
My brother groans. “Yes, I’m still pissed about the taffy thing. So be prepared to hear about it at least a dozen times tonight.”
“That’s fair, I guess.” I can feel him staring at me, so I look over. “What?”
“Why do you care so much about who’s coming and going over there? Is this about that Lucy woman?”
“Lucy?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Bro, if a woman told me I was a bad lover in front of my neighbors, you can bet your ass I’d find out her name. And I’d volunteer to show her how wrong she was so she could write a Yelp review and let everyone else know.”
“Her name’s Lucy?” I ask in an undertone, watching as a few women enter the shop.
“Lucy Taylor.”
I frown as another guy lines up at the café’s door. “Brandon Fucking Wright is going to this thing?”
