Page 3 of Bed of Roses

“Marley can take care of collecting Drew’s costume. Once you are fished with Mr…?” she pointed the card back at me as my cue to finish her sentence, simultaneously taking in Marley’s weathered look. “Jiminy Christmas Marley! You have ruined that costume! How many times have I told you to be careful? As soon as you are finished with Drew’s assistant you are to march yourself straight to the back and hang up that dress to dry.”

Another Jiminy Christmas. It must be some kind of requirement to work in Ye Old Costume Shop.

“I’m Bear Tucker, morning show host, 90.9 the Pole.”

Marleyappeared to hear me but didn’t give me much in terms of acknowledging she heard or was processing what I said. She raced to the closet, grabbed the bag marked WNPL, and laid it across the counter and began filling out the sections of her order form.

“Okay Mr. Tucker, here is Mr. Rosenstein’s outfit. He rents from us every year, so he knows the drill but just in case—any stains, spills or rips found on the costume when you return it will be charged to your account. No smoking while in the costume. We ask that you refrain from drinking alcohol while in costume, but we obviously can’t monitor that. Also, please try to maintain a safe distance from the fire lanterns at Carol the Square as these costumes are quite flammable. Any questions?”

Marley hung the receipt from the hanger, holding it up for me to take form her.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Drew isn’t hosting this thing this year.”

“So, do you need me to change the name on the receipt then?”

I took a deep, calming breath. “I need a costume.”

The muscles around her mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile as she dangled the costume from her fingers.

“Not that one,” I told her.

“That is all we’ve got. It’s the night before Carol the Square.” She shrugged, pushing the costume further towards me.

“Well, considering Drew is about a foot shorter than me that one isn’t going to work. Also, I need one for a woman. She’s probably about yourheight, but she is a bit more—endowed. I don’t know how these corset things work, so I figured I better tell you that up front.”

Her sarcastic smile flattened, and her nose wrinkled in disgust. “There’s something called the ‘MeToo movement’. Ogling women went out of style probably right around the time that those metalheads on your T-shirt learned their mullet was no longer cool.”

Damn this chick had some spice. Too bad I got paid to spend my morning passing out witty banter with Raven and the listeners of The Pole, and wasn’t in the mood for engaging in a verbal tete a tete for free.

“Look, Marley? Is that what your boss said your name was? How about you head back to your storage closet and pull together some semblance of a costume for me and my cohost. Or I could certainly go back there and ask Winnie Snow to do it for me.”

I could practically see the comments she wanted to lob at me but she must’ve thought better of getting into an exchange of words, turned on her heel and marched to the back of the store. Ten minutes later she returned with two bags slung over her shoulder wearing only a tank top and stretch pants.

“Do you need me to go back over the rules?”

She was clearly still quite cold from the damp dress and snowy weather. Actually, she was probably fucking freezing based on the peaks that had risen up to greet me. I’m not even going to pretend I didn’t notice them. Or that I couldn’t not notice them.

“You gave me your wet, snow covered dress?”

“Well, since you didn’t understand me when I saidwe don’t have any more costumesI figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” She shrugged, pushing the two bags off her shoulder and handing them to me. “I have more costumes at home, and since Winnie will more than likely make me pay to clean this monstrosity, I figure we both get a win by doing it this way.”

Touché.

2

Christmas is my jam. I love it more than any other time of year. Warm fires, cookies baking in the oven, a never-ending run of Christmas Rom-Coms on TV, having an entire six weeks of built in excuses to wear pretty dresses and curl my hair and get together with friends. Every single second of the holidays, I soak in it, bathe in it… swim in it! Whatever the most “in it” is, that’s me. Which was why I couldn’t wrap my head around why me and Christmas were so out of sync this year. First, my mom died. She died in March, but it was still this year and was my first Christmas without her. Like that wasn’t hard enough, some kind of scroogical dark force was determined to strike a hammer to my heart and make me really hate this time of year all together. First, I just received a property tax reassessment, and learned they were raising my property taxes, not just a little bit—but by two thousand dollars! Apparently North Pole, New York has suddenly become not just a tourist destination, our precious little hamlet had become the focus of city dwellers winter cabins. My budget had zero wiggle room, and any increase in mortgage payment was going to throw my entire budget off. I was already working two jobs. At this rate, I’d never save enough money to get back to school.

As if I neededmorepunches to the proverbial gut, my car broke down. In the snow. In the middle of rush hour traffic. Who knows how much that is going to cost? The last thing I wanted to have to do was resort to my emergency credit card, especially when I was facing an extra four-hundred-dollar expense next month. Thankfully, my best friend Bernie—short for Bernadette—is doing me a solid. She runs the North Pole Inn and asked me to pass out her famous gingerbread at Carol the Square.

This time of year, our little hamlet overflowed with visitors from all over the globe who wanted to experience what we did best around here—Christmas. Of course, Santa’s Workshop was the star attraction of North Pole. But Carol the Square ran a close second. Here, all of the local town merchants set up shop selling any kind of Christmas knick knack you could imagine, while revelers walked the square listening to Christmas Carols from the town’s choir.

“Bernie, you’re a life saver.” I answered as a means of a hello. She had called to check final details before I made way out to the square. “I can actually pay to have my car fixed with the money from tonight.”

“Those cookies are hand cut to be exact replicas of this Inn. Be sure you’re not jostling the basket, I made exactly enough for the expected crowd.”

“Bernie, I promise I’m not jostling the basket. I’m practically tiptoeing I’m being so care— ugh, excuse you! Are you even paying attention to where you’re going?”

Here we go again with Christmas and me and our apparent “it’s complicated” status. A mid-intersection collision knocked me off kilter as I was walking through the square.

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