The sudden rush of energy and noise that flooded the house as all the kids and parents came in made Baylor feel happier and more relaxed than he had been in a long time. This much chaos in his orderly house would normally have put him on edge. But it was all a blessing, and he knew it. Silently he gave thanks.
Chick had also arrived early to set up the bar. He was dressed as an elf, complete with shoes that curled up at the toes. Chick’s eggnog (one jigger of bourbon for each egg, then one jigger for the bowl) was necessary to start off any Ya-Ya Christmas gathering. He had plenty of champagne, wine, Cokes, and hot cider with cinnamon and nutmeg for the kids simmering on the burner he’d plugged in at the bar he prided himself on. He’d already doled out plenty of old-fashioneds and whiskey sour punch, and was stocked for the party to last for days. No bar of Chick’s ever went dry. To accommodate the Petites Ya-Yas, especially the women, he also had plenty of Perrier and a huge thermos of Dark Roast Community Coffee at the ready.
“Joyeux Noël, Petits Monstres!” he called out. “What little angels want a Shirley Temple? What little shepherds are ready to slug back a Rob Roy?”
Mothers were trying to keep the Très Petites from running around the house. Squeals and shouts and laughter rose and fell over the comforting din of greetings and conversation. The adults who weren’t part of the pageant entourage helped with putting out the hors d’oeuvre trays and putting tablecloths over the card tables that had been set up for the children to eat at.
Big Shep came out of the kitchen and put his arm around Baylor’s shoulder, taking in the scene. After a bit he patted his son on the back and said to no one in particular, “Life’s pretty good.”
Francis and Necie corralled the children to the “backstage” area, while Vivi accepted a bottle of Moët from Chick. Teensy waved to the others. They, the stars, hurriedly absented themselves from the room. Blaine and Richard planted kisses on either side of Caro’s cheeks, handed her a vodka tonic, and soon she was on her way backstage as well.
Chick and Little Shep’s wife, Kane, bustled backstage carrying Cokes and other drinks back to the little ones, along with trays of cashews and cheese and crackers.
“You are amazing, Chick,” Kane said. “To have thought of spill-free cups!”
“Well, we don’t want our little angels to spill their Shirley Temples down the front of their gowns, do we? It’s great to see you and Shep all duded up! And Dorey and Kurt—who knows what’s under those coats and hats.”
“It’s great to see Jacques,” Kane said.
“I’m just thankful my son and his family could make it.”
“When did they get in from Italy?” Kane asked.
“Ten-thirty last night. And we are pleased as punch. I hardly slept a wink. Did you see those children?”
“Yessir, I did. Eyelashes as long as little Jack’s should only be given to girls. Totally lost on a four-year-old boy.”
“Who said life was fair?” Chick replied. “And how about Genevieve? Is she not the most gorgeous two-year-old in the world?”
“Chick, I think you’re smitten.”
“I’m smote.” Chick winked. “Totally smote.”
Back in the living room, the room was filled with the smell of sausage, smoked by Big Shep, Shep, and Baylor. They’d brought it in early, cut into slices, and it was served with mustard for dipping. Parched pecans, straight from the oven, smelled delicious with all the garlic, salt, butter, and other seasonings they were dressed with. “Angels on horseback”—oysters wrapped in bacon, breaded, then deep-fried—were on everyone’s appetizer plates, and bowls of oyster crackers with dill weed for seasoning were spread about on every table, along with plenty of cheese straws.
The decree had gone out from the Ya-Yas that everyone was to dress like a Christmas character. Some had gone all-out; others had just added touches. Shep wore a hat with reindeer antlers. Necie’s daughters all wore hand-knit wool Christmas sweaters with original designs. Each of them except Lissa had learned to knit from their Gramma Rose or Necie, their mother, but they rarely got to wear their woolens in the semitropical Louisiana weather.
Their husbands all wore some Christmasy touch—a pair of Santa slippers, a sprig of mistletoe pinned to a sweater, and the like.
Blaine and Richard had taken the Ya-Ya decree most seriously. They were dressed as toy soldiers from The Nutcracker Suite.
“Man,” Big Shep said. “You boys went to town. Those boots alone must have cost a fortune.”
“To tell you the truth, we already had the costumes from a party two New Year’s Eves ago. And we do love boots.”
“Just like you, Shep,” Richard said.
“Yep, but mine are shit-kickers next to those,” Shep said.
“We’re all shit-kickers at heart,” Blaine said, and raised his glass. “To shit-kickers!” he said. And the three of them raised their glasses.
Baylor caught this scene from the corner of his eye and marveled at how easily his father had accepted Caro’s longtime husband’s homosexuality. He remembered how Big Shep, upon hearing, had said, “Well, finally Blaine has come out and admitted he liked the boys. I’d known that since we were in our twenties. Doesn’t bother me as long as they don’t ask me to put on a skirt. That is where I draw the line.”
Only George looked out of place at this party. He wore a tailor-made suit more in place in a court of law than at a family gathering, not to mention a Ya-Ya tribal get-together. His only concession to the season was to carry a Wise Man crown in his hand. Baylor eyed George closely when he came in. There was something off about his carriage, something more than just his suit’s formality. The man moved differently than the other men, like he was carrying some kind of powerful secret that gave him added confidence, almost a smugness. At the same time, it was if he were hiding something.
Necie’s daughters and their husbands mingled with Caro’s sons, Turner, Gavin, and Bernard, and their wives. Rumors about the pageant were shared.
“I heard from Mama that Caitlin is quite the little director,” Rose said. “Mama said she was giving directions the whole time they tried to pull this thing together. Think she might take after her Aunt Sidda?”
“I don’t know which of my daughters takes after their Aunt Sidda more—Caitlin or Lee-Lee,” Melissa said, sipping her chardonnay. “Caitlin has the imagination and bossiness—not that Sidda is bossy, but you know what I mean. And Lee-Lee has the flair for drama. Lord knows what they will come up with. I know Necie has had her hands full. My hat’s off to her for taking on this pageant.”
Turner said, “I cannot imagine Necie pulling all those costumes together. I guess having daughters who know how to sew helps.”
“Hah!” Rose said. “Mama said to Vivi just yesterday, in my presence—and I quote—‘Francis is a better seamstress than my five girls put together.’”
They all laughed, glad to have Francis in town.
Jacques (or Ruffin, as he was called growing up) and his wife Sophia were the center of much attention. Jacques was an artist, currently doing a series on the ancient water features in small Tuscan towns and villages. He’d met his wife at the Rhode Island School of Design, and as sophisticated as they both looked and lived, they were easy to get along with, and funny to boot.
“I want to thank you again,” Jacques said to Melanie, “for making costumes for the bambinos.”
“You’d think,” Sophia said, “that I’d be together enough to have brought some exotic Italian clothing for my offspring, but to be perfectly honest, it was all I could do to pack their underwear. International travel with a two-year-old was not something I learned about in art school.” With that, she took a deep sip of her red wine, then laughed. “We’re lucky any of us have underwear.”
While the mood was festive and the music good—Baylor had made a special compilation CD of Frank Sinatra singing Christmas carols, mixed in with Motown and holiday jazz renditions—every person there was acutely aware of the clock ticking. The later it got, th
e more everyone glanced down at their watches, hoping. On their minds was the key question: Would Joanie, Grove, and Rosalyn show up? The Ya-Yas had insisted that the pageant not begin until everyone was there, and already Francis had come out twice, saying, “The tribes are getting restless. Is my sister Joanie here yet?” Each time he’d been told no, and had returned “backstage” to assist with the chaos.
Just as Baylor was thinking about calling Grove, he heard the buzz of the front-gate intercom. They had arrived! He buzzed them in, opening the garage doors so they could drive straight in, as Baylor had promised Joanie. He went to the garage to greet them, making sure the garage doors were shut immediately. He’d promised security for Joanie and her little one, and he would be damned if he didn’t deliver.
When Joanie, Grove, and Rosalyn stepped into the room, they were hugged and kissed and made fuss over. Rosalyn wore a green velvet dress with handmade Irish lace around the collar. In her hair was a red bow, and her little legs were clad in warm white leotards and red leather Mary Janes. She kept asking, “Where Lee-Lee? Where Lee-Lee?”
Baylor ran to the back of the house to inform Francis that his sister had indeed arrived.
“Let the show begin!” Francis said. “Got your intro ready?”
“Do I look like a dullard?”
“No, you look terribly handsome in a sort of George Clooney-ish way,” Francis said, turning back to the rest of the gang to alert them.
Baylor stood in front of the crèche, with everyone gathered in front of him. Some sat on the sofas, some on dining room chairs, some on stools from the kitchen. Right smack in the front sat Grove and Joanie, who held on to Rosalyn like a precious jewel.
“Ladies and gentlemen, mesdames et messieurs, and our special guest of honor, Mademoiselle Rosalyn, I am happy to welcome you to my home and most importantly to the First Annual Ya-Ya Christmas Pageant—and variety show!” With that, he stepped aside and leaned against a side table next to where Melissa sat.
A hush descended over the room as Necie slowly emerged from the door that led back to the bedrooms. She wore the costume of a Bethlehem village woman. The only exception was the tiara that the other Ya-Yas had forced her to wear: they refused to let her be a Plain Jane townswoman. “You must acknowledge your royalty somehow!” Vivi had insisted. Her robes flowing, she crossed to a tall brass antique church candleholder that Melissa had found at her favorite shop in New Orleans. She lit the candle that stood atop the holder and then crossed over to the baby grand that Baylor’s kids practiced piano lessons on.
Softly and reverently, Necie played an intro to “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Then she began to read the ancient words from Luke: “And it came to pass in those days…”
The sound of singing from the back of the house could be heard, a pure if raggedy chorus of children’s voices singing “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” helped along by the voices of Francis and the Ya-Yas.
Nine angels ranging in age from two to seven stumbled in, all wearing homemade wings strapped onto their backs with elastic. There were six angel girls and three boy angels. Two of the kids’ wings were already bent up so bad, it looked like they’d been flying hard and put up wet. Circles of gold garland made the haloes for their heads. They all wore gowns made of white sheets, tied around the waist with gold swags.
With one exception.
Lee-Lee Walker had insisted at the last moment on wearing her ballerina costume. She put up such a fit that Francis finally stepped in and said, “Fine, tiny dancer. Go for it.” He tried not to laugh, but was not successful when Lee-Lee also demanded to carry a small red purse, which dangled daintily from her wrist. She put on white gloves at the very last minute, and seemed to have trouble not staring at the sheer beauty of them.
Rosalyn, who had been sitting quietly in her mother’s lap, squealed when she saw her best friend. “Lee-Lee!” she said aloud, and waved. Joanie whispered into her daughter’s ear, and she quieted down, but she was thrilled to lay her eyes on Lee-Lee, the ballerina angel.
Turner’s five-year-old, John Blaine, had agreed to be an angel on the condition that he be allowed to wear his bicycle helmet. Each Ya-Ya had tried to reason with him, but as Caro sagely observed: “Kid’s smart. With this pageant gang he’s running with, he’s a helluva lot safer wearing protective gear.”
When the singing began to lag or the angels forgot the words, their moms mouthed them for them or sang along from the audience to try to keep them in tune.
Next came the animals. A sheep led the parade. Crawling expertly on all fours, Virginia, Rose’s daughter, wore a huge fluffy white bath towel around her neck. Necie had put her foot down when it came to having any animals that required two kids under one costume. “That is a recipe for disaster if I ever heard one,” she declaimed. “Trust me.”
One of Lissa’s girls was a brown cow with white spots (compliments of Clorox spilled on the wrong load of towels), and she had been adamant about wearing her pink cowgirl hat. “So they’ll know I’m a cow,” as she had explained to Necie.
Everyone did their best not to laugh out loud, which meant lots of strange coughing and snorting noises from the adults in the audience.
There was a pause before the audience saw Mary and Joseph. But that did not mean they could not hear Caitlin berating Daniel, Turner’s nine-year-old. “Walk right!” Caitlin was saying in the loudest stage whisper east of the Mississippi: “I thought I told you how to walk! You’re a carpenter, from Nazareth. Act like it, stupid! You want them to think you’re from Arkansas or something?”
The audience attempted to ignore this, but several of them gazed in Chick’s direction, pointing to their glasses for a refill. Stealthily, he made his way to the bar.
When they finally made their entrance, Caitlin had erased all harshness and looked perfectly sweet and holy. In blue and white gowns compliments of Melissa’s linen closet, Caitlin carried the Christ child, a doll, in her arms. She held the doll with utmost care and from time to time gazed down at the doll like it really was the Baby Jesus. Everything about Caitlin was perfectly holy, except for the “Riveting Red” carefully applied to her lips—and the heavy black mascara coating her eyelashes.
Next came the shepherds, each of them wearing different variations of bathrobes with ropes around their waists. Their heads were covered with long scarves anchored by yet other scarves, which were rolled up and tied. Jeff looked like a midget Arafat with a penchant for Hermes accessorizing. Just as Necie switched the music to “Away in a Manger,” Jeff looked out into the audience and gave a big smile, revealing vampire fangs.
Baylor cracked up, slapping his thigh and ignoring the fact that Melissa was mouthing “NO” to their son.
George muttered, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, pray for us.”
With the help of the audience, the children were now attempting to sing “Away in a Manger.” Necie mouthed the words exaggeratedly as she sang along with them.
Then came Alise, the angel of the Lord, Bernard’s five-year-old daughter. She was carrying a stick with a tinfoil star atop it. The only one with lines in the pageant, she played it to the hilt. She came skipping in, stopped, looked straight out into the audience, and yelled: “Unto yall a child is born!”
At this point, George accepted a drink from Chick, shaking his head the whole time.
“Just be thankful Louisiana is a far piece from the Vatican,” Chick whispered.
“Amen,” George said, and took a small sip.
Shifting into the intro for “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing,” Necie could be seen to heave a sigh as the children began (at Jeff ’s insistence) to whistle, rather than sing, the carol. Jeff took out his fangs and began to whistle loudly. Of course half the kids couldn’t really whistle, so there were a lot of air-blowing sounds. Big Shep, Shep, and Baylor—all expert whistlers—helped out, along with Chick and Bernard. And there could be heard from the doorway to the backstage area some pretty fancy whistling from Francis, who was working hard to keep this pageant a
float. Kane was the only mother in the audience who could whistle worth a damn, and so she did.
Stumbling over each other, the Three Wise Men entered, mischief in their eyes. Kurt and his two pals, Turner and Jack, wore brightly colored recut caftans that the Ya-Yas had last donned in the 1960s, and crowns made of glittered-up Quaker Oats boxes cut jagged at the top and covered with leftover caftan fabric. They presented one wild trio. The one distinct Louisiana touch was the duck calls they all wore on strings around their necks.
Bearing gifts for the Baby Jesus, they were followed by Vivi, Teensy, and Caro, each of whom wore tiaras. And more.
As head Queen of the Three Wise Women, Vivi had modeled herself entirely on Liz Taylor in Cleopatra. Complete with low-cut white gown, black wig, tons of black eyeliner, arms loaded with jewelry, and of course, wearing the violet contact lenses, Vivi had outdone herself. She had to hold hands with Teensy because without her trifocal eyeglasses, she was having a little trouble finding her way around. And she was clearly irritated. She’d be damned if people thought she’d been drinking too much. She’d only had one mimosa during the so-called run-through, and two tiny glasses of champagne.
It took folks a moment to realize that it was indeed Teensy with whom Vivi was holding hands. Topped with a long blond wig done up in a high ponytail, Teensy’s tiny form was clad in a sequined bra and a pair of harem pants, with bells attached to her ankles.
“I should have known,” George muttered. “I should have known.”
“Mother!” Jacques howled and then clasped his hands over his mouth while his whole body shook with laughter.
Blaine and Richard let out wolf whistles, to which Teensy responded with a little shimmy.
“She always did love I Dream of Jeannie,” Chick whispered loudly. “Isn’t she something else?”