Chapter 37 #3
I turned to the mirror. I was not naked at all. I don’t like to think of myself as overly prudish, but I did not need my boobs on the loose, and I did not need my bottom showing. I was wearing fishnets, but still. I sighed with relief. “Thank you, Logan.”
He bowed. “Always at your service, m’lady.”
I took a breath and smiled at him. His eyes were gentle and patient. Eyes that I’d been looking into since I was in kindergarten. I heard my mother introducing each act, adding her saucy, spicy jokes, the laughter and clapping loud.
Everyone was having a marvelous Christmassy time.
“Shall we go and dance?” he asked, offering me his arm. “We’re up next. Don’t break a leg.”
We danced our way out to a swinging, waltz-y Christmas song.
We held hands in the middle of the stage, and when we heard the first notes, we bravely began our dance. Logan threw his red “boa constrictor” into the audience to get their attention. We shimmied and shook, wiggled and wriggled, and tossed his black hat back and forth.
We strutted and grooved down the catwalk, our feet flying, to applause and laughter.
He flipped me over his back, I scooted through his legs, he ducked under my raised leg, and we danced again, Logan twirling me, then I twirled him.
Like awkward ballet dancers. At the end, where the mistletoe hung, we stopped and kissed in front of my mom, and there was a huge, “WOO HOO!” from everyone, which was fine with us.
I jauntily lifted my knee-high red shiny boot up behind me. I heard my mother laugh.
After our dance, I got back into my regular outfit—dark blue jeans and a Christmas sweater with three singing reindeer. I wore the knee-high red shiny boots, though, and continued organizing who was up next…and next…and next.
The “burlesque” costumes were colorful and creative, but some went far beyond burlesque and into drag, the 1920s, the Victorian era, hippie chic, and there was a definite Alice in Wonderland feel with a few of them.
There was confusion about what burlesque meant, or people decided to ignore that part or didn’t read my detailed emails. At least we did not see any T and A.
One woman had decided that burlesque meant that she should have a faux Christmas tree attached to her back.
She used to play for the Oregon Symphony.
Wearing a red silk dress, she played Christmas songs at an ultrahigh speed on her violin.
She asked everyone to sing and “try to keep up.” We couldn’t.
We tried. She brought the house down with laughter.
Another woman wore a four-foot hat filled with red and green flowers and birds. She used to sing opera professionally. Wow. A man in an emerald-green dress fit for Queen Elizabeth wore a gold crown and did a comedy routine about the people of Kalulell. It was a roast. He was dead-on with the humor.
An eighty-year-old man wore a tuxedo jacket and a gigantic, blow-up dragon tail. With his grandson, who was eight, also in a tuxedo and dragon’s tail, they played guitars and sang a song about Christmas love that they’d written themselves. It was very touching.
Benny and Justin Rhodes’ “major secret” was that they were now “Rudolph magicians.” They had been working all year on their magic show.
They performed one trick after another, then a huge smoke plume went off, and a friend dressed up like Rudolph—poof—appeared out of nowhere, red nose flashing. The kids screamed with excitement.
People played their acoustic guitars, electric guitars, and flutes alone and in groups.
We had two rock bands. Brad and Dr. Brenda sang a clever song about colonoscopies and mammograms and checkups, and it had everyone bent over double, laughing.
We had two comedians. Mrs. Kerns’ dance received a standing ovation.
It was stunning and, somehow, quite emotional.
I was, as always, stunned at the talent among the people of Kalulell. Almost everyone worked “normal” jobs, except for the surgeons who regularly cut people open and sewed them back up again.
At the end, my mom, those white feathered wings outstretched, invited all the performers back up onstage. A standing ovation went on for a long time.
My mother reminded everyone that the red buckets on their tables were for donations for the “sweet kids of Kalulell. We take cash and checks! Thanks again to Bellini for organizing and Logan and his team for letting us be here and building us a stage and catwalk. Merry Christmas, everyone! Merry Christmas!”
Jer Stonigan, eighty-eight years old, and his ninety-year-old wife snuck in via the fire escape stairs. They had a little help. They bid the highest for Grenadine Scotch Wild’s painting/collage. Their bid was so high it would provide many, many gifts for the kids of Kalulell.
The fireworks started later, lighting up our Christmas sky.
The day after the burlesque show, Logan, Jaxi and Helena, Collins, Beck, Colt, and I shopped for the kids’ presents and clothes.
We had raised a lot of money from generous people—including all of us.
We piled all the gifts at Logan’s office, and on Monday his whole team, plus twenty of my cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends, helped to wrap, label, and distribute them to the families in the area who needed a little help this year.
Everyone wore Santa hats. We also gave away the coats, scarves, hats, and mittens we’d collected at the bar.
“Whew,” I said to Logan at his place later that night after a twelve-hour day. We were lying in his bathtub—a huge one, fit for two, which Logan said he bought because one time I had said that I would love a “humongous bathtub.”
“I was in a hopeful mood when I bought it,” he said.
“I’m hopeful we can make love in here again,” I said. “How about tomorrow?”
“Gee whiz, I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule. I could be busy. I’ll think about it. I’ll try to fit you in. Thank you for the invitation, though, Bellini.”
“You’re welcome.” I leaned against his chest, tilted my head up, and got a kiss. “Let me know when you’re done thinking about it.”
The lights were off, the candles lit, and it was an ooh-la-la setting for two exhausted people.
“I’m wiped out,” Logan said. “I can’t imagine how Santa feels after a day like this.”
“Yes, but he’s magic, and he has elves to help with the wrapping and a team of reindeer.”
“That’s true. You think of everything.”
“Plus, be honest. Mrs. Claus probably does all the organizing, works with the elves, gets the gift lists going, figures out who is naughty and nice, feeds the reindeer, fixes the sled. Her jobs are endless.”
“I think that’s a given. But give Santa some credit. He has to fly all over the world and make sure that the presents get to the right homes.”
“That does involve a lot of strategy and quick thinking.” I turned and went chest to chest with Logan. We had added cinnamon bubble bath and were quite slippery together.
“I love you, Bellini.”
“I love you, too, Logan. You are my favorite Santa.”
“And you are my favorite Mrs. Claus.”
I rubbed more cinnamon bubble bath on his chest. He got all slinky and smelled delicious.
Christmas Eve at my mother’s house was packed with our relatives.
It was another potluck. Logan wanted to make ribs, so he did.
They were a hit, along with my mother’s turkey.
We ate, sang Christmas carols, and then had our annual O’Donnell Family Slippers Giveaway.
Everyone had received the name of a family member at Thanksgiving and bought a funny pair of slippers for that person.
We unwrapped them one at a time and wore the slippers all night.
I drew Helena’s name and bought her giraffe slippers. The giraffe heads went up to her knees. Her favorite animal is the giraffe. I received pink, frilly, flowery slippers from Uncle Tex. “Because you’re a sweet little thing, honey.”
We squeezed Logan in because we hadn’t been together at Thanksgiving. He bought slippers for my cousin Melissa’s baby, Jose, who arrived earlier than expected. Jose “bought” Logan black bear slippers.
Christmas was back to being…festive. Warm. Friendly. Hopeful.
Before we went to Logan’s, I grabbed a box from under my bed.
Christmas morning was white, blue, and clear, snow on the ground and up in the mountains.
“Too early to get up,” I groaned to Logan, my arms around him in bed.
“Way too early.” He dropped a kiss on my forehead. “It would be best if we go back to sleep.”
“Exactly.”
And that’s what we did. Until I had to kiss him again…
When we finally woke up a second time, we took a shower together and used shampoo to build fancy, twirly, bubbly hairdos on each other, because we do stuff like that. We stepped out of the shower to stare in the mirror to see our creations which soon had us bent over laughing.
Next, we made breakfast. We listened to rock music while cooking and danced with our spatulas and wooden spoons. He made the buttermilk pancakes; I made the eggs. Later, in front of the Christmas tree, I handed him the old cardboard box. He knew what was in it.
“Give me a second, baby.” He went to his bedroom and came right back out with his own cardboard box.
We had both saved all the cards and ornaments we’d given each other over the years.
After we looked through all of them, starting in kindergarten, laughing, indulging our sweet memories, we made new Christmas cards for each other.
Logan had colored pencils. I drew me sitting on top of Logan’s shoulders.
I put a red heart on his chest and mine, my red hair flowing in the wind, the mountains behind us.
He drew himself holding me in his black suit, the red feather in his hat, my arms linked around his neck, wearing my red boots and gold dress.
We laughed at our drawings.
I gave him an ornament. It was two reindeer kissing each other.
He gave me an ornament. It was Mr. and Mrs. Claus holding hands.
We gave each other a few other Christmas presents, including exchanging books for our book club, but the cards and the ornaments were the best.
Perfect gifts. Perfect Christmas morning. Perfect Logan.
Later, we went to my mom’s house for dinner. She had a ton of leftovers from the night before. She’d been at the house of one of The Sisters for two hours earlier in the day. I had declined that invitation in favor of a day of quiet delight with Logan.
We played Scrabble. She beat both of us. Logan and I spent the night in my pink bedroom upstairs.
“I love you, Bellini.”
Our heads shared the same pillow. “I love you, too, Logan.” I was grateful to be with him, so deeply at peace. I reached for his hand under a pile of blankets, and we entwined our fingers, the stars a blanket of white lights.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” he said. “I don’t think I could take it. My heart might give out and jump right out of my chest.”
“Me, too. And we both need beating hearts.”
“Yes. For when we walk down the aisle together on our wedding day.”
“Wow. That was fast.” I smiled at him through the darkness.
“It’s not fast at all. In second grade, I told the whole class we would be getting married. They fought over who would be the flower girl. I always assumed we would be married, Bellini. I would have married you right out of high school.”
“I wish we had.” He held me closer and dropped a kiss on my lips. He was warm and snuggly. Then he reached over the side of the bed, found his jeans on the floor, and pulled out a ring box. He slipped out of bed and got down on one knee as I sat my naked self up.
“Bellini Mae O’Donnell, would you please make me the happiest man in Montana and marry me?”
I didn’t need to see that ring when he opened the box. I reached for him and planted a big smackeroo on his lips. “Yes. A thousand times yes. I love you so much, Logan. I have always, always loved you.”
“And I, you. I always have and I always will.”
He put the ring on my finger. It slipped right on. It was sparkly and glittery, even in the dusky night. Truly, it’s the prettiest ring I’ve ever seen.
“Thank you, Logan.” I cupped his face with my hands. He knew I wasn’t only thanking him for the ring. I was thanking him for himself. For our love. For the life we’d have together.
“Thank you, Bellini.” His face was serious, like mine.
“Merry Christmas, Logan.”
“Merry Christmas, baby.”
We decided to seal our serious deal in a carnal way.
Again.