8. Hendrix
HENDRIX
My first thought is that I'm back at the arena, but no - I'm sprawled across my childhood bed at the Big House, tangled in sheets that smell like mom's lavender detergent.
"What the..." I roll out of bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. My family home is located just outside of Brookking Sound's busier neighborhoods. We have a sprawling property on the lake providing a quiet bit of privacy.
I slip into my old bathrobe—the one my mom has been trying to get me to throw away for years—and shuffle downstairs toward the front door.
The sound of voices and metal clanking grows louder. I throw open the door, ready to chase away whatever's disrupting my peaceful morning—and freeze.
My front lawn looks like it's been invaded by an army.
A convoy of white trucks fills our circular driveway, and people in black puffy jackets are unloading equipment.
Giant lights on poles. Weird umbrella things. Cables snake across the lawn.
"Hey! You can't park there!" I yell, my voice still rough from sleep. A guy with a headset and clipboard rushes past me like I'm invisible.
"Someone get the bounce board set up by the lake!" he shouts to nobody in particular.
I rub my eyes, wondering if I'm still dreaming. Another guy, wearing all black, wheels what looks like a small crane past my bushes.
"Excuse me?" I wave my arms, trying to get anyone's attention. "This is private property! And I haven't had coffee yet!"
A man carrying what appears to be a giant fuzzy microphone on a stick pauses to look at me. "No talent allowed here. Wardrobe is that way."
He points to one of the trailers by the lake.
"Wardrobe? What wardrobe? I just woke up!”
But he's already gone, leaving me standing in my doorway like an idiot in my robe, watching strangers take over my front yard.
“Does someone want to tell me what's going on?" I hop from foot to foot on the freezing porch, clutching my robe tighter as a gust of wind threatens to give all these people a show they didn't sign up for. The wooden boards feel like ice under my bare feet.
A guy with a walkie-talkie rushes past. "We need more garland on the east side!"
"East side of what?" I chase after him until he turns the corner of my wrap around porch, but don’t get very far in my state of undress. "Hey! Garland guy!"
I hear a voice behind me saying, “These have got to go.” And turn around to find two guys moving my mom’s marble lion statues.
“Hey! You can’t do that.” I cry, but I’m practically bulldozed by two women carrying boxes of ornaments. They dash through my front door like they own the place. I follow them inside, teeth chattering.
"Listen, I think you have the wrong house…”
A guy in a beanie barrels past with an armload of wreaths. "Watch it, we're on a schedule here!"
"It's my house!" I yelp, dodging a rolling cart loaded with equipment. "I live here! Sort of."
"Perfect! You can show us where to set up the gingerbread village." A woman thrusts a box of tiny houses into my arms. Her walkie-talkie beeps and a voice says something too muffled for my pre-caffeinated brain to comprehend, and she takes off in the other direction.
"I don't want a… wait, come back!"
I spot a woman with a severe bob and an even more severe expression barking orders into a headset while gesturing with her clipboard. She's got an air of authority that says she's in charge of this invasion.
"Excuse me?—"
"You!" She points her pen at me without looking up. "Extras are in the tent behind the house."
"I'm not…”
"Chop chop!" She makes a shooing motion with her clipboard.
"Listen, I demand to know what's going on here!" I say.
She holds up one perfectly manicured finger, continuing her conversation. "No, we need the snow machine by noon. Yes, all six of them." She clicks off her headset and gives me an impatient look. "Who are you?"
"Who am I? I live here! This is my family house!"
She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrows as she takes in my bedhead and ratty bathrobe. She flips through her stack of papers, red nail scanning down the page. "This is the Ellis estate... are you… Rainer Ellis?"
"No, I'm his son, Hendrix. There must be some mistake?—"
"KEVIN!" she yells into her headset, making me jump. "What do you mean the reindeer are stuck in customs? Well call the handler back tell him to take care of it or he loses his job." She turns back to me. "Listen, Mister Ellis…”
“Hendrix.”
“Right. Hendrix. We have all the permits and insurance documentation so you don’t need to worry about a thing."
"Insurance for what exactly?"
She rolls her eyes. “The movie.”
“What movie?”
She huffs."Cookie Cutter Christmas.”
"Cookie what now?"
“Look. According to our paperwork, we have full access to the property for the next eight weeks. I don’t know what else to tell you."
"Who approved this? I didn't approve this!" My protests are drowned out by someone yelling abouthaving enough wattage.
“Our contact person is..." She squints at the page. "Marigold Bell."
"Aunt Goldie?" I sputter. "She doesn't even live here!"
Grannie Bell and Aunt Goldie didn't think to mention this tiny detail when I told them I was coming to stay?
"The contract was signed by a Mr. Rainer Ellis." She eyes my bare feet with disdain. "We weren't expecting anyone to be... in residence."
"My dad signed..." I trail off, remembering Dad mentioning something about 'putting the house to good use' during our last phone call. But Dad has always been vague with details and not the best communicator.
"They rented out the house without telling me? My family knows that I'd be staying here for the holidays."
"Oh." She blinks at me like I'm an inconvenient prop that's wandered into her shot. "Well, that's unfortunate. We start filming in three hours."
I stare at her, still holding the box of miniature houses. "Where exactly am I supposed to go?"
"That's not really my department." She touches her headset and screams, "What is it NOW, Kevin?"
"Wait, hold on…” I try to catch her arm but she's already walking away, speaking rapidly into her headset.
A half-hour later, I’m at Grannie's house on Peppertree Lane, shoveling her famous blueberry pancakes into my mouth.
The smell of bacon and coffee fills the warm kitchen, and despite my annoyance at being kicked out of my own house, I can't help but feel comforted.
The whole kitchen smells like heaven—maple syrup, coffee, scrambled eggs, and fresh biscuits.
Somehow, they had a full breakfast spread waiting when I showed up on their doorstep.
"So neither of you thought to mention that the house was being turned into a movie set?" I wave a piece of bacon accusingly at Grannie and Aunt Goldie.
"Oh sweetie, we didn't want to worry you." Grannie slides another stack of pancakes onto my plate. "Have some more, you're looking thin."
"I'm not thin, I'm professional athlete lean." I dump syrup over the pancakes anyway. "And that's not the point. I was planning to stay there!"
Aunt Goldie perches on the counter, stirring her coffee. "It's such an exciting opportunity though! A real Hollywood production right here in Brookking Sound."
"They're making one of those holiday romance movies." Grannie clasps her hands together. “It’s called A Cookie Cutter Christmas .”
“Yes, I know.”
"It's a heartwarming holiday romance about a big city baker who finds love in a small town."
"But she's hiding a secret," Aunt Goldie cuts in dramatically. "She can't actually bake!"
"So the handsome local baker helps teach her, and they fall in love." Grannie sighs dreamily. "While saving the town's historic bakery from developers, of course."
I pause mid-chew. "That's... incredibly cliche."
"Oh, we read the script." Aunt Goldie waves her hand. "Your father sent it over when they approached him about using the house."
"And nobody thought to tell me?"
"Well, you were busy with your hockey playing, Heinrich dear." Grannie refills my coffee. "We didn't want to distract you. More bacon?"
“It’s Hendrix now,” I grumble. “And they’re taking over the whole house. I couldn’t even get to the kitchen.”
I haven’t gone by Heinrich since middle school when some kid teased me. Liam punched him on the playground, of course. After that, I made sure all the teachers changed my name on the roll sheets.
"Heinrich is your given name, and that’s what we’ll call you.” Grannie slides a fresh muffin onto my already full plate. "Anyway, you'll be much more comfortable here. That big old house gets so drafty in winter."
"Plus," Aunt Goldie adds, "we need your height to hang the new light display. The ladder just isn't cutting it anymore."
"Ah, there it is." I laugh. "The real reason you want me here."
"The guest room is all made up," Grannie says, pouring me a glass of orange juice. "And you know how lonely we get in this house, just us two old ladies."
"You're about as lonely as Times Square on New Year's Eve." But I'm already caving.
"Speaking of decorations..." Grannie's eyes twinkle. "Did you notice how bare Colette McAllister's house looks?"
"Colette?”
"Such a lovely girl. She lives just five houses down now, you know."
I choke on my coffee. “Colette lives here? On Peppertree Lane?"
Aunt Goldie points out the window with a view of the entire cul-de-sac. "That pretty blue house with the bare porch. But her house is the only one not decorated yet."
"And as head of the neighborhood Christmas committee," Grannie adds, "I simply can't allow that."
"Wait." I set down my fork. "Colette McAllister lives five houses away?"
"Do keep up, dear." Grannie starts gathering plates. "We were thinking, since you're so tall and strong..."
"No." I shake my head. "No way."
“All houses must be decorated by December 1st,” Aunt Goldie says. “Which was last week!”
"Hers is the only house without decorations," Grannie adds with a disapproving cluck. "It's against the guidelines."
"Which you wrote," I mutter into my mug.
"That sweet girl works so hard at the school," Grannie continues, ignoring me. "She probably hasn't had time to decorate properly."
"Or maybe she doesn't want to participate in your Christmas light war," I say.
"Nonsense. Everyone wants to participate." Grannie bustles to the door adjacent to the kitchen leading into the garage. "Now, I have some extra lights in here somewhere..."
"I'm sure Colette is perfectly capable of decorating her own house."
"But you're so tall!" Aunt Goldie protests. "And we already bought all the supplies."
"You what?"
"Just a few things." Grannie emerges dragging a massive box. "Some lights, garland, maybe a few inflatable snowmen..."
"A few?" I peer into the box. "This looks like you robbed Santa's workshop."
"We're on the committee," Aunt Goldie says, as if that explains everything. "We have standards to maintain."
"And responsibilities," Grannie adds firmly.
"I'm not ambushing Colette's house with surprise decorations."
"Well, we can't let her house be the only dark spot on the street." Grannie's voice takes on that tone that means resistance is futile. "It would throw off the whole aesthetic."
"And since you're staying here anyway..." Aunt Goldie trails off meaningfully.
"Think of it as a peace offering." Grannie pats my arm. "After that little incident at the school gym. Heinrich.”
I groan. "How do you even know about that?"
"Small town, dear." She starts loading my arms with strings of lights. "Now, we'll need to do this while she's at work..."