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Or mouth. Do fish have lips?
Liz drags me to a recliner right next to Aria, whose shock at seeing me has been rearranged to careful indifference.
“Here’s your spot.” She points to a brown suede recliner with a patchwork quilt in Christmas colors thrown over the arm. There’s a stand perched off to the side where I’m assuming I can put my laptop, if I’d known to bring it.
This is all very weird. I don’t know what Weatherby signed me up for.
When he told me I had to help with the Christmas Festival, I was thinking more along the lines of showing up to a couple of meetings, sitting in the back, signing up on a clipboard to help usher parking or cashier a few of the days, and bada bing bada boom, Weatherby will be happy, and I’ll be good to go. One step closer to partner.
This? There is no hiding in the back.
Darrel Taylor doesn’t move from his perch. He’s reclined all the way, his forearms on the arm rests, his walrus mustache adding a venerable air, like he’s the king of this unexpected castle.
“Welcome everyone. The meeting will now begin. We wish to thank Liz for arranging things with our newest committee members.” He thrusts out a hand in our direction. “Will you please introduce yourselves?”
I glance at Aria, my mouth hanging open. Before I can gather my thoughts, she pipes up.
“Hi,” she gives a little wave and a laugh, her back stiff. She hasn’t reclined like everyone else has. “I’m Aria Robinson. I’ve lived here in New Hedge all my life and I recognize a lot of you here. I have to say, it was my childhood dream to work behind the scenes for the festival and I can’t believe I’m here right now in this secret, special society.”
The crowd laughs.
“I didn’t know this was your secret dream,” I whisper to her when it seems like she’s done.
“You learn something new every day,” she whispers back. “And this is Theo Carter,” she tells the committee. “I have no idea what he’s doing here, but—” She offers a stilted laugh.
“Neither do I,” I say, hoping the burn in my cheeks subsides quickly. “I’m also happy to be here. I’m Theodore Vincent Carter, Esquire. I work with Weatherby and Knowles and just . . .” What more do I say? “. . . happy to contribute anyway I can.”
I feel like I’m one of those professional athletes that are interviewed on television.Just happy to be here, Bob. Go team!
Aria mouths “Vincent?” She grins. “I had no idea.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I whisper with a smile.
I turn back to Darrel Taylor, who nods.
“Thanks,” Darrel says. “We appreciate you coming at the last minute. When things like this happen, we can only hope the controversy dies down quickly and doesn’t detract from the important work we’re doing.” He sobers. “It’s been a rough week. But we’re glad you’re here to help us dodge a very unfortunate bullet.”
Unfortunate bullet? I glance at Aria, but she doesn’t seem to understand either.
“Can you elaborate on the controversy?” I ask.
An itchiness settles over the room.
Marjorie Clements sinks into her own recliner near Darrel’s. “Let’s give you a little history lesson first. I’m finding your generation has little knowledge of what goes on to create the festival every year. They come to the festival and enjoy the booths as if they’d just appeared out of thin air. I think they think it’s as magical as Santa Claus.” She gestures in the air. “Pun intended.”
Marjorie waits for the polite chuckles to subside. “This is a year-long project,” she continues. “Most of us treat this like a part-time job. The festival has been running for thirty years. It’s the most comprehensive, largest, most well-attended festival of its kind in the Intermountain West. When you begin to understand the amount of work involved, you understand why we’ve procured comfortable chairs for us over the years from Good Will. We deserve it.”
A round of “hear, hear” ensues.
“Why don’t we all go around the room and introduce ourselves,” Darrel adds. “That way Theo and Aria can get to know everyone.”
They do, and I think I recognize over half of the people. I’ve even represented a couple of them in minor family law cases.
“Where are Carl and Amanda?” Aria asks after everyone’s been introduced.
Oh yeah. Carl and Amanda. The broadcast journalists who come in every year as the co-hosts of the festival. They’re smooth and slick, doing press releases, hosting events, involving themselves in a lot of the PR. Their fame as local newscasters supposedly adds a nice touch. To me, I think the appeal is just that they’re staples after this long.
“Well.” Liz gives a bit of fake laughter. The air in the room shifts to an awkward unease. She turns to Aria and me. “Look guys. This is a sensitive subject and one that we really wish we didn’t have to address.” Her drying orange lipstick accentuates the cracks in her lips. “But we do. Especially because of what we’re asking you to do.” She pauses, as if gearing up to deliver a bomb. “Carl and Amanda are no longer the co-hosts of the festival.”
