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| Image source: https://www.modernpest.com/blog/squirrels-scourge-holiday-lights/ |
“Carol!” cried Ricky. “Carol, Carol, Carol! Christmas Carol!”
Carol nodded absently, her eyes barely leaving the television
in the corner.
“Carol. A Caramel Cappuccino and a Classic Coffee,” said
Ricky.
Carol hardly looked at Ricky and didn’t notice Bill, until
she handed him his coffee. The golden highlights in Bill’s tousled hair glinted
in a beam of sunshine. He wore his work boots with an air of manliness that nearly
made her drop the coffee cup. Besides, she liked a man who ordered Classic
Coffee. It spoke of strength and simple living.
Carol met Bill’s eye and offered him a mug filled with candy.
“Care for a complimentary candy cane?”
“Categorically, Carol,” answered Ricky, stepping in front of
Bill and reaching for the candy. He shrugged when Carol pulled the mug away. “Conversely,
candy canes clash with caramel cappuccinos. Consuming cranberry croissants could
counteract the conflict. Complimentary to courteous customers?” His fingers
stretched toward pastries arranged on a glass plate.
“Can it, Ricky,” said Carol crossly. She moved the croissants
out of his reach and plunked his cappuccino down before him. Then she turned back
to the television, making a show of ignoring him.
“Cantankerous,” said Ricky, leading Bill toward a table by
the empty café’s back window. “Cantankerous with a capital ‘C.’”
Bill looked over his shoulder at the shop owner. She was
scribbling notes on a napkin while watching the television. “What was that all
about?”
Ricky laughed. “Funny, right? I don’t even like cappuccinos,
but I had to order something that started with the letter C. To tease her.”
Bill still looked confused. “She’s my sister, Bill. Didn’t you know that?”
Bill shook his thick mane of hair.
“Where have you been, Billy boy? Everyone is supposed to know
everything about each other in a town as small as Morris Mill, though I guess
you are technically from a few towns north of here.” He sipped his cappuccino and
made a face. “Yuck. Too bad ‘latte’ doesn’t start with C. But about Carol: I’ll
introduce you in January. She’s too busy and distracted in December.”
Bill looked around the café. “Seems pretty quiet to me.”
“Not busy with work, Bill. She’s busy with her shows. Carol
spends the entire month of December watching Hallmark holiday movies. The ones
where a jaded professional from the city ends up in a picturesque village where
the kind-hearted yet eccentric locals remind her what is important in life,
while—of course—she meets a ruggedly handsome bachelor she initially hates but who
eventually wins her over, resulting in jubilant Christmas romance.”
“So all Carol does is watch TV in December?”
“Yes, except this year she’s also living a Hallmark holiday movie.”
“Impossible,” said Bill. “No one would make a movie about the
tedious lives of people in an insignificant town in central New Jersey—a town only known for traffic and squirrels.”
He pointed at two squirrels digging in a pot of ivy outside the window. “There’s
nothing romantic about squirrels.”
“Since when do you have something against squirrels?” asked Ricky.
“Since a few months ago when I rear-ended an out-of-towner who
braked in the middle of Washington Street for a squirrel. Bloody pests.”
Ricky snorted into his cappuccino. “New Yorker, I assume?
They’re overrunning this area worse than squirrels. But getting back to Carol, I
didn’t mean she’s the holiday heroine. She’s the quirky local who befriends the
heroine. See, she got a new neighbor in September who—according to Carol—fits the
criteria for a starring role. Carol listens to her problems over coffee and
then dispenses sage advice straight from all the movies she’s watched: follow
your heart, forgive, be generous, love conquers all. That sort of thing.
According to Carol’s calculations, the plot is right on schedule. Her
neighbor’s situation should reach its adorably chaotic climax on December 23,
exactly a week from today.”
“Why does the day matter?” asked Bill sullenly. He was still
stewing over the squirrel incident.
“Because it means the satisfying resolution will fall
squarely on Christmas Eve. That night, they should find themselves sharing a lamp-lit
park bench or a snowy sleigh ride. They’ll forgive one another. As they kiss, their
silhouettes will form a heart shape. Then all that’s left to do is roll those
credits.”
Ricky sat back and gave his friend an appraising look. “I
suspect you don’t want the details. You’re more into the commercialism than the
sentimentality that culture uses to crowd out any thoughts of the Incarnation
of Christ.”
Bill shrugged. “You might as well tell me. I’m stuck here for
the next half hour. I bought something online, and the seller’s delivering it
here.”
Ricky lifted his cappuccino in a toast. “I salute you with my
holiday-revenue-generating beverage. Because you never disappoint.” He took a
sip before continuing. “Here’s the plot. A city professional quits her glamorous
but soul-sucking real estate developer job in Manhattan to buy a quaint,
historic house in Morris Mill and work as a humble bank teller.”
“Bank teller?” said Bill. “Seriously?”
“Apparently they still exist. Anyway, heroine meets eligible bachelor
soon after moving next door to Carol. Some sort of accident, followed by a nasty
quarrel. The guy’s a jerk—a handsome jerk—and she tells him she hopes he rots
in Hades. They don’t say ‘hell’ on the Hallmark channel. For the next few
months, she’s frosty to him in the grocery store, library, gym, church, et
cetera. Her frostiness is wasted though. He doesn’t seem to notice.”
Bill nodded. “Jerks never do. Can they say ‘jerk’ in a
Hallmark movie?”
“I’ll ask Carol. No, you ask Carol, since I only talk to
Carol in C words when I’m consuming coffee in her café. Cunning, correct?”
Bill didn’t respond, as was his usual way of dealing with his
friend’s odd humor.
“Never mind.” Ricky waved a hand, as if swatting the thought
away. “Next, picture an autumn scene with colorful leaves fluttering past the
bank windows, when who should walk in wearing his seasonal plaid flannel shirt but
Mr. Jerk. He asks for a loan to start a pest-control business specializing in
squirrel removal.”
Bill plopped down his coffee cup. “Hey! That guy’s a real
jerk if he thinks he can… Wait a second.” Bill scratched his stubbly chin in
thought.
“What’s wrong, Bill? I thought you didn’t like squirrels.”
“I don’t. I hate them. But— Go on.”
“Our appalled heroine confronts him. She reminds him of their
previous exchange. Then she speaks for the squirrels, describing them as innocent
animals in desperate need of protection from humans messing up their habitat. His
heart isn’t softened. Worse yet, her boss—the bank owner, who looks a lot like
Scrooge but, of course, is due to have a redemptive moment in the second-to-last
scene—says that a squirrel ‘management’ business is just what Morris Mill needs.
He takes the sneering Mr. Jerk into his office, and our poor heroine is forced
to watch through the plate-glass window as they seal the deal with a hearty
handshake. She vows to do everything she can to block the business.”
Ricky stopped to take a long swig of his cappuccino.
“Go on,” said Bill, leaning forward. “What‘s her plan?”
“She goes before the town board with an impassioned plea on
behalf of squirrels everywhere. Half the board is sympathetic; the other half
is tired of attic pests. The town is divided, friend against friend, neighbor
against neighbor. She starts a heartfelt but morally problematic Squirrel Lives
Matter campaign and even convinces Carol—who would normally spend evenings in
her bathrobe watching television—to go door to door for the cause.”
Bill frowned. “Squirrel Lives… Of all the…” He shook his head.
Ricky continued. “Cut to a few weeks ago. Now the streets of Morris
Mill are the perfect backdrop for a holiday movie.” Ricky gestured out the front
windows of the café, where lamp posts were wrapped in velvety red ribbons and
evergreen boughs poked from the planters lining Washington Street.
“Our heroine is busy raising money for her cause by selling homemade
gifts online: toys, jewelry, fine china, all featuring squirrels. Carol speculates
that the plot resolution will involve the business being so successful that Mr.
Jerk will see the commercial value of squirrels, then have his heart touched by
their endearing cuteness, and then by our heroine’s endearing cuteness. Carol is
currently 90% sure they’ll end by decorating the tree in the center of town with
hand-painted squirrel ornaments. Only $9.99 each at www.luvmysquirrelfriends.com.”
Bill burst out with, “Of all the stupidest, craziest—“
He was interrupted by the tinkle of the sleigh bells on the
café door. A woman entered, her slim figure wrapped in a beautifully tailored
green coat. Red curls tumbled from her white woolen cap.
“Oh,” said Ricky.
The newcomer reached over the counter to hug Carol and
exchange animated greetings. Then she looked around and walked toward Ricky and
Bill. She reached into her bag and held up a plush toy squirrel wearing a
candy-cane-striped scarf.
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| Image source: https://www.christmascentral.com |
“Bill? Is one of you Bill Mead?” she asked, looking from one
to the other.
“You!” gasped Bill.
“You!” gasped the woman. She held the squirrel against her chest,
shielding its button eyes from the sight of Bill.
He pointed at it. “That’s false advertising. I ordered a
stuffed squirrel. Taxidermy, not a toy. I need it for target practice. For my
squirrel hunting business.”
“You disgusting monster. As if I would sell the dead bodies
of dead animals. As if I would sell anything to you, you jerk.”
“Stop! Wait!” yelled Carol. She hurdled the counter and ran toward
them with her apron flapping.
Carol positioned herself between Bill and the woman in the
green coat. “If he is who I think he is, Angela, you two need to step away from
each other. It’s too early to resolve your differences and fall in love.”
“Ha!” scoffed Bill. “As if I could fall in love with someone
passionate about squirrels.”
“Ha!” countered Angela. “As if I could fall in love with
someone passionate about killing
squirrels.”
Carol grabbed her brother’s sleeve. “Ricky. Do something.”
“Well,” said Ricky, sitting up a little straighter. “I could
fall in love with someone passionate about squirrels.”
Angela glowered at him.
“More importantly,” Ricky added hastily, “I was just thinking
that, if I were Santa Claus, I’d give every child in Morris Mill a squirrel toy
just like the one you’re holding. It would remind children of their love for
our fuzzy friends.”
Angela stopped glowering. She turned the plush squirrel so it
peeked at Ricky rather coyly.
He pointed. “How many of those little darlings do you have?
I’ll buy them all and distribute them today.”
“You would do that? Why, you kind, generous…” Angela’s voice was
choked with emotion. “Please. Can we deliver them together? Early Christmas
presents. A squirrel for every child in Morris Mill.”
Ricky gently took the squirrel toy from her arms. He cradled
it like a baby and made little chattering sounds at it.
As they left, soft snow began to fall outside the café windows.
Inside, a violin rendition White
Christmas swelled with feeling on the television.
Carol collapsed into Ricky’s chair and buried her head in her
arms. “My own brother ruined Christmas.”
“No,” said Bill. “Squirrels ruined Christmas. They always do,
coming down chimneys to leave gnaw marks on the mantle and stash sunflower seed
in your stockings—seeds stolen from your very own birdfeeder.”
“I don’t care about squirrels,” stormed Carol. “Right now I
hate squirrels.”
“You do? You really, truly hate squirrels?” Bill sat down
beside her. “Carol, would you like to share my coffee with me and talk about
your feelings?”
Carol wiped her tear-stained cheeks and looked into Bill’s
eyes. “You mean like we’re on a date?” She reached into her handbag for a
tissue and her planner. “In that case, I hope you’re free for the next seven
days. It’s going to be tight hitting our romantic conclusion on December 24.”
~S. B. Steen, 2019
*Ricky Hill and Bill Mead are wordplay on two towns in central New Jersey: Rocky Hill and Belle Mead
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