Love in a Nutshell

SIX

On Friday night, Matt walked into Woodsmen’s Hall with a parent at each elbow. The crowded room was filled with laughter and the blended smells of three dozen casseroles that probably all included crispy fried onions. This was an old-school Keene’s Harbor food-and-gossip fest, right down to its location. Other than getting an occasional refresher coat of paint, the long and narrow single-story hall hadn’t changed in a hundred years.

Matt felt pretty okay with being there until he saw Deena Bowen over by the beer table. In her bright blue V-necked dress, Deena was as much a knockout as she had been on the one date they’d had together. One date had been more than enough for Matt but not for Deena, and a woman scorned is a woman to be feared. Matt turned his head before Deena could catch him looking. It was the same technique he used when faced with a black bear in the woods. Deena and that bear bore a lot in common, personality-wise.

“You’re dragging your feet, son,” Matt’s father said.

“Just soaking it all in.”

“Come along, Patrick,” his mother said. “I want to see what’s over in the silent auction.

“Harley Bagger has offered up a couple of lighters from his collection, and Enid Erikson was donating some of those fun toilet paper covers-you know, the ones with the dolls’ heads and frilly dresses?”

His parents headed to the back of the hall, Dad with less fervor than Mom. Matt stuck to the front. One of those blank-eyed dolls would be staring at him from the back of a toilet at his parents’ home soon enough. Mom would probably give him one for Christmas, too. Unfortunately, Chuck could sniff out chewy plastic items the way most of his breed could raccoons. The doll would be history.

Matt stopped and talked with Bart, his brewmaster and buddy, about the upcoming hockey season. They were defending league champs, and Bart had his eye on a prospect to be sure they stayed that way. Matt gave Bart a fist bump and took the slow route toward the three refreshment tables. The first held soda and mixers, followed by high-octane punch, and then beer. He stopped and chatted with as many folks as he could. He wanted to give Deena time to move on.

Clete Erikson, the town police chief and husband to toilet paper doll-maker Enid, was manning the brew table. Clete reminded Matt a Fustify”little of Chuck. Not that Clete was missing a limb. He just had the same droopy hound features.

“Hey, Chief,” Matt said.

Clete returned the greeting and slid a red plastic cup of beer Matt’s way. “Guess you’re wanting one of these.”

“Sure am.”

Matt took a sip and scanned the stream of new arrivals flowing into the hall. And then he saw her. Kate was a flash of scarlet sweater and spiky blond hair, so obvious among the less vivid colors surrounding her. The night was looking up.

“IT’S THE townie mother lode,” Kate said to Ella as they worked their way into Woodsmen’s Hall. The place was packed, which made it all the better to be with Ella. Kate’s friend was gorgeous. She was tall, with straight black hair that just swept her shoulders. She also possessed a figure that Kate envied but didn’t want to work to attain. Crowds just kind of parted for Ella.

“This is also the safest place on Earth,” Ella said.

Kate could see why. She’d already spotted a handful of police officers and most of the volunteer fire department, all of whom she recognized from her brief stint at Bagger’s.

As Ella and she wove through the throng toward Ella’s unstated destination, Kate said hello to the people she recognized. She was pleased to even get a few return greetings that didn’t come with that confused “Where do I know her from?” look in the eyes.

“Where are we heading?” Kate asked her friend over the noise of the music that had just started.

“Beer table for the first stop,” Ella said.

“I don’t suppose there’s a wine table?”

Ella shot her a dubious look. “You’re not serious, are you?”

She had been, but she’d never admit it.

Ella had a conspiratorial look in her eye. “I have a plan for you.”

“And beer is part of it?”

“If you don’t want a beer, just make sure you grab something to drink, because you’re going to need it.”

“That sounds marginally dangerous.”

“If it’s only marginally, we’re doing pretty good,” Ella said.

They rounded food tables packed with the kind of calories a sensible woman would avoid, but which Kate considered staples. She looked away from the temptation, but suddenly the evening’s danger factor rose. Matt stood at the beer table, and something way hotter than hunger for ham casserole rippled through Kate.

“Hi, Matt!” Ella called.

Matt very slowly turned his attention from Kate. This was a first, since usually when Ella called, guys hopped to.

“He’s into you,” Ella said to Kate in a low voice.

Kate shook off the moment. “Punch sounds good. Really good.” She moved on to the table directly to the left of Matt.

Ella lined up with Matt, got a cup of beer, and chatted a little with Clete Erikson.

Kate investigated the punch. Clearly, this was the grandma drink, complete with the obligatory island of orange sherbet slowly melting in a sea of bright pink liquid studded with chunks of melon and strawberry. Not her beverage of choice, but still about ten thousand spots ahead of beer. She ladled herself a big plastic cup, trying to avoid the fruit. If anyone was going to have the bad luck to create a scene with a public fruit-choking incident, Kate knew she’d be that person. To make up for the fruit, she added a little more punch, plus some of the orange stuff.

She glanced over and caught Matt watching her, a broad smile on his face.

“You sure you want to drink that?” he asked.

“Not really, but I’m going to give it a try, anyway.”

“Note the people lining up for the beer and note the continuing absence of people at your table. What does that tell you?”

“That Keene’s Harbor is a haven for beer snobs?”

He grinned. “Live and learn.”

She raised her cup of sludge in a sketchy toast. “That’s my general plan.”

Ella, who’d been watching, fought back a laugh. Kate glanced into her cup again. It wasn’t the prettiest stuff she’d ever seen, but it couldn’t be that bad.

“We need to get moving,” Ella said. “We’ll catch you later, Matt.”

With that, she snagged Kate by the wrist and began hauling her and her foaming punch back past the sirenlike lure of the casseroles.

“You still sing, right?” Ella asked.

The summer they were sixteen, they had nothing better to do than drive around town and sing along to the radio. Kate had a shiny new driver’s license and a less shiny hand-me-down car. And when they’d needed money for more gasoline, Ella had played the guitar and Kate had sung on the street corner until they had change for a few gallons or the police told them to close up shop.

“Not even in the shower. I keep the water temperature set too low to carry a tune,” Kate replied.

They passed through what was obviously a silent auction area. Kate halted K. Kure set t at a collection of old vinyl albums up for bid. Her parents had stuck their ancient stereo at The Nutshell. There was nothing Kate would like more than to mix a little retro Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin in with the Frank Sinatra and Barbra Streisand already in residence.

Ella nudged her along. “No time to window-shop. You’ve got music of your own to make.”

Kate noticed the small stage at the back of the long hall. About a half dozen people were in a line to the stage’s left, and Marcie Landon was onstage aligning a microphone stand behind a monitor of some sort. She seemed to be giving the arrangement the same OCD level of scrutiny she gave the shelves at her market.

As they came closer to the group, Kate started picking out the particulars. Junior Greinwold, with his trusty blue cooler at his feet, was flipping through an aged three-ring binder while a guy and another woman Kate didn’t recognize were peering at it from either side of him. A liquor-tinged memory of a party in someone’s basement and a lot of really bad versions of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” came back to her.

Kate stopped dead. “Karaoke? No way!” Ella settled a hand on Kate’s arm and drew her to the edge of the room. “You wanted to know how to become part of the town again, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then rule in karaoke.”

“You’re kidding. I thought the only place you could still find it was in ratty college bars.”

“It’s become the favored competitive sport in Keene’s Harbor. See those chairs?” Ella pointed to three chairs lined up at the far edge of the dance floor in front of the stage. “Judges. Olympic scoring. The whole thing. Now, come on.”

Kate looked around. “Isn’t there an arm-wrestling or kielbasa-eating challenge I could do instead?”

“Just get on up there,” Ella said.

“What, alone? You’re going to make me do this and you’re not singing?”

“I still can’t carry a tune, but you can. Do this, Kate. I’m telling you it will help.”

When she’d asked Ella for help in being accepted as one of the locals, she’d been thinking of something that might have taken a bit less effort and potential for humiliation on her part. But she trusted Ella. And what had dignity ever gotten her, anyway?

“Okay, then. Just stick by my side until I get a song under my belt.”

“I’ll be your personal assistant, I promise,” Ella said. “Let me hold your drink for you.”

They joined the field of karaoke Olympians.

“No cuts,” said a woman at the back of the line.

Kate blew out a sigh. Kw o height= “No problem.”

Ella drew Kate back a few steps, her voice lowered. “That’s Deena Bowen. She’s about five years older than us, so you missed out on her when we were kids. She’s also the town’s undisputed karaoke queen, among a couple of other less perky titles.”

“Such as?”

“Psycho revenge queen. She’s always verbally gunning for Matt, and from what I’ve heard, they only had one date. Though I guess she lobbied long and hard even for that one.”

“She’s a little spooky. Do you think she’d ever do more than just bad-mouth him?” Kate asked Ella.

“I don’t know. She’s bitter, for sure, but I think she’s just acting out over a whole lot of bad stuff in her life.” Ella paused long enough to give her a teasing smile. “Why? Are you worried about being in the line of fire if you date him?”

“You don’t have to be dating a guy to want to see him stay in one piece.” She inclined her head toward Deena. “And you have to admit she’s somewhere south of hostile. It rolls off her in waves.”

Ahead of Deena, Junior was pacing back and forth, shaking his arms and repeating “ma, me, mi, mo, mu” as his apparent warm-up exercise. Deena hissed at him to shut up before she had him sedated. Junior picked up his cooler and walked away from Deena to practice next to Kate.

“How’s it going, Junior?” Kate asked.

Junior glanced at Kate and hugged his cooler. “Fine.”

“Don’t you want to know how things are going for me?”

Junior hugged the cooler even tighter. “I guess so.”

“Well, I’m glad you asked. I’ve been trying to call you for two days. The ‘improvements’ you made to my toilet and shower leaked all over my entire house. The contractor was there today. Do you know what he found when he pulled up the floor?”

Junior looked a little ashamed. Kate suspected it wasn’t his first plumbing disaster. “Dooky.”

“That’s right. Lots of dirty dooky and mold. There were guys in hazmat suits in my house for eight hours containing the ‘affected’ area with plastic sheeting and setting up negative air blowers to suction all the mold outdoors.”

Junior bit his lower lip and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I heard they can be a little noisy.”

Kate’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. “It sounds like a hurricane is blowing through my house.”

“Everyone, come line up back here,” Marcie said from the stage, rescuing Junior and gathering the group behind a white wooden latticework screen that had been decorated with plastic ivy.

Not the most attractive ivy Kate had ever seen, but she was glad for whatever cover from the audience she could find. She needed to get her stuff together before facing them.

“For the benefit of the new entrant, I’m going to repeat our standing rules,” Marcie announced.

Kate gave a quick wave in acknowledgment to the other contestants now scoping her out. Happily, only Deena looked like she meant to inflict bodily harm. Everyone else nodded or waved back.

“There are six of you singing. We will determine the order of competition in the first round by pulling numbers from the bingo cage.” She patted the cage in question, and the balls in it quivered. “Lowest number goes first. Two competitors will be eliminated in each of the first two rounds, leaving two finalists for the kamikaze challenge.”

Kate raised her hand like the obedient student she’d never quite been.

“In a moment, Kate,” Marcie replied. “The judges’ scores are final. No bribes will be accepted or threats tolerated.” She said the last with a pointed stare at Deena. “And tonight’s winner will receive the grand prize of five pounds of venison burger provided by Harley Bagger.”

If Kate was going to sing for her supper, she would have appreciated something non-Bambi-like, but she wasn’t here for the chow.

“You had a question, Kate?” Marcie asked.

“What’s the kamikaze challenge?”

“In the final round, a song will be selected at random for you from the playlist.”

Deena snickered. “As if you have to worry.”

Marcie gave Deena a glare. “And no sabotage, either. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She walked back out to the microphone, leaving Kate and the other singers hidden behind the plastic jungle.

“And tonight’s judges, chosen at semi-random from among our guests, will be…” She looked down at a sheet of paper. “Starflower Creed, Shay VanAntwerp… and Matt Culhane.”