Xmas in July
by Beth Cameron
I am running from my office on the hottest day in July with Janet panting behind me. "What's the rush" moans Miss Small. "I don't want to miss the trolley and bake out here on boiling Huntington Ave. until the paramedics scrape our melted forms off the platform. Hurry up!" I yell over my shoulder as I jump upon the loaded trolley with one arm reaching out to Janet reminiscent of Sidney Poitier grabbing for Tony Curtis in "The Defiant Ones" and I manage to pull her into the car. Pressed up against too many sticky students and hospital workers, we need hold nothing swaying back and forth with the pressure of the masses and the suction of moist bodies.
Spilling out of the trolley into Copley Station, I bolt up the stairs and across the street to the Hotel Lenox with Janet miles behind me, entering the lobby to the sound of the 4 o'clock chimes, then waiting for Janet. Catching her as she carousels around in the revolving door, I lead us into the ladies room where we add Christmas touches to our summer clothes, with jingling bells for earrings Janet is ready; while I slip into a little holiday number complete with red velvet shoes, black velvet sleeveless dress and a long red silk scarf with glittering green and gold Christmas trees. "Let the games begin" I proffer as I hold open the door for Janet, who views for the first time an entire floor of White artificial trees, falling paper snowflakes, bejeweled chandeliers with ornaments of silver and blue, life-sized snowmen doubled in number against the walls of mirror carrying trays of Hot Chocolate with tiny floating marshmallows, surrounded by an Alpine choir singing Christmas carols and ringing bells. "Cool" exclaims Janet, then giggles at her own chilly word choice. She has a mug in hand and is picking out the small white floatations leaving them lined up on the sign-in table. Christ, why did I bring her along?
This is a party run by the Consular Corps in Boston every summer, Xmas in July, and all my friends are here from the German consulate, Gus from the Swedish consulate, the girls from the Irish consulate and Antoinette from the French consulate and we always dance, drink and enjoy ourselves until it ends and we pack away our Christmas gear until the December Consular Corps holiday party. But this would be the last Xmas in July party, though nobody knew it then, after 9/11, after terror attacks made summer feel hotter with no relief in sight, the foreign representatives could no longer justify parties for diplomats, but while it was going on, it was a magic time.
Dancing with elves after too much hot chocolate from Switzerland, followed by too much Bushmill's from Ireland, awaiting the raffle, amid "Ho-Ho-Hoing" from a jovial Santa, I was ready to jump up on the stage and claim the first prize and I was first to queue up in front of the podium waiting. At ten to six, Santa's helper reached into the goldfish bowl of business cards and spoke into the mike after tapping it twice, "The winner of the trip for two to Santa's village in Lapland this November goes to...newcomer... Janet Small." I had told the party santa that I had only one small wish, and she got it.
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1 comment:
I loved reading this piece. The anticipation and tension is great. I like the unexpectedness in the pairing of the heat of July and the Christmas inside the hotel.
So sad at the end--the ungranted wish. I wonder if there is another line though--something about the wishing you could have one more party or something like that.
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