“Twas the night before Christmas, and over at the neighbor’s house, the wife was yelling at the husband, calling him a louse. A stripper’s fishnet stocking hung over his shoulder with care, because he got drunk at the club and forgot it was there. The kids were awake, sitting up in their beds, wishing dad would pass out, so they could return to their sugar plums instead. And I next door, filling a glass from the tap, wanted them to shut their traps before I snapped. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang to the window and saw a stripper who couldn’t be fatter. She carried on like a loon, saying the man owed her cash, and that she needed his medical records because she had a new rash—”
“Marty!” Shelby exclaimed, so shocked she dropped her spoon on the floor. “Darn it. Look what you made me do.”
Marty Robbins, drummer for The Allurettes, sat with lead guitarist Shelby Ashlyn and their bandmates—singer Audrey Peterson and bassist Krista Flemming—at the back corner table in Ribsbee’s, a burger joint in Shermer Falls Mall. Overhead speakers played the song “President Am I” by Slow Children, while cheerful banter echoed off the walls from the weekend-after-Thanksgiving shoppers enjoying their pizza, burgers, and hot dogs at their tables.
“Hold on, hold on,” Marty said, giggling, “I’m almost finished.”
“Well button your lip for now,” Shelby said, motioning with her head toward another table.
Marty looked over her shoulder and saw two toddlers turned around in their bench seats from the nearby booth, staring at them. One was stuffing a wad of mozzarella into his mouth, while the other was trying to feed his wad to his nose.
Ever the jokester, Marty whispered, “I’ll give you guys one guess which one is going to have a job with his name on his shirt.”
“Marty, stop,” Audrey said, trying to hold in a laugh and failing. “They’re just kids.”
“Who knows,” Krista said to Marty, “Maybe you were shoving food up your nose when you were that age.” She then blew a straw wrapper toward Marty, snickering.
Giving Krista a daft look and removing the piece of paper from her hair, Marty said, “I assure you I wasn’t. Besides, the rug rats can’t understand what I’m saying.”
“But their parents can,” Shelby said, “I don’t wanna get yelled at. Remember the movie theater?”
“Oh, that time the lady threw her soda at me.”
“Yeah, but it hit me.”
Rolling her eyes, Marty gave in. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you the rest later. Don’t forget to remind me.”
“I’ll do my best to forget,” Shelby joked.
Beside their table was a five-foot-tall plastic Santa Claus. The oversized decoration held a chalkboard sign where someone had written: Merry Christmas 1983! From your friends at Ribsbee’s. This month only, all kids under twelve get a free small milkshake with their meal! Other decorations adorned the walls and hung from the ceiling—like paper bells, cardboard Santa cutouts, and multi-colored string lights.
Audrey stacked her empty plate on top of Marty’s when her pinky sank into a chewed piece of gum. Recoiling, she said, “Yuck, Marty! Gross. Why ’d’ya put your used gum on the rim of your plate? Can’t you stick it to the underside of the table like a normal person?”
“I might wanna chew it after I’m done eating.”
Audrey wiped her finger with a napkin before continuing, “Remember, guys, this evening the tailor from New York is coming to the loft. She’s gonna measure us for the costumes we’ll be wearing on the show.”
“Do we have to do that show?” Krista asked, wincing as if in pain.
“It’s NBC! National television,” answered Audrey. “Can you imagine the exposure? Plus, we’re getting five hundred dollars each—and a two-night stay in Manhattan.”
“All expenses paid,” Marty added, snatching her chewed wad of gum from the plate and popping it into her mouth.
“We can’t turn it down,” Audrey said, grimacing at her friend’s reuse of the gum. “Especially after Marty’s dad helped get us the gig.”
“She’s just nervous,” Shelby said, rubbing Krista’s arm.
“Don’t be nervous. We’re only the backing band for Mr. Mozart,” Audrey assured, “We don’t have speaking parts.”
“Well I say Buh Humbug to the Christmas special,” Krista said. She picked up a ketchup-covered fry and leaned back in her seat with a sigh. Then, deciding she didn’t want anything else to eat, she tossed the fry back onto the plate.
“Uh-oh,” Marty said, “Let me introduce everyone to the Scrooge of this Christmas season.”
“I’m not being Scrooge,” Krista said. “I don’t even know any Christmas songs. And don’t give me any lip about how easy it is to learn songs on bass.” She directed this demand at Marty.
“I wasn’t going to say a word,” Marty said, grinning.
“Stop smirking,” Shelby said, tapping Marty on the arm, “You know the bass is the heart of the song.”
“I know no such thing,” Marty said, three-quarters of a way to a laugh.
“You told me those very words the other night,” Shelby continued.
“If I keep talking to you, loose lips, you’re going to ruin my reputation.”
“What reputation?” Audrey joked.
Instead of answering, Marty put her thumb to her nose and wiggled her fingers.
From her seat, Audrey watched the crowds walking the concourse in front of Ribsbee’s. Unlike most storefronts in the mall, Ribsbee’s didn’t have a large rectangular opening for customers to enter and exit. Instead, it had a closed front with windows and a door, like a regular restaurant. Two employees decorated a small Christmas tree placed in front of the big picture window closest to the entrance.
“I’m not looking forward to fighting those crowds. I’m about to head up the road to Strawberry Rockets. I forgot my check when I was there this morning.”
“I might ride with you,” Krista said, ignoring Marty’s joke. “I’m not feeling so good.”
“We’ll leave as soon as I get the check.” Audrey looked around for their waitress. “Where’s Dar Dar at?”
“You sure you want our relatives over for Christmas?” Shelby asked. “You can still back out of it.”
“No way. This is what I want for Christmas. My mom used to throw these big Christmases with lots of people over. Every year, she’d throw a Christmas Eve party. Then on Christmas Day, we’d open our gifts and have a big afternoon dinner. It was so much fun. Ever since she died, Christmas hasn’t been the same. It’s going to be even worse this year because my brothers aren’t coming home. And next year, who knows where we’ll be—especially if this television special goes well. Besides, my dad’s looking forward to having a full house again.”
“We’ll be there for ya,” Marty said.
“Yeah,” Krista added, “Along with our families.”
“Last night, I dreamt of her—my mom. She was decorating the house for Christmas—decorating was, like, her favorite thing to do. But anyway, she asked me to go into the garage and get a box of lights. I did, and when I came back, she was gone.” Audrey took a deep breath and let it out. “She was gone, and the house wasn’t decorated. In my dream, I started crying, and I must’a been crying in my sleep, too, because when I woke up, there were tears on my cheeks.”
Shelby grabbed Audrey’s hand and squeezed.
“But then,” Audrey continued, “this sense of relief washed over me, because… it was just a dream. My mom can’t be dead, I’m barely out of high school. Then, as I woke all the way up, I realized: no… she’s really gone. Then I started crying again.”
None of the girls said anything. Along with Shelby’s hand squeeze, Marty rubbed her friend’s back. Sensing their sadness and not wanting to bring down the mood, Audrey added, “It’s okay, guys. I’m okay. I’m looking forward to this, is all. I want December 26th,” Audrey leaned in as if she were about to relay a great secret, “to be known as The Allurettes Christmas Spectacular.”
“Have t-shirts made up, why don’tcha?” Krista said, winking.
“That can be arranged.”
“My mom said she’ll come down from New York,” Shelby said, “I didn’t ask my father. The less I see of him, the better.”
“My parents said they’ll come,” Krista said, “My sister’ll be back from Ohio by then, too. You think she could come?”
“Your sister’s finally coming back?” Audrey asked.
“Yeah. My parents stopped threatening to send her to boarding school.”
“Is she that bad?” Shelby asked.
“No,” Krista said, sipping soda up a straw. “But she smokes and hangs with the wrong crowd. To my military parents, that’s almost on the level of a car thief.”
“Sure, your sister can come,” Audrey said. “The more the merrier.”
“Maybe we can decorate your house, Aud,” Marty said.
Like storm clouds passing in front of the sun, something shifted in Audrey’s eyes. She dismissed this suggestion with a quick utterance, “Yeah, maybe.”
Something hit Marty on the back of the head. She turned and saw one of the toddlers giggling after throwing his mozzarella wad at her. It bounced on the tile floor before coming to a stop beside Marty’s motorcycle boot. She raised her fist and shook it at the little guy. If not for the wide smile on her face, it would've been an intimidating gesture.
“You’re so good with kids,” Shelby observed.
“That’s because she’s on their level,” Krista joked.
“Height-wise or mentally speaking?” Audrey kidded, grateful for the kid’s actions. It got them all back to their jovial attitudes.
Returning these cracks with a bemused glance, Marty said, “You guys are as funny as a parachute made of net.”
“Oh, Lou, will you go jump in a lake!”
All of them looked over at the loud disruption and saw Darlene Carden—affectionately known as Dar Dar to them—burst from the kitchen’s swinging door, holding a serving tray full of pizza slices and drinks over her head. She hustled to a table and served the customers before placing the tray under her arm and trotting over to the girls’ table.
“Can I get y’all anything else?” she asked, now as pleasant as can be.
“You alright, Dar Dar?” Audrey asked, noticing the sudden change in her demeanor.
“I’m fine. Lou’s being a butt-head again. That’s all. No matter how much effort I put in, it’s never enough for that man. With him, effort only goes so far.” Darlene was part Piscataway. She had long, straight black hair and dark, olive-colored skin.
“You should be used to Lou being a butt-head,” Marty said before taking a slurp of Coke.
“Oh, I am. But Mindy called out, which only made him”—she threw a thumb over her shoulder—“angrier, and now I’m the only waitress on duty. That has me more frazzled than usual.”
“He’s the guy who looks like Brutus from Popeye, right?” Shelby asked.
Krista nodded. “Every time we come in here, he’s angry about something.”
“Tell me about it,” Darlene said. “He gets me so riled that I signed up for one of those classes they have down at the rec center. Bracelet making. Once I get my hands on those beads, my Lou headache melts away. It’s better than Excedrin.”
“Cool,” Shelby said. “I love bracelets.” She raised her coat to show her wrist, revealing a variety of brightly colored bracelets; most of them homemade.
“Can I get the check?” Audrey asked, checking her watch. “I gotta get going before my father locks up the drive-in.”
“What did you eat, hon?” Darlene asked Audrey.
“A Ribsbee’s burger, with fries, and a Coke.”
“With tax, that’s ah…” Darlene thought a moment, “$4.47.”
“Wow,” Shelby said, “I suck at math.”
“Dar Dar, I want you to come to my Christmas Eve party.”
“Yeah,” Marty said, “Aud’s throwing the bash of the year.”
“Sounds great. Love the jacket by the way.” Darlene said, speaking of Audrey’s pea coat. “Where’d you get it?”
“After Thanksgiving Sale at Macy’s.”
“With what Lou pays me, I still wouldn’t be able to afford it.”
“You need a change of scenery,” Krista said.
“Trust me, I know that, hon. But jobs don’t grow on trees.”
Overhead, President Am I ended, and “Strong Arm of the Law” by Saxon began.
“Don’t you have Christmas music?” Shelby asked.
“Talk to Mr. Bah Humbug,” Darlene said, strolling away toward the kitchen.
“Lou, get out here!” Marty called, laughing, “Shelby wants to lodge a complaint!”
Embarrassed, Shelby elbowed Marty, “Don’t…”
Darlene turned with a gigantic smile across her lips, rubbing her left pointer finger over her right; the universal shame-shame gesture. A moment later, she disappeared through the swinging door.
“Okay, guys,” Audrey said, getting up, “We’ll meet up tonight and start preparing for one of the best Christmases ever.”