There weren't as many people present at this Christmas party as on the night of that first fateful event, nor was the place quite as spiffed up.
Valentine's staff hadn't been able to prepare nearly as elaborate a menu, but the holiday buffet they had come up with looked and tasted delish. The buffet had been served. We all were full to the brim when Jack excused himself after the meal to take care of some detail he'd forgotten. I missed him already.
The one aspect of the party that exceeded the first was Lurch and Marvin's rendition of "Jingle Bell Rock." They sang in harmony. Lurch's voice so low it kind of rumbled the room, but it was pretty terrific. And I was kind of getting used to the way they both looked in the elf costumes.
When they finished, the double doors burst open and Papa Noël bounded into the room. But who was it behind that beard? After what happened to Slim, no one wanted to be Papa Noël—unless you counted Marvin. I'd heard that both Harry and Jack thanked him but said they had someone else in mind who'd agreed to do it.
Cat and Quincy were kind of cuddled together, she leaning into him. At Papa Noël's energetic entrance, Cat said, "That's some way good action for an old fat Christmas sprite."
"It is that," Quincy added. "Who'd they con into playing the old boy, anyway?"
I shrugged. I hadn't been included in Jack and Harry's final plan, so I was as much in the dark as any of them.
He was a good-looking Papa Noël all right, straight-backed and strong with the heavy bag on one shoulder. He treated the room to a resounding, "Ho, ho, ho, y'all. Yat?"
I sat up straight. Jack. It was Jack. I covered my mouth with one hand to keep myself from blurting out his name as he went straight to the big old throne covered in red velvet that had been pulled from one of the magic-show venues on the property. He plopped down into the chair.
His accent was just pitiful, but I loved him for every drawled out word.
"I am so sorry about not getting here earlier, boys and girls, but those old gators of mine." He took a sheet of paper from inside one of the fur-lined sleeves and read, " Gaston, Tiboy, Pierre, Alcee, Ninette, Suzette, Celeste, and Renee were acting up." His accent slipped away, and he mispronounced a couple of the gators' names, but he was still just about the best Papa Noël I'd ever seen—at least the sexiest.
The children all gathered around, and there was a present for each and every one of them.
Harry Villars took over the mic on the dais at one end of the room. "You've probably all noticed our sweet girl, Nicole, isn't present with us on this lovely occasion. And that's because her bone marrow transplant was today. Her Christmas gift will be a new lease on life. Now, what do you lovely people think 'bout that?"
Cheers and applause broke out. I looked around the table at my friends: Cat, Quincy, Fabrizio, Stella, and Valentine. From across the table, Cat gave me a thumbs up, but Valentine seemed lost in thought.
I reached over and took hold of her hand. "A penny for 'em," I said.
"For my thoughts?" she asked.
She smiled a little. Melancholy was what I would have called her mood. And why not? None of this had turned out all that great for her. The tragic death of her husband had basically been revealed to be the cause of a friend dying, another friend going to prison, and the recovery of Papa's loot had turned out to result in the defunding of her son's musical education. She had good reason to be quiet and reflective.
I nodded.
She began. "I was just wondering if maybe I'd been wrong to try and help poor Slim with his stressful issues. I mean, it was the start of the bad times, after all. Slim's gone. Aaron, as wrong as he was, is going to spend the rest of his life behind bars when all he was doing was trying to live up to some sad notion he owed it to Tyrell to watch over me."
I shook my head. "No, Valentine. It wasn't you. None of it. It was all Aaron." I couldn't help asking about the other reason I figured she was sad that night. "And now Benjy can't go to the academy either."
"Oh, no, child." It always sort of bothered me when Valentine called me that. As wise and motherly as she was, she was only eight years older than I was. "Benjy, he'll be going to Childress all right. When the money Aaron sent in was confiscated by the sheriff"—she glanced over at Quincy—"or rather the sheriff's chief deputy"—Quincy had the grace for once to duck his head—"the dean of Childress went to the board and arranged a full scholarship for my boy." She smiled, and it was genuine. "You better ask for that child's autograph now, while his head's not all swollen up."
I laughed.
Her expression sobered. "Mel, have you heard anything about that Connor woman?"
"She spent a couple of nights in the hospital." Quincy joined the conversation. "Temporary psychosis. Dat's what they saying. If she agrees to treatment, the judge, he tell her he's maybe going to commute her sentence from kidnapping to child endangerment."
I looked at Valentine to see how she felt about that. "Poor, sad woman," was all she said.
"Poor, sad woman? I don't think so," Quincy said. "She a nut job."
I pretty much agreed with him.
All the ceremonies were over with by now, and my Cap'n Jack, who'd turned out to be a truly awesome Papa Noël, was headed to our table.
He leaned over, pulled down his beard, and surprised me with a warm, lustful kiss on the lips.
"Well, now," Stella said. "You got one for an old flower child too, Papa?"
Jack's belly laugh was so long and deep all his padding seemed to shift sideways a little. "Why, no, Madam Stella, I don't." He circled around the table to Cat and Quincy. "But I do have a little something else I was asked to bring with me tonight."
He set a small Christmas gift bag in front of Quincy, leaned over, and said softly, "Good luck, bro," before looking up at me, winking, and then leaving the room with another loud, "Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night, y'all."
I just loved that man.
Every eye at the table was locked onto that pretty little red Christmas bag in front of Quincy.
"What's that?" Cat asked.
Quincy leaned in and draped his arm across her shoulders. "Now, now, chère, don't you be knowing what curiosity did to the Cat?"
We all turned around as Harry's voice, slow and slightly lazy from all the holiday spirits, came over the mic. "We're going to have a little Zydeco Christmas music from The Ragtime Players, featuring the man with that special touch, Mr. Desi Lopez de Monterra. So by all means, friends, let's dance the night away."
Harry moved off the dais as several men hustled around setting up the instruments for the band.
There was going to be music. Dancing.
I wanted to dance and wished Jack was here, and then he was, looking just like a Hollywood hunk on Oscar night in his tux. He was suddenly behind my chair. Just magical, but then wasn't magic the norm at The Mansion on Mystic Isle?
"Didn't expect to see you for a little while yet," I looked up at him.
He grinned down at me. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."
I frowned. "Missed what?"
Jack looked across the table, so I did too.
Quincy shoved back his chair, slipped out of it, and dropped to one knee. I thought I saw his hand shaking as he reached for the bag, took out a small velvet box, and flipped it open. The light hit the diamond, and all of us took in a breath that sounded like a collective sigh.
"Catalina Gabor, love of my life, goddess divine, will you grant me the extreme honor of becoming my wife?"
There was a long pause. Too long for us to all be sure what the answer was going to be, and as thrilled as I was, a moment of doubt waffled through me.
But then, the answer came, and just as I'd known she would, my friend threw her arms around her handsome, crazy Cajun man, nearly knocking him over, and said, "Well, it's about darn time, Chief Deputy. Now put that big sparkler on my finger and kiss me."
What a sweet, beautiful moment. Sentimental tears moistened my eyes.
I looked back up at Jack. He was looking back at me, his gaze intense, riveting, and I couldn't look away. His beautiful, cinnamon-colored eyes never leaving mine, he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Give you any ideas, Miss Hamilton?"
Caught by surprise, I had nothing to say except, "Oh, Cap'n Jack."
And from somewhere out in the cosmos, I was pretty sure there was laughter—laughter that sounded an awful lot like Granddaddy Joe.