Luck of the Draw (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 1) (35 page)

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
____________________

T
HE SANDWICH BOARD OUTSIDE Lydia’s shop read:

Speakeasy Shop & Swap Event

~ plus
~

Naughty Nightie Party!

Friday, July 31

Doors open at 6:00; Show begins 8:00 PM

Must be 21 or over to enter

Refreshments! Prizes!!

Music by: Sugar Falls Jazz Ensemble

All proceeds to benefit the Gifts for the Greater Good

Renovation Fund

“They’re not coming.” Nana pulled aside the café curtain at the front window of Lydia’s shop and shook her head. “Oh, Kate, after all the work you’ve put into this, too. I suppose it was worth a try.”

Kate smoothed a hand down her beaded skirt and adjusted the feather in her headband as Nana let the curtain fall back into place. Little white lights glittered along the ceiling in the darkened shop as the four elderly musicians Ruth Pearson had lined up and dubbed the “Sugar Falls Jazz Ensemble” tuned their instruments. “It’s only 6:25. Give them time.” Kate swallowed and nodded encouragingly at Mr. Larson, the trumpet player. He’d had a coughing fit earlier while demonstrating his technique. She made a mental note to bring him some bottled water.

Ruth stepped out of the back room and surveyed the rows of empty folding chairs lining the center aisle.  She adjusted the long strands of fake pearls around her neck. “Everything looks lovely, dear. It’s just as I imagine a twenties speakeasy would look if it were a fashion runway. Truly.”

“Thank you. Are Claire and Grace here yet with the refreshments?”

“They’re loading the trays like you asked. But they wanted to know if you really think we need so many?”

Kate swallowed the doubt in her throat. “Absolutely.” Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Kate cracked it open.

“It’s me,” Rachel said a little breathlessly, pulling a garment rack through the door, “and the last of the vintage clothes, cleaned and pressed. I would have been here earlier, but I couldn’t figure out what would match that 1950’s bustier top, so I just stuck it with a prairie skirt.”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. I just wanted to give the women some ideas on how to incorporate the vintage pieces with current styles. Thanks for taking care of this last bit.”

“It’s amazing what fabric refresher and an iron will do. Should I put this out back with the others or do you want these displayed over there?”

Kate motioned to the spot she’d reserved for the sample outfits.

Rachel pushed the rack forward. “Love the black and white decorations Susan whipped up. Very retro. By the way, I think your first group will be arriving soon. I saw a bunch of women coming around the corner.”

Kate smoothed her skirt again, the beads tickling her fingers, and opened the door. “Welcome, ladies.”

The women
oohed
and
ahhed
as they entered the shop and looked around.

“Help yourselves to refreshments and feel free to browse. I can take any last-minute donations here and Susan
—who is near the dressing rooms out back—will explain the pricing. All our volunteers are dressed as flappers tonight, so if you have any questions or would like us to re-hang something for you, just let us know. Enjoy your evening.”

“Oh, we plan to!” said a stout brunette with a wide smile.

One of her friends squealed and rushed over to admire a beaded pastel sweater set on the end of the rack Rachel had just brought in.

Kate bit her lip and watched them go. She nodded to Mr. Larson to begin the trumpet piece he’d been dying to play.

Half an hour later, she carried a roll of paper towels through the crowd of laughing, chattering women. She squatted down to mop up someone’s spilled drink and nearly got knocked into the puddle when Grace called their attention and the women surged forward, plastic champagne flutes sloshing with mocktails from the beverage fountain. Kate sat back on her heels. At least they were enjoying themselves.

Grace waved and waited for Mr. Larson and the band to sit. “Good evening! Thank you all for coming!

“Before we start, I’d like to thank Ms. Lydia Sweet for loaning us the use of her fabulous shop, my very own grandmother, Ruth Pearson, for generously providing all the delicious nibbles and treats—donations are accepted—our volunteers, Susan, Ellen and Rachel, for sorting all the clothes and transforming this place into a roaring twenties speakeasy overnight, the Sugar Falls Jazz Ensemble for providing our live entertainment this evening… And last but not least… Kate Mitchell for having the brilliant idea of hosting this event and pulling together a million details in an inhumanly short timeframe.”

Kate nodded and waved her roll of paper towels.

“As you’ve heard, we’re raising money for the Gifts for the Greater Good tonight—50% of all sales of vintage items from the shop and 100% of all sales from donated clothing will go toward the food pantry renovation fund, so mingle, shop and most of all
have fun!
The runway show will begin at eight o’clock, so be ready to strut your stuff, ladies!”

Everyone clapped and Mr. Larson hit an excruciatingly high note on his trumpet before launching into an enthusiastic if not well-rehearsed swing number. The crowd didn’t seem to care. The hum of excited voices filled the room as the women disbursed again to browse the racks and tables as if it were a Filene’s Basement sale and they were searching for wedding gowns. Kate took a deep breath and pointed a woman loaded with items and shrugging out of her top toward the dressing rooms set up in the back of the store.

Grace arrived at her elbow. “I can’t believe this crowd. You’re amazing.”

“The power of social media. Seems you have a reputation of hosting great parties.”

Grace shrugged elegantly and smiled. “It’s a gift.”

There were close to fifty or sixty women there with a few stragglers still coming in. Thankfully, they’d encouraged people to drop off donations throughout the day for pre-sorting. Some still came laden with bags at the last minute, but it was quick work to sort it out. All was flowing smoothly.

“Great
party,” a woman enthused as Kate loaded a tray of drinks for the musicians. Again. Mr. Larson had hinted he’d like more food, too, but seeing as they’d only been playing fifteen minutes since their last break, Kate hoped she could get a little more entertainment out of them before they decimated the refreshments table. Mr. Larson was not a small man.

“Thank you,” Kate replied.

The woman grinned broadly and took a healthy swig from her glass. “How often do you have these?”

“This is the first.”

“
So
much fun.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Kate nodded and lifted the tray of drinks.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion: The woman lifting her hand to wave goodbye… Plastic champagne flutes of white grape juice and seltzer flying up off the surface of the tray toward Kate’s chest… The gasps of those around them as they lurched out of the way, hands flying to their mouths...

“Oh
migod! I’m
so
sorry!”

The tray clattered noisily to the floor as it slipped from Kate’s fingers and the band came to a screeching, awkward halt. In the stunned silence that followed, she tried to take a breath as cool, sticky liquid slid down her neck and into her dress. A trickle of liquid slid down her calf and into her shoe as the woman grabbed a paper napkin and mopped clumsily at Kate’s chest.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It was an accident. Mr. Larson?”

The band picked up where they’d left off, and Rachel rushed forward to take over clean-up. Kate reassured the woman she’d be all right, then pasted a smile on her face and made her way to the dressing rooms to collect her regular clothes, swiping mocktail off her bare arms and trying to be thankful it hadn’t gotten her hair. Much. Oh
God. Her bra was
squishy
.

The dressing rooms were scenes of cheerful chaos as dozens of women, standing in various states of undress, gave fashion advice and tossed clothing around. Kate slipped in and tried to find the bag she’d stashed her day clothes in. It wasn’t where she’d left it. “Susan? Have you seen my clothes? There’s been a little accident. They were in a blue bag in this corner.”

Susan shook her head and gasped when she saw Kate’s situation. “Try the other room, maybe. I hope we haven’t sold them!”

“Not funny.”

Kate stepped into the hall and pulled off her shoes. She turned one upside down and watched a small puddle form on the floor.

A woman stopped and put a commiserating hand on Kate’s arm. “Oh, honey. You’re in the right place. I think you could use a drink.” She pointed behind her to the second dressing room. “Winter White Sangria is on the left and the pony keg is on your right.”

Kate blinked. “Pardon me?” But she didn’t wait for a reply as she pushed through into the room. Women crowded around laughing and drinking… and Nana stood behind a giant punch bowl ladling liquid into champagne flutes. Kate elbowed her way to the front.

“Nana?”

“Oh, hi honey. Phew! Quite the crowd, huh? I think we’re a hit!”

“What are you doing?”

“Serving refreshments.”

“Nana, you can’t sell alcohol here! You need a permit for that!”

“Oh, I’m not
selling
it, honey. It’s free.” She winked and pointed toward a donations jar with a red bra strapped around the middle. Someone dropped a few bills and spare change in, Nana rang a little silver bell and everyone called out
ringy-dingy!
in cheerful imitation.

Gah! So this is what apoplectic felt like!
“This is so irresponsible I don’t even know where to begin! How are these women going to get home? Have you thought of the liability?”

“Oh, relax. I don’t serve anyone unless they surrender their car keys, see?” Nana pointed to another jar with the matching panties around it. A key chain with a pink rhinestone high heel was poking out the top.
Oh God. This was wrong on so many levels…
“I’ve got it all taken care of. Now stop fussing and go clean yourself up. You look awful. What happened to you anyway?”

“A
drunk
woman dumped a tray of drinks on me, and I’ve lost my clothes!”

“Tsk. Tsk.
I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure they’ll turn up…”

“
Nana
...”

“Are you in line?” someone asked from behind her.

“No.” Kate heaved a sigh and gave her grandmother a ‘we’ll talk later’ look, then pushed her way back out, the tinkling of the bell and a chorus of
ringy-dingy!
following her into the hall.

After ditching her soaked shoes in a storage closet, she found a bathroom, pulled out a wad of paper towels and turned on the faucet.

Rachel poked her head around the door. “There you are!” She pushed into the tiny room and shut the door. “Susan told me what happened. I couldn’t find your blue bag, so I tried to find something I thought would fit.” She held up a hanger with clothes on it. “It’s a zoo out there.”

Kate stared at the outfit. “Seriously?”

Rachel shrugged. “It was either this or a track suit that smelled like mouse pee. I threw that out.”

“Um, thanks.”

“By the way, it’s quarter to eight. Do you think we should get people ready for the show?”

“It’s nearly eight? Yes. Just give me a minute to wash up and… change.”

“No problem.”

Five minutes later, Kate poked her head out of the bathroom, praying ‘the girls’ didn’t hop out the top of her bustier as she made her way out front again. Good grief. Did it have to be so… pointy? She sucked in a careful, shallow breath and stepped up to the microphone. “Good evening. Ladies? Hello. Hi. If I could have your attention, please? It’s almost eight o’clock, so, um, it looks like the band will be taking another break. We invite you to make your final choices before we hold our fashion show. Again, thank you so much for coming. Ten minutes!”

The din of voices rose again as Kate stepped away from the microphone. She dimmed the lights, turned the accent lighting to ‘twinkle’ and pressed ‘play’ on the pre-recorded jazz music she’d downloaded from iTunes.

She tried not to dwell on what she must be stepping in with her bare feet as Mr. Larson approached. His plate was piled with food. Again. “Miss Mitchell, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course.”

Mr. Larson’s beady eyes frowned down at Kate’s twin torpedoes. “It has come to my attention that you are serving alcohol.”

Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, actually—”

“I do not approve.”

Kate’s eyebrows rose. “I assure you, it wasn’t my ide—”

“We’ll be leaving now.”

Her arms dropped. “
Leaving
? But the fashion show is about to begin!”