Just North of Whoville by Turiskylie, Joyce (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📗

That’s great, but how about retail? Have you considered retail?

But that was Jamie’s voice. I wasn’t becoming a Dream Killer, was I? After all, if anyone could make it in musical theatre, it just had to be Little Miss Sunshine.

“How about you? What’s going on with you?” she asked.

After her joyful news, I hated to bring down the crowd. So I pulled out the only good news I had.

“It’s my birthday!” I said with the appropriate amount of cheer and festivity.

“Oh!” she squealed like someone just stepped on her tail. “That’s so wonderful! Happy birthday! Do you have big plans?”

“Well, I’m going to a private party a friend of mine invited me to. It should be fun,” I said with a certain amount of laissez-faire, sangfroid and just a hint of blasé.

Because that’s how you’re supposed to say you’re going to a fabulous Private Party.

The party in question was at a club called Shenanigans, not far from my apartment. Celia was a friend of the owner, Antoine; and knowing I’d likely spend my birthday alone with a pint of ice cream, she asked me to come along. It was Saturday night, it was my birthday, and a party was an open car door I couldn’t refuse.

At exactly eight o’clock, I walked up to the doorman at Shenanigans. He checked the name Dorrie Krakowski off the list, removed the red, velvet rope and opened the door.

Oh no.

Celia had neglected to mention that it was a Christmas party.

The place was all dolled up like Christmas in the back seat of Snoop Dogg’s pimp-mobile, but with a distinct Caribbean flair. My tasteful blue sweater dress didn’t seem to fit in with the ladies in their red bikinis trimmed with white fur and the men’s Hawaiian Santa shirts----that is, if they chose to wear a shirt as they sang rappin’ and hip-hop Christmas songs for the drunken karaoke.

A waitress walked by and handed me a coconut shell filled with a strong, but fruity drink with a peppermint stick poking out of the top.

“Happy Birthday, sweetie!” Celia pushed her way thru the crowd and gave me a hug. Alex followed her example, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy Birthday to my other girlfriend,” he said; and then quickly turned away realizing that it was probably an inappropriate thing to say under the circumstances.

“How’s the roof going?” Celia asked.

“They started work today. Crack of dawn.”

“See!” Celia said as she patted Alex lightly on the chest. “I told you he’d fix everything. Oh!----Antoine!” she waved across the room to what must have been Antoine, a very tall Haitian man wearing a Santa cap tilted jauntily to the side.

“Antoine, this is my friend Dorrie I was telling you about.”

“Dorrie,” he said as he kissed my hand. “Celia tells me it’s your birthday.” and then mumbled something in Creole to a waitress who walked by. “Thank you for spending your special day with us. We are honored.”

A moment later, the waitress appeared with a large cake. “A traditional Haitian birthday cake,” Antoine explained. There was another round of happy birthday singing. More coconut drinks got passed around. A man dressed as a voodoo priest came out and performed a ritual blessing on me. But even stranger than voodoo, I actually found myself having fun. Maybe Dr. Prince was onto something. Maybe it was the fruity drinks, but it felt as if some bad hoodoo had been lifted from me.

“How do you know Antoine?” I asked Celia as I sipped out of my peppermint straw.

“He’s actually one of the top art directors in the city. He just always wanted to own a bar. He’s brilliant,” she sang his praises as Alex’s cell phone rang. “Who is it now?” she asked Alex as he glanced at his phone.

“Work.”

“Again? On a Saturday?”

“Money never sleeps, hon. I’ll be right back,” he said as he wandered off.

“So, let me ask you something,” I said as I pulled a copy of Timmy’s elf photo out of my bag. “You know fashion. Do you think this guy could get work as a model?”

“Well, he’s got something,” she replied as she looked across the room.

“My boss says he’ll never make it,”

“Making it is not all it’s cracked up to be,” she said wistfully. “I’m sorry….I’m a little distracted.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Between you and me, I think Alex is seeing another woman.”

“What?” I tried to respond with the appropriate amount of surprise.

“His phone’s been going off all day, and he’s very careful not to let me see who’s calling. And….other signs. I don’t understand. He just proposed last month. Is he bored with me already?”

Suddenly, from the next room, we heard a bunch of men shouting and turned around. In the middle of the men was a young woman, bent over backwards, with a guy leaning over her and sucking a shot of tequila out of her mid-section.

“See---that’s the kind of woman men like,” she looked on sadly.

“Oh my god! Dorrie!” the shot lady called out as she stood up.

It was Dr. Prince.

“You know her?” Celia asked.

“That’s my psychiatrist.”

“Hey boo!” she said as she marched her fine self and her black fuck-me pumps on over. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my birthday,” I nervously explained.

“Happy Birthday, mama!” she smiled and gave me a hug. “Hi,” she turned to Celia. “I’m Emily.”

“Celia. Nice to meet you,” she mumbled as she glanced around the room. “I’m so sorry. Excuse me,” she said as she wandered off.

“She okay?” Dr. Prince asked.

“Yeah. She’s fine. What are you doing here?” I tried to make conversation.

“I’m a bartender.”

“But you’re a psychiatrist.”

“A psychiatrist who only gets patients with lousy insurance. And apparently my futon isn’t good enough for some people. I’m kidding,”