She looked down at her ensemble. The rich bottle-green velvet of the jacket suited her coloring. The white blouse was nothing special, just something she’d tossed in her suitcase at the last minute. She’d tucked it into her best pair of jeans, which were at least clean, improvised a belt from red satin ribbon, and polished her old black riding boots to a high sheen.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, Murphy was perched on the edge of his bunk, plucking at a small stringed instrument.
His conference with Claudia had apparently worked a miracle. His hair was damp, with comb marks. He wore black jeans, a black collared shirt, black loafers, and a silly green felt bow tie made to resemble a sprig of holly, complete with a blinking red light in the middle.
“I didn’t know you played the dobro,” Kerry said.
“Been playing for years,” he said, playing a bar of a mournful song she vaguely recognized.
“Don’t you know something less depressing and more seasonal?”
He closed his eyes and picked out a few bars of “Frosty the Snowman.”
“Perfect. You look nice, by the way. Especially love the bow tie.”
“Claudia’s contribution.”
“You two seem pretty friendly,” Kerry observed.
“We are. Especially since she finally filed papers on her loser ex last year. Actually, the shirt and shoes are his. Were his.”
He stood up and slung the dobro over his shoulder. “Okay. You ready to roll?”
“I guess. But compared to you, I look pretty sad.”
“You look fine.” It was as close to a compliment as she could expect from her taciturn brother.
Kerry grabbed her pocketbook, then, out of the corner of her eye, noticed the fringe of a red plaid blanket in the rumpled bedding on Murphy’s bunk.
It was a wool stadium blanket, in a vivid Stewart tartan. “Where did this come from?”
“Dad’s house, I guess.”
Kerry wrapped the blanket around her waist.
She slid off her riding boots and unzipped her jeans.
“What’s going on?” he asked, politely averting his gaze.
“Just a quick costume change. Give me five minutes, will ya?”
“I’ll go walk Queenie, but then you better be ready.”
Kerry had noticed her grandmother’s dusty mending basket under the bathroom vanity. Inside, she found tiny spools of thread, and a small pincushion bristling with straight pins and needles and safety pins. There was also an old jar of buttons, and a tiny pair of scissors.
She fastened the stadium blanket around her waist, and awkwardly pinned it together so that the fringed edges overlapped. She stepped out of the makeshift skirt, threaded the largest needle she could find, and basted a fast but messy seam, ending three-quarters of the way down the edge of the blanket.
She donned a pair of black tights and pulled the skirt on, fastening the opening with the largest safety pin she’d found. She cinched the waist of the skirt with her black leather belt, then pulled her boots on again.
“You decent?” Murphy yelled, banging on the door of the trailer.
She opened the door and stepped down to the pavement.
Murphy gave her a puzzled look. “You’re wearing my blanket to a Christmas party?”
“Uh-huh. Just like you’re wearing your girlfriend’s ex-husband’s shirt and shoes. It is what it is.”
chapter 16
“Wait up,” Kerry called. She reached under the work table and pulled out the centerpiece she’d completed the day before.
“What’s that?” he asked, as she hefted it onto the table.
“My contribution to John’s party.”
Kerry had filled the bottom of a fruit crate she’d found on the curb with crumpled paper, then piled in Granny Smith apples, green pears, limes, baby artichokes, and bunches of green grapes. She’d filled in gaps in the fruit with greenery and white roses, all bought at the bodega.
“Looks like dessert,” Murphy said, snagging a grape, before Kerry slapped his hand away.
“It’s a centerpiece and it’s heavy,” Kerry said, staggering under the weight. “How about you carry it and I’ll carry the dobro?”
* * *
John’s apartment was on the third floor of a redbrick building with a spacious arched entryway, half a block from the Christmas tree stand. They rang the buzzer and a moment later heard the front door unlock. As soon as they emerged from the elevator, they heard strains of music, laughter, and the clink of glasses coming from the partially open door at the end of the hall.
Other doors on the hallway were open too, and people drifted out of their apartments, carrying bottles of wine or covered dishes and trays of food. The women were dressed in chic, short cocktail dresses, the men in crisply pressed slacks and tweed blazers.
Kerry felt frumpy and ill at ease in her thrown-together flea market/bedspread attire. She had a sudden urge to run back home to Spammy, but before she could act, John was there, pulling her into an impulsive hug. He held Ruby, resplendent in a green-and-white knitted Christmas sweater, with a matching cap that sported felt reindeer antlers.
“Kerry! Murphy! We’re so glad you could come,” John exclaimed. He took the arrangement from Murphy. “Oh my God, this centerpiece! Kerry, it’s divine. It’s fabulous. I can’t believe you made this yourself. Wait till Thomas sees it! The whole thing is gorgeous. Rustic and elegant, and Kerry, you wizard, how did you know our dining room is done in greens and gold?” He linked his arm through Kerry’s. “Now you two get in here and let’s get you something to eat and drink.”
* * *
The apartment was high-ceilinged and spacious and thronged with people, most of whom seemed to know her brother.
“Murphy! Good to see you!”
“Hey, Murph! What’s shakin’？ How are things down south in the mountains?”
There was much back-slapping and cheek-kissing, and Kerry was amazed how well her brother seemed to fit in with these urbane residents of the West Village, while she, by contrast, felt like a miserable country-come-to-town mouse.
She followed John into the dining room, where he put the arrangement in the middle of a gleaming oval mahogany table loaded with trays of food.
It was the most elegant room Kerry had ever seen, with wallpaper in a rich green-and-gold damask. Silk curtains puddled on the hardwood floor. A chandelier dripping with crystals illuminated the room, and a mahogany Hepplewhite sideboard held dozens of glowing candles set in silver candlesticks. The wall opposite the sideboard held a huge gilt-framed oil portrait of an elegant woman in a gauzy aqua ’50s-era evening gown.
John noticed her staring at the painting. “My great-grandmother,” he said. “GeeGee. She was quite a dame. Made her debut with Jackie Kennedy, slept with two cabinet members in the Johnson administration. This apartment and a lot of the furniture in here was hers.”
He looked over Kerry’s head and waved. “I just realized you haven’t met Thomas yet. He’s been on the road with a touring production of Annie and just got home yesterday.”
John’s partner Thomas had the bluest eyes Kerry had ever seen, and a neatly trimmed graying beard.
“Babe? This is my friend Kerry that I’ve been telling you about. She’s Murphy’s sister, but more importantly, she created the wreath hanging on your grandmother’s secretary and that divine centerpiece.”