The Merchant of Menace

he has in mind.“
    “So, what are you going to do, Jane?“ Shelley asked.
    “I don’t know. If I let him in, he’ll ruin the party. If I keep him out, he’ll make a scene and still ruin the party. And probably find a way to ruin me as well.”
    They heard the singing start and Shelley said, “I’m going to join them. Send one of your kids over for the hams. The kitchen door’s unlocked.”
    Jane would have liked to indulge herself in a good cry in the bathroom, but even that was denied her. The phone rang and it was Mel. “I’ll be over in a couple minutes, Janey. The furnace fixer didn’t show up and I’m going to have to start over tomorrow with another company, I guess.“
    “Okay,“ she said between gritted teeth.
    She sent Todd and Elliott for the hams and made Katie go along to find and identify the pineapple-mustard sauce. “As soon as you’ve got everything, you can go join the rest of the singers.”
    She bundled herself up and went to observe and listen from the front porch. A couple deep, cold breaths helped her calm down slightly and the sound of the neighbors’ voices raised in a rousing version of “Jingle Bells“ didn’t hurt. She reminded herself of her long-standing party philosophy, which was that it’s pointless to have a party if you’re not going to enjoy it yourself. The planning and preparation might be tough, but the panic to get ready had to stop the moment the first guest stepped through the door.
    “I can do this,“ she said to herself. “And Lance King can’t wreck it.“ She watched as a television cameraman posed a small collection of singers in front of an especially pretty house. A man in a Santa suit—King himself—was standing in the middle of the arrangement.
    As she stood, watching and listening to the ever-growing group going from house to house, one of the television people broke away from the group and walked briskly down the street to Jane’s house. The woman approaching her was young, very tall, and had a mop of curly maroon-red hair escaping her stocking cap. She walked leaning forward, hands plunged into the pockets of a pea jacket and a clipboard under one arm. “Are you Mrs. Jeffry?“ she said. “I’m Ginger Wrightman, Mr. King’s assistant. I need to take a look at the house layout and figure out where to set up the lights and camera.“
    “Mr. King wasn’t invited to my house,“ Jane said. “Or, he was, but without my permission.”
    Ginger said, “Oh, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. But—“
    “But I don’t dare lock him out,“ Jane finished. “I’m aware of that. Come on in, Ginger.”
    As Ginger shed her cap and coat, she apologized again. “I’m just an employee, Mrs. Jeffry. I don’t know how much longer I can take it, either. I’m just too damned nice for this job.”
    Jane studied Ginger. She wasn’t pretty by any means. Her face was too elongated, her nose and teeth too big, her eyes too close together and her hair was dead awful. But there was something terribly vulnerable about this plain young woman’s honesty that charmed Jane. “I understand. Make yourself at home.”
    Jane went back out on the porch. When she judged the carolers were close enough to arrive at her home in another ten minutes, she went inside.
    Addie pitched in and helped set the food out, annoying Jane enormously by changing where Jane had chosen to put the dishes. “There,“ Addie exclaimed. “That looks much better with the hams farther apart, doesn’t it?“
    “I guess so,“ Jane said wearily, wishing she could shove Addie into a closet for just long enough to get the table set up the way she’d intended. As soon as everyone had been through the line once, Jane was going to put the desserts out on the kitchen table and counter. Mel had better be there by then to keep his mother out of her hair.
    Ginger found Jane in the kitchen. “I think we can set up in a way that won’t completely destroy your party. Lance will be doing a short commercial feed live at eight. Just a fifteen-second bit. Then later he’ll open the news live with a two-minute piece. Of course, we can pray there’s real news by then that’ll take precedence.“
    “A nice plane wreck or a bomb going off somewhere?“ Jane said.
    Ginger grinned. “Something like that. Think you could arrange it?”
    People started coming in the front door, shaking snow off their clothes, piling coats, hats, and mittens on the stairs, the banister, and the coat-rack Jane had