Blue Christmas

Chapter 2

Elvis considered what Loretta and co had said about the Christmas Eve dinner. If there really were such few people present, there was a slight possibility that he could go downstairs and pretend that he was just like everyone else for once in his life. He went back and forth on it and finally decided that he was going to give it a shot.

They arrived to find Loretta's crew already assembled, the two traveling salesmen huddled in a corner. There was also a family of three that no one had mentioned to him.

The woman had done her hair in a Jackie Kennedy type of style, only that it was longer and bleach blonde. A fur coat was thrown over her shoulders, covering a dress that was without a doubt the latest fashion. She might have been a rather attractive woman in another circumstance, but her sour expression marred any beauty she might possess. Her husband wore a suit that was too tight around his beer belly. Though perhaps only thirty, his hair was already thinning. Their chubby, tow-headed son was dressed in a sailor suit which looked ridiculous on a child his age.

Elvis disliked them at once, but they didn't dignify him with so much as a glance.

Loretta grinned at him when he walked in surrounded by the guys. She waved at him, a gesture Elvis returned.

"Come here," Loretta urged. "Sit here with us."

"What about me?" Joe asked with a frown.

"Y'all can take those tables." Elvis gestured. "Plenty of room for you."

The guys trotted off to find themselves seats while Elvis settled down beside Loretta, whose expression was suddenly serious. "Did I hurt their feelins by not askin' them to sit?"

"The Mafia? They're gonna be fine. They're just messing with you." He glanced at her plate, filled with glazed ham, mashed potatoes and peas. "Looks pretty good."

"It is pretty good," Loretta confirmed.

The family of three, however, didn't seem to think so. The woman called over the waiter and asked whether the peas came from a can (they did not, they were frozen) and declared the food inedible. When Elvis received his own meal, he found that he could not agree with her assessment.

Unfortunately it didn't get better from there. The woman complained about the relatives they had gone to spend time with and how they would be stuck here on Christmas thanks to her husband. She complained and complained and complained and whenever she was not complaining, her son was. He cried about missing out on his presents, he cried about having to spend time with daddy's 'poor' relatives, he cried about the TV not working and not having anything to do because he did not bring his toys.

They were spoiling what could have been a pleasant meal. Every time he heard one of their whiny voices, Elvis felt anger rise within him.

"I want to fly back home," the woman said, "I don't understand why we can't fly back home right now. I want to fly-"

"Why don't you fly to Timbuktu?" The words spilled from Elvis' mouth without him really considering. It was what he was thinking, but not what he had been meaning to say.

The woman's mouth dropped open while the boy burst into tears. The guys roared with laughter - both Loretta's and his- and even Loretta was snorting back something akin to a laugh.

"Charles," the woman said upon snapping out of it. She placed a hand on the boy's back. "Charles stop crying. Howard, get the waiter."

'Howard's' face was as red as an overly ripe tomato. Fortunately for him, he did not have to perform this unenviable task as the waiter did become aware of the commotion and came over by himself.