Meanwhile, a few minutes earlier on the other side of the world . . .
Up close, the lights on the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree were almost blinding. The thousands—even tens, maybe hundreds of thousands—of twinkling red, blue, white, and green bulbs dazzled, but surprisingly gave off no heat at all. They were probably those power-saving LED kind, which was great for the environment, but no help in warming up Noelle Nixon's frozen fingers.
Grasping the neck of her violin with one hand, Noelle tucked the bow under her arm and blew warm air into her clenched fist. Playing an outdoor concert just four days before Christmas in eighteen degree weather ahead of an impending blizzard was the true definition of insanity. Especially when the one thing the twenty-four year old musician hated more than the upcoming holiday was snow. Sure it could be pretty, but to the woman who grew up on a forty-foot sailboat in the eastern Caribbean, everything else about frozen water that fell from the sky when daylight became scarce was—quite frankly—abhorrent.
Snow was cold. It also hurt against your skin, and it blocked roads and sidewalks. Even when trampled down by those brave—or stupid—enough to go into it, the fluffy stuff packed into ice. And ice was slippery, leading to more than Noelle's fair share of bruised tailbones since coming to New York nearly six years ago. So in spite of all those wintry chick-flicks where the cosmopolitan girl returned to her roots only to fall in love with the small-town boy who had been right in front of her all along, Noelle could never be persuaded to find snow romantic. At most it was a necessary nuisance to be tolerated. But tonight—on what also happened to be the longest night of the year—Noelle was hoping against hope that she wouldn't even have to do that. Maybe the spirits of the Equinox would take pity on her, and the blizzard would turn away.
Exhaling a warm breath into her fist once more, Noelle looked around. There were too many people in red velvet Santa hats, too many festively decorated cups of peppermint-drizzled coffee, and too many pots of poinsettias, which aren't even real flowers, but mildly toxic leaves for her liking.
She was no Scrooge, of course. Nor did she consider herself a Grinch for her long-held disdain of Christmas. It certainly wasn't happiness she begrudged others in a world that could actually use a lot more of it. But there was something to be said for the overwhelming materialism of the season that both Charles Dickens and Dr. Seuss rightly pointed out in their classic tales. Materialism that couldn't have been more evident than by this year's "it" pop star who at that very moment was lip-syncing a trite, country-meets-house remix of "Sleigh Bells" on the stage.
"She's amazing, isn't she?" The question made Noelle jump. Looking over her shoulder from her spot in the wings, she eyed the pretty blonde while giving a raised eyebrow and a forced pout. But in spite of the attempted visual mockery, Avery Boone—wrangling a double bass nearly a foot taller than her—kept on smiling. And, unfortunately, talking.
"You know she's from Dallas, which is only about an hour away from where I—"
"Nice story. Can't talk." Noelle cut her off before turning away.
It wasn't that she disliked the woman; she just didn't like her. There was a difference. Like with mushrooms on a pizza. If it were already there, she wouldn't waste her time picking it off. But never would Noelle actively choose to order it on a slice.
The thing was, the woman with the perfect ringlets in her golden blonde hair, the Fifth Avenue wardrobe, and the supermodel looks without the snooty attitude was always friendly, cheerful, and sweet. And that was . . . well, it was just unnatural. No one in their right mind could ever be as care-free, genuine, or downright content without acting or playing at something.
The girl on stage belted out the final note, holding it for way too long after the music cut out. After she took multiple bows and waved to the crowd in all directions, she finally tiptoed off in her platform stilettos. Stagehands scrambled to push pre-arranged chairs out from behind a curtain so that the orchestra could take their places.
Not everyone in the premier NYC concert orchestra was "lucky" enough to play tonight. That was the word their director, Al Croaker, used when he pulled a third of the full ensemble for the assignment, and most of her colleagues were thrilled at the opportunity to feature in the annual spectacle that was broadcast on television across the US and streamed online for millions of potential viewers.
But Noelle was not one of them.
She couldn't care less about having her face show up for a few seconds before cutting to Esteban Flores on cello. She was more worried about what the frigid temperatures were doing to her twenty-thousand dollar instrument than getting a brief moment of clout. It was all for show anyway since they were playing under a pre-recorded backing track, so in all honesty, even a high school kid with a couple years of experience with strings could have taken her place.
"Chop chop, Miss Nixon," said Croaker, clapping in her face to get her attention. "Take your place, and let's get this show started."
Noelle wanted to chop chop him upside the head for the disrespect, but instead just rolled her eyes and climbed the steps to the stage before finding her chair. At least they only had two pieces to play. Starting with the more somber "Angels We Have Heard on High," they ended with a whimsical rendition of "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy." Noelle was thankful they weren't playing fully live because her strings were stiff and she was off-tune at least twice. But there was something magical as snow began falling just as they reached the crescendo. Although she should have been cross with the—expected, but still unwanted—development, she was surprised that for a moment, it was quite the opposite.
The sight of the tiny crystal flakes floating from the darkness above through the shimmering spotlights while accompanied by the strings of two-dozen musicians was enchanting or perhaps even otherworldly. In spite of the chill that ran through her, a warmth bubbled inside Noelle. This was either a glitch in the Matrix or the Grinch's heart just grew two sizes, but something special definitely just happened.
She was all smiles as the orchestra exited the stage, until Croaker pulled her out of line. "I need to speak at once with you, Miss Nixon."
Noelle's breath inadvertently hitched. What did she do now? Sure, she had originally complained about the assignment (which was probably why her director gave it to her in the first place), but she played as best as she could and now it was done. She had even kind of enjoyed it! And now here he was immediately bursting her bubble. Bastard.
"Yes, Mister Croaker," she answered as she shook snow out of her long, dark dreads, plastering on a smile in the hopes of getting whatever was coming out of the way quickly so she could just go home.
"I—"
"Mister Croaker," interrupted Avery as she—and her bass—stopped beside them.
"Not now, Miss Boone," he said, waving her off.
"Sure thing, Mister Croaker. I'll be right here waiting for when you're ready," she said cheerily, unfazed by his curtness. Turning her back, she remained technically out of the conversation while still staying within earshot.
Noelle snickered at her gall, but then remembered that it was probably just naïveté.
"I hope you don't have any big Christmas plans that can't be cancelled because I have some exciting news for you," Croaker finally said.
Noelle was the last person to have Christmas plans. Any plans that involved dressing up, having fun, or being in contact with other humans, for that matter. Because for the next week, all she wanted to do was lock herself in her apartment and watch every anti-Christmas movie she could find on Netflix. She already had Reindeer Games queued up, but Bad Santa was also a good one for starters.
But she still wasn't liking Croaker's lead-in. "Oh, yeah. Big plans. Family plans. Big family plans, actually," she lied. "I'm sorry, but whatever—"
He shook his head. "Miss Nixon, I was just being polite. You must drop everything because you are needed in Lapland."
This is my #NaNoWriMo2019 project and while I absolutely love all of my silent readers, I would LOVE to get your encouragement while writing this story. So please, please, please add it to your libraries, vote on the chapters (updates daily!) and leave me comments. <3
I'm listening to Christmas music to get myself in the mood to write this. Do you celebrate Christmas? Or Yule? Or Hannukah? How do you get into the holiday spirit?