My mother guilted me into my first photography gig when I was a junior in college. She called saying Father William’s at St. Veronica’s needed someone to take pictures for the annual Nickel Party and it wouldn’t kill me to do some good in the world for once. I didn’t know what a nickel party was and I didn’t want to go back to the church I hadn’t seen in four years. But for the sake of saying I was hired as a photographer, I went.

The party was in the basement of St. Veronica’s middle school. The walls were decorated with poster board nickels. I carried my camera and tripod past the statue of the Virgin Mary, trying to remember if I was supposed to kneel or bow or anything as I passed it.

“Hi, Elly,” Father Williams said from behind me, “I’m so glad you decided to help us out. How has college been so far?”

“Good,” I said, “Where do you want me to set up?” I added before he could ask me where I’d been the past 200 Sundays.

“The table right next to the podium will be best. That’s where we’ll be giving out the prizes. You know, it’s so interesting you’re here to take pictures. St. Veronica is the patron saint of photographers.”

I smiled and took my camera and tripod to the table before he tried to engage me in saint talk. A few minutes later, several alter servers came into the basement carrying gift baskets, appliances and other wrapped prizes. Father Williams instructed them to put the prizes around the room on the tables and place coffee cans in front of each one.

I walked from table to table, shooting the espresso machines, gift certificates to Italian restaurants, patio sets and other prizes. Father Williams explained that when guests entered the party they’d buy a sheet of 20 raffle tickets. They would walk around the room and enter their tickets in whichever prizes they liked. After an hour or so of entering tickets, he and an alter server would pull tickets for each item. The big prize of the night was a sofa donated by Crate and Barrel.

“Wait until you see it,” he said, “It’s a beauty.”

I believed that the couch would be nice but doubted that it would be a welcome gift. If I won a piece of furniture in a raffle, I would dread moving it into my apartment. It sounded like a chore more than a gift, no matter how lovely it was.

Half an hour later, the basement was full of people. A brunette, her teenage daughter and family friend sat next to me on the table.

“Oh, is this for the newspaper?” the mom asked me, nudging her daughter, “Gina, you’re going to be famous!”

“I’m just taking photos for the parish bulletin,” I said, “I’m Elly.” I shook their hands, smiling. The mother was Donna and the friend was Frances.

Gina wasn’t smiling. She sat in the folding chair and ate her meatball sandwich while her mom and friend kept looking at my camera.

“Hey Donna, good thing you combed your hair before you left,” Frances said.

Donna laughed and sat down to eat the food from the kitchen. A few tables down, several people sat with a purple table cloth enjoying gourmet looking sandwiches, cheese plates and wine. I had only seen hoagies and chips when I visited the kitchen.

“Where did they get their food?” I asked.

“They bring it themselves,” Donna said, rolling her eyes, “Every year. And they don’t share.”

Father Williams stepped to the podium and welcomed everyone to the Nickel Party. He said a prayer that the night would be fun, that it would bring support to the parish and that his own raffle ticket would be chosen for the flat screen TV. Everyone laughed as they said amen. Priest humour.

“I also want to introduce Frankie, our alter server who will be assisting me this evening,” he said as he gestured to the young man with a buzz cut and beginnings of a moustache by his side.

“Hey Gina, did you tell your boyfriend to make sure he picks our tickets?” Donna said. Gina frowned.

“Mom.”

“Look,” Frances said, “She’s blushing.”

“I don’t like Frankie.”

The two of them smiled “knowingly” at her as she looked down and bit her lip to stop from shouting expletives in a holy basement. It would have made a fantastic picture But out of respect for Gina, I took a shot of an older couple putting on their reading glasses to see their ticket numbers instead.

The first drawing was for an Avon basket full of strawberry scented lotion and bubble bath. Gina’s mom and Frances held their tickets as Father Williams read the winning number. A shriek sounded from the gourmet food table and a woman in a Juicy Couture sweat suit and green heels sprinted to the podium to grab her prize. After Frankie checked her ticket, she held the Avon basket over her head and laughed all the way back to her table where everyone high five’d her between bites of grilled polenta.

“If you want some reaction shots,” Frances said leaning towards me, “Just keep yourself facing that table.”
The next prize was for a pink lava lamp. Just as Father Williams finished reading the final “6” from the winning ticket, another shriek went up from the table and a woman wearing a tight purple dress and a Tiffany toggle necklace ran to the podium

“I always say,” Gina’s mom started, “They know someone. They put their tickets in last and then they tell Father Williams not to shake the cans.”

“Mom, they don’t know anyone. They just buy more chances.”

“Oh no,” Donna continued, “Elly, last year I put, I am not kidding you, fifteen tickets in the can for a Casio LK100 lighted keyboard because we had to sell my piano to make room for the baby when Gina’s brother was born. And this was ten years later and we still didn’t have room for a whole piano even with the crib gone. Fifteen tickets.”

“I put some of mine in there too for her,” Frances added.

“She did. And besides us, hardly anyone else entered in for that prize. And who won?” She gestured over to the gourmet table, “I doubt any of them even know how to play the piano.”

“I know why you didn’t win it,” Frances said.

“Oh, I know why,” Gina’s mom put her hands on Gina’s shoulders, “My little luck charm wasn’t there.”

Gina rolled her eyes.

“The year before last, Gina said a Hail Mary at the table before we entered in any of our tickets. She was eleven years old only, it was her idea. And between the three of us, we won six different prizes.”

“Seven,” Frances corrected.

“Seven! I forgot about the electric toothbrush. My angel. And I got her to come back this year so they better watch out.”

She gave Gina a kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t even get my daughter to go to church,” Frances said. I squirmed around in my seat to face the podium.

Out of the next ten prizes called, one gardening kit went to the older man who was putting on his reading glasses (I got a great shot of him handing his wife the silk flowers that came with it), one pair of Waterford champagne flutes went to a middle aged woman across the room (Father Williams joke “Now don’t drop those”) and eight went to the gourmet table.

“I’m starting to think you’re right,” I said to Donna as I took a picture of the winning table members clapping as one of them brought back a stainless steel pot set.

“The one with the green shoes works for a printing company. She gets them a discount on the bulletins,” Donna said, “I bet all the other ones help out behind the scenes too.”

Father Williams announced that the espresso machine was the next prize. I put down my camera and listened as he read off a ticket number one digit off from mine. The prize went to the woman in the green heels. Donna laughed.

“Are you really surprised?”

I shook my head.

“You know, they can have it. They got connections, they got money but what good does that do them in the long run? That keyboard I was telling you about?”

“Oh no,” Gina said, “Mom, could you not tell—“

“That Mother’s Day after I didn’t win it in the Nickel Party this one right here and her brother put all their Easter money together and got it for me. On their own.”

Frances passed Donna a napkin so she could wipe her eyes.

“I told you, she’s my angel.”

“Yeah well her luck’s not doing us any good tonight,” Frances laughed.

“It’s just a stupid raffle,” Gina said.

“We’d be doing a lot better if you’d go talk to Frankie.”

“I told you. I don’t like Frankie.”

“Look how embarrassed she is,” Frances said to me before she swallowed a handful of Jordan almonds, “She’s blushing.”

Gina bit her lip.

“He’s a good boy. He—“

“I said I don’t like him!” Gina slammed her fist on the table.

“All right! Geez, you don’t have to get all upset because you have a crush on a—“

“I think I like girls.”

I turned away from Donna in time to snap a shot of Frances gagging and coughing up a soggy pastel mess into her napkin.

“Why would you take a picture of that? I was choking,” she whispered to me.

“I was just trying to get out of the way.”

I didn’t hear Donna say anything for a few moments until Father Williams finished handing the latest winner a popcorn popper.

“You what?” she said to Gina.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You’re fourteen.”

“I’m just being honest,” Gina said as she left the table, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Well, how about that?” Frances said once Gina was out of earshot, “I think there’s about three prizes left until the big sofa. I think I put in just two tickets for that. You only put one, right?”

“Jesus Christ,” Donna said, “She thinks she’s—”

“I’m going to get some exterior shots,” I said but Frances put her hand on my shoulder.

“I think she’s going to need all the help she can get,” she whispered to me, “I will buy you an espresso machine if you don’t leave me alone with her right now.” I sat back down.

“God, Jesus, Frances, what’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing, she was just, you know, telling you about herself. And for some reason she thought this was a good time.”

“Why does she think she’s— God almighty I let her watch the Ellen show. She got the idea from there.”

“Oh please, Donna, you think she’s modelling her life after Ellen? She’s fourteen. Ellen’s old. She doesn’t care about Ellen.”

“How does she think this? She’s never had a boyfriend or a girl— or anything.”

“So? I didn’t have a boyfriend until I was sixteen but I knew I liked boys. Why are you panicking? You’re always saying they’re not hurting anybody and we should leave them alone. My doctor’s gay. We all know them. Elly, I bet you have a lot of friends like that. Or, geez, I didn’t even think. You might be one.”

“No, I’m not a— but I have an aunt. Well, I mean, I’m pretty sure she is.” I said, wondering if I was helping. The alter servers were putting pieces of chocolate cake on the tables. I took my slice and pretended to examine the fine iced flowers. Frances made sure they put a piece down at Gina’s empty spot on the table. She ate a few forkfuls of her own and Donna looked like she was about to get sick all over her cake.

Innuendo by Peter Schwartz“I don’t know what I did wrong. I take her to church. She made her Confirmation. She says her prayers every night. They’re going to throw her out of the school if they find out.”

“I don’t think they’re allowed to do that,” Frances said, “Besides, my cousin Tim, the priest? You can’t tell me he’d be marrying some woman if he wasn’t in the church. And he’s a priest. It’s not the end of the world. She’s not on drugs. She’s not pregnant. Ha! I guess you’re not going to have to worry about that one.”

“This isn’t funny,” Donna said, “What if she changes her mind?”

“Then whatever. Her and Frankie’ll get together.”

“Oh God, I didn’t even think about her father. My husband is going to—“

“So get a therapist.”

“The Pope says—“

“Donna, does the Pope live in your house? Does the Pope have a daughter? He lives in Rome, he’s got a gold house, he doesn’t know anything about this stuff. I know they say he’s number two after God but they’re not always right. Years ago, they didn’t want the whites and the blacks to get married. They’re behind the times. Jesus didn’t go around yelling at the gays. He yelled at rich people,” she tilted her head towards the members of the gourmet table who were now enjoying a tower of cannolis. “She’s probably in the bathroom crying. Go talk to her.”

“I can’t do that, I’m too upset. You go.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m old and I’m not her mother.”

Both of them slowly turned to me.

“Oh no,” I said.

“Elly, you’re young,” Frances said, “You’re cool. She’ll talk to you.”

“I don’t even know her.”

“She just needs someone to bring her a tissue. Espresso maker. I’ll get you one that steams the milk.” I didn’t want Frances and Donna to think I could be easily bribed with an espresso machine but I also couldn’t bear the thought of a girl crying by herself in the restroom.

“Ok, five minutes. And then I’m leaving this table.”

I took my camera and walked to the bathroom. Gina wasn’t crying, she was sitting on the radiator just looking down. I cleared my throat and she looked up.

“Are you here to take my picture?”

“No. Your mom wanted me to check on you.”

“Is she mad?”

“She’s surprised. But I think she loves you a lot.”

She played with the stack of raffle tickets in her hand.

“She’s going to hate me.”

“She won’t hate you,” I sat down on the radiator next to her, “When I stopped going to church, my mom wouldn’t talk to me for a week. But after a while, she just accepted it. She still tries to get me to go but she doesn’t force me. She just needed time.”

“Why did you stop going to church?”

“I didn’t like the way they wouldn’t let women be priests. I didn’t like how they made me feel like my friends who didn’t go to church were bad people. And I didn’t like how they said two guys or two girls can’t get married. I just thought they were all too old fashioned and unfair.”

Gina sighed.

“I don’t want to stop going to church. I like church.”

I really didn’t know what to tell her. I was just there to take pictures. Theological counselling was not part of the agreement.

“Gina, I have to ask. Why did you choose to tell your mom your secret in the middle of the Nickel Party?”

“Father Williams told me I should do it when she was in a good mood and we were in a public place.”

“You told Father Williams?”

She nodded.

“He saw me crying one day in the schoolyard at lunch and let me talk to him about it. He was really nice.”

“I wish Father Williams was at St. Veronica’s when I went to church,” I said.

We sat just staring at the tile for a few moments.

“I want to enter my tickets,” Gina said and got up to leave. I left with her and told her I’d meet her back at the table.

I walked around the basement taking shots of happy winners with their prizes. I took a few of the gourmet table but couldn’t be bothered making sure I got a shot of each prize they won. A nun held up her collection of Frank Sinatra CDs. I imagined that would make the cover of the bulletin. I saw Gina sitting next to her Mom eating her cake. No one at that table seemed to be saying anything. They still didn’t have any prizes.

“We’re up to the final prize of the night,” Father Williams said. Frankie and three other alter servers carried the sofa to the podium. It really was a beautiful couch. I moved back to Donna and Gina’s table to get a better look at it. The linen slip cover was a warm wheat tone and it had overstuffed back pillows, rolled arms and extra-deep seating. I imagined myself taking an afternoon nap on it with a matching blanket. This sofa could be in any house, any apartment, any room and make it a home.

“We want to thank our friends at Crate and Barrel for donating this lovely sofa,” Father Williams said, “And I want to thank all of you for coming here tonight. Your support is invaluable.”

“Pull the ticket!” the woman with the green heels yelled. Everyone at her table laughed.

“Well then, without further ado, or ‘adon’t,’” Father Williams was the only one to laugh at his priestly humour. The entire basement was silent. All of the people were sitting head down, staring at their tickets.

“The winning ticket is 1068433.”

“That’s me! I won!” Gina shouted, “I won, Mom, we won!”

Gina ran to the podium where Frankie inspected her ticket. Father Williams gave her a high five and she sat in the middle cushion of the couch. Frances jumped up and down at the table laughing as the members of the gourmet table put on their coats and started gathering their silverware.

“Donna, get up! Go see the couch.” Frances pulled Donna up off her seat and walked her to the podium. Donna inched towards the couch biting her lip. She admired the stitching, the herringbone trim around the cushions and the purple throw pillows Crate and Barrel threw in for good measure. She ran her hand along the armrest and sat down feeling the extra deep seating and overstuffed pillow on her back.

“We’ll even have some of the seminarians help you move it in next week,” Father Williams said.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Gina said. It was such a sweet moment I didn’t even point out it was the middle of February.

Donna’s eyes filled up with tears.

“Here she goes,” Frances said, “Someone give me a napkin.”

Donna turned to Gina and put her hand on her shoulder.

“My luck charm,” she said and pulled her into a tight hug while weeping, loudly. Gina smiled and hugged her mom back. She turned to me.

“This is kind of embarrassing.”

“Just don’t move yet,” I said and took a shot of the two of them on the couch.

“Mom, all I did was put the ticket in right before they got to the sofa.”

“Yeah and thanks for saving all your good luck for your mom,” Frances said and turned to me, “I need to get a gay daughter. Until then IOU for the espresso machine.”

The members of the gourmet table were leaving, carrying their prizes home in the canvas tote bags they took with them to the Nickel Party. Gina continued relaxing on the new couch as Donna spoke with Father Williams, arranging a time for him to help her family move the heavy gift into their home.

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Julia Curcio lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and works as an editorial assistant in nursing books at Elsevier. Her fiction has been published in such magazines and journals as The Apple Valley Review, Liguorian and Italian Americana. Her plays, The Olive Branch and His, Hers and Larry's, have been performed as part of the Philadelphia Fringe Festival. Julia sells her handmade knits and crochets at http://www.yarnbeast.etsy.com.