Sleigh Belles

by Beth Albright

  Mike emerged from his office and nodded his head to Dallas. He would see her now. She straightened her spine and gave her long hair a toss, ready to go after what she wanted and get her questions answered.

  “Hey, Dallas,” Mike said, shutting the door after her. “Come on in and have a seat.”

  Dallas sat down and crossed her long tan legs. She had on a cream-colored shift dress that hit above her knees and tall, knee-high boots with spiky high heels in nude leather. Since Mike had been the one to schedule the meeting, she had to sit through whatever he had to say before she could dig in and ask him why he was sabotaging her. But she knew she’d better rephrase that before she actually said it, for fear of sounding too accusatory. She braced herself for Mike’s comments.

  “Dallas, I need to talk to you about yesterday.”

  Here it comes.

  “I wanted to call you in here to thank you.”

  Wait...what?

  “I know this whole directing thing is really out of your comfort zone, especially since you have a lot on your plate competing for the anchor chair. So thanks for agreeing to do the play.” Mike leaned back in his swivel chair and smiled.

  Dallas didn’t know what to think. She tried to smile, to look gracious, but she was instantly suspicious. It was her nature not to trust.

  “Sure, Mike. No problem. I mean...I knew I had to do it. It’s fine.” Dallas really didn’t know what to say. She really didn’t have any idea how she was going to bring up the topic of being shoved into all the fluff pieces lately, especially after the unexpected praise. The timing seemed off, but waiting was not something Dallas did very well, especially when it came to questions about her career. With no other plan available to her, she dived right in.

  “Mike, I’ve been wondering about something.... Lately, I seem to be coverin’ a lot of...charity-based stories, you know? I just sorta miss having something more challenging. I miss the excitement of the leads.” There. It was out there and she’d used that honey method that had come to serve her so well. She batted her long lashes and uncrossed her legs, leaning forward toward Mike.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re doing the same amount of leads as all the reporters here. And you know everyone is doing lots of charity stories right now. It’s just that time of year.”

  Dallas wasn’t buying it. She leaned back in her chair and shifted position so that her skirt inched up a little higher on her thigh. She had Mike’s attention.

  “Look, Mike,” she began, “it’s no secret between me and you that I want that anchor seat. I just wanna make sure I’m on the right track to get it.”

  “Don’t worry, Dallas. It’s all good. Now look, I gotta get to another meeting downtown, but I did want you to know I appreciate you doing that play. Now, take care and get outta here.”

  He winked at her as they both stood, her towering over the short, rather chubby news director in her five-inch boots. She wasn’t satisfied but went on back to her desk anyway. Her phone was ringing as she approached. Any call could be a lead to something big, so she hurried to the ringing phone.

  “Dallas Dubois,” she answered.

  “Please don’t hang up again.” LouAnn was on the other end of the line.

  “Mother, I told you now is a bad time,” Dallas said, shocked at her persistence.

  “I just want to see you, that’s all. It’s been too long. Please.” LouAnn sounded desperate.

  “Yes, it has been a really long time. And that was most certainly not my choice. You can’t wait twenty years and expect that we’ll just pick up where we left off. Now I have a job to do. Please don’t call me again.” And she hung up.

  There it was again. That lump in her throat. It was choking her. Daniel must have seen the emotional call from his edit bay, because he was now making his way toward her.

  “Hey, you okay?” he whispered, almost nervously.

  “No, not really. But I will be. I just need a minute.”

  “What’s going on? Did Mike have a problem with the Baby Jesus story?”

  “No, it’s nothing about Mike. It’s private.”

  “Well, I’m here if you need me. I hate seein’ you sad, ya know?”

  Dallas knew Daniel had a good heart, but if she had to work with him on a daily basis, there was no way she could let her guard down in front of him. Business was business and she had to keep it that way.

  “I’m fine, Daniel. Don’t worry. Just the time of year...all that sentimental stuff. And then, you know, the fact that two reporters will be let go in a few weeks. I guess I just let it get to me, but I’m fine now.”

  “Aw, Dallas, they would never let you go. I mean, after all that fantastic election coverage and that Find Lewis campaign you launched last spring, you’re a famous reporter. Come on, you know that,” he reminded her.

  She smiled a weak smile as she reached for a tissue. Not to dab her eyes, but to blot her lipstick. She had managed to swallow that lump and move past the moment with the help of Daniel, although she would never admit she needed anyone.

  Christmastime or not, she had grown used to going it alone. And she wasn’t fixin’ to change that for anyone—not for Mike, not for Daniel and especially not for a long-absentee mother.

  7

  Late that afternoon, Dallas and Daniel wrapped up the editing on the Twelve Days of Christmas story they’d shot that morning, then she grabbed her coat to head to the Bama Theatre for another rehearsal. The weather had turned bitter cold, which was totally abnormal for Tuscaloosa in mid-December. It was normally mild in Tuscaloosa, but this time of year the weather could be unpredictable. A freak snowstorm one day, then the next, sunny and sixty degrees. The current drop in temperature had Dallas bundled up beyond recognition—something she really didn’t like.

  She parked in the front of the theater and made her way inside. Just as she entered the lobby, she heard her name mentioned from around the corner in the auditorium. Cal was talking to Betty Ann, the choir director. Dallas turned her back so they wouldn’t see she was there and listened.

  “Oh, Cal. Give her a chance. I think she’ll figure it out,” Betty Ann was reasoning.

  “I’m not so sure,” Cal shot back. “I have known this woman most of my life, and I’m telling you, she never changes. She’s probably the worst choice we could make for a director replacement. She’ll scare those poor kids to death and they’ll quit.”

  Dallas bristled at that. Maybe she was a bit standoffish, but scary? Come on!

  “Well, I think that’s just a tad harsh,” Betty Ann said. “Now, don’t you? She’s a media professional, which I would say makes her quite qualified—more than you or me, at least. And I know the board checked with her news director, and the TV station is fully behind her. Don’t judge her too quickly, okay? Let’s give her another chance.”

  “I guess we don’t have a choice,” Cal said. “But I’m watching out for those kids. They’re my priority. Some of them from the foster home don’t have a soul in the world to protect or support them. I’m not gonna be able to just stand back and watch her make demands they can’t meet, or talk down to them and make ’em feel worse about themselves.”

  Dallas thrust her nose in the air and rounded the corner, surprising them both.

  “Good afternoon,” she said as she walked quickly right by them.

  Both of them stood, bug-eyed, likely wondering if she’d heard them. Betty Ann made a quick exit down the theater side aisle as Cal headed to the sound booth upstairs.

  “Okay, children take your places,” Dallas said as she removed her long coat and warm gloves, throwing them on a theater seat and climbing the stairs to the stage. “We don’t have any time to waste today.” She clapped her hands together and got right to work, directing them to their positions for the first scene. Better to make this successful than to fa
il in front of everyone, she thought. Nobody really thinks I can do this, so I’ll just have to prove them wrong. Plus, she knew Cal was listening to everything up there in the booth, as if he was God, so she was more determined than ever to show him just what she was capable of.

  “Wait, Ms. Dubois,” Betty Ann broke in. “The children are still in choir practice right now. You’re a bit early.”

  “Well, can’t they practice the songs second today instead of first?”

  “Well, no, not really.”

  “And why would that be?” Dallas demanded impatiently.

  “Some of the children only come for the choir practice. Once we’re finished, they can go on home while the rest of the children stay for play rehearsal. It won’t be long, okay?” Betty Ann didn’t wait for an answer. She began to round the children up and head them down the hall off stage left to the choir room.

  “Wait. Wait, please. Now, I’m a little confused. Am I the director or are you the director, Ms. Betty Ann?”

  “Well, of course you are in charge,” replied Betty Ann, stunned. “But this is what works best for the children, Ms. Dubois. Is this a problem for you?” Her voice was almost sickly sweet, and she was smiling back at Dallas as if she could take her down with one little flick of the wrist. Betty Ann was an old-school Southern belle, schooled in the way of all good Southern women who smiled while they were ripping your head off, slowly. Or choking you with their string of pearls. It took quite a woman to intimidate Dallas, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure she was up for a fight.

  “Of course not, but I just wanted to be clear so I know my responsibilities,” Dallas said, backing down. The whole take-charge attitude wasn’t really working at the moment.

  “Wonderful. I knew I could count on you,” Betty Ann said, grinning as she took the children on to the choir room.

  With the children off the stage, Dallas wandered around the set. It was precious, really, with little candy-cane streetlights and fake snow atop all the rooflines. A life-size gingerbread house sat in the corner, complete with Twizzler candies and gumdrop trimmings. Dallas was lost in the memories of her early childhood, where she stood singing on that very stage in a long-ago Christmastime production. She smiled briefly, softening in her recollection.

  The set was actually too perfect—since when Dallas took her next step, she lost her footing on the stairs down the trap door, which was concealed by a carefully arranged pile of fake snow. Unable to steady herself, she fell right to the bottom, twisting her ankle on the way down. She was in a lot of pain, but still she was thankful that no one was around to see her in an embarrassed heap at the bottom of the stairs, her cream-colored dress dirty with dark marks and shoe prints from the wooden stage steps.

  She tried to get up, but her ankle was hurt terribly. Suddenly, she heard someone walking across the stage. She thought it must be Cal and hurriedly tried to get up again. He couldn’t see her like this. She’d managed to shift only slightly to the side when she looked up to notice a cute little pudgy boy was standing at the top of the steps looking down at her. His mop of dark curly hair hung loosely around blue eyes that stared down at her.

  “Ms. Dubois, are you okay? Do you need help?” he asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” she said dismissively, her cheeks aflame. “Just go back to class. What are you doing out here anyway?” She hated feeling even remotely vulnerable and wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to break that habit, even when the most adorable little boy was looking into her eyes.

  “I was going to the potty and I saw you fall down,” he said. Just then, Cal appeared next to him.

  “Need some help?” he asked with a smirk.

  “No, actually, I’m fine. Now, both of you just go. Really. I’m fine.”

  “Well, are you plannin’ on stayin’ there long? The kids’ll be back here pretty soon to get started,” Cal said with his hands on his hips.

  “Yes. Go. Really.” She winced as she tried to pull herself up, regretting the five-inch boots that, she admitted to herself, weren’t exactly the proper footwear for directing a children’s play.

  “Go! Both of you.” She winced again.

  “Come on, don’t be so stubborn. Can you just let me help you?” But Cal didn’t wait for a response. He skipped down the stairs and slipped his arm under hers and his other arm around her waist and helped her up. He was inches from her face. This was the very position she had promised herself to never be in again. The one she’d found herself in at the hospital when she’d been covering the birth of baby Tallulah. It was that dangerous spot that made her unable to think. Made her heart quicken and her palms sweat. His gray-green eyes fixed on hers, she could feel his breath on her face.

  It didn’t seem to matter that they really didn’t get along; being that close stirred something inside her, made her feel a spark. And by the look in his eyes, she bet he felt it, too.

  But she couldn’t even begin to think about that right now. Instead, she pushed away from him and began dusting herself off. She moved toward the stairs and tentatively climbed to the top, moving slowly on her tender ankle.

  Cal followed closely behind her, and the little boy was still waiting on stage when she made it to the top. He reached out a small hand to Dallas, but she only shook her head.

  “Thanks, but I’m fine. Go on back to class, uhm...” She didn’t know the child’s name yet.

  “Tristan,” he smiled sweetly. “Tristan Brooks is my name.”

  “Well, go back to choir, Tristan. Now.”

  “Ms. Dubois,” he said, “Why don’t you like us?”

  Dallas stopped fixing herself and stood in the silence. Cal looked at her with his eyebrows raised, apparently as interested in her answer as Tristan. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat, but before she could answer, the little boy ran off, disappearing into the darkness off stage. She gave herself a final dust-off, then smiled a forced grin at Cal and limped off to the ladies’ room.

  In the bathroom, she sat down on an antique couch by the makeup mirrors and took off her boots. Her right ankle looked bruised and a tad swollen. She stood on it with all her weight. It hurt, but she decided it was just twisted. It felt good to be barefoot on the cold tile floor.

  Then a knock.

  “Hey, Dallas. The kids are coming back.” It was Cal. Was he worried about her?

  “Okay, I’ll be right there,”

  “Can you walk?” he asked through the door.

  “I most certainly can.” She couldn’t help her tone—it came out snippy before she could even think about it. “Uh, thanks, though,” she added.

  “Sure.” She could hear him walk away.

  Her palms were still sweaty. Her heart was still jumping. If there would never be anything between them, she was going to have to learn to tone down her reactions to him along with everything else. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t shake that image of his face so close to hers.

  8

  Dallas arrived back at her place that evening and turned on the fireplace. It was a gas fireplace, so all you had to do was click on a switch and the flame appeared like magic. She had set up her little Christmas tree, the same one she had used for the past several years, in the corner next to the front window where the little twinkling lights could be seen from the street—though nothing would compete with the glaring monstrosity that was her neighbor’s decorations. She changed into some comfortable clothes, poured herself a glass of wine and flicked on the TV. Then she sank into the couch with a bag of frozen peas from the freezer on her swollen ankle.

  Wilhelmina snuggled up next to her fuzzy socks, eventually creeping up to Dallas’s lap. The two of them sat together watching her favorite Christmas channel—Hallmark movies. You couldn’t beat those at Christmastime.

  Alone in her house, Dallas let her walls come down. With her precious cat asleep on
her lap, she felt safe and at peace from the frantic life she lived outside. She could take a break from the façade she constructed in front of the public. Here, she didn’t have to be tough or abrasive, cold or stoic. In the safe confines of her home, she was soft and romantic and longed for closeness. But she didn’t trust anyone with that side of her anymore. Not anyone but Wilhelmina. She sat comfortably, dozing early.

  It was barely 7:30 p.m. when she heard a knock on the door, followed by giggling. What would a bunch of kids want with her? She moved Wilhelmina to the side, pushed the blanket off and hobbled awkwardly to the door. When she opened it, she was greeted by a chorus of young voices.

  “You’re a mean one, Mrs. Grinch...” the kids sang.

  Well, isn’t this sweet, she thought, wondering when caroling had become so cruel.

  The kids continued to sing their own version of the famous Grinch song, personalizing it just for Dallas. She was not amused. Some of the faces she recognized as a few of the older kids from the play, and she was a little shocked that they’d be brave enough to play this kind of prank. Instead of laughing and being in on the joke, she rolled her eyes and slammed the door on them, remembering exactly why she had never been a fan of kids to begin with.

  She scooped up Wilhelmina and limped to her bedroom. Her cell phone rang just as she’d sat down, so she reached across her bed and fumbled through her bag to find it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s just me,” Daniel said on the other line. “We gotta set up early. That Dickens thing is all day, so you want me to swing by and just pick you up?”

  “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.” She was starting to think she might actually like Daniel, that they might be able to get along, after all.

  “Well, this way you won’t have to drive your car, and I can just drop you off when it’s over,” he explained.

  “Awesome. I really appreciate it. Parking for that thing is gonna be just awful. So, thanks again.”