The Christmas Bet

by Alice Ward

  My teeth were chattering by the time I ran into Pop’s Diner and Grocery, the closest place to my temporary home with internet and a cell signal. The cost of groceries there was much higher than if I went farther down the mountain. But I didn’t want to go any farther. I loved the isolation. The beauty and views of my rustic hideaway. Maybe I could one day afford something like my little cabin getaway on my own, and seclude myself from the world forever.

  “Afternoon, Miss Zoe,” Mrs. Pop said, the always present smile beaming from her sweet face. The fleshy parts of her cheeks rose to nearly cover her eyes. She was adorable. Her entire family was adorable. There was Mr. Pop, Mrs. Pop, Pop Junior, and Pop Junior Junior who all ran the store. The infamous Pop — the one the store was originally named after — had passed a long time ago, and the legacy had lived on through his children and theirs. I often wondered what they would have called a girl had they had one. Popette? I planned to feature the family in my next story, and I’d absolutely add a Popette, just for fun.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pop,” I called back and stuffed my gloves into a pocket. “Can you believe it’s already snowing?”

  The smile slipped into a frown. “Honey… it’s about to do more than just snow. We’re about to get dumped on but good.” She came from around the register to take a look outside, her tongue making a tsk tsk sound. “Haven’t you been listening to the news?”

  No, I hadn’t, actually.

  The rustic one-bedroom cabin I’d been renting was lovely, and I was blessed to have electricity and plumbing, but that was where technology ended in the six-hundred-square-foot log structure. There was no cable, no internet, no phone, and no cell reception. I loved it. If I got desperate and needed to call someone or send an email, I hauled my trusty laptop and cell phone down to Pop’s. Otherwise, I wrote or read or just watched nature do its thing. I wasn’t bored yet. Not like I thought I’d be. It was nice getting away from… everything.

  I stepped to the window beside the ruddy-cheeked woman, looking up at the clouds again. They suddenly seemed darker, even more menacing. “How bad is it supposed to get?”

  She gave me a very concerned look. “They’re calling it the blizzard of the century, sweetie. We could get a dump of thirty or maybe even forty inches, at least. And that’s over the next twenty-four hours.”

  I stared at her. I was five-six, which was sixty-six inches tall. Was she seriously saying that we could be getting snow up to my waist, or even my boobs? “You’re kidding,” I sputtered, although the child still living inside me was delighted at the idea. “It’s still October. Halloween isn’t for almost two weeks. How is this even possible?”

  Mrs. Pop rested a kind hand on my shoulder. “This is backwoods Montana, Miss Zoe. On these mountains, snow like that this time of year isn’t unheard of.” She glanced out of the window again. “Maybe you should just hunker down with us.”

  She was serious. I could see it in her eyes, but the snow was still barely falling. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I’d really like to get back. I’ll hurry and make my calls and get some extra supplies. I’ve got a generator and a fireplace with huge stacks of wood so I’ll be all right if the power goes out.”

  Not that I had any idea how a generator worked. I’d just have to figure it out.

  She looked about as unconvinced of my wilderness skills as I was. “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea, Miss Zoe. Not to seem mean or anything, but you’re not used to this kind of weather. Blizzards are dangerous. If you get turned around outside…” She shivered and wiped her hands up and down her beefy arms. “Well, things could get bad real quick. I know.” Her face went sad. “I lost my brother back in eighty-nine, and he knew these woods up and down.”

  I took in a deep breath, feeling her urgency and unease pass over to me. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Her mouth tightened as the memory reflected all over her expression. “And that storm wasn’t nearly as bad as the one back in sixty-nine. God’s honest truth, the snow drifts were up to twenty feet tall. Temperature dropped from the low sixties to minus thirty in about twelve hours or so.”

  Minus thirty degrees? My bones froze at the thought. I’d planned to spend two months in the cabin, thinking I’d be safe from bad weather in the high mountains until Halloween at least. Then I’d fly back to California to face real life again.

  I glanced out the window, realizing my planning had been wrong, although it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be snowbound. The weather sites I’d looked at gave an average temperature in the high fifties for this month. Sure, it dropped to the thirties at night — I’d hoped I’d see a little snow. But this…

  “Well, I guess I’d better hurry then.”

  Mrs. Pop sighed and gave me a motherly pat. “All right, sweetie. You make your calls, and I’ll start gathering your usual supplies. Anything special you want me to add?”

  I smiled, the backs of my eyes unexpectedly burning from her kindness. “Thank you, Mrs. Pop. I’ll just take the usual.” Back in L.A., the local grocers wouldn’t know my name and wouldn’t give a damn what I needed, let alone remember my preferences. Yeah… I liked it here. More than anyplace I’d ever been. Not that I’d been to many places, not really. Not enough to say I’d “been there.” I’d toured with Mom, skipping from one large city to the next. But I’d been taken more as decoration than anything. More as a temptation, I realized much later.

  I shook my head, shaking away the depressing thought.

  Stepping into the “computer room,” I smiled at the old Dell sitting on the heavy hand-hewn desk. I ignored it and pulled out the sturdy office chair, taking a seat, my eyes glued to the weather outside. Still only flurries. I’d be okay.

  Swiping to my agent slash best friend’s number, I tapped the button to call.

  “Zoe! How are you?” Leslie’s voice was like a warm cloak settling around my shoulders.

  “Hi, yourself. I’m good. Getting some supplies before a big snowstorm heads my way.”

  Her voice grew more concerned. “I saw that on the weather channel this morning. You going to be okay?”

  I shook off Mrs. Pop’s warnings from only a moment before. “Of course. I’ve got the generator, and I’ll soon have plenty of food. It will be just me, my laptop, and a blanket of snow. I’m actually excited to throw my first snowball. From what they’re saying, I’ll get to make a snowman too.”

  She laughed. Leslie was a Southern California girl too, but unlike me, had no yearning to leave the warm sun. “Take a picture and sent it the next time you’re in civilization.”

  “I will.” I smiled, unable to keep the excitement from my tone. “I’ll sent it along with the rest of the book.”

  She gasped. “Are you really almost finished? You still have another month before your deadline.”

  I could almost see her entire face light up with happiness. A natural blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl next door, I met the pretty Leslie Wiseman my freshman year at USC, when I’d escaped Mom’s home and moved into the tiny dorm room. Unlike most girls who hated me on sight, Leslie had welcomed me warmly as her roomie, and we’d become immediate and fast friends. Even when I dropped out my junior year, we’d moved into a small apartment together. She finished college while I struggled through writing my first book.

  Leslie worked hard, interning at the same publishing company through school. With four years of experience as their flunky, they hired her on as an assistant the moment she earned her degree. I became her first client and that debut novel did reasonably well, for a newbie at least. My second book did even better, my third better still. My fourth book was inches close to landing on the New York Times Best Sellers list. My best friend was certain “Come Closer” would send me into that stratosphere.

  “Yep, I’m really almost done,” I promised her, unable to believe it myself. The words had just flowed, coming out of me with a fluidity I’d never experienced. “Then I need to go back through and spice up the sex scenes and make sure the
characters feel real.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure your sex scenes are amazing as currently written. I still don’t know how any woman still holding her v-card can write like that.”

  I felt myself grow hot. I wasn’t a virgin, but only two other people on Earth knew that. I’d told no one else. Not even my best friend.

  I kept my voice light, not wanting to go there. Not wanting to remember. “Why do you think my v-card hasn’t been punched? Sex is so good in my head that I’m sure no real man could ever match up.”

  Images flashed in my mind. Sneering faces, groping hands, wet sloppy lips on my skin. My stomach curdled, and I leaned forward to keep the bile down, intent on keeping those memories suppressed in the deepest part of my mind.

  “True that,” she said, still laughing, but it now sounded more forced. “My last date was about as romantic as a walk down the middle of the 405.”

  I laughed. “Wow… I could use that in my next book.”

  “Absolutely. His name is Richard and his Tinder profile was, let’s say, highly exaggerated. The moral of the story is to never date a Dick.”

  I leaned back in the chair and pulled the wool cap off, scratching the place where the hat made my head itch before brushing out the tangles with my fingers. “Was he a fiction writer too? Or was he just an overly descriptive salesman?”

  Leslie’s lips made a blubbering noise as she blew out a breath. “Maybe Grimm’s Fairy Tales. But seriously, I deleted my Tinder, Match, and eHarmony accounts and if I ever… ever… eeeever say I’m going to try online dating again, tie me down until I come to my senses.”

  I pulled my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. “Sure thing. I still don’t see why you went that route anyway.”

  She made a scoffing sound. “Well, if I looked like you and didn’t work sixteen hours a day, I’m sure my luck would be better.” The words didn’t hold an ounce of bitterness, but they still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  I didn’t want to look like me because that meant I looked like my mom. Exactly like her, everyone said. They weren’t wrong, which made them assume I acted like her too. In that arena, she and I couldn’t have been any more different.

  I smiled into the phone, making sure Leslie heard the warmth in my voice. “You’re gorgeous inside and out, and when the timing is right, the perfect guy will come out of nowhere and sweep you off your feet as much as you sweep him off his.”

  I felt her roll her eyes. “Yeah… in your book, maybe.”

  I laughed. “Sure… but in my book, it will be a savage pirate sailing from afar to enslave you and make you his.”

  “Will he rip my bodice?” she asked hopefully.

  “Sure thing. And you can long for your captor’s kiss after he ravishes you endlessly.”

  “Ya know…” I could almost see her wrinkle her nose. “All those historical romances gloss over one thing. The smell. Can you imagine a pirate, even a hunky, sexy one, getting off a ship after a three-month voyage and immediately wanting to ravish any part of you? Pee-yuck.”

  God, I loved my friend.

  “Well, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about your smell either. Or shaving… anything.”

  “Hmm… I guess that would be an advantage of living in the eighteenth century. The waxing bill would be drastically reduced.”

  “Um… completely reduced. I think wax was only used for sealing letters and making candles back then. No toothpaste or any pesky toiletries either.”

  She groaned. “Can you imagine only taking a bath once a week? I don’t know how those damsels in distress did it.”

  “Well, I guess if everybody smelled bad, you just got used to it.”

  “I guess so.”

  Glancing outside again, I was a bit startled to see it snowing a little harder. “Les, I better go. Want to get back to the cabin before the storm hits. Be sure to tell Stanley how much I appreciate him letting me use it and the Jeep. It’s been a lifesaver.”

  I heard the smile in her voice. “Uncle Stan was asking about you the other day. He’s happy you’re enjoying it so much.”

  “I am. I might never leave. Talk to you again when all the snow melts.”

  The concern was back. “How long will that take?”

  I lifted a shoulder she couldn’t see as I gazed out the window. Surely it wouldn’t get as bad as Mrs. Pop said. “I have no idea.”

  She sighed. “Love you, Z, and be safe. And remember…”

  I knew what was coming next and reached up to touch the silver four-leaf clover pendant she gave me for Christmas two years ago. I never took it off the slim chain that hovered between my breasts.

  Smiling, I said the mantra along with her. “We make our own luck. Own love. Own life. Own legacy.”

  The words were like a warm hug. Leslie understood my insecurities and fears as much as I understood hers. When I got back to California, I was going to tell her the reason I so very desperately needed to get away.

  I was beginning to understand that secrets grew like monsters when the closet they hid in remained forever closed. I trusted Leslie enough to open the door and maybe, just maybe, send them shrieking into the very back corner.

  A punch of emotion hit me in the face, my sinuses and eyes burning with it. “Love you too, Les. Talk soon.”

  Still holding the pendant between my fingers, I scrolled to my mom’s number, the happiness quietly fading away. I should have called Leslie afterwards so she would be the last voice I heard. Too late now. Inhaling deeply, I tapped the call icon.

  “Darling!”

  I closed my eyes as my mother’s high-pitched giggle vibrated in my head. “Hi, Cynthia. Sorry I missed all your messages. No cell reception where I am, remember?”

  “Oh yes, that’s right. How is Colorado anyway?”

  I didn’t even bother to remind her I was in Montana. “Very lovely and peaceful. I really—”

  “I have the most exciting news,” she bulldozed over me, “I’m nearly bursting to share it with you. You’ll never guess what it is.”

  She had a new boyfriend.

  She had a new girlfriend.

  She was getting married again.

  Her newest lover had gifted her with some expensive trinket.

  She was moving into the Playboy mansion.

  Or a rich Arab’s harem.

  I didn’t bother guessing out loud. The options were practically endless.

  “I was cast in a new movie!”

  My heart slammed into my toes. Of all the options, this was the least welcome. My stomach started to seriously churn, and I reached into my bag for an antacid. “Cynthia, please don’t—”

  “It’s called ‘Cougar City’ and I’m the headliner. Just imagine, darling… me, Cyn Meadows, on the big screen again. Isn’t that exciting?”

  No. Not at all.

  And I didn’t need to remind her that the only big screen Cynthia Diane Meadows had ever been on was some dude’s PC monitor while he jacked off. I popped two antacids, the ulcers I’d developed as a teen reminding me of their presence.

  Speaking quickly, she went on about the other “stars,” and how excited she was to work again. “There will be huge cross-country promotions, and Theo feels certain I’ll win another AVN award. You can come with me, darling. My fans haven’t seen you in years. They will absolutely adore you.”

  I winced at the name. Theo Southerland, Mom’s smarmy agent. A man I loathed with every fiber of my being. I popped another antacid, thinking of the last time she dragged me to an Adult Video News award ceremony where she won best actress for “Beauty and the Dicks.” She’d also won an award for “Snow White and the Seven Cocks,” and “Little Red Ride My Face.” I didn’t think Walt Disney would approve.

  Forcing my voice to stay calm, I raised my voice so she would hear me over her endless gushing. She was like this when she was manic. “Cynthia, are you taking your medication?”

  The blessed silence lasted only a few seconds as she processed my q
uestion. “Darling, I don’t need medication.” Her voice went shrill. “Aren’t you listening? Cyn Meadows is working again! A role of a lifetime, really. How many adult entertainers get an opportunity like this? Can’t you be happy for me just this once?”

  I hated her. I loved her. I felt so very very sorry for her.

  I pressed my fist against my temple. Maybe I was bipolar too. “Just be careful. Okay?”

  I could practically feel her eyes roll. “Of course, I’ll be careful. This isn’t my first starring role, you know.”

  No, it wasn’t even her hundredth.

  “Will you please go see Dr. Jackson?”

  He was Mom’s psychiatrist, the man who attempted to keep her mid-way between the terrible depressive lows and manic highs she experienced. During one of her lows, she once confessed to how she used to heavily medicate herself before filming any scene she found distasteful. That an altered state supported her “acting abilities.” Dr. Jackson needed to know she would be working again and that she was off her medication. I would have to email him as soon as I was off this call.

  She huffed out a breath. “There really is no need to bother that dear old man, darling. I’m feeling wonderfully energetic. I actually went to the gym and worked out for six hours to get ready for my reemergence.”

  I sighed. She didn’t even see the manic frenzy behind that. I couldn’t help but wonder if cocaine or some other drug was helping to fuel it.

  “And, darling…” This time, her voice shifted into a coaxing tone I knew too well. She wanted something from me. The hair bristled on the back of my neck, my skin tightening with gooseflesh. “Theo wanted me to let you know something—”

  His name was like a spider under my skin. “I don’t care what that man wants, he—”

  It was like she didn’t even hear me. “He said that he could make you rich too. Apparently, Mother-Daughter films are all the rage, and since we look so alike and could almost pass as twins, he thinks we could…”