Hey Girl: Loved those Christmas shows! Maybe I’ll major in stage managing. You Christmas Girls were the best. The year just raced by like a dream. A wonderful, crazy dream –good luck! Liz Tyree
Trudie Love: I have been in love with you since we were in the 7th Grade. Hey, I can say that, now that we’re graduating and I’m going off to college. Remember me sometimes when I’m famous. And yes, I was always jealous of Cole! Why the hell didn’t you love me!? – I was always in love with you! Kiss me, sweetheart! – Jon Ketch
Trudie sat back in the kitchen chair and closed her eyes. Jon Ketch. She could see him clearly, as if he were standing in front of her. He was five-feet seven inches tall, with a mop of long black hair, a clean masculine face and broad shoulders. His neon blue eyes captured and held you with a magnetic, calm intensity. He was volatile, clever and unpredictable. He had become the movie star he’d always dreamed about—the most famous graduate in the class.
In Hollywood he was known as a sarcastic and charismatic guy, who took on edgy, sometimes violent roles. In New York, on and off-Broadway, he started out performing Shakespeare and other serious drama, and then he surprised everyone by doing a comedy, for which he received rave reviews.
His father, a wealthy banker, had sent him off to a private high school in Chicago. But when he learned Jon was skipping most of his classes to hang out with actors and go to the theatre, his father yanked him back to Deer Lake High School. Jon loved to imitate his father, his eyes bulging, fists clenched, eyebrows arched, in outrage. “I’m not going to waste my money so you can become another unemployed actor!”
So Jon auditioned for the school plays and was, by far, the best actor the school had ever seen—or probably would ever see. Jon and Mrs. Childs formed a special bond during his senior year. She believed in his talent, and she was the only person Jon ever listened to about anything.
Trudie had looked him up on the internet just a few months ago. He’d been in 15 films, and was married and divorced twice. He had three kids, all daughters, and he lived just outside L.A. He was notorious for getting into fights with “insulting” strangers and the Paparazzi, as well as with other cast members, when he felt they were lazy, or content to live off their celebrity.
Some directors refused to work with him. Others adored him and considered him one of the great up-and-coming American actors. That’s the way it was with Jon. You either liked him or you hated him. Trudie had always liked him. Maybe she’d secretly loved him, too. Maybe she loved him because he was her opposite. He was a rebel, a thrill ride and a time bomb always about to go off. He scared her and he attracted her.
A few years back, Kristen had seen him in a production of King Lear in New York. He’d played the Fool brilliantly, according to Kristen, who had gone back stage to see him. “Jon was as wild as ever,” she’d reported on the phone. “He gave me a big wet kiss and said, ‘Look at you all dolled up and ready for love.’”
About two years ago, Trudie had driven to Columbus, Ohio to see Jon in an independent film entitled Two for My Baby. He played the father of a troubled teenager and, on the screen, he was explosive, daring and riveting. He’d been praised by the critics. Trudie had clipped the review from the newspaper.
“Jon Ketch comes crashing onto the screen with noise and color. He plays a sober, hard-working, volatile, faithful husband, who tries to keep his drug-addicted teen daughter from spiraling out of control. Mr. Ketch seethes, barks and burns with outrage, aches with compassion and, finally, he breaks your heart. It is a virtuosic performance that is both disturbing and hypnotically alluring.”
Jon had been nominated for both a Golden Globe Award and an Academy Award for his role in Two for My Baby. He didn’t win either. Maybe it was because he’d made enemies. Maybe he was just too outspoken.
According to his recent photo on the internet, he was still thin and in good shape, but graying and thinning on top. He still had that special something—that magnetic something certain people have: an irresistible rakish charm and sexy appeal. Trudie had thought of emailing him after she saw the movie, but she didn’t. What would she say? Remember me? He’d probably never respond.
They hadn’t seen each other in 15 years. The last time was before he was a star, when he’d come to visit his parents. But they had long since moved to Florida and he’d never returned to Deer Lake. Why should he?
Trudie pushed aside her half-eaten oatmeal, peeled a banana and found Kristen’s and Mary Ann’s yearbook entries.
Sister Trudie: God, what a year! Boyfriends, football games, the Christmas show with the Christmas tree catching on fire, (Jon Ketch!) Mary Ann spraining her ankle during our Rockettes’ rehearsal and the senior class play and... Oh, God, all the fights and hugs. We’ll always be friends, Trudie dear... We’re sisters, you know. The best of sisters. Closer than sisters. Love ya, Kristen
Trudie fell into timelessness, not noticing it was 7:30. She heard the furnace kick on and felt the slow rising heat, but she was lost in thought. She read Kristen’s entry again, a faint smile forming. “The best of sisters.” Trudie frowned. Even though Kristen had betrayed her like that in high school? Had Trudie really forgiven Kristen for that?
They hadn’t seen each other in ten years.
Trudie read Mary Ann’s entry.
Dear Trudie: High School is over but we will never be apart. Don’t forget how much we’ve been through together and how much we love each other. After all, we are The Christmas Girls, always merry and filled with peace and love. God bless you, sister dear. We will always be close, because we are truly sisters.
There were more entries, but Trudie skimmed over them. Finally, she turned the pages, lingering on some and flipping through others, as she took in the smiles and poses—images that brought a startling palette of emotions. The minutes expanded in the silence as she studied the faces, all looking so young, so hopeful and so confident.
She felt like she was on a train—thundering down the tracks, smoke billowing, whistle blowing, racing past familiar towns, winding roads and waving people—forced to recall old conversations, old loves and old regrets.
Trudie turned a page and paused, captivated by a photo. There they were, the three of them, Kristen, Mary Ann and herself on stage performing a Rockettes’ style kicking chorus to Jingle Bells. They were wearing Santa hats, little red skirts, heels and white blouses with padded shoulders. In another photo, they were giggling and posing next to a tall Christmas tree. Jon Ketch was crouched beside them, making a silly face, dressed as an elf in tights and green pointed ears.
Trudie laughed out loud. They’d had so much fun. She missed those days. Feeling light and warmed by the memories, she wanted the moment to expand. She didn’t want to go to work. But she sighed and reluctantly closed the yearbook. After finishing her banana, she stared for a time into the middle distance seeing nothing, hearing the kitchen wall clock tick away time. If she didn’t get up and shower, she’d be late for her cleaning with the grumpy Mr. Posier.
In the hallway at the stairs, Trudie paused to stare at herself in the full-length mirror. She was a tall, willowy blonde who could still pass for 32-ish. She straightened her shoulders more, then immediately tried relaxing them, wondering if her posture might be a bit stiff and even a little defensive. She turned sideways and tightened the belt on the silly, frayed housecoat she refused to throw away because it was so soft and warm. She’d lost weight and her tummy was nice and flat. Then she faced the mirror again, up close. There weren’t too many lines around her cool blue eyes. She still had a pretty, diamond-shaped face.
An objective observer might say that her expression was aloof and distant, as if she had no idea what was inside her or what made her tick. But Trudie didn’t know this. She only knew that when she tilted her head, staring, she heard a lonely, pulsing silence.
By the time she left the house for the garage, David, the high school junior she hired to shovel her walk and driveway, was hard at work, scraping a path up the front walk to
her entrance. She gave him a wave of her hand.
Although the wind was sharp, the snow had turned to flurries. She climbed behind the wheel of her Audi and cranked the engine. She’d already decided that on her lunch break she’d call Mrs. Childs’ daughter and ask if she could visit her mother, who was staying with her. If she agreed, Trudie would drive north to Columbus right after work.
As Trudie switched on her wipers and crept out of the driveway, she also decided she’d call Kristen and Mary Ann that night. They’d want to know about Mrs. Childs. They loved her as much as Trudie did. Would they come for a visit? Who else should she call? Jon? That was an exciting thought. Ray surely had his number. And there were so many others she should call. They’d all want to know. Of course they would.
THREE
As darkness fell, Trudie turned onto a quiet, tree-lined road, craning her neck, searching for the right address. Since the roads had been plowed and salted, it had taken her only about 20 minutes to drive from Deer Lake. The storm had dumped 8 inches of snow then moved swiftly east, leaving behind frigid temperatures.
Trudie drove past two-story homes with shoveled walks and driveways, finally finding Mrs. Childs’ daughter’s light grey house at the end of the block. It was a modest home with a two-car garage, shrubs heavy with snow, and blue shutters on the windows.
Trudie managed to park at the curb. Placing a careful foot out on the street, she got out, chucked the door shut and gingerly made her way to the sidewalk, crunching through fresh snow. She strolled up the front walk and took the stairs to the porch, careful not to crush the paper-wrapped yellow roses she’d purchased for Mrs. Childs. Trudie stamped the snow off her boots and rang the bell.
She was greeted by a stout woman in her 50s, with a friendly face, steady dark eyes and medium brown hair.
“I’m Julie,” she said, stepping aside to let Trudie in, closing the door behind her. Trudie wiped her feet on the brown foot rug and glanced about.
“It’s so nice of you to come,” Julie said, and Trudie saw that she was sincere.
“Your mother meant a lot to us,” Trudie said. “She was my favorite teacher.”
“Well, she was a little scary to my brother and me. She could be so stern and dramatic. But we always knew she loved us, and she was very devoted to Dad.”
Trudie pulled off her woolen cap and presented Julie the flowers. “I brought these for her. She always had fresh flowers on her desk at school.”
Julie took them. “She’ll love them.”
Julie hung Trudie’s coat in the closet, while Trudie smoothed out her white turtleneck and finger-placed her hair, which had flattened under her hat.
“Would you like something hot to drink?” Julie asked.
“Tea would be nice, if it’s not too much trouble. How is she?” Trudie asked.
Julie smiled, thinly. “She’s resting. She was so excited you called. She kept saying how much she loved you and your friends. I believe she called you The Christmas Girls.”
Trudie nodded, with a smile. “Yes. There were three of us. Your mother put us together in our junior year to organize the Christmas shows. We begged the school board for money; pestered the football players to sing and dance; pulled in freshmen and sophomores to help build and paint the sets; and bullied the band teacher and the band to stay late every night for weeks, while we rehearsed. It was a lot of fun, and it was the highlight of the year for a lot of people.”
Julie smiled. “Oh, I remember. I was there. The performances were wonderful. But Dad said Mom was a nightmare to live with during those last weeks in December, when rehearsals were going on. My brother and I made sure to stay out of her way, and we were in our 30s by then.”
Trudie lowered her voice. “So, how is she?”
Julie lowered her gaze. “She’s weak. The surgery was harder on her than we all anticipated, and now she’s getting internal radiation therapy. They say it’s better than traditional radiation, but it’s still powerful.”
Trudie nodded and glanced toward the gleaming fire, feeling the warmth of the room.
They were both lost for words, so Julie led Trudie to a back bedroom and gently opened the door to a small, square room with a deep, royal blue carpet. A vase of daisies sat on the night table next to the bed. The cream-colored walls held spring landscapes in gilded frames, and a chest of drawers displayed framed family photos and a 22-inch TV, with some DVDs scattered about it. It was a quiet, private room. A comfortable room, with a recliner in the corner facing the bed and a ladder-back chair beside the bed. Trudie glanced at the DVDs. They were old Christmas movies: The Shop around the Corner starring Jimmy Stewart, Holiday Affair starring Robert Mitchum, and You’ve Got Mail, starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.
Trudie noticed a framed movie poster hanging on the wall, just above the TV. It was an original poster from Holiday Affair. She studied the 16” x 24” midnight blue and black poster of Robert Mitchum and co-star, Janet Leigh. Mitchum was wearing a gray suit and a brownish red tie, spilling from his coat; his hat was pushed roguishly back off his forehead. He’s reaching down, seizing Janet Leigh by her arm. She’s wearing a red dress with a sexy plunging neckline, her luscious brown hair gleaming. She looks back at him with cool trepidation. The poster reads:
MITCHUM’S LATEST!
It Happens in December
But
It’s Hotter than July!
Trudie smiled.
Julie came over. “Mom bought that for me about 10 years ago. We both love Robert Mitchum.”
Trudie turned toward the bed. Mrs. Childs was propped up against pillows, her face half turned away from the dim lamp light.
“Mom,” Julie whispered. “You have company.”
Myrna Childs slowly turned her head toward her daughter’s voice. Her eyes fluttered and then squinted as she worked to focus. Her eyes opened on Trudie with a pleasant confusion.
“Hello, Mrs. Childs,” Trudie whispered, a bit taken back by her teacher’s pale, wrinkled face and soft, watery eyes. She was also much thinner than she’d remembered.
Mrs. Childs exhaled a soft breath of pleasure. “Mrs. Childs? Oh my goodness, that makes me sound like an old, wizened school teacher, doesn’t it?”
Her eyes opened more fully. “Is that you, Trudie?” she asked, lifting a thin arm and shaky hand.
Trudie stepped forward and took it. “Yes. I’m here.”
A smile formed at the corners of her mouth. “How nice.”
“And she brought you flowers, Mom,” Julie said holding them up.
Mrs. Childs smiled and her face looked young again. Trudie fought tears. There were so many emotions attached to her old teacher.
“I’ll go put the flowers in water,” Julie said. She backed out of the room and Trudie eased down in the chair next to the bed, still holding her teacher’s cool, thin hand.
Mrs. Childs’ gray hair was combed softly back from her forehead, and in the dim light, Trudie noticed her steely strength was still present in the eyes and firm mouth.
“How do you feel, Mrs. Childs?” Trudie asked.
Myrna retracted her hand with a frown. “For God’s sake, Trudie, call me Myrna. I never liked my last name anyway. Makes me sound adolescent or something. Ironic that I used my married name and taught kids. I don’t know why I did. Curt, my husband, wouldn’t have cared if I’d kept Lewis, my maiden name.”
And then there was perplexed reflection. “Curt was a good man, though. A fair man, and I wasn’t easy to live with. Oh my, he’s been dead more than five years now.”
Myrna shrugged and looked resigned. “Well, anyway, right now I feel like the air is running out of the balloon, Trudie. On the other hand, I remember what that comedian Steven Wright once said. He said ‘I intend to live forever. So far, so good.’ I intend to go on living, Trudie, because I like living. I just need to regain my strength and then I’ll fight this thing and get on the other side of it. You watch me.”
Trudie thought, Yes, this is the woman I knew and
loved in high school.
Myrna reached out her hand again and took Trudie’s. “I’m so glad you came. I’m glad Ray called you.”
She closed her eyes, as if needing to rest. Then she made a little sound without opening her eyes, as some old image flickered across the screen of her mind. “You were my favorite girl,” Mrs. Childs said.
Trudie lifted a doubtful eyebrow.
Myrna’s eyes opened. “You were, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure you say that to all your old students,” Trudie said, going for a little joke.
The silence lengthened as Myrna examined Trudie’s face. “You’re still pretty, Trudie, with your blonde hair and soft blue eyes. Are you eating enough? You look so thin.”
“I’ve been dieting. I lost 15 pounds.”
“Put them back on! You’re too thin.”
“Ever the director,” Trudie said, with a smile.
“Well, yes, bossy and overbearing as always. Poor Julie was in therapy for 5 years because of me. My son, Nick, left town to get away from me and he only comes to see me at Christmas. What does that say about me? Never was the model mother.”
Myrna squeezed Trudie’s hand, and it was surprisingly strong. “But you were my favorite, Trudie.”
“I doubt it,” Trudie said, squeezing her hand.
“You never did believe in yourself, did you? You were always so guarded and secretive. Did you know how pretty you were…and still are?”
Trudie looked down and away. “Well, thank you. But I won’t call you Myrna. I’m sorry; my mouth just can’t form the word.”
“Are you married?” Mrs. Childs asked.
Trudie didn’t look at her. “No... I came close a couple of times but... No.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Childs said, watching her closely. “You still have it, Trudie. It’s still there.”
Trudie looked at her, tentative. “And what is that?”
“An elegant reserve, a remoteness that used to drive the boys wild. They never knew who you really were. You were so mysterious and aloof. Men like that, you know.”
The Christmas Women Page 2