Of the women who’d put on pounds, only Betsy Oaker wasn’t self-conscious. She’d been a thin high school cheerleader who was now 60 pounds heavier and she didn’t apologize for it. “Being thin is over-rated,” she said. “It just takes too much work to maintain.” She liked her body and it liked her. Her face looked youthful and plump, without fillers.
The thinner women swapped diets, discussed yoga classes, and adjusted tight clothes. Dana Richards wore a low-cut blouse to show off her breast implants. The men struggled not to stare, but failed repeatedly. They turned away only when imagination overwhelmed them or their wives gave them a raised eyebrow.
The more prosperous men wore blazers and slacks. Others wore jeans, ball caps and T-shirts.
In the café, children and teenagers were introduced to their parents’ old classmates, who’d never seen them except on Facebook. Most kids seemed dazed or bored by the spectacle, staying glued to their phones or tablets, looking up only long enough to reach for a soda, a slice of pizza or a chicken wing. Some discovered the old electronic pinball machine in the corner. They charged and circled it, becoming swiftly engrossed by the steel ball bouncing off bumpers and targets as they worked the flippers, thrilled by the “dinging” bell.
Trudie left work at 5 p.m., picked up Mary Ann and her daughters, and they arrived at Rusty’s around the same time Ray did. Both were surprised by the swarm of people who met them, cheering them when they entered. They pushed into the crowd, shaking hands, receiving kisses, being handed a beer or a glass of wine.
The locals, well aware of the coming events, joined in, hefting pitchers of beer and filling empty mugs. A fat Christmas tree blazed with red and white lights, couples twirled to Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town from a juke box, and the celebration became high and loud.
On Saturday afternoon, Trudie and Mary Ann struggled to complete the calendar of events and schedules, pinning down who would be rehearsing when, and where, and finalizing what costumes and props they would need. They answered waves of phone calls, emails and texts. They had already met with the high school board members to assure them that the safety of high school property was a top priority. The principal, Mrs. Lyons, remained unpleasant and irritating, firing question after question, many of which had been answered several times before. Trudie was beginning to wonder if the woman had a learning disability.
But Mary Ann’s calm energy and approach finally smoothed the principal’s ruffled feathers, assuring her that there would be no consumption of alcohol and no borrowing of stage sets, although she had agreed to let them use a few costumes and props. And yes, they would hire extra security, as had already been agreed upon several times.
There was a tidal wave of things to complete, and both Trudie and Mary Ann kept glancing at the racing clock, keenly aware that Kristen, John Ketch, Oscar Bonds and Cole Blackwell would all be arriving that evening. And they’d heard from Julie. Mrs. Childs was not doing well. If she didn’t improve by Sunday, Julie was afraid she’d have to take her back to the hospital.
“I wish I could work with her today,” Mary Ann said. She’d managed to have only one healing session with her, on Thursday afternoon, the day after she’d arrived in Deer Lake. When Mary Ann had first entered Mrs. Childs’ bedroom, Myrna had taken Mary Ann’s hand, held it close to her cheek, thanked her for coming and then uttered the expected words: “You were always my favorite.”
“And you were definitely my favorite teacher,” Mary Ann said. They talked about the past and present, about Mary Ann’s daughters and her life in California, and then Mary Ann told Myrna about her work as a healer, explaining how Reiki often helps people who are in pain.
“Would you be willing to give me a session?” Myrna asked. “I’m open to anything that will help fight this thing,” she added.
Mary Ann called Julie in and explained that they would need at least 30 minutes alone. Julie folded her arms and frowned. “Are you sure it won’t tire her out?”
“Julie, I trust Mary Ann,” Myrna said firmly. “I want to do this.”
Afterwards, Mrs. Childs told them both that she felt better. “I feel stronger, Mary Ann. Truly, I do. I feel more peaceful.”
Mary Ann could tell that Julie was still skeptical. She had hoped to work with Mrs. Childs every day until the show. “But Julie doesn’t seem all that open to it,” she told Trudie. “She believes in traditional medicine. I think she thinks I’m a flake or something.”
Mary Ann had seen it before, and she didn’t insist on returning the following day, but she sincerely hoped Julie would allow her to go again soon.
By Saturday evening, more alumni arrived and, once again, Rusty’s was the official meeting place and party spot. During this party, Ray, Trudie and Mary Ann circled the room, passing out the calendar of events, schedules and rehearsal times. The first general meeting would be held at the church at one o’clock Sunday afternoon. Rehearsals, theatre staff assignments, costume, prop, and decoration committees and set building would begin immediately after.
For two days, there had been an unspoken anticipation in the air at Rusty’s, a rising expectation among all the alumni as they waited for the appearance of John Ketch, clearly the most famous and controversial of them all. Jon had stayed in touch with only a few and, typical of Jon, had refused to let anyone know what hour or what day he would arrive. Also true to form, Jon had emailed his chosen cast of A Christmas Carol their parts, demanding that they be “letter perfect,” all parts memorized, by the first rehearsal on Monday morning, December 22nd.
At a little after 9 p.m., Rusty’s Bar and Café was alive with music, talk and celebration. Suddenly, the side EXIT door was flung open and a burst of cold wind swept in. At first, only a handful of people close to the door noticed him. Jon Ketch, dressed in an old faded bomber jacket, jeans and red sneakers, stood dramatically, legs apart, fists on his hips. His brown and gray hair was exploding out from his head like Einstein’s.
He broke for the bar. Chuck Miles, the bald bartender with snake tattoos on his neck and right arm, saw him approach as he was drawing down two mugs of beer. Jon sliced through the stunned crowd to the edge of the bar. He hoisted himself up on a stool, hopped onto the bar, and strutted back and forth like Mick Jagger, doing hip-shots and shoulder rolls, narrowly missing half-filled martini glasses and mugs of beer.
The room surged, reeled, pointed and found Jon Ketch. Then Gavin Phillips, Rusty’s owner, switched off the jukebox, just as he and Jon had previously arranged he’d do.
Jon Ketch stood strafing the group with his accusing eyes, his compact physique imposing. Then he flashed a hint of the sarcastic grin every classmate knew so well. He flung his arms wide, reaching, sweeping the crowd, as if addressing thousands. The room gathered into a buzzing hush.
Jon’s booming theatrical voice filled the room. “Thespians, wastrels and polygamists, lend me your ears!”
The room exploded into applause, many playing along, shouting, “Hear! Hear!”
Jon held up his hands to quiet them, and then continued, as if reciting lines from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. “I come to bury the past, not to praise it! For what is the past but a collection of half-remembered lies about old girlfriends, old boyfriends, unseemly deeds and regrettable actions? It is a history badly told by us fools, who can barely remember what the hell we ate for breakfast this morning.”
There was laughter and ragged cheers, as beer mugs and wine glasses were raised.
“And, dear friends, if you are shocked by my aged appearance, then get your sorry-looking asses into the bathroom and look at yourselves in that unfortunate broken mirror. None of you look any better than I and, I dare say, most of you look even worse! You’ve put on pounds, paunch and pretense! Whoa be unto you, you rakish heathens of Rusty’s!”
The crowd shattered into laugher, drumming their feet on the floor.
Jon reached out to the bartender. “Bartender, a club soda and cranberry juice, if you please, Sire!”
Chuck di
d as commanded and Jon thrust the glass high, ready for a toast.
“Here’s to you all who can still drink wine.
I do not, I simply decline.
But that still leaves me with women and song
And that’s why I’m wearing a bright red thong!”
There was the thunder of stamping and feet, laughter and applause.
“And now, my dear friends, no autographs, please! Only hugs and kisses, but not by any of these ugly old guys I see here before me. Only the women, the beautiful, the adoring, oh, all the women may kiss me, and tell me lies, and send me down the road to sweet, sweet perdition!”
Jon leapt off the bar, hitting the floor with a thud. In seconds he was surrounded and smothered by kisses, hugs and handshakes.
At that moment, Kristen entered Rusty’s, having driven herself in a rented car from the airport. She’d gotten lost, driving thirty minutes out of her way, angry at herself for taking a shortcut she thought she remembered, but didn’t. She was looking forward to a glass of wine. Mary Ann saw her first. She yelled out, waved and picked her way through the crowd until they met and fell into an embrace.
Trudie was on the periphery of the crowd when Jon spotted her. He lifted a playful eyebrow, pointed at her and, with a lowered chin and steely eyes, he went to her in a rush. He was bear-hugging her before she could speak. With his hands on her shoulders, he examined her carefully. She was still trying to catch her breath and gather herself.
“Hot damn, Trudie! You have gone and gotten skinnier, prettier and sexier. Brace yourself.”
Jon planted a big kiss on both cheeks and then grabbed her, tipped her down to the right, bracing her with his arm, and kissed her long and deep.
The group circled them, shouting, whistling and applauding.
A minute before, Don Rawlings had just entered Rusty’s, and that kiss was the first thing he saw. It didn’t disturb him, but he was mad at himself for not doing it himself when he’d had the chance. Okay, maybe not so demonstratively, but he regretted not accepting Trudie’s dinner invitation the other night. That had been a mistake. But then, he’d just been dumped by a woman the month before, and he was a little hesitant to begin another relationship.
Jon released Trudie, who was still reeling from the sexy kiss. He probed the room, the edge of his hand at his eyebrows shading the light, searching, his head moving slowly from left to right. “Where are they?”
And then he saw them. “Kristen Anderson! Mary Ann O’Brian! Get your beautiful faces over here!”
They met near the bar. Jon flung an arm around each of their shoulders, pulled them close and kissed them firmly on the mouth. After they’d disengaged, Jon gestured for Trudie to join them.
The three women stood linked arm in arm, Trudie in the center, staring down at the floor, shyly, Mary Ann grinning warmly, and Kristen poised and confident, her red lips glistening.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the ladies who made all this possible. The ladies who got us all together, once again, so we can perform our Christmas show and honor our wonderful drama teacher, Mrs. Myrna Childs. I give you The Christmas Women!”
There was a loud round of applause, whistles and feet drumming.
Ray Howard stood in the back near the EXIT door, hands behind his back, quiet and withdrawn.
Amidst the applause, Trudie craned her neck, looking for him. When she spotted him, she caught his eye and motioned for him to join them. He shook his head vigorously, held up a hand like a stop sign and mouthed the word, “No.” He wasn’t comfortable in the limelight, and never had been.
After the applause subsided, Trudie mustered her courage and held up a hand to quiet the group.
“I also want to add that, without Ray Howard, we never would have gotten this thing off the ground. He has been working non-stop for weeks.”
She turned to Ray and led the crowd in loud applause. Ray backed away against the wall, blushing, as his old classmates honored him. He was embarrassed, but pleased.
The party roared on until after 11 o’clock. The teens and kids were taken back to their motels, while husbands or wives involved in the show remained at Rusty’s, formed groups at tables, and ran their lines with Jon, or reviewed arrangements and dance steps with Ray and Molly. Mary Ann waited for Oscar to show up and, when he didn’t, she asked Trudie to drive her and the girls back to the house. Trudie then returned to Rusty’s, sure that Cole Blackwell would make an appearance.
Trudie wasn’t aware that Don Rawlings was sitting at the counter eating his usual fried chicken dinner. He hadn’t wanted to intrude. It was their night—the reunion for Deer Lake High School—and he didn’t want to distract from that. And, anyway, it looked as though the famous actor Jon Ketch had a thing for Trudie. Their kiss was no ordinary kiss. Afterwards, Trudie had seemed dazed, while Jon seemed aroused and wanting more. How could he, Don Rawlings, compete with the famous Jon Ketch? So Don ate his dinner and was gone by 8:30.
A little after 10 o’clock, Cole Blackwell appeared, now the tallest person in the place. Trudie saw him first. Kristen was at the bar hanging on Jon’s arm, sipping wine, recounting the time Jon upstaged her act during the last Christmas show. During her solo, Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Jon had swung across the stage like Tarzan, dressed in a Santa Claus suit. The audience shattered with laughter and applause. Mrs. Childs was so angry at him that she gave him a D for the class. (She later changed it to a B.)
“‘D is for drama,’ I told her,” Jon said, laughing. “Then she said I was a self-absorbed blockhead.”
“I said... ‘Yes, ma’am. I thought you knew that.’”
“Now get this,” Jon said, entrancing the group around him. “Then Mrs. Childs said, ‘Jon you are an impertinent little shit!’”
Kristen doubled over with laughter.
Trudie stood behind a crowd, sizing up Cole. He had aged, appearing older than forty, but he was still tall, distinguished, wearing gray slacks, a blue blazer and a white Oxford shirt. She noticed that he was graying at the temples and wore the somber expression of someone who’d mislaid happiness. Before stepping into the bar, he paused, glancing about with a certain misgiving and reluctance, his hands pushed deeply into his pockets. Oddly, none of the old crowd had noticed him. Were they still expecting and hypnotized by the youthful star basketball player Cole, unable to see the mature man?
Trudie didn’t move, stunned by excitement and sudden fear. Jon’s kiss had awakened her body to sexual possibility for the first time in a long time. But now, seeing Cole standing there, she was filled with dread and confusion. How would he respond to her when he saw her? Would he kiss her? Would he ask her to join him so they could catch up on old times? Did she care?
At that moment Kristen followed Jon’s eyes and twisted around to see Cole. When he saw her, his face swiftly changed from frowning discontent to sudden delight. Kristen took him in slowly, with warm, peering eyes. She set her wine glass down on the bar, pushed away and strolled over to him. They stood staring at each other for a moment, their eyes glowing with memory, expectation and desire. They embraced.
Jon studied them, a curious eyebrow lifted, as he turned to see Trudie’s reaction. She was a statue, her face a blank page, revealing nothing. But her eyes flashed bitterness.
“Well, what do you know about that?” Jon said. “Kristen and Cole are still in love, and after all these years.”
Five minutes later, Kristen grabbed her coat and purse. She said her goodbyes, not seeing Trudie and not wanting to. She and Cole left Rusty’s together.
FOURTEEN
Early Sunday morning, Trudie, Kristen, Mary Ann and her daughters were all seated around the oak dining room table, eating breakfast. Trudie avoided Kristen’s eyes, and Kristen, at the far end of the table, was uncharacteristically quiet and preoccupied with her troubled thoughts.
The night before, Trudie had kept the door to the den slightly ajar. At 2 a.m., she heard Kristen rattle the front door key and let herself in. She di
dn’t get up to talk to her. She slept fitfully after that.
Mary Ann was eating oatmeal, wide awake, meticulously going over the rehearsal schedule, while Trudie’s slitted eyes struggled to focus on her scrambled eggs. She was sipping a glass of orange juice when her phone rang. She glanced down at it. It was Julie. Trudie’s heart sank.
“It’s Julie,” Trudie said to the others, just before she answered.
Kristen and Mary Ann looked up with sudden alarm.
“Trudie... Mom’s back in the hospital,” Julie said, her voice low and hoarse from lack of sleep. “She got up last night and fainted in the bathroom, fell over into the tub. Luckily I was sleeping lightly and heard her cry out. I called an ambulance … she got to the hospital about 2 o’clock this morning. I think she just fractured a rib, but they’re doing all sorts of tests.”
Mary Ann and Kristen saw the alarm in Trudie’s face.
“I can come over if you need me,” Trudie said.
“I don’t know, Trudie. She’s getting weaker instead of stronger. The oncologist says we just have to wait until she’s ready, until she’s over the pneumonia completely. But Mom keeps saying she won’t have any more chemo. Maybe it’s too late by now anyway. Maybe they didn’t get all the cancer. Maybe it has already started to metastasize.”
Trudie fought for calm. “I can be there in an hour. You should go home, eat and get some rest. Is she awake?”
“In and out... Trudie...” Julie hesitated, and Trudie waited. “Trudie, Mom has been asking for Jon. I can’t tell if she’s completely lucid or not. She keeps asking for Jon Ketch... you know, the actor.”
Trudie lowered her head, smiling. Mrs. Childs and Jon had always had a complicated relationship. Sometimes love/hate, but mostly love/love. Mrs. Childs had nurtured Jon’s talent and encouraged his ambitions, even when his parents had tried to kill them. More than once, Jon had told Trudie about confrontations between Mrs. Childs and his father. Mrs. Childs had stood up for Jon’s right to pursue his own life, had defended his acting and his participation in her class.
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