The Christmas Women

by Elyse Douglas

  She rested her head on the top rim of the steering wheel, struggling to corral her stampeding emotions. God, what was the matter with her? Was she cracking up? Kristen said she was taking some kind of anti-depressant, because she was so miserable all the time. Maybe it was time Trudie asked her doctor for a tranquilizer or an anti-depressant. Why not?

  She shoved the car door open and stepped out, feeling the liquid cool air wash across her face. At the side door to the bar, standing under the yellow neon BAR light, she heard pounding rock music and the hum of voices inside. As she grasped the cold door handle, her whirling, frustrated thoughts swiftly settled when she thought of Mrs. Childs. How was she? Would she be able to attend the Christmas show? Trudie shut her eyes for a moment, and whispered a silent prayer. When she opened them, she felt calmer, ready to handle Jon and whatever else she had to handle.

  Inside, she found Ray and Jon at a back wooden booth, Ray nursing a beer, a sullen-looking Jon hovering over a shot of Jack Daniels. She heard the distant crack of pool balls being scattered, and saw a couple of porky-looking dudes with leather jackets and tattoos at the bar, glancing her way with sudden winking interest. Yeah, right. That’s all she needed!

  Jon lit up when he saw her. “Holy Trudie Parks!” He slapped the bench next to him. “Come sit with me and have a drink or something!”

  She sat. “Are you drunk, Jon?”

  “I’m on the way, but the road is long and narrow and there ain’t a lot of light.”

  Trudie looked at Ray. “How many has he had?”

  “Four... and two beers.”

  “Jon, you’ve had enough. Why don’t I drive you to your motel?”

  “Will you come in with me? Will you soothe this savage beast, and heal my wounded heart, beating love for you in this jail of rib and bone? Will you soothe this beast who has loved you ever since he was in the 7th grade?”

  Trudie gave him a hard, unsympathetic stare. “I’ll drive you to your motel and put you to bed.”

  Jon yelled out, pumping his fist. “YES! Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, girl!”

  “Okay, let’s go, Jon,” Trudie said, reaching for his arm to help him up.

  He stopped, suddenly remembering something. “Hey, what kind of a jerk am I? I haven’t even bought you a drink.”

  “I don’t need a drink, Jon. I drank a little at Don Rawlings’ party.”

  Jon gave her a swift look, boring into her eyes, seeking an answer. “Don Rawlings is it? Well, now, let’s see. Does Trudie Parks have a beau? A Bo-friend?”

  Trudie sighed, grabbing his arm, tugging at it. “Come on, Jon. Let’s get out of here.”

  Ray glanced around, noticing that people were staring at them. But then they had been staring at them ever since he and Jon had arrived. People in town knew Ray was homosexual, and there he was, sitting with the famous movie actor, Jon Ketch. Of course they were staring, and speculating, and whispering, and sometimes snickering. Ray hated being looked at. He despised being trapped like he was. He started to get up.

  “Sit down, Ray!” Jon said, slapping the table with the flat of his hand. “You’re the only guy in this town who would have a drink with me! You’re my only real friend. Hell, come to think of it, you always were my only real friend. Let’s have one more drink.”

  “No, Jon. You’ve had enough. Let’s go,” Trudie said.

  Jon folded his arms across his chest, leaning back, obstinate. He shook his head. “No! Not until you have one drink with me.”

  He pushed her. “Let me out. Come on. Get out of the way. I’ll go get us all one more.”

  Resigned, Trudie got up and let Jon slide out. He wandered off to the bar.

  Trudie leaned toward Ray. “What’s the matter with him? Why is he getting so drunk?”

  Ray shrugged. “Mrs. Childs, his kids, his ex-wives, his career. He said loving you was the best thing he ever felt. He’s gone through the whole cycle.”

  “I’ve got to get him out of here,” Trudie said, suddenly noticing that the two dudes at the bar were ambling over. Her shoulders sank. “Oh, God, not this.”

  By then, the heavier of the two men was standing over the table, beer mug in hand. He had a hard, stony face, glassy eyes and a crooked gash of a grin.

  “Hey there, pretty lady. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Trudie kept her eyes locked forward. Ray stared down into the table. “No thanks,” Trudie said. “My friend is getting me one.”

  The big guy glanced over at the bar, indicating with his half-full mug of amber ale. “You mean that little runt?”

  The skinnier guy behind him said, “I keep tellin’ you, Big Frank, that’s the movie star guy. That’s Jon Ketch.”

  “Big deal. So he makes stupid movies. I’ve seen one or two. They all suck. He ain’t no better than me.”

  About that time, Jon was making his way back to the table, a shot tucked under his chin, carrying a mug of beer in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other. He by-passed the shorter guy and skirted around Big Frank.

  Nervous, and his hand trembling, Ray took the mug from Jon, as Jon handed the wine glass to Trudie. Jon didn’t sit.

  “You didn’t say what you wanted, so I got you Chardonnay,” Jon said. “Most women like Chardonnay, don’t you think so?” Jon said, as he turned his steely attention to Big Frank.

  Jon pulled the shot from his chin. “Can I help you two gentlemen?”

  “We want to buy the lady a drink.”

  Jon grinned, but there was a threat in it. “Really? Well, why the hell not?”

  Jon looked at Trudie. “Trudie, these fine gentlemen want to buy you a drink.”

  Trudie ignored them all and sipped the wine. “I have a drink.”

  Jon lifted a hand. “Well, there you have it, gentlemen. The lady has a drink. We thank you and wish you well as you make your way back to the bar.”

  Big Frank’s eyes darkened. “You her puppet master or something?”

  Jon laughed. “Hey, I like that. You have a touch of the poet in you. What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t. But I’m Big Frank.”

  Jon looked him up and down. “You are big, Frank, and I see you haven’t missed many meals in your long and illustrious life.”

  “That ain’t funny.”

  Jon shrugged. “No, you’re not.”

  “I want the lady to tell me to my face that she doesn’t want a drink,” Big Frank persisted.

  Jon’s eyes lowered. He held the tip of the shot glass to his lips and threw it back, gulping it down. He slammed the shot glass down on the table so hard that both Ray and Trudie flinched. Big Frank didn’t.

  Jon turned his full attention to Big Frank. “The lady said no, Big Frank. That means no. Now you’re spoiling my party and you weren’t invited. Please be the gentlemen I know you are and leave us alone.” Jon bowed a little. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  The short man turned to leave. “Come on, Big Frank.”

  Big Frank didn’t budge. He glared at Jon. “So you’re some big actor from Hollywood who thinks he’s hot shit. You’re with this faggot and pretty girl and you think you’re better than everybody else here. I say you’re just a short little asshole who makes shitty movies and likes to hang out with faggots.”

  Jon stared back, eyes cool and narrowed, a touch of laughing menace in them. Jon held up two fingers, a tiny space apart. “Now I’m about that far away from kicking your bigoted, ignorant fat ass back to the bar. So please, just get the hell away from me.”

  Ray’s head flopped forward in disbelief and fear.

  Trudie made a start to get up. “Jon, let’s get out of here. Now. Stop this.”

  “Sit down, Trudie,” Jon commanded.

  Big Frank barked out a harsh laugh. “You’re gonna kick my ass?” he asked, incredulous. His laugh was deep and raspy.

  Jon placed his hands on his hips. “I’ll meet you outside, Big Frank, and kick your ass all over the parking lot if that’s what you want. I’m n
ot going to mess up my friend, Gavin’s, barroom. That wouldn’t be nice.”

  Trudie struggled again to get to her feet, but Jon shoved her down. “No. Stay here. Me and Big Frank have something to settle. No stupid asshole is going to insult my friends.”

  Big Frank grinned, broadly. “Kicking your movie star ass is going to make me a star, you prissy little faggot-lover.”

  Big Frank slammed his mug down on the table and Jon marched off, leading the way through the side door and out into the parking lot. Many patrons were watching the altercation, anxious and tense. Some were already texting. They shot up and filed out the door behind Jon and Big Frank, their eyes alive with anticipation.

  Jon strode aggressively to a space where an overhead parking light flooded the pavement, spotlighting him. Big Frank followed, coming out of his leather jacket and slinging it away. Under the harsh white light, Big Frank looked tough, coarse and intimidating.

  The two men stood five feet apart, each sizing up the other. Big Frank was at least 5 inches taller than Jon, and he had at least 60 pounds on him.

  Jon’s face was passive, eyes dead calm and narrowed. He held his fists low and he stayed pretty much in the same place. “Come on, Big Frank. You scared of me?”

  Big Frank grinned, confidently. He started for Jon, his big square fists up near his chin. Jon stood calmly, waiting, calculating size and distance.

  “Big Frank, did anybody ever tell you what a sweet little face you have? Well I could just kiss those pink little cheeks all night. Such a sweet little baby face. And your skin looks as smooth and clean as a baby’s ass.”

  The crowd around them laughed. That provoked Big Frank.

  He threw a swift right that caught Jon on the left lower jaw. Jon spun around, wavered, spit out some blood, then came up smiling, shaking off the punch.

  “Well, Big Frank. Not bad. But I think a baby-ass face guy like you can do better than that.”

  Trudie and Ray pushed out the door just in time to see Big Frank slug Jon in the jaw. Trudie reached for her phone. Should she call the police? Then she stopped. No! It would hit the national news and be all over Twitter and the internet in hours.

  The two men paired off, eyes cautious, bodies taut. Jon still kept his hands low, waiting, standing loose, daring Big Frank with his unblinking eyes and wintry smile.

  “You gonna dance around all night, Baby Face, with that big fat ass of yours?”

  Big Frank threw a hard right. Jon swept it away.

  “Jesus, Big Frank, I saw that one comin’ last Friday.”

  Big Frank threw swift jabs and Jon dodged all of them. Big Frank danced about heavily, like a dancing bear, with great energy and purpose, searching for an opening to pop Jon in the body and face.

  “Come on, Baby Face, you can do better than that.”

  Big Frank charged, swinging his left up and into Jon’s stomach. Jon bent over a little and just as Big Frank came in for a right, Jon stepped aside, grabbing for Big Frank’s right wrist. He twisted it around and up in an arm lock and, using Big Frank’s own momentum, Jon ran him into the back of a car. Big Frank bounced off, yelling out in shock and pain.

  Jon stood back, shaking his head, sorrowfully, shaking out his cold hands. “Come on, Baby Face, I’m a short, mediocre actor with bad knees. The doctor just told me I have high blood pressure and I have to watch my cholesterol. A big guy like you should be able to kick my little skinny ass.”

  Big Frank was enraged. “I’m gonna kill you, asshole!”

  Jon nodded, his dark smile widening, his eyes filled with malice. Jon beckoned him with wiggling fingers. “Then come on in, Baby Face, so I can kiss those pink little cheeks.”

  Big Frank lurched toward Jon. He swung his fists wildly and Jon side-stepped the punches easily. Big Frank stumbled away, off balance. He pivoted clumsily, and charged again. He threw desperate jabs at Jon’s eyes. Jon blocked them.

  Trudie and Ray exchanged startled glances. The crowd roared.

  Big Frank stopped, perplexed, his nose puffing out white vapor like a weary bull. He wiped his nose, panic rising on his face. He tried again. He threw a hard right that Jon knocked away, spinning Big Frank left. With his right foot, Jon kicked Big Frank in the ass, sending him sprawling into the back of the car a second time.

  More people burst out the side door, spilling into the lot, pointing and rushing toward the fight. They encircled the fighters, curious and buzzing. Some held cameras, snapping photos, others held their phones aloft and shot a movie.

  “Come on, Big Frank, hit him!” his skinny, frustrated partner yelled. “Hit him, kick his ass!”

  “You heard the rabble, Big Frank. Come on and kick my ass,” Jon taunted.

  Infuriated, Big Frank charged Jon again. He swung. Jon deflected the mighty fist and shoved Big Frank backwards. Big Frank staggered, nearly losing his balance.

  “Hey, Baby Face, I’m getting tired of playing with you.”

  With renewed rage, Big Frank charged, his energies scattered and chaotic. Jon moved away, anchored himself, waited for Big Frank’s next attack and moved into place. He threw short but hard hooks to the side of Big Frank’s head. Big Frank teetered, eyes wide and disoriented. Jon kept it up, jabbing and hooking, his face hard, eyes fierce. Blood spattered Big Frank’s face and poured from his nose. He threw his hands up to protect his face, as Jon drummed his fists into Big Frank’s face and belly, driving him back, stumbling, his rubbery legs about to buckle.

  In desperation, Big Frank struggled to plant his feet. He took one final wild-west, roundhouse swing. Jon ducked and punched Big Frank hard in the stomach. The wind exploded from his body. He doubled over, hands grasping his stomach. Jon seized both sides of his head and shoved him back, violently. Big Frank crashed to the ground, rolling onto his side, barely conscious. He curled into a fetal position, moaning in pain.

  Jon was lost in a fury. He strafed the crowd with his burning eyes. There was a paralyzing silence as the group stared back at him, faces fixed in shock and admiration.

  “Anybody else ever insult my friends, I’ll break their neck. You all got that!? I’ll break their damned neck!”

  The crowd cheered and applauded. Big Frank’s buddy scurried over to help him, as Big Frank sat up, dazed and disoriented.

  Jon slowly begin to shed his fury, his taut face relaxing, white clouds puffing from his mouth as he gasped for breath. He staggered a little. The crowd sustained their praise and sharp applause.

  Jon slowly recovered, shaking the pain out of his fists. His face opened into a wide toothy grin, and Trudie watched in utter astonishment as Jon took a sweeping, theatrical bow. His face glowed with grace and drama; an actor taking a final curtain call during a standing ovation.

  “Thank you, good Lords and Ladies of Castle Deer Lake. Once again, good has triumphed over evil, right over might, David over Goliath! I am, and shall always remain, your humble and obedient knight of the charging windmills, Jon Quixote Ketch of la Mancha!”

  Carrying Jon’s bomber jacket, Trudie worked her way through the crowd over to Jon, thrusting him the coat.

  “You’re shivering. Put this on and let’s get out of here, before the police show up.”

  Jon beamed with new pleasure. “Lady Trudie! My dear Lady Trudie has come to whisk me off to safety to her glorious castle on a high chaparral.”

  “Come on, Jon,” Trudie said, as she snatched Jon’s arm, tugging him toward the front parking lot.

  Jon wrenched away, waving broadly at the retreating crowd. “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

  Trudie seized his arm again, yanking him toward her car. Ray stood in back of the crowd, watching his old classmates retreat. With beer mug in hand, he privately toasted Jon, even as he heard the scream of an approaching police siren and saw the sweep of a blue dome light.

  SEVENTEEN

  Kristen and Cole were on a hill sitting on a flat rock, overlooking the town of Deer Lake. They were staring down at the flickering lights, hea
ring the distant wobble of a siren and the soft hiss of a stream. It was after 11 o’clock. They were wrapped in winter coats, scarves and hats, crouched together beneath a cold, winter sky that held a white three-quarter moon and a mass of close stars.

  It had been 20 years since their last visit to this private spot, so pregnant with memory and regret. Neither spoke, not wanting to shatter the night music and the gentle, soothing privacy.

  “When I was a little girl,” Kristen said, staring skyward, “my father told me that Deer Lake, Ohio was one of Santa Claus’ favorite towns to visit. When I asked him why, he said because I was here.”

  She turned to Cole. “Wasn’t that a nice thing to say?”

  Cole nodded. “Yes, it was. I liked your father. He was always nice to me.”

  “He didn’t like you,” Kristen said, with amusement.

  Cole turned sharply. “Really? Why not?”

  Kristen shrugged. “He knew I was crazy about you. He knew I was impulsive and overly romantic. He knew we had sex. I don’t know how he knew, but he knew.”

  Cole pulled his knees up to his chest, breathing out a white vapor sigh. “I’m going to get paid back soon for all the dumb things I did when I was young. My daughter is very pretty. She’s turning 15 in a couple of months and she’s already had three boyfriends.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “More like her mother than me. A bit of a snob, I think.”

  “Well, Cole, you were always a bit of a snob.”

  “You never give me a break, do you, Kristen?”

  “Why should I? Did you ever give me one?”

  They both turned away, regretting their remarks.

  Kristen softened her voice and shifted her weight. “I hope Alexander finds a nice girl. He’s a good kid... a little aloof and withholding, but what kid isn’t at 13 or 14?”

  “My son, Ryan, is 13. He’s a jock. Loves soccer and football.”

  Kristen turned to him. “Do your children get along with their mother?”

  “Oh, yes... Yes, they do. They went through an angry period, after the divorce. And they blamed me for awhile. Maybe they still do.”