“You bet I want to see her. Let’s go.”
Kristen broke away, and then paused at the doorway, her mind suddenly awake with an idea. “I’m going to change into my black business suit. I brought it just in case. Meet me at the front door in about five minutes.”
“I’m coming too,” Mary Ann said.
“You don’t have to,” Trudie said. “She only asked to see me and Ray.”
Mary Ann gave her a quick firm nod. “Hey, we’re The Christmas Women, aren’t we? Just like the Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all, or whatever they used to say.”
Fifty-five minutes later, The Christmas Girls were perched on three wooden chairs in front of Mrs. Lyons’ broad, gray, metal desk. Ray stood behind the girls, silent and contrite.
Mrs. Lyons placed steepled hands at her lips, her stern eyes taking in each girl, as if she were about to mete out guilty sentences. She ignored Ray. Trudie felt like she was sixteen again. Mary Ann was mildly amused. Kristen sat ramrod straight, ready for battle, running arguments through her head like she always did before a court appearance.
Mrs. Lyons had a commanding manner. Her grey hair was combed flat against her head, gathered into a bun. She wore a plain gray dress without jewelry, giving her a no-nonsense, prison warden look. The outfit had undoubtedly been calculated for effect and was successful. Mrs. Lyons appeared cool, austere and completely in command.
“I’m sure you ladies appreciate my position here at Deer Lake High School. As the head of the administration and the faculty, I must set and maintain high moral standards for our students. And thus far we have done so. We have no drug or alcohol problems at this school. We do not tolerate cheating or bullying or violence of any kind. If we are accused of being overly conservative and old fashioned, then so be it. We are proud of that. We admit that our goals for our students are high. Our standards are high and, as a result, our test scores are high: some of the best in the entire State of Ohio.”
Mrs. Lyons lowered her hands, folded them, and placed them on her desk, as if some director had told her to do so for greater effect. Then, as an afterthought, she rearranged some papers on her desk and sat back, smugly, in her black leather desk chair. The overhead florescent light aged and hardened her pallid face—a snowy white face—the color of the snow flurries that drifted by outside her office window.
She lifted her chin, imperiously. “For all these reasons I feel you should find another venue for your Christmas show.”
She paused, but raised a finger before anyone could speak, and continued. “Now I know Jon Ketch is a famous movie actor, but that is even more to my point. Just because he’s a famous person, he does not have the right to fall into a drunken brawl at a local establishment and make our town appear, to the entire outside world, like an outpost for drunkenness and violence. If Mr. Ketch performs at this high school, it will appear as though we condone his behavior. And I can assure you, we do not. Therefore, I feel it is my duty to ask you and your alumni to find another location for your Christmas show. It cannot happen at Deer Lake High School.”
Having concluded her discourse and delivered her verdict, Mrs. Lyons gave a little nod. She was about to rise, to conclude the matter, when Kristen’s steady and firm voice stopped her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lyons, for your opinion.”
“I can assure you: it is not just my opinion. It is my decision.”
Kristen wore a slim dark business suit, with a white blouse and black heels. Her dark glossy hair was perfectly styled, her makeup immaculate, her lips glistening.
“Mrs. Lyons, with all due respect, we do not agree with your opinion, nor will we will abide by your decision.”
Mrs. Lyons’ eyes widened, first in surprise and then in narrowed irritation. “I beg your pardon.”
“If you will recall, Mrs. Lyons, we gave you a proposal, which you and the board agreed upon. Then we presented you with an agreement, which you and the President of the Board both signed.”
Mrs. Lyons protested. “Yes, but that was before this incident with Jon...”
“The incident doesn’t matter, Mrs. Lyons. You signed the proposal and you signed the agreement, and the agreement is a legally binding document. You can consult with your attorneys on that point if you wish.”
Trudie glanced over at Mary Ann, who was straining not to smile. Ray stood at perfect attention, his eyes sliding back and forth.
Kristen reached into her leather briefcase and extracted the agreement. “I have looked over that agreement and there is no provision for cancellation except in three instances: One, destruction of high school property by any member or members of said alumni group. Two, default on payment to Deer Lake High School for use of the auditorium, stage, makeup rooms, green room, lobby, basement, backstage area, etc., and, three, inadequate provision made for security personnel.”
Kristen held up the agreement. “The fact that Jon Ketch had a fight off the high school premises has no bearing whatsoever on this agreement.”
Mrs. Lyon seemed to screw herself more deeply into her chair. She lowered her smoldering eyes. “I will consult our attorneys and see what we can do about this agreement. Meanwhile, I will make every effort to stop your show while they deliberate. And our attorneys will deliberate until well after the New Year, I can assure you that.”
“Yes, you can do that, Mrs. Lyons. But I ask you not to.”
“And why not?” Mrs. Lyons asked, narrowing her eyes. “Your name is Kristen Anderson, I believe. I’m told you’re an attorney.”
“Yes, Mrs. Lyons, that is correct. Are you really personally prepared to cancel both Christmas shows? Are you prepared to take the anger and disappointment that will come from the town, from the mayor and from the school board? Are you prepared to face the national press? Because driving down here I saw three mobile trucks parked on Main Street. Do you really want to tell them, and many more journalists who will undoubtedly descend upon this town, that you are canceling this show, and all because Jon Ketch was defending his friend, Ray, and his high school sweetheart, Trudie, from drunken bullies?”
Mrs. Lyons sat up. When she spoke, her voice was tense. “I will tell them that...”
Kristen trampled on her words. “...Mrs. Lyons, Jon Ketch is a hero. A hero from this high school. A hero for defending his friends and for defending himself against an ignorant drunken oaf, who lives in an entirely different town. Are you prepared to become the antagonist in this national drama?”
Mrs. Lyons’ jaw tightened and she closed her eyes, her mind spinning. The three girls waited, bodies stiff, hearts drumming. When Mrs. Lyons opened her eyes, she had regained her steely resolve.
“Yes, Ms. Anderson. Yes, ladies, I am willing to do whatever is necessary to protect this school and its reputation.”
Trudie and Mary Ann exchanged nervous glances. Trudie’s hands formed fists.
Kristen paused, surprised by Mrs. Lyons’ answer, and by her persistent stubbornness.
She fumbled for words, but couldn’t find the right ones. Mrs. Lyons waited, a look of controlled triumph on her face. Kristen looked at Mary Ann, who smiled. Then she looked at Trudie, who nodded, her steady eyes telling her she was doing fine.
Kristen turned back to Mrs. Lyons, displaying ice-cold class. “Mrs. Lyons, perhaps you have forgotten something.”
“Oh, have I?” she asked, curtly. “And what would that be?”
“This Christmas show is not for us, not for the community and certainly not for Jon Ketch. This Christmas show is for Mrs. Childs, who is sick with cancer and who could die at any minute.”
Kristen opened her hand to the window. “That’s why all these people have come here. That’s why the TV crews and reporters are here, because this is a beautiful and poignant Christmas story that is unfolding in our own lovely town, because I grew up here, Mrs. Lyons. The four of us all grew up in this town and still love this town. The four of us attended this high school and graduated from this high school.”
Ray
made a little nod. He swallowed.
Kristen had regained her strength. “How often does something like this come along, Mrs. Lyons? Never. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event that will be remembered, memorialized and talked about for years to come. We need to seize this moment. We need to celebrate it—this unique and poignant opportunity to bring Christmas happiness and joy not just to Mrs. Childs, but to the entire Deer Lake community. That’s why Mary Ann and Trudie and Ray are here. That’s why all the alumni are here.”
Mrs. Lyons stared with chilly intensity. She didn’t stir and she didn’t look as though she was breathing.
Kristen took a few steps toward the principal’s desk. “We are all here to give Mrs. Childs her well-deserved surprise Christmas present, because she has meant so much to all of us. She was a teacher here at Deer Lake High School, a teacher who made a difference in this high school, a difference with her students and a difference in this town. She is why we are doing this show, Mrs. Lyons. It’s for Mrs. Childs. Do you really want to say no to this Christmas present for the entire community, and for Mrs. Childs?”
Mrs. Lyons blinked. She patted her hair and licked her lips, staring down at some papers on her desk, as if seeking some place to put her eyes, so she wouldn’t have to look at Kristen.
Ray stood erect, heart thrumming in his ears.
The room gathered into an uncomfortable quiet. Mary Ann eased back in her chair, her eyes soft, her body relaxed. Trudie nodded, looking at her friend with pride.
“Mrs. Lyons,” Kristen concluded, “we ask you, respectfully, and from our hearts, that you let these performances go ahead as planned. This is not for Jon Ketch or about Jon Ketch or about anyone else, except for our lovely and wonderful teacher, Mrs. Childs. And she is dying.”
Trudie and Mary Ann gazed at Kristen with renewed affection and appreciation. Ray lowered his head, as if in prayer.
TWENTY
The Christmas Women descended the high school steps with Ray following, talking excitedly.
“Kristen, that was brilliant. I mean, what you said back there was incredible. I’ve never seen her back down on anything before. Once Mrs. Lyons makes her mind up, that’s it. Holy Mackerel, I was so nervous.”
Trudie laced her arm in Kristen’s. “I was so proud of you, Kristen. You saved the show.”
“Well done,” Mary Ann said, taking her other arm.
Kristen pointed at a mobile TV truck passing by. “I haven’t saved anything. Jon’s fight video is all over the internet and I don’t have a clue how we’re going to manage this media circus. Those vans are coming from all directions. We’re going to have to call for more security. And I don’t know what Jon’s going to say or do.”
Trudie noticed traffic had thickened and the town was filled with people from out of town. “Let me handle him. Did the rehearsals start at 10 o’clock, Ray?”
They stopped at the curb, as they all checked their phones.
“Yes. School’s open only a half day today, so at 2 o’clock we’ll be able to move everyone over to the auditorium.”
Trudie looked up, mostly talking to herself. “I wonder if Jon’s at the church rehearsing.”
He hadn’t texted or emailed, and she hadn’t spoken to him since she dropped him at his motel at two o’clock in the morning. Her stomach was in knots. Had he left town because of all the media trucks and vans? Had he regretted last night? Why hadn’t he contacted her? She’d sent him three texts! It was so typical of Jon, always unpredictable and maddening. No wonder his two wives had divorced him. As she scrolled through her messages she saw one from Don Rawlings. She tensed up. Jon doesn’t text, but Don does! What does that tell her?
Sorry U had 2 leave last nite. Thanks 4 the help. Missed U. C U at rehearsal.
Now there was a thoughtful, predictable guy! She wished she hadn’t left the party. She wished she’d stayed with Don and, after everyone had left, they could have drunk wine and talked and kissed… and even made love. What was the matter with her?
She glanced up, startled by a police siren. “So is Jon at rehearsal?”
“He must be,” Mary Ann said. “The girls texted that he picked them up.”
Trudie shook her head, feeling acid stress pool in her stomach as they watched yet another TV mobile van driving by.
“Where are they all coming from?” Trudie asked in amazement. “And where are all those people going to stay? The motels are already full!”
“I don’t know, but we have got to get a handle on this thing,” Mary Ann said.
“Let’s get over to the church and see what’s going on,” Trudie said, growing increasingly angry and hurt that Jon didn’t have the courtesy or thoughtfulness to answer any of her texts. Didn’t he realize she’d feel insecure the morning after?
Mary Ann slid into Trudie’s car and Kristen hurried off to the parking lot to drive her rental car. Ray had to stay at school until 1 o’clock, when Christmas vacation officially began. He’d recorded his accompaniment and burned a CD, so the performers could rehearse without him.
Trudie started her car and started up Main Street. She found a hole in the traffic, gunned the engine and swerved off to a side road. She barreled the car up to 40, preoccupied and worried. Mary Ann was swaying and bouncing, watching the world speed by, her hands loosely clasped in her lap. Trudie pulled up short to a stop sign, and then slammed on the accelerator and shot ahead, bending around a curve, tires squealing. A dog galloped after them, barking his disapproval.
“Are you okay, Trudie?” Mary Ann asked.
“Yeah, fine.”
“You’re driving a little fast, don’t you think?”
Trudie awoke from her hypnotic state, noticed the speedometer and quickly released her heavy foot from the gas pedal. “Oh... Yes, I guess I am driving too fast.”
Trudie swallowed a breath, made a right turn and saw the white church steeple in the distance. “I need to call Julie to see how Mrs. Childs is doing. I meant to this morning, but it just slipped my mind.”
“I called this morning,” Mary Ann said. “Julie said her mother had improved over night.”
“Did they get the results from the tests?”
“Yes. One rib is fractured, that’s all. It could have been a hip or her pelvis.”
Trudie glanced over, hopeful. “That’s good news. What about the cancer?”
“They’re still not sure if she should have more chemotherapy.”
“Do you think she should?”
Mary Ann thought about it. “I don’t know.”
“What does the healer in you say?”
“Let me put it this way. I respect Mrs. Childs’ wishes.”
“Did Julie say her mother would be strong enough to make the show?”
“I asked her that. Julie said she didn’t know. She was hoping to get her back home sometime today.”
Trudie turned right into the church parking lot, found an open slot and parked. Just after she killed the engine, she looked at Mary Ann.
“I saw you with Oscar at the party last night.”
Mary Ann nodded. “I feel like I’m in high school again. I feel like Oscar has asked me to go steady. He did admit that he’d like us to have a relationship—a romantic relationship.”
“And what did you say?”
“I surprised myself. I said, ‘Why not?’ What the logistics of a long-distance courtship are, I have no idea. We didn’t discuss it.”
Their attention was suddenly pulled away by a TV van bouncing into the parking lot.
“Oh, God, Mary Ann. What are we going to do about all this?”
Mary Ann’s face darkened. “Manage the problem, Trudie. Let’s go.”
They pushed out of the car, slammed the doors and walked purposefully over to the van that had parked near the church entrance.
An attractive, perky blonde emerged, blinking into the day. Snow flurries were still falling, settling on Trudie’s and Mary Ann’s heads and shoulders. They hurried over to the blonde, who dazzled
them with a warm and welcoming smile.
“Hello,” she said, showing perfect teeth, extending a hand. “I’m Sofia Taylor.”
Trudie looked down at the hand but didn’t shake it. “I’m sorry,” Trudie said, directly, “this is private property and unless you have a permit to be here, I have to ask you to leave.”
The blonde’s smile remained. “Is this the church where the rehearsals are for the Christmas show in which Jon Ketch will be acting and directing?”
“You need to leave, Sofia.”
Her lips puckered in disappointment. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She brightened again. “Who are you?”
Trudie did not take the bait. “Sofia, please get back in the van and leave. You are not legally authorized to be here. This is private property.”
Sofia had done her homework. She brightened. “You’re one of The Christmas Women, aren’t you?”
Mary Ann stepped forward and drew out her phone. “Ms. Taylor, I am going to call the Sheriff. End of talk.”
The three women stood standing, staring, calculating. Finally, Sofia’s smile vanished. She pivoted, yanked open the door and climbed in. Trudie and Mary Ann waited until the van had driven away before they swung around to the basement entrance, opened the door and entered.
Jon Ketch stood before them, legs apart, arms folded, ready to pounce. A Cincinnati Reds baseball cap was pushed back off his forehead and his florid face was pinched in anger. They stood in an open space, near some folding chairs and a lectern. In the background they heard the choir rehearsing Hark the Herald Angels Sing.
“I’m going to leave,” Jon said, emphatically.
Trudie, already hurt and angry from his neglect after an unforgettable night, burned into him with her eyes. She folded her arms. “Really? Just like that?”
“Yep. Just like that.”
Mary Ann spoke up. “We’re managing all this media business, Jon.”
Jon barked a laugh. “Managing it?! Don’t make me laugh. Do you have any idea what the media are like? Professionals can’t manage these vultures! They will chew you up and spit you out and then step on top of you to get to me and then chew me to pieces. Believe me, I know. I’ve punched a couple. I’m sure you’ve read about it. Anyway, they will get to me. You haven’t got a chance.”
The Christmas Women Page 18