The Christmas Women

by Elyse Douglas

  Ray shaded his eyes, gazing out to the rear of the auditorium. “How many interviews has he given?”

  “Two,” Trudie said. “God only knows what he said about us all.”

  “Don’t worry about Jon. He always comes through. He’s a pro.”

  Trudie rolled her eyes. “Ray, sometimes I don’t even know who you are.”

  Mary Ann sank down. Seconds later, Trudie looked over to see Mary Ann’s head bowed and her forearms braced on her knees. She was struggling to catch her breath. “How did we sing and dance and smile all at the same time without passing out? I am exhausted.”

  Trudie sat down on the stage cross-legged, stretching out her right leg. “And how did we do it in heels? Are we nuts?”

  Kristen rolled the stiffness out of her shoulders and played the role of the dance coach. “Come on, you two, we have to get this. Tomorrow is it. We can’t look like complete klutzes in front of Mrs. Childs and the whole world. Get up!”

  Grudgingly, they did. They practiced on, with straining effort and explosive snorts, sometimes cursing, sometimes screaming out in triumph when they got it right. The stage lights were hot, but they grunted and sniffed on, moving in a sluggish, heavy-footed prance, arms swinging, smiles vanishing, sweat popping out and rolling down.

  Their feet were swollen, their chests were heaving, their faces were flushed and their bodies were slick and smelly. At last, they’d had enough. All they could do was collapse on stage in various undignified positions, fighting for breath and self-esteem, painfully aware that they’d had a small, silent and disenchanted audience.

  As they were leaving the stage, using the towels they’d flung around their necks to blot their faces, they saw a large figure rise from the center of the auditorium. They descended the side steps to the auditorium, and watched as Sheriff Jake T. Mason strolled down the aisle to meet them.

  “Uh-oh,” Trudie said. “And I smell real bad.”

  “I smell like a horse,” Kristen said.

  “And I feel, and must look like, a fat cow,” Mary Ann said, under her breath. “Jon is in the back giving another interview. It can’t be all bad if the Sheriff hasn’t taken him away in cuffs.”

  “Do you know the Sheriff?” Kristen whispered.

  “No. It’s not like I spend a lot of time in the county jail.”

  “Just asking.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” the Sheriff said, hat in hand. “I’m Sheriff Jake T. Mason.”

  They greeted him with tentative smiles and hellos.

  “You look real nice up there. I like all that kicking. I was in New York five years back and saw the Rockettes’ Christmas show. You could sure give them a run for their money.”

  Kristen spoke up. “You are very nice, Sheriff, but I think we’ve overestimated our abilities. We’re not the 18-year old girls we used to be, and our feet and cardio- vascular systems are a testament to that.”

  The Sheriff gave them a tight smile. “Well, you look good to me.” Then the Sheriff’s face fell into seriousness. “Ladies, I’m told by Mrs. Lyons that you three are in charge here. Is that right?”

  They nodded in agreement, speculating where the Sheriff was going with this.

  “Well, I just need you to assure me that you will keep everything snapped down here, so to speak. I appreciate the extra security you’re paying for, and we’ve added extra deputies out there in the streets, but I do hope I can count on you to keep Mr. Ketch from repeating what he did the other night at Rusty’s.”

  Trudie nodded, aggressively, aware that her hands were clammy. “It won’t happen again, Sheriff. We promise.”

  The Sheriff glanced back over his shoulder to see cameras rolling and spot lights bathing Jon, as he gave his last interview. “Well, he has assured me he will behave himself and I’ll take his word for that. I just want you ladies to be in the loop and know that I am standing by to make sure your little Christmas show goes on without incident.”

  “We want the same thing,” Mary Ann said. “We just want this to be a very special night for our former teacher and for the people of Deer Lake.”

  “Well, that’s fine. That’s real fine. Don’t let me stop you from your work now. You go on and have a good show. I hope you don’t mind if I wander around the place during the performances.”

  The girls shook their heads in perfect unison, as if they had choreographed it. Sheriff Mason studied them curiously, nodded, then turned and exited up the aisle.

  Trudie watched his retreating figure. “If anything goes wrong, do you think he’d throw us in jail?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Kristen said. “I’ve seen that look down at the courthouse. Yep. He will definitely throw our tired, sweaty asses in jail.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  The entire cast and crew would have to pull a near all-nighter at the theatre. The sets weren’t completed, the dancers were struggling, actors were dropping lines and Jon was fuming.

  “These lines should have been memorized long before I came to town. Now get with it, people! Don’t embarrass me and get me excommunicated from Hollywood!”

  Liz Tyree, the thin, spike-haired stage manager, yelled from off-stage right. “That would be the best thing that ever happened to you, Jon. Your last movie sucked.”

  Jon turned to her, smiling graciously. “Critics are to artists as pigeons are to statues, Madam Stage Manager.”

  The cast and crew laughed. Liz flipped him the finger.

  The Christmas Women had rehearsed until 8 o’clock and were exhausted. They sat back in the auditorium rubbing their sore feet, watching the cast of A Christmas Carol stumble through their blocking and fumble their lines.

  Kristen looked discouraged. “From what I’ve seen here today, we’re not going to cheer Mrs. Childs up, we’re going to depress her.”

  “We need more time,” Mary Ann said. “Jon is the only professional up there. We’re all amateurs. And, in my case, out-of-shape amateurs.”

  “We don’t have more time,” Trudie said. “I don’t mind if we make a few mistakes. It will make it seem quaint and simple. But we can’t look like fools.”

  Kristen winced at a painful blister on her big toe. “Did Julie say we could go over to the house and see Mrs. Childs?”

  “Yes. She took her home from the hospital at 4 o’clock. I told her to make sure the TV wasn’t on. She said her mother never watches TV. She watches old movies and reads, so we’re okay there.”

  “Are we sure no one in the hospital told her about the performances?”

  “No, we’re not sure,” Trudie said. “Julie said Mrs. Childs was shocked by the crowds in town as they drove home.”

  Kristen leaned over. “What did Julie tell her?”

  “That there was a concert being held at the high school,” Trudie said.

  “Did she believe her?” Mary Ann asked.

  Trudie shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so. We’ll find out when we go over to see her.”

  “After we eat, we have to come back and join the group to rehearse The Hallelujah Chorus,” Kristen said.

  “I never could sing that thing,” Trudie said.

  “I always want to sing the base part,” Mary Ann said.

  They sat back, enjoying their break. Trudie closed her eyes, hearing Carly, as The Ghost of Christmas Present, speak her lines perfectly, with character and emotion.

  Jon was ecstatic. “That was absolutely perfect, Carly. Excellent! You are a good actress. A wonderful actress!”

  Mary Ann smiled proudly, watching Lynn follow Jon around with a clip board, taking notes and reading Jon’s blocking back to him, reminding him where he wanted the actors to stand and to move.

  “Jon’s okay, isn’t he?” Mary Ann said.

  Kristen chuckled. “Jon’s a nut case.”

  Trudie didn’t open her eyes. “Jon is definitely not okay.”

  “You were with him last night, weren’t you?” Kristen said.

  Trudie kept her eyes closed. “Let’s not go there.”
<
br />   Cole started down the center aisle, wearing The Ghost of Christmas Future’s black robe, minus the hood. He slid into the aisle just behind the girls and sat behind Kristen.

  Kristen turned to look at him.

  “It’s going well,” he said, indicating toward the stage. “Jon is a slave driver, but he’s good.”

  “Have you memorized all your lines?” Kristen asked, jokingly.

  “Very funny,” Cole said. “You know my character doesn’t speak. He just points and looks frightening.”

  Mary Ann twisted around. “You look very imposing up there, Cole. You’re going to scare a lot of kids.”

  “How’s Mrs. Childs?” Cole asked.

  Trudie opened her eyes and turned to him. “We don’t know if she’s going to be well enough to come.”

  “What will we do? All this is for her,” Cole said.

  Trudie slid down in her seat. “We were talking about it. We decided we’ll take the show to her.”

  “At her house?” Cole asked, leaning forward.

  “Yes, or the hospital. Wherever. It won’t be the same, and we’ll have to do an abbreviated version, but we’ll do what we have to do.”

  “I see,” Cole said, focusing on Kristen. “Kristen, can I see you for a moment?”

  Kristen stared down at the floor, avoiding Mary Ann’s and Trudie’s eyes. Without speaking, she got up, side-stepped her way out to the aisle, and then headed to the back of the auditorium, with Cole, a dark apparition, towering above her.

  Trudie and Mary Ann didn’t turn around.

  “Is she really that thoughtless?” Trudie asked.

  Mary Ann shifted around to look at Trudie. “She’s having a pre-40 crisis. I know how she feels.”

  “But you’re not married.”

  “No, but I understand how she feels.”

  They turned their attention toward the stage and watched Jon transform himself into an old man. In an instant, he was bent and shuffling, his face crumpled in solemn resentment, his voice edgy, husky and irritable. It was an amazing metamorphosis: Jon became Ebenezer Scrooge incarnate.

  “If I could work my will,” said Scrooge indignantly, “Every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”

  Trudie watched him with warm eyes, feeling stiffly nostalgic as she recalled the boy of 18. Had he truly always loved her? “What a talent,” she thought. “What a wacky, exciting man, with a remarkable talent.”

  “He’ll bring the house down,” Mary Ann said.

  “I hope you don’t mean that literally. He’s quite capable of doing it.”

  Mary Ann laughed.

  Oscar left the stage and ambled over, slapping the sawdust off his jeans. “It’s coming along,” he said. “It’s going to take the rest of the night to finish, but we’ll be ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “That’s cutting it close,” Trudie said.

  Oscar turned back to look at the stage. The large Christmas wreath was still hanging above center stage. “Yes, but it will be done right. We want to do most of the painting tonight, so there’ll be time for the smell to dissipate.”

  “You’ve done wonders,” Mary Ann said. “Are you going to be able to make it snow during the finale?”

  “Yes, I think so. Worst comes to worst, we’ll put a couple of high school boys up on the catwalks slinging the stuff. We’ve done that before.”

  Trudie sat up. “It was nice of you to come, Oscar, and to do all this. You’re a life saver. You would have been a great set designer.”

  “I love doing it,” he said, looking at Mary Ann with happiness. “I love being here with you all again. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. I just hope Mrs. Childs can make it. She once told me that a set designer can make or break a show. I want to make this one and I want her to be able to see it.”

  Mary Ann looked at herself self-consciously. Her chubby belly showed under her tight black leotard. She sucked it in as she sat up.

  “Mary Ann, how about we go somewhere for a sandwich or something?” Oscar asked, adjusting his glasses. Trudie thought he looked like the quintessential professor of physics or mathematics.

  “I should take a shower, Oscar. We’ve been dancing for hours. I’ll use the one in the women’s dressing room. I’ll just be fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll wait. I’ve got things to do.”

  After Mary Ann left, Trudie and Oscar made small talk. Finally, Oscar grew quiet and thoughtful.

  Trudie waited, checking her phone, seeing texts from Don Rawlings and Julie Childs.

  “Trudie...” Oscar said.

  Trudie struggled to concentrate, waiting to open the texts. She saw he needed to talk.

  “I’m very... well... I have always admired Mary Ann.” There were little hesitations and pauses, as he carefully composed his words. “I often regretted not staying in touch with her. Of course, I was happily married but... Well, I could never really shake Mary Ann from my mind. She’s a good person. A kind and thoughtful person. And then when my wife passed away, so many memories came back into my mind. I remembered so many things that Mary Ann and I had done in high school. Little conversations... private moments.”

  He was silent for a time.

  Trudie kept listening, torn between Oscar’s conversation and the texts. “Mary Ann cared a lot for you, Oscar.”

  Oscar looked up, hopeful. “Did she?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  He nodded, and then stared beyond her into the darkness of the theatre. “Well, I hope she and I can pick up where we left off. I hope so.”

  After he had wandered away, Trudie read the texts. Julie’s first.

  “Mom wants to see Mary Ann. Alone. Didn’t say why. Is she free?”

  Trudie texted back. “Yes, I’ll let her know and she’ll get back with you.”

  Trudie wondered what that was about. She forwarded Julie’s text and added. “You can take my car.”

  Next Trudie read Don’s text. “Will b at rehearsal soon! Will you b there?”

  Trudie glanced up, watching the play continue on.

  She texted back. “Yes. I’ll be here.”

  Trudie stood up barefooted, stretching her tight and aching muscles, her feet feeling raw and sore. How would she be able to dance two shows tomorrow?

  When Mrs. Lyons marched down the aisle, Trudie wanted to run in the opposite direction. What now?

  “Hello, Mrs. Lyons,” Trudie said, forcing a smile and wishing she’d slipped her heels back on.

  “Good evening, Trudie. Have you seen the crowds outside?”

  “Not recently.”

  Mrs. Lyons was standing at attention. “They’re growing. The restaurants and bars are packed with people, and traffic is becoming impossible. People are calling, upset that they can’t see the show. I suppose you can’t add another show at this late hour?”

  “No, Mrs. Lyons. We’re pushing it as it is. Everybody’s already tired and we’ll have to work all night just to be ready for tomorrow. We couldn’t anticipate all this. It all happened so fast.”

  “Yes, well, there’s no use complaining now. Listen, I have an idea and I want to know what you think about it.”

  Trudie took an uneasy breath, bracing herself. “Yes, Mrs. Lyons?”

  “What if we could broadcast the show outside? Maybe your people could rig up some stage microphones, and, I don’t know, hang some speakers outside and just broadcast the entire show so that the people outside can at least hear it.”

  Trudie couldn’t believe her ears. Was Mrs. Lyons actually offering something constructive? She stared, blankly.

  “Trudie? What do you think? Can it be done?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I guess so. We may have to call some sound people, audio people. It’s short notice, but we can try.”

  She looked at Mrs. Lyons again, suddenly realizing what a fantastic idea it was. She smiled with gratitude. “Thank you, Mrs
. Lyons. I like the idea. I like it very much. At least they’ll be able to sing along and hear Jon perform as Scrooge. Yes, I’ll get right on it.”

  Mrs. Lyons almost smiled. The right corner of her mouth lifted about an eighth of an inch. “I think it will help to calm the crowd and make them feel more a part of the show,” she said.

  “Yes, Mrs. Lyons,” Trudie said, enthusiastically. “Yes, I agree.”

  After Mrs. Lyons had withdrawn, Trudie climbed the stage to ask Oscar what he thought, if it could be done on short notice. He was thoughtful. “We’ll have to call professionals in for that, Trudie, and tomorrow is Christmas Eve. It’s going to be tough.”

  Trudie stared down at her bare feet, lost in thought. Just then, a name bubbled to the surface of her mind. Her face lit up. She snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute!”

  Oscar looked on, hopeful.

  “I may know someone. It’s a long shot, but maybe.”

  She quickly thumbed her contact list until she came to Larry Watson, one of the high school students she tutored at the library. A few days back he’d mentioned that his brother set up audio for rock bands. Well, maybe?

  She pressed the call button and waited, nibbling her nails.

  “Hullo...” Larry’s bored voice answered.

  “Larry! This is Trudie Parks.”

  Silence. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, Larry, you’re not in trouble. I need to ask you something.”

  After she had explained what she needed, Larry said his brother was in town for the holidays, staying there with his parents, but he wasn’t home at the moment. He was out with friends. Trudie asked for his cell phone number.

  An hour and a half later, Hugh Watson, Larry’s brother, was on his way to the high school to evaluate the space. Hugh had graduated from Deer Lake eight years before, and he remembered the space well. By the time he arrived, he’d already sketched an audio plan based on Trudie’s explanation. Hugh was tall and rangy, wearing a faded orange T-shirt, jeans and heavy black boots. At first, Trudie found him intimidating, with his shoulder-length brown hair and Aztec black tribal sleeve tattoos on both arms. He was brisk, humorless and strictly business. But he exuded confidence.