Читать книгу Sleigh Belles - Beth Albright - Страница 7

2

Two weeks later

“Absolutely not! There is no earthly way I can take over directing that play. I have no time for that. I’m a professional reporter! I have a busy career! And anyway, the rehearsals conflict with my pedicure appointments.” Dallas fumed as she sat at her desk in the WTAL newsroom sipping her sweet tea she’d picked up from Taco Casa. In Alabama, sweet iced tea was a way of life, year-round. Known commonly as the house wine of the Deep South, it was the drink of choice for any time of the day. And after the news Dallas had just received, it was gonna be either sweet tea or vodka.

It was a little over two weeks before Christmas and the director of the children’s Christmas play Sleigh Bells had come down with the flu. Since Dallas had been at a few of the rehearsals because she was the celebrity emcee, the board of the theater had decided she was the best candidate and had asked her to step in and direct. This was the cause for her latest in a recent string of hissy fits.

“Dallas, I’m sorry, but it’s station policy for staff to volunteer for charity during Christmas,” Mike Maddox, the news director, told her. “You know the way it works, and this is the perfect opportunity.”

“I certainly do, and that’s exactly what I was doing by going to the occasional rehearsal—my required community appearances. Appearances! I just cannot direct the whole play, Mike. C’mon.”

“The president of the board called me and asked if we would support this, and I told him absolutely. It’s our duty to the city of Tuscaloosa during Christmas. Imagine the press we’ll get over this. Imagine the press you’ll get over this. I know how bad you want that anchor chair, Dallas, and this ingrains you into the city of Tuscaloosa a little deeper. It’s a win-win, you know?”

While the responsibility of directing a play didn’t appeal to her at all—and the thought of working with kids appealed to her even less—she couldn’t deny that any publicity right now would be good publicity. Dallas rolled her eyes. “Ugh! Fine! I’ll just reschedule my standing mani-pedis. I should tell you, though—I’m not an actress, and I don’t know the first thing about theater and, oh, by the way, I’m not so great with children either. But, sure, if this is what they want...great.”

“Good, I knew you’d see it my way,” Mike said as he headed off toward the studio—either oblivious to the sarcasm in Dallas’s voice or else just ignoring it.

She looked at her Gucci watch. It was early afternoon in mid-December in Tuscaloosa. The crisp fall air had given way to winter, and Christmastime was twinkling from every corner of this college town. She thought about the Christmas parade next week and her spot atop the WTAL-TV News float right behind the mayor’s float. She loved the idea that the entire town would be watching and cheering as she rode on by, but now that she had the Christmas play to direct, her schedule was growing tighter by the minute.

Though she already had another story to cover today, the next rehearsal was in just a couple of hours, Mike had told her, and Dallas knew she had to introduce herself to the kids and try to make this transition as easy as possible. Just get through it, she told herself, as if going to rehearsal was like scheduling surgery.

She grabbed her coat as she ran out the door to visit Miss Peaches Shelby who’d had part of her holiday manger scene stolen from her yard. Peaches was so upset ’cause it was the second year in a row that her plastic Baby Jesus was snatched right outta her plastic stable. “They always leave the shepherds, but they take that Baby Jesus every single time,” she’d complained on the phone to Dallas. It wasn’t exactly big news, but Dallas would never turn down the possibility of camera time.

Climbing into the van where Daniel was already waiting, she buckled in with a loud huff. “Hey, Daniel, let’s get this over with as quick as possible, okay? I have a thing at the Bama Theatre this afternoon,” Dallas barked as they drove out of the parking lot heading to Miss Peaches’s house. “Lucky me, I get all these lead stories. This one should surely get me that anchor chair,” she muttered sarcastically.

“I remember we interviewed her last year about this very same thing,” he said.

“I know, and now she says pictures are being sent to her from everywhere on campus showing her Baby Jesus statue first one place and then another.”

“Kinda like those little gnomes people take on vacation for pictures everywhere, huh?”

They pulled into the driveway of Peaches Shelby’s home, her little plastic manger scene filled to capacity, except for Baby Jesus. Peaches met them outside, and Daniel began setting up the shot with his camera. Dallas trotted across the cold ground in her usual five-inch heels to greet Miss Peaches.

“Hey, Ms. Dubois,” she said, smiling as Dallas showed her where to stand. “I’m so happy to see you again, but of course not under these circumstances.” She quickly switched to a sulky frown, visibly upset as she related the story of the stolen plastic statue to Dallas and the cameraman.

“And the very next morning, he was pure ole dee gone, I tell ya. Just like into thin air. And that ain’t no miracle! I do believe it’s those same boys from that frat house that did this last year.”

“Have you called the police?” Dallas asked with her microphone now under Ms. Peaches’s nose.

“Yes, I most certainly did. They said they’d be lookin’ all over campus.”

“Where have these pictures been taken, can you tell?” Dallas asked her.

“Well, there was one with Baby Jesus at Denny Chimes sittin’ on Joe Namath’s handprints. Then they sent one from the steps of the library. They’s crazy, whoever took it. That’s just pure awful, don’t y’all think?”

“Yes, Miss Peaches. We will do what we can to get the word out.” Dallas thanked her and repositioned herself near the empty manger to do her stand-up.

“As you can see, Miss Peaches’s stable is empty. There have been sightings of the statue all over the University of Alabama’s campus. If anyone knows the whereabouts of Baby Jesus, please call the Tuscaloosa Police department or WTAL TV. I’m Dallas Dubois, WTAL. Okay, Daniel that’s a wrap.”

She told Miss Peaches goodbye and turned toward the van to wait for Daniel with the heater on high. It was nearly four o’clock, and the kids were going to be waiting at the theater. She was dreading this. It was true that she was not really a fan of kids—anyone’s kids—but mostly Dallas just didn’t want to be bothered by other people. Call it selfish or self-preservation, she did whatever she had to do to take care of herself, of her career, and that didn’t leave much room in her life for anyone else. Especially not for little children in a Christmas play.

“Come on, Daniel! Let’s get me to the Bama Theatre. I’ve gotta pretend I care about this Christmas play,” she said as Daniel put the camera equipment in the van and backed out.

When they reached the theater, he pulled up out front to let Dallas out. The Bama Theatre was grand, built in 1937, and was now on the National Register of Historic Places. It was a magnificent old place, one of the last old movie palaces in the Deep South. Dallas and her archrival ex-stepsister, Blake, had been in many a beauty pageant there over the years. But today the beautiful old place would be home to the Christmas play Sleigh Bells. The holiday play was a town tradition. Local theater kids would make up the cast, as well as children from the Tuscaloosa Children’s Home, a group home for children who, for various reasons, couldn’t live at home with their families. Dallas certainly felt sympathy for those kids, but she definitely didn’t consider herself qualified to take care of them. She was not looking forward to what she had to do.

She entered the auditorium and stopped in her tracks. The ghosts of Christmas past were all around, hovering over her, haunting her. She stood motionless, looking up at the tiny, lighted stars that filled the painted night sky on the ceiling.

She hadn’t seen the stage since they had decorated it and added the sets.

She swallowed hard at the memories that invaded her. The playhouse was covered in Christmas lights, the entire room looking like a winter-white forest, dressed up in its Victorian finest for the holidays. On the stage, a set made to look like a Christmas village sat to the right, with a Christmas wreath hanging on a pretend toy-store door lit by the cutest old-fashioned streetlight.

Dallas was reminded of her first play at this theater, back when she was only eight years old. Her mother almost hadn’t made it to the show because of a freak snowstorm—it never snowed in Alabama. Well, almost never.

She took the whole scene in, remembering all the times she’d walked that stage throughout her life. The countless beauty pageants she’d been in, though she’d never really placed better than runner-up. She had stood by while Blake captured most of the titles, while Blake’s mother, Kitty, had cheered loudly from the audience. She tried to envision her own mother clapping and calling her name, but since she’d hardly ever shown up to Dallas’s events, the memory didn’t exist. She began to feel a break in the firewall, so she quickly plugged the dike.

The kids were there already, of course, running around the stage, the choir director trying anxiously, but to no avail, to calm them down. Dallas puffed her chest out, lifted her chin and headed down the aisle toward the stage to say hello and get the worst part over with.

“Children, may I have your attention?” the chubby little lady called out. Ms. Betty Ann had been the choir director at the Bama Theatre since Dallas had been a child in the Christmas plays herself. “Children, have a seat and let Miss Dallas talk to y’all just a minute,” Betty Ann said. The children, distracted for a moment by their visitor, obediently sat down on the stage in the middle of the little pretend village. Dallas approached them, coming up from the side stairs. Betty Ann leaned over and whispered to Dallas, “Good luck. They’re wound up tighter’n Dick’s hatband today. I’m worn slap out already.”

“Hey, kids,” she started, her heart beating out of her chest. She didn’t like to do things she didn’t want to do, and she knew she really didn’t wanna do this. “I’m Miss Dubois and I’m gonna be your new director.”

Some of the kids started talking. One little girl even started crying.

“Why? What happened to Miss Fairbanks?” asked one little boy. They were all mumbling now, most of them between the ages of six and ten years old.

“Well, Miss Fairbanks wasn’t feeling too well, and she wants to make sure we keep practicing,” Betty Ann broke in.

“Exactly, and now I will be the director.” Dallas smiled at them, hoping to look enthusiastic.

The kids all looked sad, some more started to cry, and one boy actually folded his arms and went to the corner of the stage, stomping his feet.

Offended, she tried to reason with them. “Look, it’s hard for me, too, but here we are now, and Christmas is just around the corner, so let’s make the best of this, okay?” Dallas tried to warm them up, but she wasn’t very good at it. She was starting to lose her cool façade.

“I don’t want you, I want Miss Fairbanks back,” announced Sara Grace Griffin, who was nine years old.

“Well, look, I’m not so sure I’ll like doing this either, but this is the way it is.” Dallas turned and began to walk away, hearing the sound of crying children get louder with each step. She stormed off into the stage wings, arms folded, head down, when she slammed right into—

Cal.