Sleigh Belles
“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.
3
Cal jumped back, obviously surprised to see Dallas right there in front of him in the theater wings.
“Cal! Sorry, what are you doing here?” Dallas asked, shocked at bumping into him here.
“I’m running the sound system for the Christmas play. What are you doing here?”
“Well...guess who’s the new director?” She smiled awkwardly, feeling completely out of her element.
“What happened to Ms. Fairbanks?”
“Flu.”
“So...you? You’re the director?”
“Yep. It’s my lucky day.”
“Yeah. Well, good luck, I guess. See ya.”
Cal walked away, and Dallas turned to watch him leave. It was obvious that he was unfazed by seeing her. She, however, was having another flare-up.
Dallas stepped over to the staircase in the wings and sat down in the dim amber glow of the footlights. Unbelievable, she thought. How was it possible that not only was she stuck directing this ridiculous play, but now she’d also have to do it alongside the one man who never failed at making her lose her cool?
She inhaled a deep breath, trying to get a grip on everything that was happening, but it didn’t ease the tension that was beginning to consume her. She felt the pressure building, but for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure how to take control of the situation. She felt trapped. There was nothing she wanted more than that anchor spot. The announcement, they’d been told, would come just after Christmas. Great timing, she thought, for the person who got the job. They’d be able to start the New Year with an exciting new job. If she didn’t get it, she could be one of the two reporters to lose her job to station cutbacks. For now, she knew she just had to stay focused. Worrying about the worst-case scenario wasn’t going to make her performance any better. The only thing she could do was to keep her eye on the prize. She had to direct this play and somehow find a way to work with Cal.
Dallas pulled her purse closer, as if it were her only friend in this place. She wore a long winter-white Calvin Klein cashmere coat that she’d bought in Atlanta at a secondhand shop. She drove the three hours over there to shop all the time. She didn’t come from much, but she had done quite a job of making it look as though she did. Her dad, businessman Sweeney Sugarman, had divorced Kitty, his second wife and Blake’s mother, about ten years ago. Financially, he’d done little more than help pay Dallas’s way through college at the University of Alabama. He’d died several years ago and had never even seen her first report for WTAL.
Dallas’s mother, on the other hand, had sent her to live with her father when Dallas had only been fourteen years old. The day she’d left was the last time she had seen her mother. They had become estranged ever since. No one in town even saw LouAnn Watkins Sugarman anymore. Last anyone heard, she had tried to become a singing star out in Hollywood, and when that didn’t pan out, she’d come back home to some small town in Alabama but had never tried to get in touch. It had been twenty years since Dallas had spoken to her. None of Dallas’s family had even come to her college graduation. She was used to being alone. And in control.
With Cal working the sound for the play, Dallas would be running into him almost daily over the next couple of weeks. She huffed out a breath and shook her head. Okay, she admitted to herself, he’s still hot. Fine. But I am not going to throw myself at a man who clearly shows no interest in me. I can’t let his gorgeous good looks get the best of me at a time like this. Besides, he has nothing I need right now. All I need is to get this play over with, secure my promotion and get on with my life.
This was typical Dallas. Always thinking of the goal. Always forgetting to actually live along the way. All that armor, the tough-woman mask she donned each day with carefully applied makeup and hairspray, helped shield the real Dallas from everyone. Especially from herself.
“Okay, Ms. Dubois, we’ve got the children settled down, and they’re waitin’ for you,” Betty Ann said, approaching Dallas in the stairway.
“Fine, please tell that production assistant person I need some Diet Dr. Pepper. I’m already exhausted after that scene out there. I mean, really, what is with all that attitude?”
“Certainly, Ms. Dubois, but you understand they’re just nervous. They’re only children, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yeah, well, they aren’t the only nervous ones, I’ll tell you. Do I look like a theater director to you? I belong on TV, with a camera in front of me, not behind the curtain trying to get a bunch of wild animals to stand in their spots and remember their lines. Let’s just be honest—I don’t wanna be here any more than they want me here.”
“Oh, please don’t feel that way. It will all work out just fine,” Betty Ann said, though Dallas could see the doubt written all over her face. “Now, I’ll get Corey to get your drink and we should get started.”
“Great. Thanks.” Dallas smiled weakly and exhaled a deep breath. Her stomach was in knots, but she was careful not to let anyone see that. She was totally on edge with her job on the line and that made it tough for her to be sweet to anyone.
* * *
Cal sat up in the sound booth, adjusting the speaker levels and fiddling with live mic feeds, and trying to figure out how’d he’d managed to find himself working side by side with none other than Dallas Dubois.
He’d always found Dallas attractive—how could you not? With that gorgeous hair, bright blue eyes and curves that should be illegal in most states, Dallas was basically a fantasy on legs.
Not that he was all that that bad himself. He’d been told he was gorgeous by plenty of people all his life, but it never really seemed to sink in. He wasn’t a loud braggart like a lot of athletes he’d known in college. He was more reserved. And he was often single.
What no one knew, except maybe Lewis, who had been Cal’s best friend in both high school and college, was that he was an over-the-top perfectionist. It wasn’t that he was judgmental about the people he dated—it was more that he was tough on himself. He had always been afraid of failing at a relationship, so he’d never got too serious with any one girlfriend.
His grades, however, had been spectacular. He’d pushed himself so hard that it had cut down on his participation in the wild social life that his other friends had enjoyed. Cal was an academic. He took everything super seriously and had gotten his doctorate in computer science by the time he was twenty-six. He had been the star quarterback for the Crimson Tide, leading them to a National Championship in his senior year. He was tough on himself.
That’s why he had never married. Not that all the gorgeous beauty queens and coeds couldn’t measure up. No. Cal was terrified of failing. His two older brothers had great marriages. His parents had been married for well over forty years. He looked at their success, and he realized he wasn’t sure he could ever be that great at it. He’d never met anyone who’d made him feel the things his brothers claimed to feel about their own wives. And he’d always been so focused on school and sports that he couldn’t even imagine having enough time left over to properly devote to another person. The last thing he wanted was to let anyone see that he wasn’t good enough. For Cal, failure at anything was not an option. Growing up, the minute he thought a relationship might not work forever, he ran. Now, at thirty-four, he still found himself more invested in work than in women.
From his spot in the sound booth, he could oversee some of the action on the stage below. And thanks to live mics, he could hear everything being said. Just now, he could hear Corey, the young production assistant, bringing Dallas her drink.
“Here you go, Ms. Dubois,” he said cheerfully.
Cal watched Dallas take the drink from him with a slight nod of her head. “Thanks, and make sure you stay close with that clipboard of yours. I can’t possibly write and talk at the same time.”
“I’ll do my best,” Corey said, though his mood had clearly been taken down a notch.
It made Cal sick to hear her unfriendly treatment of everyone. Her bossy behavior, flinging orders around as if she was throwing rice at a wedding, like this was just business as usual for her. As far as Cal knew, it was. This was the Dallas he’d always known. Cold, selfish and self-absorbed. It had been the reason why, despite how attracted he was to her, he’d never made an attempt to pursue her.
When rehearsal was over, and he was packing up the equipment for the day, he heard Dallas backstage as she gathered her things. Corey had run up the side stairs to say good-night. He knew he should turn off the mic, that he really shouldn’t listen in, but curiosity got the better of him.
“Okay, Ms. Dubois,” he heard Corey say. “That’s it for tonight. Need anything ’fore I leave?”
“No, that’s fine. Can I see your notes from today?”
“Oh, um, well...I didn’t really take notes. Nothing really changed, so I didn’t really have any...”
“God, are you an idiot, too? Why do I always work with idiots? I asked you to take notes of everything we did today.”
“Oh, I’m, uh...sorry, Ms. Dubois, but we didn’t really do anything but run over what we were already doing in the show. But, um...if you want, I can type up something and email it to you.”
“Just forget it. I’ll make up the notes myself. Next time just follow my directions.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Corey was a theater student at Alabama, and his professor was the flu-ridden Ms. Fairbanks, and Cal could bet he was really going to miss her not being at the Bama Theatre every day.
He’d heard about all he could take. He left the sound booth and headed down to the stage, running into Dallas as she headed back up the aisle to meet her ride outside.
“You are really something else. I can’t believe you,” he said, stopping right in front of her, his hands folded in front of him.
“Excuse me? I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I have to be back at the station for the newscast so I’m in a hurry.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are. But you need to hear a few things before you speed off to your high falutin’ TV job.”
At well over six feet tall, Cal towered over Dallas—despite the impossibly high heels she was wearing. He used his size to his advantage now, looking down at Dallas with disapproval.
“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Some of us actually grew up but not you. You’re still just as full of yourself as you always were.”
“What the hell do you mean?” Dallas fought back. “You have no idea the stress I’m under. I don’t need this crap. You don’t know anything about me, Cal. You never did.”
“Well, there’s certainly no excuse to talk to everybody like they need to serve you. That’s disgusting.”
“Cal, I’m late. If you don’t like what you heard, then quit eavesdropping and turn the mics off when the conversation doesn’t concern you. Now, if you’ll kindly move out of my way, I have a newscast to get to.” Her face was red with anger and, Cal hoped, a little embarrassment at being called out.
He stepped aside, and she walked past him, her winter-white coat brushing against his pants, her nose in the air as if to let him know she didn’t care one bit.
Typical, Cal thought, and he stormed off in the opposite direction.
* * *
Dallas was fuming as she made her way up the theater aisle. She held her head up as though she didn’t care, but of course she did. She could feel her face growing hot as she made her way outside to Daniel and the van.
How could her entire world be falling off its axis in just one day? She rode in silence back to the station with Daniel, her eyes stinging, but she wasn’t fixin’ to let even one tear fall. Not until she was in private.
One more thing and her tough façade might become so damaged that the usual quick fix of puffing out her chest with a deep breath and lifting her nose in the air just wouldn’t work. Just one more thing and it would be too much for one day. But she had no time to think about falling apart. She had a story to introduce on set.
Dallas arrived back in the newsroom, the Christmas decorations twinkling on the station tree that stood in the corner. A frantic chatter filled the newsroom. It was typical for the time of day, reporters running around and edit bays full as late stories were still being filed. Dallas hurried in at a clip, her heels not slowing her down one bit. Daniel had already edited her story about Miss Peaches. She ran into an empty bay to voice it before it was time to sit on set next to the soon-to-be retiring female anchor and introduce the missing Baby Jesus statue story to the viewers.
Just as she was wrapping it up and preparing to walk into the live studio, the news assistant delivered a piece of paper with a message to her.
Please call me. I need to see you.—Mom
Dallas felt as if she had been pushed off a building. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in twenty years, and now, today of all days, she’d decided to call. Now. This was the “one more thing” that just might break her. How could she go on the air live in two minutes, right after unexpectedly hearing from the mother who had abandoned her so long ago? She shoved the note into her jacket pocket and marched into the studio smiling. Take control, she reminded herself. She knew how to shove down these emotions, and she’d just have to do it again.
Her mother. Wow. All she knew was that she had no time for her mother now. The same way LouAnn hadn’t had time for Dallas for the past twenty years. LouAnn had never even attempted to make contact with her. She had purely abandoned her. Dallas had no intention of seeing her now, not ever again.
Still, she was thrown for a loop, her stomach tightening with a painful grip, the years of hurt bubbling up. This was far worse than the confrontation with Cal back at the theater, and she couldn’t believe her bad luck.
She barely got through the story on TV, a strained smile pulled across her pretty face. When she returned to her seat in the newsroom, her phone on her desk was ringing. She picked it up without even thinking.
“Dallas Dubois,” she said into the receiver.
“Dallas, it’s your mother. Please don’t hang up.” LouAnn sounded nervous.
“Mother. Hi...” she began, then quickly decided there was no need for politeness. “What do you want? I’m really busy.”
“I need to see you.”
“I’m sorry. Your timing is really bad. Maybe another time.” Dallas kept her voice cold, showing no emotion.
This conversation had been years in rehearsal. Dallas had spent a long time imagining that her mother would call her, say she was sorry, maybe cry and beg forgiveness. As she grew older, the pretend conversation took on a different tone, as Dallas grew bitter and developed the hard exterior she’d soon be known for. Now that the moment was finally happening, somehow it wasn’t playing out just as she’d practiced.
“Please. It’s important,” LouAnn begged.
“I’m really sorry. But I’ve got important things going on, too. So, call me another time, okay? But not anytime soon.” And with that, Dallas hung up on her.
A lump swelled in her throat, and she made a beeline to the ladies’ room, locking herself in a stall. Finally alone for a moment, she allowed herself to cry silently into her hands, flushing the toilet over and over to cover the sounds of her anguish in case anyone walking by could hear her. All those years of not hearing her own mother’s voice, of wishing that she’d just come home and tell Dallas she hadn’t forgotten about her, suddenly made her feel as though she were that young, naïve girl once again. With everything she’d faced today, plus her own guilt of hanging up on a call that had been twenty years in the making, it all became too much. Even for Dallas.
The firewall was down, and Dallas was desperate to put it back together as fast as she could.
4
That evening, Dallas went home to her empty house. It was a little place near the university that she was renting. If she got that anchor seat, maybe she could afford to buy herself a real place of her own. Maybe she could finally afford to stop running to Atlanta to hide the fact that she shopped at consignment stores. Everyone in town just assumed she had lots of money. She worked hard to make it look that way. But the truth was that reporters didn’t make that much. She had bills to pay and, unlike Blake and Vivi, she didn’t come from family money. But that wouldn’t hold her back. She’d just have to keep climbing her way to the top. Anchors made much more, a lot more. That’s what she had her eye on.
She made her way to the shower, petting her big white cat, Wilhelmina. Wilhelmina was her only companion since she had broken up with Dan Donohugh, Harry Heart’s campaign manager, right after the election. Both of them had really been using each other, hoping to benefit from Harry’s run for the senate, so the brief fling had ended soon after.
Here in her home, Dallas was finally in her safe haven. Just she and Wilhelmina.
Dallas stood under the hot water of her shower thinking of her mother, but trying not to. Why would she be calling after all these years? Dallas had tried to make contact with her when she was still just a teenager. She’d hated living with her father, and she’d really hated living with Blake when her dad had married Blake’s mother, Kitty. Blake had let her know immediately it was her house, so Dallas hadn’t wasted a minute of her time trying to be sisters with her.
Instead, she’d spent her time trying to prove herself worthy of her mother’s love. She’d become a high school cheerleader just as her mother had been when she was young. She’d worked hard to become the most popular—and that had sometimes been nasty work. You didn’t always become popular by being nice, so she’d had to crush a few hearts along the way. Eventually, she had been named the salutatorian of her class. Cal was the valedictorian and had gotten a football scholarship. But Dallas, after receiving a small scholarship of just a thousand dollars, had still been asked to give one of the speeches. She’d pulled together all her courage to call her mother when she found out, but no one had answered the phone. She’d left a message, asking her mother to please come and hear her speak, that it would mean a lot to Dallas to show her what she’d accomplished. She’d never heard back from her mother. Maybe she didn’t get my messages, she always thought to herself. But she knew it wasn’t true.
Eventually, Dallas quit trying to make contact.
As she stood in the shower, the memories of what happened all those years ago haunted her warm oasis.
When Dallas had been only three and her brother, Houston, had been eleven, their father had walked out on their family. He’d left them to marry his secretary, the woman he’d been with just before he’d married Blake’s mother, Kitty. As they’d grown up, Houston had stepped up to become the man of the house and their mother, LouAnn, had leaned on him in that role. The three of them had been an incredibly close, tight-knit family—and, yes, her mother had a thing for Texas and had named her children after her two favorite cities there.