“I didn’t know whether to wake you or not,” she said, her hands clasped tightly before her. He realized with some surprise that she was nervous.
“It’s good you did. I just overslept. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Is Zoe up?”
Ellen frowned. “She’s gone to school.” There was something in her tone Griffin didn’t like. Some accusation, some disapproval: Did he not know this, he who insisted he’d be able to take care of their daughter just as well as she could?
“Look,” he said. “I didn’t set the alarm, okay? I was tired. I could have gotten Zoe up, but I didn’t think you’d mind doing it.”
“What are you talking about? Why would I mind? I do it all the time!”
“Not all the time. I do it sometimes, too. And if you hadn’t been here, I would have gotten her up on time, believe me. And made her breakfast. And made sure she had what she needed for school, which you don’t always do.”
“Griffin. Jesus.” She turned and left.
He sat at the edge of the bed for a while, trying to decide if he should be ashamed of himself or not. Then he got into the shower and stood with the hot water running full in his face, his eyes closed tightly, until it ran out. When he was dressed, he went downstairs and into the kitchen. Maybe he would apologize to Ellen—he’d been out of line.
She was sitting at the table with an empty coffee cup before her, reading the paper. He refilled her cup, set it down before her again. She did not thank him. She did not acknowledge him in any way.
He sat across her with his own cup of coffee, took a sip, then took another.
“Ellen.”
Nothing.
“Ellen.”
“What.” She did not look up.
“I’m sorry.”
A moment, and then, still glued to the paper, she said, “All right.”
He leaned back in his chair, sighed. This…tightness. When was the last time it had been easy between them? He stared at Ellen, then substituted Donna for her. Donna in some blue robe, smiling, asking him about what he was going to do that day. Kissing him at the door when he left. When had it been that way with Ellen? Ever?
“I have to leave at six-thirty tonight,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow, kept reading.
“Did you hear me?”
She looked up. “Yes, I heard you. Dinner will be at six. You can leave whenever you want to.”
He noticed a smudge of mascara beneath her left eye. “What did you do last night, Ellen?”
She got up from the table, stood at the sink with her back to him. “I don’t think we need to talk about that.”
“You are still my wife.”
“We are separated, insofar as we can be.”
“You are still my wife.”
She turned around. “I really don’t think you would want to hear about it, Griffin.”
He nodded. “I see.” He picked up his briefcase and headed for the door.
“Are you really going to be a Santa Claus?”
He turned around. “Who told you that?”
“Zoe. Or is that your ‘quilting class’?”
“I wouldn’t do that, Ellen. I would never lie to her.”
“Yeah. That’s what I always thought, too. Well, I’ll see you tonight.”
Her voice was soft, nearly itself again. He remembered, suddenly, the notes they’d left for each other. Had they done that? Yes. Yes, they had. “Thanks for your note,” he told her.
She looked away from him.
“Did you get my other one?”
“Yes.” She moved past him, headed upstairs.
Chapter 12
Just before Griffin left work, Ellen called to say that Zoe had been invited over to a friend’s house for dinner. Grace Woodward was having a spontaneous pizza party—all the girls in her class had been invited, and Ellen had persuaded Zoe to go. She could still make dinner for Griffin, if he wanted her to….
“I’m fine,” he said.
Louise, the waitress with whom Ellen was friendly, was working at the Cozy Corner. Griffin hadn’t expected this—he thought she only worked the day shift. When she came to take his order, he wasn’t sure how to act. Was he, in Louise’s eyes, the wounder or the woundee?
“Hey, Griffin,” she said, coming up to his booth, her order pad in hand. Nothing was in her face that told him she knew. She smiled at him—a disarming smile. She was an attractive older woman, always reminded Griffin of Peggy Lee—that nice beauty mark, that lazy sensuality.
“Hi, Louise. Just…having dinner, here.”
“Good. The Greek chicken’s good tonight.”
He nodded. “Okay. I’ll try it.” He didn’t want Greek chicken. He wanted meatloaf.
“Drink?” she asked, reaching up to tighten an earring that was coming loose. “Don’t want to lose these,” she said. “Your wife gave them to me.”
“Did she.”
“Yeah, she was in here on my birthday a few weeks ago. Next day she shows up with these pearl earrings, prettiest earrings I’ll ever have. She’s a nice woman, that wife of yours.”
“Uh huh.” He attempted a smile.
Louise looked at him. “Did I—Did you not know about this? I’m not going to get her in trouble, am I?”
“No, I’m glad she gave them to you, Louise. Happy birthday. What did your husband give you?”
“Him? Nothing!” But she laughed, saying this. “Let me put your order in, then I’ll come and sit with you. It’s slow tonight.”
He watched her stand before the kitchen window and bellow the order in to the cooks. Then she poured a cup of coffee for each of them and came to sit opposite Griffin.
“So how is Ellen? I haven’t seen her for a while.”
“She’s fine.” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself. Then he said, “She wants a divorce.”
Louise had raised her cup to take a drink; now, she put it down.
“Are you kidding?”
He shook his head. “No.” He didn’t want dinner anymore. He didn’t want to be here anymore. “You know, Louise, I think I’m going to take off. I’m not really hungry. Let me pay you for what I ordered, though, I know—”
“You’re not going anywhere. You look like hell. You need to eat.” She turned back toward the kitchen, yelled, “Hurry it up back there with the chicken!” Then, to Griffin, “I forgot to ask you: green beans or carrots?”
“Green beans, I guess.”
“GREEN BEANS!” she yelled. And then, “God, Griffin, I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“When did this happen?”
“Just recently.”
“Well, I’m sorry as hell. How’s Zoe doing?”
“She doesn’t know yet. We’re having a kind of in-home separation.”
Louise frowned. “What’s that mean?”
“We’re separated, but we’re both living in the same house. For the time being.”
“So you’re looking for a place?”
“No. I’m not moving.”
She stared at him.
“I’m staying in the house.”
“So…Ellen is moving?”
“Yeah. If she wants to.”
She leaned back in the booth, reached into her pocket for her pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind?”
“No.”
“Want one?”
“No, thanks. Well, wait. Yeah, I’ll take one.”
Louise handed him a cigarette, put one in her mouth, then lit them both. She inhaled deeply, then blew a stream of smoke up toward the ceiling. Griffin tried doing the same, but began coughing—a little at first, then violently. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t smoke cigarettes.”
She smiled. “Put it out, Griffin.”
Someone from the kitchen yelled, “Order!” Louise put her cigarette in the ashtray, and went to get Griffin’s dinner. She put it in front of him, then sat down again. He looked at the plate and picked up a fork, trie
d a mouthful of potatoes. They were good, but he didn’t want to eat. He put his fork down, smiled at Louise. “You know, I’m sorry—I’m just not hungry all of a sudden.”
“You want something else?”
“No, I just lost my appetite. I really don’t want anything.”
Louise pulled his plate over to her, put out her cigarette, and began to eat. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, enjoy it.”
“I’m starving!”
“Well.”
She sliced a piece of meat off the chicken breast, then looked up at Griffin. “What’s happening between you and Ellen is none of my business. But I’m going to tell you something.”
“What’s that.”
“That woman needs you. She’s…Well, that’s it. She needs you.” She put the chicken in her mouth, said around it, “This is really very good.”
“I don’t think so, Louise. I mean, what you said about Ellen, I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is. And I’ll tell you something else. I think she loves you, Griffin, and she doesn’t even know it. Okay? That’s what I think.”
He felt his face growing warm, looked down at the table.
“We talk about things, sometimes,” Louise said. Her voice was kind.
He looked up, and she said, “I can’t tell you everything. But I know she’s a complicated woman, full of…I don’t know. She’s shy. Real sensitive kind of person. And she…Well, I hope it doesn’t hurt your feelings for me to say this, Griffin. But she really needs to grow up.”
“Doesn’t hurt my feelings. I agree.”
“Well, here’s a surprise for you, Griffin. She agrees, too.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“It’s true. She’s pretty down on herself, and that’s one of the reasons why. Now, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t want to break the girlfriend rules, probably shouldn’t even have told you this much. But there, I did.”
“Well, thanks.” He looked at his watch. A little over half an hour to get to the mall, and parking could be bad. “I’ve got to go, Louise. Let me pay you.”
“Are you kidding? No charge.”
He put a five-dollar bill on the table. “A tip, at least.”
She handed him back the money. “Get lost. And let me give you some coffee for the road, you want some coffee, at least?”
“Sure.”
He waited at the door for his coffee. When Louise handed him the Styrofoam cup, she said quietly, “Don’t feel bad, sweetheart. Things will work out all right, one way or another.”
He nodded his thanks, walked out into the dark. The wind had picked up, and he shivered. The coffee would be good to have.
He drove to the mall, thinking about what Louise had told him. The bad news was that Ellen had confided so much in someone other than him. But he supposed that was the good news, too—at least she had a friend. The really good news, though, was that if there were sides in this, Louise was on his.
The orientation class was being held in a small room behind the hardware department at Sears. There were several folding chairs set up, and a metal desk stationed at the front of the room. An ancient wreath hung on the front of the desk, its formerly red bow faded to a weary pink. Griffin was the first to arrive, but shortly thereafter an older man came in and sat beside him. His weight alone qualified him for the job, Griffin thought. And his incredible white hair. The man held out his hand and Griffin shook it, saying, “Frank Griffin, how are you doing?”
“Ernie Powell. You new?”
“Yes, I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Nothing to it. I’ve been doing it for years. Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll tell you, seeing these little kids? That’s the only part of Christmas I like anymore. Before I came back here, I was just out walking around the stores. Did you see the decorations out in the hall?”
Griffin nodded.
“Did you know they started putting them up in October? I swear to God.” He pulled a cigar out of his pocket, started chewing on it. “Trying to quit,” he told Griffin. “But I like the feel of it.” He reached for another cigar, handed it to Griffin. “Here you go. It’s a Cuban. You might as well enjoy it.”
Griffin put the cigar in his pocket, nodded his thanks.
From out in the hall, he heard a woman’s voice, and then Donna walked in. She looked terrific—her blond hair curled softly on her shoulders, and she was wearing a red knit dress and gold hoop earrings. She smiled at the men, then turned her back to lay out some papers on the desk.
“That tamale right there?” Ernie said quietly, pointing toward Donna with his cigar. “She’s the photographer.”
“Right,” Griffin said. “She’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“No, I mean, she’s the one who told me about the job. She was taking applications the other day. She kind of talked me into it.”
“You won’t be sorry.”
Two more men entered, then another three. “Them two guys are the Luigi brothers,” Ernie said, pointing to the two swarthy-complexioned men who had entered together. “They’re friends of mine. Be right back.”
When Ernie left to go and visit with the brothers, who looked to be twins, Donna came over to Griffin’s chair. “So. You are Frank Griffin, aren’t you?”
“I guess we didn’t have so much time together the other day, huh?”
“We’ll make up for it tonight.” She smiled. One dimple, left side. Nice.
Another small group of men came in and took their places. Donna looked around the room. “I’d better go, it looks like everyone’s here.”
As Donna moved behind the desk, one more person, a large, masculine-looking woman, burst through the door. “Hey. I’m L.D.,” she said. “I called?”
Donna stared at her.
“I did call, they said to come tonight. I’m transferring from Wisconsin.”
“Oh, okay. Well, welcome. Sit anywhere.”
L.D. chose the chair on the other side of Griffin, took off her hat, smoothed down her short hair, and glared at him. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” Griffin faced forward.
Donna cleared her throat. “Okay! May I have your attention, please?”
“You can have whatever you want,” Ernie muttered, and beside him, Griffin heard L.D. chuckle.
“First of all,” Donna said, “I’d like to welcome all of you, especially those of you who are new. The more-experienced people here can tell you how rewarding it is, I’m sure. But what I want to focus on, so to speak, is the photography.”
Griffin listened to Donna explain that it was essential to remember that although it may be your one hundredth shot of the night, it was the child’s first. That the best thing to do was to look off to the side, to avoid flash fatigue. She told them that the way to hold the child was angled toward the camera, not so tight as to frighten them, but not so loose as to drop them. Then she introduced the man in charge of the company that had hired them, Henry Marshall.
Henry was tall and rail thin. He nodded hello, then pointed toward three large boxes lined up against the wall. “These are your costumes. We’ve got new beards this year—they shouldn’t irritate your faces like the old ones did.” Then he sat on the desk and gave what he called his Santa spiel, apologies to some of the people who had heard most of it before.
There was a four-hour limit for any one shift—that was as much as anyone could take. Remember to keep ice water in your “cocoa” mug—it got hot in that uniform. They would have fans blowing, but if you needed a break to cool off at any time, just say the word, they’d put up the “Gone to feed the reindeer” sign. He said it was important to be natural, to try to relax. If a kid pulled your beard off, you should simply put it back on with some measure of dignity, and say something like “Old Santa’s whiskers aren’t what they used to be!” If they asked where the reindeer were, you were to say they had been brought to a barn off the premises to rest. Last year, when one
Santa had said they were on the roof of the mall, a group of kids had tried to climb up there, so no more of that. Use lipstick to redden your nose and your cheeks, a water-based white paint to whiten your brows. And never say, “Ho, ho, ho!”—use a genuine laugh, instead.
If you were found to be ignorant of a toy a child asked for, you were to say there were so many toys that you sometimes got mixed up, that was why you had elves to help. If they cried, you gave them back to their caretakers promptly. “Now, some of what I’m telling you are just suggestions—we want you to feel you can relax, enter into the role, have some fun with it. And it is fun—just ask old Ernie, here. You’ve been going at it for…how long now, Ernie?”
“Sixteen years,” Ernie said, proudly. He patted his belly. “What the hell. Gives me a good reason to keep this around. The wife gives me any heat, I say, ‘Hey, what do you want to do, spoil some kid’s Christmas?’ Not that she’s any featherweight, herself.”
Henry handed out papers with the names and addresses of all the Santas, in case they needed to call one another to trade shifts. Then he asked for questions.
A short, older man sitting in the back raised his hand. “What do you do if a kid wants to know Mrs. Claus’s first name? I was asked that last year and I didn’t know what to say, because I thought someone else would say something different. So I just said our time was up, and we’d talk more next time.”
“Well,” Henry said. “I know one fellow who says, ‘Oh, Santa’s been married to Mrs. Claus for over one hundred years, and all this time I’ve called her Mrs. Claus. I’ve forgotten her name!’” The class chuckled, and Henry shrugged. “What can I say? It works!”
L.D. raised her hand and reminded the men that oftentimes a child would ask for a dead person to be brought back to life, and that an effective answer was, “Even though he would really like to, Santa can’t do everything. But that person will always be alive in your memory.”