Christmastime 1940

by Linda Mahkovec

  “This is something you should pursue.” He smiled at the drawing of Tommy and Gabriel as pirates. “You’ve captured them exactly.”

  In a flash, Lillian remembered the sketch of him and reached for the pad, but he had already turned the page. He sat back, surprised to see the image of himself. Then he lightly scowled and held the drawing out at arm’s length, clearly taken aback.

  Lillian realized that the image could easily be misinterpreted as criticism, or even poking fun at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I had –”

  “This is me?” He lifted the pad towards the light from the kitchen and looked closely at the drawing.

  “It’s just a sketch. I didn’t intend for you to see it.” Lillian was uncomfortable that she had exposed her interest in him.

  “Is this how you see me?”

  “I draw what I see.” She was angry with herself for not keeping her sketch pad in the drawer. And at him. What did he expect? Catching her unawares with this surprise visit, the place a mess, her hair in pins.

  Drooms studied the drawing and nodded.

  “Old, cold, and lonely. You’re not one for flattery, are you?”

  Lillian took the sketch pad from him and closed it. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “I’m not looking for anything.”

  “Well, you’re the one who knocked at my door.”

  “And I see that was a mistake.”

  A glass wall rose up between them.

  Though Lillian was hurt by his response, she was surprised that her words came out sounding so harsh, so defensive.

  They sat in strained silence for a few moments. Then mercifully, the mantel clock chimed eleven. Drooms stood. “I had no idea it was so late. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  She also stood and watched him walk towards the door. “Mr. Drooms –” But when he turned to her, she lost her nerve and said flatly, “Thank you for helping with the tree.”

  Drooms opened the door, glanced at the tree, then back at Lillian. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” She closed the door after him, brought the dishes to the sink, and turned off the kitchen light.

  Then she went back to the living room, sank into the couch, and looked at the tree. The beauty and magic had disappeared. She unplugged the tree lights and sat on the couch, in darkness.

  Chapter 8

  *

  Even though a day had passed since the evening with Mr. Drooms, Lillian was still upset on Monday morning. She felt irritable as she rushed to get ready for work, compounded by the fact that she hadn’t slept well and as a result had woken up late. Her eyes required another layer of powder beneath them, which just added to her fatigued appearance. She saw that her blouse was frayed at the collar, so she quickly unbuttoned it and put on another one, keeping her eye on the time.

  “Tommy!” she called out to the kitchen. “Are you and Gabriel eating your oatmeal?”

  Then, just as she smoothed down her dress, she noticed a run in her stocking. She sat back down at her vanity in frustration and took out another stocking, quickly checking it for runs.

  In an angrier tone she yelled out, “Thomas!” She hated it when he didn’t answer her. “We have to go soon! Are you boys ready?”

  She pulled off her stocking and put on the new one, then quickly brushed her hair, and applied some lipstick. When she passed the boys’ room she saw that Gabriel had gone back to bed.

  “Gabriel! Get up!” She pulled back the covers and roused him. “Come on. In the bathroom. Go wash up. We’re going to be late.”

  Gabriel sat up in bed. “I’m tired!” He stumbled out and went into the bathroom.

  Then Lillian saw that he had wet the bed again. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She stripped the bed, threw the sheets in the bathtub, and then went into the kitchen. There was Tommy, slouched at the kitchen table, spooning around his oatmeal with no apparent intention of eating it.

  Lillian was ready to burst. “Can’t you hear me? I’ve told you a hundred times, you have to help with Gabriel in the morning. He was still in bed!”

  “It’s not my fault if he went back to bed. I got him up.”

  “You have to do better than that. You’re old enough to be more responsible.”

  “I can’t help it if he doesn’t listen to me.” In an ear-piercing voice Tommy hollered, “Gabriel! Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!”

  “Stop yelling! That serves no purpose.”

  “You’re yelling!”

  Lillian could see a full-blown argument starting if she didn’t hold her tongue. “Go help him get ready,” she said quietly.

  There were just enough leftovers from yesterday’s dinner to make sandwiches for the boys’ lunch. She added bananas and cookies to their lunchboxes, and then quickly buttered two pieces of bread, wrapped them in wax paper, and put it in a bag for her lunch. She added an apple, thinking, that would have to do.

  In a few minutes, both boys were slumped at the table. Gabriel stuck his spoon in the middle of the congealed oatmeal. “I hate oatmeal!” he said. “I want to eat at Mrs. Kuntzman’s. She makes good food.”

  Lillian grabbed the bowls and put them in the sink, banging them loudly. “Get your coats.”

  They all bumped into each other as they hurried to leave. Tommy took their coats off the hall tree and tossed Gabriel’s to him. “It’s this place. I hate it. I want to go back to our old home.”

  “Well, you’re just going to have to get used to it,” said Lillian. “We’re staying here.”

  They walked to the babysitter’s in silence, Tommy kicking at the snow along the way. The boys ran ahead when they saw Mrs. Kuntzman standing at the door waiting for them.

  “Good morning, boys. I made crullers for youse. I hope you’re hungry.”

  Tommy cast a sullen look at Lillian. “Starving.”

  Gabriel cried out, “Donuts! Yippee! Bye, Mommy.”

  “Be good, boys. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Lillian watched them go inside without looking back at her. She waited a few moments to see if they would appear at the window, and then realized that they must have run straight to the kitchen. Tears started to well up in her eyes and she blinked quickly to prevent them from falling. She wished she could go back home and take a hot bath and just be alone for the day.

  *

  Lillian rushed into the office lobby, and impatiently pressed the elevator button. She bit her lip as she glanced at the large clock in the lobby; she had never been half an hour late before.

  With the publishing office a whirlwind of activity, she thought perhaps she could get to the switchboard without Mr. Weeble noticing her. She walked past Izzy’s desk, gave her a brief nod, and then ducked into the switchboard room. But within a minute of taking off her coat, Mr. Weeble walked in. He stood in the doorway, as if waiting for an explanation, and pulled back his cuff to examine his watch.

  Lillian was not going to be intimidated by such a pompous, arrogant, stupid little man. Fed up with everything, she stood quickly, causing her chair to bang against the wall behind her.

  “Yes, Mr. Weeble. What is it?” Her tone surprised even herself.

  Mr. Weeble raised his eyebrows and blinked, looking more lizard-like than ever. Lillian half expected his tongue to dart out in search of a fly.

  He raised his chin in an apparent attempt to look imperious. “Mr. Rockwell wishes to see you.”

  Lillian didn’t wait for him to escort her this time. She stomped off to the president’s office with a flustered Mr. Weeble trying to take the lead. Neither did she wait to be shown into Mr. Rockwell’s office. She opened the door herself, leaving his secretary standing open-mouthed.

  Go ahead and fire me, Lillian thought. I’m sick of all these games and those disgusting looks.

  “Yes, Mr. Rockwell?”

  Rockwell looked up in surprise. He sat at his desk, holding theater tickets in his hand, but was unsure whether to proceed.

  Lillian saw his hesitation, and continued headlo
ng into whatever fate awaited her.

  “Mr. Rockwell, there’s something you should know.” She started to lose her courage and faltered a little. “I – I have someone. I’ve been seeing someone for quite some time.” Lillian felt only a small pang of guilt at the lie that rolled so easily off her tongue.

  Rockwell studied her, believing her this time, but was unused to being rejected. “And is it serious?”

  Lillian swallowed and looked down at her hands. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “Well, then.” He slipped the tickets into his pocket. “I’m sorry to have intruded. I wish you all the best.” He took up some papers on his desk, signaling the end of the matter.

  She started to say thank you but then changed her mind. He was the one who put her in an awkward position. No need to thank him for it.

  She walked back to her station, determined to hold her emotions in check. The busy switchboard occupied her mind, though in between calls she mentally rehearsed applying at the department stores, hoping it would be easy to find a position during the holidays.

  When she left for her lunch break, she saw that Izzy had followed her into the powder room. Lillian stood before the mirror, reapplying her lipstick.

  “What was all that about earlier?” asked Izzy.

  Lillian shook her head. “I think I just got myself fired.”

  Izzy gently pressed for more information. “You looked upset when you came in late this morning. Is everything okay?”

  Lillian took a deep breath, unsure of how to explain herself. She closed the lipstick and twisted the tube around in her hands.

  “I had an argument with Tommy. I seem to be snapping at everyone. Tommy, now Mr. Weeble. And Mr. Rockwell.” She hesitated a moment and added, “Even my neighbor.” Lillian buttoned her coat, annoyed that Izzy managed to bring up exactly what she didn’t want to talk about.

  “I had a feeling it might have something to do with him.” Izzy crossed her arms, eager to hear more.

  “No, it’s nothing like that. At all. He helped me with the Christmas tree and we talked briefly. Then I insulted him and he left. End of story.” She put her lipstick back in her purse and snapped it shut.

  “That can be smoothed out,” said Izzy.

  Lillian shook her head and leaned against the counter. “No, Izzy. We’re too different. Yes, he’s handsome. And I thought maybe we could be friends. But somehow we aren’t clicking.” She started to leave. “It’s just as well. I can’t take on anything more. I really just need to slow things down and focus on the boys. And Christmas. I’m going to get some air. Want to join me?”

  “Sure,” said Izzy.

  As they cut through the lobby, Lillian continued her thoughts. “At one moment he’s so kind and warm – ”

  “Mr. Rockwell?”

  “No, Izzy, my neighbor. Mr. Drooms. And then he closes up and I don’t know what to think. But the last thing I need is someone who’s going to make things harder.”

  “Well,” said Izzy, “welcome to life.”

  Lillian looked up at the unexpected response.

  Izzy spoke in a softer voice. “It’s Red. He’s going to Canada after the holidays. To enlist.”

  Lillian put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. Izzy, I’m so sorry.”

  “Yep. He and his kid brother are joining the Royal Canadian Airforce. Red says Hitler has to be stopped.” She shrugged and took Lillian’s arm as they left the building. “Let’s go grab a bite to eat, do some window shopping.”

  Lillian squeezed her friend’s arm and felt guilty at her own petty problems. She would do what she could to cheer Izzy.

  *

  Drooms’s bad temper from the weekend lasted into Monday and increased as the day wore on. Everything was a source of irritation. Finch wasn’t handling the Carson transaction as smoothly as Drooms had expected, and he realized that he should have had Mason involved, even if it was just to guide Finch through the complexities of the deal.

  After the employees left for the day, Drooms decided to check on Finch’s progress. He went to the file cabinets, then back to his office, then back to the files in search of the Carson folder. He cast a suspicious look at Mason’s desk. Surely Mason wouldn’t have taken the information on Carson. Drooms started to rummage through Mason’s drawers, slamming them in his search.

  Mrs. Murphy, always the last to leave, was slipping on her coat when she heard the commotion. She came over and saw Drooms pulling open drawers and then shutting them with a bang.

  “Goodness! What is it, sir? What is it you’re looking for?”

  “The file on Carson. It’s missing.”

  “Why would Mr. Mason have it?”

  Drooms crossed his arms. “I have reason to believe that Mason is going to work for Henderson.”

  Mrs. Murphy laughed outright. “Mr. Mason? He would never be disloyal to you. What on earth gave you that idea?”

  “Look, I know he’s taken another job. And I believe he’s going over to Henderson.”

  Mrs. Murphy looked down, and slowly shook her head as she pulled the gloves from her pocket and put them on.

  “He doesn’t want anyone to know this, but seeing that you suspect him of perfidy – Yes. He’s taken a second job. At Gimbels, working nights.”

  “I don’t believe it! Doing what, for God’s sake?”

  Mrs. Murphy adjusted her hat. “Stocking shelves, helping with displays, whatever they need him to do.”

  “Why on earth would he do that?”

  “To make it a good Christmas for his family, I suspect. Money is tight. You know he had to move to a larger place, and his wife is expecting again. And he dotes on those twins of his; he would do anything for them.”

  “Mason has twins?”

  “Yes. But you knew that. And Gimbels gives him a nice discount. So there you have it. It’s only for the holiday season, sir. He may be tardy now and then – but he’s no turncoat.”

  “No. No, of course not.” Drooms wondered why he had so easily doubted Mason.

  Mrs. Murphy walked over to Finch’s desk and immediately spotted the folder on Carson.

  “Here it is, sir. Right where it should be.”

  Drooms leaned against the desk, ashamed of his suspicions. “I haven’t quite been myself lately.”

  Mrs. Murphy gave a little chuckle. “That could be a good thing.” She slipped her handbag over her wrist, tugged her gloves for good measure, and started to leave.

  Drooms gave a slight smile at her ever forthright opinions. “Mrs. Murphy?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “How long has it been, since Mason came here?”

  “Almost twenty years. Same as me.”

  “Has it been that long? It seems like just yesterday I put him on the Whitmeyer account.”

  “Why, that was over ten years ago. When Alfred was still here.”

  Drooms stared at the floor, wondering how ten years could have passed without his noticing. How was it he could account for every penny, every rise and fall in revenue, but fail at the simple arithmetic of years gone by?

  Mrs. Murphy looked curiously at her boss, wondering what had caused this recent disturbance in his equilibrium. He was often difficult, that was nothing new; but he had always been grindingly predictable. Lately, she never knew what to expect from him. She sensed some underlying change stirring deep within him. Something or someone had really gotten to him. Cantankerous as he often was, she couldn’t help feeling protective of him.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” she asked in a gentle voice.

  Drooms looked up from his reverie. “No, thank you. Goodnight, Mrs. Murphy.”

  Chapter 9

  *

  The entire week was a struggle for Lillian. After work each day, she went to the department stores to apply for work, only to find that they had already done their hiring for the holiday. She arrived home late every night, leaving no time to spend with Tommy and Gabriel. Just a quick dinner before bedtime. Her apprehension had spilled ov
er onto the boys and they were grumpy and irritable, especially Tommy. All week he pestered her about going back to Brooklyn for a visit, but she kept putting it off, saying now was not the time.

  By week’s end, Mr. Weeble still had not called her in, and she began to think that maybe she would be able to keep her job, despite what had happened. Or maybe they were just waiting to fire her in the New Year. She would have to be prepared to take in sewing again. On Friday, after dinner, she got out her sewing basket and checked the contents, to see what she needed to add to it.

  Tommy lay on the couch reading. Gabriel sat cross-legged in front of the radio listening to the Lone Ranger, alternately bouncing up and down to the music on his imaginary horse, then sitting spellbound. Tonto was just about to be jumped by a mountain lion when Tommy got up from the couch and shut off the radio.

  “I’m trying to read.” He went back to the couch and stretched out.

  “Hey!” Gabriel got up and turned the radio back on and stood guarding it with his arms crossed.

  When Tommy got up again, Gabriel yelled, “I was listening to my show first!”

  Lillian had been trying to untangle the spools of thread in her sewing basket, and was growing impatient. “Tommy, go in your room if you want to read. Gabriel is listening to his show.”

  “I want to read out here.” He started to shove Gabriel out of the way, and Gabriel pushed him back.

  Lillian jumped up quickly to break the boys apart, knocking over her sewing basket and all its contents onto the floor. “That’s it, Thomas! I’ve had enough of you. Go and clean your room!” She shut off the radio. “Gabriel, go wash up!”

  “I didn’t do anything! That’s not fair,” protested Gabriel. Then his face crumpled into tears. He threw his arms down to his side and stomped off to the bathroom. “Now I don’t know what happened to Tonto!”

  Tommy went into his bedroom and slammed the door. “I always get blamed for everything!”

  Lillian felt she was failing on all fronts. She picked up the spools of thread, the needles and scissors, the tape measure and chalk, wondering why everything was falling apart. Her vision blurred and a few tears fell as she ran her hands over the floor, feeling for any needles or buttons she might have missed. She knew that she had overreacted to the boys’ quarrel, but sometimes she just couldn’t hold it all in. She had so wanted this to be a good Christmas. Now it looked like it would be marred by constant arguments.