Midnight Before Christmas

by William Bernhardt

  “Carl, I will not leave the bottle.”

  “I said leave it.”

  “And I said no!”

  Carl and the bartender hunched over the single-chair table and glared at each other, their eyes searing the void between them.

  Carl Cantrell clenched the top of the whiskey bottle, his hand wrapped around the bartender’s. “I need a drink,” he said, slurring his words more than a bit.

  “You’ve had a drink. You’ve had several drinks. And the day’s barely begun.”

  Carl yanked harder, trying to get control of the bottle, but the bartender stubbornly refused. Their arms worked back and forth like pistons.

  Joe the bartender stopped pulling, reached around with his other hand, and extended Carl’s arm. He saw the strip of torn shirt wrapped around his forearm, now stained with blood. “Jiminy Christmas, Carl. What’ve you done to yourself?”

  Carl jerked his arm back. “It’s nothin’. Just a scratch.”

  “A scratch? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me. ’Cept I need a drink.”

  “Forget it.”

  Carl grabbed the bottle again. “I need a little somethin’ in the mornings. Just to get my heart started.”

  “You keep drinking like this, your heart’s gonna stop dead in its tracks.” The bartender jerked the bottle free. “One more drink, Carl. That’s it.”

  Carl made a hiccuping noise. “Then make it a double. I’m in pain here.”

  “One more drink.” The bartender pulled Carl’s shot glass closer and poured. “And after that, I want you out of here. And I don’t want to see you around anymore. Got it?”

  Carl’s watery eyes widened. “Whadd’re you saying, Joe?”

  “You know what I’m saying. I don’t want you around no more. You don’t belong here.”

  “Joe …” A lump seemed to catch in his throat. “I been comin’ here forever. Me and the boys-”

  “You ain’t been with the boys for years and you damn well know it. Those days are done. You tossed ’em away with about ten tons of hooch.”

  “But, Joe …” He reached out with his good arm and was embarrassed to see that it trembled. “This is my place.”

  “This is a cop bar,” Joe replied, turning away. “And you ain’t been a cop for a good long time.”

  Carl watched as Joe faded into the dark recesses of the bar. His head hung in place, seemingly frozen, as if he didn’t have the strength to move it. He felt tired and washed out.

  His eyes had the misfortune to light upon the wall-length mirror behind the bar. He could see himself, draped over this rickety, unbalanced table like a human vulture. His face was drawn and his hair was a mess; he looked pathetic. His chin was dark with stubble. Come to think of it, he hadn’t shaved this morning, had he? Maybe not the day before, either. Maybe not since he lost the job at the hardware store-his fifth in a year.

  Jeez. He pounded himself on the forehead. No wonder Bonnie wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t let him see his boy. He looked like death warmed over. If he’d bumped into himself on the street, he probably wouldn’t let Tommy talk to him, either. Just a bum, his son would think. Some worn-out, washed-up rummy. Keep your kids away. Don’t let them be infected by the thick smell of flop sweat. Don’t let them be contaminated by the man who reeks of failure.

  He picked up the shot glass and downed it. The liquor burned his throat, coating his stomach with a new layer of confidence and self-respect. The sudden warmth surged through his arms, his legs, his head.

  He felt better. But how long would it last?

  One thing was certain-he wasn’t welcome at Joe’s anymore. Where else could he go? There weren’t many places open this time of the morning, and on Christmas Eve, no less. Most people weren’t bar-hopping on the twenty-fourth of December. Even most rummies had someplace else to go. Even the most pathetic drunks usually had a family.

  But not Carl. Not anymore.

  I’m all alone, he thought. The words were a relentless pounding inside his brain. I’m all alone.

  He banged the empty shot glass down on the table, making it rock back and forth on its not-on-the-level legs. It wasn’t right. Not right at all. Sure, he’d been going through a rough patch. Times were hard. But that was no reason for Bonnie to bail out. That was no reason to take away his son, his Tommy, the only thing that still mattered in his life.

  He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and removed a creased and slightly torn photo. Tommy and him, three Christmases ago. They were standing in front of the tree, Tommy in his jammies going ape over the Dinosaur Mountain play set Santa had brought him. Carl sitting just beside him, grinning from ear to ear like the proud daddy he was.

  Three Christmases ago. And in three short years, the whole damn world had changed. Tommy didn’t even look like this now.

  Carl picked up the shot glass and hurled it across the room. It smashed into the wall on the opposite side, leaving a dark, dripping stain on the fading wallpaper.

  Joe hustled out of the shadows. “I want you gone, Carl! Now!”

  “I’m goin’. I’m goin’.”

  “I’ll give you thirty seconds. Then I’m calling the cops.”

  “The cops?”

  “Yeah, the cops. You remember them, don’t you, Carl? The boys in blue. That nice shiny uniform you used to wear? Well, they’re gonna be in here to haul your butt to the pokey if you’re still around in thirty seconds!” He checked his watch. “Make that twenty.”

  “I’m gone,” Carl muttered. “Thanks for everything.”

  He shoved the photo back in his wallet, threw some money on the table, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. His arm twinged as he twisted it back into the coat sleeve, but the whiskey had deadened the pain just enough to make it bearable.

  He stepped onto the sidewalk and was nearly bowled over by shoppers rushing both ways at once. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry. Of course they were, Carl thought. Everyone has places to go, people to be with. Everyone but me.

  He spotted a group of carolers on the opposite corner, teenagers mostly. They were singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Whatever happened to the classic Christmas carols-“Silent Night” and “O Little Town of Bethlehem”? Nothing was what it was supposed to be these days. Nothing worked right.

  He would have to fix things, that was all.

  He remembered the look on Bonnie’s face when she finally told him Tommy wasn’t at home. Sad, pathetic, desperate. No doubt in his mind-she was telling the truth.

  But if he wasn’t home, where was he? Neither he nor Bonnie had parents living in the area.

  Day care? It was pretty pathetic, thinking she would put the kid in day care on Christmas Eve, but that had to be the answer. He knew the private school she sent Tommy to provided child care during nonschool hours.

  He shook his head. What a sorry thing to do. She probably wanted Tommy out of her hair. Probably just wanted him gone so she could celebrate the holidays one-on-one with Frank. How sick, and … and …

  And how interesting. How interesting.

  He zipped up his coat and headed down the street where he had parked his pickup. I will not let Christmas pass without seeing my son, he told himself. I will not allow that to happen. It isn’t right.

  He sucked in the bracing air, letting it swirl in his throat and lungs with the last traces of whiskey. I will see Tommy, he muttered resolutely. No matter what.

  I will see Tommy.

  Or no one will.

  4

  Megan fingered the small cameo-encased photograph. My dear sweet mother, she thought, as she had every day for weeks now. Who would have ever thought I could miss you so? When you were alive, it seemed like all we ever did was argue. And now that you’re gone, I feel like someone cut a hole in my chest and ripped my heart out.

  She turned down the photo and forced herself to look away. It wasn’t healthy, she told herself. All this moaning and whining. Especially on Christmas Ev
e. The holidays were tough enough on a single woman without this kind of self-indulgence.

  But that was the head talking, not the heart. The heart was telling her that her mother, her only family, was dead, and that she would spend Christmas Eve alone.

  A growling, spitting noise erupted from the corner of her office. Jasper scooted forward and wiped his wet face against her exposed ankles.

  Yes, she would be spending Christmas Eve alone. Or worse.

  Her hand pressed against her forehead. How could this happen? How could she let it happen?

  I’m all alone, she whispered quietly to herself. I’m all alone.

  Before she had gone to law school, Megan had been an Episcopal priest. Technically she still was, she supposed, but people rarely thought of priests and lawyers as inhabiting the same body. During her eight years at St. Paul’s, she had comforted any number of lonely and despondent persons, patted their hands, said the words they needed to hear. But today those words held no meaning for her. She just didn’t believe them anymore.

  Not now. Not after April 19, 1995.

  Without thinking, her eyes rose to the row of ceramic Kewpie dolls lined up on a shelf just above her law books. The hula girl. The Eskimo. All the others.

  So many memories. So many times shared.

  And all of that was over now.

  She sat up in her chair and scanned the cluttered surface of her desk. What was she doing here in the office, anyway? She had meant to stop in for only a minute to pick up a few things, since she was downtown anyway after finishing her cookie deliveries. There was no reason for her to stay.

  But the sad thing was, there was no reason for her to go home, either.

  She heard a knock on the door. A familiar head poked through. “Is Santa in?”

  Megan looked up and tried to smile. “Ho, ho, ho.”

  Cindy Kendall strolled into Megan’s office. She was tall, with shoulder-length ink-black hair and legs that went on to infinity. She was wearing a dignified but attractive beige suit-a Harold’s special, probably. She looked like a million bucks, Megan thought, which was a value of roughly $999,999.00 more than Megan would’ve appraised herself.

  Megan rose from her chair. “What’s happening, Cindy-Lou Who?”

  “Just came by to see if you finished the cookie rounds. Looks like you did. And survived to tell the tale.”

  Megan smiled. She liked Cindy a lot, even if she was devastatingly attractive. Whenever the teenage boys who worked in the firm as clerks ran their errands, they invented excuses to linger in Cindy’s office. Megan was lucky if she got her morning mail.

  “Completed my appointed rounds, and with no injury to self or others, I’m proud to say. Even made a bit of profit.”

  “Don’t tell me one of those pro bono buddies paid you.”

  “In a way.” Megan pointed toward the picture frame leaning face forward against the wall. “See for yourself.”

  Cindy took a step toward the picture, but Jasper scooted forward on his hindquarters and began howling. Spittle flew in all directions.

  Cindy quickly backed away. “I’m sorry, Megan, but you have to get rid of this purported canine.”

  “I suppose in his own way he thinks he’s protecting me.”

  “In his own way he is, but it’s disgusting and he still has to go.”

  “Easy to say. But what can I do?”

  “Call the dogcatcher. Send him to the vet for a lethal injection. Ship him to one of those third world nations where they have a meat shortage.”

  Megan covered her mouth. “Cindy! You’re terrible!”

  “Wimp.” Cindy stepped around the dog, lifted the picture frame, and turned it around. “Oh my gosh.”

  “Isn’t it awful?”

  “No! It’s wonderful!”

  Megan blinked. “It is?”

  “Yes!” Cindy held the picture in both hands. “Look at those cute widdle puppy dogs! Don’t you just love it?”

  “Cindy, it’s kitsch.”

  “Yes, but it’s classic kitsch.” She laid the black-velvet masterwork on Megan’s desk. “Seriously, Arnie is crazy about this kind of stuff. This is just what he’s been needing for the pool room. You don’t suppose …”

  Megan waved her hand magnanimously. “It’s yours.”

  “Oh, thank you! This is a Christmas gift he won’t be expecting.” She pressed her hand against her lips. “Oh! But I don’t have anything for you!”

  “That’s quite all-”

  “I’ll be right back.” Cindy scurried out of the office, then reappeared barely thirty seconds later. She plopped her treasure in the center of Megan’s desk. “My mother-in-law gave me this last Christmas. Lovely woman, but…”

  “What is it?” Megan asked. It was a small contraption, maybe half the size of a shoebox. It held five metal ball bearings hanging in a row, each suspended by two wires, one on either end, from the wooden framework. “What’s it called?”

  “Well …” Cindy hedged. “I don’t really know what it’s called.”

  “What does it do?”

  “Watch.” Cindy raised the ball bearing closest to her, then released it. The metal ball swung like a pendulum into the other four balls, which then kicked up together, hit the apex of their arc, then swung back into the other ball, which then swung up and back into the four balls, which then…

  “Okay,” Megan said. “What next?”

  “Whaddya mean, what next? There is no what next. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Right.”

  Megan nodded. “Um… thanks.”

  “You’ll probably want to keep it in your office.”

  “Sure. Next to the lava lamp.”

  “Whatever.” She snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot why I came in here. There’s a new client waiting in the lobby-”

  “On Christmas Eve?”

  “She says it’s an emergency. Of course, since I’m supposed to be handling the domestic cases now, they sent her to me, but I haven’t even finished my Christmas shopping, and if I don’t get out of here soon I never will. I wouldn’t do this to you normally, Megan, but there aren’t many lawyers in the office today, and since … you know …”

  Megan did know. What Cindy was saying but not saying was-Since you’re not going anywhere, since you don’t have anyone to see or to spend the holiday with-

  “… I wondered if you wouldn’t mind talking to her.”

  “What does she need?”

  “Emergency restraining order. Ex-husband.”

  Megan shrugged. “Cakewalk. Send her in.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” She stopped at the door. “You know, Arnie and I are driving to Tulsa to spend Christmas with his folks. It’s a two-hour drive, but if you’re free by then, we’d love to have you-”

  Megan smiled. “Thanks, Cindy. You’re a good friend. But I have plans.”

  “You do?”

  Granted, it was a lie, but Megan still wished Cindy didn’t look quite so astonished. “I do.” She winked. “Me and Jasper. Now get out of here.”

  “Okay. Thanks so much, Megan.” She hesitated. “Merry Christmas.”

  Megan nodded. “And to you.”

  Megan took advantage of the break to change out of her Santa suit and back into her standard-issue office clothes. About a minute later, the client in question entered Megan’s office-a thin, petite woman. She had a fragile look about her, especially now, when her hands were trembling and her eyes were streaked and red from crying. Still, she was quite attractive. Maybe not in the Cindy Kendall million-dollar-model category, especially at the moment, but still, Megan thought, several G-notes ahead of me.

  “I’m Bonnie Cantrell,” she managed. She saw her hands shaking, then lowered them to her side. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m nervous. I’ve been so scared.”

  Megan reached out and steadied the woman’s arm. “Just relax, please. Whatever’s happened, I’m sure there’s a solution. My associate told me you’d li
ke a restraining order.”

  She nodded. Fresh tears leaked from her eyes. “It’s Carl, my ex-husband.”

  Megan nodded sympathetically. “How long have you been divorced?”

  “More than two years now. I got custody. He didn’t even get visitation rights. He-” She lowered her head. “He had a drinking problem. Has, I should say.”

  “I’m sorry. That must’ve been very difficult for you.” More than once during her days at St. Paul’s, Megan had counseled parents and spouses dealing with alcoholism. She knew it could have a devastating impact on the life of a family.

  “It … was.” Bonnie licked her lips, took a deep breath. “He never managed to succeed at anything. I tried to help but nothing ever seemed to work. I thought it would be better, after the divorce. But he’s continued to harass us, to stalk me, my little boy.”

  “How old is your son?”

  “Tommy’s seven. Too young to understand why…”-another deep breath-“why his mommy doesn’t want him to see his daddy.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  Bonnie opened her purse and removed a stained handkerchief. “You have to understand-Carl is a cop.”

  Uh-oh. Megan fell back in her chair. This was going to be more complicated than she realized.

  “He’s not on active duty right now. He was suspended some time ago. But all the local cops know us. They consider Carl one of them. And they consider me someone who betrayed one of them.”

  “Still, you should lodge a complaint if he’s threatening you. The law requires the police to-”

  “I did call once. But Carl shaped up as soon as he heard the sirens. The cops hassled me, then wrote me a citation because the inspection sticker on my car had expired.”

  Megan’s lips pursed.

  “I’m just afraid if I call them again, they might do something horrible-like plant some cocaine in my bedroom. And then I’d be the one who goes to jail. And I’d lose custody of Tommy.”

  Megan laid her hand on Bonnie’s. “I understand. So you want a restraining order. We’ll go to the courthouse immediately. One of the judges is on duty today, handling emergency cases. We won’t be able to get a permanent restraint without giving your ex notice and a chance to be heard, but we will be able to get a temporary order pending a later hearing. Of course we’ll have to demonstrate that there are exigent circumstances.”