Christmas Noel

Christmas Noel

My Christmas Story for 2011

for

Kimberly Mc Innis

by

Hubert O’Hearn

The play had closed for another year. The pantomime over, the cast party ended, the last of the other actors having left through the stage door for one or another Christmas house party. Frank was the only one there, still sat at the four-by-eight folding table set up on stage, its now empty pizza boxes and scrunched up beer cans an unlikely contrast to the painted canvas flats of Snow White’s cottage. He was sat on the King’s Throne at the head of the table and he moved his index finger and thumb across his chin and upper lip enjoying the feel of both without the itchy beard and mustache he had grown for his part. Frank had always shaved right after the final curtain on the final night. There was no point in being a panto villain in real life.

It was a good thing that this had been the last performance, Frank thought, noticing that the gold filigrees glue gunned onto the wooden dining room chair had started to tear and droop. the blue velvet throw cushions tacked onto the seat and backrest were also looking worse for wear. ‘All good things,’ he said aloud. ‘All good things,’ he repeated. He stood, and stretched his arms above his head and behind his back, and sat down again. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave now. He didn’t want to leave then. He didn’t want to leave this place forever.

Ah, for that was at the nut of it. Snow White had drawn well - very well in fact - as pantomimes always do draw well at Christmas time. Still, it would have taken not just sold-out houses but sold-out houses where the audience members all dropped full wallets on the floor and couldn’t be bothered to pick up the money. Frank had hoped that the autumn runs of Six Degrees of Separation, followed by Blithe Spirit would save the day - surely those would draw an audience? They did, yet still not enough. He was going to have to close the theatre down. He’d known it for weeks now, keeping the news to himself, worried that a malaise would spread through the cast and suck the energy out of Snow White.

He’d worked with some if them for...was it really fourteen years? It must be. Yes, it has been fourteen years. Paul’s hair had been red back then when they started. Well, it was still red in a sort of fire truck shade. Fourteen years ago it had looked natural because it was natural. Naturally. Kimberly hadn’t been married for the first time, let alone the second. Tim had no children when they met; now there were two boys each of whom would be taller than their Dad any week now. Marcia had been fresh out of high school then, an eager assistant stage manager. She’d gone on to become an excellent comic actress on stage, while in real life she had studied and worked and now was a successful author of teaching manuals who rarely acted any more. Life had moved on.

Mostly.

Frank remembered that morning of his fortieth birthday, almost four years ago when he had woken up with one thought surprisingly ringing in his head: What the hell am I doing at forty years old running around with a bunch of kids on stage? Having been hit in the face by a cold bucket of maturity he had taken appropriate action. He cut back on the acting and concentrated on directing.

Mostly.

And now what? And. Now. What? Now what? Now what to do? What to do now?

He found that rephrasing the question in slightly different word order really wasn’t helping the situation. Frank even decided to take a run at saying the words out loud: ‘What do I do now?’ God chose not to answer at that given moment by opening up the ceiling and delivering an angel sliding down a golden shaft of light bearing tablets of revelation. Although that would have been nice of Him if He had done so. More’s the pity.

Frank laughed at his own imagination, which he decided was a good thing - two good things actually, both imagination and laughter. He was going to need the first to sort out the rest of his life and until he did there wasn’t going to be much opportunity for laughter.

‘Bugger,’ he said aloud. He was enjoying speaking to the empty theatre, this converted Ukrainian Labour Temple just off the street most favoured in town by both prostitutes and Salvation Army donation buckets. Perhaps the location wasn’t the best. However, Frank was enjoying talking to himself as it made the empty theatre seem less empty, as though the sound waves themselves were people, even though there was almost no echo at all, what with all the fabric baffling hanging here, there and almost everywhere. That would all have to be taken down and stored...somewhere.

‘Or why bother? I could just leave it all...to hang.’ Yes, there was that option. Just leave it to hang. He did not like the little spark of thought that made him consider for one millionth of a second leaving himself here to hang as well. No matter how poetic the image - found dead as Firs in The Cherry Orchard who lays dead on stage at the end - it would still require Frank to be dead and that was not a favourable option.

‘Assuming there are favourable options.’ Yes, this certainly wasn’t the night for sunny optimism, now was it? Not that sunny mixes easily with night, even at the best of times. Things might look better in the morning, Frank considered and so brightened his mood considerably. There were few things in life Frank enjoyed more than putting off important decisions.

A Short List of Things Frank Enjoyed More Than Putting Off Important Decisions

The Boston Celtics
English Muffins with Marmalade
Sliding into bed with, still slightly warm from the dryer, freshly laundered sheets
That precise five minutes one-third of the way through a second martini when he was still sober yet in a fine glow.
Ecstatic sex.

Back to the story...

After mentally compiling and approving that short list, Frank got up from the chair that was briefly a throne and walked down the narrow staircase to the theatre basement. The long kitchen area was the cast dressing and makeup room and he was hopeful that there still might be a beer or three left in the refrigerator. Truth be told, Frank was no fan of beer, except when playing euchre with his friend Hugh and Hugh’s wife Laurel. Any port in a storm would do, though. Not that there would be any port in the refrigerator. There was no beer either.

‘Ah, look here.’ No port, no beer, however a pink-labeled bottle of Mumm’s champagne. He’d given it to Kimberly on opening night. She must have forgotten it. He’d given it to her for two reasons. One, Kimberly was playing Snow White and it only seemed appropriate to do something special for his leading lady along with the traditional note he’d always given her quoting from the telegram Noel Coward had sent Gertrude Lawrence decades and decades ago: Please allow me to extend a warm hand upon your opening.

That was the second reason. Frank had held a massive crush (unfulfilled love can’t really be called love) for Kimberly for even longer than fourteen years. The timing had never been right. When Kimberly was single, Frank wasn’t. When Frank was single, Kimberly wasn’t. He’d never known if she knew.

‘Probably. Women are very, very good at figuring out things men like to hide.’ And with that obvious observation, Frank took the bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator, hid it under his green Boston Celtics sweatshirt for God knows whatever possible reason and took it, and a plastic wine glass back upstairs to the stage. He was resolved to do two things: One, he would replace the bottle of champagne (that he would do!). Two, he would figure out what he would do next in his life (fat chance!).

‘No second glass? I’m afraid you’re a teddible host, dear boy.’

Now a few notable thoughts which must be presented in linear order even though they hit Frank all at once.

Notable Thoughts Frank had at That Moment

1) He hadn’t foreseen the need for a second glass.
2) He hadn’t said. ‘No second glass? I’m afraid you’re a teddible host, dear boy?’
3) Who pronounces ‘terrible’ as ‘teddible’?
4) Who in hell was that sitting at the table?

Sat at the table was a tall, thin Englishman (the accent had given him away) approximately age thirty with neatly trimmed dark hair and a nose shaped rather like a falcon’s beak. He wore a soft-shouldered gold with brown-checked cashmere sport coat over an open-necked shirt into which was tucked a perfectly matched dark brown cravat. The Englishman took a long drag of a cigarette from a holder perfectly balanced between thumb and index finger, palm raised to the ceiling, and exhaled an expanding O of smoke, which neatly framed Frank’s rather astonished look.

‘You’re Noel f**king Coward,’ said Frank, leaving out the stars.

‘I rarely do that to myself,’ he replied. ‘I much prefer the presence of an intimate audience. Now trot along downstairs and bring back a glass. Do note that I said glass. You may approve of drinking decent champagne from plastic but I have my standards.’

‘You’re Noel Coward.’

‘Yes we’ve established that. I know, I know, five thousand questions to be asked, three or four to be answered. We have all night, however that bottle will soon become warm so let us tend to the priorities first, hmmm?’ And with that, he took another drag off the cigarette and this time exhaled a perfect little five-pointed smoke star. Noel Coward commented, ‘It’s a parlour trick. If you’re a good boy I might teach it to you. Now move your arse.’

Definitely not Santa Claus

Frank moved at close to breakneck speed. Had he literally moved at breakneck speed, he would have broken his neck and we all would be faced with a most unhappy ending to this tale - Frank unhappiest of all. He quickly came clumbering back to the stage holding the jeweled glass goblet the Queen had used. ‘Will this do?,’ Franks asked.

‘If it’s fit for a Queen, it’s certainly fit for me. You may pour garcon, et merci.’ And with that, Frank opened the champagne, earning an approving nod from Noel Coward by opening the champagne properly.

How Not to Open Champagne Properly

Squeeze the living daylights out of the cork until it pops, sending a cascade of champagne down one’s shirt and blasting the cork itself straight through that commissioned oil portrait of your grandmother hanging on the far wall.

How to Open Champagne Properly

Squeeze the living daylights out of the cork until it is slightly loosened. Then, hold the cork in one hand while twisting the bottle with the other. You won’t spill a drop and won’t get dropped from the will either.

After an appropriate amount of sipping, Frank said, ‘May I ask you questions now?’

‘Certainly.’

‘You actually are here, yes? No one slipped something to me, did they? You’re not a hallucination?’

Noel Coward rolled his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head as if to say, What a silly question.

‘What a silly question.’ (I guess we can strike that ‘as if’ from the previous sentence.) ‘If I were an hallucination, if someone had slipped you something, it’s not very likely for a hallucination to come straight out and admit to being one, now is it? “Hellooooo! How are yoooooooou? Boo! Iiiiii’m your hallucin-aaaaaaaaa-tion!” I mean really now.’

‘Oh,’ said Frank.

‘Oh,’ repeated Noel Coward. ‘Try again.’

‘All right. Then why are you here? Who sent you?’

Noel Coward rose from his seat and smiled approvingly. ‘Much better! You’ve gone straight for the classics and for that matter gone for the root questions any actor must ask regarding any scene. What is my purpose for entering and now that I’m here, what do I need to accomplish? I wouldn’t say you’re a great director - a passable actor - however your instincts and intentions are very good. That’s more praise than I give most people in the profession, I’ll have you know.’

‘I can’t tell if I’ve just been praised or damned.’

‘Verbal jujitsu was my life’s calling.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘Evidently you feel a need for some support and guidance. You’re quite correct on that score. I’ve seen all your productions, you know. It’s one of the benefits - well, occasionally curses - of living in a timeless place. One gets to see everything all at once and at one’s own pace. I can see you looking at me confused. Please don’t ask me to explain that further. You’ll understand all when you’re meant to understand all.’

‘After I’m dead.’

‘A reasonable assumption to make.’

“I’m in no rush,’ Frank responded.

‘Then stop acting as though you were! You live your life as though you’ve placed an order for angel’s wings on express delivery. And no we don’t wear wings, they’re impossible to fit properly with good tailored suits.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘They would scrunch up and one would look like Quasimodo.’

‘I meant why do you think I’m not living properly?’

‘I know that’s what you meant,’ said Noel Coward, fitting another cigarette into a gold and pearl holder and then taking another sip of champagne. He continued, ‘I just couldn’t bear to let a punchline slip away unsaid. It’s a habit of mine that drives ‘em batty down at the Choir Invisible. That’s the name of the snug I frequent when I’m in the mood to frequent a local pub. Marlowe likes it, although you’d think he’d be completely adverse to pubs, snugs, taverns, lounges and other drinking establishments.’

Frank leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand, finally coming to terms with the idea that the impossible was occurring in the present. He almost whispered, ‘Could you then tell me...about me?’

Noel Coward smiled a smile that could only be called impish. He then sighed theatrically, which seemed appropriate, and bemoaned, ‘Here I’ve just unsubtly name-dropped Christopher Marlowe but of course you’re much more interested in you. Oh don’t give me such a stricken-looking face. It’s quite all right.
‘So where does one start? Ah yes, we may as well start where we left off before we laughed off. You’re not living. Instead you’re just waiting to die. Take a look at yourself. Examine your habits. You smoke.’

‘But you smoked.’

‘You drink.’

‘But you drank.’

‘You carouse with women.’

‘You caroused. Are you saying women are bad for the health?’

‘If it is carousing without love, yes. You just put yourself through all the stress with none of the serenity that love brings to the party. Ask yourself this - have you ever been truly in love? Don’t bother wasting time with the answer, as I already know it. You think you’ve been in love, you’ve pretended to be in love, you’ve acted as though you’re in love and all that has just brought you a divorce, alimony, that stress ball in your neck that locks up now and again, and a raft of bad habits. You smoke, you drink, you carouse and you can’t wait until you’re dead. Do not argue with me on that point. I am Noel Coward and I can see through to the heart of any character ever invented. So there.’ He stuck out his tongue. ‘;Nyah.’

Frank reached into the pouch on the front of his sweatshirt. ‘After that I do need a smoke.’ He pulled out a pack.

‘Allow me.’ Noel Coward lit Frank’s cigarette with a slim gold lighter with the initials GL engraved on the side. Seeing Frank notice the initials, he said, ‘Yes it was Gertie’s. I loved her dearly in life just as I do now, in … afterlife. Never physically of course. You don’t have to love someone physically to love them. Actually, I will share one piece of wisdom with you Frank. I’m going to tell you what centuries and millenia worth of poets have never defined. I’m going to tell you what love is.
‘The irony is that it is hidden in plain sight, at least for Americans. They have it in their Constitution in that phrase, “the pursuit of happiness”. Love is finding that person with whom you most wish to pursue happiness together; if you pursue it together, you find it in the pursuit. Elegant, is it not?’

‘I wouldn’t expect less from you sir.’

‘Good answer. Cheers.’ They clicked their glasses together and drank again.

Frank asked, ‘So what happens now? Do you fly me around the world and show me how my life works out?’

‘That’s Dickens, not me. I’m not given to music hall spectaculars … unless they take place in music halls that is.’

‘So what do I do then?’

Noel Coward squinted one eye and spoke in a broad East Ender accent. ‘Gie’ yer arse out there an’ tell ‘er wot you luvs her mate!’

‘Who?’

‘Who?’, Noel Coward repeated incredulously. ‘Who? Are you attempting to impress me with barn owl impressions? Who? Kimberly you eejit!’

‘But she’s married!’

‘What of it?’

‘What of it!? She won’t want to leave her husband and children! … Wait … Will she?’

‘Why don’t you ask her?’ And so in keeping with all the finest traditions of both theatre and Christmas stories, there came a knock on the stage door, a turning of its knob and a puff of wind as it opened and a clunk as it closed. There stood Kimberly, her long hair tucked into her puffy winter coat, with her wide eyes shining like jewels set in snow.

‘I forgot something. I wasn’t sure there’d still be anyone here.’, she said. ‘Oh you got it! My bottle of champagne! Were you going to drop it off, or were you going to drink it? Not all alone I hope.’

‘No, with -’

Frank turned to introduce Kimberly to Noel Coward, knowing full well that was going to be a tricky one to explain. He was gone however. The champagne bottle was on the table. Full. Cork intact. The pink foil wrapped around the cork and the bottle’s neck.

‘I was hoping to drink it with you.’

She laughed. Only a little, except she did laugh. ‘Well, it’s a good thing I came back then. You wouldn’t have found me at the house. I dropped the kids off at Mom’s. I, oh dear, I’ve left Bob.’

‘Should I say I’m sorry or should I say congratulations?’

‘Right now you can feel sorry for me. It’ll be congratulations soon though.’

Frank pointed at the bottle of champagne. ‘You were planning on drowning your sorrows?’

Kimberly moved a step closer to Frank and he hugged her about the shoulders with one arm. Amazingly, it felt normal. She said, ‘Not drowning. Maybe a refreshing swim.’ Another laugh. ‘I wanted to come here because … I love it here. I’ve always found happiness on stage.’

‘Happiness?’, asked Frank.

‘Yeah. You too?’

‘Yeah. Me too. It’s not doing too well, our theatre.’

‘Oh no!’

‘Don’t worry. I think I - maybe we - can figure something out. I’ll need some help. In fact, there’s a couple of ideas I’d like to...pursue with you.’

The End

Merry Christmas!