It Had to be Good! - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1929 - 9. X. Week Three – Chapter 2: Heart to Heart

X. Week Three –

Chapter 2: Heart to Heart

Late afternoon sunlight entered the green room windows.

Bettina Martin stood with hands on her hips and admired her accomplishments. The coffee had been made and steamed away perkily in its big blue enameled pot to the side of the hot plate; a tray of pop stood by, and a selection of sandwiches crowned the center of the table.

A quick glance at her wristwatch confirmed that the first troupe member on their scheduled round of breaks should show up any minute.

Sometimes the mundane makes us consider the extraordinary, and Bet's settled heart suddenly dreaded the prospects of what she must soon do.

The door opened, and much to her relief, Alden strode in all smiles and head nods for the girl.

She went to work, knowing he would prefer coffee, and while she poured him a cup, he took off his costume cap to ruffle his hair.

She smiled as she turned to set the coffee cup down on the table. It must feel good to get some scratching fingers in a scalp cooped up under satin for a few hours. "Sit," she said, gesturing.

He did without hesitation and immediately selected one of the wrapped sandwiches. As he neatly flipped it over, and worked wax-paper seams to unfold the covering into a makeshift place setting, Bet sat across from him.

She always enjoyed spending time with her intriguing uncle, and now, while he cupped his coffee and eyed her over the rim blowing some steam away, she knew why. He was considerate and kind – very kind – even to the depths of his soul. Were these 'new' discoveries related to her awakened regard for Glen Curtis? – Perhaps, or maybe she was simply growing up.

Just before he took his first bite, Alden inquired with a chuckle, "What is it, Bettina?"

"I was just wondering if you're ready for tonight."

He was taken aback. "Lowell's awards dinner?"

"Exactly the same." Bet tried to make her voice suggestive. "It will be your first official stepping out with him."

Alden chewed, apparently trying to suppress his own excitement at the prospects as well, although to Bet's eyes, she wondered if he were also showing some apprehension.

"I can't wait to see you in your tux again. You cut such a dashing figure."

Alden scowled as he chewed.

"It's no joke…" Bettina defended herself. "You look handsome as a paycheck in your penguin suit, only be sure to clean the makeup off your face before tonight. Don’t want you 'clowning around' at Lowell's big-honor ceremony." The young woman laughed with good-natured abandon.

Alden swallowed, sipped some coffee, then asked as he dabbed with a napkin, "When's the last time you saw me in my tuxedo?"

"That Chamber of Commerce dance in Owatonna. You and Singer were invited as special guests."

Alden's eyes grew large. "Singer never told you, huh?"

"Told me what?"

"That was a set-up. Seems the town burgomeisters took it into their head they didn't like their farm boys being subjected to our bad influence."

Bet was confused. "So, you didn’t have a nice time…?"

"Bet – your father should've told you – but when we got there, it seemed fine for a while, then these burly guys showed up and said the mayor and his second-in-command wanted to see us.

"They led us upstairs to the Aldermen's Chamber, and the goons pulled out pipes and brass knuckles. They told us to pack up and leave town."

Now Bet was really confused. "But we didn't. We stayed there another week, at least."

Alden's demeanor changed; he was hesitant to complete the story.

"So, what did my father do?" Bettina asked with trepidation.

"He gathered up Lawrie and the twins, and we – " He paused.

"And you what? Went to the mayor's house?"

"Well, almost. Singer had a piece of dirt on the man, and we showed up at the house of his girlfriend – the one his wife, or nobody else in town knew about. Long story short, one phone call from her, and the mayor suddenly had a change of heart."

Alden let out a laugh like he was glad it was all over again. "Singer has a temper, that's for sure, but he also has a shrewd head on his shoulders."

"That he does. Do you ever think he's controlling?"

There was a question her uncle was neither prepared to receive, nor answer.

He shrugged his shoulders, pretending like the sandwich he had just picked up and bit into would prevent an answer.

"Anyway," Bet chuckled. "I suppose that's an unfair question."

Alden nodded, and Bettina decided to shut notions of her father out of her head. Instead, the jovial-looking man before her put her back in a holiday mood.

"Do you recall," she started with storytelling slowness, placing her elbows on the table. "How we had a ritual on the train heading to Florida on Christmas Day?"

The man's eyes smiled, and he nodded.

Bettina continued. "At some point in the long, monotonous afternoon, we'd slip away to the dining car, and there at one of the tables, I'd open up my mesh Christmas stocking.

"We'd sort through the toys and candy – making two piles – and then you'd figure out if any of the toys were good for magic tricks."

"Of course, I remember, Bettina. I'd always order a hot chocolate for you, and a lemon squash for me."

"Yes, that's right!" Bettina was suddenly giddy in the memory. "You'd say 'From now on, it's lemon time in the Deep South!'"

He chuckled. "It's true. And then afterwards you had some candy, I'd pull out a deck of cards, and we'd practice tricks till dinner time."

"Yes…" Bet's tone trailed off. It was such a happy recollection, but one tinged with doubt. If she… If she and Glen… Then, what would become of the Doershunk-Martin Carnival Troupe and its traditions?

Sitting at the table, watching Alden eat – and ordinary event, to be sure – Bettina Martin realized her life had slid up to a signal moment. It was a pivot point where thoughts of 'now' and 'then' as it related to the present and future, were becoming refracted through the prism of the past and its 'remember when.' It was the birth of nostalgia in her young heart – and she knew she was trying to use it to avoid thinking of a possible life to come with Glen Curtis.

"Speaking of Singer," Alden said softly. "You – I know you love and worry about him, Bettina, but he's a grown man, and more than responsible to see you set off well in life. I mean, to you not leading a carny life, if you so chose. If you want me to talk to him – "

"Alden…" Her hand reached out to cover his. "It's all so much to take in. I'd rather not think about my father right now. All right?"

Alden took her fingers. "Of course." A smile erupted suggestively on his lips. "But is there something else on your mind; someone else on your mind, Miss Martin?"

The girl chortled: "Shows that bad, eh?"

"Yes. Yes, it does."

"Well, all I can say to you, Mister, is – ditto!"

A noise arose from the doorway, and while laughing, both turned to witness a beleaguered Lawrie enter. Bet thought to herself 'Ridden hard and put away wet' is how the boy looked.

The young man in the satin Ringleader's costume jutted his chin up in a friendly greeting to the pair already in the room and immediately assumed a position before one of the mirrors.

Alden shoved his form back with hunched shoulders. His chair squeaked, and he rose to his feet. "Well, that's my cue to get back into the fray."

Bet watched as Alden went to stand behind Lawrie and use the same mirror to set his cap back into position; Lawrie was halfway through the careful process of peeling back his moustache.

"Well, kid," Alden said, patting Lawrie in the back. "Take your time with your break. Don’t kill yourself trying to get back out there."

He smiled weakly and nodded at Alden.

The older man turned and gave Bettina a wink before heading for the door and leaving.

When Bet glanced over again, Lawrie's gaze was fixed on her via the mirror. She suspected the boy had caught Alden's insider's-joke expression. "You want a bottle of pop?" she asked, trying to defuse the wink's implications.

"Yeah."

She latched onto the bottle opener and removed the cap off of a Coke – seemed the boys preferred the familiar over the exotic Cleo Cola.

Lawrie slid jocularly into Alden's seat, while Bet hovered a hand over the sections of the tin beer tray used to haul down the sandwiches from the 12^th floor. "Ham and Swiss," she explained. "Pimento cheese and tongue, or roast beef on rye with horseradish cream."

The young man grinned with hunger after downing about half of his bottle of Coke, then went for one of the big ones. As he unwrapped it, Bet was unexpectedly aware just how open the boy's smile was for her. She supposed Auntie Lorna might have pegged Lawrie's affections for Bettina correctly.

He said, "I'll take a roast beef, for starters. Thanks."

"How's it going out there?"

"Great. We'll have the evening rush, then can call it a day."

He let his upper body slump, and seemed profoundly tired all of a sudden.

"Don’t worry, Lawrie. Next Tuesday is Christmas Eve, so we have less than a week to go before we can pack up and head to Florida."

The boy stopped chewing, and took a drink. The bottle resettling on the table, his green eyes re-found Bet's. He swallowed audibly and tiredly answered, "I'm really looking forward to our 'rest' this year. With the economic situation still on shaky knees, it's all been too much."

Bet was overwhelmed with sisterly emotions. She really did want the best this strapping boy who was hotheaded, but also selfless and giving. Certainly he had always been that way with her.

He resumed eating.

"Lawrie…?"

He nodded.

"Do you know how I'm always calling you my brother…?"

He swallowed. "Of course."

"How does that make you feel?"

"What do you mean, Bettina?"

"Lorna thinks you're in love with me. Is she correct?"

Lawrie slowly let his sandwich fall to the wax paper. He regarded it a moment like it disgusted him. Then his eyes cleared and he was able to hold the girl's gaze once more.

"Do you remember," he started in a measured pace. "When I first joined up?"

"I do."

"Did you know how close I was to quitting too?"

"I – "

"Because I was. We were on the road, and at the first rinky-dink town we pulled into, I had to get used to sleeping in a tent and washing up from a coffee can of cold water and a bar of soap, but much worse was finding out I couldn’t do it. It – the job. Here Alden was trying his hardest to teach me barking and laying out the things to look for with weight-guessing, and I was not finding it easy. In fact, it was all so hard.

"So, one night after supper, I thought about giving up and running again – just stuff my rucksack and start walking the railroad tracks back towards my family's farm, my tail between my legs. Surely, I thought, they'd take me back like the prodigal son."

He suddenly grew emotional. "But you know what happened instead?"

"No, Lawrie, I don’t." Bet was getting upset too.

"You popped in my tent that night, and said I was acting kinda funny at dinner. Just that, just that little reach-out, it meant a lot to me."

He smiled. "Any chance you remember that?"

Bettina flushed; she did not.

"Well," he continued, guessing correctly. "I remember it. You told me that if Alden has faith in my abilities – if he sees something in me – then so must I. It's only fair, you said."

"Oh, Lawrie – "

"That was the night, Bettina Marin, I fell in love with you. And you never knew?"

Bet was stymied with emotion. She could only manage to shake her head, barely.

"Seriously?"

"Lawrie – someone else will catch your eye."

He rose to his feet. He took two steps backwards to the door; Bet stood as well. As Lawrie turned around, he ran into Dandiprat Dave coming in for his break.

"Hey, man! Watch where you're stepping!"

"Lawrie!" Bettina cried. "Wait!"

As Dandiprat pawed at the sandwiches, Bet spotted Lawrie's mustache. She ran to his dressing table and grabbed it. "Lawrie, wait, please."

She ran out into the hallway, and the tall farm boy in the Ringleader's costume had his back to her leaning against the wall.

She went around to face him, showing she came with his moustache. As he tried to reach for it, she gently shook her head, and lifted it to place it herself.

Affixing it, so that the boy never looked more handsome, her thumb brushed away his tears in silence.

˚˚˚˚˚

Lowell Fredricks fumbled with the key to his Saint Nicholas Hotel room; the metal-on-metal sound finally relented, tumblers turned, and the door opened.

Stepping inside the nothing-special room, he felt his heart surging within his chest, and the fingers of his right hand groped the soft-to-the-touch wallpaper by the frame until a brassy coldness rewarded it. Up to the light switch button, he pressed it in, and the overhead fixture came to life.

But it was a pale ember of the artificial compared to the godlike radiance of Alden' smile as he entered the room right behind him. Lowell was struck afresh at how handsome he was. Sure, the man's pomade-slicked hair with its sexy sheen, and the spotless tuxedo of the very darkest green-black fit the manly form of this fellow flawlessly, but so too, Alden's genuineness again reminded Lowell's pounding heart exactly why it beat so fast.

The carny knew the score, and entered with a wily smile that instinctually turned cautious. Click. He locked the door behind him, knowing precaution for guys like them was always warranted.

Lowell walked briskly past his desk, dropping the statuette in his left hand onto it. The chair made a protesting sound against the floor as he drug it deftly to face the bed. "Have a seat, Alden."

With his back to him, he heard the other man's footfalls sound while he headed to the windows. Lowell drew the curtains on one, then stepped sidelong to the other. "Thank you for coming to the awards banquet with me."

Lowell spun around and was stunned to see Alden had not only sat on the bed, but was doing so in an easy posture with his legs kicked forward and his hands kicked back.

The adman sheepishly moved towards the chair, but the carny silently protested and patted the mattress next to him. He also sat up a little bit, drawing one knee with him so he could rotate, rest his back against the footboard, and face Lowell as the man sat at pillow-end of the bed.

"You looked so marvelous accepting your award – I'm glad I got to see it."

The adman chuckled. "My speech wasn't too boring?"

"Well…" The carny's wry smile was back in place. "A lot of 'shop talk' was in it, but I enjoyed listening to you, and also – I enjoyed being able to look at you for an extended period of time, in public, with no one saying 'Boo' about it."

Lowell's laugh was hollow this time. "And you liked what you saw?"

Alden nodded. "Um hmm. Very much."

"I'm afraid that won't do." Lowell gestured vaguely towards the carny's chest.

"What won't do?"

"You, being uncomfortable." Lowell stood and slowly walked up to stand behind the footboard. His hands slipped down the lapels of Alden's tux. "Let me assist."

Alden closed his eyes, and relaxed his upper half while Lowell pulled and lifted the jacket. It came off of the man's shoulders, and then an arm-by-arm maneuvering allowed the adman to free it from Alden's body. The tux jacket got carefully placed on the yoke of the chair, and Lowell quickly took off his own, which he laid haphazardly across the desk.

"Ah," Alden moaned in protest. "You robbed me of my chance to reciprocate." He stood and stepped right up to his host.

Alden's bright eyes were only inches away as Lowell felt the sensation of the other man's hands walking up his chest. In another moment, one set of fingers pulled on the end of his bowtie, undoing it.

Lowell reached across the narrow divide and used both hands to pull Alden's tie loose. A pleasant smell of starch and faded-bleach crispness arose from the other man's shirt where he touched it, and as Alden undid the adman's collar, Lowell used his thumb to depress the smooth knob of the other man's gold collar button and free it from his throat.

After that, as if he had done it a million times before, Lowell's hands slipped around the back of Alden's neck. "There. Much better."

"Um hmm!"

A grin crept across Alden's face, and Lowell leaned over to kiss it. It was a 'chaste' kiss, as his granny would call it, but it was delightful nonetheless. He loosed his grip and took the carny's hand.

They went back to the bed and sat side by side. Silently, Alden picked up Lowell's wrist and undid his cufflinks for him.

"You're a really wonderful man, Alden. Do you know that?"

"Oh yeah; your personal opinion you're talking about now?"

"No," Lowell chuckled. "Seems everyone in the troupe winds up speaking about you in heroic terms."

A cloud of something passed across Alden's face. He finished his task, dropped the adman's second wrist and placed the cufflinks in the owner's hand. For a moment, the metal angles bit Lowell's flesh – he was squeezing hard, hoping he hadn't just upset his visitor.

"Not everyone thinks I'm a saint." Alden's tone was deflecting, and he immediately diverted the subject. "So, your interviews are going well?"

"Yes, very inspiring stories."

More sadness appeared in Alden's tone. "So, now that you have been to the trade show and gotten your award, I guess you'll be on a train back to Atlanta."

Lowell couldn't help the smile that came to his face – so this is what the beautiful carny was worried about? "No," said Lowell plainly. "I'm not through with my interviews, and I still don’t know what I'm going to suggest to Coke in January. So, I might as well stick around until Christmas. That is, if you don’t mind – "

Alden's tongue delicately licked his bottom lip; the glossy sheen appearing there accompanied by a swallowing sound and a softly relieved look coming over the man's eyes.

"I won't complain if you stay."

Lowell took Alden's hand, first tossing those torturous cufflinks aside in the bed in relief.

"Good. It's settled then."

"Um hmm." Alden nodded. "You know, Bettina was teasing me today, saying she and I have this starry look in our eyes."

"I'd say, she's a smart girl."

"She's falling for that blues-singing cowboy."

"Glen Curtis seems like a great fellow; I can't blame her."

"Apparently it's mutual between them, but the wrinkle is, one Mr. Lawrie and his longstanding affection for the girl. Well, that's one wrinkle, and then the other is how Singer will take the news. I doubt he'll let his baby girl be 'taken' from him by some stage ranch hand."

"You say Lawrie has loved her for a long time?"

"Oh yeah, but she's never acknowledged it."

"That's sad."

"Sad and potentially dangerous. I suppose time will tell if Lawrie tries to spoil it for her and Glen. I hope not."

"But it seems to me Bettina is resisting Glen's charms, at least for now."

"I know her, and I know the type of advice she's getting from Lorna, so I predict her personal embargo of the heart will be lifted soon enough."

"Wonderful," Lowell tried to say under his breath. Apparently, judging by the mirthful scan of the carny's eyes over his face, Alden caught the subtext.

"Will you do me a favor?" Alden asked softly.

"What's that?"

"Show me your sketches."

"Of your troupe…?"

"Yes."

The adman inhaled, hoping there weren’t too many of Alden looking 'helplessly adoring,' but nonetheless, he stood and went to his desk. In another minute he'd returned with his sketchpad, sat as before, and placed it in the other man's hands. "These are just rough ideas, you understand."

"No false modesty, now." Alden opened it to the first leaf. "I'll be the judge…"

The adman glanced down. Alden was seeing the moment Lowell made contact with the Doershunk-Martin Carnival Troupe. The granite columns of the post office rose in cold grandeur behind them, but a vivacious group of people stood focused on one another – Bet and Lorna were easy to spot, but so too were the twins and Dandiprat Dave. However, while everyone of the group seemed to be concentrating on a matter of discussion, one man's eyes were locked on the viewer's. That man was Alden.

Alden gingerly turned the page.

"You're a fantastic artist, Lowell."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."

The second sketch was of Santaland under construction; predominate among the scene were Winky, Blinky and Nod, the mechanical baby elephants.

Alden chuckled. "You really captured them."

Next to the pachyderms was another sketch of the twins working on the mechanical lion; Dandiprat Dave waiting impatiently at the side, in full 'Tamer' costume, with his pony crop held upside down in an indignant hand at his waist. His doll chair was at his feet.

More sketches followed of Famous-Barr's holiday décor. There were vignettes of the wreaths with their poinsettia leaves on those marble columns of the main floor.

There were sketches of the Soda Fountain, and the baskets of dried fruit from the nearby candy counter.

"Let me ask you something, Alden."

"Shoot," the carny said, conspicuously lost in the sketches.

"Do you think two men can make it together in this world?"

Alden let the pad go slack in his grasp. "I – "

"It's a simple, plain sort of question – do you?"

Alden bit his lip, but nodded. "I do. There's no reason why not, and if they don’t let anyone interfere, then they can too."

Lowell felt a huge smile of relief come over his face.

Alden immediately asked, "Why did you – "

"Because I believe it too – I know it's true." The adman grew animated in a storytelling way. "You've seen the Arrow Collar ads?"[1]

"With the incredibly handsome man – the same model in all of them?"

"Yes, exactly! That's Charles Beach, and I'm friends with him."

"Get outta town!"

"No, it's true. I know him because Joe Leyendecker, the Arrow Collar illustrator, is his husband. They've been together since they met in 1903, and now they have a wonderful home in New Rochelle, New York."

"That's fantastic. So, you mean, all those girls – and guys too – who see Leyendecker's drawings are growing dreamy for the young man, because…because…"

"Because they are seeing love. All that art is done in unbridled, unhidden love. People can feel it, people can know it, and yet assume it has to do with them. That's what great art is about, isn't it?"

Alden nodded, a newfound tenderness coming over him.

"I asked you," Lowell stated softly. "Because if you did not think it's possible, then – "

"But – we're aligned. If two men work at it, then it's more than possible."

Alden's lips grazed Lowell's. As the adman's eyes closed helplessly, his grandma would have a more difficult time labeling this kiss as 'chaste.'

Alden pulled back with a puckish grin. "By the way, speaking of art and artists, do you have that little thing I gave you earlier?"

Lowell blinked, suddenly remembering that Alden hadn't arrived empty-handed when the evening started. He turned and picked up the tissue-wrapped gift from the bedside table.

It was flat, about the size of a large manila envelope. "I have it here. What is it?"

"Open it and see."

Lowell untied the bow of waxed twine, and loosened the holly-printed tissue paper. "It's a book," he said.

"Not any old book. Look."

Lowell released it from the gift-wrapping and saw it was a large, colorful booklet. The cover was edged in solid crimson, but the center panel was a fantastically whimsical scene. Santa, at the North Pole, had his sleigh hitched with reindeer in red tack and silver jingle bells, while a serpentine line of elves loaded goodies from a structure in the background marked by a 'Toy Shop' sign over the door. Down below, on a ground of billowy snow, elegant letters announced:

Compliments of

Famous-Barr Co.

The Dominant Christmas Store

of Saint Louis

Lowell glanced through the pages. Stories and nursery rhymes were interspersed with games and line drawings to be colored in by little hands and crayon.

Alden explained, "It's called a Santa Book. Each and every child who visits with Saint Nick gets that free to take home and enjoy."

"Oh my. That's very generous of the store."[2]

"Yes. You know what the employees say, don’t you?"

Lowell chuckled. "I think I do. I think I know what saying you mean."

"Okay. So let's say it together."

In unison, they chanted: "It has to be good, to get where it is."

They laughed, and Lowell retook Alden's hand. "But, why are you giving this to me?"

"Two reasons. One, I know you'd appreciate the artwork. And two – more importantly – so you have a souvenir of this place and of this time."

By the end of Alden's statement, his tone had softened to no more than a choked-up whisper.

Lowell leaned in close. His lips parted and offered a humble "Thank you," but there was no telling what his grandmother would think of the kiss he was about to lay on Alden.