On Strike for Christmas Read online

  Bob surveyed his masterpiece of mess, and then a sly grin grew on his face. Joy could see the wheels turning. Here was petty revenge served up on a platter, and an unwritten message to any potential strikers. Go ahead, strike. But this is what your Christmas will look like.

  “Okay. Come on, hon.” He held out a hand to her. He was enjoying this, the sicko! They got in front of the tree and he pulled her close to his side.

  “Maybe we should each stand on one side of the tree,” Joy said, pulling away. “So you can see it better.”

  “Oh, good idea,” agreed the reporter.

  “Yeah, that works,” said Rick, the photographer. Joy and Bob posed on opposite sides of the tree and he aimed the camera and snapped.

  “Well, thanks. I guess that does it,” Rosemary Charles said when Rick had finished. “And who else is involved in this strike besides…” She consulted her tablet. “Sharon Benedict?”

  Joy gave her Laura’s and Kay’s names and numbers; then Rosemary and the photographer collected their coats and departed.

  As soon as the door was shut, Joy turned to Bob. “I thought you weren’t available for comment.”

  “I decided I’d better come out and defend myself. Things get twisted when you only hear one side of a story.”

  “And speaking of twisted.” She pointed to the tree. “That monster you created is going to be in the paper.”

  “I created it, huh? Well, maybe it will inspire some of the guys who read the article.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Cute, Bob. I know what you’re up to. If your wife tries to pull anything just sabotage her with an ugly tree, and God knows what else. That’s the plan, isn’t it?”

  Another shrug. “It’s done, isn’t it? And it’s not all that bad. Not how you’d do it maybe, but you abdicated so I’m afraid you have to take what you get.”

  This was like an old I Love Lucy show where Lucy set out to teach Ricky a lesson and Ricky countered with his own strategy. Only this was real life and Joy was not laughing.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “So, this is the best you can do. This is how Christmas will look with Bob in charge? That’s your reputation on the line, your work on display in the paper for everyone in town to see.”

  He eyed the tree. “And I stand by my work,” he said, giving her a playful grin and putting his arms around her. “Come on, hon,” he coaxed, “give up. You know you enjoy doing all this stuff. Why deprive yourself of the fun?”

  “You won’t find doing things by myself and dragging my husband through the holidays listed under fun in my dictionary,” Joy informed him. “I swear, you’ve got Grinch blood running through your veins.”

  “Maybe I do, but don’t be surprised when all the men here in Whoville put up a statue in my honor.”

  Joy shook her head at him. “Okay, fine. Be that way. This is war now.”

  He gave her his little-boy-in-trouble look, the one with the downturned mouth and sad puppy eyes that almost always got him off the hook. “I’d rather make love than war. Can’t we sign a peace treaty?”

  “No peace for you this season,” she said sternly. “But I tell you what. We’ll make the bedroom neutral territory. What do you say to that idea?”

  Bob grinned. “God bless us, every one.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “How about a quick trip to the DMZ?”

  The phone rang and Joy picked it up, saying, “Sorry, this could be a call from one of my generals. I’ll have to take it.”

  The look on Bob’s face told her what he thought of her priorities. “Bah, humbug,” he muttered and left for his office, probably to plan some strategy of his own.

  “Merry Christmas,” Joy sang into the phone just to irritate him.

  “Same to you, sugar,” said Sharon. “I’m not getting you in the middle of anything, am I?”

  In another couple of minutes she would have been. “No. I can talk.”

  “I just called to warn you that you’re about to become famous. I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and called the newspaper like we talked about doing the other night.”

  “Actually, the reporter and photographer were just here,” Joy said.

  Sharon let out a low whistle. “They sure didn’t let any grass grow under their feet, did they? How’d it go?”

  “Let’s just say that a line has been drawn in the snow,” said Joy.

  “That doesn’t sound good. I guess I should have checked with you first, but, honestly, I was so mad at Pete I couldn’t see straight, and when I’m riled up I just have to do something. Let me tell you, when I meet with that reporter she’s going to get an earful.”

  Oh, dear. “So, how did Pete react? Was he mad?”

  “Worse than that. He laughed at me. He was actually glad I’m not doing anything. Let me tell you, that boy is so deep in the doghouse even the fleas can’t find him.”

  “Why are men so difficult?” Joy said with a sigh.

  “Because they’re men, honey.”

  Joy could hear little boys whooping in the background.

  “You boys stop that right now,” Sharon scolded. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

  Joy heard another whoop, followed by a wail.

  “Pete Junior, I told you to stop. Now, you tell Tommy Joe you’re sorry.” Sharon came back to Joy. “Three boys. What was I thinking? Mama told me girls don’t run in our family and I should quit trying, but did I listen? James, you stop that right now! I’ve got to go,” she decided. “Y’all stay strong. We’re counting on you as our fearless leader.”

  Fearless leader? Joy thought as she hung up the phone. As Laura would say, Yeah, right. She wasn’t really the leader type. And she was already contemplating retreat. Note to self: Next time you come up with a brilliant idea, don’t tell anyone.

  Laura called an hour later. “Guess what I’m doing.”

  After talking with Sharon, Joy was almost afraid to ask.

  Laura didn’t give her a chance anyway. “I’m here at work bragging to everyone about the easy, relaxed Christmas I’m going to have. Glen and I had a little talk, and he’s doing everything this year.”

  At least someone was having success. “That’s great,” Joy said.

  “So let me take you out to lunch to thank you for being so brilliant.”

  “Sure,” Joy said and tried not to think about the conversation she’d just had with Sharon. If this all backfired would she have any friends left?

  Five

  Rosemary Charles had just finished her interviews with Sharon Benedict and Kay Carter. They had met at the Java Hut after Kay got off work from her job as a school secretary. Since Rosemary figured there’d be no good pictures to be had at a coffee shop, she had dropped Rick at his favorite fast-food burger place before going to the interview. She’d been right about the pictures, but what the interview lacked in picture potential it more than made up for in copy. Boy, had she gotten an earful!

  Now she couldn’t help thinking about her own mom and all the things she’d done to make the holidays special when Rosemary was growing up. She and her brother had taken it all for granted, just like these women’s families. But Rosemary’s mom would never have resorted to such drastic measures to get help or recognition. Maybe she should have.

  “So, off the record, you’re not afraid this is going to cause problems in your marriages?” Rosemary asked as they prepared to leave.

  Kay Carter gave her hand-knit green scarf a flip over one shoulder. “No. It’s going to cure the problem in my marriage: my husband’s disease.”

  “Disease?” Was there something she’d missed?

  “Yeah, Penny-Pinchitis, also known as cheap,” Kay explained.

  Rosemary smiled and nodded. Kay Carter was a pretty funny woman. Would her husband see the humor in this? “Well, thanks. I may want to write a follow-up piece. Would you two be okay with that?”

  Sharon Benedict’s eyes narrowed and her chin jutted out. “That’d be just fine and dandy with me.”

 
Looking at her, Rosemary almost felt sorry for her poor husband. This woman, with her perfect outfit, her expensive haircut and color job, and her big frown, looked like Martha Stewart ready to come after the gardener. Pete Benedict would be lucky to make it to New Year’s without bruises.

  “Me, too,” Kay said.

  Rosemary felt almost giddy as she got in her car. She was going to get a lot more than just a follow-up piece out of this. She was going to get a whole series. Once the first article ran in Sunday’s paper everyone would be talking about this strike.

  She pulled up outside of Beefy Boy Burgers and saw Rick sitting by a window, slurping something supersize. He caught sight of her and crumpled the bag and hamburger wrapper in front of him, then stood up. A minute later he was at the car.

  “What are these chicks’ gripes?” he asked as he got in.

  “They do it all.”

  Rick made a face. “I think we’ve got a theme going here. I hope you’ve got several ways to spin this, because that chorus could get real old after a while.”

  “Well, Kay’s funny. And Sharon’s pretty out there. I think I can do something with her. You know what her husband calls her?”

  “Nuts?”

  “Yulezilla.”

  “Oh, sorry I missed meeting her. What is she, Martha Stewart on steroids?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “I’m just a genius,” Rick said, and shot a grin at Rosemary. “What about the other one? What makes her special?”

  “Her husband’s a cheapo.”

  Rick shook his head. “Let me guess. He doesn’t spend enough on her at Christmas.”

  “He doesn’t spend on anybody, from the sound of it,” Rosemary said. “She gets stuck buying everything. She even gets the presents for her stepkids.”

  “So, she’s a mean, ugly stepmother who doesn’t want to buy anything for her husband’s kids for Christmas. Is that it?”

  Rick was being deliberately irritating. “Never mind,” Rosemary said in disgust, and turned the car toward their last destination, the home of Laura and Glen Fredericks.

  It was after five now, and the Christmas lights on the houses they passed twinkled in the winter darkness like fat jewels.

  “Looks like the guys have already been out and done their part,” Rick observed.

  “One afternoon with the ladder,” Rosemary mused. “It doesn’t seem like much.”

  “Yeah? You try getting out there and freezing your butt off for a day and then we’ll see what you have to say.”

  “Whoa,” Rosemary teased. “Does seeing the Christmas lights bring back bad childhood memories?”

  “Let’s just say if I ever want lights outside at my place I’m paying someone else to put them up. Are we there yet?” he added.

  Rosemary shook her head at him. “I’ll bet you were fun on road trips.”

  “Still am.”

  She checked the address on her tablet. “I think it’s one more block.”

  “I can hardly wait to hear what this one has to say,” Rick muttered.

  Five minutes later they walked into the Frederickses’ living room. The room could have been in a magazine with its carefully grouped new furniture and the vase with the Christmas floral arrangement on the sofa table. There was only one drawback: The entire floor was a holiday explosion of boxes of ornaments, tissue, tinsel, and tree lights.

  “My husband and the kids went to get a tree,” Laura Fredericks explained. “He took off work early hoping he’d be able to get it up before you got here.”

  “So, your husband is doing everything?” Rosemary asked.

  Laura Fredericks nodded.

  If this mess was any indication of how her husband operated, Laura Fredericks was in trouble. Rosemary wisely kept the thought to herself. Instead, she asked, “And how does he feel about that?”

  Laura smiled like she was remembering a really good joke. “He thinks he’s got it all under control. Doing Christmas is a piece of cake.”

  Rosemary wrote fast. “Really.” This should prove interesting.

  “We have small children,” Laura continued, “and I work. It’s just too much for me to do everything myself, especially since my husband likes to entertain a lot. He doesn’t know how much work goes into making the holidays happen.” The woman’s smile became positively devilish as she added, “But he will.”

  “So, what all will he be doing?” Rosemary asked.

  Laura began ticking off chores on her fingers. “Putting up the tree and decorating, baking, doing the Christmas cards, cooking Christmas dinner.”

  Next to Rosemary, Rick’s mouth fell open.

  “Shopping, wrapping presents,” Laura continued. “Oh, and he needs to make the costumes for the kids’ holiday performances.”

  “Costumes?” Rick squeaked.

  Laura just shrugged. “That’s the deal. I’m not doing any of it. My husband wants to experience firsthand everything I do every year.”

  Rick looked disgusted.

  “Well, I’m sorry he doesn’t have the tree up,” said Rosemary, “but this would actually make a pretty cool picture. Don’t you think, Rick?” She didn’t give Rick time to answer. Instead, she said to the woman, “How about we move that easy chair over by the boxes and put you in it, say, relaxing with a mug of coffee?”

  Laura grinned. “Works for me.”

  “Rick, could you get the chair?” Rosemary commanded.

  He obliged, and in another couple of minutes Laura was curled up in it, posing with a mug and a magazine.

  “Would you be open to us following your family through the season?” Rosemary asked after they’d finished the interview.

  “You mean like a reality show?” asked Laura.

  “Yeah, only in print.”

  “Sure.”

  “Great,” said Rosemary. “I’ll talk to my editor and get back to you. We’ll want an exclusive, of course.” She’d have to remember to talk to Joy Robertson about that, too.

  “Okay.”

  Rosemary beamed. “People are going to love this.”

  The new star of her series grinned.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Rosemary promised as she and Rick walked out the door. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I think my husband will need it.”

  Rosemary was practically chortling as she and Rick walked back to her car. “Let’s see,” she said, flipping through her notes, “I’ve got the woman who’s married to the Scrooge. Her main thing is no shopping. Then I’ve got Sharon Benedict.”

  “Yulezilla,” Rick interjected.

  Rosemary ignored him. “And I’ve got Laura Fredericks and Joy Robertson. This is going to be awesome.”

  Rick shook his head. “This is all dumb, if you ask me.”

  “Well, no one asked you,” Rosemary said. Then she couldn’t resist adding, “But let’s pretend someone did. What’s your problem, anyway?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just dumb. These woman are making a big deal out of all this, threatening to do nothing, like the guys care.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Guys don’t.”

  “Of course they do,” Rosemary insisted.

  Rick shook his head. “Most don’t. At least not the way women do. Yeah, we’ll eat the cookies and stuff, but if it was up to guys we wouldn’t do all that other crap. I mean, how many men do you know who send out Christmas cards? And you won’t see a bunch of angels and Santas sitting around my place.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t like getting presents.”

  Rick shook his head as if over the folly of it all. “Do you know how out of hand that gets? A guy buys the wrong thing for his woman and he’s in deep shit. He doesn’t get something big and cool enough for his mom, she looks all disappointed. He’s got to fight all those crowds on Christmas Eve—”

  “He wouldn’t have to do that if he shopped before Christmas Eve.”

  The only answer Rick had for that was another shake of the
head.

  “Don’t you like to give your friends presents?”

  “No. I’d rather just take ’em to a ball game.”

  “You are not normal,” Rosemary decided. He looked normal enough—average height, nice, buff body, cute smile, brown eyes. But beneath that normal guy facade lurked a real Scrooge.

  “I think I am,” Rick insisted. “Most guys don’t want hassle. Christmas with the chicks in charge usually means hassle. That’s all I’m saying. Most of these guys will be perfectly happy if the women don’t do anything.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”

  Was Rick typical? Rosemary got a sudden image of all the hungry guys swarming her three-layer bean dip and Martha the food editor’s red velvet cake at the newspaper’s annual Christmas party. And they sure fought over the presents when it was time to play that white elephant gift-stealing game. Of course, they expected the women to organize the party.

  Now, was that fair? It wasn’t like the women didn’t work the same number of hours as the men. When did it become an unwritten rule that the guys did nothing while the women brought in the holiday eats and organized the party?

  Maybe the Holly Herald needed a strike, too.

  “You just missed the reporter,” Laura informed Glen as he wrestled the Christmas tree through the door.

  His eyes shot to the mess in the living room. That was supposed to have been gone and he was going to have the tree set up and looking good. “Aw, crap,” he muttered.

  “What took you so long, anyway? What happened?”

  “What didn’t? I lost Tyler in the trees. Then Amy had to go potty. Then…” Someone was being a very poor sport here. He pointed a finger at his wife. “Hey, what are you laughing about?”

  Laura sobered. “Sorry, nothing.”

  “You know, you never have to go to the tree lot alone. I go with you. It wasn’t exactly playing fair making me do it all by myself.”

  “I had to stay here in case the reporters came,” Laura said.

  Glen looked at her suspiciously. Was she jerking his chain?

  “Okay, so you want me to help you with the tree?” she offered.