Just One Angel: A New York Christmas Carol
by Diablo Priest
Based on the novel The Price of Salt by Claire Morgan (Patricia Highsmith), and the film Carol directed by Todd Haynes, written by Phyllis Nagy.
Eight months after the end of the book/movie, it is Therese and Carol's first Christmas in their big apartment on Madison Avenue. Therese struggles to give Carol the perfect holiday while Carol is depressed and misses Rindy.
This fic blends elements of the book, the movie, and the script.
Rated: M. Contains mild amorous activity (of course), alcohol use (bad for you), tobacco use (really bad for you), and some foul language.
"Not for ourselves alone are we born."
—Cicero
I
Friday, December 18
Therese was hurrying along Madison Avenue at quarter past five. The winter darkness was descending fast upon the city. It was windy and she held the collar of her coat closed with her left hand and clutched her handbag in her right. As she neared her building, she saw Henry the doorman, looking like a Napoleonic officer in his blue uniform, opening the door of a cab for Dr and Mrs Greenberg; no doubt they were heading out for dinner. The cab sped by her and she waved, but the Greenbergs did not notice her.
"Good evening, Miss Belivet," Henry said to Therese, as he opened the ornate door of the building for her.
"Good evening, Henry," Therese said. "Is Mrs Aird home yet?"
"No, I haven't seen her."
The disappointment was written on Therese's face.
"Is there something wrong, Miss Belivet?"
"No," She replied. "I was just expecting her to be home early tonight, that's all. Thank you."
And Therese swept into the lobby on a bitter gust.
Her nose was cold and red, her fingers numb with cold. She had lost her gloves again. It was the third pair already this season. She rubbed all her cold extremities and walked over to the mailboxes. She fumbled for her keys, found the one for the mailbox, and opened it. She grabbed the mail and went to the waiting elevator.
The apartment was dark, Carol was not there. Therese went into the kitchen and tossed the mail on the table. It had been a hectic day at the paper and she had had no lunch. She knew there was nothing in the refrigerator, but she opened it anyways, looked inside and sighed. Then she thought with a surge of hope that put an energetic jaunt in her step, maybe Rindy had sent a Christmas card to Carol. Maybe! A card would cheer Carol.
There was junk mail - holiday fliers from Macy's, Frankenberg's, and Fanny Farmer. Therese tossed them aside, and then she saw an envelope that surely contained a card. Excitedly, she snatched up the envelope. Therese snorted. The card was not from Rindy. It was from Mrs Robichek, her erstwhile friend from Frankenberg's. Therese opened it anyways. It was a pretty card. A sentimental Nativity scene. It sent Therese back many years, to Sister Alicia in California now these - what had it been? Ten years. It seemed much longer.
Therese was suddenly exhausted. She sat down. And then she put her face into her hands and wept.
When she had cried herself out, Therese stood up and went into the living room were a box of Kleenex could be found on an end-table. She blew her nose. Then she went to the large glass doors that opened onto a small balcony. For a long time, she stood looking at the lights of the city and remembering the happy months after she had moved in with Carol.
It had started with the interior decorator, a short, energetic, delicately thin man in his thirties, with the melodious voice. Abby engaged him for Carol. He was in great demand. All the rich elite in the tri-state area wanted Philip Garland to decorate their apartments or homes. And all Abby had to do was call him. Two days later, he was standing in the foyer hugging and kissing Carol and Therese as if they were his long-lost sisters. Abby, Therese soon suspected, knew everybody in the city. Philip's energy was nearly manic, and he loved to talk. To talk to any one and every one. To the carpet men, to the furniture delivery men, to the painters, to the wallpaper hangers, to Carol, to Therese. Therese would watch him with amazement, and whenever he caught her looking at him, he would wink at her like a randy squire. And she would blush like a twelve-year-old girl.
When the apartment was finished, Carol and Therese threw a cocktail party. A sort of housewarming, but without gifts. Despite the different groups of people - Carol's friends and Therese's friends - the party was a great success - everyone got along well. Among those in Carol's group were Stanley McVeigh, Cy and Jeanette Harrison, Max and Clara Tibbett, and Tessie Riordan. Abby came but without the red-head. Among those in Therese's group were Phil McEroy, who came with a Chinese girl; Phil's brother Dannie, who came with Louise; Jack Taft, Ted Grey, and the Kellys. Only Richard did not show. Therese had not sent a formal invitation, but she had made it known to Dannie that Richard could come if he wanted. Carol's friends from Ryder & Lea, the furniture house on Fourth Avenue where she worked, all came as well. Many of Therese's colleagues from the photo department at The New York Times also dropped in.
On warm summer evenings, Carol and Therese would have dinner on their balcony. Sundays, they went for drives in the countryside. Always, Therese had her camera with her, the one Carol had bought for her last Christmas. She took many photographs and had a darkroom set up in one of the apartment's extra rooms where she developed her film and made prints.
In August there was the garden party in the Hamptons, given by a friend of Abby. Abby introduced Therese to a superficially polite Englishman named Covington. He owned an art Gallery specializing in modern art. Therese did not like Covington - his manner was extremely polite - too polite. His manners seemed somehow insincere and cold. But just like that, she had three works in a show of young photographers. Covington had quickly looked through her photographs a week later when Therese brought them to his gallery. "These three," he said pointing to the small pile, "These three, I can sell."
The three pictures were not sold by the end of the show, and Therese had started to cry right in the gallery. Carol had said to her rather coldly, "What's this nonsense?" But Covington, the icy-mannered Englishman, had put his arms around Therese and said, "It's not the end of the world, young lady. Keep clicking that shutter, and in the spring, I know you'll sell something!"
Near the end of September, they spent a weekend in Vermont, at a beautiful country inn that Abby had recommended. The hills blazing with autumn colors. Therese could not help thinking that she was Cinderella. Since April, her life had been filled with such happiness.
But, it was after the trip to Vermont that Therese began to sense a change in Carol. Ever so slight. And insidious. Carol's moods began to darken. It was because of Rindy, Therese knew. The little girl had returned to school early in September, and Carol missed her. Strong, proud Carol began to wither. And Therese felt her world slowly sinking into despair. The fairytale ending that she had been living since April was being devoured like an apple by worms of sorrow. Carol would not talk about it, but Therese knew that each day Carol's heart became heavier. It was bad on Halloween, a Saturday. Carol had come home before Therese. Carol probably did not have to work at all on that Saturday, but she had begun to work more and more to distract her mind from thoughts of Rindy. Shorty before one o'clock, Therese arrived home and heard the end of a conversation that Carol was having on the phone. Therese heard Carol shout something. Silence. Then Therese heard Carol say "Well, that's that." And she heard the receiver slam down violently. Then she heard Carol spit, "Goddamnit!"
Therese knew that Carol had been on the phone with Harge. Always, Harge made some excuse, Therese knew, to keep Carol from seeing Rindy. Harge had a million excuses.
Therese took a deep breath. "Carol, I'm home," she called out from the foyer.
Carol appeared as Therese was hanging up her jacket in the large closet.
As Therese turned from the closet, Carol forced a smile. Then suddenly, sobs were chocking Carol.
The sobs frightened Therese.
"My God, what's wrong?"
"You know," Carol said.
"It's Harge."
Carol nodded.
"Can't you call Fred?" Fred Haymes, Carol's lawyer.
"It wouldn't do any good," Carol said fatalistically.
"No?"
Carol was shaking. "Pour me a drink, will you? Rye."
Therese looked at Carol.
"I know, I know," Carol said, "you think rye depresses me. But I could really use a good strong drink, okay?"
At one end of the dinning room was a bar. Therese poured Carol a glass of rye and water.
That was Halloween.
Thanksgiving was as if Rindy had suddenly died. Carol was not eating and sleeping enough. She was smoking and drinking way too much. Therese was increasingly worried.
And now... Christmas was almost here. Therese pulled the chain on the drapes like the final curtain of a play.
She went to the bar and poured herself a rye, swallowed a shot and dialed Carol's office.
"Hello, Carol Aird speaking," Carol said mellifluously: her business phone-answering voice.
"Hi," Therese said.
"Therese..." A hint of Carol from the summer. A hint of desire.
"You're working late again?"
"I'm with a vendor's rep. right now in fact - I can't talk now."
"I thought -"
Carol had hung up.
Therese returned the phone to the hook on the kitchen wall. Next to it, the intercom. She buzzed Henry.
"Will you call me a cab please, Henry."
"Yes, Miss Belivet."
Therese wanted dinner. Usually, she would walk to Fallières with Carol; it was only five blocks. Tonight, however, it was too cold and windy for a stroll.
[con't]