Part I

CHRISTMAS PAST

"Who, and what are you?" Scrooge demanded. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," said the spirit. "These are but the shadows of the things that have been." -Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol"

CHAPTER ONE

Q18 WAS PLAYING on the jukebox as Hallie watched him through the mirror.

Q18 was Elvis crooning Blue Christmas. Hallie had all Presley's songs on the Wayfarer's juke, in fact all the selections listed were Elvis songs and Hallie knew each one of them by their designated letter and number. D7 was Teddy Bear, P5 was Just Because, K3 Baby Let's Play House, all the T selections were off the Heartbreak Hotel album but the letter and number that mattered most to Hallie, her favorite song if she had to choose, was F17, Elvis singing There Is No Secret What God Can Do.

Elvis was The King and Hallie His Queen. And at fifty-six she was also the oldest member of the official Elvis Fan Club.

The regulars at the bar complained to Hallie about monopolizing the juke with that “jungle music” but she let their bitching pass right over her. They didn't like it, she told them, they could take their drinking elsewhere (elsewhere would be The Crystal Top in Stockton forty-five miles away so no one ever took Hallie up on her threat). Besides having all his records she'd seen Jailhouse Rock three times when it played the Brandt in town and in the years to come she'd see all his other films too and follow Elvis life more than she would her own. When Elvis bought his mama that pink Cadillac Hallie filled up with envy that she didn't have a son as wonderful and as loving as Elvis who would buy her a pink automobile. Hallie didn't drive, didn't have any sons, wasn't even married for that matter but she was jealous of Elvis's mama all the same. Hallie's sister Katherine thought she was silly and senile the way she carried on about Elvis at her age. Most of St. John's thought likewise but Hallie didn't care-—she had rock n' roll in her soul and Elvis in her heart. She prayed for him every night when the army drafted him, was fourth row center at Caesars Palace when he made his triumphant comeback and four years later at the age of seventy-four stood over his grave weeping along with the countless others who had loved him. With the passing of the King his Queen gave up the ghost soon after. Hallie passed away only a couple of months later. Her final request was that she be buried with all her Elvis memorabilia. Her request was honored. Two separate plots were reserved; one for Hallie and the other for her collection. They all went in the ground together, the hundreds of mint LP's, official Elvis mugs, ashtrays, towels, posters, dolls, decanters, music boxes, everything from pens to a life-size bronze sculpture of Elvis's head went in the earth along with Hallie. It was a Queen's burial and she had everything she would need to accompany her on her journey to the next world. Hallie's burial received almost as much attention as Elvis's had. It was an item in most of the nation's papers and made the front page of both The National Enquirer and The Star. The media blitz attracted alot of people from all over the country and inside of a month "Hallie's Monument" became a major tourist attraction. St. John's had always done well during ski season but the summer Hallie passed away was more profitable than the last three winters put together. All those residents who complained about Hallie in the past had nothing but praise and love for the woman now. One local entrepreneur made over $11,000 (that he did not claim come tax-time), with miniature cedar replicas of Hallie's Monument. Enterprising teen-agers made up to a year's college tuition selling "Hallie and Elvis Together Forever" t-shirts. Directly or indirectly everyone was making something off Hallie. Then as fast as it all had started it came to as quick an end. Hallie's gravesite was vandalized one Wednesday night in late February and her entire Elvis collection valued over $75,000 was stolen. An investigation was made but the culprits were never found out. That summer Hallie's surviving sister Katherine, whom the deed to the Wayfarer's had reverted, sold off the bar and the lot it was on to a McDonald's chain that had it's grand opening that September. But up until then the Wayfarer's hadn't much changed from what it had been in 1957. The same Budweiser sign that hung in the window would still be there twenty-six years later. The same fisherman's net that Hallie had draped from the ceiling would still be draped there minus a starfish or conch or two. The jukebox would still have only it's selection of Elvis for whoever wanted to play them, and Hallie would still be there, standing where she was standing now, checking out the locals in the thirty foot mirror that ran the length of the bar, just like she was doing now with Ralph Gatlin. He had come in again tonight, just like he had been doing every night for the past year, gimping up to the bar on his hickory walking stick, his disposition leaning toward spiteful. After he had gone through half a case of Schlitz with chasers his disposition swung more toward plain nasty.

"Hallie, you pissin in it again! I know you pissed in my last one, Hallie!"

And when Ralph got nasty so did his mouth.

Hallie drew a beer from the tap, came over and slammed the mug down on the bar, foam spilling on Ralph's walking stick that laid across it.

"Now she's insulted." Ralph blew Hallie a kiss, tipped the mug to her. His eyes narrowed and he chuggalugged the beer in three enormous gulps.

"Another."

"That's it," Hallie told him.

"And I want it with a chaser this time."

"I'm gonna chase you outta here is what I'm gonna do!"

"I said I want another drink!" Ralph grabbed hold of that hickory walking stick and cracked it down onto the bar. Hallie saw glasses jump up at the other end of the bar from the sheer force of it. Everyone in the place turned and pointed.

Hallie tried to keep from looking nervous. "I told you to keep that damn stick offa my bar!"

"And I told you I wanted another drink!"

"I don't understand you. They got a whole ward full of guys like you up at the county hospital. How come they ain't got you up there yet."

"Just put another Schlitz in that goddamn glass." "Go on, Hallie, and get him a drink."

Ralph lifted his head to see who said that and in the mirror saw Jacob Wylie coming over to him. Round-faced and blue-jowled, he was unbuttoning his Baxter State parka, pulling off his gloves. The seal skin of his Russian cap shone in the weak light.

"Go on, Hallie," Jacob spoke up. "It's on me." Hallie frowned. "He's had enough, Jacob."

Jacob pointed to an empty booth. "Ralph, I got us a table over here. Hallie's gonna bring us over a couple."

Ralph stepped off the swivel stool leading with his bad leg. He was a thick lump of a man with a gut like a wheelbarrow and by the time he reached for his walking stick it was already too late. His leg went out from under him and he went down. It was a strain even for a man Jacob's size to get Ralph up and standing because that messed up leg of his was absolutely no good to anyone, just a dead piece of meat hanging off him, filling up his trouser leg like straw in a scarecrow. Jacob half carried Ralph over to the booth, sat him down at the table and went back over to the bar for the walking stick.

Hallie was standing there. She hadn't made a move to get the beers.

"C'mon, Hallie. The quicker you give him the drink, the quicker he'll get outta here."

"He's fallin1 down drunk as it is, Jacob."

"I'll take care of it."

"Man's been around the bend. Lost his marbles. Take a look at him."

"Man's had a lot of hardships. It's goin' on a year now he's been outta work. Count yourself lucky you've been spared."

Hallie shook her head. "Hold on, I'll get your beers."

"You bring the beers over. Show there ain't no hard feelings."

Jacob picked up the walking stick and went back over to Ralph sliding in next to him.

"Where's my beer?" was the first thing Ralph asked him.

"Hallie's gonna bring 'em over."

He mumbled something sticking his chin up at Jacob.

"What did you say?"

"I said why are you wearin1 that hat?"

"Keeps my head warm," Jacob said.

"Look like a goddamn Ruskie in that hat."

"It's a Russian hat, Ralph."

"I know it's a Russian hat! It's a fuckinKremlinKGBstarandsickle yamika and I wouldn't be caught dead in it. And anyone who would is a Kruschev lovin1 commie. Where's those beers?"

Jacob pulled his hat off. "We finish these brews I'm takin1 you home."

"I don't wanna go homaaa..."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't. Take me up to the smokehouse."

"I'm not takin' you up there. It's cold enough to freeze your eyeballs outside—" The smokehouse was a lean-to Ralph's daddy had built up on Angel's Needle. When times were good for the old man he would smoke his own meats. But when times were bad, and they usually were for Ralph's daddy, he'd steal a cow off someone's farm, slaughter it, and smoke that. No one ever pressed charges though cause Ralph's family was poor and his daddy only stole to feed his family, never for profit. Jacob could remember how as kids he and Ralph would use the shack as a secret hideout, and later as teenagers in high school, how they would bring girls up there at night and frighten them into their arms by telling them stories of how the ghosts of the dead cows use to haunt the place and how you could hear them every now and then mooing when the moon was full. No one bothered with the place anymore except Ralph. After the accident that had crippled him he would lock himself away up there with a case of bourbon whiskey and he wouldn't come down until he had drained the last bottle. "Anyway," Jacob went on, "I ain't gonna take you up there because Margaret's gonna be worried sick where you're at. "

"Woman don't care a lick about me, "Ralph mumbled. "Doesn't give a hoot in hell. Boy's all she cares about."

Hallie came over with the beers and set them down on the table in front of them. She looked down at Ralph forcing the words. "No hard feelings, Ralph."

"Hold on a sec," Ralph told her. "Lemme check." He unzipped his pants and pulled out the elastic of his long johns, peeked down, then locked bank up at Hallie. "Sorry, Hallie."

Hallie did a slow burn. "Finish up, pay up, get up and get out.'"

"I just as soon go!" Ralph shouted. "I just as soon be a thousand miles from here!"

"You ain't goin nowhere till I get that ten dollars you drank me out of!"

"I told you I'd take care of it," Jacob said loud enough to be heard above the two of them.

Hallie stood there fuming, working her hands into the dish towel she always carried with her like she was stripping the skin off her fingers. "You sure that motor didn't fall on your head too? Because you're brain is more messed up than that leg of yours will ever be." And with that she swiveled on her heels and pounded off.

Ralph yelled after her. "I love you too, Hallie! Even if you do piss in my beer!"

"C'mon, Ralph, pipe down," Jacob said. "You're puttin' on a show for everyone. C'mon, drink up."

Ralph guzzled his beer. Jacob could see his eyes over the rim of the glass and they were mean-drunk. Ralph brought his face away and said, "I owe you."

"You don't owe me, Ralph."

"For settlin' my affairs. I do. I forget, help me out here, what are your little ones names?"

"Who? My daughters? Katie and Mary Beth?"

"Katie and Mary Beth, right. They ever get in your hair? Make it so you can't think straight?"

"They're good girls, my girls." Ralph was making him defensive.

"C'mon, they never get into places they ain't suppose to be? Break something they ain't suppose to be touchin"?"

"They're kids, Ralph. Sure they get outta hand sometimes. Why?"

"If I told you something you wouldn't understand it..." "Told me what?"

"Never told anyone. Not a soul. Only the boy. Only the boy knows. But I'm gonna tell you."

"Tell me what?"

Ralph's eyes grew large, an inch from Jacob's face now. "Works like a goddamn charm. Don't know why I din't think of it sooner. Keeps the boy in tow like you wouldn't believe. I want you to know so you can carry it on, keep it rolling."

"What are you talkin about, Ralph?"

"I'm talkin about Chanks."

The breath that belched past Ralph's lips was overpowering. Jacob reached across the table for his hat for an excuse to move away and gat up buttoning his coat. "Well you can tell me about it in the car on the way home. Let's go."