Seasons Greetings A Carol Christmas

Christmas Present

by Tigger

Deep in thought, Darla returned to the morning room to find Carol
still munching on one of Marie's cookies.

"Nice try," Carol said cheerfully, raising her teacup to Darla in
a mockery of a toast.

"Huh? I beg your pardon?" Darla asked.

"Better watch that 'huh' stuff, Darley. Good old Auntie Jane
might decide that 'huh' is a curse word and wash your widdle mouf
out wif soap," Carol taunted. "I said, 'nice try.' I have to
admit that last plot of Jane's was pretty good, bringing that
loser in to act like a charter member of what I am sure is the
huge Jane Thompson failure club. Even better for him to try to
draw connections between his alleged time here with my own deeply
regretted experiences, but guess what, blondie? It didn't work!
If that is me in fifteen years, I will be MORE than satisfied
with my life. You won't find me griping about my lifestyle or
worse, coming back to this pit to cry about being lonely."

"You think that he was a plant? That he was putting on an act?"
Darla asked, disbelieving. "For YOUR benefit?

"If you're going to try to play, how did he put it? Oh yeah,
mentor for Thompson's future students, then you are going to
need some serious acting lessons, Darley," Carol chided. "You'll
never sell anything like that. Of *course* it was an act. Had I
bothered to give it any thought, that is just the type of dirty
trick I would have expected next. Her sadistic little games
didn't work, so now she tries to scare me into playing along with
her."

Raw fury lanced through Darla and her fists literally itched to
smash that sarcastic grin off Carol's face. "That is the second
time you've used that word in regards to Ms. Jane," Darla hissed,
"And if you had the brains God gave a jellyfish, you'd know there
is a huge difference between deviant sadism and the kind of tough
love expressed by Jane Thompson. Yes, she's rough on us.
Sometimes, she's even mean, but that's what it takes sometimes to
get people to take a hard, honest look at themselves."

"Oh, I find it very hard to look at myself in the mirror right
now without losing my lunch," Carol mocked. "Come off it,
Darley. Even if I were to concede that this whole program has a
real and truly noble purpose beyond Thompson getting her jollies
dishing out humiliation - which I *don't* - I will never believe
that woman understands any more about love than any other woman I
have ever met. Womanly love is one of the universe's great
oxymorons."

"Maybe it is just that you are about as lovable as . ."

"Ah ah ah, blondie," Carol scolded. "I've already warned you
about those naughty words once today. Besides, as my mentor,
aren't you are supposed to be setting a properly genteel and
ladylike example for me?"

There were times, Darla fumed, when counting to ten just wasn't
enough. Unfortunately, she just didn't have time for the ten
thousand or so she'd likely need to control her temper. *If only
Jane were here instead of at the. . .waitaminute! That's it.*
"So, you think womanly love and caring, particularly womanly love
and caring expressed by Jane Thompson is a contradiction in
terms?"

"Actually," Carol responded, sounding serious for the first time,
"I'm not sure I believe there is such a thing as love, period,
but I definitely believe that dried up old bat has not the
slightest understanding of that concept in any way, shape or
form."

"Get you coat. I'll be right back," Darla ordered before
slipping out to find Marie. They were all going for a ride.

~-------------~

With steadily growing trepidation, Marie watched the two young
women staring into the critical care unit through the viewing
gallery's large window. For her part, she couldn't bear to look
upon a child in such a condition, forced to suffer such intrusive
indignities and pain, but that was just another area where Jane
Thompson was stronger and more courageous than she was.
Moreover, Marie had more than a few reservations about this plan
of Darla's. The pediatric oncology unit at Children's Hospital
was Jane's special cause, and not one she had ever shared with a
student before. *I hope this was the right thing to do, and if it
wasn't, I hope Jane understands. Lord above, but that girl is
just as strong willed and determined as her mentor once she gets
a notion in that head of hers.*

Darla had one eye on the tableau in the hospital room, and one
eye on her recalcitrant 'little sister'. For her part, Carol's
attention was totally focused on the two figures below them.
Truth to tell, it was difficult to tell that those figures were
people. The one on the bed was in an isolation bubble, his or
her features blurred by the way the plastic form refracted light.
All one could really tell was that the child was small and very,
very frail.

The other figure was swaddled in a complete set of bulky surgical
greens, complete to gloves, a hood and a surgeon's mask. A
single hand passed through a glove-like extension into the
isolation bubble so that the doubly gloved hand could gently
caress the unmoving child.

"She had to go through a complete decontamination cleansing
before putting on that outfit," Darla murmured, "And even then,
she cannot touch the child directly because the little one no
longer has any resistance to diseases."

"Poor kid," Carol replied, her attention still fixed on the two
figures in the room. "What's going on?"

Encouraged, Darla explained about Allie's condition and what was
going to happen today.

"How good are the chances of a recovery?"

"The docs say 70/30 in favor, maybe better. Jane says they were
able to get a pretty good match from this donor. It'll be touch
and go for the next few days. They pretty much won't know for
sure until a week from now."

"Where's the kid's parents? Where's the 'loving' mother?"

"We couldn't get them turned loose from their stations over in
the middle east, not without threatening their careers."

"Figures," Carol snorted. "Kid comes last."

Darla resisted an urge to retaliate, and with great effort, kept
her response measured and rational. "Assuming Allie makes it
through the critical times to come, they're going to need their
jobs, because it still won't be over. I don't know the whole
story, but as I understand it, the only way the government would
let them out of what they're doing is by terminating them. No
pay, no benefits, no healthcare. Kind of hard to choose, I'd
think."

"Government workers or contract types?"

"Government."

Carol only hummed in her throat. "If it wasn't for the eyes, you
wouldn't be able to tell it was the old bat," she said
distractedly.

"It's Jane," Darla affirmed coldly, but Carol didn't say another
word.

They stood there in silence for almost half an hour until the
hospital room door opened. Several more green-garbed figures
filed in, led by one whose bountiful feminine endowments even the
formless medical garments couldn't quite hide. She walked over
to Jane, putting a gentle hand on the seated woman's shoulder.
They exchanged words that those watching from observation gallery
couldn't make out, and then slowly, with obvious reluctance, Jane
removed her hand from the glove-bag and stood. Suddenly, she was
in the arms of the nurse, her head and shoulders heaving in
racking, emotion-ridden sobs.

"Jane is proud," Darla said softly, "And Lord knows that Jane is
also determined and forceful, but she is also loving. Would a
sadistic woman take time, go through that awful decontamination
process, just sit with and try to comfort a frightened child?"

Carol again said nothing, only looked from Jane to Darla and then
back again. Finally she shrugged. "Are we through here?" she
asked as she turned to leave the room without waiting for an
answer.

First Interlude:

Carol had not said a word during the drive back to Seasons House
leading Darla to hope that she might be reconsidering her harsh
assessment of Jane Thompson and her motives for taking on
troubled young people.

That hope was dashed when, the moment they reentered Jane's
mansion, Carol went straight to parlor sideboard and snatched up
a crystal decanter filled with brandy. She'd already downed the
first swallow when Darla caught up with her. "You shouldn't be
drinking that," she reprimanded.

"After slipping me that mickey finn the first day I was here so
that she could steal my luggage, I don't think Ms Thompson has
anything to say to me about this," Carol retorted, taking another
injudiciously deep swallow from the snifter and choking as the
fiery liquid burned its way down to her stomach. "How much do
you figure she had to pay the hospital to play along with that
little melodrama?"

"I beg your pardon?" Darla asked, shocked.

"That was just too perfect - particularly on the heels of the
supposedly prodigal student earlier today - life doesn't happen
that way unless you count bad movies and Charles Dickens' novels.
Look, Darley, I know she's rich as hell - she couldn't live in
this place, drive those cars, dress us in clothing of this
quality unless she was rolling in it, okay?"

"So what?"

"So, I figure she needs tax sheltering. Hospitals are good for
that purpose and they always need money. Why, I bet they were
*really* accommodating to a woman who offered them ten, maybe
twenty-five thousand to help cover their latest project or cost
overrun. Heck, she probably got the parents of that kid to play
along for a few hundred or so."

Speechless, Darla could only stare as Carol helped herself to
another splash of Jane's brandy. "You. . you. . "

"Now, now, Darley, remember the lessons of the great Thompson.
To paraphrase, one should always engage brain before activating
mouth," Carol taunted, "Think of what you want to say before
trying to speak."

"You have the pure, unmitigated. . .I don't know whether to call
it gall or stupidity, to think that what happened at the hospital
was staged?!??"

"Oh, come off it, bitch. At the risk of sounding repetitious, of
course it was staged! Thompson is a female, isn't she? Of
course it was a just another damned female trick. Another
attempt to make me think she is REALLY trying to do something
that benefits someone. Well, stuff it!"

"You really have terrible image of women, don't you?" Darla
breathed. "My god, what is it that made you that contemptuous of
women?"

"Experience, my dear, simple hard experience. I have never had a
woman in my life who didn't try to screw me. Some managed, some
didn't. In recent years, fewer have managed because I have taken
to heart the inverse Golden Rule - Do unto others as they would
do unto you, except do it first."

"But your mother . . ."

"Was the first and the best. . . or the worst, depending on your
point of view, to let me down."

Darla thought of the letters Carl's uncle had forwarded to Jane
in the hope that they might help turn him around . . . letters
from a mother to her son. "But your mother was killed when you
were just a kid. . .a drunk driver I think I heard Jane say."

"She LEFT me, okay? With HIM, okay?" Carol was becoming
agitated, and was showing more real emotion than Darla could
remember seeing once he'd regained his equilibrium a couple of
days after his arrival.

"With who, Carol?"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT, DAMN YOU! MY NAME IS CARL!"

"Who did your Mother leave you with, Carl," Darla asked gently.

"My father, dammit, with his belts and his hard hands and his
harder words."

"Then why don't you hate men instead of women?" Darla asked,
wishing Jane was here for this emotional event and feeling
inadequate to the task. *But he's talking, at last. Maybe. .
maybe. . *

"Women should have helped me, protected me because I was just a
kid who couldn't do that for myself! The teachers who never saw
the hurts and injuries. The principals who only saw the homework
that wasn't done and sent notes home to him so he'd have more
excuses to get out the belt. The social worker who couldn't
prove her case and get me the hell away from him and who pissed
him off so that things got even worse because he became more
careful. My MOTHER who should have taken me with her when. .
when. . " Carol's voice broke, but then she recovered. "When she
ran away the last time. You know what? I just remembered - that
was Christmas Eve, too."

"Isn't that the night she was killed in that accident?"

"So?" Carol snapped. "If I'd been with her, she might not have
been at the intersection when that drunk ran the stop light."

"Or she still might have, and you'd have been killed, too."

"She always drove more slowly when I was in the car," Carol
replied stoutly. "Sometimes I think she was the one responsible
for that accident, that she was. . was. . "

*Oh god, why wasn't this information included in Carl's file? We
ALWAYS get reports of child protective services investigations,
even if they find nothing. DAMN his asshole of a father and his
connections! But, is that the truth or is he playing me the way
he claims Jane is trying to play him? Damn, but I am not
qualified to deal with this, but I am the only one here.*

"You think she was trying to kill herself?" Darla asked and
watched Carol closely - looking for some indication of what the
teenager was really thinking. Her only answer was a very jerky
shrug. "Jane has contacts in the police departments. We could
probably get you a copy of the actual police report. At least
that way you'd know for sure."

A look like none Darla could remember seeing on Carol's pretty
face flitted across her visage - a look of uncertainty - before
her features hardened again. "What would it matter, anyway?" she
asked, attempting disinterest. "She still left me. She still
cared more about herself than she did about me."

The bitterness in Carol's voice was palpable, and Darla knew
there was nothing she could say that would get through the
student's rebuilt walls. *But, maybe, just maybe, her. . his
mother can get through them. It's worth a shot, isn't it? Jane
is going to send him home in two days anyway.* "Wait. . I have
something I want you to look at."

It took only a few moments for Darla to find what she wanted from
Jane's office. She returned to find Carol refilling her snifter.
"That stuff will put you on your cute pantied butt," she said
without thinking.

"An excellent idea," Carol said, making her voice intentionally
slur drunkenly. "Now that I have remembered why I hate Christmas
Eve, getting smashed has a certain appeal."

Darla picked up the decanter with one hand and held out a ribbon-
bound packet with the other. "Well, the bar just closed. Here,
these were always intended for you. You might find them
interesting."

"What are they?"

"Letters from your Mother. Evidently, she used letters like most
folks use a diary because she didn't want to keep one at home.
She'd mail them to herself - to a mailbox she kept at a
storefront post office. Your uncle found them when he was
executor of her will."

"Even if they aren't just another of Ms. Thompson's little ploys,
there can't be much in them. Otherwise some hotshot lawyer would
have tried to use them to get me away from my father."

"I don't know about the lawyer, but for what it is worth, you
have my word of honor that these are legit - the real deal."

Hesitantly, Carol held out a fine, perfectly manicured hand for
the packet of letters. "What the hell," she said diffidently.
"They might be more amusing than the other junk your Ms Thompson
provides. Might be worth a few laughs."

Darla watched as Carol turned and began to leave the room with a
greatly exaggerated hip-swing that would have sent Jane through
the roof, and had several times in the past six months.

"Carol? I mean, Carl?" Darla called out. The femininely
dressed young man stopped and turned about, lifting one finely
shaped brow in both inquiry and challenge. "You might think
about something. If your father was really that. . .awful to
you, why are you working so hard to emulate him? Okay, women
have let you down, but do you have to become your father all over
again, just because you don't want to repeat the women's
failures? Can't you be better than both, and not less than
either? I promise you, that is all Jane truly wants from you and
for you."

"Oh really? Then why does she do her level best to embarrass and
humiliate me at every damned turn, eh? Well, let me tell you
this, blondie, the reason she hasn't gotten to me is my father.
My father would NEVER have let a bitch like Thompson get the
better of him, and neither will I because I refuse to be less
than he was. I don't need her, or at least I won't in a couple
more weeks. So the only other hold she has on me is that threat
of humiliation and public ridicule, and *I* am the one who
controls that lever because I REFUSE to relinquish it to her."

The two teens stood there, stares locked for several long
moments. Finally, Carol broke the stare-down grinning broadly.
She then toasted Darla with the snifter and left the room.

"God, let me not have made things worse. Please?"