A Christmas Story

Chapter 2

Have you ever had the feeling you’re on the outside looking in? You’re in a situation but for some reason, like some surreal, out of body interlude, you feel like you’re over against the wall observing the whole scene, even though your body remains interacting with everyone there?

Hannah experienced that exact phenomenon at dinner with the Littrells. She listened, she spoke, she laughed, she ate—as if in a dream.

Somewhere between the main course and dessert, she realized she was starting to rejoin the little party. Or maybe it was the reassuring wink from Jackie when she served Hannah that cup of coffee. The fog cleared and there she was—no longer shocked and nervous about who she was with, but simply enjoying being a part of a remarkable family having a quiet dinner.

Well, sort of quiet.

As the four of them passed dishes of hot fruit salad, smoke ham, sweet potatoes, and angel biscuits, Brian talked non-stop. It was a wonder he ever tasted a single bite.

He bounced from one subject to the next covering everything from AJ’s latest tattoo (don’t ask) to the two teenagers who actually broke into Nick’s hotel room, unfortunately while he was in the shower.

"So these two girls are standing there in the bathroom, screaming and laughing and begging to take some pictures, and Nick is going ballistic! ‘How’d you get in here?’" Brian mimicked his best friend’s voice. "‘Y’all get out of here! This isn’t funny!’ He kept whining and those girls just kept on giggling.

"Oh, for heaven’s sake, that just ridiculous!" Jackie piped in, typically maternal. "Where was your security? I thought you all had totally secured floors. How did this happen?"

"That’s the funny part, Mom. That whole floor was ours. I mean, not just us, but the whole entourage—all the band, the dancers, the promo guys. And we’ve got strict rules about who does and who doesn’t get on those floors when we travel. But Jackson, our bass player, had met these two girls after the show. You gotta know Jackson, he’s one of a kind. I mean, he can flat play some string, but when it comes to fans, he just doesn’t get it."

"So these girls are flirting with him down at the Hard Rock, and he’s thinkin’ ‘I’m hot, I’m bad—they’re diggin’ me!’" All the while, they’re scheming to get to us. But Jackson just soaks up all that attention, loving every minute. He swears he never told them he was one of our band members, never had a clue how devious these kids can be. They knew all about him long before that night. Knew just where to scope him out after the show, the whole nine yards. So they sweet talk ol’ Jackson . . ."

Brian postures, imitating the girls, his voice in a ridiculous falsetto. "‘We really love you, man. Pleeeease take us up to your room—we just wanna hang with you, man!’ And Jackson just melts like putty in their hands and off they go. He sneaks them up the elevator, they hang out in his room for a few minutes, then he goes into his bathroom to take a leak—"

"Brian!"

"Sorry, Mom. He goes to relieve himself . . ." Brian shot Hannah an oops expression and continues, not missing a beat, then continues. "He comes out and duh, they’re gone. Unbelievable!"

He stopped to shove a generous fork full of ham into his mouth. Harold took the opportunity to get a word in. "Your mother’s right, Brian. What good is it to have that kind of security if you can’t even trust your own crew? I hope you’ve disciplined this Jackson guy."

"Oh, you could say that . . . Kevin about ate him for lunch. He was furious!"

"Kevin? I would think Nick would be the one who was upset!" Jackie countered.

"Nick? Come on, Mom. Nick? You know how he is. He loves all that attention. He’s still laughing about it. Course, I guess if Jackson hadn’t come when he did and snatched them out of there, Nick might not have been laughing. He would’ve been pretty ticked if they’d gotten pictures of him in his nakeditity and sold them to the Enquirer."

"Well, hey, inquiring minds want to know!" Hannah laughed.

Brian was caught off guard, surprised at the comment coming from their quiet guest. He started laughing, causing them all to break into an outburst.

"Well, Hannah! Is that a fact! Would you like to elaborate on that a little?"

"Uh, no . . . I don’t think so . . ." she laughed in return. "But I’m curious. Is it always such a circus when you all travel together?"

"Oh my gosh, the stories I could tell you," he answered, nodding his head.

"Most of the time it’s too unreal to even believe. People are so crazy. They will do anything. You cannot believe some of these people. Mostly girls under 12, I might add. And y’know? Most of the time we get a kick out of it. I mean, it’s just part of the package. We’ve learned to expect it. But there are times—sometimes, when you’re already exhausted and you’ve been gone a long time . . . well, it just gets old. And those are the times you have to really fight your thoughts and those feelings of walking away from it all. And you have to realize that these fans, even the crazy little girls, are the ones who buy the CDs, buy the concert tickets, the whole enchilada. And then you just take a deep breath and go on."

"How long will you be home, son?"

"I’m trying to stay for a week if we can get some schedule changes made. We’re supposed to do some studio time but none of us are in the mood. We’re just too tired."

Jackie stood up and began clearing the dinner dishes. Hannah started to stand up to join her when Brian placed his hand over hers. "That’s okay, you’re the guest. I’ll help her." Jackie pinched his cheek.

"Such a good boy," she bragged in a Yiddish accent. "He sings, he dances, he does the dishes . . . what more could a mother ask for?"

"Grandchildren?" Harold injected with a hopeful smile.

Brian cleared his throat, ignoring the question. "So Mom! What’s for dessert?" he asked a little too eagerly.

Stacking the dishes in the sink, she looked over her shoulder at the towering son behind her. "Chocolate pecan pie. What did you expect?

"All right Mom! She always comes through, Hannah. Wait til you taste this. It’s incredible. It’s a good thing Howie isn’t here. We wouldn’t get a bite!"

"How is Howard?" Jackie asked as she sliced four pieces of the dark pie. "When is he coming to see us?"

"I’m not sure. You know Howie. Totally unpredictable. He could show up any minute. But he’s doing great. Although I don’t exactly like his current steady squeeze."

Jackie placed the dessert plate on the table before her husband. "Well, as I recall I didn’t care much for your last ‘steady squeezes' along the way . . . ’" She shot a look at Hannah, rolling her eyes.

Brian served Hannah her pie then sat down to his own. "Gee, Mom. And wouldn’t I love to just spoil this perfect evening with a rowdy discussion of all of them. I don’t think so."

That’s when Jackie gently placed her hand on Hannah’s shoulder and looked kindly into her eyes. "Would you like some coffee, honey?"

She couldn’t explain it. The touch of a mother’s hand on her shoulder, the hospitality of this woman and her family, the love between the three of them . . . . Feeling a little like she’d been wrapped in a warm blanket of love, she felt at ease and completely comfortable here. The nervous butterflies in her stomach had disappeared.

She looked into those kind eyes, her own unexpectantly misting over. "Jackie?" she whispered. "Thank you so much."

Jackie leaned over to hug her, understanding completely the expression of gratitude. The gesture said it all. Hannah blinked away the moisture in her eyes, avoiding the long familiar eyes she felt upon her. When she finally looked up, she smiled back at Brian. He dropped his head, absently picking at his pie with his fork. He peeked back at her without lifting his head and flashed a quick smile before looking back down.

That’s odd, Hannah thought. What’s that all about?

"Jackie, that was outstanding," Harold complimented his wife. "And to think you did it all by yourself!"

"Hey!" she scolded. "I still know how to put a meal together! Just because Brian insists on me having a little help around the house, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten all my old recipes."

"Jackie, it was great. Thanks for allowing me to join you guys. You’re a really good cook."

Brian snickered. "You should see what she does with lima beans . . . to die for, Hannah."

"Brian, would you leave this poor girl alone?" Jackie said.

"Actually . . . " his eyes wrinkled up in a mischievous way, "I was thinking I’d challenge her to a game of pool. You like to play, Hannah?"

"Me? Oh no, I need to go. It’s been really nice but it’s getting pretty late."

Harold stood up, carrying his cup of coffee with him. "I was just thinking about that. It’s after midnight. We have more than enough room in this ol’ house. I think you ought to just stay over instead of getting out on the road tonight. Brian could take you home if that’s not all right, but we’re a little uneasy of being out on the streets, especially during the holidays. Most folks don’t know when to draw the line on their holiday cheer, if you know what I mean. So what do you say?"

Jackie beat her to the punch. "Harold, that’s a great idea. Besides, that way you can spend the day with us tomorrow if you don’t have any plans, Hannah."

"No, no—that would really be too much. I just couldn’t—"

"Nonsense. Sure you could." Brian teased. "You’re just afraid I’ll beat you at pool. Chicken. Just pure chicken. Bawk bawk bawk . . ."

Now it was Hannah who stood up. Throwing all her inner restraint out the window, she took the bait. "You’re on, Littrell."

"Whoa! Sounds to me like you’ve played a little pool before?"

"Well now, you’ll just have to find that out for yourself! But excuse me, I thought you were doing the dishes tonight, weren’t you?"

Jackie laughed. "I wouldn’t let him near these good dishes. Hannah, go on and get him out of here for me. You two have a good time. Harold and I are going to turn in for the night. Brian, show her to her room. Why don’t you put her in AJ’s room?"

"Excuse me?"

"She’s got all the guest rooms designated for the guys. They all show up at one time or another and she insists on making them feel at home. You don’t mind staying in AJ’s room, do you?"

"Oh, I guess I can stand it," she teased. "No, that’s fine. This is all too much, but—well, why not!"

"Come on. The table’s downstairs. You’ll love the game room. Wait til you see how Mom decked it out."

* * * * *
Part 2