The Crooner by the Cobblestone Fire

In a cold lodge with a holly wreath hanging behind her, Betty sat on a polished stone stool in the warmest spot in the room – in front of a cobblestone fireplace, the fire dancing yellow and orange on the logs. She had a heavy brown blanket wrapped around her shoulders that hung over her knees; only her ankles and toes were exposed. Betty had platinum blond hair which curled in a quaff in the front, and her cheek bones were enviously sharp. Her eyelids naturally hung low, misleading a number of unfortunate men with her alluring gaze only to apologize, “It’s only my eyes.”

Betty sat as close as she could to the cobblestone fire in the lodge, entertaining herself by watching the embers glow hot underneath the charred logs. The fire crackled, shooting a small red ash at her feet, which quickly cooled into a grey smudge by her painted toes.

The fire crackled as the muffled music to her left carried into the room; she watched the door that lead to the theater. There was a nightly show at the famous lodge she was staying at; only now with the holidays, the entertainers were crooning Christmas carols for the festive audience. The songs were met with a roar of applause, thank you’s from the singers, and the host introducing the next number.

But Betty sat on the stony stool alone. She was nervous around crowds, and especially jealous of performers. She would dream, only for a moment, what it would be like to be a performer or a singer, to which the dream soon subsided into a swell of anxiety – the thought of singing in public terrified her greatly. She was easily embarrassed, so much so that she could turn red as an apple if the singers asked the audience to sing along. And just forget when an entertainer came off the stage and spoke to her. Death.

For her holiday, while her family drank and sung merrily in the theater in the other room, she sat quietly by herself, bundled by the cobblestone fire. She had lied to her family and said she was tired, when really she was exhausted from a day’s work of socializing.

The muffled roar of applause welcomed the headliner, Hal Robins, one of the most popular singers and entertainers of this decade. The crowd eagerly hushed to let Hal sing with his velvety voice. Though Betty couldn’t make out the words exactly, she recognized the iconic melody of “White Christmas.” Rolling through the floor from his deep vibrato, Betty could feel his soothing voice warm her like the fire, crackling in her heart. He sang as if he held the meaning of Christmas in his song, charming the room with his slow, low, golden voice.

The muffled roar of applause congratulated Hal Robins for blessing them with the immeasurable pleasure to hear him sing live. Betty smiled to herself, feeling a sense of gratitude she hadn’t missed Hal Robins, even in secret.

As the cheers continued on, the host began introducing the final act of the show. Suddenly, the door Betty watched that lead to the theater opened. Immediately Betty recognized the short, parted, black hair that hid under a fedora and the pointed chin that held up his bright blue eyes and wide nose. Hal Robins walked through the door and into the same room as Betty. She stared wide eyed, star struck by the presence of the most famous singer in the country in the same room as her. She tried to watch the fireplace, hoping he wouldn’t see her. She kept her eyes locked on a large ember that glowed brighter and brighter.

“Seems like, you’ve got the right idea, sitting by the fire. Whew, it’s chilly in here, isn’t it?” Betty turned her head a little, just enough to look over her shoulder to see the superstar approach her. All the feeling in her body left as her face drained itself of color. Hal walked closer and stood right beside her. “Mind if I join?”

Betty used the last of her sense to shake her head, allowing him sit next to her, realizing with overwhelming nerves that the Hal Robins was sitting next to her. Alone. The real Hal Robins.

The late forty year old squat on the adjacent stool beside her and reached in his coat for a pipe and a matchbox. He crossed his right leg, resting his polished shoe on his left knee, and lit the pipe. A spark of fire rose from his pipe as he puffed, and then he waved the match out, which he flicked into the fire. She was breathless watching him act as cool and confident as anyone ever.

He grabbed the bowl of the pipe with just a finger and a thumb and exhaled the smoke between his lips. “You’re enjoying the show?” he asked hopefully.

A lump clogged her throat as she tried answering. “Yeah—yes.”

“Good, good,” he said warmly. “Not too pitchy?” Hal teased.

“No!” she accidentally shouted. “No… you sound... You’re amazing.”

“Well, I appreciate your kind words.” Hal took another puff of his pipe. He placed his hand on his propped knee and watched the fire. She thought to herself that this must be some mistake, as if Hal would realize he was sitting with her and leave to be with someone far more important. Hal glanced to his left and then looked right at her. “You picked a fine spot, kiddo.” She blushed uncontrollably at the word kiddo. “No one else around, peace and quiet.” She blushed harder at his mention that they were totally alone together.

“Mhmm.” She didn’t know what to say, only that she wanted to speak to him.

“Nice to have a break from all the hustle and bustle,” Hal stated. “People pay good money for the show, but sometimes – oy vey.” Betty giggled; she didn’t know why. Hal smiled at her. She giggled again. Hal chuckled a deep chuckle. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

Betty thought about it for a second, trying to remember. “Betty,” she managed to speak.

“Hal.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Oh, do you now?” Hal smiled cheekily.

She rolled her eyes, unable to contain her joy. “Yes, I know who you are. Hal Robins.”

“Well, that’s quite the relief. Tell me, Betty,” Her heart dropped. He said her name. “Since you already know a little about me, why don’t you share a little about yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t have much to say,” she chortled.

“Sure you do! Why, everyone’s got a story. Start with your age. How long has Betty lived on this fine planet?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two? Whew, I’m getting up there. Well, after twenty-two years, surely you have a tale or two about what you’re like, no? Dreams? Passions? A long list of secret admirers chasing you all the way here to the Northeast? Is that why you’re hiding back here instead of watching the show? There’s an old lover of yours in there trying to reconfess his love for you.”

She laughed – she worked so hard not make her laugh sound embarrassing. “No, no not at all.”

Hal snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. You’re a runaway, an outlaw.”

“Oh, please.”

“Most certainly! You look like someone who can really pack a punch.” He gave a short jab in the air, chuckling at his own joke.

“Far from it,” she looked at him with her alluring eyes.

Hal looked back at her, admiring for a moment her hazel eyes. “Nothing at all? Not even a story when little Betty won first prize in school for dance?”

“I’m not like you, Hal, my life is quite boring, you see.”

“Ah.” Hal brought the pipe to his lips and puffed twice, letting the smoke slip out the side of his mouth. “Let’s hope before the night is over you’ve got a little story worth telling, how ‘bout it, kiddo?”

Betty’s cheeks pushed up as she smiled happily. “You can try.”

Hal brushed his hands together. “I accept.” He pulled a cigarette carton out of his coat and held it to her. “Smoke?”

She reached for one. “Occasionally.” Betty took a cigarette out and held it in her lips.

Hal took out his matchbox and slid it open. “Only got one. Here.” He slid the matchbox closed and shoved it in his coat and leaned towards her with the pipe in his mouth. He pointed to the pipe.

Betty slowly leaned towards him and held the cigarette in her mouth over the pipe. She looked up and saw how shockingly close they were; Hal looked at the cigarette, she looked at his blue eyes. “Got it?” Hal chimed out from the side of his mouth. She realized she wasn’t puffing. She took a quick puff and lit the cigarette. They pulled away from each other. “There,” Hal said pleased. “Always good to offer what you already have to someone, no?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

He turned on the stool and faced her completely. “Do you sing, Betty?”

“Dreadfully.”

“Well, that’s better than not at all,” he chuckled.

“It might as well be. I’m awfully terrified of singing.”

“Oh, it’s not that hard.”

She scoffed. “For you! You’re the most amazing singer ever.”

“Come, come. Singing is quite simple really. I’ll teach you.”

“No,” she blushed. “I’m terrible, Hal, really.”

“It’s easy. Let’s start simple. An easy middle C.” Hal sung a single note, and somehow he made it sound magical. “Dooooh.”

Betty glared coyly at him and puffed her cigarette. “I’m not singing, Hal.”

“Just a nice and easy note, Betty,” he egged her on. “It’s a simple as... dooooh.”

She shook her head relentlessly. “How do you do it?”

“Do what now?” he asked knowingly.

“Sing so effortlessly. I can’t even sing for one person, you sing for thousands – millions!”

“Truthfully, Betty, singing is one thing. It’s making it worth watching – well now that’s the trick. See, if I sing without performing I’ll look like a cardboard cutout!”

Betty giggled. Hal rustled himself, as if shaking off dust, and straightened his posture perfectly upright. He kept a blank expression and sang “White Christmas” as boring as could be, intentionally singing monotone. She laughed until she snorted. Hal broke out of singing and laughed at her snort. Betty covered her face with the blanket in worldly embarrassment.

“Come now, don’t hide your face! I thought it was cute.” She peeked her eyes over the blanket. Hal waved for her to uncover her face. She slowly lowered it, revealing her apple-red cheeks. “There, that’s better, kiddo.” Betty convinced herself this was surely a dream, and eventually she’d wake up as Hal flirted with her.

“No, it’s not the singing that’s so hard. It’s entertaining people, that’s the key,” Hal resumed. “Anyone can sing, I believe. But to perform it, to invite someone into their song and make it something bigger – well, now that’s where the big bucks are made. Anyone can walk up to a microphone and belt a tune. But not just anyone can make the lyrics their own. Make it matter. Make it mean something…” Hal transitioned into “White Christmas” once more, but made it heavenly. He stared at her as he carried his voice with ease, serenading Betty by the fireplace, as if he wrote the song just for her; as if he learned to sing just for this moment.

The world around Betty disappeared as his voice soothed her soul; she was entranced, her heart raced. He finished the song and smiled softly. “That… was…” she swallowed. “Beautiful.”

“It’s easier when you sing to someone that wants to hear. There’s a connection between you and I, Betty, that makes this whole shtick worth it.” She didn’t know how to react. “I get to go on a stage and sing a little bit for good people, and they like it enough to throw a couple of bucks my way. As fortune would have it, I’ve landed a few gigs in a motion picture or two. But what makes it all worth it is folks like you.”

Betty lowered her chin as her shoulders sank. “I’d love to have your confidence. Your compassion for people. I’m just so terribly, awfully, horribly shy.” She took a quick draw of her cigarette.

“Well, Betty, you don’t have to be some flashy entertainer to learn that kind of confidence. All you need is the right person to give you a push. Let you know you’ve got something worth watching or hearing. Whether it’s singing or whatever it may be. As long as you use your voice, huh?”

She smiled gratefully. Her nerves seemed to vanish. “I’ve never been good at, I suppose, putting myself out there. I’m just not like you, Hal.”

“For the sake of this world, I hope you’re not!” He laughed a little then smiled kindly. “You’ll find that little spark in you, I know it’s in there. Come now – just this little time together between us was worth it for me. Imagine if all those folks out there in that theater got to know you like I have?”

His compliments continued to put a smile on her face, better than any song he had ever sung. “I guess I never thought of myself as having anything worth sharing.”

“Oh, haven’t we all felt that way from time to time. I even think that every now and then.” Just then, they could hear faint applause from the theater. Hal looked back and then pulled his coat sleeve back to check his watch. “They’ll throw a fit if I don’t make it for this last number, don’t you think?”

“Furious,” she joked.

Hal smiled, happy she teased him. He stood up from the stone stool and looked at the fireplace. He walked to the fire and took one last puff of his pipe before taking it out of his mouth and dumping the ash over the fire. Hal turned around and walked to Betty and held the pipe out for her. “A little reminder to find your spark.” She accepted the gesture, admiring the pipe like a relic. “Always good to offer what you already have to someone, no?”

“Always. Thank you, Hal.”

“Here’s hoping this little story between us isn’t the only thing you’ll tell, kiddo.” He winked at her.

Hal turned around and walked to the door that lead to the theater. Betty watched Hal twist the knob and disappear from the room. The crowd welcomed Hal one last time to the stage as Betty twirled the pipe in her hand, smiling contently, wishing this night was never only just a dream.