Christie's Confession

"Breathe in, ladies," said Rhonda McQuaig, the Yoga instructor.  "And hold."  The class stayed in their blossom position, struggling to obey their instructor's directions.

Rhonda was the owner of Rhonda's Dancing Machine, a small storefront just off Crowley Circle.  She conducted a wide variety of dance and yoga classes there.  The morning yoga class she was now conducting included a variety of housewives and retirees.  There were no men, so she had no qualms about solely using the term 'ladies' in her instructions.  There were probably many places where men took yoga classes, but Crowley was not one of them.

The women gathered today were the usual mix of the very well off and the middle class.  There were no truly poor.  There were no minorities, although there were a few in the evening class, including the Indian obstetrician, Dr. Marla Jhadu, and Ramona Adams, the black legal secretary for Cooper & Strickland.

And what a tragedy that firm was going through, what with the horrible murder of Rondy Strickland, a murder that poor Ramona had discovered.  What a scar on this town, and the Sheriff allowing that Gariton Hollander to be bailed out?  Is he letting a killer walk the streets of Crowley?

And the person who bailed him out?  None other than Christie Delco Hollander herself.  Yes, Gariton was her husband, but it was her affair with Rondy that triggered everything. And here the little vixen was, in this very yoga class.  Her attendance was very irregular, but she was here today.

Christie did not look like her regular polished self.  Her make up was splotchy, and she had dark circles under her eyes.  Her yoga clothes looked wrinkled and unwashed.  It made Rhonda wonder whether it was Gariton who had done the laundry, and with them apart, she just let it go.

If only Rondy had stayed with Rhonda, maybe he would be better off.  Yes, she might have had to divorce Edgar, but she had to admit, Rondy was so much more exciting.  He put their affair aside two years ago; ostensibly to focus on Betty Cooper, but anyone with half a brain knew that there was no way that would last.  She was way too reserved and mousy to hold Rondy in thrall.  On the other hand, Christie was way too intense.  Rondy was bound to get burned, and he certainly did.

She looked at Christie with a fiery anger, her cheeks red, her eyes shooting daggers.  Christie noticed and tried to return an indifferent stare, as if Rhonda's hatred did not matter to her.  "Okay, class, let's start our final stretches," Rhonda said.

Rather than stretch, Christie got up and walked out with all the dignity she could muster. Rhonda smirked, satisfied at her ability to intimidate the all mighty Christie Delco.

The class wrapped up, and she chatted with a few of the women.  The last to see her was Teresa Smithson.  She was an odd duck.  Unfailingly enthusiastic, but always dressed in black from her neck to her ankles, only broken by some white and pink striped tennis shoes, she came up to her just to thank Rhonda and wish her the best until next class.

"Aren't you hot in that, Teresa?  You've been wearing that all winter.  It's almost March now, and we've already had some days in the 80s.  Hell, I think it's hitting 80 out there right now," said Rhonda.  She could see the sweat coming off Teresa, and worse, she never saw Teresa hydrate.  Man, Rhonda thought, I hope she never heat strokes in my class.  That's the last thing I need.

Teresa was feeling quite woozy.  She decided to get a drink at the drinking fountain in the hallway, and then freshen up in the restroom.

As she entered the ladies' room, she thought about the coming spring, and what behavior changes she would have to make.  She would have to heal some, and then change where she did things in the future so they would not risk being visible.  There was one scar on her arm just above the back of her elbow, but she could perhaps pass that off as an accident with a knife while cooking.  She had made those kinds of excuses before, and it was surprising how easily people bought them.  Her biggest fear was doctors, but they were easy to avoid if you didn't get so sick that you were forced to go.  And who would force her?  Her husband, Jimmy?  He wouldn't know if her arm was broken and dangling by a thread of muscle.

As she washed her face, she heard sobbing coming from one of the stalls.  "Hello?" she said.  "Are you all right in there?"

"Yes."  Teresa recognized the voice.  It was Christie Hollander.  It was weaker and less certain than she ever remembered hearing before, but it was still unmistakably Christie. "Is there any tissue or toilet paper out there?  This stall seems to be out now."

"Of course, Christie." There was a box of Kleenex on the vanity, and Teresa just grabbed the whole box.  Without thinking, she opened the stall door, and saw Christie in her collapsed state.  She was sitting on the toilet, her makeup gone, except for some mascara that was streaked down her left cheek.  She didn't look like the supremely self-confident woman Teresa knew, but a scared, frightened little girl.

Christie did not fuss at Teresa for opening the stall door.  She just took the box of tissues.  "Thank you.  I'm sorry; I don't know your name.  I know you're a nice person, and I know it makes me not such a nice person that I can't even remember your name."

Teresa smiled a reassuring smile to let Christie know that none of that mattered, that she was a friend and here to help.  "That's all right.  Sometimes I even have trouble remembering who I am."  She laughed, and Christie broke into a slight grin.  "I'm Teresa, Teresa Smithson.  Well, originally Dixon.  But you know...that marriage thing!  Changes us all."

Christie dabbed her eyes, trying to clear enough to see better.  "Ain't that the truth!"

"I've heard the news.  I know you've been though a lot.  I know that there is so much there I can't possibly understand.  But still, I feel for you.  I'm sorry for all the pain you're going through."

"Thank you," Christie said.  And she was sincere.  Normally, Christie wouldn't listen to someone like Teresa for more than a millisecond.  She had spent her time in a world of men and power.  Women were something she had given very little time to.  She had little in common with them, not sharing their domestic hobbies and interests.  And she felt that often, women were jealous of the sexuality and confidence she exuded.

But there was something different about Teresa.  Maybe it was just her broken state, but she felt like Teresa was a true soul, someone she could confide in.  It had been years since she had felt that way about another woman.  Maybe her mother, who passed when Christie was just eleven, and even then, her mother felt cold and distant more often than not.  "I feel so tired, Teresa.  So tired.  I'm not used to this.  I'm usually in control of everything.  And now, I don't know what's going on anymore.  I'm not even sure how I feel."  She paused, then added, "I'm not even sure I can feel."

Teresa bent down and wiped away the mascara on Christie's cheek.  "I don't know.  I think you can feel just fine.  If you didn't, why would you be crying now?"

Christie looked up at her.  "Maybe.  Or maybe I'm just starting to feel for the first time."

Teresa sat down, Indian style, in front of the stall.  "I'll stay here as long as you need me to.  I don't have anywhere to go, and I'm here to help, with whatever you need."

Who was this person?  She wasn't a person of strong faith, but here was this kind person, appearing out of nowhere, just when she really needed somebody the most.

"I love men," Christie started, opening up, letting the floodgates lift.  "I just never thought I could love 'a man'.  How could you settle for just one, when there were so many that did so many different things, and so many that could do so many things for you?  Why limit yourself?"

The whole concept was foreign to Teresa, but she just nodded as if  she agreed.  Her whole world had been Jimmy.  That was a disastrous mistake, but she hadn't been raised to do anything different.  She had no faith or confidence in herself to do anything else.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I really like Gariton.  He was there for me at a real crucial time in my life.  He really cared for me, way beyond the whole sex thing.  He would lasso the moon for me," she said, thinking of the line from one of Gariton's favorite movies, It's A Wonderful Life. "So why I couldn't love him back the way he loved me?"

Teresa shrugged her shoulders a little bit.  Yes, Christie, it was a mystery.  What Teresa wouldn't give for a husband that devoted.  But every one was unique, weren't they?  In what they needed, in what they craved.  Watching a Jimmy Stewart movie with someone who cared for you sounded so much better than watching her husband Jimmy suck down beers while watching NASCAR, and not caring about her at all until it was time for her to bring him another beer.

"Rondy took me by surprise.  He was just supposed to be another itch to scratch in a long line of scratched itches.  I didn't expect to fall in love with him. But I did. Did I know that he wasn't very faithful, that he aggressively played the field, that I might be just another notch in his belt?  Of course I did!  Hell, I was using the same damn playbook!"

Christie paused, and Teresa though she might be getting up, but then Christie started in again.  "Who knows?  Had he lived, maybe that feeling would have faded.  But you know what?  I'll never know.  I'll never know for sure.  But I do know this, ummm, oh crap!  You're gonna hate me, but I already forgot your name."

"It's Teresa.  But really, that doesn't matter.  I'm here.  I'm listening," Teresa reassured her.

"You are so kind.  Kinder than anyone I deserve.  Anyways, this much I know.  Gariton didn't kill him.  He's not capable of that.  And hell, I don't think Gariton's ever held a gun in his life."

"I'm sure you're right," Teresa agreed.  Not that she would really know.  Except sometimes people did surprise you with what they were capable of.  She had thought sometimes, 'what if, just once, I use that razor on Jimmy instead of myself?' But, of course, she never did.

Christie continued, but in a conspiratorial whisper.  "Besides, I know things.  Things that make it more likely somebody else did this.  Rondy was trying to slow them down, you know?  He was putting a monkey wrench in their little plan, and I think it may have pissed some of them off."

Teresa had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn't feel like she should interrupt.  She was unsure she wanted to find out anything that would drag her into this horrible murder case.

"I should tell the Sheriff more.  I know I should.  It might help with Gariton.  He shouldn't pay for what somebody else did.  But I also don't want to get them in trouble, because them includes my Daddy."

Teresa looked at Christie, a little shocked.  "Oh, I don't mean my Daddy did it," responded Christie, seeing the look on Teresa's face.  "He's just a part of that Compton Park Project."

Christie paused again, her mind whirring as to where to go next.  "There's a plant.  You mustn't tell anyone.  It was going to be the gold mine for Rondy and me.  Money!"  She punched out at the stall wall, suddenly angry.  "What good is that now?  What good is it if you wind up like Rondy, or even that teacher we found?"

Before she could stop herself, Teresa asked, "What teacher?"

Christie shook her head.  Maybe she realized she had gone too far, even with this wonderful friend she had found.  "I need to tell the Sheriff about that, don't I?  He needs to know.  What's the point of keeping it a secret anymore?  Who knows?  It might lead to Rondy's killer as well."

Christie fell silent.  After a few minutes, with Teresa holding Christie's hand, she stood up.  "Would you like to see the Sheriff??  Christie looked hesitant.  Teresa though she wanted to but was afraid.  "You don't have to go alone.  I'll go with you.  I'll stay with you until you don't need me anymore."

Christie slowly got up, looking at Teresa almost in awe.  "You would do that for me?"

"Absolutely," assured Teresa.

They hugged.  A mutual, simultaneous reaching out that went on for several minutes.

And then they left.  They were going to go see Sheriff Alan Steel.  Together.