Rog and Crissy

Beverly and Jeannie Baxter

Nora Powell

Misty Carter

Lulu Preston

Rog and Crissy, Christmas Sweethearts

A very Merry Christmas to all of you!

Christmas Cuties

   Crissy looked intently at the Christmas cards she'd set up. Roger was just getting the tree in the right place. Although the size of their house didn't allow for a very large tree, they both felt they had found one which was absolutely perfect. Not only was it short enough to fit the room like a glove once the star was in place, but it was nice and full with even sides. Really, it would be hard to find a better tree than this. Seeing it fully decorated was going to be a treat.

   "Okay," Roger grinned, "we can start trimming it now."

   "C'mere for a second." Crissy was looking even more intently at her Christmas cards. Roger stepped over and placed his hands on her shoulders. 

   "What's cooking?" He kissed the top of her head. She smiled and looked at him before pointing to the cards.

   "Take a look at these cards and tell me what you see." Roger studied the cards for a moment before looking back to Crissy.

   "Depictions of our Savior's birth?"

   "Look at this one," Crissy held up a card showing a woodland cabin nestled in the snow, "it reminds me how warm it is around here. Not very Christmasy at all."

   "It's not where you spend Christmas that makes it what it is."

   "Oh, I know that, it's just after listening to White Christmas on the radio again, I think Bing might have a point."

   "You want snow for Christmas?"

   "Well, not really, but Christmas lasts for twelve days and I'm thinking it might be fun to spend a couple of them in someplace like is on this card here."

   Roger could only think back to the Christmas he spent in Europe in '44. The still, cold night sky, twinkling stars, and snow-covered countryside were indeed picturesque, but he was hardly in the best place to enjoy it. His unit was positioned on a hillside where it was impossible to build a fire for warmth, lest it draw enemy fire. Born to the humidity of Creek Bend, that winter overseas was one of the most miserable times of Roger's life. It was only by the grace of God that Rog hadn't lost his toes. Still, if Crissy wanted a traditional Christmas, he'd see that she got it. Surely the snow and ice would be much easier to endure if they were being viewed from the other side of a picture window.

   "Only a couple of days, right?"

   "I can't imagine wanting any more than that. I'm too used to the Creek Bend climate."

   "I think one of the men on my board has a cabin we could rent from him for a couple of days. I'll make the arrangements if it's what you really want."

   Creek Bend may not have seen snowfall but once every sixty years or so, but the town did Christmas up big. Main street was decked with lights and decorations fit for the largest of cities. Gay apparel was donned as well, though sweaters were scarce as they would not have survived the normal actions of a farming community blessed with constant warmth. Still, the shirts the men wore suddenly took on a rainbow of colors in difference to the standard white shirts which marked most of the year. The business men in town favored cardigan sweaters, but they popped in Technicolor hues that gave the town the look of a picture postcard. The only thing they didn't have was snow, but that really didn't bother anyone aside from the kids. They had been taken into account, however.

    The town square included a large park area where many years ago had been the customary bandstand which came to life during Summer picnics. Misty Carter arranged with the town leaders to truck in mounds of snow to be spread over the park so the local kids could frolic in it before it had a chance to melt away. The sight of all those kids running around and building snowmen and throwing snowballs, all while clad in short sleeves, was one of the highlights of the Christmas season here. 

    The studio did it's part, too. In addition to decorating the place, they also put on a show for the locals every Christmas. Here was the perfect mixture of small-town sensibility and Hollywood glamor, as the stars would give their time to entertain anyone who stopped by with songs, dances, dramatic readings, comedy routines, whatever they enjoyed doing most. The show was free, the studio's Christmas present to the town. 

   The building of the studio in the first place was handled very carefully, as it was important to the Boss that the town's natural rustic beauty not be disturbed. He didn't want to destroy the very thing that drew him here, after all. The land at the far end of town was purchased and all expansion went away from the town itself, sound stages and production buildings and back lots eventually taking up an area twice the size of the town itself! The main gate was right at the end of the main street, though nestled behind a row of trees which kept the studio walls from being an eyesore. The presence of the studio did demand additional housing for studio employees and stars. A side street of suburban homes sprang up, partly paid for by the studio for it's use as yet another location for filming. That, too, expanded away from the center of town, creating a unique situation where the outskirts of the town were the more developed areas. Suburban homes stretched back and up the hillside where more ornate homes were built. Down near the main street, though, was the modest home shared by the Baxter sisters.

   Beverly cooed as she pulled an ornament from a box and held it up next to the tree.

   "Look, Jeannie, it's the ornament I made when I was eight." Beverly smiled to herself. "I was such an adorable child." Sitting on the other side of the tree, Jeannie smiled and shook her head as she sucked on a candy cane.

   "Where did I put that box of tinsel?" Jeannie looked intently.

   "Do us a favor, sister dear, and don't eat all the candy canes this year. Only two made it onto the tree last year."

   "Yes," Jeannie sat back up with a grin, "and you ate those."

   "Hmmf." Beverly grabbed another ornament.

   "Are Davy and his mother coming here, or are we going there?"

   "I thought about that. I think it's best we go there for our party. I want Davy to think of his house as a happy place."

   "That makes sense. I think you've been a real help to him."

   "I wish I could do more." Beverly dangled another ornament in front of herself, this one depicting a happy family sitting around a cozy fireplace. It was a stark reminder of how this Christmas was going to be the first Davy would have to spend without his father. "I can't imagine what he's going through."

   "It helps him to know he's loved," Jeannie offered, "I'm sure that makes the whole situation easier to bear."

   "I've been so focused on Davy that I haven't considered how hard this must be for his mom. I can imagine what it'd be like to lose a father, but losing a husband... She must be going through a rough time of it."

   "I think she's helped, too, if Davy's spirits are lifted. At least she doesn't have to worry about him as well as herself. That must make things a little easier on her."

   "Yeah. After what she had with Warren, I don't know if she's even entertained the idea of marrying again. It might be the best thing for her to do for Davy's sake, eventually. A boy needs a father."

   "I don't know how soon she'd let herself think about it, but she's got a leg up. She's still young, and very pretty. But I imagine it'll be a long time before she can even look at another man without thinking of Warren."

   Beverly dug a little bell out of her box. It was a very special ornament, the first ornament Mr. Baxter had given to the girls. It's gentle ringing was to always remind them of the special bond they have as sisters, as family. He made a point to see the girls had this particular ornament when they moved out on their own. It would be a reminder of their old home. Beverly placed the bell on the tree and let it sway so as to sound that comforting ring.

   Roger and Crissy figured it best to spend the couple of days before Christmas at the cabin so they could return to Creek Bend for the usual festivities once Christmas actually began. They didn't want to miss Minerva's much anticipated bash, for instance. They already had their first great Christmas memory by trimming the tree together. It was a simple thing, but it was exactly the sort of warm remembrance they knew they would look back on with fondness. This stay at the cabin was sure to be another such memory. Both began having second thoughts as they  stepped off the train and felt a gust of cold wind, however. Crissy in particular was chilled as the breeze shot up her skirt. She momentarily stopped in her tracks, displaying a look of extreme discomfort. 

   Roger stood by. He'd largely forgotten what the extreme cold felt like. He regretted wearing his usual thin socks, as his ankles were cold now. Crissy looked up at Roger, wanting to tell him she'd changed her mind but also not wanting to for all the effort he'd gone to in arranging this trip. Another blast of cold air, which again found it's way up Crissy's skirt, made the decision a bit easier to make. Crissy pointed to a snowbank which had been swept off of the platform.

   "There, I've seen my snow. Let's go home!" To Crissy's surprise, Roger didn't offer a second's protest as he gathered up their bags and turned back to the door of the train.

   "Okay."

   "Wait." Crissy tugged at Roger's sleeve and turned him back. "I'm being a baby. The cabin will be nice and warm."

   "Well, it will be in a couple of hours, I imagine. We'll have to start a fire when we get there, so when we first walk in it'll probably be about like this."

   "I feel silly after all you've done to make this happen."

   "Don't feel silly," Roger smiled, "not every idea is going to be a winner, you know. Right now, I can't think of a more inviting prospect than to cuddle up with you under a big blanket as we ride the train back home."

   "You're sure? We're already out the cost of the train tickets. If we turn back now, we've made the trip for nothing."

   "Not really, we got to go on a train ride together."

   "We've done that lot's of times."

   "Yes, but this trip we can just watch the scenery pass by the windows. You still get to see your winter wonderland, it's just on the move." Roger leaned in closer and kissed his wife. "I can live with that if you can." Crissy smiled lovingly. Another blast of cold wind up her skirt was enough to cause a yelp and she pushed Roger toward the train.

   "Sounds good to me! Hopefully, my little cotton tail will be thawed by the time we reach home!"

   Minerva Mallen did Christmas up big, even moreso than her studio did. Her house was the scene of an annual get-together to which everyone was invited. During the course of the day before Christmas, nearly everyone in town seemed to pass through the Mallen house. Farmers rubbed shoulders with directors and actors, munching on Minerva's house specialty. Pizza wasn't traditional Christmas food, but Minerva loved to make it and the townsfolk certainly enjoyed it. On the way to the house, they would all stop to drink in the details of Minerva's life-size nativity scene on the front lawn. It was another one of the highlights of the Christmas season in Creek Bend.

   Minerva pulled another pizza out of her oven before shoving a new one in it's place. Wendy was at her side, helping the operation run as smoothly as possible. Wendy glanced out the window.

   "One of your wise men fell over, Minnie."

   "Again? He's been unsteady on his feet all day. I'd better go out there and fix it. Keep an eye on that next pizza." Minerva wondered how to make the figure more stable as she shifted the wise man around. She thought about placing some stones at his base to help, and knelt down to brush some of the straw aside. The only good-sized stone in evidence was the manger itself, an actual relic she'd picked up on a trip to Israel a few years back. She rested on her knees as she took a look at the figure placed in the manger, thinking about the meaning of the season.

   "I wonder...," Minerva spoke to the figure of the Christ child, "were you aware of who you were and why you were born, as you lay there in that manger? Did you know you were to die in our place, to give us yours?" She smiled and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath, then continued her search for a rock or two she could use to stabilize her wise man. While she was doing so, the figure in question again toppled over and landed square on Minnie's head.

   Minnie pushed the wise man aside and sat up, rubbing her head. She was just going to have to attach a spike to the figure so it could be planted in place. As she pushed it back into a standing position, she found she was suddenly bathed in light from above. What she saw when she looked up was completely unexpected. Suspended over the lawn was a big sleigh, and standing in it was a plump man dressed as Santa Claus.

   "Merry Christmas, Minerva!" The man called out and followed up with a hearty laugh.

   "Merry Christmas. You certainly go all-out, don't you?" Minerva noticed that the sleigh lacked any means of support. It wasn't being held up with wires or anything, nor was it perched on any sort of platform. "What goes on here?" The sleigh lowered to the ground, the man inside remaining perfectly in place. Minerva's eyes bugged. "How'd you do that?!"

   "I've had a lot of practice. I'm Santa Claus, you know."

   "Oh, come now! You don't even have any flying reindeer."

   "Actually, I do. Come look." Kringle reached over and opened a compartment in roughly the same place as one would find a glove box. Minerva stepped over and gasped as she saw inside the compartment stood a circle of reindeer, each about two inches tall!

   "I know those eight reindeer are described as being tiny, but this is ridiculous!"

   "They don't actually fly, but they give off energy that powers my sleigh to make IT fly."

   "You can't be on the level!"

   "Why not? With everything that Santa Claus does, I should think this would be the easiest part to accept."

   "I guess you have a point there." Minerva leaned in and took a good look at the reindeer. It wasn't a trick. The compartment housed a grouping of miniature reindeer. Minerva stood up straight and rubbed her eyes, then took another look at the sleigh and it's pilot. "Then you... No, it can't be."

   "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

   "Granted, but... Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say you really are Santa Claus. What are you doing here?"

   "Each year, I like to find someone to make my rounds with me, as a present to them. Look around you, Minerva. You have the Christmas Spirit in abundance. I want you to ride with me this year."

   "Really? You want ME to help you deliver your presents?"

   "It's an honor few receive, and you can't tell anyone about it when it's over. The whole point of giving is that it isn't something you do for gain or recognition."

   "Just how long has this been going on?"

   "For a while now. I had to stop during the War as it was too dangerous, but I've been taking passengers along since then. Danny Thomas rode with me last year."

   "Really?"

   "Red Skelton the year before that."

   "You like to work with actors, don't you?"

   "Sometimes. Those who have the child-like joy of the season. That's why I've picked you this year. Climb aboard!"

   "I dunno..." Minerva placed a hand on the sleigh. "Are you sure this thing is safe?"

   "Of course! I've been doing this since 1923."

   "1923?"

   "The position of Santa Claus is a mantel that gets passed from man to man. A German fellow was the previous Santa Claus. He figured an American would be a good replacement after our showing in The Great War."

   "You were a soldier?"

   "None value peace so much as the warrior." Santa held out his hand. "Come aboard." Minerva hesitated, but there was something about this guy that prompted trust. Minerva took his hand and climbed into the sleigh. Santa took his seat and raised a lever which caused the craft to rise into the air. Minerva was agog as she looked over the side. Santa chuckled and turned the sleigh. Minerva looked back to see the infamous bag of toys, then she looked over at Santa.

   "You have stuff in there for millions of kids all over the world?"

   "Actually, my rounds aren't quite as extensive as one has been told. Oh, I still go all over the world, but I only deliver a few gifts to needy children. Parents buy most of the gifts that get given to their children. Santa Claus only tends to special cases. For example..." Santa stepped up the power and within the blink of an eye the sleigh was across town. Minerva had to reorient herself, but she recognized the house over which the sleigh now hovered.

   "I know that house. It's the Crenshaw home."

   "Yes. And it's a home that needs a Christmas miracle. You may have heard that Mr. Crenshaw lost his job not long ago."

   "Yes. I saw him at the party this evening, though. He looked like he was holding up well."

   "He's been putting on a brave front, but the truth is he's on hard times. He made a point to take his family to your party because the pizza you served was their meal for this day."

   "I had no idea. Why didn't he say anything?"

   "Pride. Some men find it difficult to accept charity, particularly those who survived the Depression. Men like Mr. Crenshaw feel that if they can't work a problem out on their own, they don't have value as men."

   "I guess I understand that, but there's no shame in accepting help if you need it."

   "The key being if one needs it. Men like Joe Crenshaw feel they shouldn't need it, lest they become the sort who take from their neighbors even when they don't have to. He's really thinking of his fellow man. Yes, he's being stubborn, but he's doing what he thinks is right. He has to set an example for his son."

   "Hard to fault him there."

   "His heart is in the right place, but he needs to understand that charity is as much a help to the person giving as it is to the person receiving. He just needs a little help to push him through the year. He's going to get a better job in January, and he'll be fine. He needs a little help right now, though, even if he doesn't know it." Santa reached for his bag and produced a gift basket of food, a toy gun for Billy Crenshaw, and a doll for Cindy Crenshaw. Then he pulled from his pocket a small gun that looked like something from a Space Patrol premium. 

   "Is that another toy?"

   "Watch this." Santa smiled as he turned the gun on the gifts and pressed the trigger. The items were enveloped in transparent bubbles. Minerva bugged her eyes, and somehow managed to bug them even more when the bubbles and the items within began to shrink until all three bubbles could fit inside Santa's fist. He flung the bubbles at the house, where they seemed to take on a life of their own and flew down into the chimney. Santa lowered the sleigh so Minerva could look inside the window and see the bubbles emerge from the fireplace and circle the tree. Santa adjusted a dial on the gun and the bubbles returned to their original size before setting down and vanishing, leaving behind the gifts which sat perfectly under the tree.

   "How?" Minerva couldn't say anything else.

   "It's Christmas. Who do you think I work for?"

   "Wow." Minerva fell back into the passenger seat. Joe was going to be shocked the next day, but not as shocked as Minerva was right now. Santa raised the sleigh again and headed for their next destination.

   Wendy patted Minerva's face, rousing her friend from unconsciousness. Minerva was groggy, but she looked around and rubbed her head. Seeing Wendy, Minerva asked what happened.

   "You were tackled by your wise man. Are you okay?"

   "Yeah, I think so. I'd better secure that thing before I go back inside. Why did they make it so top-heavy in the first place?" Minerva didn't think much about her dream beyond jotting down a few notes which could be used to make a cartoon out of it. She might not have thought about it any more than that, had she not run into Mrs. Crenshaw a couple of days later. Minerva was awestruck as she was told about the presents that had been discovered under the tree on Christmas morning. The food basket, the gun, the doll, all as she had dreamed it. But there was something else. Mrs. Crenshaw was shopping today because Joe had found some cash tucked into his jacket pocket. Minerva was at a loss to explain this, or any of it, really, but Christmas truly is the season of miracles. Why complicate it?

   At the Ralphwit home, the unexpected bounty delivered to the Crenshaws was also the topic of discussion. Roger and Crissy were curled up on the couch, having exchanged that day's presents. They were doing it the traditional way, exchanging a new gift to each other over the twelve days of Christmas.

   "Very odd feeling," Roger mused, "breaking into someone's house in the middle of the night to leave them some things to help them out."

   "Yeah," Crissy sighed as she rested her head on Roger's chest and listened to his heartbeat, "playing Santa Claus in a literal fashion probably isn't something we should make a tradition of, but I'm glad we did what we did for the Crenshaws."

   "I am too, at least I was once we were finished. While we were actually in Joe's house, I kept thinking about him hearing us in the living room and coming after us with his hunting rifle!"

   "I think we got away with it. Minerva saw me carrying the gifts by her window, but I doubt she took inventory. Even if she does piece together that we were behind it, I'm sure she won't say anything."

   "No, she's a good egg. It's a good thing you ran into Cindy while we were at Minerva's. If she hadn't told you what was going on, we never would have known."

   "I didn't want to pry, but she let slip how Minnie's pizza was going to be her whole Christmas. I figured Joe would bounce right back after the plant closed."

   "He will. I've already got a new job for him in the works. He should be hired on the second or third, well before his groceries run out."

   "You're a good man, Rog." Crissy smiled as she snuggled deeper into his side. His steady heartbeat soothed her, increasing her comfort. In a moment, she nodded off and began sleeping so soundly that Roger dared not move. He closed his eyes and nodded off too. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS 

FROM THE 

      CARTOON CUTIES!            

Lois Teppert/"Chickie Little"

Color plate for issue 3

Cover art for planned second short story collection

Colors by Rusty Gilligan

Doris Flowers

Merry Christmas for Mala

   Mala let out a yelp as she jumped back. How she managed not to scream, she couldn't figure. As she was pulling out a drawer to grab a fresh pair of stockings, a rat had run right up onto the chest of drawers and only inches from her face. She had no weapon handy, but dared not let the rat escape. She had to, though, as the rat ran off and disappeared before she could make her move. It was a mighty uncomfortable thought that the creature was running around the house, but she wasn't in a position to do much about it right now. She finished putting on her uniform and left with the intention of picking up some rat traps. Surely Ed and Misty would want the creature removed as much as Mala did.

   The hardware store in town offered a selection of traps, but Mala was unsure which would work best. She tried not to exaggerate the size of the rat when discussing the matter with the salesman, but she still ended up walking out with some good-sized traps. Not much happened on Saturdays, so Mala decided to take the scenic route back to the Carter house. When she arrived, Ed was just finishing putting up the Christmas tree. Misty sat down to take a look at the placement. 

   "It's perfect," Misty clapped her hands together, "and it'll look just wonderful once we have it decorated!" The rest of the room was already decked out, with tasteful but colorful decorations adorning every door and window. Mala felt a little guilty about showing up so late, feeling she could have been a great help if she'd been on hand. She was rather touched to find that Ed had hung an extra stocking over the fireplace, a stocking with Mala's name beautifully embroidered upon it. Mala blushed at the sight, she was so moved. Ed noticed.

   "You're one of the family now, Mala," he proudly gestured to the stocking, "do you like it?"

   "Oh, it's just wonderful," Mala reached up and removed a tear from her eye, "I feel so guilty about not being here sooner to help you decorate."

   "Don't worry about that. Misty loves to decorate for Christmas. But you can help us trim the tree."

   "Really? When I came to work as your maid, I never expected you'd open your home to me so fully."

   "Like Ed said," Misty stood, "you're a part of our family now, Mala."

   "You have such big hearts," Mala sighed, "I thought I was just the maid." It became clear to Ed and Misty that Mala wasn't used to being treated with such kindness. Not for a long time, at least. In her childhood, Roger was always there. She was on her own by the time he'd come back from the Army, however, and after that she'd fallen into whatever horror it was that was turning the wolves into savages. It had been a long time since Mala felt like she was part of a real family, and she thought her place with the Carters would be that of a domestic only. 

    She quickly learned she wasn't to be just a hired servant, however. Misty always urged her friends to call her by first name, and insisted Mala do so as well. Mala had been given quarters which turned out to be rather more opulent than anything she ever expected. And there was the way Misty treated her. When Misty needed something done, she let Mala know it, but never in the form of an order. Really, Misty had been treating Mala like a sister all along. Misty came from high society, but her breeding never shaded her interaction with Mala. The two girls had spent much time in conversation. They spoke over breakfast, lounging by the pool, and even while Mala went about her duties. Misty had been used to doing her own cleaning for a while, which was her justification for giving Mala a hand whenever they were together. At first, Mala expected things to settle into a normal routine where Misty would fully turn over the chores to Mala. But that hadn't happened. Mala tended to do her cleaning when Misty was at the studio, but somehow, Misty always managed be back home in time to lend a hand.

   "You didn't need a maid," Mala looked at Misty, "just why did you hire me?"

   "I wouldn't say we didn't need a maid," Misty motioned to the room, "this is pretty big place and I wouldn't want to keep cleaning it by myself on weekends when someone could keep it clean for me every day."

   "But you never let me do all the cleaning. You took a big chance, inviting me to live and work here. And you knew what I'd done... I can't figure the motivation."

   "Have a seat, Mala." Ed gestured to the couch. Mala complied.

   "Okay."

   "I was a friend of the Warden, and he told me about the program. We thought it would be a good way to help someone get a leg up."

   "We both thought it would be worth anything to break that smut ring," Misty chimed in, "opening our doors to whoever took that risk seemed entirely worth it. While you were undercover, we told Roger about the program. We wanted him to know, since he and Crissy are such dear friends of ours. They both thought it was a good idea."

   "They did? Even before I was out?"

   "What you were doing was worthy of reward," Ed said, "a second chance. Roger wanted you to get that second chance. So did Crissy. We knew you'd changed after you'd been locked away. We were given full details on you before we were asked to go through with it. We figured our home would be a better environment than the wolf pack."

   "Yes," Mala looked at her feet, "I can never thank you enough for what you've done. And now, to know you think of me as a member of the family... I can't put into words how wonderful I feel." Mala looked up with a smile. Then her eyes caught sight of the rat and she began screaming, much to the confusion of Ed and Misty. Mala pointed to the rat, as it nibbled at the lower branches of the tree. Ed put out his hand to tell both girls to keep still. What he did next was pretty impressive. He reached for the hammer still resting on the mantel, then used it as a missile. His aim was perfect, and the rat was clonked in the head. Ed then finished the job with his foot, stomping down on the dazed rodent and killing the pest.

   Now able to catch her breath, Mala broke another smile. "I don't have to clean that up, do I?"

   "I'm not touching it!" Misty playfully insisted. Ed rolled his eyes and smiled before stooping down to wrap some newspaper around the dead rat. Fortunately, he'd laid some down to catch the needles before setting up the tree.

   "These things usually come in waves," Ed noted, "we'll need to set out some traps." Mala grinned as she scooped up the bag of traps she'd purchased earlier.

   "Well, looks like we got the perfect Christmas present from Mala, Ed!"

   "That's actually something I've been having trouble with," Mala admitted, "what can I possibly get for you two that you don't have already. What I do have for you seems sorta silly, after what you've told me just now. But the one thing I got sorta good at over the years was wood carving. You can buy anything you want, so I figured maybe I could make something you wouldn't think of buying for yourself."

   "I admit you have us intrigued," Ed said as he put his arm around Misty, "I didn't know you did wood carvings." Mala sat silently for a second, then walked up the stairs. A few minutes later, she came down carrying a cardboard box.

   "I'm going to go ahead and give these to you now," Mala said, "if it's not your cup of tea, I still have time to find something better. I haven't been here long enough to really know your tastes, apart from what I can glean from the rest of the stuff in the house." Ed and Misty stood by as Mala set the box on the couch and then pulled out of it two very beautiful carvings. For Ed was a soap dish shaped like a clam shell decorated with a Navy anchor. To Misty was given a soap dish shaped like her string of pearls resting over a small round pillow. Mala was embarrassed, thinking the bobbles worthless and crude. What Ed and Misty could see was personalized, beautifully crafted, and demonstrative of Mala's hidden talents. Misty was so touched that she sniffed back a tear as she hugged Mala in thanks. Mala was actually a bit surprised. "You like them? You really like them?" Ed nodded and smiled as he held up his dish for close inspection.

   "Oh, Mala," Misty admired her soap dish, "these are absolutely beautiful! Merry Christmas!"

   "Merry Christmas. And thank you, for everything." Mala then screamed as she saw another rat.   

Future cover?

Color plate for issue 3

Yvette Pond

The Goldilocks Rush

   Trixie looked at her reflection as she checked her makeup, displaying some degree of puzzlement. She'd been cast as Goldilocks for a TV production, but her natural golden locks had been stuffed into a platinum blonde wig. Why? Because the station was going to use some stock footage taken on location, for scenes showing Goldilocks enter the house of the three bears. 

   Through a snafu, the actress doubling for Trixie in those scenes was a platinum blonde. Despite the fact that this was going to be broadcast in black and white, the director felt her hair still needed to match that of the other girl. And really, who would notice her hair when this was going to be the first Goldilocks to be be dressed in a Creek Bend bikini? It was an odd show, for sure. With sponsorship by the Creek Bend Bikini Company, the production could afford to hire a movie starlet like Trixie Hope, but on condition that she also wear the product. When Trixie signed on, she thought this was going to be for the kiddies, but her wardrobe suggested her audience wouldn't be quite so limited. On the other hand, she spent much of her time in front of the camera so dressed, so this was prettymuch business as usual -aside from the wig.

   KLOR had some professional production facilities, but locally-produced programming had been of fairly minor interest to viewers which preferred reruns of Space Patrol. Maybe a good-natured comedy show built around a beautiful girl in a bathing suit would help widen the viewership for original programming. Of course, this would raise the bar a bit for expectations of future shows with similar visual appeal. Other stations did well with original programming, their viewers more interested in new material than old reruns. Creek Bend was a unique location in so many ways. The number of annies who lived there was what most people knew about the town, since it boasted a higher count of annies per capita than any other location. With that in mind, a new twist on the Goldilocks story seemed a perfect idea to the station manager.

   It was more difficult for Trixie than she imagined. Aside from the final scene, she would be doing all her shots by herself. This meant exposition was going to be provided almost entirely by Trixie as Goldilocks talking out loud to herself. Still, everything was going fine until the shot where the chair she was sitting in gave way and she hit the floor. The break went as planned, but she twisted her foot in the process. She wasn't seriously injured or anything, but it did make it difficult to walk to her next mark. Her final scene would have her sitting in the baby bear's bed, fortunately, but the camera crew was having difficulty getting the scene where she moved to the bedroom to check out the accommodations. Trixie hobbled through the door as best she could, but soon she was hopping from bed to bed and making sounds of discomfort. 

   "Trix," the director called cut again, "is there any way you can get through this without moaning?"

   "I'm sorry, but I'm doing my best. Maybe you should write in that I hurt my foot."

   "I think we'll have to. We have to finish within the hour so the film can be edited in time to go on tonight." He paused and looked around at his crew, then back to Trixie. "Okay, we'll make the limp part of the scene, but it means re-shooting the part where you walked into the bedroom."

   "Alright," Trixie hung her head, "I don't want to, but I will."

   "The only other option is to ice your foot down again."

   "Do you have to do it all in full shot? Maybe I can wrap the ice pack around my ankle and then you can just shoot me in medium."

   "That'd work except for two things. One, full shots were requested by the sponsor, since you're wearing their product. Now I might be able to get around that with medium full shots that would keep your feet off screen, but there's no way to hide your feet when you crawl into each bed, so you'll still need to take it off for those shots."

   "Was it their idea that I be barefoot in the first place?"

   "Don't knock it, Trixie. If you'd hit your foot that way while wearing heels you would have twisted it worse."

  "Yeah, I guess you have a point." Trixie hopped over to the first mark. "Let's just get this over with. I can get through it faster if we just write-in the ankle."

   The next few minutes passed quickly enough, thanks to the practiced speed of the camera crew brought in from C.B.I.P., a move which proved essential in getting the production assembled on time. Another break came from the fact they were shooting it more or less in order, so as to cut down on the amount of editing required. Trixie rubbed her foot as she waited for the next scene. It was much better now, and would be back to normal by bedtime. She was rather unsure how the TV special would come out, but she did her best. The sore foot allowed her to do some physical comedy by playing up her discomfort during filming. That at least made the scenes more interesting than they were written, which was pretty straight. In fact, the new scenes were so funny that they made the opening feel rather dry. Time didn't allow for the earlier scenes to be punched up with more jokes, so hopefully a slow build would come across as appearing planned in advance. This raised the bar a bit, in terms of making the climax more amusing, so the crew took a break as the actors mulled over how to throw in more gags. Time was short, though, so there'd be some ad-libbing once the cameras were rolling again.

   Trixie was at least allowed to relax during this, since she was already snuggled up in the baby bear's bed and would remain there until chased out for the big finish -now clad in a night gown which, had she been able to change earlier in the scene might have allowed her to wear the ice pack all along. The actors were allowed to make up the scene on the spot, since they were working from such a familiar plot. Trixie pretended that her foot was still in pain and hobbled around as the bears gave chase. The bears in question were a real family, and they came from a circus background. This allowed for a wild slapstick scene of the three falling all over each other and continuing to trip as they struggled to back to the feet. This realistically gave Goldilocks time to slip out, despite her hopping about on one foot. The camera crew burst out in laughter at these antics. Under normal conditions, this would ruin the take, but the station manager had an idea. When the film was cut together, it would be broadcast WHILE it was being viewed by a live audience. This way, their laughter would be recorded and cover the chuckles of the film crew.

   For this to work, the film would have to be screened on the stage normally used for the local kiddie show. The projector would beam the show onto a huge wall opposite rows of seats which normally housed local children and their parents. It was the same screen which ran cartoons shown for Mr. Sam's Treehouse. Now the challenge was to get the film processed and edited on time to go on that night. Things weren't usually this slapdash, but the shooting of the film had already been scheduled for earlier on the same day that a planned program had to be dropped from the line-up. It was cutting it close, but the director assured the station manager that the film could be put together in time to go on. And this guy should know, having cut his teeth on B westerns.

   One complication this immediate release offered was that there was no time to record a soundtrack. This, too, had been taken into account. Mr. Sam had a house band which scored his show. It was a small orchestra, with barely enough pieces to qualify as such, but it was a practiced group that knew how to improvise and create a professional sound on the spur of the moment. The band was already in the practice of doing spot scoring for silent cartoons which sometimes popped up in Sam's library, so this would be right in track. Although this all may sound rushed and crude to the outsider, it was more or less business as usual for everyone involved. The live aspect of it all even added a sense of freshness the show might otherwise not carry. Trixie stayed on hand to warm up the audience with a comedy routine she'd practiced during the time the film was being processed. Simone and Gail even joined in. It was right down to the wire, but it was working just fine.

    There wasn't time for printing title cards, either. This was solved by writing the opening title cards on boards carried in front of the camera by Simone and Gail, alternating minimal information which included the show's title, star, sponsor, and director. While the show was being screened, the control booth was buzzing as a full credits list was being created, this to be super-imposed over the broadcast when the film itself had finished and the band played out the clock.

   When it was all over, the station crew was exhausted. Trixie stayed through the show to hand out autographs to the audience members as they left. When she had a chance to rest, she sat reclined against one of the seats and twirled her foot. It was all better now, particularly since she'd had a chance to ice it down again while the show itself was being run. The show came off better than it really had any right to, and the audience enjoyed it tremendously. Gail had run through a quick news report during the aftermath of the showing, but was glad to see Trixie was still around after the job was done. Gail took a seat close by.

   "You're a real trooper, Trixie."

   "When you do it long enough, you don't really think about anything else but getting the next scene done." Trixie stretched. "After this, though, I think I could use a rest."

   "Will you have tomorrow off?" Trixie smiled at the question.

    "No, I'm shooting a two-reeler with Dixie tomorrow. How soon will we know if the ratings for the Goldilocks show were worth the rush?"

   "Not for a while yet, but we've already gotten calls asking for a re-broadcast soon. I have a feeling it went over rather well, indeed."

    "Good news for the Creek Bend Bikini Company. They may sponsor more of these shows."

   "That's going to be interesting. I wonder what story they'll want to do next. Little Red Riding Hood?"

   "If they do that one, I know the perfect couple to play it." When the idea was run by Roger and Crissy, Mrs. Ralphwit showed less reluctance than she usually did when asked to do a little acting. A fun little show for local television might be the best way to test the waters, and it would let the couple work together. Roger didn't think much of the idea, but he could picture Crissy as Little Red Riding Hood. With a hood and caplet over a matching Creek Bend bikini, Crissy would be quite adorable. But then, Crissy was always adorable. When the couple had been talked into taking part in a Thanksgiving play, Roger thought he looked ridiculous in his Pilgrim uniform. Crissy, though, she was as cute as could be in her outfit. Every brush with acting only seemed to confirm that the studio head was right in thinking that Crissy would be a natural.

   After hearing about the hectic circumstances of the earlier production, however, now known in the business as The Goldilocks Rush, Crissy felt sure she'd better leave that sort of thing to the professionals. And really, Daisy Poise would look just as darling in the same Red Riding Hood outfit. When it all came together, though, it says something about Trixie's work ethic that she was still a part of the production. Her youthful features were hidden under a white wig in order to play Grandmother, but somehow that only added to the sense of fun. What's more, Trixie had already agreed to play the lead in the Cinderella episode they were planning next. Once that one was in the can, though, she was going to go on a long vacation far away from any cameras or shooting schedules. 

   Trixie didn't have quite the vacation she expected. She drove her little trailer to a picturesque spot in the woods, only to spot a family of wild bears foraging around. Yep, there were three of them. Trixie turned right around and drove back to town. Maybe she'd go to the beach instead. 

Crissy Carrots

Rosie O' Rourke

Daisy Poise

     Daisy Poise was not the first mousette to join C.B.I.P.’s glamor stable, but she quickly became it’s most popular member. Daisy had made cartoons for numerous other studios, and stayed quite busy before the glamor approach came along. When it did, however, Daisy found her star rising fast as the public loved the ivory-haired annie. In 1948, she became C.B.I.P.’s highest-paid annie starlet, and continues to top entertainment polls. Despite her popularity, Daisy, as is common to her peers, actually lives a fairly quiet life. A humble girl, one would never know she were a star if one ran across her at the local market -if not for her movie star looks and physical grace. She changed the face of Creek Bend, and C.B.I.P., in 1954, when she became the first actress to wear what became known as the Creek Bend bikini.

Nora Powell

Sandy Poise

The Jungle Room

   Yvette looked up at the sky. It was the kind of day you remember from childhood, with a field of Technicolor blue only sparsely broken up by patches of brilliant white cloud. And here was Yvette, laying in the grass of a field which seemed to stretch on forever. As Steve snapped off a series of photos, Yvette balanced two thoughts. One was that it was just a gorgeous day and it was great to be required to do little more than roll around in the grass while dressed in a Creek Bend bikini. The other thought was the realization that the grass was probably alive with insects and little spiders. It was for this reason that Yvette kept her eyes closed whenever her head was turned toward the ground. What she didn't see wouldn't disturb her, she figured.

   Steve stopped to reload his camera. Yvette sat up and rested her arms on her knees as she looked over at the rolling hills in the distance.

   "You know, Steve, it's nice to get away like this once in a while. I keep so busy at the studio that I sometimes fail to notice just how little free time I have. Sure, this is work, too, but it's pretty relaxing all things considered."

   "Thinking you should cut back?" Steve hadn't thought much about it before, but Yvette really did have a full career. In addition to starring in her own series of cartoons, she was also recording songs, a radio series, and keeping a regular spot in the Morton Duck cartoons where she first gained public admiration. She made very few public appearances just for lack of time to do so.

   "I'm not sure. I like what I do. Acting, singing. I really could use some more free time, though."

   "Well," Steve sat down next to Yvette as he lit a couple of cigarettes for them, "I'm sure the Boss would give you some time off if you want. You've certainly earned it." Yvette smiled as she took the cigarette.

   "I don't usually feel overworked. When we go on one of these photoshoots, though, I notice how nice it is to relax a little. I mean, I'm still working, but it's not as involved as shooting movies or recording songs or the radio show. I guess I'd be happy if I could drop the radio show, maybe. That's really the only thing that sometimes feels like a tax on my time."

   "So why do you keep doing it?"

   "You know why, Steve. I owe a lot to my fans, and I owe a lot to the Boss. I couldn't turn my back on any of them."

   "As long as you're content to still make cartoons, I'm sure your fans would understand if you wanted to drop the radio series. The happier you are, the happier you'll make your audience."

   "I suppose that's true, but I know some people look forward to the radio show. The ratings have never slumped."

   "Listen. Your heart is in the right place. You're putting your audience first. You'll always do better work for them if you don't work yourself out by doing too many things. You need a life, too."

   "Yeah. Maybe I could cut it back to once a month. I have to record four episodes in a row anyway. If we made it a monthly show, I'd only have to record them once every four months. That'd certainly free up some time. We might have enough episodes recorded that repeats could be aired for three weeks before a new episode is broadcast on the fourth."

   "See there? You've got a solution that'll keep the show on the air and still give you time to relax a bit."

   "Sounds so simple, doesn't it?"

   "Most things are only complicated because we make them so."

   Upon return to the studio, Steve and Yvette were surprised to see several uniformed policemen about. Various employees of the studio were being questioned, and there seemed a general urgency in the air. Steve figured they'd better go directly to the Boss. That wasn't easy, as he was engaged in a meeting with several plainclothesmen and ranking officers. His secretary Sally was busy on the telephone, but Steve made a point to break in on her.

   "Sal, what goes on here?"

   "You don't know?"

   "No, we were out doing a photoshoot. Are we under attack or something?"

   "It's Doris. She was taken from her dressing room!"

   "Doris!" Yvette gasped.

   "A man came by to see her," Sal explained, "he left later with a wardrobe bag, and she's been missing ever since. The police suspect she's been taken for a ransom. They found a cloth soaked in chloroform in her dressing room." It made sense. Doris came from a family that boasted one of the biggest farms in the county. They would shell out plenty for her return. Yvette staggered and fell back onto a chair across from the desk. Steve mulled it over, but the whole thing seemed so fantastic.

   "Have the police finished with their investigation of her room?"

   "Just now." Sal looked toward the main office where the findings were reported to the Boss. "They didn't find anything." Steve turned to Yvette.

   "Come with me, Yvette." Moments later, Steve opened the door to Doris' dressing room and escorted Yvette inside.

   "Are you sure we'll be able to find something the police missed?"

   "You might. You know Doris better than any of them do. If something in here isn't right, you'd be the one to spot it." Yvette nodded and began to look around. Steve stood by, scanning the room with his eyes. Doris was an easy target. She was so diminutive that she would be easy to sneak out in a wardrobe bag as the police suspected. In her dressing room, her femininity was on full display. Pink wallpaper was set off by heart-shaped decorations which included her chair, vanity, and even her ornate telephone. The little couch on which she relaxed between scenes was adorned with purple fabric specked with pink hearts. Maybe her cuteness had been a factor in someone thinking she would make a good kidnap victim. Certainly her family would pay anything to secure her unharmed return.

   Yvette was coming up short on clues as she sat down at the vanity and began opening drawers. Nothing out of the ordinary to be found. As Yvette shifted her foot, though, she felt something under the vanity. Reaching down, she fished out a matchbook which carried a logo for The Jungle Room. Yvette froze. 

   "I think I have it, Steve." Yvette shook her head as Steve stepped over to her.

   "A matchbook?"

   "Look at it. This is from a seedy little night club in Amsterville's east end. Trust me, Steve, Doris would have no business in a place like that. The kidnapper must've dropped this in the struggle and it got kicked under here."

   "Then we have something for the police to see."

   "No!" Yvette urgently stood from the chair before composing herself. "If the police go snooping around there, Doris may not... They'll kill her if think the police are onto them, I'm sure of it." Steve took another look at the matchbook before taking a seat on the little sofa.

   "You seem to know more about this than the police do."

   "You and the Boss, you did everything you could to erase any trace of my old life. You bought up and destroyed stills, playbills, posters, anything that might be found by the press. One thing you weren't able to remove were my memories, and some of those remain pretty vivid. I played this club once. I did almost a month there as a torch singer. One of my only legitimate jobs during that period. I remember the place well. The main room is done up to look like a jungle, and lining the upper floor of the room are facades made to look like a tree-top jungle village. What the customers don't know, most of them, anyway, is that those aren't just facades. There are rooms up there. One is the boss' private office, a couple more are private rooms for the hired talent. More of them are for the selling of items other than alcohol. I'm sure Doris is being held in one of those rooms, and if the police come near the building, her value as a hostage is gone and they play for keeps."

   "What are you thinking?"

   "I know the place, Steve. I can get in there and snoop around without raising suspicion. Maybe even sneak Doris back out if I can find which room they're keeping her in."

   "Look, Yvette, I admit you have some awareness of the situation that makes your idea one of value, but... I don't know, Yvette."

   "Doris is my best friend, Steve. I'm going to the Jungle Room with or without your help. But I hope you'll come along. I'd like to have some back-up. I trust you and you already know about my past. But we can't waste time. Every minute that Doris is in that place, her life is in more danger."

   Steve paused and thought it over for a second. Then he took a breath and stood up.

   "Okay. How do you want to handle this?"

   "First, I want to stop by the wardrobe department." 

   As night had fallen, Steve drove through Amsterville's east side. It looked quiet enough, but this was a rough part of the city for non-natives to be in. Steve looked over at Yvette as she sat in the passenger seat and mulled over what she was going to do once she was inside the club. Her platinum locks were stuffed under a black wig which was styled with short Bettie Page bangs. In addition, her naturally pink eyelids had been covered in blue eye-shadow.

   "That's not a bad look for you," Steve noted, "you might want to use that wig to play your twin sister in your next cartoon."

   "I need it," Yvette patted her wig, "there's every chance somebody at the Jungle Room might recognize me. When I played the place, I was a platinum blonde. I've sometimes wondered if it was a mistake to not change my hair more than I did when I became Yvette Pond."

   "We were sure that if we got rid of all the evidence of your former life, that it wouldn't matter. There are enough annie ducks out there that if someone from your past saw you, they should just think you look similar but aren't the same girl. There'd be no old pictures to compare you with. We did consider having you become a redhead or something, but the Boss thought you already had a great look."

   "You two have done so much for me. Quite an investment you guys made."

   "We thought it was worth it. The Boss, and me too, saw something in you we knew the public would adore. Just looking at it as an investment, it's paid off in spades financially. More importantly, we both got a very dear friend out of the deal."

   "Through it all, I never got the sense that you were just doing it for business. It always felt like you were genuinely trying to help me get a fresh start."

   "The Boss has a good read on people when he meets them. I think he saw something in you that even you didn't know was there. As for me, I liked you right away. I could see that whatever sort of life you had before, you were such a sweet, gentle soul that it would be worth any effort to help you. Rummaging through back rooms looking for playbills and posters, bins of pictures, well, I never felt it wasn't worth my time."

   "Thank you, Steve. You know, going back there, it's harder for me than you might think. I hoped that I'd never have to. But now there's a purpose to it. If I hadn't been there, I never would have figured out what happened to Doris."

   "We're here." Steve pulled to a stop across the street from a club which looked entirely legitimate from the outside. The building was converted from an old office building or something, and it looked entirely innocuous. Yvette knew better, though, and she hesitated as she eyed the front door. Finally, she scooted to the passenger door and grabbed the latch before turning back to Steve.

   "I'll go in first. Give me a couple minutes before you follow me in. Take a seat at the bar. If I find out anything or need your help, I'll contact you there."

   Steve nodded as Yvette opened the door and started to slide out. He reached over and placed his hand on her arm.

   "Be careful."

   "Thanks, Steve." Yvette smiled before turning a worried eye on the club. "You be careful, too." 

   Yvette walked across the street and into the lobby. She checked her coat before walking into the main room. Although moderately dressed in a black skirt and a red, short-sleeved sweater, Yvette was still quite a sight and drew plenty of looks as she walked in. Everything was as she remembered. Support columns were shaped like tree trunks, and the walls were decorated with plastic jungle plants. To the immediate left was the bar situated before a field of small dinner tables. Private booths, tucked into the shadows, lined the walls. At the far end was a stage where a woman in a tight silver dress cooed into a microphone. Waiting tables were pretty girls barely dressed as jungle natives. Above it all was the row of rooms disguised as a native village. The big one in the far left corner was the private office of the boss, one Martin Gafford. 

   Yvette stood on the floor across from the bar. She was looking up at Gafford's office as she pondered her next move. This caught the eye of a pretty red-headed mousette who was leaned against the bar. Everything about her posture and tight red dress telegraphed to the customers that she was one of the club's featured attractions, the sort of attraction which men were invited to see more of in private. She could see right away that Yvette didn't belong in this environment, yet showed awareness of her surroundings. Knowing that Gafford could catch sight of her at any moment, the mousette walked over to Yvette and grabbed her arm.

   "Pretend you know me," she instructed, "and look happy. Come with me, honey, you're sticking out like a sore thumb out here." The girl shuffled Yvette into an elevator opening, this too disguised as a tree trunk, which was right near the bar. Yvette played along, hoping this wasn't a trap. Even if it was, it might lead to Doris. The mousette let the elevator car go up about half way before stopping the car between floors. "We can talk here. This is my private elevator."

   "You have a private elevator?"

   "I'm sort of the house special," she explained, "I keep the customers happy enough that my whims are entertained. They call me Ginger." Ginger paused and looked Yvette over. "You don't belong here. I don't think you're a cop, but you knew which office was Gafford's. What are you doing here? Did Gafford hire you? My advice is to leave right now if that's the case."

   "No, I came here to find a friend."

   "I've heard a lot of men say that to me," Ginger narrowed her eyes in scrutiny, "and what they mean is perfectly clear. But I don't read you, so spell it out."

   "I don't know how much I should tell you. When you thought I was a new girl Gafford hired, were you telling me to beat it because you wanted to help me or because I'd be cutting into your territory?"

   "I may not be clean, but I know clean when I see it. I don't like to see it get dirty." Ginger relaxed a little. "I thought I could talk you out of working for Martin, maybe keep you from ruining your life."

   "I really am looking for a friend of mine. She was kidnapped today, and I think she's being held here."

   "That explains it!" Ginger's eyes popped. "I saw a little girl being walked toward one of the huts. I got the feeling she didn't want to be here. A cute little chipmunk. From a distance, it looked like Doris Flowers."

   "I knew she was here! But why didn't you go to the police?"

   "Look, honey, all I saw was a girl being escorted by Gafford's men. She didn't look like she wanted to be there, but that's a look you see all the time around here." Ginger paused, realizing just how her words sounded. She became very somber as she activated the car again. "I'm sorry. You stay in this world long enough and you lose your sensitivity to the way things should be. You're right. At the very least I should have looked into it, but I figured the best way to protect myself was to look the other way and keep my mouth shut. Now that I really see that that's what I've been doing all this time... You must hate me, huh?"

   "I actually have more sympathy for you than you would believe, Ginger." Ginger looked puzzled, then her eyes popped again.

   "You were a part of this, too, weren't you? Only you got out!" The doors opened into Ginger's room. It was all in shades of red, with a huge circular bed the center piece of the room. Beyond that could be seen doors to the closet and washroom. It was pretty opulent for a dive. Yvette walked around the room. Ginger sat down at her vanity, waiting to hear more about Yvette. When Yvette's eyes turned back to her hostess, the desire for more information was obvious. Yvette hadn't spoken about it in a long time. It was difficult to find the words.

   "I made a few mistakes. Thinking back, I actually sort of envy you if this was your own idea." 

   "You mean you didn't have a choice... You were..."

   "Well, you could say that." Yvette figured she should fully explain. Her past was not her current life, after all. "My parents thought I was a freak. I was born to normal parents, you see, and they didn't want a child in the first place." Yvette paused again before looking back at Ginger. "I think they went through the motions of being parents at first. But they never really wanted me to be there. When I became old enough to be considered pretty in men's eyes, then I became useful. They basically rented me out. Eventually, they sold me. That was where it all started. I didn't have any say in it, I really didn't know what was going on, but it gave me a lead on how to handle myself going forward."

   "Terrible." Ginger could barely stand to listen. Knowing Yvette's history put Ginger's own in perspective. "You're right. I guess I did have a choice. I made the wrong one, but I had a choice. I was young, on my own, two days without food. But this guy said he'd pay me. I tried to think only about the hamburger I ate later, the first food I'd been able to pay for in days. I hated myself, but I was eating again. Once you dip your toe in, it's pretty easy to just take the full dive. How did you get out?" 

   "I made a friend," Yvette sat down on the bed, "another annie duck who I met at a beach spot I liked to go to. She and her husband were good people. They invited me over for dinner and it became a regular thing. I never told them, not at first, what I did for a living. I did so many things. I was an artist's model from time to time so I told them that's what I was without going into detail about the other things. As we got closer, I knew I couldn't keep it from them. Not when they were expecting a baby. I figured they deserved to know for the kid's sake. I told them I was a stripper, a nude model, and worse, thinking they'd give me the gate. But they didn't. They saw me for more than I saw myself. They told me about God's Son. That was really the help I needed."

   "That Sunday school stuff?" Ginger thought about it. "I hadn't listened to it since I was a kid."

   "I was never taught any of it. Oh, I'd heard about God a few times. I knew He was out there, but I didn't think He had a personal interest in me. Didn't really know that He'd sent His Son to die in my place. Having someone explain it to me, that made all the difference. We tend to think of God in terms of behaving a certain way so we can buy our way into Heaven, but the truth is the work is already done. It's not our actions that put us into a position to be saved, the work is done. Salvation is just believing that He took our place and gave us His."

   "I've never heard it put that way before," Ginger turned and looked into the mirror, "everything I've done and I can still pass through those pearly gates?"

   "We just have to realize that it's not about us, our works. He did it all and it's just a matter of accepting that. It's simple, but we have a habit of complicating things. We don't do good and get good later. We receive good and start doing good because it's what's been given to us."

   "I don't know where I'd go. This is all I know, this life. A fresh start sounds great, but where would I go to find it."

   "If you're really interested," Yvette walked over and placed her hand on Ginger's shoulder, "I have some dear friends who can help. What would you think about acting?"

   "Acting? Me?" Ginger mulled it over. "I suppose I've been acting for a long time now, in a way. How hard could the real thing be?"

   "You're very pretty. I can arrange a screen test for you."

   "You can?" Ginger turned around to face Yvette. Yvette was completely sincere. Ginger turned back to the mirror and thought it over. Yvette stood by as Ginger got very quiet for a few seconds. Ginger then looked back at her reflection, and then Yvette's reflection. "Lady, I'm game. However it turns out, just meeting you, well, I feel like I've been rescued. But first we need to rescue your friend."

   "Did you see where they took her?"

   "Yeah, I just hope she's okay. Bad things happen in that hut."

   "Which one?"

   "Far right corner, across from Gafford's office. It's used for a lot of things, among them breaking in new girls. That's what I thought she was here for... Anyway, we can get around to it without being seen. There are walkways behind everything, for maintenance, originally." Ginger showed Yvette a wall panel which slid back to reveal a secret walkway.

   "Originally?"

   "This place was built more legitimate. The huts were decoration, but they also served as rooms for the workmen and later the employees, most were expected to be used for storage purposes. Because of the bandstand, these walkways were soundproofed, and so were the access panels. They're all clearly marked, too. Since you can walk right by somebody without them hearing you, Gafford took advantage of the situation and sometimes places cameras to look in on the rooms. If... if we 'entertain' someone with some pull or who might have some notoriety, Gafford gets them on film so he can influence them if he has the chance. That's one reason this place has never been raided."

   "I see. You say the passages are marked, tell me what to look for. Then, go back down to the bar. You'll find a very handsome man with a mustache and wearing a wedding ring. His name is Morrow, Steve Morrow. Tell him Yvette sent you to him, and tell him everything, then bring him along through the tunnel in case I need help getting Doris out of here."

   "Right. You're looking for room nine." Ginger took a step toward the elevator before stopping in her tracks and turning back to Yvette in stunned disbelief.

   "Yvette? You're Yvette Pond?!!"

   "I am now. You're one of the few people who know my secret. I'm counting on you to keep it for me."

   "You risked a lot by telling me."

   "Yes, but I had a reason to."

   Ginger nodded and dashed into the elevator. Yvette slid into the hallway. Ginger was in room three, the arrows for higher numbers pointing to the left passage. It didn't take long for Yvette to find the right place. She cautiously cracked the access panel open and looked inside. Doris was there, alright. She was gagged and her hands and feet were bound, but otherwise looked unharmed as she lay on another large circular bed. Two men stood watch over her. The bigger guy was seated, flipping through the contents of a magazine. The other guy leaned against the door, keeping his eye on Doris. It was a pretty effective way of making sure she didn't try to get out of her bonds.

   Yvette drummed her fingertips against her bill. There seemed no way to get Doris out without alerting the men, and ultimately, Gafford himself. Yvette slid the panel shut as she heard voices in the hallway. Steve had wasted no time in following Ginger once she told him Yvette had sent her. As they ran up the hallway, Ginger was still filling him in on the details. Yvette nodded as Steve came to stop in front of her.

   "She's in there," Yvette motioned to the door, "but two men are standing watch over her. Near as I can tell, she hasn't been hurt."

   "She loses her value if she's damaged," Steve fished a .45 out of his jacket, "do you think we can rush them?"

   "Not like that," Yvette eyed the gun, "even with the soundproofing, a gunshot is going to call attention our way. And I'm sure those guys are armed, too. You might get one, but probably not both."

   "I don't want to kill them," Steve explained, "just hold them back."

   "I have a better idea," Ginger spoke up, "I know those guys, and I know the only way to draw their attention while you slip in and grab Miss Flowers. Help me here, Mr. Morrow." Ginger grabbed Yvette's skirt and held it tight, prompting Steve to take hold and rip a high slit into the fabric along the seam. Yvette was quick to figure Ginger's plan and began looping the bottom of her sweater upward. With a bare midriff and a skirt slit nearly to her hip, Yvette could fool the men into thinking she were an associate of Ginger's. Ginger adjusted her dress slightly by tugging the neckline down, though she couldn't move it very far beyond it's original position. Ginger looked at Yvette, who nodded back. Ginger then turned to Steve. Steve nodded, too, and placed his gun in his lower jacket pocket for easy retrieval. 

   "I'll grab Doris once you have their backs turned. I'm sure they're going to see me about the time I make my move, though, so you two are going to have to cover me somehow."

   "We've got it covered," Ginger pushed Yvette along the walkway, "give us a minute to get around to the front door and keep your eye on the bad guys." Ginger and Yvette ran around to the hatch which lead into the main walkway. This was situated above the ballroom, but was positioned in such a way that foot traffic could go unnoticed. It had been built with more professional motivations in mind, a way to keep stage crew unseen by the patrons below. As viewed from their position, Ginger and Yvette were in full view of Gafford's office window. The girls prayed they would go unseen until they could get inside the hut through the front door. Yvette took a breath.

   "You okay?" Ginger asked. "You can do this?"

   "Yeah," Yvette nodded, "I just have to pull out some memories, routines I didn't think I'd be using again."

   "I'll do most of the talking. I have a lot of experience at this." Ginger had bragged to herself about her experience, as it was for so long her means of living. This was bravado, for the most part, always laced with a bit of self-loathing which she kept hidden from others. For the first time in years, though, she didn't hate herself. Her comments were just a bluff this time. Whatever happened, even if she got shot when the boys caught onto her, it wasn't going to matter. For the first time in a long time she felt clean, even happy. She was doing something for other people now. She liked it, despite the danger.

    Doris popped her eyes when she heard a knock at the door, certain that Gafford had returned and was shortly going to threaten her into helping convince her family to pay his ransom. Her fear subsided and was replaced by puzzlement when the guard opened the door and let Ginger slink into the room.

   "Martin said you boys needed some entertainment," Ginger vamped, "so I thought I'd introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Ducky. C'mon in, Duck." Yvette slipped into the room and giggled. In her experience, men like these preferred girls who were care-free and slightly stupid. She'd perfected a persona like that of a bubbly school girl who would do anything for a thrill, adding a sense of empowerment to the men by becoming wide-eyed and innocent when the thrills began. Ginger picked up on this immediately. It was obvious that Yvette knew her stuff. Ginger's own approach was a bit more aggressive, but it had a similar element to it. She came on all talk and wiggle, but gave the impression of weakness when she was actually alone with her targets. Yvette closed the door behind herself as she playfully eyed the man in front of her.

   "Ginger told me you'd like to see me dance." Yvette looked over at Doris and pretended to gasp. "You boys are interested in a lot more than dancing, I see!" Doris didn't recognize Yvette. With her wig, eyeshadow, and breathy delivery which was more bubbly than usual, Yvette came across as a completely different duck. Particularly when she turned back to the man in front of her and held up her hands while arching her back so as to enhance her curves. "I'm game for anything."

   "She is that," Ginger wiggled back over to the door, drawing the eyes of both men, "she doesn't even need the giggle water. But you should see her when it takes effect." A small bar was to the side of the door, and Ginger reached over it to secure a couple of bottles. She made sure to do so in way that pushed her backside into the air and thus draw the attention of the men to her. Steve knew this was his cue and he quietly slid the panel open. Ginger returned to her feet with the bottles in hand and gave one to Yvette. By now, both men were on their feet and facing the girls. Steve slipped in and scooped up Doris. Not knowing what was going on, Doris screamed through the gag in her mouth. This caused both men to turn and see Steve. Ginger nodded and she and Yvette slammed the bottles down over the heads of the men as they were reaching for their guns.

   The henchmen dropped the floor like wet laundry. Doris struggled until Steve stood her on her feet and spun her around to see that it was he who had her. She hopped with joy to see her friend as he untied her gag.

   "We don't have much time," Steve told her as he started to untie her, "but we've got you." Steve untied Doris' feet and tossed the first rope to Ginger, who wasted no time in securing the hands of the first henchman. Yvette waited for Steve to throw the other rope to her so she could similarly tie down the second. Steve took the gag and placed it over the mouth of one of the men. "Yvette, find another gag for your fella."

   "Yvette?" Doris was stunned to discover her friend was posing as Ducky. Yvette smiled at Doris.

   "I'll hug you later," Yvette said, "but I'm glad we got you back. Are you okay?"

   "Yeah," Doris rubbed her arms, "they didn't hurt me, but they promised to if I gave them any trouble." Steve dragged both men into the washroom and stacked them in the bathtub.

   "They won't be out for long," Steve closed the bathroom door and locked it, "we've got to get to Ginger's room and back down to the ground floor before Gafford catches on."

   "Ginger?" Doris asked. Yvette pulled Ginger over to Doris and presented her.

   "She's a friend," Yvette began pushing her sweater back into place, "we owe everything to her."

   "Thank you, Ginger." Doris smiled. Ginger smiled back.

   "Thank you. You've helped me more than you know."

    "C'mon, girls," Steve pointed to the access hatch, "there's no time to waste." The gang scrambled through the hallway and back around to Ginger's room. Their relief was cut short when they burst into the room and found Gafford sitting quietly at Ginger's vanity. Gafford was far more suave than one might expect, reminding one much of Vincent Price. He played with a reel of magnetic tape as he smiled at the assembly.

   "Martin!" Ginger gasped as the group stopped in their tracks. To reach the elevator, they'd have to go by him. Steve reached for his gun, but Yvette stopped him. He looked at her and she shook her head. There was no misinterpreting the look of fear in her eyes. Gafford stood and continued smiling as he looked at the group.

   "I should be quite cross with you, Ginger. But I'm not. What ransom I could get for Miss Flowers is nothing compared to what I can get from Miss Archer."

   "Who?" Doris was puzzled. Yvette stepped forward.

   "He means me. My real name is Archer. Nancy Archer." Doris looked at Yvette in confusion. "I was going to tell you once, but you said my past didn't matter. You didn't need to know, you said. But Yvette Pond is just a name Steve and the Boss came up with."

   "Why?" Doris still felt her friend's business was her own, but curiosity had been forced to the surface by the current situation.

   "Because I needed a completely fresh start. To protect me, and the studio, from guys like him." Yvette motioned to Gafford, who continued to smile.

   "Yes," Gafford happily hissed, "and I know you'll pay through the nose to keep your secret. Particularly since your audience includes so many innocent children. They'd be so disillusioned to find out what kind of a woman you really are."

   "I'm not the woman you knew," Yvette insisted before taking on a defeated look, "but you're right about the kids. I can't stand the thought of them finding out."

   "Your disguise is a good one," Gafford paced triumphantly, "even I didn't know who you were when I saw you looking up at my office window. But Ginger's initiative to keep you away from me only spurred my curiosity. I'm surprised you didn't assume that I would have your elevator and private room wired for sound, Ginger. I have the whole conversation on tape, from the moment you got into the elevator to just before you entered the access hallway."

   "I gave you everything you wanted from me," Ginger spoke up, "why would you bug my elevator?"

   "For the same reason I position motion picture cameras outside the access hatches. One never knows when someone of influence may pay a visit to one of my girls, so it pays to be ready."

   "That reel incriminates you as much as it does me." Yvette insisted.

   "True, but only the parts pertaining to you will be recorded by my friend at the largest of Los Angeles newspapers. Of course, you can prevent that. I obviously haven't had time to make multiple recordings, so this reel I'm holding is the only copy. I can turn it over to you and we can forget any of this ever happened, if you're willing to pay my price."

   "Just what is your price?"

   "I did my research on the Flowers family. I was certain they could put forth $500,000 to secure her return, and it not throw them into bankruptcy. You see, I don't want to destroy anybody, lest their troubles become public and it gets back to me. You, my dear Miss Pond, I'm sure can shell out a figure much more agreeable. I want a million dollars from you."

   "A million?!!"

   "And another three million from the studio. That'll give me a nice round figure of four million. I can retire to some little island somewhere and never be seen again. That's really quite a small investment from your studio, isn't it, Mr. Morrow? You get to protect your golden duck, and I walk away from all this. What do you think?"

   "I think it's worth it, Steve," Yvette blurted, "if he stops operations here, it means Lord only knows how many girls don't fall into his clutches." Ginger nodded to herself, Yvette's sacrifice would indeed save a lot of girls from trouble if Gafford kept to his word. 

   "Men like Gafford don't just walk away from this business," Steve insisted, "he may retire to his island for a year or two, but he'd pop up again sooner or later. Yvette makes a good point about the girls, though. How many will be spared the pain suffered by you or Ginger if he's taken out of the picture. And he's right about that being the only reel of tape, he hasn't had time to make copies." Steve produced the gun from his pocket and held it on Gafford. "The best thing I could do is shoot this dog and take the reel from his lifeless body."

   Gafford flinched. Yvette and Doris knew Steve and figured this to be a bluff. They played along by stepping back and giving Steve a clear shot. Ginger followed their lead.

   "He's right, Martin," Ginger said, "you always made me feel like I was in control of what I was doing, but you were just using me. I hate what I've done, and it'd be worth a murder rap to keep you from touching anyone else."

   "You kill me and you only hurt yourselves. The police will piece everything together and it'll destroy C.B. International Pictures, the careers of Yvette Pond and Doris Flowers, and put you behind bars, Mr. Morrow."

   "I don't expect you to understand this, Martin," Ginger huffed, "but some things are worth taking the hit. Do you have ANY idea what you've done to me? To who knows how many girls like me? To keep that from happening again, yes, I'll gladly go to the chair if it means you've been taken out of commission!"

   "You're actually discussing murder," Gafford began to sweat, "cold-blooded murder."

   "We figure it's a language you understand, Mr. Gafford." Steve held out the gun. Gafford held out the reel of tape.

   "I'll give you the tape. I'll walk out of here and leave it all behind me. Just don't kill me."

   Ginger snapped away the reel of tape and took a spot next to Steve.

   "Do you have a reel to reel?" Steve asked.

   "Yes. It's in the closet."

   "Get it, so we can make sure we have the right tape." It was. Ginger only had to play a few words before she nodded to Steve and began rewinding the tape. Steve took a breath as he kept his eyes trained on Gafford.

   "Turn around, Gafford. A snake like you deserves to get it in the back." Gafford couldn't believe it, but the assembly before him remained stone-faced. He began to plead, but Steve motioned with the gun and Gafford slowly turned to face the elevator. He began sobbing. Ginger calmly grabbed a metal ashtray from her table and clubbed him in the head. Everyone relaxed their posture as Gafford thudded to the floor. Steve put the gun back in his pocket as he crouched over the body to check Gafford's pulse. "You didn't kill him, did you?"

   "No," Ginger stood with her arms crossed as she looked down at Gafford, "that's one line I've never crossed."

   "He's out cold, for now." Steve thought quickly. "Ginger, get me a pair of socks, and two ropes or something I can tie him with." Ginger nodded and ran to her wardrobe. She tossed a pair of socks to Steve, then looked back at her clothes. A couple of robes had sashes which were quickly slipped out and turned over to Steve. Steve had slipped the socks over Gafford's hands before tying them together with one sash. The other sash was wrapped around his elbows so that he couldn't pull his arms apart. Steve looked over at the table and noticed a small rock. "What's that?"

   "A silver ingot. A birthday present from Gafford."

   "Odd, but it'll work. Hand it here." Steve stuffed the rock down into one of Gafford's shoes before turning him over and trying to wake him. Doris stepped over to Ginger and asked the significance of the ingot.

   "I like silver," Ginger explained, "he thought I might like it for my birthday. At the time, I thought it was sweet." Ginger looked down at the floor. It was becoming overwhelming how much she'd been through. Gafford presented himself as a friend, but Ginger knew it was only business. Maybe there was something in him that had some heart, deep down. The ingot seemed like something that he might have put some thought into. If that meant he genuinely liked Ginger to some extent, or if it was just a means of making her think he liked her in order to keep her happy, there was no way to tell. Ginger could figure it, though. Gafford was only kind to those who he could use to further his own goals. He was suave enough that it never seemed that way, though. In his own perverse way, he'd always been good to Ginger. 

   "What's the idea of stuffing it into his shoe, Steve?" Yvette asked.

   "It'll make it very difficult for him to make a run for it," Steve explained, "particularly with his arms bound like this." Steve pulled Gafford to his feet. Gafford was fuming as he came around. Steve pushed him toward the door to the main walkway. "Now, let's take a tour of your office."

   Gafford was marched down the walkway to his office. Inside was a swank room which included business files and some furniture. Off to one side was a bedroom complete with an electric icebox. Nothing looked out of place, but he'd already confessed to having recording equipment in here somewhere. Steve demanded to know where the recorder was located. Gafford kept quiet, but Ginger stepped to the far wall and felt around.

   "It's got to be behind this wall," Ginger reported, "anyone unfamiliar with the layout of these rooms wouldn't see it, but there's a space unaccounted for that has to be back here."

   "Alright, Gafford," Steve shook him, "how do we get in there?"

   "Mr. Morrow!" Ginger excitedly uncovered the control board she found behind a painting on the wall. The door slid open and the group filed in. The area was filled with shelves of boxes containing photographs, negatives, film reels, and magnetic tape recordings. Near the door was a recorder which was still running. The sound was being piped in from Ginger's room, and a switchboard had connections to speakers spread throughout the building. Steve pushed Gafford into a chair before turning off the reel to reel and collecting the tape.

   "I figured as much," Steve yanked the reel off the recorder and waved it at Gafford, "we pay you off for the first tape and you come back to us later to extort more for this tape, which recorded the entire conversation regarding the first one."

   "I needed some insurance," Gafford insisted, "I'm a business man."

   "You could have been," Ginger fumed, "you could have been a great business man if you'd played legit instead of dirty." Yvette marveled at the collection of blackmail materials which had been assembled. There seemed to be hundreds of boxes crammed into the room.

   "We'd need a truck to move all this stuff," Yvette reported, "what are we going to do?"

   "If any of this gets out," Ginger noted, "it'll destroy more lives than just those being blackmailed. We can't call the police, we can't tell the papers."

   "The only thing we can do," Steve thought it out, "is to destroy all this stuff and give everybody a chance to start fresh. We can burn it all. I see an incinerator mounted on the far wall back there, probably installed just to cover tracks if the police ever came around."

   "Or if it too closely targeted Martin himself." Ginger looked back at Gafford, who struggled with his ropes. "I figure he's smart enough not to keep any of this stuff at his own home. Is this everything, Martin?"

   "What about it, Marty?" Steve stood before Gafford. Gafford remained silent, a condition Steve reversed by placing a foot over Gafford's and pushing down ever so slightly so as to press Gafford's heel into the rock inside his shoe. Gafford grimaced and then begged Steve to stop. Steve did. Gafford had dropped his civil tone and was now growling.

   "This is all of it. I couldn't risk spreading it around. I should have, but I trusted myself more than any of my associates. Ask Ginger. I would have hired her if I knew I could trust anybody to keep tabs on this stuff for me." Ginger thought about it and nodded, as much to herself as to the others.

   "Yeah," she confirmed, "what I know about Martin, he would have come to me if he were going to spread this stuff out. He runs the operation so tightly that he never had to spread it out, or figured he'd have time to do so if he ever needed to. This must be everything. We can get rid of it all tonight, destroy everything. But what about Martin Gafford? We turn him over to the police and he spills everything he knows. Even without evidence, the papers will have a field day. We let him go and he starts all over. We can't hang onto him because then we're the kidnappers once we're out of danger." Ginger leaned forward and looked Gafford in the eye. "We really should kill you, Martin. That's the only way this is truly over." Ginger straightened her posture and crossed her arms. "But we can't do that. So the question is still on the table. What do we do?"

   The room looked pretty bare by morning. Steve raked through the ashes before placing another box in the incinerator. This would be the last one. In place of the boxes was now a pile of metal reels from which had been unspooled magnetic tapes and motion picture film. Doris used the private telephone to call her family and let them know she was okay. Then she called the Boss to tell him the story. Steve and Ginger had moved Gafford's henchmen into the main office and bound them more securely. Even Gafford had to be impressed with the efficiency of the operation, given how spur of the moment it was. The girls searched the room thoroughly to make sure nothing had slipped by them. They found no other blackmail materials, though several small boxes of illegal substances had been recovered. The more the picture of what Gafford had been doing via The Jungle Room fell into place, the more grimy the place felt. It was going to feel pretty good to get out of this building and breath the fresh air again. 

   Yvette sat across from Gafford, eyeing him as she puffed a cigarette. She wasn't wearing an expression of anger, though. It was more a look of pity, which Gafford hated even more. Yvette shook her head.

   "Why, Martin? Why do all this when you could have made it all and more by playing it straight? What did any of us do to you to make you think we deserved this?"

   "I don't take any personal thought for any of you," Gafford spoke for the first time in hours, "it's just a way of being in control. You think I care about any of this stuff getting burned up? I really don't. It's losing the power that I can't stand. I never cared anything about any of you." Ginger took a spot near Yvette. She similarly looked on Gafford with more pity than anger.

   "I feel so sorry for you, Martin," Ginger said, "and I know at least partly where you're coming from. I never cared about anyone, it was a way to make it feel less like I was hurting them. I used people, I was used by people, I promised intimacy and did everything I could to avoid it. But humanity has a way of sneaking through, even here. When I did see something good, I cherished it. Be it one of the girls I kept from seeing you, or that little rock in your shoe. That actually meant something to me. I know it didn't mean anything to you, though. I'm not looking to get it back. Who knows where you got it in the first place? Just some bobble you picked up in a  gutter, for all I know."

   "Actually," Gafford raised his eyebrows, surprised at himself, "I got that from a jeweler. I was going to get you a ring or necklace or something. But when I saw the ingot, something about it seemed right. I don't know why. It was a shapeless lump which needed further refining to even be of value, but when I saw that little rock I thought it was something you would want." 

   "I think what I liked about it was the promise it had. That little ingot could be turned into anything. Something pretty from something the average person might not see any value in."

   "Look, Ginger, it's true I never treated you very well. But I guess in a way, my own way, I did always think of you as my friend. I know it doesn't mean anything to hear this from me, but I am sorry. Whatever you felt about me personally, you were always loyal to me and that's something I value. Whatever happens, I guess I'm happy for you, that you found a friend who really is a friend. I know I can't change. But I think there's a part of me that likes the change I see in you. You've got a confidence now that's very different from the confidence you always had before. Before it was just an act, I think, but now you have some bearings, and I like what I see."

   "You can change, too, I know you can."

   "No, Ginger. I have a lot more to try to live with. And then there's my basic nature. I'm not going to change. I know me too well."

   "I never thought I could change. Talking to Yvette, I realized it's not my doing."

   "But a part of you wanted to change. A part of you, maybe not even a part you noticed, but it saw what was going on around you and wanted to break free. I've never wanted to break free. I had everything I wanted. Power, money, influence, girls, control. What dreams I had, I was living them." By the incinerator, Steve and Doris looked on. Doris looked up at Steve.

   "What are we going to do?"

   "Not sure," Steve shook his head, "thanks to us, the only thing the police could book him on now would be possession of illegal substances, and he'd still have anyone he's been blackmailing thinking that he's still got the goods on them."

   "We can't just let him go."

   "I know. We've pulled his fangs, but we'd still be letting a snake loose."

   "What can we do?"

   "That's the $64,000 question." Steve walked over to Gafford. He looked beaten. Walking away wouldn't stop him from rebuilding his empire, though it seemed to be the only option left. There was really nothing else that could be done. Calling in the police would only draw attention to the studio. Yvette was still in danger of having her life ruined just by rumor if Gafford were allowed to talk. He still had his night club in operation, his girls. It was a tough decision but one which didn't present a lot of options. He was in a position to destroy lives if he were arrested OR let go. Steve finally sighed and knelt down in front of Gafford.

   "What would you do if our positions were reversed, Gafford? Pretend for a second that you hold dear the lives of your friends and value innocence, and you have a monster in your clutches. You can't kill it, you can't let it go, or turn it over to the authorities. If you walk away from it, it'll just keep destroying. You can't live with that, but you have no other way to deal with it. What would you do?"

   "If I had a threat, Mr. Morrow, I'd do everything I could to remove it. I may not share your concerns in exactly the same way, but I understand the concept of dealing with something that could harm me. If I faced a threat, I would destroy it before it could destroy me, or whatever I hold dear."

   "You're prettymuch tell me flat-out that we should kill you."

   "Were I in your position, it's what I would do. I would have no choice with the stakes that you've described."

   "Yeah," Steve looked at the floor, "but I'm not a killer. I can't kill you, even if it would protect others. You see my problem here?"

   "Yes. But I know you can't trust me, either. Really, your only option is to kill me."

   "You're facing the idea with a lot more grace than you were before."

   "Mr. Morrow, I know what I can do. I know what I will do. If you let me go, you have to live with what I'll do. I wouldn't wish to be in your shoes." Steve stood and pulled Ginger aside.

   "What do you think? Can he possibly turn away from his instincts?"

   "I pray he can." Ginger sighed. "I'm changed, I can feel it deep inside. It's a warmth, a hope that was never there before. If Martin would take hold of the same thing... The difference is I wanted to change, without even really know it. I don't think Martin ever hated himself the way I did, whether I knew it or not. If you do untie him and walk away, other girls are going to be hurt. I don't think I can live with that. Call the police and then take Yvette and Doris home. I'll keep you out of it, but I'll tell them everything about Martin. They won't have his blackmail evidence, but they'll have the tools he used to collect it."

   "Ginger, I can't just let you face this alone."

   "It's okay, Steve. I have nowhere to go but up. Doris and Yvette can't be mixed up in this, though. I'll testify against Martin and make sure he's put away so he can't hurt anyone like this ever again. Call the police. If not, I'll call the police myself."

   "Okay, Ginger. We'll be praying for you."

   "Thanks." Ginger smiled. It'd been so long since she'd smiled sincerely, but it was coming naturally now.

   "Thank you, for everything." Steve and the girls waited around until the last minute, but Ginger convinced them to take off before the police reached the scene. For her testimony and co-operation, Ginger wasn't charged. Steve and Doris testified of the kidnapping and the rescue attempt. Yvette was a part of the rescue and she also testified. Miraculously, her past remained undisclosed. The court saw her only as someone who took great risk to rescue her friend. The matchbook was mentioned, but not Yvette's knowledge of the club itself. Ginger knew how much Yvette was risking to back her up in court, and she knew that day that she had a new friend for life, come what may. 

   Gafford tried to make his lawyer bring up Yvette's past, but it wasn't considered relevant to the trial. Ultimately, Gafford was only able to tell a couple of reporters that Yvette had a secret past, but he never had time to go into detail. Providently, the reporters didn't even bother to record the accusation, convinced Gafford was desperate and lying. 

    Ginger had to sort of build a new life from scratch. Her only dwelling was the Jungle Room, and it had closed it's doors after Gafford's arrest. Ginger was invited to stay with Yvette until she could get her own house. Ginger was quite taken with the relaxed pace of a small town like Creek Bend, and was looking into a small place near the river. For all she had done, everyone involved was more than delighted to give her a screen test. Ginger would soon be making a series of cartoons. What's more, she'd be using her real name. Evelyn Graysitt hadn't used her real name in so many years that she'd largely forgotten it! To further break from the notoriety of the trial, Evelyn became a honey blonde before the cameras began rolling. Anyone who came to the movies and saw her there would be totally unaware that she was the red-headed mousette who had taken down Martin Gafford.

   Before moving to her own house, Evelyn and Yvette engaged in long conversations. They discussed everything from Rahab of Jericho to what it was like working in movies. One question Evelyn saved for last.

   "I hate what I did, but I did it for so long I got used to it. I can walk away from it for good, can't I? The habits I picked up?"

   "Never look back. For me, it was a life so different from what I gained that it seemed almost like a bad dream. I changed into a whole different person. A New Creature. Remember, the work is done. You're just living according to what's in you now. You are the righteousness of God in His Son. Remember that always. Never complicate things by making them about yourself. Just trust Him. And you know I'm always here if you need me for anything. Anything at all." 

   Ginger hugged Yvette. It had been so long since she had hugged someone and meant it. Now it really felt complete. It was a whole new life. It was wonderful.