While I was there, I watched the December 2008 news coverage of Bristol going to church after the fire. Wonder why her legs are thinner in 2008 at nine months pregnant then two years later while Dancing With the Stars? Isn't dancing good exercise? Isn't chasing a one year old good exercise, too? No wonder people theorize she was pregnant in 2010.
Todd waves to the camera. Such a Christian, right? Wonder if he said a prayer for the single mom he was prostituting out at that time, or for her two disabled kids.
One last thing - Shailey Tripp's non-fiction book Boys Will Be Boys: Media Morality, and the Coverup of the Todd Palin Shailey Tripp Sex Scandal is a work of courage, while my book, White Trash in the Snow, is an outlet for my humor and my imagination. I'm pretty sure Sarah hates them both and the two of us. Such a Christian.
White Trash in the Snow
by Allison
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
J Lo was greeted with wild applause. Wearing a black and
white striped retro-1960s tent style mini-dress with black over-the-knee boots,
Ms. Lopez descended the stairs carefully, glowing and obviously very happy.
Cristol was envious and embarrassed. She’s,
like, twice my age and I’m the one dressed like an old lady in this stupid
skirt and blouse. Cristol stopped applauding, and wrapped her arms around
her stomach. And that dress could hide a
full-term pregnancy, but it’s still cute. The jealousy was ratcheting up
while the super star strutted around the small stage, acknowledging her fans. I’d probably trip if I even tried on boots
like that. I’m so clumsy. And that hat! The black floppy hat, the perfect
vintage accessory, was, Cristol was certain,
the cutest hat she had ever seen. She
can dress like that because she lives in New York. Or does she live in Hollywood? It doesn’t matter either way, she
sure isn’t from Azzolla. Heck, she probably has homes in New York and
Hollywood. She’s so lucky.
All the Saplin girls had inherited their Mom’s love for
clothes, but living in Azzolla retarded their development of style. Rachael had
recently retained a personal shopper at Nordstrom who was incrementally
upgrading the governor’s consignment store wardrobe. Maple was hooked on
designer labels and teen magazine trendiness, whether or not the clothes looked
good on her, and Cristol had been hiding her body in baggy jeans and
sweatshirts since late August.
When Jennifer Lopez stopped right in front of her, Cristol
wanted to cry. Cameras were pointed right at her. It was terrifying. Was she
being broadcast on national TV? Could people tell she was pregnant? The rest of the young audience was still cheering
and applauding, and, in at least one case, weeping. “Applause” light was flashing, and Cristol managed to clap again, albeit mechanically.
She fought her fears and scolded herself. Damn it! This is the only time I’m ever gonna get to see a TV show in
person. I’ve got to be able to tell my friends what this was like. I’ve got to
stay in the moment! Cristol turned her attention to the performer who was
saying “…learned over the years is to try to be in the moment…”
What? …Did J-Lo say…?
“So many amazing things have happened in my life, I just
feel like I want to enjoy the moment…”
There it was again! Heart pounding, Cristol believed a miracle was
happening to her, right there in MTV studios. God had a message for her.
Ms. Lopez was glowing. “This is a great time in my life.
It’s just amazing. I just want to enjoy it.” She talked about being on tour
with her husband, Mark Anthony, and performing with him at Madison Square
Garden. Perhaps some in the audience believed Ms. Lopez’s euphoria came from
those things, but anyone who read gossip on the internet knew that Mrs. Mark
Anthony was suspected of being “with child.” Cristol had read the rumor sites, not because
she was a great fan of J Lo but because Google results for “pregnancy” had put
the Jennifer Lopez stories in the top results.
She is pregnant! Just like me! A surge of kinship washed over her. And she’s right, this is an amazing thing, a
very special time. The host cued up a slice of the video “Love Don’t Cost a
Thing,” and Cristol’s muse spoke to her again “At that time in my life, I was
just becoming famous and I was just beginning to make a little money after
growing up in the Bronx. And I was like, all that doesn’t’ matter if you
don’t have love. It was kind of about getting rid of the mansion and the
fancy car and all that kind of stuff.” Another message for me! Mom is getting more famous, and her and Dad are
making good money now, and when the promotional stuff really kicks in she says
we’re going have lots of money… and yet I hate my life.
All I need, all I
want, is love.
“YOU HAVE TO BE TRUE TO WHO YOU ARE.”
Cristol was mesmerized. The beautiful, radiant star,
glowing with maternity and happiness, was
blowing kisses to her adoring fans as she headed for the exit. After one last refrain of “You have to be
real,” the star left the stage and the miracle was over.
The Governor’s daughter wanted to shout “Hallelujiah!”
right there in the MTV studio. But, of course, she didn’t. She kept her thoughts to herself. God brought me all the way across a
continent to receive this message. Thank
you, God. Thank you for loving me so much, and for loving my baby, too. I will treasure these next months. I will be a
good mom to this baby you’ve given me.
Cristol felt wonderful.
She felt alive, happy, and set free. It was
a miracle.
Cristol felt so wonderfully relieved she half expected her
mother would notice the change. But, Rachael was too excited by her city cut
and pedicure to notice anything about her daughter.
That evening at dinner, Governor Saplin was scrolling
through her Blackberry and hoping to be recognized her from the article in
Newsweek. She had been disappointed that the men and women working in the salon
had not made a fuss over her for being an elected official. She talked as she
scrolled, “For Pete’s sake, you’d a thought they had governors in there every
stinkin’ day. Honestly, Cristol, we get
treated better at home. Wait till I tell the girls at “Big Tease.”
Twenty four hours before, Cristol would have picked up the
theme and joined in with her mother in criticizing the hairdressers in New
York. But th new Cristol Saplin spoke instead, .“Mom, that doesn’t matter.
Let’s not talk about hairdressers. I need –“
“You are so right! Why would I care about the attention of
a bunch of hair school graduates? Heck,
did they even graduate? Did I see their diplomas? Well, actually, there were these little
framed-“
“Mom, stop talking about hairdressers; Wrangler and I are
having a baby and -”
“And I’m being inconsiderate,” Rachael said, setting down
the smart phone. She looked directly into her daughter’s face wearing an
I-really-care-about-you look that she’d perfected while campaigning, and
explained, “I wasn’t thinking. So much on my mind, yup, I should have realized
how you feel about hairdressers, Wrangler’s mom being one of those people which
it is that cut other people’s hair and of course that’s not anything like being
a governor of a whole state and a potential running mate for a future
President. So, let’s get it out in the open, otherwise it’ll rot inside you
like dead fish left in the net. How do you
feel about Wrangler’s mom?’
“Wha..wh…” Cristol was dumbstruck.
“Jerrie’s a retired hairdresser, right? She must be pretty bored. Has she been puttin’ pressure on you kids to
give her some little rug rat grandbaby so she can have something to do all
day? You don’t have to do that, you
know. It’s your choice to make.”
“Stop it!” Cristol spoke a bit too loudly. She reddened and
her eyes darted around the room. Rachael noticed.
“Is anybody is
staring at us?” she asked. “You can’t be makin’ a scene here, ya know,
‘cause people are gonna recognize me. Take a
look and I’ll just be checking my email.” She picked up one of the
Blackberries that lay strategically on the white table cloth to imply that she was an important person.
“So, here I am, like my sisters and brothers in service to their country, us
who get elected to high public office are always workin’.” It was her theatrical voice; it deeply
offended Cristol at this moment.
“So,” Rachael hissed quietly through her teeth while still
thumbing the Blackberry, “is anybody noticin’ how hard I’m workin’?””
Before Cristol answered, the waiter appeared to take their
orders. “Surf and Turf. Two of
‘em.” A flick of her wrist indicated the
second was for the blushing teenager across the table. “And bring extra butter
with the bread.”
Between the ordering and the arrival of their entrees, not
much was said. When the meals were set before them, Rachael asked about the
studio taping, and listened while she savored each bite.
Cristol tried to do
justice to the miracle at MTV and her mother nodded occasionally and squiched
her mouth together sometimes. The former might have been a reaction to the
story or an expression of approval of the culinary talents at work in the
kitchen. The latter could have been
interest in a particular thing being recounted, or it could have been Rachael
trying to use her tongue to dislodge something stuck between her teeth. In both cases, Cristol’s interpretations were
generous.
“See, Mom? It was meant to be. God spoke to me.!”
“Well, maybe. But still, we’ve come all the way out here,
and that was God’s doing, too. You are far, far from home. No one knows you
here. They might know me, but not you. So why no have a little talk with the
folks at the clinic? I’m pretty sure there’ll be a message for you there, too.
Won’t know unless you walk through that door.”
She was smiling again – a big smile. “ Remember what I said about
doors?”
“Yes, Mom, I do. And, no, I won’t go to any clinic. I’m having this baby. Do you know he has a
heartbeat? And fingernails? And he knows my voice?” All the things Cristol had
learned in youth group had been reinforced through Google searches. The fetus
was very real to her, and it was a baby, not a condition. “I’m going to live in
the moment and my life will finally make sense.”
Rachael went back to scrolling her Blackberry and waited
for the waiter to take their plates.
“No dessert, thanks. Some of us are carrying too much
weight.”
Later that night, when reasoning failed, her mother tried
pleading, threatening, whining, pouting, and insulting. Rachael had accumulated
many weapons of coercion in her four-plus decades of living and never had they
been less effective.
“Get over it, Mom. I’m having my baby.”Cristol conceded one
thing, that she would “embrace the experience” quietly and privately, not
telling anyone until Rachael and Tad came up with a game plan.
Over the remaining days, Cristol sent Wrangler little
messages like “luv U” and “miss U” and “J Lo = AWESOME.” Telling him exactly
what happened in the MTV studios was going to wait until she got back and they
were alone, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Only then, when the time and setting were perfect, would she would tell
him about the miracle. And afterward, she was going to insist that he live in
the moment, too, and promise to never take love for granted.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It was the day before Cristol’s seventeenth birthday.
Grandma and Grandpa Heat were having the Saplins and the Strausses over for a
small celebration. Wrangler knew Buck
and Betty, .and his mom and sister knew who they were, of course. The Heats had
seen Jerrie and Porsche around town,
too. In an area as remote as Azzolla, the only people you didn’t recognize were
the visitors.
. The Heat’s had both retired from the Azzolla school
system as tenured teachers, and Jerrie feared they would look down on her. They
probably preferred to be around “educated
types.” Not only did Jerrie have no
post-high school education, but Jerrie’s vocation put her pretty much at the bottom rung of the
social ladder. For twenty years, she made ends meet through a steady
knocking on the back door by women needing a shampoo and cut, or foils, dyes
and perms. Hours were long, and she worked hard. Her clientele worked hard, too
– women coming by after a long day in an office or standing behind a cash
register. Sundays were busy. Some regulars didn’t have any other day off.
The Strauss kitchen served as beauty parlor, sanctuary,
book club, group therapy meet-up, and women’s self-help club. There was always a
pot of coffee brewing, and from very young ages, the smell of freshly brewed
coffee could subconsciously makes Wrangler and Porsche feel safe, happy and
loved.
The two of them kept out of sight while their mother’s
guests talked about their kids, their
husbands and their bills, got a trim or a new “do” and left with some tidbit of
gossip. Jerrie and her customers were
friends, but Jerrie never let work come before being a mom. As a hairdresser,
she could work while still being home for her kids. It was all she
ever wanted, and she felt blessed.
Blessed though she was, Jerrie was nervous. That’s why she
was taking extra care to look nice tonight. Jerrie wanted her hair to be
perfect, it was the one thing she could control. Deftly working the curling
wand, she mentally ruminated on what she called the card game of life. She knew
she’d been dealt a less promising hand than tonight’s hosts financially, physically
and intellectually. But her philosophy was to play the cards you’re dealt
without whining.
Two years ago she had been dealt a tough hand. A serious
back injury forced her into bed rest and nearly full retirement. One of the
working poor, she had no health insurance. Medical bills piled up and she could
have lost the kids to foster care. But she sold everything she owned of value
including her car, canceled cable television and figured out a budget that
could be met by welfare and child support payments. Things were tight, but they
were making it. The kids didn’t complain, they used lots of blankets at night
and wore sweaters and layers during the day to keep the heat down. Wrangler had
found a couple part time jobs and could keep his truck on the road through his
own earnings. And by hunting and fishing he stocked a freezer.
No one outside the house, not one neighbor or previous
customer ever guessed how truly difficult it was for the Stausses.
Jerrie always had a smile and a “hey there” for everyone she met, never
burdening anyone with a hint of her own worries. Tonight would be no
different. She was going to appreciate the cards she held, and keep them close
to her vest. Sure would be interesting, though, to get a glimpse at the hand
the Heats were holding.
Jerrie suspected that the Heats, thanks to their daughter’s
political connections, had been slipped a few aces. So what? To let that bother
her, she’d have to cash in some of her own chips – some of her favorites, like peace of mind and
optimism.. She wasn’t one to up the ante of
resentment. Hey, if she’d been dealt some high point cards from the
bottom of the deck she would have held
on to them, too.
“Yup, you betcha,”
she imitated Rachael for her own amusement and winked at her image in the
mirror. “Ouch,” she said as the hot metal touched her neck by mistake. A red
welt began to rise on the spot. “Oh
man,” she groaned, “That’s gonna show. It’s gonna look like one of those
hickeys like the kids give each other.” She frowned, then smiled and played the
card she was dealt. “Jerrie,” she said to herself, “ it will make me look like
one of the kids instead of a soon to be grandma.”
Jerrie kept working the wand and making curls and
reminisced about raising Wrangler and Porsche. Where had the time gone?
Those two were Jerrie’s reasons to get out of bed in the
morning and her reasons to stay sober during the day. In this world, she
neither expected nor coveted fame, popularity or wealth. She had two healthy
kids who gave her respect and showered her with love. Yup, she was blessed. Her
kids were real good kids, too. Some boys put their moms through hell. There
wasn’t enough to keep kids busy in this little geographical no man’s land. The state’s population was small and
scattered. The Valley was bleak, cold and dark for many months out of the year. It’s tough on
parents and kids alike.
Azzolla Valley parents
lived in fear that their sons and
daughters would become involved in the community’s biggest cottage industry.
Home cooked supplies of meth sold well in Azzolla; the illegal drug added to
the town’s economy and subtracted from its quality of life. Police had raided
and shut down nine meth labs in the previous twelve months.
It was rumored that Field Saplin had become a user. Jerrie
felt bad about that. Poor kid, he was a wild one, but Jerrie liked him.
Apparently, that stunt with the school buses was the last straw. Wrangler said
“everybody in school” knew who did it, and yes, Field was guilty. “Were you
there, too?” Jerrie had asked. But Wrangler said no, he was with some girls
that night. She believed him.
Jerrie’d heard it was Rachael who had arranged to send her
son away for that senior year he spent out of state. Wrangler confirmed that,
too. Apparently, the rest of the family pleaded with her not to do it, but she
told them all he was” messin’ up her image.” Next thing they knew, Field was in
Minnesota.
Hopefully, Cristol
isn’t like her mother, thought Jerrie. If
she gets as mean and bossy as Rachel, Wrangler and the baby are in for a tough
life. And with them all livin’ at the Saplins, that will make it even worse.
Why, I should suggest she move in with us, and I’ll help them get ready for the
baby. The governor’s busy, it will take some worry off her mind. Besides,
Wrangler says the Gov and the First Dude do a lot of arguing. That’s bad for
Cristol and the baby. I’ll talk to the kids about it after the party.
She smiled at the idea of having her son around more. He
was busy now, busy with sports, a job, and a girlfriend. Was he keeping things
in balance? She didn’t know for sure. He seemed to be keeping up in school,
though only time would tell. Most of his classes were online, a change Jerrie
had approved so that he could keep Cristol company while she stayed home and
grew a baby in her belly. He was there to help her, too, if she needed something.. So far, what the
girl seemed to need the most was assurance that Wrangler wasn’t cheating on her.
Keeping him away from Azzolla High School was one way to do that. Wrangler
willingly gave up that freedom to keep Cristol happy and Jerrie kept her
opinions to herself. She and her ex-husband were different that way.
All Kevin Strauss knew about Wrangler’s schooling was that,
in spite of his disapproval, Jerrie had agreed to the homeschooled situation. It
was a bad idea. Too many times, he’d seen the word “homeschooled” applied to
kids who stopped attending classes but didn’t officially drop out. (Academic
requirements in the valley school district were some of the most lax in the
country.) As a father, he wanted better for Wrangler. He wanted his son in the classroom,
under the teachers’ watch, socializing with other Azzels his age.
Partly because of their different ways of seeing things,
and partly because she liked the power, Jerrie kept Kevin in the dark about
almost everything important that happened with Wrangler and Porshe. As far as
she was concerned, when he left her he lost parental rights. The courts would
have disagreed, but Kevin didn’t have the money for lawyers, and Jerrie knew
it. Kevin didn’t know Cristol was pregnant, and he didn’t know that Wrangler’s
online school work was being done inside the Saplin compound, or that his son
was almost living there now. He’d have been somewhat upset about the baby on
the way, but he would have gone ballistic if he had a clue that it resulted in
his son becoming a quasi-prisoner of the governor’s family.
During the disagreement over homeschooling. Jerrie had
defended the arrangement saying, “If the computer stuff is workin’ for him,
then don’t rock the boat.” Kevin wasn’t surprised by that, his ex-wife’s
approach to life could be summed up as
“Find an honest way to get by, then stick with it.” Like everything else
about the woman, it wasn’t glamorous, but it was adequate.
Perhaps that was why Porsche craved glamour. Even as a
little girl she liked to sparkle, to flirt, and to be told she was pretty. And
she was pretty. Her brand of pretty was the wholesome, apple-cheek kind. Only
yesterday, Jerrie told her she looked like Cheryl Teigs. It was meant as high
praise, but Porsche had never heard of the twentieth century face of CoverGirl
cosmetics. “Really? A super model named Cheryl? When was that Mom?
Like, when photography was invented?”
Though Jerrie laughed, the joke made her feel old. Well, I am old, she told herself. Old enough to be a grandma, no
denying that. She took another look
at the burn on her neck and reached for the bottle of liquid makeup.
Glamour came easily to Porshe who could make second hand
clothes look like they’d cost a fortune. She had a great figure already, and a
mane of head-turning hair. She’d been a platinum blonde when she was a young
child, and now, Jerrie colored and streaked her daughter’s long tresses every
few months, keeping it within two shades of the baby blonde curls she was born
with. Sometimes the streaks were maroon, sometimes a more natural shade of red.
On St. Pat’s day they were green, and for a while last winter, blue. Whatever
she wanted, her mother provided with love.
The mother/daughter relationship was balanced. Porshe did a
lot to help out around the house. Jerrie depended on her for help with the cleaning,
meals and laundry. And with no parental prodding, she got herself off to school
on time, finished her homework, earned passing grades, and, so far, unlike some
of her closest friends, had not been brought home by the police for any
misconduct.
On her MySpace page, Porshe listed two heros-- “my mother
Jerrie” and “my big brother Wrangler” – and she had 172 “friends.” Vivacious
and outgoing, she enjoyed the benefits and suffered the torments of popularity.
There had been steady boyfriends, one after another, starting when she was eleven.
Jerrie smiled when she remembered the shy first boyfriend who visited the
house. Those two hadn’t even held hands, let alone kiss. But as Porsche matured
physically, so had the boys who came calling.
When her daughter turned thirteen, Jerrie’d handed
her a box of condoms and made sure her daughter knew how they were used. No
matter how tight money was, there was a box in the bathroom cabinet supplied by
Jerrie with the unspoken understanding that it would be replaced when empty,
and neither Porcshe nor Wrangler would
be questioned. This reduced Jerrie’s worries. While she had hoped Wrangler
would act responsibly, she definitely didn’t want Porsche having a baby before
she was ready, and though it was out of her control, as a mom she was at least
doing something.
Porsche wasn’t perfect. She loved to drink, and she’d tried
cigarettes and pot. Jerrie knew some of it because she and Porsha were honest
with each other. Jerrie gave good advice, and she didn’t overreact. Rather than
put a wedge between them by holding the reigns too tightly, she parented her
kids with equally generous amounts of open communication and freedoms. As far
as she could tell, it was working okay. Hey, it wasn’t Porsche that was
pregnant, now was it?
Nevertheless, I’m
going to be a grandmother. Guess I should have given Wrangler more warnings and
more condoms. But that thought
didn’t square with her. She wasn't going to take blame for Cristol Saplin’s
mistakes. Everybody knows it’s the girl’s responsibility to prevent herself
from getting knocked up. Do they call it
that nowadays? Until science makes a way for boys to have babies, it’s all
on the girl. Just like it’s her choice whether or not to have it. So, if
Cristol’s parents, or anyone else were to disagree, Jerrie was ready to set
them straight – even if it was at the birthday party tonight.
There were many times Jerrie and Rachael were on opposite
sides of an issue. Most involved Mayor Saplin’s efforts to make Azzolla perfect.
Perfect, of course, is a matter of opinion. And the freedom to express opinions
is one of the things that makes this country great. Thinking about it
that way, Jerrie didn’t hold it against Rachael for working so hard to change
the town to fit her own visions, but the stuff she did sure raised eyebrows and
blood pressures all over the valley.
As mayor of Azzolla, Rachael did whatever she could to
stymie the work of Planned Parenthood.
Beyond cutting back on public dollars for sex education, she’d tried to
keep the agency from being listed as a community chest organization. Which
meant it would suffer a reduction in private donations from those who funnel
their personal charitable giving through that network. But the worst thing, in
Jerrie’s opinion, was the plan to charge a girl who was raped for the cost of
collecting evidence. Pick a poor girl’s pocket after she was assaulted? Really?
Jerrie wanted to ask Rachael “What would Jesus do?”
Then, there was the library whallopalooza. A priest, well
known for his ministry to the gay
community had written a book that sensitively told the story of a divorced
father introducing his new partner, another man, to his son. In her first week
as Mayor, Rachael Saplin tried to have the book removed from the library. When
Jerrie read in the paper about the big argument at the council meeting over a
children’s book, she decided she’d read it herself so she would have an
informed opinion. She found it well written and touching, though she knew that
when it came to divorce, and kids, she might have a bias.
Rachael, herself, had not read the book. A councilwoman
suggested she should read it but Mayor
Saplin flatly refused. Eventually, the “compromise” worked out was that the
book be sent to another library in the system, and it could be requested and
issued “on loan” from there. The other library turned out to be the most remote
library in the region, and there, it was kept under the front desk for
circulation only by request to adult patrons.
Then, Mayor Saplin fired the local librarian. It was an
unforgivable act as far as Jerrie Strauss was concerned. Jerrie made weekly
trips to the library, access to free books and magazines was very important to
Jerrie. The librarian, Elaine Johnston, had helped widened Jerrie’s
understanding of the world, helped her open up to new ideas. When Jerrie was at
the library, she felt respected and intellectually curious. For this, she loved
Elaine. Mayor Saplin quickly found out many people felt like Jerrie did. The termination was retracted and a statement
issued saying there had been a misunderstanding. Jerrie didn’t buy it. Misunderstanding, my ass, thought
Jerrie.
Clearly, this little baby would have two very different
grandmothers. Jerrie and Rachael were on different sides of many social
issues even though both claimed to be Christians. Rachael wore her religion on
her sleeve, so to speak, often telling others that she found their actions to
be “against the word of God.” Jerrie, on the other hand, kept a quiet faith in a loving God who watched
over her and those she loved, and understood that everone makes mistakes
sometimes. In her heart, she believed God was sympathetic, and as long as
she wasn’t intentionally hurting anyone, He would help her get back up again
and keep on going.
Jerrie wondered if the baby was a message from God to
Rachael Saplin. Maybe Rachael’s “Heavenly Father” that she spoke of often, was
testing that flashy faith of hers. “We love all babies” was the pro-lifer’s
chant outside that local clinic. Well, we’ll see. Will Rachael love this
grandchild? Will she rearrange her priorities to find some time to spend
with it? In my home, Wrangler's child
will always be welcomed and loved.
The thought brought her full circle. Sure
would be nice if they decided to live with me.
The sound of a familiar horn interrupted the silence,
and through the kitchen window she saw Wrangler’s truck idling in the
gravel driveway. This will be interesting,
Jerrie thought, as she zipped her NorthFace jacket (a lucky find from the
Goodwill Store). She didn’t bother to lock the back door after closing it
behind her. She knew there was nothing inside worth stealing.
