Once Upon a Time in Alabama …

Chapter 1

“Noel, Noel, the angels did say!” the people in the line were singing. Always! Even in the middle of summer!

Noel counted the money and gave it with a receipt to the sweaty, dirty guy in the yellow hard hat; the man signed the paper and departed, happily pocketing the money. The next construction guy, partially covered with white and blue paint, appeared in her trailer-office window.

“I am your snowman! Do you like your Santa, baby?” he said.

Someone in the line behind him shouted in response: “No way! He is too old for her.”

“Baby,” the man asked without paying attention to the shouts. “Can you ask Santa to fill my stocking?”

“Your stocking?” Guys in the line were horrified. “It stinks like a chemical weapon. You wanna kill our sweet little darling?”

So it goes. She had listened to endless Santa jokes for the six months she worked there. All this was happening because her father hadn’t wanted to give her a simple and boring girl’s name. He’d named her Noel! Yes, she was born on Christmas Eve, but so what? Should it be eternal Christmas?

“Hi Noel, say thanks to Santa!” said the next guy picking up his pay. “Can you give me more? I was a good boy!”

When the line ended, she closed the trailer window and inhaled deeply. Mr. Michael, Martha and Jill usually departed by that time, and the tiny office became very comfortable and quiet. It was time to relax. Soon it would be time for the long and boring calculations and filling out forms, but these ten minutes of total peace and solitude were her blessed moments … but not today.

Today Mr. Michael had installed a television in the office, and when Noel fixed herself some tea, she almost unconsciously pushed the magic button. The two most handsome dark faces in the world appeared on the screen.

Oh, no! She loved this show! And it was the best episode of the previous season. The best episode ever. Brian Morgan played a therapist and Michael Jason played a patient. She had a crush on both of them, although Morgan was old enough to be more of a father figure for her. She’d made up so many dialogs with him in her mind. No, they were more monologs. Michael Jason, slick and stylish, was the man of her dreams. She had a poster of them over her table. No, she could not skip the show. But everything she worked on during commercial breaks had to be recalculated.

When at last she finished clicking the keys, saved and printed the file, it was almost eleven p.m. She wanted to swear. It was dangerous to walk home. The night was warm, so some drunk guys could be looking for trouble.

Noel wrapped herself in a baggy hoodie, found the pepper spray in her purse and clamped it in her fist. Then she locked the trailer, regretting that she’d wore flip-flops. Not the best choice if she needed to run fast.

Her trailer was located at the construction site. Several residential trailers were located outside the site along the street. The comfort of these wagons was nonexistent, but the price was low. The windows were dark; people were either already asleep or visiting local bars.

At first, the street looked empty, but then Noel noticed a man sitting on a bench at the bus stop.

“Well, it begins,” she thought. “I hope he is too drunk to run after me.”

The man with messy twists of black hair and a bandana on his forehead, wore jeans and T-shirt. He was sitting with his back to her and examining something in his hands. A bottle? No, it did not look like it. A cellphone?

In that moment, he raised his head and looked at something on the street. His dark red bandana sparkled in the streetlight, and Noel suddenly remembered him, his messy twists of black hair, unshaven jaw protruding forward, and a huge purple swelling birthmark all over his face. The mole was spreading through his cheeks, nose, and one of the eyelids, half closing his right eye. Probably on his forehead too but that was always covered by his bandana. Because of this swelling, the man looked really creepy. He lived in one of the trailers; he never smiled, usually stood in the line with a stony face, took his money and silently left. When she saw his face in her office window for the very first time, Noel had almost jumped and shrieked. What’s his name? Nick? Rick? And suddenly she remembered: people call him Mickey Monster or Mickey Mutant. He didn’t care. So, his name is Mickey…

Noel walked cautiously, hoping to slip by unnoticed. But suddenly she saw what he was holding; she could not believe her eyes: it was a book! The man who looked like a mutant-gangster was reading. Late at night, not with weed or a bottle, but with a book. It was amazing. In her mind, this book suddenly extracted him from the circle of dangerous people, and she took a step toward him, not understanding why.

“Er ... Mickey? Hi?” she said softly. “How are you doing?”