Page 4 of Supernova

Jude gets up and refills her drink. With her back to the card table, she sighs audibly. “Jo, no one is going to make that happen.” Just a few months before, she and Jo had had a prickly exchange at a pool party over the fact that women’s roles areclearly defined and instilled from birth. The derisive tone in Jude's voice that day is back again.

“It’s up tousto make it happen,” Carrie says. Her eyes flash. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it after reading the book myself, and I really believe that no change will come without a groundswell of women making their own changes.”

Barbie looks distinctly uncomfortable. She rubs her shiny pink lips together, eyes wide as she looks between Carrie and Jude. “But what if welikebeing mothers? I have three little boys,” she argues softly, “and I love being home with them. I don't want to go and work in an office everyday, or be a teacher.”

“Then do that,” Carrie says with a smile. “Stay home and be a mother. That’s the beauty of it, Barb: as women we shouldgetto make that choice, not have it foisted upon us. And we shouldn't judge each other either way. If you want to stay home and I want to work, then that's fine. We need to be supportive of one another's dreams.”

Frankie leans back in her chair, listening to this exchange and watching the faces of her friends. They are all strong, kind-hearted women, wonderful mothers, and sterling examples of supportive wives, but Frankie gets the feeling that Carrie’s impassioned speech is falling on semi-deaf ears. Or at least the ears of women who are not quite ready to receive her message, with the exception of maybe Jo.

“Frankie,” Carrie says, turning to her. Frankie sits up straighter. “You were a Rockette before you got married.”

“I was,” Frankie confirms, though they already know this.

“You had to be a fairly tough cookie to make it in New York.”

“Well, I didn’t make it.” Frankie feels a tightening in her chest as she admits this. “I’m here just like the rest of you, living in paradise like a hothouse flower while my husband tries to make his own dreams come true.” It must be her tone, because while she tries for breezy and unbothered, the other women gosilent as they watch her face. “Look,” Frankie says. “I’m not unhappy. I just don’t feel the need to be a career woman. I can just as easily find joy in traveling or reading a really good book. I tried my hand at fulfilling my own dreams, and it wasn't all that it's cracked up to be.”

“But what are you good at?” Carrie presses.

“Smoking.” Frankie smirks.

“She is pretty good at that,” Jo says, wagging a finger.

“Okay.” Frankie thinks. “I am good at dancing. And singing. I almost cut a record once. But that's all behind me--I haven't danced in years.”

“What happened?” Jude is listing slightly after her second glass of punch, but she pushes herself up from the table and goes to pour another anyway. “Why didn’t you make a record or keep dancing in New York?”

Frankie swallows hard. There are some very solid reasons why she gave it all up, and none of them are appropriate things to talk about while Darlene Love sings “Winter Wonderland” on the record player. “Things got complicated,” she says cagily, picking at the half-eaten brownie on her plate. She stands up, feeling agitated. “My life changed. I got married. Ed got accepted at NASA. You know the rest of the story.”

Frankie wanders over to her undecorated tree and stands in front of it, imagining how things are done at Jo’s house. Without a doubt, Jimmy, Nancy, and little Kate all clamor to add tinsel and stars to the tree, and as Jo passes around mugs of hot cocoa, Bill Booker will be standing off to the side, capturing the family festivities on their Instamatic.

But at Frankie’s house, Ed will say that he prefers to go golfing and then he'll let her handle all the holiday decorations. He’ll pour a snifter of brandy and smile at her as she drags out box after box of garlands and ornaments, but the lack of childlike wonder in their home will be palpable. There’s no one underfootwho believes in Santa, and therefore the magic of the season will be entirely manufactured. She knows this from experience, and therefore has preempted the whole thing this year by asking the girls over to help her decorate so that she doesn't end up doing it all alone.

“Why don’t you teach voice lessons? Or dance?” Carrie turns her body in her chair so that she’s facing Frankie and the Christmas tree. “You could definitely get some kids in the neighborhood signed up. I really think you could.”

Frankie laughs, but it sounds as hollow as it feels. “I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head wistfully. “I’m not sure if anyone really wants their kids taking dance lessons from a woman who shimmied around on stage in what basically amounts to a feathered bikini with sequins.” Frankie's eyes are fixed on the branches of her tree. "And I haven't danced in so long that I'm not even sure I could do it anymore."

“I would,” Carrie says firmly. “I’d sign Christina up in a heartbeat.”

“And you can have Hope and Faith,” Jude says drunkenly, biting into a cookie that crumbles into her lap. She looks down at it like she has no idea how it got there.

This makes Frankie laugh. “Well, it’s definitely a vote of confidence that you’d give me your children, Jude. But maybe you should see me dance or hear me sing before getting too excited.”

“Ohhh! I’d love to,” Barbie says. She reaches for the notepad and pencil on the table that they’re going to use for the card game and she starts to doodle. “Do you think you could sing something for us?”

Frankie isn’t loving the direction this is taking, and there’s no way she’s going to sing at her own cocktail party like some kind of over the hill performer who is desperate for attention.

“Actually,” Frankie says, picking up a box full of little glittery star ornaments. She passes them to Jo. “I’d love it if we could get this tree looking festive. What do you say?”

“But what about Krypto?” Barbie asks, pencil poised over the notepad. “I’m ready to win at cards!”

“Tree first, then cards when we’re all too tipsy to worry about whether we’re getting the math right or not.” Frankie hands Carrie a tissue-wrapped star that goes on top of the tree.

Carrie stands up and smooths the front of her simple green dress with her palms. She bends over a big cardboard box and peers in at the collection of Christmas trimmings. “I still think you should consider teaching some dance lessons. There are several empty storefronts in the center of town, and I bet you anything that the moms around here would love it if you offered classes.”

Carrie isn’t wrong: there are several empty spots in town, and Frankie has seen a few of them and imagined herself renting one. Only, in her daydreams, she was selling dainty pastries and running a tiny bistro in one of the shops that look out onto downtown Stardust Beach, not teaching little girls in leotards how to pirouette. Frankie had gone through a phase as a teenager where she imagined herself as a baker and living in France, and she still occasionally likes to think that she might be able to sell cookies and cakes. But she's not lying when she says that she has no designs on being a career woman, so these thoughts usually stay in her head while she fills her days with other pursuits. Still, the seed has been planted, and it’s worth thinking about—at some point.

“Jo, will you hang all the red glass ornaments?” Frankie says as she walks over to the stereo system and turns up the volume. The Ronettes are singing “Sleigh Ride,” which feels totally incongruous with the warm December evening, but Frankieloves this song. “And Barbie, can you string the ribbons through the hooks on the silver bells?”

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