1. December 1963
ONE
december 1963
FRANKIE
Frankie Maxwell stands before her pink-flocked Christmas tree with an unlit cigarette in one hand and a clear glass ornament in the other. Elvis is singing “Santa Claus is Back in Town” on the radio that sits on her windowsill, and she’s wearing a sunny yellow halter top and matching shorts. Her feet are bare, and her nails are polished a festive holiday red.
“Coming!” Frankie shouts when the doorbell chimes. She throws open the door to find Jo Booker standing there with a covered dish in both hands. The bright December Florida sunshine spills into her foyer. “Treats for me?” Frankie asks, nodding at the dish.
Jo frowns, ignoring her friend’s question as her eyes travel to the cigarette in Frankie’s hand. “I thought you were quitting.”
Frankie steps aside, waving the hand that’s not holding the cigarette. “I’m trying,” she says. “But my hand feels empty without a cigarette in it. Part of the joy of smoking is having something to do with my hands.”
“That’s a crock,” Jo says as she makes a beeline for Frankie’s kitchen. “You’re going to light that as soon as I step into the bathroom, aren't you?”
“Ha!” Frankie follows her, leaning one hip against her own kitchen counter as she watches Jo move around capably. “I haven’t had a cigarette in two days, Joey-girl. So there.”
“Okay, I’ll lay off,” Jo says. "After all, you do share them with me on our walks, so I can't be too judgmental." She sets her covered dish on the counter and takes off the Saran wrap. “I brought double-chocolate brownies.”
“So we’re not watching our waistlines then?”
“You don’t need to. None of the girls do.” Jo looks Frankie up and down. “Honey, the other ladies will be here in less than an hour. Are you getting dressed, or is this a pool party?”
Frankie’s hand flies to her head, where her pink plastic Spoolies hair curlers are still working their magic. “I guess I should finish getting ready, huh?”
Jo shoos her away with one hand and walks over to the nearly naked tree with its boxes of ornaments resting in tissue paper all over the carpeted floor. She rests her hands on both hips and surveys the half-decorated room. “Are you sure you want to do this with us and not with Ed?” Jo says, turning to Frankie. “I’m always happy to help, but it seems wrong to decorate the tree if he wants to help?—“
“He’s fine!” Frankie assures her. “Trust me. I make him un-decorate the house on New Year’s Day every year, and that’s enough futzing with ornaments for him.”
When Frankie emerges from the master bedroom ten minutes later, it's with her dark hair long and waving over both shoulders. She’s traded in the shorts and halter top for a white dress with big red dots all over it, and on her feet she’s wearing shiny red patent leather flats.She does a twirl for Jo.
“Better?” Frankie looks at Jo for approval.
“Much. Not that you don’t look lovely in shorts and curlers, but I think you’ll be happier to have your hostess face on, won’t you?”
Frankie gives Jo a look. “Yes, Mom,” she says, cracking a smile. “Now, let’s make the punch so we can pour drinks when the other girls arrive.”
By the time the doorbell starts to ring and Frankie opens it to let Barbie, Jude, and Carrie in with their covered potluck dishes in hand, they have a pink vodka party punch mixed up and ready to serve. The buffet that runs along one wall of the living room is soon covered in brownies, a giant cheeseball with crackers, bacon cheddar deviled eggs, peanut butter and pimento cheese stuffed celery sticks, and slow cooker cocktail smokies. Eartha Kitt is singing “Santa Baby” on the record that Jo put on, and Frankie has erected the card table and folding chairs at one end of the living room.
“Are you ready for me to wipe the floors with you, girls?” Barbie asks, rubbing both hands together with a gleam in her eye.
Jo laughs. “I had no idea you were this competitive.”
“Believe it,” Barbie says, picking up a small appetizer plate and filling it with a little bit of everything. “It’s a week until Christmas, my gifts are bought and wrapped, and Todd is home with the boys all evening. Mama’s ready to party.”
Barbie had given birth to her third son, a little boy called Huck, after going into labor in the middle of Jo’s “Welcome to Stardust Beach” party back in May. Barbie is small and blonde and adorable, and her figure is nicely rounded by the changes that motherhood has brought, though she regularly laments to the other women that she wants to get her old body back. She’s wearing a lightweight pink sweater and a matching skirt, and not for the first time, Jo thinks about how much the real, flesh-and-blood Barbie looks like, well, a Barbie doll.
The other women fill their plates while Frankie pours them punch, and they all take their seats to eat and chat.
“What are we playing tonight?” Jude sips her punch thirstily.
Jo had caught Jude pouring herself some extra vodka in Carrie's kitchen over the summer and eventually let Frankie know—confidentially, of course—that she had some concerns about their new friend. Because they'd all known one another for less than a year, it was hard to gauge how any of them might have acted or behaved before, but right away Jo noticed that Jude always seemed to overindulge when it came to drinking. Not long after the incident in Carrie's kitchen, Jude had fallen in her own backyard and hit her head, landing in the pool without explanation. Fortunately a neighbor had been close by and come to her rescue, but ever since that near tragedy, Jo has been hyper-aware of their friend, and Frankie knows that Jo is watching Jude closely for signs that she’s got a problem. But in Frankie’s experience, a person has to want help before you can give it to them when it comes to things like this, so she cuts Jude a wide berth.
“We’re playing Krypto,” Frankie says as she bites into a deviled egg and then pats her lips with a paper napkin. “I’ve been dying to play this one—it just came out this year.” She tries to keep her eyes off of Jude as she sips her punch, but her gaze inadvertently catches Jo’s and they share a look. It hadn't taken long for the two women to realize that there was a spark of real friendship between them, and as the seasons changed (mostly without any noticeable differences between spring, summer, autumn, and winter because, after all, this is Florida), they'd grown closer, taking evening walks together and sharing confidences.
“Oooh, I heard about Krypto,” Carrie says, plopping down in her chair and setting her appetizer plate full of vegetarian choices in front of her. “It’s all math, right?”
Carrie is their resident health aficionado, and she loves to talk to them about yoga and bean sprouts and homemade yogurt bacteria. None of it appeals to Frankie, but Carrie is totally devoted to the idea of pickling herself from the inside with every vitamin and mineral under the sun, and Frankie sure can’t fault a girl for being dedicated to something.
“Yes, it's essentially a math game,” Frankie says. She explains the rules and jots all of their names down on her notepad before dealing the cards. “You just call out ‘Krypto!’ once you think you’ve got it, and then we all have to put our cards down and stop looking at them.”
“This sounds confusing,” Jude says, taking another slug of her punch. “Maybe we should just play gin rummy instead?”
“I really want to try Krypto,” Barbie objects. She takes a big, crunchy bite of her celery stick with peanut butter. “It’s all the rage, and if we get invited to cards night with any of the other wives, we want to be able to keep up.”
The other women murmur their agreement as they gather the cards that Frankie deals out to them.
Without even realizing it, the five families who moved to Stardust Beach at the same time—and their respective husbands, whose hiring at Cape Kennedy’s NASA station had necessitated their moves—have formed a tight unit that is still separate from the families who have been there longer. There's been talk of trying to widen their circle a bit and integrate some of the wives who've been there longer, but there's an ease to their friendship that feels a bit like finding a group of girls in your own grade in high school and then just sticking together.
“That’s true,” Jo says mildly. She picks up the cards that Frankie has tossed into her pile and she organizes her hand with concentration. “I’m just glad that we could make this happen in the middle of all of our holiday preparations.” She sets her cards facedown on the table and looks at the other women with glistening eyes. “I’m still having a hard time being away from home this year,” Jo admits. It's been well-documented amongst their group that Jo is the one who had the hardest time moving to Florida. “And, frankly, I don’t think I’m over the shock of what happened yet.”
Without needing more explanation, the other women understand immediately that she’s referring to President Kennedy’s tragic assassination the week before Thanksgiving. It had rocked the country, the world, and everyone they knew. For all of them, it is and will always be a singular moment in time--a divide of "before" and "after" that paints their lives into distinct parts.
“I know,” Barbie says with pain in her voice. “Everything since then has just felt…wrong. Thanksgiving was on autopilot. I think I ate turkey, but I’m not even sure. I was just numb. Everyone was.”
The other women nod in agreement as they sip their vodka punch.
“It felt like the whole country was attacked. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way it felt to be standing in the middle of the grocery store, holding a cantaloupe in one hand when a woman screamed and said, ‘The President is dead! Kennedy has been shot!’” Carrie shakes her head, remembering. The group falls silent as they all contemplate where they’d been when they first heard the news.
“I heard some people blame Texas,” Jude says. She presses her lips together grimly. “I know we need a place for our anger to go, but that just seems ridiculous. It’s not our fault.” Even though they’ve been in Florida for the better part of a year, Jude still insists she’s a Texan till the end, and she’d absolutely taken it personally when the president died in her home state.
“Some of Kennedy’s opponents are actually happy that it happened,” Frankie says. She leans back in her chair, wishing she had a cigarette handy. Oddly, none of the other women smoke—at least not openly. On her evening walks with Jo they usually share one or two from Frankie’s pack, and in those moments, Frankie is able to truly relax and let herself go. In fact, she and Jo have gotten to know one another better over a shared cigarette on a long walk than she’s gotten to know anyone in years.
“It’s always going to be that way.” Carrie’s face looks stormy. “There will always be people who don’t want progress. People who can’t stand change. But it’s coming nonetheless. And taking someone's life to halt that is just pure evil.”
“What kind of change?” Barbie blinks a few times as she holds a cocktail wiener on a toothpick.
Carrie sets her glass of punch on the card table and leans forward so that she’s looking Barbie right in the eye. “Like everything , Barb. Last year Russia put a woman in space. Can the U.S. be far behind?”
“Yes,” Frankie says flatly. “We can.”
“But there’s momentum building,” Carrie says imploringly. She looks each of them in the eye in turn. “Women are waking up to the fact that we’re being kept quiet and complacent, and we’re realizing that we want more. Don’t you all feel that?”
Barbie shrugs as she looks at her plate.
Jude takes another long pull on her drink, eyeing the punchbowl on the buffet.
Jo nods her head as she gears up to say something.
Frankie lifts one eyebrow and longs for the sweet release of nicotine flooding through her body.
“I finished reading The Feminine Mystique ,” Jo says, “and I came away feeling like women really need more options. We need something beyond just our roles as wives and mothers.”
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 are clearly defined and instilled from birth. The derisive tone in Jude's voice that day is back again.
“It’s up to us to 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 we like being 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 should get to 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 go silent 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 underfoot who 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 Frankie loves this song. “And Barbie, can you string the ribbons through the hooks on the silver bells?”
The front windows are open as the sun sets in a lavender sky, and tall palm trees wave over the roofs of the neighborhood houses, which are ringed in colored Christmas lights. With their bare, tanned arms, the women aren’t dressed for any winter that Frankie has ever lived through, but she loves the way that nothing about Florida matches her life from before. Everything feels new and different, and new and different means that Frankie can start over. She can let go of the past and make herself into whoever she wants to be--all she has to do is try.
And so she starts to sing—just jokingly at first, shimmying along as she sings with the Ronettes—and then with feeling. The other women look surprised at how big and strong her voice is, but Frankie keeps going until Carrie, Barbie, Jude, and Jo join in with her, their voices braiding together, drifting out the open windows and into the night.