by Lisa Patton
I lightly shake my head. “A frand?”
“Part friend. Part fan. Get it?”
I arch my eyebrows and feign a smile. Kissie must be rubbing off on me. I just might have to start hm, hm, hming myself.
Stan turns toward the door. “I’ll be back,” he says in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, hits the door frame and disappears down the hall.
Oh double dear.
Not having any idea about what to do next, I busy myself by reading the various folders in the file cabinet. In the first two hours since arriving for my first day on the job, I’ve talked to at least ten people about the pandas, taken several phone calls from station winners inquiring about their prizes, and jotted down messages for all kinds of people I’ve never met. I have no idea how to transfer a call but surely Edward has planned for someone to train me. I’m just hanging up from another winner when I see Edward standing in the doorway.
“Good morning, Leelee. I see you’re finding your way.”
“Hi, Edward.” I smile and tuck my hair behind my ears. No denying it. He makes me nervous. “How are you this morning?”
“Dealing with the usual morning team crap. But fine.”
“Did you hear about the pandas?”
One barely squinted eye glares at me. “I’ve been dealing with the pandas all morning. Would you hand me my messages, please?”
“Sure.” I reach over and grab his stack of pink message slips and pass them over.
Edward flips through the stack and stops when he sees a certain name. “Damnit.” He rolls his eyes. “Grady Walker is calling from the zoo. I’m sure he’s not happy.” He looks up at me. “When will the idiots in this town grow a brain?”
I furrow my brow. Not sure what he means.
“Johnny Dial is in the business of ratings. He’s the master prankster. People fall for his pranks every single time. And I’m the one who has to wipe up his mess. To think hundreds of people mistook two guys dressed in panda suits for real pandas is asinine.”
Now I’m the one who feels like an idiot. Not only did the rest of the city fall for the panda prank, I was right there with them. “What’s wrong with people these days?” I say, and shake my head in disgust. “They just get more gullible by the year.”
Edward’s the fidgety type. He can’t sit or stand still. I notice him tapping his thumb on his messages and looking around the room.
“I have some questions for you,” I say, with plenty of oomph in my voice, trying to show him my excitement about my first day on the job. “Nothing big. Just a few technical ones.”
“I’ll try to answer a couple but with all the crap I’m dealing with this morning, I don’t have much time.”
“Oh, no problem. I can ask the person who’ll be training me if you’d rather.”
Edward hesitates. “Quite frankly, this job is not rocket science. You’re a college graduate. I doubt you’ll have any issues.”
My stomach falls to my feet. Aren’t you being a little harsh? I’m simply asking if someone can show me the ropes. Lead me around a little on my first day.
“I will tell you this. Sometimes our winners become angry if they arrive to pick up their prizes before we actually get them into the station. That’s why I demand that we never go on the air with a promotion until the prizes are in house and in the prize closet. Sales is terrible about that. They want to please their clients so they promise them the moon.”
I nod in agreement.
“I need you to be aware of their schemes. The sales people will try all kinds of things to butter you up. They’ll want you to be their best buddy. They’ll try to tell you the prizes are on the way. But don’t believe them. They’re liars. All of them.”
Edward’s face darkens till it’s beet red. “Each and every on-air promotion has to be cleared by me,” he says, enunciating every single syllable for emphasis.
I could tell he was excitable in the interview but now I’m positive he’s the type that could blow at any moment. Dear God, just tell me he’s not another Helga. That’s all I need, one more job where I have to tiptoe across another glass pond.
“Would you like to see the prize closet?” Out of nowhere a huge smile replaces his sour expression.
“Sure,” I say, trying not to sound too excited or too scared.
“Follow me.”
We head down the hall and stop just outside a door that has an on-air light that, at the moment, is bright red. Edward removes his keychain from his pocket and fumbles through several keys before finding the exact one. He jerks another door open and steps forward. Inside is a vast collection of FM 99 paraphernalia. Hats, T-shirts, mugs, key chains, bumper stickers, and plastic cups—perfectly organized on the shelves. CDs from different artists heard on the station are perfectly stacked and alphabetized. There’s a label on one of the shelves marked “Concert Tickets” with a box on top. Edward grabs it and flips through the different labels. “Whenever you enter this closet, be sure to keep this out of sight from the jocks. They’ll try to sweet talk you out of the tickets for their friends and family.” There’s a box marked “Gift Certificates,” which Edward explains is for cruises, airline tickets, and hotel vouchers—all the prizes that are given away on air. “And especially this box.” He taps the top. “It’s very valuable.”
He closes the door, secures the dead bolt and stuffs his keys back in his pocket. After glancing into a small window on the door of the room with the on-air light, he heads back down the hall while I follow behind. Instead of turning into his office, he turns into mine.
“Where’s Dial? He’s not in the control room.”
Although I’ve not met him I know exactly what he looks like. Johnny Dial, the morning disc jockey, has been on the air since before I went to Ole Miss. Blond hair, blue eyes, and cute as a bug. He’s on TV all the time promoting the local Toyota dealership. Every single year Memphis Magazine names him best local celebrity, best deejay, and sexiest Memphian. If I’m thirty-three, he has to be at least forty. “I haven’t seen him. Sorry.”
“He better not have left yet.” Edward scowls and scurries out of my office. I hear him slam his door.
Ten minutes pass.
“Pssst.” I look up to see Johnny Dial poking his adorable head in my office. He’s motioning to me. “Come here a minute.”
I point at myself. “Me?”
“Yeah. Come here.” His voice is barely a whisper.
I hurriedly follow him down the hall, out the FM side of the building and into the AM side. A pair of headphones is in one hand and he’s carrying a briefcase in the other. Every time we turn down a new corridor he looks behind and shoots me a sparkly smile. “Just a few more feet. I’m not a weirdo. I promise.” Finally he ducks into an empty office, pulls me inside and shuts the door. “Sorry about that. There was no time to explain.”
My grin assures him that he’s safe with me. “Is there something wrong?” I ask.
When he chuckles I recognize his laugh from the radio. He’s known for it. “No. Not at all. I’m just trying to avoid Edward. Not only is he mad at me about the pandas, he wants me to record this stupid-ass promo today for the Spring Sweeps. I’m supposed to be on the golf course in fifteen minutes. Way out at Windyke.”
“Windyke? You better hurry.”
“I know. Can you cover for me?”
“How?”
“Tell him you took a message that said I had a dentist appointment at ten thirty. If I start on that stupid promo now, he’ll have me in the production studio for the next two hours. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Sure. I’ll tell him that.” What is it about this guy that makes me so willing to lie for him ten seconds after meeting him? Who am I kidding—he’s got charm like Baker and confidence to boot.
“Thanks. You’re the best.” He puts his hand on the doorknob. “I owe you one.”
I nod in agreement. Maybe I should tell him that he fooled me, too, with the panda prank. Nah. I’m way too cool for that.
Johnny gestures for me to walk out ahead of him. “Have a great day. Bye, cutie.” He goes one way and I go the other, toward my office. Several feet down the hall he calls after me. “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”
I turn back around. “Leelee.”
“Glad you’re working here, Leelee.” He starts to walk off but changes his mind. “Have you met Stan yet?”
“Oh yeah.”
“What do you think?”
I smile slightly and shake my head.
He snickers again, walking backward as he speaks. “You and me are gonna have some fun.”
“I sure hope so,” I reply, with a grin that surprises even me.
“Done deal. See ya tomorrow.” Johnny waves and turns the corner.
I head back to my office, pondering my weakness for beautiful men.
After the panda ordeal finally settles down, the rest of my day sails along fairly well. Kyle, the promotion director, takes time to answer all my questions and then details all the promotions that he’s got going on. There’s a bachelor auction for the Kidney Foundation, and Stan will be auctioned off to the lucky lady who writes the largest check—it takes all my strength not to guffaw at the thought of actually paying for an interaction with Stan. There’s a movie premiere at the Malco Ridgeway Four and a rooftop party at the Peabody Hotel, all this week. I can tell by the messages I take for him that he’s the busiest person on the floor. Part of my job is to assist him, he tells me, and to show up at some of the promotions. Edward never bothered telling me any of that.
Around four o’clock I notice Edward passing by my office. “I’m going flying,” he says, as he moves swiftly past. No point in commenting. He’s already halfway down the hall.
Once the five o’clock whistle blows I am so ready to go home I can’t stand it. And I’m sure Sarah, bless her heart, must be antsy and ready to get the heck out of after-care. By the time I get to Dogwood Elementary, she’s crying. The poor little thing is hungry, cranky, and not liking the fact that she hasn’t seen me all day. It doesn’t help one bit to have to pick her up during the dreaded bewitching hour. The after-care teacher tells me that Sarah likes the other kids and that she has played with them very well until now. As adaptable as she has been to all the change in her life, I’m sure she has her breaking point.
The drive home is awful. I reach over and grab the first CD I can find, hoping that it might help.
“I don’t like that CD,” she says about Raffi’s Bananaphone.
“You used to like it.”
“It’s for babies. Like Issie.”
“Is there another one you’d like to hear?” I ask, as I’m picking up speed, cruising five miles over the speed limit.
“No.”
“No, ma’am?”
“No, ma’am.” Her voice is barely audible.
“We’ll be home soon and you can watch cartoons,” I say, hoping to console her.
Instead of answering me she stares out the window. I figure it’s best not to bring up anything else about the events of the day.
When we pull into the driveway, I’m ready to cry myself. It’s a little before six and I haven’t even thought about supper. Since Kissie’s been keeping Issie all day, I feel like the least I can do is treat the poor thing to dinner. I’ll call the Germantown Commissary, the best barbecue joint in town, and order takeout for all of us as soon as I get inside.
I stop in front of my mailbox and as I’m getting out to check my mail I notice, out of the corner of my right eye—Riley—in his front yard raking leaves, even though it’s almost dark. He’s wearing his Tupperware windbreaker (I can tell by the turquoise) and what appears to be a white painter’s cap. Luke, perched in Riley’s driveway, which is separated from mine by only four feet of grass, is keeping watch over the cove.
Goodness gracious, I’m not at all in the mood for Riley. I jump back in the car, acting as if I don’t see him, but it’s no use. He’s in my driveway now, motioning for me to roll down my window.
“Who’s that man, Mommy?” Sarah wants to know.
“Our new next-door neighbor. Hi Riley,” I say, as my window lowers.
“How was your first day at work?”
How in the world did you know that? I’ve only met you once. “Oh fine. Thank you.”
He notices Sarah in the backseat. “Is that Sawah?”
“Yes.” And how did you know my daughter’s name?
“Hi Sawah. I’m Wiley.”
“Hi Wiley,” she says.
“Actually it’s Wiley with an aar,” he tells her.
I turn back around and smile at Sarah who, unlike her crazy mother, keeps her mouth shut and simply waves at him.
“I have a pwoposal for you.” He tips his painter’s cap.
“What kind of proposal?” I ask hesitantly. Oh dear. Why did I roll down my window?
“I noticed when I was in your house the other day that your guest bathwoom needs painting.”
He’s right. The color is terribly drab. A pale, ugly gray. “No kidding. I hope the landlord lets me repaint it.”
“You pick out the color and I’ll get the job done. It’s on the house. Neighbor helping neighbor.”
“Oh no, Riley, that’s not necess—”
“I insist. I could have it done in a couple of hours. While you’re at work. You could come home to a bwand-new bathwoom.”
“Don’t you have to work?” A reasonable question, I think.
“My hours are flexible. That’s another perk about my line of work.”
I consider when exactly I would have time to paint my bathroom and Riley’s offer suddenly seems pretty good. I speak before giving it another moment’s thought. “I suppose that would be okay.”
“I can do it tomowow.”
“Oooh, that’s too fast I think, but … okay.” As soon as I say it I regret it. “Actually, on second thought, I won’t be able to get the paint that fast.”
“You could head over to Home Depot wight now.”
“Oh no no no. Sarah will never survive the car ride. She is ready to be home. Plus, I would rather get my paint at Porter or Benjamin Moore and I have a feeling they’re closed by now.”
“Why buy fwom them when Home Depot is so much cheaper? It’s just a wental house.”
He has a point. “That’s true.”
“Say, I could go to Home Depot for you.”
“That is so nice of you but I’ll have to pick out a color, and by then the girls will be ready for bed.” Why am I telling him all this?
He pulls out a paint sample book from his back pocket and hands it through the window. “I’ve alweady thought of that.”
“Well my goodness, Riley. You are so thoughtful.” And a little creepy. Is there something more to this offer? It seems too good to be true.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll take a look at it and let you know.” I reach to put the car back in drive but he keeps talking.
“Why don’t you go ahead and call my number now? That way it will alweady be in your cell phone. It’s 901, of course, 555-5897.”
Before I have time to think about the ramifications of what I’m doing, I dial Riley’s number. The University of Memphis Tigers’ fight song blasts out of a cell phone holster on his belt. He grabs it, flips it in the air, and pops open the flip-top without the use of his fingers. “Got it.”
“Alrighty then. Thanks, Riley. I’ll let you know when I’ve picked out a color.”
* * *
The minute Sarah and I walk in the door, I smell food. Not just any food. Kissie’s food. Pork chops, macaroni and cheese, lady peas, homemade yeast rolls, and black-bottom pie for dessert. The feeling of euphoria that washes over me is enough to make me want to collapse on the floor.
Issie runs up and grabs my waist—so happy I’m home. “Mommy, where have you been?” I scoop her up and she pats my hair. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
“Ages? I know it feels that way, baby.”
I lean over and
kiss Kissie’s cheek. She’s holding Sarah in her arms.
“Let’s do a group hug,” Sarah says, and extends her little arms toward Issie and me.
“It smells heavenly in here. I was just about to call the Germantown Commissary for takeout,” I tell Kissie.
“Save it for another night. Anytime you’re ready, we can eat,” Kissie says. For some reason, she’s walking around the house closing all the curtains and shutters.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want no Peepin’ Tom lookin’ at us in here. I want to eat my dinner in peace. Every time I’d get back to my story or my ironing, here comes a rap on the door. I’ll give you one guess who it was.”
“My next-door neighbor?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Bless his heart. What did he want?”
“Nothin’. He’s just comin’ up with some excuse to be here, that’s all. Doesn’t he have to work himself?”
“He was in the driveway when I drove up.” I reach into the cabinets and pull out the dinner plates, lining them each side by side.
Kissie spoons the food onto the plates as she talks. “Lawd have mercy, that boy is so nosy. First he wants to know where you are workin’. Next, he wants to know the girls’ names. Then he’d be acting like he wanted to help me but all he did was talk. He’d tell me he was gonna fix this and paint that. I finally had to shoo him out the door.”
“He wants to paint the half bath in the hall.”
Her eyes bug out. “You gonna let him?”
“He says he’ll do it for free.”
“Unh-unh, Leelee. There ain’t no such thing as free. There’s always a string attached.”
“Oh don’t be silly. What in the world could he want from me?” I say, while walking over to the table with the girls’ dinner plates.
“Your hand.”