by Lisa Patton
“They open the orchestra pit when the show is otherwise sold out. It’s a way to fit in more people. Kind of cool, huh?” the lady says.
I’ll say. So here we are. The four luckiest girls in town. Fourth row, center seats. Free seats, no less, right up under Liam’s nose.
Mary Jule holds up her beer. “To Leelee. The best excuse for a new outfit I’ve ever had.” I’m not really the Talbots type, but on Mary Jule, the new brown and pink wraparound looks adorable.
The concert begins seconds later, with a roar from the crowd. Liam White strolls out on stage and the audience goes berserk. No introduction. No warning. No musicians who walk out first and take their places behind their instruments. Just Liam. He’s got to be forty-five, I’m thinking, even though he doesn’t have a gray hair on his head. He’s so close I can see his dark chest hair poking out of the top button on his flannel shirt.
“That’s exactly what he was wearing today at the radio station,” I yell to my friends over the applause, as the crowd rises to their feet.
Virginia reaches down to her purse and pulls out a pair of binoculars. She’s bending them to fit her face when I lean over Mary Jule and pull on Virgy’s blouse. “What are you doing with binoculars?” I have to keep yelling over the screams. “We’re practically on top of him.”
“No wedding ring,” she yells back, and tries handing them over to me.
“I don’t need those. I can plainly see his ring finger,” I scream back over the roar of 2,496 other ticket holders.
She says something else but I can hardly hear her.
“Huh?”
“I said, wouldn’t you rather I made sure?” Virginia yells back.
I’m cupping my hand over my mouth and talking very loudly. “This is not about me going out with him. It’s about enjoying the show and getting to meet a rock star that we’ve loved for years.”
Virgy shrugs her shoulders.
When the applause dies down Alice asks me why Virginia was using binoculars.
“She was looking to see if he’s wearing a dang wedding ring,” I say, with exasperation at my lovingly relentless friend.
“Rock stars don’t even wear wedding rings,” she says with a shrug.
Three guitars circle a stool in the middle of the stage. Liam picks up the guitar nearest him from its stand and strums a few chords. We’re so close that as he turns the knobs on the side, I can read the word “Taylor” on the tip of the guitar head. He chats freely with the crowd, completely comfortable alone on the stage. “How’s everybody doing tonight?” he says with one foot on the floor and the other resting on the footrest of the stool.
People scream and whistle.
“Happy to be here in Memphis,” he says, before belting out the first line of one of my favorite songs. “I know a young lady who lives down the hill.” Once again the crowd goes wild. “Please Be Mine” is one of the biggest hits of his career. Virginia, Alice, Mary Jule, and I sing along with him to every word, as does everyone else in the audience.
For the first three songs Liam enchants, acoustic only, alternating between the three guitars circled around him. Finally he puts down the third guitar and stands to welcome his bandmates onto the stage. They all take places behind their instruments. The guitar player sure is cute, I’m thinking. So is the saxophonist. There’s even a girl in his band—the keyboard player.
Our preshow cocktail hour has brought out the best in every one of us. Mary Jule thinks she’s Jennifer Beals in Flashdance all of a sudden and Virginia is singing so loudly, people are staring at the poor thing. I’d never tell her to her face, but she sings off key worse than Alfalfa from The Little Rascals. Alice’s wine keeps sloshing over the top of her cup as she sways to Liam’s melodies. As for me, I can’t take my eyes off the handsome singer who personally invited me to his concert.
Two songs later Liam lifts the guitar strap off his neck. I see him notice someone in my direction and smile, followed by a wave. I turn around behind me to see whom he’s waving at, as does everyone else in the first three rows.
A lobster claw reaches over and pinches a chunk out of my arm. “He’s waving at you, Fiery. He is waving at YOU!” Mary Jule nearly deafens my eardrum with a high-pitched squeal in my ear.
I whip my head back around. “No way.” Alice grabs my knee.
When he continues staring straight at me I slightly lean into Mary Jule. “Oh my gosh, I think he might be.” Shyly, I wave back. Just in case.
Fifteen minutes later, the guy sitting next to Alice taps me on the shoulder from behind and points toward the center aisle. I turn my head in that direction and as God as my witness, Edward Maxwell and family are standing in a single-file line. He’s beckoning me out of my seat. Virgy and Mary Jule are so busy dancing they don’t even notice. I whisper in Alice’s ear, “Oh crap. There’s Edward.”
After a quick glance toward the center, she mouths two words. “You’re. Lying.”
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I say to four people who all have to get up and move into the aisle so I can pass around them.
“I’m switching seats with you,” Edward simply says, once I’m in front of him and hands me his ticket stubs.
What am I suppose to say to that? No, I refuse? Over my dead body? We like our own seats, thank you very much? I have no choice but to turn back around, ask the same four people to please move out to the aisle, yet again, so I can grab my purse and my best friends and leave our orchestra pit fourth-row seats.
Three minutes later, we’re seated back in row R.
Alice Garrott is fit to be tied. She taps me on the shoulder and screams over the music. “What a jerk!” I just shake my head. There’s no point in my making a comment. Besides, I’ve already told them every detail about my bombastic bully of a boss.
Liam White plays for a solid two hours. When he returns for a third encore, every single person is on their feet hollering for him to continue. “‘My Turn,’” someone yells. “‘Turn It Up,’” another person calls from the audience.
His final song, a version of “Heartbreak Hotel,” sends the crowd home happy. While on Elvis’s turf, many a singer feels the need to pay homage.
When Liam does leave the stage for the final time the house lights go up and most in attendance head out the exit doors to our right. I have no earthly idea where the backstage entrance is located so I flag down another elderly usher. “Excuse me, please,” I say, “do you happen to know where we’re suppose to go with these passes?” I point to my chest.
She throws her thumb over her right shoulder and turns her head. “The far right of the stage. See those folks?”
I glance around.
“They’re all doing the same thing. They want to meet Mr. Liam White, too. Might as well get in line.”
The four of us move to the back of the long line, ironically right behind the grand-prize winners from the radio. Kathy Warren recognizes me and after introducing her to my friends the six of us can’t stop chatting about the phenomenal concert. I’m right in the middle of telling Kathy the story of meeting Liam at the station when I spot Edward. He and his wife and two kids are at the very front of the line. He must have left his fantastic seats early to ensure his spot. Edward seems very peeved that he has to wait to see Liam like the rest of us (I can tell by the way he’s shaking his head while talking to the head usher) but he’s not given any preferential treatment whatsoever.
When we’re all finally escorted back, almost everyone stops to admire the backstage area. Signatures from stars who have performed at the Orpheum are all over the place. Logos of Broadway shows have been meticulously etched on the walls and cast members have signed their names all around them. Les Misérables, The King and I, Phantom, Rent, Cats, they’ve all been here. Eddie Murphy, Carol Channing, Hal Holbrook, Cary Grant, Mickey Rooney, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jackson Browne, Michael McDonald, B.B. King, Christopher Cross, Jay Leno, everywhere I look there’s an autograph from another one of my favorites. Still firmly planted in the fro
nt of the line, Edward and family never bother moving around the room to admire the artistry.
Deke, the guy who had been with Liam earlier, appears at the head of the line and leads everyone into a large green room where he explains that Mr. White will arrive shortly. A laminate hangs around his neck, designating his authority. He glances in our direction but doesn’t say hello.
Finally, Liam moseys in. I notice right away that he’s changed his shirt. Edward runs right up to him and appears to be introducing his family. Liam shakes hands with Edward’s wife and two kids but I can tell by the way he’s looking around the room that he’s not exactly thrilled to see them. I can’t help but wonder if he noticed Edward exchanging seats with us.
“There’s ole Eduardo,” Virginia says, speaking softly, as if Edward might hear her from across the room. “The first one to talk to Liam White.”
“Has he no shame?” I say. “He’s the one telling me not to hound the stars.”
“He’s a joke,” she says.
“The other day he asked Johnny Dial if Aruba was part of Spain.”
“He did not,” Mary Jule says.
“Honestly, that’s what he said,” I tell her.
“Maybe you should apply for his job,” Alice says.
“Never going to happen. It’s a man’s world among program directors. But you can’t help but wonder how he got the job in the first place.”
Liam continues to work his way down the meet-and-greet line, signing autographs and posing for pictures. Every once in a while he scans the crowd.
“Wonder if he’s looking for you, Fiery?” Virginia says.
“Nooo,” I say. “What time is it anyway?”
Mary Jule glances at her gold Ebel watch. “Eleven thirty.”
“Is everyone good to stay?” I ask.
“Al’s probably expecting me by midnight,” Mary Jule says.
“Then you need to tell him to come get you. We’re not leaving until we meet Liam,” Alice says, indignantly.
“Oh Alice, I’m sure we’ll be home close to midnight. Look, he’s almost to us,” I say.
When there are only four more people in front of us, Edward strolls up, never mentioning the seat exchange. “Enjoy the concert?” he asks me.
“Oh my goodness, yes,” I tell him.
“He didn’t play ‘Shaking All Over.’ Disappointing,” he says.
What about the great ones he did play? “I was a little sad he didn’t play that one, but he has so many. I thought the show was amazing.”
“He should have played it,” Edward says definitively.
“Oh well, maybe next time.” Hoping to get off the awkward topic, and after a prolonged and uncomfortable moment or two, I ponder introducing him to the girls. I’m honestly afraid of the look Alice might give him, but I see no other way around it. We’re all standing here like statues. “I’d like for you to meet my best friends,” I say lightly, touching his arm. Once I introduce each of them to Edward, he nods and in turn introduces us to his wife, Shelly, and their children, Edward and Shelly. They proceed to plant their feet right there in line with us.
Seconds later, Liam’s walking up to us, well he’s walking straight up to me. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my goooooood.
“Hello, Leelee,” he says, with alluring charm.
“Hi, Liam,” I say assuredly, his earlier wave from the stage has heightened my self-confidence. If my thoughts were played on a TV monitor right now, I’d never be able to show my face in public again.
There’s an awkward moment of silence before Virginia nudges me. “Oh! Sorry, this is my dear friend, Virginia. And my other dear friends, Alice and Mary Jule.” Am I supposed to reintroduce Edward? He’s staring at me like I should. I decide against it.
Virginia says, “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the tickets.”
“Yes, thank you so much,” Alice says.
Mary Jule just smiles. I can tell she’s about to lose it. In fact, her smile appears a little contrived. That happens when she’s nervous or flustered. Like the time her mother-in-law, who she’s a little embarrassed of, gave her a homemade potpourri tower at her wedding shower. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. When she opened that gift—a tall glass vase, with white lights swirling through a mound of stale, apple-scented potpourri—Mary Jule had a look on her face that was phonier than a knockoff Gucci purse.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you guys could make it. Did you enjoy the show?” Liam asks.
“Oh yes. It was incredible. We have all your records. I just love ‘Miss Thing,’” Alice says, not knowing what else to say to a famous musician.
“Me, too,” Mary Jule says, her voice shaky.
“You guys couldn’t have been more than eight or nine when that song came out.”
“But we listened to the radio all the time,” I tell him.
Edward, who’s not been acknowledged by Liam yet and is standing there like a bump on a log, chirps up. “Where’s your next stop, man?”
“Florida. We’re in several cities there, as a matter of fact,” Liam says politely, after taking a deep breath.
“Did you hear that?” Edward says to his son, who appears to be around eight. “Mr. White is headed to Florida.”
Edward Junior’s eyes are practically closed and big Shelly is holding little Shelly in her arms. Clearly this outing is past their bedtime, though Edward Senior seems oblivious. Edward grabs his son’s left shoulder and shakes him so hard the poor little thing almost loses his step. “Florida? Your favorite place? Shells, the beach, boogie boards?”
Little Edward just stares at big Edward and Liam, smile-less.
“What city do you land in first, buddy?” Edward asks him.
“Jacksonville, I think.”
“I love Florida,” I say, my head darting at the others for confirmation. Clearly I’m still nervous myself.
Alice can tell and she tries to help. “Oh yeah, Destin is our favorite place. We’ve spent many a crazy day on that beach. Have you ever been there?” she asks Liam.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. That’s on the Panhandle, right?”
“Yes. With the whitest beaches in the whole world,” I say.
“Wait a minute, I take that back. I had a gig in Panama City once. Isn’t that close to Destin?”
“That’s in South America,” Edward says, drawing out each word, like he’s the only person with a brain.
A very long silence follows.
Liam cocks his head and gazes at him. Alice, on the other hand, can’t help herself. “No it’s not. It’s in Florida. An hour from Destin. Not far from Seaside.”
“I’ve heard about Seaside,” Liam says, completely ignoring Edward. “Isn’t it a community of pastel houses and restaurants right on the gulf?”
“It’s this side of heaven,” Alice tells him, her Southern drawl painting quite the scene. “Unbelievable restaurants. And the homes are to die for.”
Liam starts to comment but is interrupted by Edward. “I’ll have to fly down there sometime,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Is there a private airport nearby?”
We all look at each other and shake our heads. How on earth would we know that?
“I’m a pilot.” He rocks from the balls of his feet back to his heels several times, determined to impress Liam.
“Cool,” is all Liam says and changes the subject right back to Seaside.
All of us stand there chatting about Florida for about five minutes, during which Shelly, holding a sleeping child in her arms, intermittently asks Edward if they can go home. When Edward finally decides to honor her request, he pokes Liam with his elbow and says, “I’d love to chew the fat all night, buddy, but”—he sighs deeply—“got to get these kids to bed.”
Liam simply nods his head.
“See ya, champ,” Edward says and then turns to me. “Are you leaving soon?”
“Oh. In a few minutes,” I say.
“I’ll see you bright and early then.” Edw
ard and family finally stroll off.
As soon as my boss is only five feet away, Liam leans his face close to mine and under his breath says, “What was up with him taking your seats?”
I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. “They were better than his.”
“What an idiot.” He turns around to Deke, who’s been hovering behind him the whole time. “Let’s get out of here. Come with me, ladies, I’ll buy you a drink.”
Next thing we know the four of us are being led through the lingering crowd, out the green room and down another hall. I can’t bear to look behind me. The image of Edward—hands on his hips, eyes narrowed, and lips pressed together is as haunting as my memory of Daddy the morning he stumbled upon his brand-new Lincoln sitting in the garage with a large dent in the trunk. Oh well. I’ll worry about it tomorrow. I’ll make sure to get to work bright and early. Not a second late.
“This is not happening,” Alice says under her breath as we make our way down the long hall. “What are the odds?”
When we reach a dressing room with a large gold star on the door, Virginia scoots up behind me and pinches the back of my arm. I practically have to pinch myself, too—Liam was our teenage idol, something about him makes me feel like a young girl again.
Once inside, I’m taken aback by the cornucopia of food spread out on the counter below the large makeup mirror. It’s the kind with big clear lightbulbs spaced two inches apart, tracing the outside of the mirror. Fresh cantaloupe, honeydew, mango, red grapes, raspberries, blackberries, and kiwi—arranged to resemble the petals of a flower—circle a bowl of poppyseed dressing. A gorgeous platter of imported cheeses with goudas, cheddars, époisses, and havarti looks like a still-life painting next to assorted crackers, apple slices, and breads. Jumbo shrimp spills out over a small ice sculpture shaped like a guitar. There’s a bar set up in the corner.
At first, it seems a little awkward to be in his dressing room. Knowing what in the world to say to a rock star can be a little bit intimidating. Fortunately Alice and Virginia have no problem. Earlier trips to the bar have aided that predicament. Even still, Mary Jule and I are a bit more timid.