by Lisa Patton
* * *
The morning jumps off to a busy start with a flurry of activity swarming around my office. Several winners flood by to pick up their prizes. Kyle spends a half hour explaining the promotions he has on the calendar for the week and Edward has an appointment with a Mercury Records rep who seems to want to spend more time with me than with Edward. When I glance at the clock I’m surprised to see that it’s close to ten. Stan the Man hasn’t even shown his face yet.
I’m on the phone explaining our winner policy to a woman who Johnny just told can only win one prize a month, when he comes busting into my office. “White’s on the phone again.”
I place my hand over the receiver and whisper, “What?”
“Put that person on hold,” he says anxiously.
“Would you please hold a minute? I’ll be right back,” I say to the lady and press the hold button. Then I turn around to Johnny with a suspicious glare.
“White’s on the request line asking to speak to you. Stan’s up next, though, and since he and Edward are like this,” he holds up two fingers, “I’m giving him the office line and having him call you in here.”
“What makes you think it’s really him? What’d he say? Is he in a good mood? Was he nice to you on the phone?” I say, running all queries into one big sentence.
“What is this? Twenty questions?”
“Just trying to protect myself here, I mean, after what happened yesterday…”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “How can you be sure it’s really him? Maybe it’s someone Edward’s planted to catch me.” I’m burying my face in my hands and shaking my head. “It’s too risky. I could lose my job. Tell this person that I’m not interested in talking to him.” By now I’m so flustered I can hardly think straight.
“Okie doke.” I can tell by the sound of Johnny’s voice that he disagrees. He bangs the door frame and runs back to the control room.
* * *
As he’s leaving for the day, Johnny stops by my office to check his messages. I can’t help myself. “So what did Liam White say?” I twirl my index finger next to my head as if I’m referring to a crazy person.
“He asked why not, and I said, I don’t know, man. I don’t get involved in love quarrels.”
“Love quarrels? Why did you say that?”
“I don’t know. I think this whole thing is weird.”
“Well that makes two of us that think it’s weird. Let’s just forget it ever happened.” My phone rings and I pick it up while Johnny’s standing there glancing over his phone messages. “FM 99, Classic Hits, may I help you, please?”
“Is Leelee there?”
“This is she.”
“Hi Leelee, it’s Liam White,” he says in a cheery voice.
What in the world is going on? I’m shocked and confused all at the same time. Just a weak, “Hi,” is all I manage to say before mouthing to Johnny, “It’s him,” and pointing to the receiver in my hand.
“I wish I had known I was calling the request line. That’s all they gave me in information. I finally wised up after it rung two hundred times before your deejay ever picked up the phone.”
“Okay.”
“Did you get the message that I called yesterday?”
“Yes, and I called you back.” Now it’s my voice that’s sounding icy. Well, maybe just a little icy.
“When?”
This guy really is psycho. “Okay, well. It’s nice talking to you again.” I look over at Johnny, who flutters his fingers in an amused wave and leaves my office.
“Are you hanging up?” He sounds shocked.
“I’m at work and I can’t really talk,” I whisper back, and pivot my chair around so I’m facing the corner, just in case Stan or Edward walks by. “Besides, you weren’t interested in talking with me yesterday, and honestly I don’t understand why you want to talk with me now. You certainly didn’t seem happy that I had your phone number.” I say the last little bit more loudly—my tone rising as I explain my feelings. At the very least, I can be proud I stood up for myself, and to Liam White of all people—this is a very different Leelee than the pushover who was left to fend for herself in Vermont.
“I never talked with you, hon. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
This guy is very strange, Leelee. Just hang up the phone. “Well, I talked with someone and he didn’t want to talk to me, so I—”
“Wait a minute. I bet you talked to Deke. Shit. I gave your deejay Deke’s phone number by mistake. And I forgot to tell him.”
“What are you talking about?” I say.
“I am truly sorry. I’m in the habit of giving out Deke’s phone number instead of mine since he handles most of my business. He doesn’t trust me to write things down,” he says, with a chuckle. “Sometimes I can be a bit flaky. Here, let me give you mine.”
I’m stunned. But I’m still not sure whether to believe him or not. In a rare moment of silence I hold my tongue, waiting.
“Have you got a pen?”
“Yes,” I say, reaching across my desk.
He gives me his number. “Leelee, I am so so sorry. Was Deke rude to you? He’s got a real abrupt manner to him sometimes.”
“He was pretty rude.”
“It’s his job to look out for me. This is my fault. Honestly, he didn’t know I called you.”
After spending a miserable evening last night, beating myself up for not listening to Alice and Virginia, I don’t quite know what to think or say. “Well, then, how are you?” I say, for lack of something more creative.
“I’m feeling pretty good. Got a day off today in West Palm Beach. It’s eighty-four degrees and the hotel we’re at has a killer pool. Have you been to West Palm before?”
“Yes, but it’s been a while.”
“We’re headed to Boston next week. Then I’m in New York for a couple of days. I’d fly you up there if you wanted to come.”
I’m so completely stunned by his words I cannot speak. Could I have actually heard him invite me to New York City?
“Hello. Leelee, are you still there?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“I think you are adorable. I’d like to get to know you better.”
All right. That’s it. I’ve lost it. Bolivar here I come.
“If it’s the room you’re worried about, that’s not an issue. I’ll get you your own.”
I’ll say you will. I have a million questions I’m dying to ask him. Like Are you married? for starters. Alice’s silly qualms have now started to alarm me. “Gosh, I haven’t been working here all that long,” I say. “I don’t think I have any vacations days coming to me.” It’s more of a thought than an answer.
“Oh, well another time then,” he says matter-of-factly, but with obvious disappointment in his voice.
“Oh! I didn’t mean that I couldn’t come, I just mean I’ll have to ask. That’s all.”
“Okay. I get that.”
We’d been talking a whole two minutes when Edward slides into the room. “Leelee? Would you come to my office please?”
“Oh sure, Edward. I’ll be right there,” I say, pushing the receiver away from my mouth.
Instead of turning around and walking back out the door, he stands there waiting for me.
“Thank you so much for calling,” I say in a very professional tone. “I’ll make sure the tickets are mailed to you when they come in.” This time, I hang up on Liam White.
I peer up at Edward, guilt written all over my face.
“Who was that?” he asks.
“A sinner. I mean a winner,” I say, and follow him into his office. A half hour later I emerge numb and weary from the droning instructions Edward gave me about our latest promotion—reiterating again all of the particular rules about contest giveaways, prize distribution, and the sneaky salespeople who will try and coerce me into giving away products that haven’t yet arrived. But not even his dull tone could spoil th
e adrenaline rush from Liam White’s telephone call.
So what now? A rock star has just invited me to join him in New York City. And I hung up on him. What are my best friends going to say? I send them all a text asking if there’s any way they can meet me for lunch at Molly’s, a Mexican restaurant close to the station.
* * *
The girls are already seated at the table when I show up a little after twelve. With large, bifolded menus covering their faces, they don’t even see me slip into my seat.
“Y’all are going to scream your head off when I tell you this,” I say, as soon as I sit down.
All three menus close at the same time and six eyes stare at me, accented by high-arched brows. “What!” they all answer at once.
“Guess.”
“It’s something about Liam White,” Virgy says. “I know that look on your Fiery face.”
Mary Jule lays her menu down on the table and folds her arms on top of it. “Oh, Leelee. I still feel bad about the advice I gave you. I should have told you not to call him back.”
Alice says, “You never listen to me, do you?”
“Liam-White-just-invited-me-to-New-York,” I say, trying hard to contain myself, but running all my words together regardless.
Mary Jule stands right up at her seat, balls her hands into fists, and moves her arms around and around in circles, swaying her hips. “I knew it. I knew it,” she sings.
“Okay. I don’t usually do this, but I’m putting a stop to this right now. After the way that asshole talked to you on the phone. Give me his number. He’s deranged,” Alice says.
“It wasn’t him I talked to.” I explain the whole story about how I’d really talked with his road manager, Deke.
Alice is skeptical at first. Mary Jule is dreamy-eyed. Virginia, in a total about-face, is beside herself. “Fiery, this is so you. I don’t know anyone else in the world that would get an invitation from a rock star to go to New York. When are you leaving?”
With her right arm, Alice slices the air to form a large T. “Time out,” she says. “We don’t even have any proof that he’s not married. And even if he’s not, how do you know he doesn’t have a disease?”
“Oh my gosh. I just thought about something,” Mary Jule says, ignoring Alice’s last comment. “Remember that movie, The Banger Sisters with Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon?” She glances around the table, waiting for all of us to confirm that we remember. Then she leans into the table and lowers her voice. “They take plasters of those rock stars’ members.” Stirring her Tab with a cocktail straw, she leans down to take a small sip.
“I swear to god, Fiery, if you don’t at least take a measuring stick,” Virginia says.
I stare expressionless at Alice and Mary Jule. “Did she just say what I think she said?”
“She said it,” Mary Jule says, and her artful smile melts into laughter.
“I am not finding this funny,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” Mary Jule goes on, “but I have this mental picture of you digging in your purse for one of those soft measuring tapes, ‘Hold on, Liam, Virginia needs to know your measurements.’”
I slap my hand on the table. “Would you please listen to yourselves? I mean, seriously now. Y’all already have me sleeping with the guy.”
“I’m only teasing,” Mary Jule says.
“I’ll tell you right now he’s going to expect you to,” Alice says.
“No, he is not. He told me that he’d get me my own room.”
Alice looks off to the side, as if she’s pondering my potential for a sordid life. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m getting way ahead of myself. Of course you’re not going to bed with him. But you have to realize how vulnerable you are.”
“Plus, what about Peter?” Mary Jule asks.
“What about Peter? Everything he said at George Clark’s parking lot, when I left Vermont, was just a show of emotion. He doesn’t care for me that way. If he did, he wouldn’t let not having a job stand in the way.”
Alice says, “I don’t believe it.”
“Then why don’t I hear from him?”
“He told you he didn’t think he could handle a long-distance relationship. And more importantly, he doesn’t have a job here. Maybe it’s too hard for him to call you. Why don’t you call him?” Alice says.
“I don’t know. I’m trying to let him go.”
“Have you heard from Baker?” Virginia asks.
“He calls the girls every couple of weeks, and all he talks about is how great things are going for him in Vermont. He says he wants the girls to spend their summers there. They aren’t going to want to leave me to spend their summers freezing to death. He’s dreaming.”
Virginia chews and swallows the tortilla chip she’s just dunked in salsa. “Okay, back to Liam White. How will you get off work?”
“I’ll have to call in sick. There’s no way Edward will let me go, nor could I ever tell him. I’ll have to sneak.”
“I’ll call this afternoon and get you an appointment for a spray tan.” Mary Jule reaches over and looks at my fingers. “And a manicure.”
“Will Kissie watch the girls?” Virginia asks.
I look at her like she’s crazy.
“I was just going to offer, that’s all,” she says.
“I know, thank you,” I say, patting her hand. “But Kissie’s here, thank goodness.”
* * *
When I get back to the office, I start pretending like I’m not feeling all that well. With the fake flu coming on I figure I better start the symptoms now if I’m going to accept Liam White’s offer. And the thought of that offer, spending a fantasy weekend with him in New York, has got to be the most surreal notion that has ever crossed my mind. It’s hard to imagine that it’s even a notion to begin with. Six months ago I was in Vermont fighting off black flies, nor’easters, and snowdrifts; eight months before that I was still in my Memphis dream home with a loving husband and two daughters. It’s all too much to take in sometimes, and when an opportunity like this comes along—to escape, really escape—well, I’d be a fool not to take it. It might be only for two days but it’s been a really long time since I’ve done something fanciful and entirely for me. Heck, it’s been years since anyone’s pampered me. I’ll call Liam White and accept his invitation as soon as I leave for the day. Sure it’s a little indulgent, but it is New York City after all. I can think of no better place to bask in extravagance.
Chapter Ten
Kissie’s rooting around my kitchen when I get home. Actually she’d call it “rambling” around the kitchen and by her chants and the tone of her voice, I can tell she’s quite peeved. Riley’s not around, it’s not hot outside, and there’s a Democrat in the White House. That leaves only one thing or one person she could be irritated at—me.
When I had called a few days ago to ask if she wouldn’t mind staying with Sarah and Isabella next weekend because I had an invitation to go to New York from a rock star she hardly had two words to say. Personally, I thought she’d be thrilled, as much as she loves Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong. “Hmm,” she finally said, and sat there on the other end of the phone, like she was holding back what was really on her mind. After I said, “Isn’t this wonderful?” she only said, “All right,” with a tinge of irritation. Although she held her tongue on the phone, I knew good and well the discussion was far from over.
I had only been home a little while when she gave me that “Kissie glare.” It’s a look I’ve seen many times before, and one that at my age I thought I’d outgrown. She stared at me an extra long moment, puckered her lips and finally said, “How old is this man you’re runnin’ off to see?”
“I don’t know.” That’s the response Kissie has always taught me to say when you don’t want to commit yourself to something.
“Huh,” she says, and lowers herself slowly onto a chair at the breakfast room table, staring into my eyes. It could only mean one thing—Leelee lecture time.
When my doorbe
ll rings twice consecutively, it only makes matters worse. Besides sending Roberta into a barking frenzy, it sets Kissie’s nerves on fire. Because she’s absolutely positive who’s ringing it, she shakes her head and says, “unh-unh.”
I mosey on over to the foyer and peep through the peephole. Sure enough, there’s Riley with a large box in his hand. He has to hold it over to one side so he can see in front of him. I fling open the door. “What’s this, Riley?” I say, as he hands it to me.
“I happened to be in the yard today when the FedEx man dropped it off. I didn’t want it to get stolen so I bwought it over to my house. It’s to you from someone in New York City.”
Peering at the top, I scan the label to see whom it’s from before shaking it. I don’t recognize the sender.
“It’s a little heavy,” he says, reaching out to touch it again. “Maybe it’s a new pair of boots. Or possibly a food basket.”
I shake the box a time or two.
“I twied bwinging it over when I saw Kissie dwive up with the girls but she didn’t answer the door.”
I lean in closer to him, whispering, “She probably didn’t hear you. She’s a little hard of hearing.” I fibbed. So he wouldn’t feel bad. In truth, the minute she gets to my house now Kissie closes all the blinds. Since the big picture window in the kitchen has no covering, she drags the ironing board into the den. I don’t think it’s because she doesn’t like Riley, necessarily, he just drives her crazy, or as she says, gets on her last nerve. Kissie says by the time you turn eighty, you no longer need to worry about whether people think you like them or not and if you don’t feel like talking to someone, you shouldn’t have to.
Riley seems a little hurt when I don’t invite him in, but after a whole day of Edward, not to mention the firing squad Kissie has planned for me, an evening of Riley is simply out of the question.
I hurry back to the kitchen, where Kissie is searching through the pots and pans, grab a knife out of the drawer and slice open the top of the box. When I peek inside, it’s full of styrofoam peanuts and a card bearing my name is resting on top. I quickly rip open the envelope and pull out the card, which has a picture of a girl on the front with the New York skyline behind. “Living reckless and loving it” it reads, and it’s signed “Liam.” I glance over at Kissie, who is now busy at the stove, pretending to be uninterested in my package. I can’t help wondering what she’ll think about him, now that he has sent me a present.