by Lisa Patton
Kissie somehow managed to pass along to me her values. Despite my parents’ racist attitudes, despite the racial unrest still prevalent in the South, I don’t see myself as prejudiced. And that’s all because of Kissie. She’d say it’s because of Jesus, but I say it’s because of her.
Settling onto the couch, I notice his guitar and pick it up. The doorbell startles me and I lay it down quickly, in case it’s him. After sprinting to the door, I’m disappointed when I open it. It’s only the room service man. He wheels in a cart donned with a white tablecloth, heads straight for the round table in front of the windows, and transfers all the food. As he’s leaving he asks for my signature.
“Thank you, Mrs. White,” he says, and I don’t correct him. It feels lovely to be called “Mrs.” again. As soon as the door closes, I peek under the pewter dish covers and the smell of the sizzling hot steaks with béarnaise sauce folded over the top makes my weak stomach growl all the more. I have to force myself to wait for Liam.
Fifteen more minutes go by and he’s still not back. I dial his cell phone but it goes straight to voice mail.
After a full thirty minutes have passed I call Deke’s cell phone. He doesn’t pick up so I dial the hotel operator to be connected to his room and he answers on the first ring. “Hi Deke, it’s Leelee,” I say.
“Hi.”
“Would you please let Liam know that his food is here? I’d hate for it to get cold.”
When Deke tells me that Liam had to go down to the front desk to take care of some business, it seems a little odd, I mean isn’t that what Deke is for? Liam asks him to do everything else.
After a full hour, and no Liam I go ahead and sit down at the table. The quiet in the room is only interrupted by the sound of my knife as I set it down on the plate after each bite. I try and savor each piece of steak (by now, as Daddy would say, it’s ice cold). But my shock at being left alone is quickly turning to offense—I feel like I’m giving this man a whole lot of second chances for only having known him a few weeks. My fantasy is fading and the dashing prince from last night’s ball is not the nobleman I hoped him to be. As I chew the filet and watch the city slowly come alive for the night, I ponder leaving. Surely, there’s a red-eye flight home to Memphis. And even if there’s not, I’d rather sit in the airport all night than stay here any longer feeling abandoned and dejected.
I’ve nearly convinced myself to leave and take a cab to LaGuardia when the doorbell rings again. This time I take my time walking to the door. I look through the peephole at Liam with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I slowly open the door to a man with a sullen look on his face. He’s been gone nearly two hours.
“Sorry, forgot my key. I bet you’re ready to kill me,” he says, and strolls inside.
“I am wondering where you’ve been. Is everything all right?” Why can’t I just act curt? Alice would have no problem putting on her bitch. She tells Richard exactly where he should go. She’ll stare him down and relegate him to the laundry room for the rest of the night for washing and folding.
“Deke and I got into some serious business. He had to switch our hotels in Reno and needed my okay. Plus Sue, my keyboard player, can’t finish the tour so I’ve had to hire another player. Sue’s out in a week and a half and another guy, Steve, is in. We had a lot to rap about.”
Calmly I say, “Huh. I called Deke when our food came and he said you had to go downstairs to take care of business at the front desk.”
“Yeah,” he says, not missing a beat, “that and I had to go to Sue’s room. She’s having a hard time with it all.” He walks over to the bar.
“With what all?” I say, sitting on the end of the couch. My knee accidentally hits his guitar but I manage to catch it before it tumbles to the ground.
“Leaving the tour,” he says, and returns with two wineglasses.
“Why is she leaving?”
“Family issues. She has to come off the road for a while. She’ll be back though.”
“I wish you had called to—”
He cuts me off, having spotted our dinner on the table with my plate half eaten. “You ate without me? How was it?” He hands me a wineglass, which I put down on the coffee table.
“Pretty good,” I say, before adding, “I waited too long to eat, though, and it got a little cold.”
“Why didn’t you order another one?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think to do that.”
Liam sends his back without hesitation.
Within fifteen minutes his cold food has been picked up and a brand new filet is redelivered, and I’m sitting at the table next to him while he munches on a hot, sizzling steak. When he’s done, and two of the four shrimp cocktails are left on the table untouched, I can’t help but think about the terrible waste of food and money. He gives no thought whatsoever to overordering or reordering for that matter. Maybe Kissie’s got a point about that camel and the eye of the needle.
After shoving his plate off to the side, he reaches across the table and takes my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. “I can’t get over how pretty you are,” he says. By the tone of his husky voice and his enticing smile I can tell what’s on his mind. “Tell me more about you, Leelee Satterfield.”
Two days ago, those words would have turned me upside down but tonight I’m no longer enthralled by his flattery. And I’m not really all that excited about holding his hand, either. His mystique, the wonder of his world has faded and if I’m honest with myself, I’m no longer captivated by what’s inside that world. “What else would you like to know about me, Liam White?”
“Tell me something that not many people know about,” he says, seductively squinting his eyes.
“Let’s see, I hate turnips,” I say, lifting my eyebrows and knowing full well that’s not what he’s after.
“That’s not the kind of info I had in mind,” he says, with a wink.
“Okay, how about this? I’m a great breakfast cook.”
“How great?” Now he’s caressing my hand.
“Pretty great.” I nod and smile. “Peter taught me how to make maple cider French toast when I was in Vermont.”
He rolls his eyes and retracts his hand. “Your sort-of boyfriend taught you to cook?”
“No,” I say indignantly. “I knew how—but only the basics … I don’t want to talk about Peter.”
“You brought him up,” he retorts.
“That’s only because…” What I want to say is I brought him up in context of the question. My subconscious brought him up, actually. Because he is lovely. He is respectful. He is kind and I know for 100 percent certain that he never would have done the things to me that you have done in the last twenty-four hours. In nine months he never once tried luring me to his bedroom. There’s something I want to know about me, too. Why am I taking all this? Why am I allowing another man to treat me disrespectfully? What is it about me, or my past, that allows this to happen?
When it gets right down to it, it’s obvious. I just couldn’t see it before. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve put up with it because he’s Liam White, rock star. Fame is the perfect trap, its insidious flame luring those unfamiliar with its powerful grip right into the threads of its silky smooth web. He’s told me how pretty I am, he’s bought me gifts, he’s flown me first class on a fabulous trip to New York. And to make matters even worse, everyone thinks I’m sharing his room. Every single thing Kissie predicted has come true. Right down to his honeysuckle tongue. How did she know? And more importantly, why didn’t I listen?
I get up from the table, pick up my purse, which is on the floor in front of the sofa, and head toward the door.
“Where are you going?” he says, from his seat near the window. I watch him take another sip of his wine and put the glass back down on the table.
“To my room,” I say, and open the door.
“To do what?”
“Pack.”
He looks down into his wineglass. “When are you coming back?”
<
br /> “I’m not,” I say, and let the door close behind me.
* * *
As I’m heading out of the hotel, wheeling my suitcase behind me, I see a man standing at the curb. From behind he looks familiar and when I stop to ask the doorman for a taxi to LaGuardia, I see his face.
“Phil!” I say, and step toward him. “How are you tonight?”
He whips his head around and smiles when he sees me. “Hi, Leelee.” I see him notice my suitcase. “You’re not leaving, are you?” he says, with a puzzled furrow in his brow.
“Yes. I’ve got to get home.”
“Is everything okay?”
I nod my head. “Everything is just fine.” I pause before speaking again, remembering his words to me earlier in the day. “But … I sure would love to know something before I leave.”
He tilts his head to the side, inquisitively.
“When we were out at the pool today, what was it that you started to tell me about Liam? About the way you two see things differently?”
Hesitating, he presses his lips together. I can tell he wishes he’d never said anything by the way he falters.
“Please tell me, I need to know,” I say.
Phil stares at the pavement and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Finally he looks into my eyes. “You know, I think it’s pretty simple when it boils down to it. Something happens to certain people when they become famous. Everywhere they go, they have folks falling all over them. No one ever tells them no. Everybody wants to be their friend. It’s sad, actually. I’ve been in this business a long time, worked for quite a few celebrities and have only met a handful who are normal and don’t buy into their own bullshit. After a while they start to believe their own PR. It’s not really their fault, the world places them high on a pedestal and hands them a life free of accountability. It’s the ugly side of showbiz, darlin’.”
The evening air is chilly and the wind is blowing my hair all around my face. I can’t help but draw my arms close to my chest. Phil moves nearer to block the wind. “White and I are different when it comes to women.” He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a respect thing.” He drops his voice to a step above a whisper. “Why do you think he’s never been married?”
The cab pulls up to the curb and the doorman loads my bag into the trunk. I reach into my purse for a tip, pondering his words.
“Maybe I’ve gone too far, Leelee. This is really none of my business,” he says, “but you seem like a classy lady.”
I sigh and close my eyes for a brief moment. The doorman opens the back door of the cab and motions for me to step inside. “You haven’t gone too far. You actually saved me from going too far. I appreciate your honesty,” I say, before taking my seat in the cab. “Liam White should take a life lesson from you.”
When the doorman shuts my door, I wave at Phil from the window before the cabbie edges onto Columbus Circle.
* * *
As I’m walking to my gate, I happen to notice a crowd of people waiting to board a flight to Albany, New York. When I spy most of them bundled up in winter coats I can’t help but wonder if any of the passengers will be driving on to Vermont. Albany is the closest airport to anywhere in southern Vermont. Albany is only two hours away from Peter.
I pull my cell phone out of my purse to check the time. It’s nine o’clock. It dawns on me that by the time I rent a car at the Albany airport I could be there by midnight. I’ll appear at his door and he’ll scream my name. He’ll take me in his arms and twirl me around, telling me how much he misses me and that he thinks about me as much as I think about him.
The longer I stare at the word “Albany” above the gate agent’s head, the more I convince myself to do it. I reason that I can still be back to work by Monday. Even if I just spend twelve hours with Peter, I’m sure he’ll want to start his life over, move to Memphis and find a chef’s position. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be able to find a good one. With all the people I know in Memphis, it shouldn’t be a problem at all. I’m completely convinced of it. So much so that I run up to the lady at the ticket counter only minutes before the plane is due to leave. “Can you fit one more on that plane?” I ask, frantic to get inside.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the plane is full.”
“Are you sure?” With my hands on the counter I lean over as if I can read the seating manifest on the other side of her computer. “It doesn’t look all that crowded.” I glance over at the forty or so people waiting to board.
“It’s a very small jet, ma’am. And we’re completely sold out. I just assigned the last seat to a standby passenger. If you had been here earlier, perhaps—”
Closing my eyes, I turn around and walk slowly toward the gate to Memphis.
Chapter Twelve
No one is milling around the halls when I put down my purse. I can see Will, our substitute deejay, through the glass window in front of my office and it appears he’s the one on the air. It’s perfectly quiet and since I’m my usual ten minutes tardy, I find the silence to be a little odd. After filling my mug with a bitter cup of stale coffee, most likely brewed before the morning shift began, I stroll into the control room to find out what’s going on.
“Hey Leelee, how’s it goin’?” Will asks, as soon as I walk in the door. “Hang on a minute.” I watch him announce the name of the tune that’s just been played, cut to a commercial, and then remove his headphones. “Why aren’t you in the staff meeting?” he says, sipping on his own coffee cup.
“What staff meeting?” I ask, angst beginning to take hold. Go ahead and shoot me. It’s official—Edward sent a spy to New York and has called an emergency meeting to discuss my insubordination.
“You know. The monthly staff meeting down in Dan Malcomb’s office, the last Monday of every month.”
“Aaaahhhh!” I cover my face with my hands.
He points at the clock on the wall. “It just started ten minutes ago. You’re not that late.”
I race out of the control room and down the back steps without so much as a wave. Dan Malcomb’s secretary peers over her granny glasses when she spots me tiptoeing toward his office door, which by now has been long shut. I have a feeling she’s never been late to anything. Although possibly, I suppose, she’s only staring at the turtleneck sweater I’m wearing even though it’s eighty-three degrees outside. Little does she know my spray tan underneath is still a radiant orangey-brown. I can’t risk Edward asking why I’m tan all of a sudden.
This meeting is big. Not only does Dan Malcomb lead it, attendance is required by everyone, from Edward and all the full-time jocks to both the promotion and sales directors and even Sam, the production person, who voices and records all the commercials. Mr. Malcomb is discussing the value of branding when I slink into the room at 8:44 A.M. All eyes focus on me as I take my seat. It appears my chair is the only one empty. Mr. Malcomb doesn’t stop to recognize my tardiness, thank goodness, but Edward glares at me from his seat next to Malcomb’s desk. I’d rather wear a white faux-leather miniskirt with high-heel orange Candies to lunch at the club and sit right next to Tootie Shotwell, than be in this room right now sitting across from Edward Maxwell.
When the meeting adjourns I somehow manage to elude him, for the time being anyway. I engage the sales manager in conversation for a moment before stealthily slipping out unnoticed. Once back in my office, my day thankfully continues as if everything is back to normal. With one exception—the disc jockey’s shuffled schedules. Because of the staff meeting Edward has decided to pull his own prank by moving each jock up a shift. The morning team will broadcast midday and Stan will take over Paul’s shift in the afternoon. I’m the only one affected by the prank. My phone has not stopped ringing all morning from listeners more confused than amused.
When I slide into the control room before lunch, with the excuse of giving Johnny an urgent message from his dentist, he and Jack are in the middle of an interview with the guy who claims to have been in charge of bringing the Li
sa Marie, Elvis’s jet, back to Graceland. He says he was the one who actually drove it down the middle of Elvis Presley Boulevard back in 1984. That’s the thing about Memphis. Almost everyone has a claim to Elvis fame. For instance, our family claim is that Elvis drove a truck for Daddy when he was a young man. The King was just out of high school and a truck driver for Crown Electric. He had dropped off some equipment at Daddy’s cotton warehouse on Front Street and Daddy was highly impressed by his manners. When he asked Elvis if he would be interested in extra work, Elvis told him yes. So he delivered cotton for Daddy a time or two. Or so the legend goes anyway.
Once the interview concludes, Johnny smiles when he sees me and yanks off his headphones. “Welcome back, O Famous One.”
“Shhhhh.” I look behind me to make sure Edward is not hanging anywhere around.
“Feeling any better?” He winks twice, overexaggerating each.
I shake my head and wave my hand in the air, sweeping away his comment.
“Well? How was it?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it, but I’ll tell you that it started off good and ended terrible. I’m back to work and that’s the end of that.”
“What?”
“Fame is a funny thing, Johnny. There’s a big bad ugly side.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
Sighing heavily, I attempt to explain. “Liam White is a nice guy and his world is certainly intriguing but when it comes to women he doesn’t know how to treat them.” I continue, “I got the feeling he thought I should feel lucky to be with him. I guess there is something that happens to certain people when they become famous.”