by Lisa Wingate
A young lady doctor from India took hold of his case and saved the leg out of pure bulldog determination. I met her once when the Daily Auxiliary took some flowers to the hospital. That lady doctor had a dot between her eyebrows and a tiny jewel in the side of her nose, just like one of them belly dancers in the movies. I couldn’t understand much she said, but she was kind to Verl, and she patted Amber’s little head as she passed by.
“Is my granddad gonna lose his leg?” Amber asked.
The lady doctor looked at her chart and checked under Verl’s sheet. “God willing, we will safe thees leg,” she said, then smiled at Amber and left the room.
The next day in Bible study, Brother Ervin talked on the story of the Good Samaritan, and I thought of that lady doctor. Sometimes it’s folks who been passed over themselves that most know how it feels to be left on the side of the road.
Donetta had a sense about things like that. She smiled in a knowing way as Verl came down the top few stairs, taking them one at a time, the game leg first and then the good one. The leg didn’t seem to be slowing him down much.
“Sorry about the noise,” he said, poking his head between the stairway rail and the ceiling. “Hope I’m not making too much racket.”
“It’s all right, Verl,” Donetta said, waving off his concern. “You just do whatever you need to do up there to get those rooms right.”
“You betcha,” Verl answered and tipped his hat at Lucy and me. “I’ll have them old window frames right as rain. You can count on that. I already filled the holes and touched up the trim here and there. You won’t even know those rooms when I get through.”
That was more words than I’d heard Verl string together in a sentence in twenty years.
The front door opened, and Donetta stood up as Betty Prine came in. “Thank you much, Verl. I know you will. You want a cup of coffee? It’s fresh.”
Verl shook his head. “Oh no, no thank you, Mrs. Bradford. No time for that. Too much work to do before my help shows up.” Smiling, he tipped his ratty old cowboy hat again, then turned and headed back up the stairs, just as quick and as light as any man with two good legs.
Donetta was right. Verl Anderson did have a little wind in his sails.
By the doorway, Betty Prine stopped and craned her neck like a hawk eyeing a snake in the grass. “Was that Verl Anderson? What in the world is that man doing here?”
I hoped Verl was too far up the stairs to hear.
Chapter 11
Mandalay Florentino
The fairgrounds were decidedly different from the day before. When I arrived, the place was abuzz with activity. Fortunately there was no sign of reporters flocking to Daily, chasing the unconfirmed radio report of Amber’s Final Five status. Everything appeared to be business as usual as I waited in a line of entry traffic comprised mostly of pickup trucks and livestock trailers filled with farm animals.
The line divided, and I pulled up behind a horse trailer. One of the horses gave the trailer a resounding kick, then raised its tail and did what horses are known for doing. The mess oozed over the door and into the street, which I thought should be illegal. Where I came from, there was a hefty fine for failing to promptly pick up your doggie droppings in the park, which was one of the reasons David and I had decided to be strictly no pets. Dogs required regular effort and attention, and a cat wouldn’t like the boat. The idea of something soft and fuzzy to come home to was nice, but inreality, between David’s asset management company and my job with American Megastar, there was no time for a furry dependent.
I occasionally wondered how we’d ever work in kids. David just laughed and said I was projecting too far into the future, but at thirty-four, there was a little tick-tock inside me. I felt it during family gatherings, when my nieces and nephews brought their schoolwork to show me or curled up on the sofa with me to watch TV. Occasionally, my mother wistfully pointed out that all the grandkids were growing up, and with my sisters and my brother now well over forty, there probably wouldn’t be any more babies in the family unless I got busy. Not that she was pushing. Having been a career woman herself before falling for my father, my mother fully understood the concept of wanting to achieve success in the working world. That didn’t stop her from pointing out that given David’s income level, I would have options… .
The horse trailer moved forward, and I rolled over the road apple trail, my nose curling involuntarily. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for motherhood, anyway. I wasn’t very good at dealing with poop and stuff. Every once in a while on show night, one of the contestants experienced nerve-induced nausea and had to run to the bathroom to throw up. I never went in to help with cleanup or re-wardrobing.
Ursula thought I was ridiculous. “You Ameri-keen women are weak,” she’d say and then intimate that, if she’d been in place when I came on staff at American Megastar, I wouldn’t have my job. Fortunately, before Ursula came on board, the executive producer had been an old friend of mine from LA affiliate news. Unfortunately, two weeks after I was hired, he left for another job, and in came Ursula Uberstach.
My cell phone rang as I pulled up to the gate, and I thought of Ursula. I answered while paying a man in striped overalls three dollars for parking.
David was on the other end of the line. I instantly felt giddy. “Hey, baby,” I said. The horse in front of me whinnied, the sound echoing through the open window and bouncing around the car.
David was laughing when the sound died. “Where in the world are you?”
“Texas. Remember?” The words came out with a mildly biting undertone. Stop that, I thought, quickly slipping into premarital counseling mode. He finally calls and you’re displaying resentment? That was what he didn’t like about his ex-wife, remember? “So how’s your day been? Did you take the boat out?” Was the satellite phone on the blink, was there no place to come ashore, no way to check and see how I was doing down here?
“Nah, I had to go up the coast overnight to meet with a client.”
Up the coast? Up the coast? There’s phone reception all over the coast. “I called you last night.”
“Yeah, I know.” He yawned and sighed, and a car horn blared in the background. I pictured him driving down 101, stretching and rubbing his eyes. Those big gorgeous brown eyes. “We worked pretty late and then did a breakfast meeting again this morning. I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“I didn’t sleep much.” David would probably laugh if I admitted that an old lady told me a ghost story and I was too scared to go to bed. David had never seen the wimpy insecure twelve-yearold nerd hiding deep inside me. In our six months together, he’d only met Mandalay Florentino, assistant producer. He loved that Mandalay, and I loved the fact that being with him made me feel like I was that Mandalay, a hundred percent. It was hard to feel anything but successful when I was walking down the street on David’s arm. “There’s a two-hour time difference. I would have been up this morning.”
He paused to do something, then came back as I was pulling into a parking space. “Yeah, I didn’t think about that. This morning was kind of a rush, getting through a workout and then to the early meeting. How’s your trip going so far?”
“Fine.” After a half-dozen missed calls and two voice mails, you couldn’t have skipped the workout to call me? “A little strange, so far.”
He laughed, and a warm flutter tickled my stomach. “I can imagine.”
“You wouldn’t believe this little town. I’m out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Hang on a minute.” David moved the phone away from his mouth and ordered food from a drive-through. Thai, it sounded like. Thai food, somewhere back in the land of super-highways and multi-cultural cuisine.
Cradling the phone on my shoulder, I turned off the ignition and took in the sounds and sights of the fairgrounds. Nearby, a carnival was getting underway, complete with a huge antique-style Ferris wheel, roller coaster, bumper cars, vendors hocking chances to win giant stuffed dogs and black-velvet paintings that looked like the o
nes in my hotel room. Beyond that stretched acres and acres of livestock barns, numerous corrals, and the rodeo arena. Near the Kiddie Korral, the giant metal cowboy smiled, his hand raised in a perpetual greeting.
A Jeep cruised by on its way to a parking spot, and I watched it pass, my mouth dropping open as I peered at the driver. Carter.
Again. Everywhere I went, there he was. Of course, with the growing speculation about Amber’s Final Five status, the place would be lousy with reporters soon enough. Was that why Carter had been at the Caney Creek Church this morning? Was he trying to gain information about when Amber would come home, or perhaps looking for a spot from which to stake out the Anderson place, hoping to catch that million-dollar shot of her bringing Justin Shay to the house trailer?
Just the concept made me ill, but not in the way I would have imagined. It wasn’t the idea of the photo that bothered me; it was the thought of Carter taking it. My mind flashed back to the two of us sitting in the beauty shop, watching Bonanza reruns and sharing a contraband midnight snack. I’d been drifting off to sleep when the show ended. He leaned over and touched my arm, whispering, “Hey,” in a voice that was deep and resonant. “You missed the big finale. Little Joe’s girl had to leave town with her family, so he’s still on the market.” He fanned an eyebrow, and I laughed, then stood up and turned off the TV as he cleaned up the paper plates and root beer bottles before we headed upstairs.
Something moaned long and low in the upper hall. Carter’s eyes caught the dim light as he glanced toward the noise, then back at me. “Air coming down the dumbwaiter. I tracked that one down earlier. The tapping in the attic I’m not sure about yet. That may be the ghost counting coins.” He winked when I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms, but then he offered to loan me a Care Bear from his room if I needed it to go to sleep.
In spite of the moaning building, I laughed, feeling better—at least until I was back in my room alone.
I’d tried to call David for company, but of course, he wasn’t answering. I was grateful that Carter and the Care Bear collection were right next door.
Even now, in the bright light of day, I didn’t want to, almost couldn’t, imagine that Carter was here in Daily to prey off the mishaps of a nineteen-year-old girl whose only crime was to believe that someone from a run-down trailer house in Podunk, Texas, could become the next American Megastar.
If a person who seemed as genuine as Carter could do something like that, what did it say about the world? What did it say about my sense of judgment? Maybe I was as easily taken in as Ursula accused me of being. I always felt bad when contestants left the show with their dreams in tatters. Ursula said that was just part of the entertainment, and the contestants knew it. Those tearful good-byes were only the work of skilled performers hoping to leave American Megastar with enough public interest to generate gigs or a recording contract with a little music company somewhere. According to Ursula, every contestant was aware that a little public heartache and humiliation was good for ratings—both theirs and ours.
She was working hard to cure me of my gullibility.
“Hey, babe, you there?” David’s voice shook me from my reverie. I’d forgotten he was still on the other end of the phone.
“Sorry, I got distracted for a minute.” Outside, Carter was crossing the parking lot, getting in line to buy a ticket and go in the gate. I wanted to follow him and see where he was headed.
“I guess.” David’s words were garbled. He was eating something. I realized I was hungry. I’d missed lunch while scouting locations and looking for Amber’s house.
“So,” David went on, “I thought you were in Austin. It’s not LA, but it’s not exactly in the middle of nowhere.”
“I’m in Amber Anderson’s hometown—someplace called Daily, Texas. Remember? I told you about that.” Actually, we’d had an entire conversation as I was packing to leave LA. Had he forgotten completely?
“I remember,” he said, but his tone said that this was all new information. “So, what time are you getting into LAX tonight?”
My spirits sank with the renewed realization that I wouldn’t be winging my way back to LA for a few days. “I’m here in Daily through the weekend. Thanks to Ursula. She has crowned me advance man and Amber’s handler until we have this hometown segment bagged. Didn’t you get my voice mail messages last night?”
“I haven’t listened to the voice mails yet.”
Thanks a lot. “Just delete it all. I was emotional.”
He bit into something crunchy. “So you’ll be gone through the weekend?”
“It looks that way.”
He muttered a regretful, “Huh,” and I felt fluttery again. He missed me. “There’s a party Saturday night up the coast.”
“What?” I felt the sting of salt in my traveling wounds. While I was stuck here, David was having fun. “A party where?”
“The client I was with last night—she’s having some kind of an art charity thing. Lots of money there, if you know what I mean. Good place to network.”
I barely heard the part about art and charity. I was still stuck on she and the client I was with last night. She? Something animalistic and fiercely territorial growled inside me. She? “I can’t get back by tomorrow night. Amber’s coming to Austin Saturday morning, and we film her big reveal at the rodeo Saturday afternoon, then her hometown concert Saturday evening. There’s no way I can make it.” Please, please, please say you won’t go to the party without me.
“That’s all right. I can do it solo. You probably wouldn’t enjoy it much, anyway. I’ll be working the crowd.”
An uneasiness started in my throat and prickled all the way to my stomach. What else will you be working besides the crowd? The question surprised me. It sounded like something Ursula would come up with. Ursula thought the worst of everybody.
I trusted David. Didn’t I?
Outside, Carter had made it through the entry line and was waiting for the gatekeeper to tear his ticket.
“I’d better go.” Both David and I said it at the same time.
He chuckled. “Have a good time in Austin, babe.”
I’m not in Austin. “Yeah, thanks.” We exchanged the customary round of I love you, and miss you, miss you, too, then hung up. I didn’t tell him to have a good time at the party. Tucking the cell phone in my purse, I rolled up the window and got out of the car.
By the time I’d purchased a ticket and made it to the gate, Carter was disappearing into the crowd somewhere near the Kiddie Korral. The old man taking tickets was painfully slow. I jittered impatiently as he chatted with the fairgoers in line ahead of me. Hands trembling, he carefully took each ticket and ripped it in half, then held both sides close to his Coke-bottle glasses, determining which part should be returned to the customer while inquiring as to people’s business at the fair and telling stories about his years as a ticket taker.
“Been here seventy-one years.” His voice echoed against the gatekeeper’s shack, gravelly and rough, unnaturally loud, in a way that reminded me of my grandpa Florentino when his hearing aid batteries went dead. “Started when I was eighteen years old. A’course, I was a strappin’ fella then. I helped set up them midway rides. Can’t do that no more. Y’all be sure to take a ride on that Ferris wheel, y’hear?”
He paused to point a crooked finger at the teenage couple he was holding hostage in the gateway. “Met my girl on that Ferris wheel. Whoo-wee! She was a dandy, but she had a feller on ’er arm. I made me a plan with the ol’ boy that was runnin’ the ride, and when that girl stepped on the platform, I slipped right in beside her while her beau was givin’ over the tickets, and I says, ‘Pardon me, ma’am, I gotta test this here ride for safety. Mind if I go up with ya?’ That seat scooped us in, and we stalled out at the top, and the rest is history.” He tapped the young man on the shoulder. “You want to sweep a girl off her feet, son, you gotta be bold.”
The girl hip-butted her boyfriend, giving him a pointed look, and he sheepishly tucked the
ticket stubs into his pocket as they moved on.
The next customers stepped up, and the old man began telling the kids a story about the first time he ever tasted cotton candy.
A tic started in my left eye, and I looked up and down the fence, searching for another entrance. This was like a traffic jam on an LA freeway, only without benefit of radio, BlackBerry, cell phone, or other means of self-distraction and multitasking. If I had to stand here a minute longer I was going to … to …
I had what Oprah commonly refers to as a light bulb moment. If I had to stand here a moment longer, nothing was going to happen. I wouldn’t explode, and Ursula wouldn’t storm into my office telling me how inept I was and threatening to fire me, and David wouldn’t holler that I was too slow releasing the jib and now the boat wouldn’t come smoothly around, and my mother wouldn’t go into a tirade about how I was always late for family gatherings.
I was here in Daily, Texas, on my own. A solo entity. Master of my own destiny, at least until tomorrow, when the crew arrived with Amber.
Today, I had no one to answer to but Manda Florentino, and actually, Manda was enjoying the bit of local color at the gate. She was thinking that, back when she was in news production, the ticket taker would have made an interesting human interest piece. No telling how much history, how many life experiences resided in that stooped-over body.
Never forget that everyone has a story, Grandpa Florentino said to me when I went into the news business. For as long as I could remember, Grandpa Florentino had told stories of his trip to visit family in the little Italian village where he met my grandmother when she was only twelve years old. He was eighteen and had just joined the army. He traveled the world and then came back to marry the girl with the beautiful golden-brown eyes. In all his years away, he’d never forgotten her. She remained the center of his universe ever after.
I had always wanted that kind of love, but over the years I’d come to wonder if it was possible in the jaded world of talkshow relationship therapy, high divorce rates, and temporary commitments.