Sweet Talk Me

by Kieran Kramer

  “Fiber’s not my problem.” True sighed. “I still haven’t heard back from Dubose. We’ve got to talk.” And she told Harrison all about Lila and her two friends from Seabrook Island.

  “Whoa,” he said. “They should have brought popcorn and candy if they were just coming into town to be entertained by you.”

  “I know. But they reminded me of an idea I already had. Dubose and I can elope.”

  Harrison frowned. “Is that what you really want to do?”

  “I honestly don’t care. This big wedding—that was more for Penn and Dubose than me.”

  “But don’t you want your friends there? I hope I’m invited.”

  She closed her eyes a second. “Of course, you’re not invited. No offense.”

  He made another face. “Why not? I’m in town. I’m not going to cause any trouble.”

  “Harrison”—True laid her hand on his arm—“I’m sorry, but Dubose doesn’t like you. You know that.”

  “But if you do, I should be able to come. Or are you letting him call all the shots?”

  “People will talk.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “I don’t know why. It’s not as if we had a big relationship or anything.”

  She met his eyes. Behind the John Lennon frames, they were glinting with humor. But there was something else there, too. It would always be there between them, that night at the Isle of Palms. She remembered the insistent beckoning of his rebel’s body to her very proper one, a primal drumbeat she couldn’t resist, calling her to carnal revolution.

  She’d become a soldier of love, all right. But the next day, she’d deserted him.

  The old pain welled up, and she looked out her passenger-side window, not willing to see even his profile. Not wanting to be ashamed again of her betrayal.

  But she’d been so young. So very young. And he’d asked so much, too much, as if she were this larger-than-life person who didn’t live in the real world. As if she didn’t have to listen to any rules but those governing her own heart. He’d treated her …

  As if she were a painter in the attic who made wild canvases and needed to show them to the world.

  She leaned her forehead against her window and watched the asphalt roadway pass on by.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Hi, Terence Jones,” Harrison said as he shook the hand of the provost at Trident Technical College. Watch out, he wanted to tell her, you have a firecracker on your hands. And we expect her to have every opportunity to excel while she’s with you.

  The woman was a looker in her fifties, he guessed. A swirl of blond hair framed sharp eyes and a confident mouth outlined in deep burgundy lipstick. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. Your daughter—”

  “Goddaughter,” he lied equably.

  “Your goddaughter”—the provost kept the handshake going—“is going to love Trident Technical College.”

  “She’s got big plans,” he said. “Two years of general ed courses here, and then on to the University of South Carolina’s broadcasting school. We’re hoping the Trident experience will give her the wings she needs to succeed there.”

  The provost nodded. “She’ll gain all sorts of know-how and confidence in the program here and blow them away at USC. They love our students. And you tell your goddaughter that if she ever has a problem, she can come straight to my office.”

  “Thank you for that.” His knees were almost weak with relief.

  “I mean it sincerely.” She angled her head. “Has anyone ever told you…?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He almost winked, but he was still a little rattled from how incredibly emotional he was about Weezie, her plans—hell, her growing up. “I’ve never met the guy, but supposedly we’re distant cousins. On the Jones side. The Aiken branch of the family.”

  “No fooling.” She finally let his hand go and leaned close. “Don’t worry, Mr. Gamble,” she murmured. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Shit.

  But then he realized he was actually glad that she was so damned on the ball.

  “Thanks,” he whispered. He felt really good about this place. He moved on down the line behind Weezie and True, repeating the same Terence Jones story to anyone who asked. There were a few who didn’t—always a relief.

  “Terence?” True inquired politely. She reminded him of a daffodil in her pale yellow dress, formfitting until you got to the puffy skirt that ended mid-thigh. Sexy as hell.

  “Yeeesss?” he drawled with a little more color than he usually did. Might as well play Terence up, do the fictitious man proud.

  “Mrs. Bangor, the head of the culinary department, would like to talk to you.” True smiled prettily at him, but her eyes signaled that she was upset, which meant that she was either secretly begging him to cooperate—or secretly begging him not to cooperate.

  It was a conundrum for the ages, so he’d go on instinct.

  Mrs. Bangor, who was short, round, and fond of large floral prints, grinned broadly at him. “Young man, you’re the spittin’ image of Harrison Gamble.”

  He gave her the spiel.

  “I don’t care who you really are, Mr. Jones,” she said. “We’re doing a foodie calendar to raise money for the school. Would you be Mr. January? That’s a high honor. We’d want you to pose with some of our students’ desserts. They make a credible homemade MoonPie and Twinkie.”

  He feigned confusion. “MoonPies and Twinkies?”

  “You know,” she said, “there’s a song called ‘Snack on This.’ Harrison Gamble sings it. About people’s favorite snacks. MoonPies and Twinkies are mentioned.”

  Harrison scratched his temple. “That’s the connection?” He shrugged. “I’m a fan of opera and baroque music. So I wouldn’t know. But sure, I’ll be glad to pose. I assume you mean discreetly unclothed.”

  Mrs. Bangor’s face turned red. “No. No, indeed. You’d wear clothes.” She paused. “But maybe we should reconsider that.”

  He winked at her. “You just let me know what you decide, Mrs. Bangor. I’ll be prepared either way. My goddaughter Weezie Maybank can serve as my contact.”

  Mrs. Bangor beamed. “Excellent.”

  True tugged on his sleeve after they moved past Mrs. Bangor. “What if you’re not here?” she whispered in his ear.

  “I’ll fly back in,” he whispered back. “I’ve always wanted to be Mr. January.”

  True’s pretty mouth puckered. “Are you ever serious about anything?”

  “Not lately,” he said. “Are you ever not serious about anything?”

  She frowned at him. “This is Weezie’s future we’re talking about.”

  “And I just won her major points with the school.”

  “With Mrs. Bangor, maybe. But what’s going to happen to Weezie when everyone figures out you really are Harrison Gamble? Because they will eventually.”

  He shrugged. “How could that hurt her?”

  True blinked. “They won’t treat her like Weezie anymore. She’ll be known as Harrison Gamble’s goddaughter. You’re a celebrity. Whoever hangs out with you is always going to be in your shadow.”

  He stared at her a second. “So basically, I’m a liability.”

  She paused. “No, not that exactly.”

  “A dark cloud?”

  “No. Well, sort of. But that sounds so mean.”

  “You ever heard of projection?” he asked her.

  “Of course.”

  “I think maybe you’re worried about you, not Weezie. You’re not stepping out into the sunshine for whatever reason—maybe Dubose or his mother is casting you in the shade. And it’s easier to pick on me and the horrible effects I could have on everyone else’s chances to shine than to look at your own issues. I’m calling bullshit, however. There’s no way that people won’t recognize Weezie’s awesomeness on her own terms. She won’t let that happen.”

  True’s already petite chest seemed to cave in a little.

  A minute later, they fin
ished the line.

  Weezie was waiting for them, her whole body shimmering with joy at being there. “Terence! True!” she said. “This is so great. Only a month to go. I really need to start apartment—”

  Harrison waggled his eyebrows to jolt her memory.

  It was their secret signal. She clamped her mouth shut. He’d told her they’d discuss it later. Not today. If she stayed within the bounds of socially acceptable behavior her entire first semester, he’d buy her a car.

  All because when True was upstairs changing outfits, he and Weezie had had quite a productive discussion.

  “You know what those socially acceptable boundaries are,” he’d said to her. “I know all about having a stage persona, too. But I leave it there in the concert hall. You’re going to make a great talk show host someday. But one thing you haven’t figured out is that you’re bigger than your work passion. You have family and friends, and they matter even more. If you had to choose between True and being a talk show host, which would you choose?”

  “True,” Weezie had said instantly.

  “See? And if someone told me to choose between a hit single and Gage, I’d choose Gage.” He’d choose True, too, but he wasn’t going to go there. With Weezie or himself.

  Weezie seemed to be getting it.

  “This means you’re going to save your tell-all interviews for a studio set,” he’d advised her. “When you’re at home or at school, be Weezie, the sister, the friend, the intellectual, the Star Trek fan. That girl is a joy to be around. You always made my day brighter when I’d come over and water your mother’s plants all those years ago. Am I making sense to you?”

  “Yes. I really, really get it.” She’d hugged him to prove her point.

  He’d hugged her back. He’d seen it in her eyes—she was soaking it up.

  “And to help you remember that your talk show side is only part of who you are,” he’d said, “I’m going to buy a car for Weezie, the friend.”

  “Really?”

  “As a little girl, you liked the color blue more than anything else. And you constantly showed me the sky because you wanted me to enjoy it along with you.”

  “I remember, too.”

  “So if True says it’s all right—because we can’t go forgetting she’s your sister and really cares about you—I’m getting you a blue car. And it’s gonna have a personalized plate that says THING ONE, because that was my nickname for you back then. Are you on board with that?”

  She’d jumped into his arms. “Yessirree, Thing Two!”

  Now Thing One—Weezie—was doing her best to appear docile in the large, drafty multipurpose room at Trident Tech, her hands folded in front of her, a not-so-believable Mona Lisa smile on her lips. That girl was dying to walk around the room and play Oprah. Or Kelly. Or Rachael Ray. God bless her for trying just to be Weezie.

  True didn’t seem to notice her sister’s subdued attitude. She looked around the room with her left eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. Not all the students looked particularly wholesome. There was the biker chick. A guy who looked a little like Charles Manson. And an older man wearing a Rugrats shirt. The usual suspects you’d find at a community college: good people who needed a break, some of whom needed advice about making a positive first impression.

  “All right,” Harrison said sweetly, “why don’t we check out all the buildings? And we’ll head on over to the barbecue after that?”

  “Fine,” said True. She was barely listening.

  Weezie flipped her hair off her shoulders and walked proudly in front of them.

  He squeezed True’s elbow. “A little pep from you would go a long way. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ve brought her up right. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s gonna do great.”

  “How do you know she will?” True murmured.

  “Because the provost has it going on. And that’s Weezie’s nature—to thrive. Why don’t you trust in the universe a little bit more?”

  “I did. And it took my parents before their time.”

  He sighed inwardly. He couldn’t make True believe anything she didn’t want to. And for all he knew, Weezie would forget everything they’d talked about. All he could do was try to help. The same way he’d tried to help Gage. If they blew him off, then there was nothing he could do.

  It was frustrating to see people he cared about suffer. But he’d learned to live with it by packing his bag and leaving.

  Nothing like becoming a country music star because you have a God complex and no one else will play along with you. He’d had to create his own little kingdom where he was ruler, and it was working out pretty good. Except for the studio always breathing down his neck. And the total lack of privacy.

  And the loneliness.

  As the evening progressed, True did all the right things with Weezie: Expressing admiration for the beautiful new library. Wondering along with her if all her teachers were going to be friendly. Reassuring Weezie that no matter what, she’d survive as long as she put her studies first. After they’d explored everywhere they could—including locating the parking lot for students—they headed to the large reception area, where a bunch of serving tables were set up with the smell of hickory-smoked barbecue strong in the air.

  “Mmm, that smells good,” he said to the ladies.

  Weezie followed him and True to join the line. “I hope they have barbecued tofu.”

  Harrison kind of doubted it. But then, wonder of wonders, there was tofu spinach salad for the vegetarians among them.

  They found seats across from the buffet at a section of tables decorated with red-and-white-checkered throwaway plastic tablecloths. The centerpieces were made of silk sunflowers stuck into a ribbon-wrapped foam base with a little scarecrow stuck on the side. The decorations were cute but not over-the-top, striking just the right note with parents who’d rather the school spend its money on teacher salaries and student resources anyway.

  A disc jockey was setting up. Harrison looked for a dance floor and saw one in a dim corner, a couple of barn-style lanterns glowing overhead.

  “It’s not even fall yet,” said Weezie, poking at the centerpiece. “But they know we all want it to be.”

  Her enthusiasm made mush out of Harrison’s heart. He shared a glance with True. She felt it, too. Here her sister was so proud and excited to go to college, to figure out her future.

  He remembered when he was Weezie’s age—depressed and starving. But he knew he’d been on the right track, too, heartache or no, so it had all been worth it.

  “Do you remember feeling the way she does now?” he asked True.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

  He heard a little sadness in her tone. “It’s not too late to do what you want to do. It’s never too late.” He bit into a huge barbecue sandwich loaded with pickles, so he wouldn’t look like a know-it-all.

  She pushed some barbecue around her plate and seemed to be thinking of what to say back when another family joined them.

  When everyone introduced themselves, no one questioned his Terence Jones persona. Their student was a skinny young man with a farmer’s tan coming from Berkeley County, where he’d been working construction.

  “But I want to be a radiological technician,” he told Weezie. “Medicine is a surefire way to stay employed. And I like big machines that can see right through your body.”

  “Cool,” said Weezie. “I want to be a talk show host.”

  The boy’s mother chuckled. “That’s an interesting job. Not many of those around.”

  “You might as well just run off to Hollywood,” the father said. “What’s the point of school?”

  “It takes more than natural talent,” Weezie replied. “It takes connections in the business and technical expertise. I can’t get those by waiting tables in Hollywood and waiting for my big break. I need to be in school.”

  Damn, Harrison was proud of her. She didn’t get annoyed with the naysayers, and her answer made such good sense. Sh
e had what it took. He sensed it, having entered a profession himself where doubters proliferated.

  “If anyone can become a talk show host”—True laid her hand over her sister’s—“Weezie can.”

  His two girls—he knew he shouldn’t call them that, but he couldn’t help himself—shared a special look, and Harrison, who was a geek at heart, mentally high-fived himself.

  As the meal wound down, the disc jockey introduced himself, the lights dimmed, and the music began. “Play That Funky Music” got some of the crowd up on their feet and over to the dance floor. Their tablemates stood and said good-bye—they couldn’t stay. The boy had to get up at four AM to go to work on a new road.

  After they’d left, Weezie gazed over the room. “I’m glad I’m coming here. I like it, and I don’t care that it’s not New York or Atlanta. I’ll get to those markets someday.”

  Markets. Harrison shared another secret look with True. Weezie had a clear vision of what she wanted to do. It was cute. And impressive.

  “Good,” True told her sister. “There’s no need to rush into total independence at one fell swoop. Take it one step at a time. That’s sensible.”

  Weezie looked down at her plate. “I really wanted to”—she looked up at Harrison, and he could tell she was fighting a mighty war within herself—“I really wanted to thank you for taking me here tonight. And showing me such support.”

  True put her hand on her heart. “Weezie, we love you.” True looked at him. “Harrison believes, just like I do”—Yes, you’re on the right track—“that you’re going to succeed at whatever you put your mind to do. I want you to be independent. And if things go well for you this first semester, we can think about letting you get an apartment after Christmas.”

  “Really?”

  True nodded and smiled, her mouth showing signs of strain but maybe some excitement, too. “I know you said you’d go ahead and rent your own apartment now. But if you could be patient just one semester, I’ll be able to help you with the rent. You’re brave to take on the expense on your own, but wouldn’t it be nice if you could work because you want to, not because you have to? That’s a lot of stress.”