That day’s sermon had been especially meaningful to her, and she thought about what Father Quigley had said as she unloaded the dishwasher.
Family is what gives us strength. Sometimes we may feel the world has turned against us. Perhaps our health fails. Or perhaps we are struggling financially. But it is with our family that we can find strength and comfort.
How true, Peggy Jean thought as she placed a spatula in a drawer. Without her own family, how would she ever have coped with all the stress from work? The thought of having to face that Zoe monster, her own hormonal problems, and then that awful rat on her own was just beyond comprehension. Thank God she had a close and loving family to turn to. And thank God she had her faith.
Taking the silverware basket to the drawer, she placed the forks, knives, and spoons in their proper places, admiring how spotless each piece looked. “And yet with all of this—a family, a demanding career, and a stalker—I still have time to be a good homemaker.” She said this out loud, because it felt good to say it out loud.
Then at the bottom of the silverware basket, she saw something strange and dangerous: a pocket knife, opened. Her oldest boy’s pocketknife. Carefully removing the knife from the basket, she folded the blade back into the handle. Kids.
“Sweetheart,” she said, leaning her head into Ricky’s doorway.
“What?” he answered, not looking up from the computer.
She walked over to his desk and set the knife down next to his keyboard. “I found this in the dishwasher.”
He glanced at the knife, then back to the computer. “I put it there. It got dirty.”
“Dirty?” she said.
He looked up at her. “Yeah, remember we had to carve Virgin Marys for bible study? It got pine sap all over it.”
Peggy Jean was charmed by the mere thought of such a thing. “I’d love to see your Virgin Mary.”
“It’s not done yet.”
Peggy Jean noticed a wad of Silly Putty on the desk and picked it up. “You know, I used to love Silly Putty, too. Some things never change. Although mine wasn’t this ugly gray color, it was fleshtone.”
“It’s not Silly Putty, it’s plastic explosive,” he told her, tapping on the keyboard.
“Don’t even joke about such a thing,” she said, placing the Silly Putty back on the desk. “Did you enjoy the sermon today?”
“Very much.”
“Yes, I did thoo.”
He looked at her, puzzled.
“Too, I mean, I did too. Goodness, sometimes these pills the doctor prescribed for my health make my speech a little futhy—err, fuzzy.”
He continued to stare at her.
She started to lean in and give his head a little kiss, but then stopped herself. She’d pestered him enough while he was busy with his school work.
On the way down the stairs, she almost tripped. Then she thought maybe she had better have a little something to even her out, just sort of cut the Valium. Maybe a small glass of something. Because she didn’t want to take a chance that she might slur that evening on air.
“H
oward, do you have a moment?”
“Of course, Trish. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.”
Trish took a seat on the sofa and Howard came around from behind his desk and sat in the chair directly across from her, crossed his legs, and smiled. “What’s on your mind?”
Trish clasped her hands and placed them on her lap. “I feel a little awkward. I mean it’s really not my business, but I’m just a little concerned.”
“What’s the matter, Trish? Please speak freely. I promise you nothing you say will leave this room.”
“Thanks, Howard, I really appreciate that. Like I said, I’m a little uncomfortable mentioning this, but she’s my friend—as well as my cohost—so I feel like I have to say something.”
Howard uncrossed his legs and leaned slightly forward.
“It’s Peggy Jean. I’m a little worried about her.”
A look of surprise crossed Howard’s face. “Peggy Jean? Why?”
“Well, that’s just it, I don’t know exactly. But something doesn’t seem right—she seems a little off, you know? Maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m too close to her, but I’ve noticed the last couple times she’s been on air, she seems almost nervous, a little . . . choppy.”
Peggy Jean, nervous? Choppy? It seemed an impossible notion. Peggy Jean had been with Sellevision for ten years. Next to Bebe, she was the most senior host. If anything, Peggy Jean could be a little too polished. But he had to admit, he didn’t have a close, personal relationship with her. And he hadn’t seen her on air recently.
“Last night when she was on, she was slurring.”
“Slurring?” he repeated, his voice lower.
“And she had a problem with the ruler, finding the right end of it to measure a necklace.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I’ve noticed that she takes a lot of pills. She says they’re vitamins, but I don’t know.”
Howard developed a twitch near his eye. “Is this about the rat? Or is there something going on in her personal life? Is her marriage okay? Her kids?”
“As far as I know, everything’s fine in her personal life. But the rat is just the latest thing. She’s been getting some creepy letters from somebody—she feels that she’s being stalked.”
This was not a good thing. The last thing he needed was to lose another host.
“There’s another thing, Howard,” Trish leaned in. “She’s been eating Tic Tacs like crazy, but you can still smell the alcohol on her breath. Even in the morning.”
“Oh my God.” Howard wiped his hand across his forehead. “Do you think I should say something to her?”
Trish waved her hands in front of her. “Oh, absolutely not, no. Please. I just think, well, let’s see what happens. Maybe you could cut her hours down, a hair. I mean, to give her a little extra space. I wouldn’t mind taking them on. I covered for her that day she got the rat.”
Howard smiled at her. “That was very good of you on such short notice, by the way—thanks. And that’s an excellent idea, I’ll do that. Not such a cut that she worries, just enough so that she has a chance to spend more time with her family.”
Trish stood to leave and Howard added, “Please, keep an eye out, let me know if there are any developments. Hopefully, whatever it is will pass.”
She made a point to touch Howard’s arm, to thank him for his understanding. And she made a point to do this while standing very close to him.
twelve
“I thought you’d be happy. I thought . . . well, I just thought this is what you wanted,” Howard told Leigh. She sat in the chair across from the desk, legs crossed. Her bright red skirt and jacket contrasted sharply with her mood.
“I am happy, Howard, it’s great,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I mean I’d be lying if I told you that I’m not excited about having my own jewelry showcase, it’s just that I wish things between us could be moving along as fast as my career.”
“Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this again and again—it’s just a matter of time. I’m just waiting until the right . . . moment.”
“But, Howard, you’ve been waiting for the right moment for months. I feel like my life is on hold. I really hate it.”
Leigh uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again. She felt edgy, uncomfortable. She had been having a hard time sleeping lately, and she’d lost her appetite. A good thing, she supposed, because she’d lost the four pounds that had plagued her since last Christmas.
“Tell me something, Howard,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Is that why you’re giving me so many more hours? Is this some sort of tactic to keep me occupied?”
Leigh had learned of her jewelry showcase from Trish, who had stopped by to congratulate her. Leigh had been genuinely shocked. Jewelry showcases normally went to the blond women, except for Bebe.
Howard gave her a soft smile, his eyes compassionate. “Of course not
, Leigh. Our professional relationship is just that—strictly professional. Viewers love you, that’s the bottom line. It makes sense that you should pick up some of Peggy Jean’s hours. You deserve them.”
“Why me? Why not Trish?
“Trish has some, you have some. You have a little more, because I believe you deserve them.”
“Yeah, but I don’t deserve you, right?”
“Oh, Leigh, I wish you’d stop doing this to yourself. To us.”
Yeah, Leigh thought, that makes two of us.
Glancing at her watch and seeing that she had less than an hour before going on air, Leigh stood. “Well, I have to get going.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
Howard smiled. “That’s my girl.”
For the next three hours, Leigh smiled, laughed, and spoke with viewers who called in. She measured the diameter of white-gold panther-link bracelets and fingered bold-hoop earrings. She informed viewers when an item sold out, and asked viewers to stay tuned for the next show, Candle Creations. To the twenty-four million viewers who tune into Sellevision at any given moment, Leigh simply appeared to be a happy, attractive young woman who enjoyed her job as a host for America’s premier retail broadcasting network.
One would never guess just by looking at her that inside, her heart was being ripped in half.
After her show, Leigh stepped into her car and made the thirty-minute drive home to her apartment. By the time she’d taken off her work clothes and slipped into a pair of sweats and an oversized T-shirt, it was almost 8:30 P.M. Opening her freezer, she saw a selection of Lean Cuisine frozen entrées and a couple of veggie burgers. Either choice would have been the perfect compliment to an evening spent on the sofa, alone, watching the episode of last week’s Ally McBeal that she had recorded. Of course, she should have been getting ready to meet her boyfriend—or better yet, fiancé—for a romantic dinner somewhere. Hell, even a pizza somewhere. But no, her boyfriend happened to be her boss. And he happened to be married. And the reason he was her boyfriend despite these facts was sitting on her bedside table, every other page dogeared: Women Who Love Selfish Bastards.
“I’m not gonna do this to myself,” she said, closing the freezer door and walking over to the stack of take-out menus she kept in a neat pile next to the phone. “If I’m going to be pathetic, at least I’m going to be pathetic over a carton of take-out butterfly shrimp.”
Then she thought, I should call Max. He could come over and we could be pathetic together. I could tell him what’s going on. After all, they had said they wanted to keep in touch.
“Hi, Max, it’s Leigh.”
“Hey, Leigh. How’s it going?”
“Awful. You?”
“I just bought a box of razor blades.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Oh, I don’t know, let’s see: So far, I’ve managed to blow an E-Z Shop interview, a news anchor interview, and an interview I had yesterday for E!, not to mention all the voice-over auditions.”
“Oh, Max, I’m so sorry. What does your agent say?”
“Well, when I reach her, she tries to tell me it’s okay. But I’m getting a little freaked out because I’m running out of money and the thing is, it’s really tough. I mean, being a Sellevision host is just such a weird, specific thing that you can’t just run over and start doing the news on CNN. I don’t know. It’s too depressing to talk about.”
“I have an idea,” Leigh said, fingering a menu. “Why don’t you drive over here to my place and we’ll have some Chinese or something? I’ll run over right now and pick it up.”
Max thought, There’s a new and interesting idea: human contact. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea, thanks. Should I bring anything?”
“Just that box of razor blades.”
After hanging up, Leigh phoned Ming Ling’s and placed her take-out order. She ordered the butterfly shrimp, spring rolls, and sautéed eggplant with peanuts and hot peppers. She grabbed her jacket, purse, and keys and headed out the door. There was another Chinese restaurant closer to her apartment, but Ming Ling’s was one of the better Chinese places in the area, and she would still be back before Max got there.
As she drove, Leigh told herself that she should be happy about her new, expanded role on Sellevision. She told herself that it was only a matter of time before Howard left his wife and they could begin their own life together. She told herself that her life was really not so bad, that it could be a lot worse.
On the radio was the new single by Celine Dion, I Can’t Believe We’re Together Again, from Titanic II. Leigh sang along, and by the time she pulled into Ming Ling’s parking lot, she was actually feeling a little better.
That is, until she stepped out of the car and happened to glance through the window. Howard was sitting at a table with his wife. She looked even prettier than she did in the photo on his desk. And here they were, laughing, holding hands across the table, with what looked like a Peking duck between them.
For a moment, she just stood there, watching. Then she got in her car and drove straight back to her apartment.
About twenty minutes after she was home, Max arrived. He had a bottle of wine with him. She explained that there had been a slight change of plans. That they would be having pizza and ice cream instead.
Then she told him everything.
And by the end of the night, and one and a half bottles of wine later, the two were sitting on the floor, leaning against Leigh’s sofa, and laughing so hard that both of them were clutching their stomachs.
A good plan can do that to a person.
T
oday’s Super Value, a combination desktop cigar humidor and telephone, had sold out and been replaced with a Just for Now Value, a revolving, battery-operated tie rack. Six times a year, Sellevision dedicated twenty-three hours to Gifts for Guys.
After presenting the revolving tie-rack, moving on to a sixteen-piece socket wrench set, and ending her on-air appearance with a presentation of a pocket fishing rod called, questionably, the Pocket Rod, Peggy Jean Smythe exited the set and walked directly into her office.
She had one new E-mail.
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Subject: Big Guy
I couldn’t help but think how appropriate it is that you are hosting the grand finale of Gifts for Guys. You Big Guy, you.
Don’t think your arm hair went unnoticed while you were demonstrating those socket wrenches.
Oh, did you like my gift?
Zoe
Peggy Jean took four Valium to stop the shaking. She had been off air not even ten minutes, and already an E-mail commenting on the show. Zoe was clearly obsessed.
She considered having a little bottle of something because her mouth was dry. She decided, no. She’d already had some before the show to even her out.
Then she glanced at her arms and saw the dusting of pale, almost pure white hairs. A dizzying amount of them, no matter how fair. My own body is turning against me. She took three small bottles of peach schnapps from her desk drawer.
It just didn’t make any sense, none of it.
Peggy Jean: a leading figure of her church, a loving wife, the mother of three beautiful children and a top host with America’s premier retail broadcasting network. She had once been Junior Miss San Antonio! She received fan mail on a constant basis asking her to reveal her hair coloring, makeup, and manicure secrets.
“I’m a good person. I sponsor two AIDS babies at St. Mercy. I even held one of them!” she cried to the computer screen. “Just like Princess Diana!”
This monstrous Zoe person was making Peggy Jean out to be some chromosomally damaged, testosterone-pumping beast. She was attacking the one thing Peggy Jean prided herself on: polished femininity.
As if dealing with a terrible medical condition wasn’t bad enough, she had a stalker. But who? A dangerous stranger? An obsessed cohost? Trish? Leigh? Don?
Adele? It could be any of them. More and more Peggy Jean was actually being affected by this mystery monster. She was edgy, anxious.
Just the other night when she was hosting a Crafter’s Quilts show, she’d become dizzy gazing at the geometric pattern on one of the quilts, taken a step backward, and tripped on the edge of the rug, falling onto the floor, the quilt landing on top of her. And to make it worse, the camera had zoomed in on her. It was the single most mortifying experience of her on-air life. It had been her own fault, because she had neglected to have a sip of something before the show to smooth out the Valium. But she wouldn’t even have to take the little pills if it weren’t for Zoe.
It was even affecting her marriage. The other night she had exploded at her husband when he suggested they try a new position during an increasingly rare moment of intimacy, that position being one with Peggy Jean on top, where the man belonged.
She had recoiled from him instantly, climbing out of bed and cursing, then locking herself in their bathroom where she turned the faucet on and sobbed, looking at her breasts in the mirror. And she couldn’t help but think they looked just fine. Especially when she turned profile and lifted her arms above her head.
And yet what was she to do? If she dared write back, asking to be left alone, the Zoe person would only be fueled in her personal attack. Yet it seemed that the form letter was only serving to make the stalker angrier and angrier.
What she needed was advice from a Stalking Survivor. A celebrity, like herself, who could help her manage the situation before this Zoe person finally and completely deteriorated, sending Peggy Jean a letter bomb disguised as a pretty bouquet of flowers.
Surely Debby Boone had experienced a stalker. And the two had hit it off during Debby’s recent appearance on Sellevision. In fact, they’d even exchanged personal phone numbers and promised to stay in touch.
Peggy Jean decided that although these were not the ideal circumstances under which to forge a friendship with the multiplatinum recording artist, she simply had no other choice but to call. After all, wasn’t it quite possible that God had put Debby on Sellevision for a purpose much larger than simply introducing America to Dolls by Debby?
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