Oh, here’s one — show up at their door and sing your apology. It’s not that I’m not willing to be humiliated for love. I am. I’m just worried that the sound of my singing might be the final nail in my coffin.
I look up local singing telegram sites and come across one called Drag-o-Grams, that is run and operated by a local drag performer. That’s just out-of-the-box enough to work. After a quick search of apology songs, I land on just the right thing to show that I’m truly sorry for being such a schmuck. Then I call Drag-o-Grams to see if this song is one that they can perform.
The man on the other end of the line answers, “Drag-o-Grams, where we have a song for every occasion. This is Madonna, how can I help you?”
“Um, hi Madonna, my name is Ben Williams …”
He doesn’t let me finish before he interrupts, “Not THE Ben Williams from Wake Up America!?”
“I’m afraid so,” I tell him. “I need to hire your company to make an apology to someone I really care about.”
“No kidding. Listen, Ben, may I be frank?” He doesn’t let me answer, he just continues, “You have more than one person to apologize to.”
“You mean other than Serafina?”
“What about poor Gwen? Watching that segment was like witnessing a car wreck. I couldn’t turn away.”
I cringe at the thought that even Madonna from Drag-o-Grams saw me make a total ass out of myself.
“I already sent Gwen some flowers.”
“Not enough,” he says with force. “Flowers are nice for your garden-variety minor infraction, but when you screw up as monumentally as you did, they’re just the jumping off point.”
“Um, okay. I guess I could send a singing telegram to Gwen, too. I was thinking about the song ‘I’m Sorry’ by Brenda Lee, or ‘Bye, Bye, Love’ by the Everly Brothers …”
“Are you eighty? Don’t answer, I know you’re not.” Then Madonna instructs, “You need a song that they’ve already heard and sung in the shower.”
“What, like ‘All Apologies’ by Nirvana?”
“We at Drag-o-Gram don’t sing songs by men, but at least you’re entering the right decade. Listen, Ben, I know the exact tune that will yield the best result. Do you trust me?”
“Uh, well, Madonna …” This is such a crazy conversation. “I trust you as much as I should, being that you’re a total stranger.”
“Good, then leave it up to me. I’ll take care of you and if all isn’t forgiven and forgotten, I’ll give you fifty percent off your next order. All I need is your credit card number…”
Forty-Three
Serafina
“Now that Dr. Williams won’t be returning to Wake Up America!, we need you to be able to carry the whole segment on Monday. Do you think you can do that?” Waltraut asks while I sneak bites of my everything bagel with extra cream cheese. Charley rolls her eyes at my continued feasting.
“Of course, I can,” I tell the producer enthusiastically. “Since it’s summer, how about if I talk about the best vacations for your star sign?” I know I could use a week or two in Florence, Italy. There’s no better place for us Libras to tap into our massive creativity than the birthplace of the Renaissance. I wonder if I could talk my way into an on-location shoot?
“Great idea. Just make sure that everything fits into a ten-minute time slot.”
I hang up just as the buzzer rings. “That’ll be the UPS guy who should have been here yesterday,” I tell Charley who is prematurely putting the bagels away.
I push the intercom button and bark out a hello.
“Delivery for the fabulous Ms. Serafina Lopez!” a deep voice calls.
Is UPS getting a lot friendlier? Charley and I glance at each other with confused grins. “Come on up.”
I hear loud footsteps coming down the hall, so I swing the door open to accept delivery of my peony candles, only to come face-to-face with Cher. Not Cher from today, but a slightly-off version of her from the late 1980s. Same big hair, make-up totally on point, but this version must be almost seven-feet tall with her staggering heels.
“Wow. You all are really stepping up your game,” I say, feeling like I’ve fallen through a portal into an alternate universe.
In a surprisingly masculine voice, Cher says, “I’m Madonna from Drag-o-Grams with an apology from Ben.”
Madonna? “You mean Cher…”
“My name is Madonna, but I’ll be singing Cher.”
“So you’re not from UPS.”
“Not in a million years.”
I stare at her and am flabbergasted by the idea of this being a man. Madonna’s Cher costume appears to be authentic from the time — the tiniest black sheer teddy that’s so high cut, there isn’t more than a landing strip around the girly bits, or, in this case, boy bits.
I’m obviously staring because Madonna explains, “Fitting into this costume requires a strap and wrap.” What is he talking about? Before I can ask, he explains, “I need to strap it down and then wrap it tightly in plastic wrap. It’s hotter than hell, but it hides the goods.”
“Oh.” I mean, really, what else is there to say? I call out, “Charley, you might want to come over here for this.”
She trots out of the bathroom, takes one look at Cher, then at me, before telling our guest, “So, no UPS?”
“Nope,” Madonna exclaims in a very deep voice. Then she bends over and turns on a boom box. When the intro for “If I Could Turn Back Time” starts to play, I can barely grasp what’s happening.
While Cher (or Madonna) sings about how if she could reach the stars, she’d give them all to me, I stare in awe.
Then, like someone flipped a switch, I burst into an ugly cry. No delicate sobbing for this Libra. I sound like I’m being drawn and quartered in some kind of medieval torture ceremony. I’m so loud that Madonna stops singing half-way through the song and throws her brawny arms around me.
“There, there, Serafina,” she says. “I know Ben was horrible to you. I watched the whole thing live. But you’ve got to know that he feels awful about how everything went down.”
“Then why doesn’t he tell me that himself?” I demand before blowing my nose on a tissue that Charley hands me.
“He said you won’t take his calls or texts.”
“He should have come here himself,” I say.
“Would you have let him in?” Madonna asks, sounding so sure of herself.
“Whose side are you on?” I demand while pushing her away and putting my hands on my hips.
“I’m on the side of love, honey. Ben asked me to call him before I performed, and I’ve never heard such a sorry sack. That man is full of regret and would do anything to make up his past misdeeds to you.”
“Anything?” Charley asks.
“I’m pretty sure,” Madonna tells her. “That man sounded lower than an earthworm in hell. So much so, I decided to do this job myself.” She confides, “I’m the owner of the company and hardly ever go out on calls anymore, but this was a special case. Now, can I finish singing my song?”
“From the top,” Charley tells her with a giant smile on her face. Something is going on in that girl’s mind and it’s making me nervous.
After Madonna is through, I hand her a twenty-dollar tip and thank her for such an amazing performance. Only in New York City can you get such a high-quality sing-o-gram.
“Do you have a business card, Madonna?” Charley asks.
“Who are you planning on sending a singing telegram to?” I demand.
“What? You don’t think my parents would totally jam to some vintage Alanis Morissette?”
“Oh, honey, we don’t do her. At Drag-o-Gram we stay away from the angsty stuff. How about some Aretha or Beyonce? Bert sings the hell out of both those ladies.”
“I think my parents could both do with giving me a little respect,” she says. “I’ll be in touch.”
Madonna offers a weird curtsy that doesn’t quite fit the look as she adds some parting advice. “Being that no one can
actually turn back time, Serafina, sometimes you just have to forgive and forget. Take it from me, you don’t want to miss out on life with your soul mate just because you’re too proud to take him back. Pride won’t warm your bed at night.”
“Thanks for that, Madonna. I’ll definitely think about it.” Yet even as I shut the door, I don’t know if I have the courage to pick up the phone and call Ben. After all, he isn’t the only one who needs to ask for forgiveness.
Forty-Four
Ben
Email from [email protected]
To: [email protected]
* * *
Subject: Wake Up America! Appearance
* * *
Ben,
* * *
Top brass has decided you need to go on the show one more time to undo some of the damage. The masses seem fixated on seeing you apologize to Ms. Lopez and that Gwen woman so I’m sending you to do that. Once you’ve accomplished your mission, Carla will take over for you.
* * *
Be at the studio Monday at the usual time.
Dev
* * *
I never thought I’d say this, but thank the Lord for morning television viewers across America. Their interest in my sorry life might just be what gets me Serafina back. Lord knows chocolate, flowers, and a singing telegram didn’t do the trick.
I’m so determined not to blow it, I took a trip back to Namaste Friends and got myself the most Gemini of all the Gemini outfits they had. I’m currently waiting backstage in something called a super-soft and breathable Thai yoga shirt with a Nehru collar and long sleeves. It’s bright yellow (and, true to its advertising, is super-soft). Astrid paired it with some loose yoga pants in a dark grey and added a hemp necklace that has rose quartz beads sewn into it to “reset my heart chakra” (whatever that means). I’m hoping when Serafina sees my outfit, she’ll realize how much I’m trying to change. If this were Grease, I’d be Olivia Newton John to Sera’s John Travolta.
Justin walks into the dressing room and stops in his tracks when he sees me. “Whoa. That’s … a new look.”
“Too much?” I ask, feeling silly all of a sudden.
“Ah … hmm … I guess just not what I was expecting.”
“Maybe I should change.” The way he hesitates makes me nervous that maybe this isn’t the right look for me after all.
He shakes his head. “No time. We’ve got to get your mic on.”
I follow him backstage, my heart pounding as I wait for my one shot at winning back the woman I love. I can hear Serafina out there chatting with Hal and Lacey, and I’m sure she looks as gorgeous as ever. My pulse is racing so fast, I feel like it’s taken on the cadence of the William Tell Overture.
I feel decidedly dizzy while I listen to their conversation. “We’ve got a special surprise for you, Serafina,” Hal says. “Courtesy of your assistant, Charley.”
I can see them from where I’m standing and Serafina raises one eyebrow while she shifts uncomfortably in her chair.
“You look worried,” Lacey says. “Are you worried?”
“A little…”
“Well, don’t be. As you know, Charley is a delightful young woman. She told us she’d do almost anything to see you happy. We’re going to talk to her later, but first, we want to welcome back astronerd, Dr. Banana Pants himself, Ben Williams, to the Wake Up America! stage!”
My legs feel like I just got back from ten months on the International Space Station as I walk out. Serafina’s eyes light up, then she looks me up and down and her expression immediately hardens. I give her a sad smile, then take my seat on the empty armchair next to hers.
“Dr. Williams,” Lacey says. “You’re quite a sight for sore eyes.”
Hal actually rubs his eyes before adding, “Yes, welcome back. That’s quite the shirt you’re wearing.” Hal laughs like crazy while Lacey rolls her eyes at him.
“Thanks for having me,” I tell them both. Glancing at Serafina, I add, “I have some apologizing to do.”
Serafina snorts. “Do you mean you have some more people to make fun of?”
“No … not at all.” Damn, this isn’t starting out well.
“What’s with the outfit then?” she demands angrily.
“I picked this up at Namaste Friends in the Village. I’ve been trying to immerse myself in the metaphysical world to better understand it.”
Raising one eyebrow, Serafina says, “You’ve been to Namaste Friends?”
“Twice actually. I picked up a Tibetan singing bowl and have been using it while practicing meditation.”
She stares at me like I just pulled a warthog out of my hat, then says, “Okaaaay.”
“So, Ben,” Lacey interrupts, “As you know, we here at Wake Up America! have been completely fascinated with you and Serafina. And we’re not the only ones, because we haven’t had so much fan mail since Backstreet Boys performed in short shorts. It seems that more than half of our viewers are desperate to see you two back together.”
“What do the other half want?” I ask nervously.
“Seventy percent of the other half want Serafina to kick you to the curb, and the other thirty percent want to see the resurgence of boy bands,” Hal says.
“Since the majority wins, we’ve invited some guests here today to try to talk some sense into the two of you. Maybe we can give America the happily ever after we’ve all been waiting for.”
“Look around, Ben; you might recognize a few faces in our studio audience,” Lacey adds as the lights in the audience come up. “Your mom and her two best friends, Lita and Lynda, are here.” Gesturing for them to stand, Lacey says, “Come on, Mom, stand up and show yourself.”
Holy crap. They’ve flown my mom and her friends here?
My mom gets up, looking like she’s going to burst into tears from all the excitement. She waves around the crowd like she was just crowned Miss America before sitting back down.
I’m totally stunned, which makes the shock that much greater when Lacey calls out to my team from the office to stand up. Dev looks oddly pleased with himself, while Alec and Carla wave wildly. The rest of them look decidedly nervous.
Just when I’m sure they can’t fit any more rings into this circus, Gwen and her aunt June stand up. Oh, dear. I have no idea what Hal, Lacey, and Charley have in mind, but I sure hope to hell everything works out. I say there’s about a forty percent chance it will. Sixty percent goes to the crowd having me tarred and feathered in retribution.
“So, Dr. Ben, what do you have to say for yourself?” Lacey asks.
“I, um … well … I …” My thoughts are whirling around so fast I can’t seem to grab a hold of any of them. “I’ve never felt so bad about anything in my entire life. I was closed-minded and well, just awful, really.” I look at Serafina the whole time I’m talking.
“The first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one,” Hal says wisely.
“That’s right,” I tell him. “After I lost Serafina and made such a mess of things with Gwen, I realized I needed to make some changes.”
“Changes, like getting a new wardrobe?” Lacey asks.
“That’s part of it. I was so fixated on proving Serafina wrong, I lost sight of what science is all about — which is the pursuit of truth. One can’t just decide what truth is without being open to unknowns. For instance, scientists of old believed the Earth was flat. If Aristotle hadn’t thought bigger, we’d still be terrified of falling off the edge of the planet while sailing.”
“Are you saying that you believe in astrology now?” Lacey asks.
I shake my head, unwilling to lie. “No, but I am open to finding out more about it and I’m willing to concede that if practiced responsibly, there might be some benefit to it.”
Hal leans forward in his chair, wearing a Diane-Sawyer-interviewing-Britney-Spears expression. “I think there’s something more you want to say, Ben.”
“I want to take this opportunity to apologize — to Sera
fina, to Gwen and her family — specifically her Aunt June who I never should have called a meddling busybody — and to my team at NASA.” I scan the audience trying to make meaningful eye contact as I go. “I was so far over the line of human decency that I couldn’t even see it from my high horse. I got so caught up in trying to prove I was right that I forgot about what’s important — treating others with respect and generally being a decent human being.”
Lacey stands during my apology and walks off the stage, reappearing in the studio audience with a microphone. She walks over to the L-Triad and asks, “Which one of you is Ben’s mom?”
“I am,” my mom tells her, holding up one hand. “Lydia Williams.”
“Why do you think your son got so sidetracked by the need to be right?”
My mom tears up a little before saying, “It’s my fault. I have a horrible track record with men, and I think it’s turned Ben into someone who’s suspicious of everyone he meets.”
“Mom, it’s not your fault,” I tell her, wishing we were having this conversation anywhere but here.
“No, it is,” she says, shaking her head. She looks over at Lacey and says, “Ben’s dad took off on us when Ben was seven. Then Geoff, he’s the one who took our cat, Dr. Pepper, when Ben was nine. Phil stole all my money and my car…”
Lita leans over and yells, “Phil Dewitt of Portland, Oregon, if you’re out there, I’m coming for you!”
Lacey’s eyes grow wide, then Lita looks at me. “And you, get your head out of your keister. And come visit once in a while.”
“Thanks, Aunt Lita,” I say as flames of embarrassment lick my face. Then louder, I add, “None of this is my mom’s fault. She was a wonderful parent who tried to teach me to be open-minded and kind. I failed her along with everyone else here in the audience…” I glance at Serafina. “And on stage too.”
Text Wars: May the Text be With You ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 3) Page 22