Chapter Nine

When I flip on the radio, after I get back in the car from dropping off Issie at school, “Fire and Rain” pours out of the speakers. It’s so vivid—almost like James Taylor is on the morning show in the control room, singing directly into the mic. I can hear a guitar but the other instruments are missing, the ones that give the song its full rich sound. FM 99 is not known for playing acoustic versions of songs (Edward would never allow a song to be played that hadn’t originally reached the top ten on the Adult Contemporary Billboard chart), but even still, I’d swear it was James himself.

“Thought I’d see you one more time again. Nah, nah, nah.” After the music fades, there’s clapping. Control room clapping! I nearly hit another mother exiting the preschool parking lot.

“All right, all right. JT. That was awesome,” Johnny says. “It’s great to have you back.”

“Thank you. Glad to be here.” That’s his voice. I’d know it anywhere. It really is James Taylor!

“You’re in concert tonight at Mud Island,” Johnny says.

“That’s right,” says JT.

Okay, what in god’s name is going on? Why am I the last to know that Sweet Baby James himself is at FM 99 today—only a few feet away from my office? It’s only been two weeks since Liam White was in the studio and now we have an even bigger star. I truly am going to kill Johnny Dial this time. I look down at my outfit and consider turning back around and heading home. This dress has been hanging in my closet for five years. I’d have thrown it away a long time ago but it’s one of those outfits that can pass in a pinch, when everything else is dirty. It’s the kind that you’d never wear to something special, though—and this is better than something special. One glance at the clock tells me I better keep driving forward and accept the fact that I’m going to meet the James Taylor looking like I just left the Dress Barn.

“You’ve played Memphis what, six or seven times, and every single time I see you, you seem to get better,” Johnny says. “Your voice is smoother now than it was the first time I saw you back in 1970, I think it was.”

“The Sweet Baby James tour.”

“That’s it. One of the best shows I’ve ever seen at the Mid-South Coliseum. I still remember you came out on the stage wearing a flannel shirt, sat down on a stool and opened the show with ‘Sweet Baby James.’”

JT laughs, and it’s unmistakable.

I remember that shirt! I was there. One of my very first concerts. I fumble through my purse and punch in the numbers to Alice’s cell. When the answering machine comes on I’m practically squealing. “Turn on FM 99. JT is in the control room talking about the Sweet Baby James concert at the coliseum when that man in the crowd screamed out ‘Walking Down a Country Road.’ Remember that, Alice? Oh my gosh. I have the coolest job in the world.” I push the end button and throw the phone back in my purse.

What woman isn’t obsessed with James Taylor? Actually, with Alice and me, it’s not as much of an obsession as it is an infatuation. We’re enthralled with his love life. I mean, what man writes the kind of lyrics he does without the kind of magnetism, charm, and seduction that drives a woman crazy? Carly Simon was so lucky.

“I’ll tell you what I wish I still had,” Johnny says. “That poster that came inside the album. It hung on my bedroom wall with thumbtacks in the corners for years.”

“I’ve had many people tell me that.”

I’m weaving in and out of the lanes, speeding down Union Avenue in rush-hour traffic, praying with every fiber of my being that I make it before he leaves. If I don’t get to meet him, maybe I’ll bump into him on the way out. Or at the very least catch a glimpse of him from ten feet away.

When I finally pull up to the station, by the grace of God, he’s still talking to Johnny. I’m late, my normal five to ten, so I hightail it up to my office, not even pausing to wave to Jane on my way in. Through the window in front of the control room I can see the back of JT’s head. He’s wearing his signature newsboy cap! I am literally just five feet away from the one and only James Taylor.

When the phone starts ringing, I reach down to grab it, never taking my gaze off the window across the hall from my office. I can see James scratching his neck. Now he’s putting a coffee cup to his lips. Now he’s leaning down and picking up his guitar. He’s about to play another song. I must think of an excuse to get inside that control room!

“Hello,” I say into the phone, after it rings only once. My giddiness is hard to conceal.

“Is this FM 99?” a man asks, puzzled.

“Oh. Yes it is. I’m sorry, I was distracted. May I help you, please?”

“Sure. This is Steve Conley. I’m the stage manager on James Taylor’s crew. We’re down here at Mud Island loading in his gear and our tour itinerary says he’s not due into Memphis until four o’clock. We’re all a little confused down here and I can’t get JT’s road manager on the phone. Do you know if he’s by himself or if he has someone with him?”

“Hold on a second, let me check.” This is it! My great excuse to mosey into the control room.

“Actually, it looks like…,” I’m craning my neck across the hall to survey the inside of the control room as best as I can, “he’s alone. But why don’t I get your phone number and give Mr. Taylor a message to call you as soon as he comes off the air?”

“That would be great.”

I jot down the information and kiss the pink note in my hand. With my purse hanging over my shoulder I tear down the hall to the ladies’ room. Because I’m nervous, when I reach for my blush compact it slips out of my hand and crashes to the floor. Just my luck. Now it’s in tiny pieces all over the black tile. With no other choice, I sweep up the peach tinted bits with the enclosed brush and use it anyway. This should teach me to come to work without taking the time to fix my makeup and style my hair. At the moment my hair’s in a ponytail, but I quickly tear out the rubber band and fluff it in the mirror. Once I finish brushing on my mascara I notice brownish black dots below my eyebrows. Ripping out a paper towel from the holder I hurriedly dampen it in the sink and wipe the residual fluid from my eyes. When I take one last look at myself in the mirror, it occurs to me I look like Goodwill Strawberry Shortcake, minus the striped leggings.

On the way back down the hall I notice Edward’s door. It’s shut, thank goodness, and after bending down I can tell he’s not made it into the office yet. No light is peeking out from underneath the slit. Taking a deep breath, I turn the corner to the control room. Even though my stomach feels as though I’ve just stepped off the Zippin Pippin at the fairgrounds, I’ve already convinced myself to try and remain calm. Cool. Collected. I can do this. I can be in the same room with James Taylor and chat with him like a normal human being, nary a starstruck bone in my body.

The on-air light fades. Mustering courage and charisma, with pink phone message in hand, I courageously push open the control room door with my shoulder, ready to hand the note over to JT himself. Johnny’s in his regular position working the board, Jack’s on the other side as usual, in front of his computer, and JT is … nowhere to be found. I glance behind me in the unfortunate instance that I may have just missed him.

“Where’s JT?” There’s panic in my voice.

They both glance at each other before bursting out laughing.

“What? What?” My voice is climbing. “Did he leave down the back steps while I was in the bathroom?” I look behind me again and cover my face with my hands, exhaling loudly. “How could this have happened?”

Jack reaches over, picks up James’s newsboy cap resting on the counter next to him and places it on his head. “Good morning, Leelee,” he says, in a perfect, and I mean spot-on, JT voice.

All I can do is stare at Jack. I can’t utter a single sound. My face must look as forlorn and pitiful as Lucy’s did that day in Hollywood when Ricky wouldn’t let her meet John Wayne. Of course both guys, at this point, are falling out of their chairs from laughter, all at my expense.

“It’s not funny,” I say, and inadvertently stomp my foot. “I believed y’all. I almost turned around and drove all the way home to change out of this tacky dress.” I look down and squeeze the fabric between my fingers. “But I was afraid I’d miss catching a glimpse of JT. And now I find out it’s all a joke?”

Johnny stares at my dress. “That dress really is tacky.”

Blood rushes to my face.

“I’m just kidding you, girl.”

“And how is it that I don’t know that you sing?” I say to Jack, throwing my arms in the air.

“I don’t know how you don’t know,” he says, chuckling.

“You sounded exactly like him.” Now it all makes sense. Jack can talk exactly like George Bush, Bill Clinton, and Ross Perot. He’s imitating them all the time on the radio. Of course he can talk and sing like James Taylor.

“Why aren’t you rich and famous like, like that guy who does Richard Nixon and all the other presidents’ voices? You’re just as good.”

In a dead ringer for the voice of Howard Cosell, Jack says, “Because Rich Little’s not stuck in Memphis, Tennessee, working for a boob like Edward Maxwell.”

“I’m devastated. I was just sure you were JT.”

“What do you need James Taylor for? Didn’t you see the note on your desk?” Johnny asks.

I whip my head in his direction. “What note?”

“I put a sealed envelope on your desk. Go read it. Just don’t let Edward see it.”

“What’s it about? Am I in trouble?”

Johnny giggles that giggle. “Go look at it.”

When I get back to my desk, there’s a long FM 99 envelope with my name on the front, sealed shut. I’d been so eager to get inside the control room that I hadn’t even noticed it before. I tear it open and inside there’s a pink telephone message, folded over twice. Before reading it I glance over my shoulder. Unfolding the message, I notice it’s to me from Liam White. Liam White? He called at 8:00 A.M. and there’s a phone number. In the notes part, Johnny writes: “Wow, girl. Looks like you’ve got a suitor.”

My heart zooms down into my black leather pumps. At the bottom of the note is another message from Johnny: “Make sure ‘you know who’ doesn’t hear you call him back. Be discreet about it and btw, I’ve copied down White’s number to sell to the National Enquirer.”

On impulse and before I have time to consider the validity of the situation, I go running toward the control room and bump right into “you know who.”

“What’s your hurry?” Edward asks, holding his briefcase, FM 99 silk bomber jacket slung over his shoulder. (It’s not even chilly outside.)

“Oh nothing. I, I’m just checking one of the liner notes on the log. I might have written something down wrong.”

He slightly opens the control room door and pops his head inside. “Good job with the JT bit, buddy,” he says to Jack, and then heads straight to his office and shuts the door.

As I’m stepping inside the control room, the den of radio sin, reality grabs me by the tail and shakes me good and hard. All of a sudden it’s so obvious. Johnny Dial is lying! Now I’ve become a victim of his monkey business. Hmmmm.

Instead of allowing his out-and-out Judas kiss to bamboozle me, I remember the new Leelee, the girl who shed her pushover exterior and stood up to Helga the Horrible in Vermont. With all the confidence of Jamie Lee Curtis daring to go gray in her late thirties, I push open the control room door and march inside. My tongue is pressed firmly on the inside of my cheek, my eyebrows are raised and my arms are crossed in front of my chest. “Okay,” I say, undaunted. “I admit it. You’ve gotten me once today. But it’s not going to happen a second time. Nope, I’m not falling for it.”

“You’re pretty cool, girl. Got a celebrity calling ya,” Johnny licks his index finger and extends it my way. “Sssss,” he says. “You’re hot.”

Uncrossing my arms, I say, “You are making that up and I don’t appreciate it.”

“No, I’m not. I swear. Liam White called here looking for you.”

I reach back and wind my hair into a knot. “Did he say what he wanted, O Master of the Mischief?”

“No. He just wanted to talk to you. He called the hotline. Tyler the intern took the call.”

“And then what? Let me guess”—I pop my finger toward Johnny—“Liam White told Tyler that he wants to marry me. Where is Tyler? Maybe I should get it straight from the horse’s mouth.” Knowing full well he’s nowhere close, I look all around the control room for effect.

“We sent him downtown to Union and Second. He’s passing out morning team bumper stickers,” Jack says with a chuckle.

“How convenient,” I say.

“I swear.” Johnny’s laughing, too.

I shake my head and leer at him.

“Okay. I can see how you might not trust me,” he says between chuckles.

“You think?”

“Here’s exactly what happened. White calls early this morning. He asks to speak to you. Tyler tells him you aren’t in yet so he leaves his number. I swore Tyler to secrecy. I told him he’d be fired if he breathes a word to anyone. Except Jack. He heard it, too.”

Jack holds his hands up, palms out. “Your secret’s safe with me, kid.” Now he’s Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.

“Hmmm. Johnny Dial I have to say, you are so good at taking a plausible situation and stroking it just enough to make it sound real.”

“If you don’t believe me, call the number yourself. You’ll see,” Johnny says.

I stare at the number a few moments. “If you’re kidding me…”

“It’s the truth.” Johnny draws a cross on his heart. “Hope to die.”

Instead of calling Liam White I rush into the ladies’ room to call the one friend who might support me if this story is real. Sure enough, Mary Jule starts screaming when I tell her. The believer in all things fairy tale (nothing has ever really gone wrong in Mary Jule’s life; both of her parents are still living and Al is completely devoted to her) tries to convince me that Johnny is indeed telling the truth. We talk a few minutes more before she persuades me to hang up from her and call Liam White right this minute.

After pondering the risk of calling from my desk or the bathroom, I decide to put it off until lunchtime. Part of me is counting down the seconds and the other part of me is still dubious. And rightfully so. The more I think about it, the crazier I think I am for believing Johnny Dial. But when the clock strikes twelve noon, I race out to my car.

Just as I’m about to punch in his number, Alice’s name comes up on my cell phone. When I answer she screams into my ear. “DO NOT CALL LIAM WHITE BACK.”

Surprise, surprise. The pipeline has sprung a leak.

“Why?”

“Haven’t you learned anything?” she says. “A: You’re being way too eager. B: We still don’t know if he’s married or not. And C: He might have a dang disease.”

“Alice! I’m not going to bed with him. I’m just returning his call.”

“Can’t you let him call you back? Hold on, I’m getting Virginia on the phone with us.”

When Alice explains to her what’s happening Virginia’s just as adamant. “Absolutely not, Fiery. Let him call you back.”

“But suppose Edward finds out? I’m already taking a risk as it is.”

“No, let him chase you. You be the one girl in the world who doesn’t call him back,” Virginia says.

“There’s something I haven’t told y’all. I admit it. I kind of can’t stop thinking about the guy,” I say.

“I don’t care. Let him call you back.” Alice is unbending.

“Easy for y’all to say. Suppose you two were single, in love with a man who’s decided that he lives too far away from you to make the relationship work, and a dang rock star calls, albeit probably just to say hello, but still—he calls. What would you do?”

They both reiterate it again. Neither would dial the number.

“Okay. I won’t call,” I say, throwing in the towel.

“Good. I’m proud of you,” Alice says.

“So am I.” Virginia is such a liar. She’d be calling him back so fast, in fact she’d have called him back an hour ago.

“Whatever,” I say, “but I’ve got to go now. Bye.”

I pick up the pink piece of paper again. Read it twice. Three times. Next thing I know, I’m dialing the number. While it’s ringing, I picture Alice with a big ole scowl on her face. Next I see Virginia, not mad, just a little shake of the head as if to say, Couldn’t take it? Quickly, I push the end button on my phone.

Then I imagine Mary Jule with a sweet smile on her face. “Leelee, of course I’d have called him back. I’d have done the exact same thing as you.” That’s when I pick up the phone again and start dialing.

After four rings he answers. “Hello.” His voice is low, like he’s just woken up from a nap.

“Hi, it’s Leelee Satterfield,” I say. The contrast in our voices is the difference between a first soprano and a baritone.

“Who?” His tone is abrasive and abrupt. I consider hanging up on him.

“Leelee Satterfield,” I say again. Now my voice is coy and meek. I’ll be surprised if he even heard me.

“Oh hi, Leelee,” he says, no affect.

Now I’m wondering why in the world I didn’t follow Alice’s advice.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, quite businesslike.

“I’m actually returning your call. I got a message that you called me earlier this morning.”

“No, I never called you.”

Knife inserting into heart. I hate you, Johnny Dial. “Really? Johnny said he talked to you.”

“Who’s Johnny?”

“The morning deejay, here at FM 99.”

“I never talked with him,” he says curtly.

“Actually I meant to say it was Tyler, our intern, who took the message,” I stammer, humiliation lacing my voice.

Silence.

This is all a very bad dream. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m sorry to have called. Bye—”

“How did you get this number? Seriously.”

“I told you.” I can hear my heartbeat thumping inside my ears. “Johnny Dial gave it to me.” What a sick joke he’s played on me. This one is just cruel.

“Well, I’ve gotta jump,” Liam says.

“Okay, well. See you later,” I say.

“Yeah.”

Then the call is over. The line is dead. I stare at the phone in disbelief. What in the world just happened? I burst out crying. How have I been so fooled? Just two weeks ago, Liam White had been a perfect gentleman when he invited us backstage and dropped us off at our car. It just doesn’t make any sense. That’s it. I’m done with Johnny Dial. The guilt I felt yesterday about playing the trick on Stan is suddenly much worse. I’ve been playing on the wrong team.

*   *   *

After another long day at the office, I pull up in my driveway and the Tupperware/Cutco/Pampered Chef consultant himself is, as always, in his front yard with Luke. I’m starting to think he times his yard duties to coincide with my arrival from work. I simply wave—I’m so not in the mood for Riley—and head around back to the carport. Once I throw the car in park, I hurry my daughters out of the car. Roberta’s in the backyard pawing on the fence and the girls blast through the gate to play with him and climb on the rickety old swing set.

After hurrying inside, I throw open my fridge and reach for a Coke. The chilliness of the bottle in my hand seems to somehow take the edge off. When the doorbell rings, seconds later, I don’t even have to wonder who it is. Popping the top on my Coke as I go, I stroll over to the front door and peek through the peephole.

There he stands, holding something new in his hand. As much as I’d like to ignore him, there’s no use.

After sucking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, I throw open the door. “Well, Riley. How are you?”

“Just fine.” Seeing it’s the middle of April, he no longer needs a jacket. Today he’s wearing a big button on his Tupperware golf shirt that reads, “Discover the Chef in You … Ask Me How!”

He hands me a part of the newspaper that’s been folded in two.

“What’s this?” I ask, not even bothering to unfold it.

“Your Wednesday circular. You wan over it when you dwove in the dwiveway.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I tell him, sweeping my hand across of my face, “I don’t usually pick those up until they’ve been run over several times and are soaked in rainwater.”

Riley shakes his head and squeezes his lips together. “You shouldn’t do that. You’re missing out on some gweat deals.” Reaching over to grab the circular back out of my hand, he opens it to show me. “You won’t believe what Kwoger’s got on special this week. I’ve just gotten back with a big load of gwocewies. Let’s see, I got deals on toilet paper, toothpaste, dog food, Wagu—”

I slightly tilt my head to the side.

“Haven’t you ever bought Wagu?” he asks me.

“I don’t think so.”

“You should twy it. It’s the best wed sauce in the world.”

“I’ll have to do that, Riley.”

“Say, I noticed last night that one of your fwont porch lights is out.” He’s pointing to the right side of my stoop.

I move outside to peek at the lantern. “Oops.” Stepping back inside the foyer, I flip on the light.

“See.”

Sure enough, one of the four small twenty-five-watt crystal lights is burned out on my lantern. “Don’t worry about that. No biggie,” I say. “The rest of them still work.”

“I’m pwetty big on always keeping my lightbulbs changed,” he says, ignoring my comment, and reaches up to unscrew the dead bulb. “I’ve switched over to the CFLs. They save all kinds of money per year. I happen to have one wight here.”

When I see the white, curlicue lightbulb he’s removing from the pack I say, “Oh no, Riley. That’s not the right kind.”

“What do you mean?”

I’m not sure how to break the news to him. I might use one for a closet or the pantry but never where someone could see it. “I appreciate it, really I do, but I’ll just get one at the grocery store. Don’t worry about it.” I reach out and pat his arm.

“Like I said, it’ll save you quite a bit of money in the long wun. Actually, you should weplace all your lightbulbs with these.”

As long a day as I’ve had, I can’t hold back from telling him the truth, whether it hurts his feelings or not. “I’m going to be honest with you, Riley. That’s not the kind I use. I mean, I’m not sure those CFLs are meant for the decorative light fixtures.”

“Listen, twust me.” He leans in closer and talks—like he always does when he’s trying to make a point—out of the side of his mouth. “It’s the better choice.”

It’s not worth arguing with him. I’ll just replace it with a crystal bulb later. “Okay, go ahead.”

“Alwighty then.” It takes him a minute, but once he’s completed his chore he wipes his hands on his shirt, right underneath the large button. “Say, I was wondering, have you had a chance to put your list together for the Pampa’ed Chef pawty? I would like to do a cooking demonstwation for your guests.”

“Honestly? I have not. My house isn’t close to being ready. I couldn’t have a party here anytime soon, even if I wanted to. I’ve got way too much to do in this house.” I have to admit I’m a little disappointed with the poor thing.

“Like what?”

“For starters, I’ve got curtains and pictures to hang, silver to polish, and several more boxes to unpack. There’s no way I can have a party right now.” Really, I’m dying to say, Where are the guests supposed to use the bathroom, Riley? I’ve got two gaping holes in my powder room wall.

“I could help you get your house weady.”

“That’s really sweet of you, but it’s just stuff I need to do myself. I appreciate it, though.” Now I’m backing inside my house and slowly shutting the door.

He steps forward as the door is closing, unrelenting. “Why don’t you host the pawty at my house?”

Oh my stars. I can’t even squeeze that into my brain. “That’s very nice of you to offer but I don’t think so. Tell you what, if you have a party with your own friends, I’ll be happy to come over and buy something.”

Honk honk. Honk, honk, honk. Speaking of friends, here come mine, hanging out the car windows.

Riley whips his head around. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

Virginia screeches her car to a halt halfway up my circular drive and all three bop out of the car. Alice holds a deck of cards over her head and waves. Virginia’s got the wine and Mary Jule is holding a pizza box under a big sack from Pete & Sam’s. I wave back from the porch.

Virginia has left her car radio on and is out in the yard dancing. She puts the wine bottles down and twists till her bottom barely touches the grass. “Twist and shout, twist and shout,” she sings at the top of her off-key little lungs. “Come on, come on, come on baby now.” Alice and Mary Jule join in, “Come on and work it on out, work it on out.”

From out in the yard, Virginia spots Riley’s blue Tupperware golf shirt. “I bet you’re Riley,” she calls from the grass, still dancing.

“I bet you’re wight,” he calls back and turns to me. “Are you having a pawty tonight?”

“Oh no, Riley. They are my best friends. We don’t have parties at each other’s houses. They’re just dropping by.”

“With wine and cards?”

“We don’t need an excuse to get together. It’s just what we do.” I race out to the grass to join them, leaving Riley on the porch. How do you explain a twenty-nine-year-friendship to a guy like Riley in only a few words? Four women who have known each other since kindergarten and, if lined up barefooted among hundreds of ladies all in a row, could pick out each other’s feet. Not to mention our belly buttons or bare bosoms.

With an overexaggerated motion of her arm, Virginia beckons for Riley to join us. “Can you dance, Riley?” she yells over the music.

“Of course I can,” he yells back, cupping his hand aside his mouth.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she yells back.

Riley bounds off the front step and races out to the yard. Virginia shimmies on over to him. “Do you pretzel?”

“You bet I do.” With that, the two finish the rest of “Twist and Shout” pretzeling through my front yard.

After the song is over, Alice, I can tell by the way she’s studying Riley, is absolutely chomping at the bit to ask him about his button. She shuffles right up to him, reads his chest and says, “How can I discover the chef inside me, shoog?”

“Funny you should ask!” Riley says. “I just happen to be performing a cooking demonstwation at a Pampa’ed Chef pawty tonight. It’s a blast.”

“Well good for you,” she says, completely uninterested in Riley’s plans. “Let’s go inside, y’all.”

One look at Riley out of the corner of my eye tells me that he’s not about to let the conversation drop. I can just tell by the way he’s twitching his face from side to side, as if he’s frantic to come up with a way to hawk his wares. “And I’d be happy to do the same thing at your house. If you’d like to host a pawty, I’ll teach you all about discovering the chef inside you.” Riley walks along beside her and never stops talking.

“Let me think about it, shoog,” she says and helps Virginia carry the wine. “Where’s Roberta, Leelee? I’m dying to meet him.”

Once inside, we hole up in the kitchen. Mary Jule heads straight for my pantry and pulls out paper plates and napkins. After doling out the food and calling the girls and Roberta in from outside, something else on Riley’s shirt catches her eye. She studies it a bit longer before her curiosity gets the best of her. She strolls over right beside him and glances toward his neck. “How do you get your collars to stay down like that? My Al’s golf shirts are always turning up on the edges.”

“It’s one of my best-kept secwets,” Riley tells her.

“Do tell, shoog, do tell,” Alice says, and walks over to Riley to get a better look.

“Well, it’s actually vewy simple.” He inverts his lapel—just under the collar—to further explain. “I tack down my collar edges with thwead. That way, they don’t curl up anymore.”

Mary Jule can’t stop herself from reaching up and touching the tip of Riley’s collar. “If that isn’t the most, well the most domestic thing I’ve ever seen. My Al wouldn’t sew a button even if his life depended on it. Good for you, Riley,” Mary Jule says. “Okay everyone. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

After Riley finally leaves for his cooking demonstration, and once the girls are in bed—after four rounds of spades, I fess up about my phone call to Liam White. As expected, the girls are none too pleased. Mary Jule takes the blame though, and tells the others it was all her fault. I try to put it back on me, helping her not to feel bad. After all, she was not the one dialing his number.

Naturally, the conversation comes back around to Peter. Even though his name seems to be part of my past, they are still willing to talk about him as long as I feel the need. I tell them about the letters I’ve written but never intend to mail. And, as is always the case, they try to convince me that the reason he’s not here in Memphis has nothing to do with me—but everything to do with his job. Mary Jule has beaten me over the head with the same words time and time again. “Men need stability,” she says. “They don’t just do things irrationally; they need some kind of guarantee as to what’s on the other end.” It all makes sense, but my heart can’t seem to let go. I wish I knew why I’m still missing him as much as I do.

*   *   *

The next morning I’m actually early to work, ready to face Johnny Dial and have the chance to say my piece. It’s still hard for me to believe that I’ve become the latest object of his teasing—when he fooled me the first time the shame was on him, as they say, but now that it’s happened twice, I suppose I’m the bigger fool.

The control room is, as usual, a sloppy mess of half-empty coffee cups and Coke cans. With an aloofness that Alice could pull off even in her sleep, I go about picking up the trash acting cool and distant. It’s not part of my job necessarily, but it’s an excuse for me to be behind the on-air light legally. After pitching over a dozen empties into the corner wastebasket, I stroll over to the audio console, pretending to check his daily log sheets. Johnny, who seems to be oblivious to the fact that I’ve been indifferent says, “Talk to White?”

“Very funny, Dial,” I say, eyes down, flipping agitatedly through the pages. “Har-de-har-har-har.”

“What are you talking about?”

I shove the log back over to him. “Don’t give me that.”

“Whoa. That doesn’t sound like the sweet Leelee I know.” Normally Johnny prefers to stand while operating the board, but he slowly lowers himself onto the rolling stool. His eyes look like saucers.

“The big hoax you played on me, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“Why would I do that to you?” he says with very convincing sincerity.

“Because that’s what you do. You make a living playing jokes on poor unsuspecting people like me. I don’t know why I ever trusted you,” I say, stepping toward the door.

“I swear to you. I didn’t do that.” He removes his headphones and moves toward me.

“Then why did Liam White act like he never called me?”

“I don’t know.” He turns around to Tyler, who’s across the room. “Hey Tyler, are you sure you talked with Liam White? Are you sure he called for Leelee?”

Tyler turns around from where he’s stacking old records, which are spread out all over the place, leftovers from Stan’s lunch hour requests. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Johnny shrugs his shoulders.

“Then I just don’t get it,” I say. “He acted perturbed with me for even thinking he would give me a call. I’m telling you, the guy was downright rude. I just wish you could have seen how nice he was to my friends and me at his concert. I mean it, Johnny. Virginia swears he was flirting with me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, sweetheart. I’m sure that’s hard for you. But think about it. He gave out his phone number. How else would you have been able to call him back? Obviously he’s psycho. You’re much better off knowing that right now on the front end.”

“I’ve already had one jerk in my life. Why would I want to get in line for another? Oh well. Maybe God’s looking out for me.” I pull open the door of the control room and head back to my office, just in time to collide with Edward.

“Good morning,” he says, in his usual insolent tone of voice.

“Good morning to you, Edward,” I reply, and duck into my office.

*   *   *

The morning jumps off to a busy start with a flurry of activity swarming around my office. Several winners flood by to pick up their prizes. Kyle spends a half hour explaining the promotions he has on the calendar for the week and Edward has an appointment with a Mercury Records rep who seems to want to spend more time with me than with Edward. When I glance at the clock I’m surprised to see that it’s close to ten. Stan the Man hasn’t even shown his face yet.

I’m on the phone explaining our winner policy to a woman who Johnny just told can only win one prize a month, when he comes busting into my office. “White’s on the phone again.”

I place my hand over the receiver and whisper, “What?”

“Put that person on hold,” he says anxiously.

“Would you please hold a minute? I’ll be right back,” I say to the lady and press the hold button. Then I turn around to Johnny with a suspicious glare.

“White’s on the request line asking to speak to you. Stan’s up next, though, and since he and Edward are like this,” he holds up two fingers, “I’m giving him the office line and having him call you in here.”

“What makes you think it’s really him? What’d he say? Is he in a good mood? Was he nice to you on the phone?” I say, running all queries into one big sentence.

“What is this? Twenty questions?”

“Just trying to protect myself here, I mean, after what happened yesterday…”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “How can you be sure it’s really him? Maybe it’s someone Edward’s planted to catch me.” I’m burying my face in my hands and shaking my head. “It’s too risky. I could lose my job. Tell this person that I’m not interested in talking to him.” By now I’m so flustered I can hardly think straight.

“Okie doke.” I can tell by the sound of Johnny’s voice that he disagrees. He bangs the door frame and runs back to the control room.

*   *   *

As he’s leaving for the day, Johnny stops by my office to check his messages. I can’t help myself. “So what did Liam White say?” I twirl my index finger next to my head as if I’m referring to a crazy person.

“He asked why not, and I said, I don’t know, man. I don’t get involved in love quarrels.”

“Love quarrels? Why did you say that?”

“I don’t know. I think this whole thing is weird.”

“Well that makes two of us that think it’s weird. Let’s just forget it ever happened.” My phone rings and I pick it up while Johnny’s standing there glancing over his phone messages. “FM 99, Classic Hits, may I help you, please?”

“Is Leelee there?”

“This is she.”

“Hi Leelee, it’s Liam White,” he says in a cheery voice.

What in the world is going on? I’m shocked and confused all at the same time. Just a weak, “Hi,” is all I manage to say before mouthing to Johnny, “It’s him,” and pointing to the receiver in my hand.

“I wish I had known I was calling the request line. That’s all they gave me in information. I finally wised up after it rung two hundred times before your deejay ever picked up the phone.”

“Okay.”

“Did you get the message that I called yesterday?”

“Yes, and I called you back.” Now it’s my voice that’s sounding icy. Well, maybe just a little icy.

“When?”

This guy really is psycho. “Okay, well. It’s nice talking to you again.” I look over at Johnny, who flutters his fingers in an amused wave and leaves my office.

“Are you hanging up?” He sounds shocked.

“I’m at work and I can’t really talk,” I whisper back, and pivot my chair around so I’m facing the corner, just in case Stan or Edward walks by. “Besides, you weren’t interested in talking with me yesterday, and honestly I don’t understand why you want to talk with me now. You certainly didn’t seem happy that I had your phone number.” I say the last little bit more loudly—my tone rising as I explain my feelings. At the very least, I can be proud I stood up for myself, and to Liam White of all people—this is a very different Leelee than the pushover who was left to fend for herself in Vermont.

“I never talked with you, hon. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This guy is very strange, Leelee. Just hang up the phone. “Well, I talked with someone and he didn’t want to talk to me, so I—”

“Wait a minute. I bet you talked to Deke. Shit. I gave your deejay Deke’s phone number by mistake. And I forgot to tell him.”

“What are you talking about?” I say.

“I am truly sorry. I’m in the habit of giving out Deke’s phone number instead of mine since he handles most of my business. He doesn’t trust me to write things down,” he says, with a chuckle. “Sometimes I can be a bit flaky. Here, let me give you mine.”

I’m stunned. But I’m still not sure whether to believe him or not. In a rare moment of silence I hold my tongue, waiting.

“Have you got a pen?”

“Yes,” I say, reaching across my desk.

He gives me his number. “Leelee, I am so so sorry. Was Deke rude to you? He’s got a real abrupt manner to him sometimes.”

“He was pretty rude.”

“It’s his job to look out for me. This is my fault. Honestly, he didn’t know I called you.”

After spending a miserable evening last night, beating myself up for not listening to Alice and Virginia, I don’t quite know what to think or say. “Well, then, how are you?” I say, for lack of something more creative.

“I’m feeling pretty good. Got a day off today in West Palm Beach. It’s eighty-four degrees and the hotel we’re at has a killer pool. Have you been to West Palm before?”

“Yes, but it’s been a while.”

“We’re headed to Boston next week. Then I’m in New York for a couple of days. I’d fly you up there if you wanted to come.”

I’m so completely stunned by his words I cannot speak. Could I have actually heard him invite me to New York City?

“Hello. Leelee, are you still there?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“I think you are adorable. I’d like to get to know you better.”

All right. That’s it. I’ve lost it. Bolivar here I come.

“If it’s the room you’re worried about, that’s not an issue. I’ll get you your own.”

I’ll say you will. I have a million questions I’m dying to ask him. Like Are you married? for starters. Alice’s silly qualms have now started to alarm me. “Gosh, I haven’t been working here all that long,” I say. “I don’t think I have any vacations days coming to me.” It’s more of a thought than an answer.

“Oh, well another time then,” he says matter-of-factly, but with obvious disappointment in his voice.

“Oh! I didn’t mean that I couldn’t come, I just mean I’ll have to ask. That’s all.”

“Okay. I get that.”

We’d been talking a whole two minutes when Edward slides into the room. “Leelee? Would you come to my office please?”

“Oh sure, Edward. I’ll be right there,” I say, pushing the receiver away from my mouth.

Instead of turning around and walking back out the door, he stands there waiting for me.

“Thank you so much for calling,” I say in a very professional tone. “I’ll make sure the tickets are mailed to you when they come in.” This time, I hang up on Liam White.

I peer up at Edward, guilt written all over my face.

“Who was that?” he asks.

“A sinner. I mean a winner,” I say, and follow him into his office. A half hour later I emerge numb and weary from the droning instructions Edward gave me about our latest promotion—reiterating again all of the particular rules about contest giveaways, prize distribution, and the sneaky salespeople who will try and coerce me into giving away products that haven’t yet arrived. But not even his dull tone could spoil the adrenaline rush from Liam White’s telephone call.

So what now? A rock star has just invited me to join him in New York City. And I hung up on him. What are my best friends going to say? I send them all a text asking if there’s any way they can meet me for lunch at Molly’s, a Mexican restaurant close to the station.

*   *   *

The girls are already seated at the table when I show up a little after twelve. With large, bifolded menus covering their faces, they don’t even see me slip into my seat.

“Y’all are going to scream your head off when I tell you this,” I say, as soon as I sit down.

All three menus close at the same time and six eyes stare at me, accented by high-arched brows. “What!” they all answer at once.

“Guess.”

“It’s something about Liam White,” Virgy says. “I know that look on your Fiery face.”

Mary Jule lays her menu down on the table and folds her arms on top of it. “Oh, Leelee. I still feel bad about the advice I gave you. I should have told you not to call him back.”

Alice says, “You never listen to me, do you?”

“Liam-White-just-invited-me-to-New-York,” I say, trying hard to contain myself, but running all my words together regardless.

Mary Jule stands right up at her seat, balls her hands into fists, and moves her arms around and around in circles, swaying her hips. “I knew it. I knew it,” she sings.

“Okay. I don’t usually do this, but I’m putting a stop to this right now. After the way that asshole talked to you on the phone. Give me his number. He’s deranged,” Alice says.

“It wasn’t him I talked to.” I explain the whole story about how I’d really talked with his road manager, Deke.

Alice is skeptical at first. Mary Jule is dreamy-eyed. Virginia, in a total about-face, is beside herself. “Fiery, this is so you. I don’t know anyone else in the world that would get an invitation from a rock star to go to New York. When are you leaving?”

With her right arm, Alice slices the air to form a large T. “Time out,” she says. “We don’t even have any proof that he’s not married. And even if he’s not, how do you know he doesn’t have a disease?”

“Oh my gosh. I just thought about something,” Mary Jule says, ignoring Alice’s last comment. “Remember that movie, The Banger Sisters with Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon?” She glances around the table, waiting for all of us to confirm that we remember. Then she leans into the table and lowers her voice. “They take plasters of those rock stars’ members.” Stirring her Tab with a cocktail straw, she leans down to take a small sip.

“I swear to god, Fiery, if you don’t at least take a measuring stick,” Virginia says.

I stare expressionless at Alice and Mary Jule. “Did she just say what I think she said?”

“She said it,” Mary Jule says, and her artful smile melts into laughter.

“I am not finding this funny,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” Mary Jule goes on, “but I have this mental picture of you digging in your purse for one of those soft measuring tapes, ‘Hold on, Liam, Virginia needs to know your measurements.’”

I slap my hand on the table. “Would you please listen to yourselves? I mean, seriously now. Y’all already have me sleeping with the guy.”

“I’m only teasing,” Mary Jule says.

“I’ll tell you right now he’s going to expect you to,” Alice says.

“No, he is not. He told me that he’d get me my own room.”

Alice looks off to the side, as if she’s pondering my potential for a sordid life. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m getting way ahead of myself. Of course you’re not going to bed with him. But you have to realize how vulnerable you are.”

“Plus, what about Peter?” Mary Jule asks.

“What about Peter? Everything he said at George Clark’s parking lot, when I left Vermont, was just a show of emotion. He doesn’t care for me that way. If he did, he wouldn’t let not having a job stand in the way.”

Alice says, “I don’t believe it.”

“Then why don’t I hear from him?”

“He told you he didn’t think he could handle a long-distance relationship. And more importantly, he doesn’t have a job here. Maybe it’s too hard for him to call you. Why don’t you call him?” Alice says.

“I don’t know. I’m trying to let him go.”

“Have you heard from Baker?” Virginia asks.

“He calls the girls every couple of weeks, and all he talks about is how great things are going for him in Vermont. He says he wants the girls to spend their summers there. They aren’t going to want to leave me to spend their summers freezing to death. He’s dreaming.”

Virginia chews and swallows the tortilla chip she’s just dunked in salsa. “Okay, back to Liam White. How will you get off work?”

“I’ll have to call in sick. There’s no way Edward will let me go, nor could I ever tell him. I’ll have to sneak.”

“I’ll call this afternoon and get you an appointment for a spray tan.” Mary Jule reaches over and looks at my fingers. “And a manicure.”

“Will Kissie watch the girls?” Virginia asks.

I look at her like she’s crazy.

“I was just going to offer, that’s all,” she says.

“I know, thank you,” I say, patting her hand. “But Kissie’s here, thank goodness.”

*   *   *

When I get back to the office, I start pretending like I’m not feeling all that well. With the fake flu coming on I figure I better start the symptoms now if I’m going to accept Liam White’s offer. And the thought of that offer, spending a fantasy weekend with him in New York, has got to be the most surreal notion that has ever crossed my mind. It’s hard to imagine that it’s even a notion to begin with. Six months ago I was in Vermont fighting off black flies, nor’easters, and snowdrifts; eight months before that I was still in my Memphis dream home with a loving husband and two daughters. It’s all too much to take in sometimes, and when an opportunity like this comes along—to escape, really escape—well, I’d be a fool not to take it. It might be only for two days but it’s been a really long time since I’ve done something fanciful and entirely for me. Heck, it’s been years since anyone’s pampered me. I’ll call Liam White and accept his invitation as soon as I leave for the day. Sure it’s a little indulgent, but it is New York City after all. I can think of no better place to bask in extravagance.