Can't Help Falling in Love (3 page)

    
Allison dusted her cheeks with some powder, then a little rouge. After she
applied mascara and curled her eyelashes, she sat back for a moment and stared
at her reflection in the mirror. She carefully studied her features, mentally
commenting on each one before moving to the next.
All-American good
looks—large green eyes, slightly turned up
nose,
and
my features are highlighted by a nice complexion. I look attractive, but will
he think so? That’s what matters!

    
She dressed quickly, moving like lightning when she unhesitatingly selected
accessories. Then she grabbed her coat, and was out of her apartment and on the
way.

    
She arrived early, hoping that he would extend the same courtesy and at least
be on time, but when she darkened the doorway of her office, her jaw dropped.
He was already there!

    
Marge, the secretary she shared with two other tenants, was an older woman. She
started to point him out to her, but Allison had already seen him. He stood and
walked over to greet her. She was stunned by his presence. Ah, yes—now she
could see what had so charmed the multitudes at his shows. He was handsome in
his photographs, but not half as handsome as he was in person. He was taller
than she expected—at least six feet—or was the extreme upsweep of his hair what
made him seem that tall? She was not sure, and with his gaze seeming to
penetrate her soul, she had little time to contemplate his statistics. The
closer he came, the more she felt overpowered by his trim, well-groomed
appearance and excellent physical shape that he obviously made every effort to
maintain. His large blue eyes perfectly complemented his ruddy complexion, and
she felt his magnetism before he spoke.

    
He even smiled divinely. “Morning, Miss Webster. Thanks for letting me come by
today.” He reached around to help her with her coat. He was so near! For a
fleeting moment, she could actually see his long eyelashes clear enough to
count them. As his hand grazed her shoulder, she felt a shiver of
delight. 

    
“You’re not only on time, you’re early!” Allison stammered, instantly wishing
she had said something cleverer, perhaps a quip that he would remember later.
Instead, she stammered, “Please come and sit down.”

   
 They moved across the room together to her office. Once there, she
motioned to one of two leather love seats positioned facing each other, and
only after she sat down did he seat himself on the love seat opposite.

    
“Would you like some coffee?”

    
“I sure would,
ma’m
. I’d love some. I do these shows,
and they sometimes keep us up pretty late at night. I rushed over here this
morning, so I didn’t have time for a cup.”

    
Allison called to her secretary. “Marge, would you please bring in some coffee
and sweet rolls?”

    
He shifted his position. For the first time, Allison noticed a large manila
envelope he had placed beside him.

    
She found herself surprised at how familiar she felt around him. Forgetting all
about taking copious notes as she usually did while politely interrogating a
new client to determine needs, she slid back into the pillows. Once again, she
was struck by the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling through her head and she
felt more than a little flushed.
He seems so obviously comfortable,
yet
I’m still feeling like a thirteen-year-old on my first date! This is
ridiculous. I’m supposed to be in charge of the meeting. Say something
professional, Allison!

    
Before she could pose any
questions, he asked, “Have you seen any of our publicity, Miss Webster?” He
waited for her reply, but he smiled, and his lip slightly curled.

    
Allison’s mind recalled the black and white coverage she had seen in the
newspaper and the not so flattering photograph of him.
“A
little, recently.
Have there been more?”

    
“No, and that’s the problem, you see.”

    
“Is there something about what’s been done so far that bothers you?” Now that
her professional manner had kicked in, her mind raced ahead while she
reprimanded herself.
Of course! That’s what this is
about! Oh, why didn’t I come prepared with research before meeting with him? I
could have anticipated his needs and stunned him with some ideas that would
perhaps alter the course of his future success.
 

    
“Yes,
ma’m
. They’re just not
good enough.”

    
The door opened and Marge entered with a tray on which she carried a coffee
pot, two mugs, and assorted jelly donuts.

    
“Ah, here’s breakfast! Thank you, Marge,” she said, glad for the momentary
distraction so she could regroup her thoughts. “Would you be kind enough to
hold my calls until we complete our business?” 

    
Marge sensed that she should make herself invisible, and simply replied “Yes.”

    
Allison asked, “How do you drink your coffee?”

    
“Black, please.”

    
She poured their coffee and handed him his mug. “How did you hear about me?”

    
“From a truck driver friend of mine.”

    
“A truck driver?”

    
“Yes
ma’m
. Benny the Dip—he
owns a used car lot here—and was talking to me and one of the other guys in the
band the other day. Benny drives a big rig when he has time, and he mentioned
that you had done some stuff with him. I need your help.”

    
“My agency has done some automobile advertising this year. But we’ve handled
marketing in a number of areas. I could certainly help with music industry
promotion. I have some samples on my desk I can show you.”

    
“You don’t have to go to all that trouble. If Benny the Dip likes you, then I
know I will. I can tell you what I need.” He reached for his manila envelope
and pulled out a dozen or so tear sheets—samples of press he and his band had
received—and spread them across the coffee table. “Look at these articles and
ads. They appeared in newspapers this past summer all around the state.”

    
Allison bent over and perused the specimens while he leaned close and followed
her gaze. She could barely smell his Raffia Lime. Being that near to him felt
so arousing that, for a moment, she held her breath and was afraid to move or
speak.
Get a hold of yourself, Allison!
she
silently chastised herself.
Ignore him and
concentrate on the tear sheets!
But, she had to look at him,
and she needed to comment.
His lips are so close to mine!
She
gulped noticeably.
Is he looking at me or the tear
sheets? He seems to be looking at me!

    
She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and was embarrassed that her feelings
might be too obvious. For one brief moment, they both looked into each other’s
eyes a little longer that a man and woman would in any normal situation. Then,
he picked up a jelly donut and took a bite. Allison watched him closely.
He’s calm, composed . . . and obviously
hungry.
He’s
now looking at that donut the same way he just looked at me. Our deep exchange
of glances meant nothing to him, or did it? I’m so confused!

    
“There’s room for improvement, right? Everybody keeps telling me that I’ve
gotta
have some great pictures, you know,
like
the kind you see with James Dean, or Rock Hudson, or
Marlon
Brando
.”

    
Allison was overcome with a desire to hug him . . . in a motherly or sisterly
way. He seemed like a big Teddy Bear in need of affection, but she was still
wracked by that other surge of emotion coursing through her entire being—a
primitive passion laced with ideas that she had to acknowledge were nearly
shameful. She gulped when admitting to herself in a flash how uncharacteristic
those thoughts were for her to consider. All these emotions swirled through her
mind in no more than an instant, yet she could feel her heart pounding and her
temperature rising. Now that he had broken the ice and revealed the crux of his
concerns, she felt confident that her ability to take charge of the
situation and resolve the problem was entirely within reach.
If
only he was!
she
thought, giving herself over to the capricious urge she was
feeling. Then, she heard herself saying out loud, “
Memphis
may be known as the city of musical
invention, but I can assure you that my campaigns—and the photographs we use in
them—are as creative as anything Madison Avenue in
New York
turns out. It seems as though you’ve
been extremely patient. After all, a poorly planned campaign using a set of
unflattering photos can hold you back from success!”

    
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell the guys in my band!” he said while
obviously relishing his donut. “You and
me
think
alike! I like that about you. Benny the Dip was right!”

    
“You know,” Allison said, “I believe that every client deserves to get his
money’s worth. Whether you have $1,000 or $1 million to budget for promotion,
the money needs to be invested wisely.” Allison watched him fascinated.
He
never speaks while chewing, but then he swallows big gulps like a German
Shepherd. That jelly donut vanished in less than sixty seconds!

    
“We don’t have either of those figures,
ma’m
,
but you’re right. What we have now isn’t
cuttin
’ the
mustard.”

    
“Clearly, you’re not getting what you should be getting from your marketing
dollars.”

    
“You’re right again,
ma’m
.”

    
“You can call me Allison. Please . . . .”

    
“Alright,
ma’m
. . . uh, Allison. One of these days,
we sort of plan to have some hit records. Already, they’re asking for pictures,
and I don’t have any good ones.”

    
“You need more control over your career.”

    
“I do, I mean, we do, that’s for sure. We’ll be getting a big-time manager, I
think, one of these days, and I can already see that I need to have a promoter.
You could help all the guys, don’t you think?”

    
He
said ‘we.’ What did he mean by that? Is it this coffee that’s setting me on
fire, or am I blushing?
Allison
dismissed the thought that he was thinking of the two of them in any intimate
sense because she was already baffled by the ridiculously wild and nearly
impossible to suppress fantasies playing havoc with her emotions. “I believe I
can, she replied.

    
“That’s why I came here to you. I’d like you to get us on the right track. Now
tell me, what do you think would happen if I kissed you right now?”

    
“What?” Allison was stunned by his unexpected question, so direct, so shockingly
bold that his query could only mean that he had sensed exactly what she had
been experiencing for the last five minutes. She stammered, “I imagine that . .
. I might like that a lot . . . or I might faint. I’m not sure!”

    
“All those girls who come to our shows, that’s what I want them to wonder when
they see a picture of me.”

    
Allison parted her lips, but she was unable to respond. The conversation was
ricocheting in too many directions at once.

    
He leaned forward and added, “Benny the Dip was right. Those ads you did for
him—he said they increased his sales and helped put him on the map. You’ve got
what it takes, exactly what we need. How did you do that?”

    
She felt as if she had stepped outside on a garden rake, only to have the
handle swing up and strike her on the head.
So, he absolutely
wants me to focus on promoting his career!

    
“I’d like you to head things up,” he said. “Was it hard for you to help him?”

    
Now, Allison felt the need for sustenance. Perhaps a jelly donut would calm her
down enough to express some professional tips about a campaign or a style of
photos that would meet his needs. She reached for the pastry tray. “Would you
like another donut?”

    
He laughed. “Thanks. I didn’t want to seem rude, but I’m glad you asked.”

    
“I’ll have one, too. No, it wasn’t terribly difficult for me because it’s what
I do professionally. I looked at what his competition was doing right and what
they were doing wrong and used that as a springboard for new inspirations.
There’s no lawbreaking in copying some elements of a good ad design.”

    
He reached for another donut. “Good, because I want to sort of look the way
James Dean looks. Have you seen
East of Eden
?”

    
“Yes. I can see your point. That would be clever. There’s a series of ads
running in major magazines right now that are promoting him brilliantly.”