Flavor of the Month (69 page)

“No. Only that once. And then…” She paused and took a deep breath. “He took me in his car up a canyon road and we had champagne and…well, like they say, he didn’t call me the next mornin’!”

Jahne was reeling. Was he seeing Sharleen right about the time he took her, Jahne, to April’s party? Well, she told herself fiercely, he never said he was a virgin. Or that he was seeing her, Jahne, exclusively. So, he saw Sharleen, and took her out once. So what?

“He gave me this,” Sharleen said shyly, and Jahne saw the twin of her own necklace hanging beneath the turtleneck Sharleen wore. But all at once, Sharleen began to sob. “It wasn’t nice, what we did. It wasn’t right,” she said. Then Sharleen told the muddled story of what actually happened.

Jahne could hardly believe it! Was this the same man who’d been so forgiving of her own imperfections? He’d gotten Sharleen drunk and taken her against her will? Jahne felt her stomach turn. “Sharleen, that’s date rape.”

“What?”

“Date rape, Sharleen. He forced himself on you when you didn’t want him to.” Jahne shivered. Hard to believe that the gentle lover Michael seemed to be was capable of that. But Jahne knew one thing: Sharleen was incapable of lying.

Sharleen shrugged, ruefully. “I got what I deserved, cheatin’ on Dean. Made me feel small.” She looked up at Jahne. “Guess I shoulda known I wasn’t smart enough for him.” She paused, and wiped her eyes. “He really likes you, huh? You like him, too?”

“Well, I did.” Jahne sighed. “Sharleen, he doesn’t like me, either. But he didn’t rape me. And it wasn’t your fault he did it to you.”

Oh, how could she, Jahne, be so stupid? She’d actually fallen for his bullshit, the old hambone. He’d never mentioned Sharleen. But he must run the same routine all the time. The advice, the necklace. Yes, Jahne thought wryly, and
you
thought you were special. She looked at Sharleen. The kid is for real, she decided. And he suckered her. Poor thing. Jahne would admit the truth to Sharleen, but not the whole truth. Not that she was
still
involved. Well, she wouldn’t be for long. “I slept with him,” Jahne acknowledged. “Not that we did much sleeping,” she added.

Sharleen paused and considered for a moment. “Did
you
like it?”

Jahne was surprised by the blunt question. “Well…” Jahne thought about it. “I liked the
idea
of it. I liked the idea that it was famous Michael McLain who was doing those things with me, but if I close my eyes I can’t say it was much fun. I kept getting the feeling that the whole thing was choreographed.”

“What’s ‘corey-oh-graft’?”

“Like he’d done it all a hundred times before—like all his moves were rehearsed.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Like there was no one home.”

“Well put. He did all the right moves, but I couldn’t
feel
him.”

“Yeah. Like that Yule log that they show, Christmastimes, burning on TV. It looks like a fire, but you can’t get no heat.”

Jahne laughed. “Exactly.”

“I didn’t want to do it with him, and I don’t remember that much. Still, I really liked him,” Sharleen admitted. “But then he didn’t call. I guess he was like some of the boys in high school.” Sharleen thought for a moment of Boyd, and of that terrible night, but pushed the thoughts from her mind. She looked at Jahne. “But he must have liked
you
.”

Jahne laughed. “No, I don’t think so.” Jesus Christ, she told herself. Thirty-seven years old and still falling for an actor’s bullshit. Wouldn’t she ever learn? How soon would Michael drop her? Well, she decided, not quite as soon as
she’d
drop
him
. It was over. She leaned toward Sharleen. “But I didn’t know that you were involved, or that you cared about him. I wouldn’t have dated him if I’d known. I’m so sorry if it hurt you. I’d never do that to a friend. I’ve had it done to me, and I know it hurts.”

“Oh, Jahne! What woman could take a man from you? You’re so gorgeous and so talented and so smart.”

Jahne just smiled. “I had my ugly-duckling phase,” she said.

Sharleen nodded, serious. “You’d have had to, because if you’d always been so pretty you’d have no charity for plain girls. Did you have a dumb phase, too?”

Jahne laughed again. “No, I think I’m having that
now
,” she told Sharleen.

“Jahne, it ain’t none of my business, but I just want to tell you that Michael McLain called Lila yesterday.”

“Lila?”

“Remember she told Marty she had a date? I think it was with him.”

“How do you know?” Jahne asked sharply. She felt her stomach go queasy, her hands clammy.

Sharleen explained what she’d overheard. Jahne did not know what to think. What kind of game was Michael playing? And just how dumb had she been? “I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid,” Sharleen said.

“So, speaking of stupid, do you think you’ve ruined it with Dean?”

Sharleen shook her head. “He don’t know. But I feel
so
bad. Maybe I should tell him. Oh, I don’t know what to do. Dean ain’t smart. Lord, Jahne, he’s way loads dumber than
me
. But he’s got totally good feelings, you know what I mean? He don’t never do anything mean or bad out of orneriness. Kind of like a hound, you know?”

Jahne nodded.

“I’m afraid to tell him, but I hate to be lyin’ to him.”

“Want my advice?”

“Well, I most surely do.”

“Don’t tell, and don’t dwell on it, Sharleen. It wasn’t your fault. Meanwhile, something real weird and real big has happened to us. It’s like Cinderella. One day we were sweeping up the hearth, and the next day we’re princesses. And you don’t always know who’s the prince and who’s the frog.” She thought again of Michael. A real frog. “It’s a lot for anyone to adjust to. So we both went a little crazy. Let’s just forgive ourselves, and promise each other we won’t let it happen again.” She held her hand out to shake.

“You mean it?” Sharleen asked. Jahne nodded. Sharleen took her hand and shook it enthusiastically. “It’s a deal,” she said. They were both silent for a moment. “You know, Sy Ortis wants me to do a record album.”

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

“I cain’t. But he says it will make a lot of money. And he wants me to. Think I should?”

“Sharleen, I don’t know. If you want to, maybe. Sy Ortis doesn’t want me to take a screen test for a movie, but I’m going to do it tomorrow anyway.”

“Good for you! You nervous?”

“A little. Well, a lot, really.”

“Kin I ask you somethin’ else?”

Jahne nodded again.

“Did you mean it when you said you wouldn’t do somethin’ bad to a friend?” She paused, shy. “Do you mean that
I
was your friend?” she asked.

“I most surely do,” Jahne said in a perfect imitation of the girl. Sharleen laughed.

“Hey, we better go,” she said, and gathered up her bag. “I got to go to the recording studio.” She sighed.

Jahne walked with her to their cars. And then, both tentative, both shy, they hugged each other. But as Sharleen got into her car, Jahne thought of something. “How did Michael get your number?” she called.

“Mr. Ortis gave it to him.”

Jahne stood very still. Sy had also set up the first date between her and Michael.

Sharleen and Dean pulled up into the circular driveway at the recording studio. Before the limousine came to a full stop, the rear door was pulled open by a young woman. “Miss Smith, I’m
so
happy to finally meet you,” she said, extending her right hand. “It’s
such
an honor.” The girl was wearing a full cotton skirt, a Mexican blouse, and sandals, which Sharleen thought made her look like a poor Mexican, except this one was blonde and was wearing about ten thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry. “My name is Sandra,” the young girl said. “I’m your personal assistant while you’re here at the recording studio, so, if there is anything I can do for you to make you comfortable,
anything
, why, you just let me know.”

Sy Ortis moved between them then, coming out from a dark limo that had been parked beside the entrance. He shooed Sandra back, took Sharleen’s arm, and led her up the steps to the entrance door. Dean bounded up the stairs ahead of them, his tight, faded jeans straining at his rounded buttocks with each step, his black silver-tipped boots making clicking sounds on the concrete steps.

The cowboy hat Sy Ortis had given Sharleen just this morning sat forward on her head like a hen on a fence post, casting a shadow across her eyes. It was uncomfortable, but Mr. Ortis had insisted she wear it.

Sharleen felt at home in her faded jeans and a man’s unironed white shirt, tied in a knot beneath her breasts, but the cowboy hat felt awkward on her head, so now, thinking of what Jahne had said, she took it off and carried it in her hand by the string. Hell, she hadn’t worn one back in Texas. Why start now. Her feet in the new boots felt as cramped as a muskrat in a rabbit’s hole, but she tried not to let the discomfort show. The whole outfit had been Sy’s idea. “These people are used to working with all the C&W greats. Hal King has personally produced Crystal Gayle, Roy Acuff, and all the hit albums of the New Ozark Boys. He’ll be more confident if he sees you’re for real, Sharleen. Let him see your Texan side. It’ll help set the mood for the recording session.” Even though Sharleen knew there was no other side to her
but
the Texan side, as Sy called it, she decided to go along with his idea. So far, he’d been right about the endorsements and the other business deals he had arranged. And she sure didn’t know cactus juice from cattle piss when it came to business contracts. So she smiled gratefully at Sandra and followed Mr. Ortis.

Sharleen felt a little nervous about bringing Dean, but she couldn’t always leave him back home alone. It wasn’t right. But she hoped he’d be—as Jahne had cautioned her—“discreet.”

The glass door swung open as they reached it. A short, barrel-chested man stepped out and spoke in a deep drawl. “Why, howdy, young lady. I been wanting to meet you since the first day I set eyes on you on my television set. My name’s Hal King,” he said, and extended a huge paw of a hand, which Sharleen took and released quickly.

“And you must be Dean, Sharleen’s friend. Any friend of Sharleen’s is a friend of mine,” he said, and shook Dean’s hand vigorously.

Sy Ortis didn’t wait. “Is there someplace where she can freshen up? It’s been a long trip.”

Hal jumped back and reopened the doors. “Why, of course! What could I have been thinking of?” he said. He turned to Sandra, who had scampered in just as the doors were closing. “Sandra, you take Miss Smith to the star’s suite, and see that she gets everything she needs. Curtis,” he said to a young man who had been standing by, “why don’t you show Dean around a bit. Make sure he sees the recording studio Miss Smith will be using, and show him around the electronics board.”

As if Dean would know the difference between a mike and an amp! Not that Sharleen knew much more. She nervously watched as Dean walked away. Then she and Mr. Ortis followed Hal King down the corridor of offices, the doors open onto each, secretaries peeking out, trying to catch a glimpse of Sharleen as she passed by. They finally came to a thick steel door, over which a sign said “Recording Studio. Do not enter when red light is on.” Hal pushed it forward, and beckoned for them to follow. He opened another door, on the right, and Sharleen was immediately transported to someone’s living room. The only indication that it was a recording studio was the four huge audio speakers placed expertly around the room at ceiling level.

“I hope you like it, Miss Smith,” Sandra said in a reverential whisper.

“Oh, of course I do. It’s real cozy.” Sharleen turned to Mr. Ortis. “I’d like a few minutes to rest and have a cola first; is that okay with you, Mr. King?”

“It would be more than all right. But you must do me the favor of calling me Hal. Everyone else does.” He turned the door handle and said over his shoulder, “Just buzz me on the intercom on the phone when you’re ready. Now, you just take your time. Sandra, anything Miss Smith wants,” he added, and opened the door.

“Hal,” Sharleen called out, “call me Sharleen, would you? And would you kindly send in Dean as soon as he’s finished with his tour?”

When she and Mr. Ortis were alone, Sharleen sat down and struggled out of her cowboy boots. “I swear, my feet haven’t hurt this bad since I walked home from school barefoot on the gravel road when I was a kid. Now, don’t you ask me to put these on again, Mr. Ortis, ’cause I ain’t going to do it.” She massaged her feet in silence for a moment. Why had she ever agreed to do this? Despite the voice lessons, Sharleen knew she couldn’t sing. Not one song through without flatting.

Sharleen sat back with her feet dangling over the padded arm of the sofa, swinging them so the breeze would cool them off. She laughed and slapped her thigh. “Why, if the kids back in high school heard I was going to record a country-and-western album, they would die laughing. I tried out for the glee club, but was hooted out of the room. I never
could
sing.”

“All you got to do, Sharleen, is what you did on the set a couple of months ago. Remember the scene Marty was directing you in? You were repairing a broken motorcycle, and he suggested you sing something to yourself while you were making the repairs. Remember that?”

“Well, sure, but I wasn’t really singing. I was just imitating Patsy Cline.”

“That’s what you think, kid, but that day the crew went crazy when they heard your voice. That’s where I got the idea for you to record an album.”

Sharleen looked at him doubtfully. No one had said a word about her singing that day. Was Mr. Ortis telling the truth? “Even though I’m just imitating somebody? It doesn’t seem right to make money just by imitating other people.”

“Let’s not go through all that again, okay, Sharleen?
You
say you’re just imitating Loretta and Patsy, but that’s not what’s coming out. Trust me, Sharleen. You got a great voice all its own. Wait until you hear the playbacks today. You’ll know what I mean.”

The door flung open, and Dean burst into the room, as excited as a kid at a state fair. “Sharleen, I swear, they have every kind of gizmo and gadget out there. I bet Nashville ain’t got nothing better. Curtis showed me all them color-TV screens. He can write music on them, and they can play the music back without any instruments. And Sandra tole me about her job. You know, she’s got to pick all the green M&M’s out of the bowl because they upset Loretta Lynn. No, maybe it was Garth that hates ’em.” He paused, confused.