Authors: Cheryl Harper
KT stared at her for a minute before he laughed. Nothing about this conversation had gone like he expected. And that was sort of the whole theme for the entire experiment. He was never meant to be a producer. He liked action. Adventure. Crowds and applause. Those kinds of things. Dealing with disgruntled union bosses and lost contracts and the spreadsheet from hell was not his kind of thing. The only things he hated worse than those, though, were failure and being wrong. He’d managed to power through five episodes already, crisscrossing the country and returning to Los Angeles to edit the footage. And in every location, the crew changed along with the demands and people who didn’t get along. This Memphis crew seemed to be the easiest he’d had and he’d packed it with as many friends as he could. Now, if he could just get the Rock’n’Rolla’s Almost Famous contest wrapped, he’d take this crew two more places and be done, done, done, never to repeat this particular adventure again.
“Are you having a hard time, hon? Anything I can help with?” Willodean leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers together over her stomach. She seemed patient and wise and prepared to help in any way possible. He squinted to protect his eyes and throbbing head from the neon yellow shirt long enough to absorb what she’d said and then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Unless you can wave a wand and make me an adequate producer, probably not.” He smiled at her. “I’m guessing that, even with as much magic as you clearly have, you can’t accomplish that.”
“No, but maybe I can help with smaller problems. And this probably isn’t much comfort at this point, but I have faith in you.”
KT leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Maybe the situation last night was the result of two bad days on a crash course.”
She nodded. “Maybe.”
Willodean pursed her lips and didn’t say anything else but she was thinking it so hard that it was impossible to miss.
“And maybe it was just me and my bad day raining all over somebody else.” He hated to admit it but sometimes even he could see that he acted like an ass. Nobody ever called him on it. It was damn unfair to have to come to that realization all on his own. “I’ll apologize.”
One corner of her mouth quirked up.
He added, “And I’ll mean it.”
“I imagine that’s a hard pill to swallow, KT, but you’ll feel better once you take your medicine.”
There was a sparkle in her eyes that said even though the words might sting, she knew he could do so much better. And would. The idea that she expected better behavior from him after less than a day told him a little bit about the nature of her magic. High expectations could work wonders. He didn’t really run into it often anymore but his grandmother had been working the same magic since the day she’d moved to Los Angeles from Mississippi to raise him. Because she expected better, he wanted to be better.
“What about her? The tiny waitress? Think she has some medicine to take?”
Willodean laughed. “Honey, she didn’t run to the principal to tell.”
He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. A man could only take so much real talk before he started to get a complex. “If you could just forget the whole conversation, I’d appreciate it.”
She stood and walked around the desk to pat his shoulder. “If I know Laura, she’s stewed about it all night long and has come to the decision that she owes you an apology. You’ll see. That girl was raised right.”
So was he but that didn’t keep him from screwing up over and over. “Maybe she’s convinced herself to give me a second shot at making a good first impression?” He hated the hopeful sound but he was an attention whore, a people pleaser, and a needy bastard all rolled into one. He hated to think of her hating him because of one short-tempered mistake, especially since he couldn’t get rid of her.
And honestly, her opinion mattered. After he’d calmed down last night and she’d given him deserved crap about his wardrobe, he’d felt a little better. The day had still been hard and the to-do list made him wish he hadn’t given up drinking, but he could still laugh with a pretty woman. So maybe she’d never walk the runway, but she was healthy and feisty and smart. And the showgirl outfit highlighted curves in all the right places and smooth skin that glowed with every blush. Except for the feathers, it was a very nice uniform. He wouldn’t mind a second chance at getting to know her better. He’d be here for a week. He could know her very, very well by the time it was over.
Willodean shook her head sadly. “Oh, no, honey, Laura probably won’t forget that first impression but she is purely Southern. She’ll smile and apologize sweetly and treat you like nothing’s wrong even if she wouldn’t put you out if you were on fire. It’ll take more’n an apology to get a second chance.” Willodean’s tone was sympathetic but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.
KT sighed. “Like what?”
Willodean shrugged a shoulder. “Sometimes begging works. But I imagine, in Laura’s case, lots of time and hard work is what you’re looking at. Maybe you should just try to avoid her section. It’ll be easier on you. That Marcy loves everyone and she’d be more than happy to love on you.” She raised both eyebrows to punctuate her message.
He had no idea who Marcy was. The only waitress he could remember was the little bombshell who’d shouted at him for stepping on her feather. And just the thought made his head pound. Maybe he should try switching sections. It had been ninety-nine days since he’d been loved on too and the clean living was obviously wearing on his normal good humor. Not that being perpetually behind, over budget, and understaffed would have made him anything other than a nervous wreck ever. He didn’t normally take his problems out on other people this way.
“You let me know if I can do anything to help out today, KT, all right?” Willodean opened the door to her office and made a graceful gesture to indicate that he should exit through it at this point. Right now, in fact.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Willodean. I’ll be sure to let you know of anything that comes up.” He walked slowly through the door, dragging his feet as he went.
“Don’t forget to pass me or Tony that list of things you want changed in the bar sometime today. We’ll need some time to get everything lined up.”
He smiled and nodded and headed down the long hallway to set up shop at the bar. It was nearly lunchtime. Maybe Laura worked the dinner crowd only and he could put off his only recent attempt at adult groveling until later. He could use a sandwich, a soda, and some quiet so he could put together the damned list and enter expenses in the damn spreadsheet and brainstorm ways to get more done without more expenses. He should just go on back to his room, but it was too quiet. He shook his head at his own perverseness as he made his way across the lush and tropical, Jungle Room-themed lobby. He’d never been across the street to see the original at Graceland but the pictures and plaques placed around the lobby showed Willodean’s inspiration as well as her commitment to out-Elvising Elvis.
The heavy leather chairs held a few new contestants. He could see Celine Dion, Janet Jackson, and Joan Rivers, all of them absorbed in their phones. This was why the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel’s competition fit his show. These people and this setting were crazy, unique, and so damn interesting. Maybe if he hadn’t been cast on the most popular sitcom of 1990 and the next ten years, he’d have had to figure out another road to stardom. He’d gotten lucky to land
On Deck
, but since then, he’d had to hustle to stay busy. He’d done commercials, reunion shows, several movies—a few he could even be proud of—more pilots that were never picked up than he wanted to count, and had the lead in a short-lived historical drama on one of the cable networks. He knew how hard it was to work in Hollywood. As he contemplated the Madonna who was clearly a man, he seriously hoped he had enough self-preservation to have found another way to get his big break. A bachelor on a dating show, maybe. He also hoped this guy figured out a way to address his rampant chest hair, on display up front and center between two cone-shaped cups.
As he slid onto a stool in front of the bar, he looked around and didn’t see the tiny, angry waitress. He sighed as he noticed a tall blonde glance his direction, linger a minute, and then smile. Probably Marcy. Things were looking up.
“What can I get you?”
He swung back to face the bar at the question. And there she was. Laura. And there was nothing on her face to indicate that they’d ever met. The coward in him wanted to just go on from here. After all, Willodean hadn’t made his chances of getting anywhere with an apology sound very promising.
But she still bothered him. He wanted to run his fingers over her collarbones and feel the satiny skin on her arms. She did not smile and her cool expression lit the strong impulse to kiss a little emotion out of her. Judging by the way she’d let him have it over the feather, she had the fire.
He rubbed his forehead and told himself to start over.
“Hi.”
She picked up her pad and poised her pen over it, like she was anxiously awaiting his next direction.
He took them both from her and scribbled
I’m sorry
along with his best attempt at a sorrow-filled puppy face. He held the pad in front of his chest and then made his face match his drawing. He tilted his head, pouted, and blinked his eyes slowly. “Please forgive me?”
She snatched the pen and pad away from him. “So, what . . . you have a split personality or something? You woke up on the right side of the bed this morning? You had a personality adjustment last night while the rest of the world slept?”
He wondered if Willodean would be surprised. For the girl who was raised right, she hadn’t had a miraculous healing. If fact, it sounded a little bit like she’d spent the night coming up with more attitude. It looked good on her. Almost as good as the showgirl outfit. Apparently, he liked a challenge. Today, her glossy brown hair was piled on top of her head and her dark eyes showed really dangerous intelligence. He usually avoided eyes like that with the same energy that he avoided the paparazzi and tax collectors.
Fresh start, KT. Make a fresh start.
“I was having a really bad day yesterday. When that happens, I get short tempered. And I make dumb mistakes like taking my problems out on other people.”
She leaned against the counter with a sigh. “Yeah, I get that. I might be guilty of it too.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Might be?”
She nodded once. “Might.”
KT frowned. “Okay, moving along. Could I get a soda and whatever you have that’s close to a club sandwich?”
Laura tapped her pen on the menu in front of him. “We have choices. Don’t you want to check out the menu?”
“Nah, not this time.”
She picked it up and slid it under the counter. “Fine. You want fries or chips?”
“Fries.” He slid out the bulging folder of paperwork he carried everywhere. It was getting to the point that he secretly hoped to lose it somewhere. The consequences might be rough but he hated it with a burning hot passion. Once he made it out of this, he was never going to volunteer for a job that required spreadsheets ever again. “And a Coke.”
“Yeah, that part I remember.” Her lips twitched as she met his stare. “Oh, what I meant was, yes, sir. Of course, sir. Excellent choice, Mr. Masters.” She turned to walk down to the window to turn in the order. He watched her efficiently fill a glass and wondered how many places in the world he could get a drink made by the world’s shortest and most sarcastic showgirl. She had a smart mouth. He wanted to kiss it.
When she quickly, and it looked like subconsciously, shifted the halter to bring the low neck up and then tugged on her skirt to bring it down, he decided she probably hadn’t dreamed of a life in the showgirl spotlight. She looked a little bit like a teacher. As always, when he met new people, he had an entire backstory created before he really had a name memorized, and he was intrigued by her story.
He glanced around the nearly empty bar again but just as he heard her plop the glass down on the bar in front of him, he saw a dog in the doorway. He was long and lean, with tan fur and dark markings around his droopy eyes. Two long, floppy dark brown ears seemed to be melting from his head. He sat perfectly still, like he was waiting for the hostess to seat him at the next available table.
He turned to Laura. “I’m not hallucinating, right? You see that ugly dog in the doorway too?” He pulled out his phone, snapped a picture, and tweeted it with the caption:
Please wait to be seated
.
She whistled. “I would not say that if I were you. Willodean hears it and you may find yourself without a place to sleep tonight.”
He laughed. “So he’s hers, huh? That doesn’t really surprise me.”
“Yeah, okay, something else you should know. You may not be able to see the tiny green bows on the ears from where you’re sitting, but that beautiful, purebred bloodhound is named Misty. She’s a she and takes any slight to her femininity personally.”
KT tilted his head as he looked at Laura and tried to guess whether or not she was serious. The look on her face said she meant every word and, even better, knew how ridiculous it sounded, but he knew telling tall tales to outsiders was a Southern tradition. He didn’t know whether to hope it was all true or just a way to pull his leg. He heard a whistle and Misty the bloodhound trotted off before he could make up his mind about the chances of the little green bows being true.
When he turned back, Laura had disappeared so he forced himself to shuffle through a few papers. It was a good thing. He liked to look busy whenever his director showed up.
At that very moment, Bob Night, angry director, slid onto the stool next to his. “Hey, KT, I wanted to make sure you’ve got that list together. You need to get that list together. Manager says he hasn’t seen it. It’ll take them at least a day to get things moved around and then we’ll need a day to dress the set. If we’re going to be ready for dress rehearsals on Friday, then the clock is running out. You know how hard it is for the crew when we run to the last minute and it’s getting close to impossible to—”