Yankee Doodle Dixie (11 page)

There’s not much room in the tiny office, but I drop my pen on the floor and use my feet to “accidentally” push my chair back as far as it will go. “No. But, I love music,” I tell him.

“A top prerequisite for the job.”

“My girlfriends and I have seen just about every artist who’s come to Memphis for the last twenty-five years. We know a lot about music.”

Stan’s eyes are focused right on me as he pushes the stapler and tape holder out of the way and makes his large self at home on top of my desk. “
Really?
” He crinkles his mouth to the side and nods his head. “Hang on. I’m good at this. Who holds the record for the most number ones in the seventies?”

“Oh, I’m not good at that kind of music trivia. I just mean I’m good at recognizing songs and knowing who sings them.” I nod my head.

“All right then. Who sang ‘Diamond Girl’?”

“Seals and Croft.”
Duh, duh, duh.

“‘Nights Are Forever Without You’?”

“England Dan and John Ford Coley.”

“Not bad, not bad.”

Ask me about a good song why don’t you, Stan the Man?

“Okay. Hit me up. I like the obscure ones. Nothing too easy,” he says, and honks the mucus in his nose way back inside before swallowing it.

I’m so grossed out by what he just did that I’m having a hard time concentrating. “Let’s see, ‘Gimme Shelter’?” I say. It’s not obscure, but the first one that comes to my repulsed mind.

“Was it in the sixties or seventies?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got this one.” He’s nodding his head up and down. “You were trying to stump me, weren’t you?” He points his finger straight at me. “Duran Duran.”

“No. That’s not it.”

“Yes. It is. ‘Shelter.’ It’s a Duran Duran song.”

“It may be, but I’m talking about ‘Gimme Shelter.’ By the Stones. I don’t know all that much about Duran Duran.”

“What? They were
the
super group of the eighties. ‘Rio’? ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’? ‘Is There Something I Should Know?’”

I’m lightly shaking my head.

“Oh come on. ‘Planet Earth’?”

“I remember ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ from the radio but I never bought a Duran Duran record.”

“You never owned a Duran Duran record? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Sorry.”

Stan rolls his eyes like he’s the only person alive that knows anything about music. “I knew ‘Give Me Shelter.’ Just didn’t hear you say ‘Give Me.’ So. Have you seen Eduardo yet?”

I shake my head. “His door’s closed.”

“I’ll knock and let him know you’re here.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to bother—”

By the time I stand to protest Stan’s already off the desk and hustling out the door.
Bang, bang bang.
“Eduardo, Ms. Satterfield is out here waiting on you.”

Edward’s voice booms through the walls. “I’m on the phone, Stallone. Tell her I’ll be with her when I can.”

Stan sashays back inside my office. “Well, you heard the boss.”

“Actually, I’m fine. I’ve got plenty I can—”

The phone rings and Stan springs to answer it, deliberately brushing my left shoulder with his arm. “Ninety-nine,” he says into the phone, practically hanging on top of me. “Edward’s on another line. Is there a message?” Stan scribbles out a note on the pink pad on my desk and at this point, he’s
fastened
to my shoulder. “Okay. Have a good one. Buh-bye … why yes it is!” He straightens back up—thank the Lord. “You must have recognized my voice. Aren’t you kind. I sure will. Good to talk to you, too.” Reaching back over me to hang up the phone, he hovers yet again on top of my shoulder. “Grady Walker from the zoo. He’s a frand.”

I lightly shake my head. “A frand?”

“Part friend. Part fan. Get it?”

I arch my eyebrows and feign a smile. Kissie must be rubbing off on me. I just might have to start
hm, hm, hm
ing myself.

Stan turns toward the door. “I’ll be back,” he says in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, hits the door frame and disappears down the hall.

Oh double dear.

Not having any idea about what to do next, I busy myself by reading the various folders in the file cabinet. In the first two hours since arriving for my first day on the job, I’ve talked to at least ten people about the pandas, taken several phone calls from station winners inquiring about their prizes, and jotted down messages for all kinds of people I’ve never met. I have no idea how to transfer a call but surely Edward has planned for someone to train me. I’m just hanging up from another winner when I see Edward standing in the doorway.

“Good morning, Leelee. I see you’re finding your way.”

“Hi, Edward.” I smile and tuck my hair behind my ears. No denying it. He makes me nervous. “How are you this morning?”

“Dealing with the usual morning team crap. But fine.”

“Did you hear about the pandas?”

One barely squinted eye glares at me. “I’ve been dealing with the pandas all morning. Would you hand me my messages, please?”

“Sure.” I reach over and grab his stack of pink message slips and pass them over.

Edward flips through the stack and stops when he sees a certain name. “Damnit.” He rolls his eyes. “Grady Walker is calling from the zoo. I’m sure he’s not happy.” He looks up at me. “When will the idiots in this town grow a brain?”

I furrow my brow. Not sure what he means.

“Johnny Dial is in the business of ratings. He’s the master prankster. People fall for his pranks every single time. And I’m the one who has to wipe up his mess. To think hundreds of people mistook two guys dressed in panda suits for real pandas is asinine.”

Now I’m the one who feels like an idiot. Not only did the rest of the city fall for the panda prank, I was right there with them. “What’s wrong with people these days?” I say, and shake my head in disgust. “They just get more gullible by the year.”

Edward’s the fidgety type. He can’t sit or stand still. I notice him tapping his thumb on his messages and looking around the room.

“I have some questions for you,” I say, with plenty of oomph in my voice, trying to show him my excitement about my first day on the job. “Nothing big. Just a few technical ones.”

“I’ll try to answer a couple but with all the crap I’m dealing with this morning, I don’t have much time.”

“Oh, no problem. I can ask the person who’ll be training me if you’d rather.”

Edward hesitates. “Quite frankly, this job is not rocket science. You’re a college graduate. I doubt you’ll have any issues.”

My stomach falls to my feet.
Aren’t you being a little harsh? I’m simply asking if someone can show me the ropes. Lead me around a little on my first day.

“I will tell you this. Sometimes our winners become angry if they arrive to pick up their prizes before we actually get them into the station. That’s why I demand that we never go on the air with a promotion until the prizes are in house and in the prize closet. Sales is terrible about that. They want to please their clients so they promise them the moon.”

I nod in agreement.

“I need you to be aware of their schemes. The sales people will try all kinds of things to butter you up. They’ll want you to be their best buddy. They’ll try to tell you the prizes are on the way. But don’t believe them. They’re liars. All of them.”

Edward’s face darkens till it’s beet red. “Each and every on-air promotion has to be cleared by me,” he says, enunciating every single syllable for emphasis.

I could tell he was excitable in the interview but now I’m positive he’s the type that could blow at any moment. Dear God, just tell me he’s not another Helga. That’s all I need, one more job where I have to tiptoe across another glass pond.

“Would you like to see the prize closet?” Out of nowhere a huge smile replaces his sour expression.

“Sure,” I say, trying not to sound too excited
or
too scared.

“Follow me.”

We head down the hall and stop just outside a door that has an on-air light that, at the moment, is bright red. Edward removes his keychain from his pocket and fumbles through several keys before finding the exact one. He jerks another door open and steps forward. Inside is a vast collection of FM 99 paraphernalia. Hats, T-shirts, mugs, key chains, bumper stickers, and plastic cups—perfectly organized on the shelves. CDs from different artists heard on the station are perfectly stacked and alphabetized. There’s a label on one of the shelves marked “Concert Tickets” with a box on top. Edward grabs it and flips through the different labels. “Whenever you enter this closet, be sure to keep this out of sight from the jocks. They’ll try to sweet talk you out of the tickets for their friends and family.” There’s a box marked “Gift Certificates,” which Edward explains is for cruises, airline tickets, and hotel vouchers—all the prizes that are given away on air. “And especially this box.” He taps the top. “It’s very valuable.”

He closes the door, secures the dead bolt and stuffs his keys back in his pocket. After glancing into a small window on the door of the room with the on-air light, he heads back down the hall while I follow behind. Instead of turning into his office, he turns into mine.

“Where’s Dial? He’s not in the control room.”

Although I’ve not met him I know exactly what he looks like. Johnny Dial,
the
morning disc jockey, has been on the air since before I went to Ole Miss. Blond hair, blue eyes, and cute as a bug. He’s on TV all the time promoting the local Toyota dealership. Every single year
Memphis Magazine
names him best local celebrity, best deejay, and sexiest Memphian. If I’m thirty-three, he has to be at least forty. “I haven’t seen him. Sorry.”

“He better not have left yet.” Edward scowls and scurries out of my office. I hear him slam his door.

Ten minutes pass.

“Pssst.” I look up to see Johnny Dial poking his adorable head in my office. He’s motioning to me. “Come here a minute.”

I point at myself. “Me?”

“Yeah. Come here.” His voice is barely a whisper.

I hurriedly follow him down the hall, out the FM side of the building and into the AM side. A pair of headphones is in one hand and he’s carrying a briefcase in the other. Every time we turn down a new corridor he looks behind and shoots me a sparkly smile. “Just a few more feet. I’m not a weirdo. I promise.” Finally he ducks into an empty office, pulls me inside and shuts the door. “Sorry about that. There was no time to explain.”

My grin assures him that he’s safe with me. “Is there something wrong?” I ask.

When he chuckles I recognize his laugh from the radio. He’s known for it. “No. Not at all. I’m just trying to avoid Edward. Not only is he mad at me about the pandas, he wants me to record this stupid-ass promo today for the Spring Sweeps. I’m supposed to be on the golf course in fifteen minutes. Way out at Windyke.”

“Windyke? You better hurry.”

“I know. Can you cover for me?”

“How?”

“Tell him you took a message that said I had a dentist appointment at ten thirty. If I start on that stupid promo now, he’ll have me in the production studio for the next two hours. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Sure. I’ll tell him that.” What is it about this guy that makes me so willing to lie for him ten seconds after meeting him? Who am I kidding—he’s got charm like Baker and confidence to boot.

“Thanks. You’re the best.” He puts his hand on the doorknob. “I owe you one.”

I nod in agreement. Maybe I should tell him that he fooled me, too, with the panda prank. Nah. I’m way too cool for that.

Johnny gestures for me to walk out ahead of him. “Have a great day. Bye, cutie.” He goes one way and I go the other, toward my office. Several feet down the hall he calls after me. “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”

I turn back around. “Leelee.”

“Glad you’re working here, Leelee.” He starts to walk off but changes his mind. “Have you met Stan yet?”

“Oh yeah.”

“What do you think?”

I smile slightly and shake my head.

He snickers again, walking backward as he speaks. “You and me are gonna have some fun.”

“I sure hope so,” I reply, with a grin that surprises even me.

“Done deal. See ya tomorrow.” Johnny waves and turns the corner.

I head back to my office, pondering my weakness for beautiful men.

After the panda ordeal finally settles down, the rest of my day sails along fairly well. Kyle, the promotion director, takes time to answer all my questions and then details all the promotions that he’s got going on. There’s a bachelor auction for the Kidney Foundation, and Stan will be auctioned off to the lucky lady who writes the largest check—it takes all my strength not to guffaw at the thought of actually paying for an interaction with Stan. There’s a movie premiere at the Malco Ridgeway Four and a rooftop party at the Peabody Hotel, all this week. I can tell by the messages I take for him that he’s the busiest person on the floor. Part of my job is to assist him, he tells me, and to show up at some of the promotions. Edward never bothered telling me any of that.

Around four o’clock I notice Edward passing by my office. “I’m going flying,” he says, as he moves swiftly past. No point in commenting. He’s already halfway down the hall.

Once the five o’clock whistle blows I am so ready to go home I can’t stand it. And I’m sure Sarah, bless her heart, must be antsy and ready to get the heck out of after-care. By the time I get to Dogwood Elementary, she’s crying. The poor little thing is hungry, cranky, and not liking the fact that she hasn’t seen me all day. It doesn’t help one bit to have to pick her up during the dreaded bewitching hour. The after-care teacher tells me that Sarah likes the other kids and that she has played with them very well until now. As adaptable as she has been to all the change in her life, I’m sure she has her breaking point.

The drive home is awful. I reach over and grab the first CD I can find, hoping that it might help.

“I don’t like that CD,” she says about Raffi’s
Bananaphone.

“You used to like it.”

“It’s for babies. Like Issie.”

“Is there another one you’d like to hear?” I ask, as I’m picking up speed, cruising five miles over the speed limit.