Yankee Doodle Dixie (13 page)

“I thought you might need some pwoducts for your new kitchen.” He doesn’t even mention the bathroom, much less the holes in the wall.

It’s not a magazine after all, it’s a catalog and one glance tells me exactly why he’s wearing a chef’s hat. “You’re a Pampered Chef salesman.” I glance up at him with a grin, biting the insides of my cheeks.

“A Pampa’ed Chef
consultant.
Just got my kit in the mail today. You are the first person I thought of to host a Pampa’ed Chef pawty.”

“Hmmm. Well—”

Sarah and Issie run up to the door and stand on either side of me. He leans down to their level. “Wouldn’t you girls like to host a pawty?”

“Yes.” They’re jumping up and down. “Can we, Mommy?” Issie asks.

Now I’m in a fine mess. Who do I disappoint? My daughters or my next-door neighbor? I turn around to Kissie who has not even bothered to budge off the sofa. Her big lips are puckered and she’s shaking her head.

“Can I have a day to think about it?” I say, rubbing the tops of both my girls’ shoulders.

“What’s there to think about, Mommy? I love parties,” Sarah says.

“Me, too,” Issie says.

“You could invite all your friends,
and
their mommies!” Riley says.

I don’t even bother looking behind me. The pitiful faces of my little girls are all I need to decide. “I guess we’re
having a Pampered Chef party
.”

“Would you like to set a date?” asks the consultant.

“Not right now, Riley. Can I get back with you about it?”

“Oh sure. We’ll talk about it tomowow.”

I can just picture Alice’s face now when the Pampered Chef Party invitation, hosted by Leelee Satterfield, arrives in the mail. She’ll have a heyday with that one, not to mention her first introduction to Mr. Riley Bradshaw.

*   *   *

Later that night, after crawling under the covers, I reach over for my book, which is resting on the nightstand. When I notice my cell phone, I’m reminded to charge it for the night and as I’m reaching to plug it up I notice the voice mail icon on the screen.

In haste, I dial my voice mail box and wait for the prompts.

“Hi Leelee. It’s Peter. I’m, well I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked. Thank you for your messages letting me know you made it safely to Tennessee. I don’t know why I didn’t call you back. I … I don’t know…” He pauses a moment. “It just feels a little weird. You’re there. I’m here. I’m not sure what’s going on. My job is working out well, though.” He laughs. “They’ve already given me a raise. Anyway, I hope all is well. Tell Sarah and Issie hi for me. Call me when you get a chance. I … Take care, okay?”

I play it again. And again. Analyzing every inflection, every word. Why has it taken him over two weeks to call me? There’s just no explanation for it. I mean, what about our kiss? What about our darn kiss?

Mustering up all the courage I can find, I dial his number. Even though our schedules are completely different—I work during the day and he at night—I take a chance that he’ll pick up his phone. When it goes to voice mail, I’m terribly disappointed but I leave him a message urging him to call me, no matter the time.

When I hang up the phone my heart beats, well
blasts,
inside my ears and it’s nearly impossible to rest. I try reading but my mind is clearly not on Mr. Darcy, no matter how much he’s changed. Jane Austen’s prose, although beautiful, doesn’t seem to be able to hold my attention.

The TV helps a little, a mindless episode of
All in the Family
seems to do the trick, followed by reruns of
The Jeffersons
and
The Nanny.
I must have fallen asleep sometime between
The Nanny
and
Roseanne
because it’s after midnight when I hear my phone ringing. I fumble around; it’s somewhere tangled up in my covers. Four rings later, I barely catch it before the call goes to voice mail.

“Hello.” There’s a bit of desperation in my voice.

“Hi.”
It’s him. It’s
finally
him
.

“How are you?” I ask, my voice lifting upon hearing his hello.

“I’m fine. How are you?” Something about his voice is different. I can’t put my finger on it, but fear screams inside my gut.

“I’m pretty good. Just trying to get myself settled,” I tell him.

“I bet.”

“So much has happened, Peter, you wouldn’t believe.” I sit up in bed, propping a few large pillows behind me. “I don’t even know where to begin. Helga, the ride home, my new house—oh my gosh, you won’t believe my neighbor, bless his heart, he reminds me of Jeb. And my job. Wait till I tell you all about my job.”

“You’ve got one already, huh?”

“Yes, it’s a miracle how it worked out. See I ran into this old friend of mine whose husband works at this TV station here in town and she called her husband…” I ramble on and on. I’m not sure why I’m doing it but … “And then he called me to tell me about a job opening on the radio side and I called the program director, who basically offered me the job right on the spot. It’s turning out to be pretty fun, actually.”

I tell him all about it and he tells me all about his job and how he’s really enjoying it so far. With every word he speaks, though, I’m growing more and more leery of the diffident tone in his voice.

“Leelee?” he says, seizing a pause in our conversation.

“Yes?”

“I’m happy for you. I truly am. You deserve all the happiness life has to offer.”

“Thank you. So do you.”
What are you saying? You’re sounding like this is good-bye.

“You are the sweetest most wonderful girl I know. I’ve been thinking about us every day since you left. You know, about you living in Tennessee and me living here in Vermont. And honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to you, to keep you tied up in a long-distance deal.”

I close my eyes and fall back on my pillow, unsure how to respond. Cautiously I say, “But, what about our good-bye, just a little over a week ago? Didn’t that mean something to you?” I reach up and pinch my lip, rubbing it nervously between my fingers.

“Of course it meant something to me. It means a lot to me. But think about it. We are something like fifteen hundred miles apart. I don’t see you ever moving back up here; like I told you when you left, you’re not meant to be a Vermonter. You’re happier back down South. I would never want to be the one to take that away from you.”

I can feel my eyes fill with tears and every one of my nerve endings seems to have caught fire. Not only are my feelings hurt but I can actually feel the pain seeping through my pores. “So, you don’t think … you would … ever be able to come here?” I say. By now my sinuses have started to close and I’m sure he can hear the affliction in my voice.

“
Move there
you mean?”

“Well, yeah. I think you’d like it down here.”

“It’s not a matter of whether I’d like it or not. I’m just not the kind of guy that can move somewhere without a job. I guess maybe I’m a bit practical when it comes to that.” He chuckles slightly but I know him well enough to know it’s out of nervousness. He doesn’t find that funny at all.

I honestly don’t know what to say. The awkward pause in our conversation grows even longer. He finally breaks the silence by changing the subject. “My new job up here is pretty good, actually. Besides the raise, I’m designing a new menu.”

“That makes me happy for you.” My voice cracks and I’m sure he can tell I’m crying.

“I always want to be your friend, sweetheart,” he says. “Always. I never want to lose touch with you. This is not about me not thinking you are the perfect girl. It’s about me not thinking I can give you what you deserve. Can you understand that?”

I shake my head no, even though he can’t see me.

“I’ll always be here for you if you need me. Okay?” His voice is tender, one of the things I love about him the most. “Please tell me you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be okay,” I manage to eke out, even though I don’t think I will.

There’s more silence in our conversation. Honestly it’s because there’s nothing more to say. It’s not like I can beg him to move here. And it’s not like I’m ready to talk about life as his friend instead of his girlfriend. In the end instead of sealing our relationship, our kiss killed our friendship.

“I’ll talk with you soon,” he says.

Instead of responding, I’m silent.

“You can call me anytime, Leelee,” he says.

I can barely speak. “Yes, we’ll talk soon,” I manage to say.

“Bye, Leelee.”

“Bye, Peter.”

And then he’s gone. Our phone conversation is finished and I suppose, so is our relationship. Lying flat on my back with my arms straight down at my side, my bed feels like a coffin. Why is it that even though we never really had a long romantic relationship, I feel like I’m dying? Love seems to be screaming at me from the other side of the room,
Why can’t you hold on to me? What is it about you that can’t keep me alive?

It’s not my fault!
I want to scream back.
How can I argue with him about not wanting to move down South to a place he’s never even visited?

Peter Owen, the boy from New Jersey, the finest chef I’ve ever encountered, the dad who lost a baby to SIDS and had his wife leave him for his baby brother, the wonderful man that I just happened to meet and fall in love with, doesn’t see himself as anything but a true Yankee. He might not know it, and I suppose that’s just the way it is, but I’ll always think of him as the best thing about the North. He’ll always be my Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Chapter Six

Six weeks later, I’m a little sorry to say that my beloved Memphis seems to be letting me down. The weather is freezing for the end of March. Normally everyone would have shed their jackets by now but the chill in the air won’t seem to let go … it’s hanging on as steadily as my somber mood ever since Peter told me that he wanted to be “friends.”

It’s hard as heck waking up in the mornings but by the grace of God I’m doing it. The girls are getting to school, almost always on time, and they’re getting used to the after-care. It’s not the perfect situation but it’s manageable. Thank goodness for the preschool program I found for Issie. She seems to enjoy her school even more than Sarah does.

More surprisingly, I’m getting to work on time and despite Edward and Stan both, I’m starting to feel comfortable. I’m gaining confidence and I can feel my self-worth returning. As Johnny predicted, the two of us are having fun together. He’s quite a prankster, that one, continually hoodwinking poor unsuspecting souls (like me), naïve to his tomfoolery.

One morning during a rare early March snow shower, Johnny told the listeners that the morning show was broadcasting live from a parking lot on Mt. Moriah Road. Jack, Johnny’s sidekick, recorded an ad, or promo as they say in radio, inviting folks to “Ski Mt. Moriah.” People actually showed up ready to ski, wearing ski clothes and hats and toting their snow skis, even though the snow accumulation was merely a dusting. Mt. Moriah Road is as flat as a pancake, just like the rest of Memphis. The station phone never stopped ringing all day. I was the one taking the calls, explaining to the folks that it was just another of Johnny’s signature stunts. “Sometime people just have a hard time using their noggins,” Mama would have said. Daddy, never having much of a tolerance for ignorance, wouldn’t have been quite as kind. “They don’t have enough sense to get out of the rain,” he would have said.

The big buzz around the office is that Liam White himself is stopping by the radio station for an interview. Liam White, at least to my girlfriends and me, is the equivalent of Sting or Jackson Browne or possibly even Jon Bon Jovi. Maybe not quite as famous, but he’s certainly
our
definition of eye candy. His mellow, harmonic voice has captivated me since I was first old enough to appreciate the bliss of rock ’n’ roll. Around the age of eight or nine, I discovered the wonder of “Miss Thing” (one of his very best songs in my humble opinion), on the radio and when I became old enough to study his album covers I discovered how thrilling it can feel on the inside when a handsome face stirs the female desire.

To think he’ll be coming to the radio station where I’m employed is, well, it’s just unimaginable. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. Truthfully, I haven’t been this giddy since
American Bandstand
. I even went out last night and bought a new dress for the occasion. I mean, why not? How many times does a girl get to see a celebrity of that caliber in person? Even if I just watch him pass by my office I still need to look nice. Besides, Johnny swears he’ll make sure that I get to meet him. If left up to Edward, he’d just prance Liam White right on past me without so much as a wave. After all, he made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want his staff “hounding the stars.”

Each jock, on every shift this week, has been promoting Liam’s appearance. They’ve been giving away a pair of concert tickets every day and the grand prize winner gets entered into the pot to win a chance to speak with Liam on the phone when her name is announced. Not only that, she also wins two backstage passes to meet him in person after the show. My job is to deliver the tickets to the winner once she shows up. Now I realize the winner might be a man, but it would be a crying shame given Liam’s delicious looks.

Liam is due in around nine thirty to catch the tail end of the morning drive time audience. That way Johnny can talk about it all morning, play Liam’s hits, and keep the listeners hanging on till the end of his shift. I can tell Stan is plenty peeved that he wasn’t asked to conduct the interview. From what I’ve been observing, Johnny gets way more breaks than Stan. It all comes down to the difference in their two personalities, if you ask me. One is fun. The other is, well, not in the least bit fun.

If truth be told, I’ve been twitchy and flustered all morning, literally counting down the minutes to Liam’s arrival, not to mention the flurry of texts to the girls. So when the control room door swings open (I can hear it from my office) and Johnny pops his head in my door seconds later, I practically jump out of my skin. “Hey kiddo,” he says, “White’s in the lobby and Edward just left to go down to get him. Make up an excuse to be in the control room after say, five minutes. I’ll make sure you get to meet him.”