Yankee Doodle Dixie (31 page)

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the plane is full.”

“Are you sure?” With my hands on the counter I lean over as if I can read the seating manifest on the other side of her computer. “It doesn’t look all that crowded.” I glance over at the forty or so people waiting to board.

“It’s a very small jet, ma’am. And we’re completely sold out. I just assigned the last seat to a standby passenger. If you had been here earlier, perhaps—”

Closing my eyes, I turn around and walk slowly toward the gate to Memphis.

Chapter Twelve

No one is milling around the halls when I put down my purse. I can see Will, our substitute deejay, through the glass window in front of my office and it appears he’s the one on the air. It’s perfectly quiet and since I’m my usual ten minutes tardy, I find the silence to be a little odd. After filling my mug with a bitter cup of stale coffee, most likely brewed before the morning shift began, I stroll into the control room to find out what’s going on.

“Hey Leelee, how’s it goin’?” Will asks, as soon as I walk in the door. “Hang on a minute.” I watch him announce the name of the tune that’s just been played, cut to a commercial, and then remove his headphones. “Why aren’t you in the staff meeting?” he says, sipping on his own coffee cup.

“What staff meeting?” I ask, angst beginning to take hold. Go ahead and shoot me. It’s official—Edward sent a spy to New York and has called an emergency meeting to discuss my insubordination.

“You know. The monthly staff meeting down in Dan Malcomb’s office, the last Monday of every month.”

“Aaaahhhh!” I cover my face with my hands.

He points at the clock on the wall. “It just started ten minutes ago. You’re not that late.”

I race out of the control room and down the back steps without so much as a wave. Dan Malcomb’s secretary peers over her granny glasses when she spots me tiptoeing toward his office door, which by now has been long shut. I have a feeling she’s never been late to anything. Although possibly, I suppose, she’s only staring at the turtleneck sweater I’m wearing even though it’s eighty-three degrees outside. Little does she know my spray tan underneath is still a radiant orangey-brown. I can’t risk Edward asking why I’m tan all of a sudden.

This meeting is big. Not only does Dan Malcomb lead it, attendance is required by everyone, from Edward and all the full-time jocks to both the promotion and sales directors and even Sam, the production person, who voices and records all the commercials. Mr. Malcomb is discussing the value of branding when I slink into the room at 8:44
A.M.
All eyes focus on me as I take my seat. It appears my chair is the only one empty. Mr. Malcomb doesn’t stop to recognize my tardiness, thank goodness, but Edward glares at me from his seat next to Malcomb’s desk. I’d rather wear a white faux-leather miniskirt with high-heel orange Candies to lunch at the club and sit right next to Tootie Shotwell, than be in this room right now sitting across from Edward Maxwell.

When the meeting adjourns I somehow manage to elude him, for the time being anyway. I engage the sales manager in conversation for a moment before stealthily slipping out unnoticed. Once back in my office, my day thankfully continues as if everything is back to normal. With one exception—the disc jockey’s shuffled schedules. Because of the staff meeting Edward has decided to pull his own prank by moving each jock up a shift. The morning team will broadcast midday and Stan will take over Paul’s shift in the afternoon. I’m the only one affected by the prank. My phone has not stopped ringing all morning from listeners more confused than amused.

When I slide into the control room before lunch, with the excuse of giving Johnny an urgent message from his dentist, he and Jack are in the middle of an interview with the guy who claims to have been in charge of bringing the
Lisa Marie,
Elvis’s jet, back to Graceland. He says he was the one who actually drove it down the middle of Elvis Presley Boulevard back in 1984. That’s the thing about Memphis. Almost everyone has a claim to Elvis fame. For instance, our family claim is that Elvis drove a truck for Daddy when he was a young man. The King was just out of high school and a truck driver for Crown Electric. He had dropped off some equipment at Daddy’s cotton warehouse on Front Street and Daddy was highly impressed by his manners. When he asked Elvis if he would be interested in extra work, Elvis told him yes. So he delivered cotton for Daddy a time or two. Or so the legend goes anyway.

Once the interview concludes, Johnny smiles when he sees me and yanks off his headphones. “Welcome back, O Famous One.”

“Shhhhh.” I look behind me to make sure Edward is not hanging anywhere around.

“Feeling any better?” He winks twice, overexaggerating each.

I shake my head and wave my hand in the air, sweeping away his comment.

“Well? How was it?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, but I’ll tell you that it started off good and ended terrible. I’m back to work and that’s the end of that.”

“
What?
”

“Fame is a funny thing, Johnny. There’s a big bad ugly side.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

Sighing heavily, I attempt to explain. “Liam White is a nice guy and his world is certainly intriguing but when it comes to women he doesn’t know how to treat them.” I continue, “I got the feeling he thought I should feel lucky to be with him. I guess there is something that happens to certain people when they become famous.”

“Maybe so, but I wouldn’t mind having his cash. Or his voice. Would you, Jack?”

“Show me the money, baby, show me the money,” Jack says. His vocal repertoire naturally includes Tom Cruise.

Between commercials and during the songs, I do tell him all about how Liam slept till two on Saturday. I fill him in on how we missed the last boat to the Statue of Liberty and about how he left me in his room for nearly hours while he conducted business in Sue’s room. I finish by telling him how I’d just picked up and left the hotel with Liam staring into his wineglass.

“There’s always Stan,” Johnny says, and cracks up laughing.

The image of Stan and me as a couple may have him highly amused but as for me I’m not smiling. “Are you out of your mind?” I say.

“He wants to take you out.”

“Don’t you think by now I’m on to you? That is not true.” I settle onto the stool across from him.

“Oh yes it is.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He told me. And he’s pretty sure you’ll say yes.”

“As my daddy used to say, it’ll be a cold day in Cuba before that ever happens.” Jack, who had disappeared from the control room for a minute, strolls back in with a stack of old records for the all request lunch hour. With a perfect Elvis voice he says, “Cute turtleneck you’ve got on there, little sister. Should we turn up the heat in here?”

“Very funny,” I say, looking down at the front of my sweater.

“Why in god’s name are you wearing a turtleneck?” Johnny says. “It’s the first week of May.”

“I’m hiding my spray tan. I don’t want to give Edward any unneeded reason to be suspicious.”

Johnny looks over at Jack and I watch the two cut eyes at each other.

“What? Why are y’all looking at each other like that?”

They continue flicking their eyes and eyebrows from across the room until Johnny says, “I haven’t said anything because I’m hoping it all goes away.”

“
What?
” By now I’m frantic and I practically yell. “WHAT all goes away?”

“Edward knows something’s up,” Johnny says.

“About my trip?”

He nods and positions his headphones. “Hang on. I’ve got a live spot coming up in five seconds.”

As he touts the benefits of driving a Toyota, my mind travels ninety miles per hour down the interstate. What in the world could Edward know? How does he know and, most importantly, am I about to be dropkicked and punted down the highway? Jack disappears out the door again and I’m left counting the seconds until Johnny finishes his ad. The instant he presses the end button on the control board, I’m right back to our conversation. “How? How does he know something’s up?” I say, biting my right thumbnail.

“Our resident bonehead.”

“I didn’t tell Stan anything about my trip.” I’m twisting my hair behind my head so tightly I can feel my temples pulling. “You and Jack are the
only
ones who know.”

“You didn’t have to. I’m telling you he snoops around in everyone’s business. He found out on his own.”

“How?”
My thumbnail is no longer a nail. It’s a nub.

“He’s jealous, I’m telling you. He likes you.”

“But how did he find out my personal business?” I say, sliding off the stool and darting around the control room in a frenzied but futile attempt to make it all go away.

Johnny’s head moves with every step I take. “He stopped by your house over the weekend. Some whack job with a lisp told him you were in New York. He was in your front yard picking up pinecones when Stan drove up.”

I stop moving and peer at Johnny. “Riley’s not a whack job, he’s dear. And he doesn’t have a lisp, it’s a soft
R
. He is a tiny bit annoying at times, but he’d never hurt a flea. I never told him why I was in New York or who I was with.”

“You didn’t have to. Stan figured it out.”

“Okay, now you’re freaking me out. How?” I try sitting again but stand back up five seconds later, finding no comfort in taking a seat.

“He looked up White’s tour schedule on his Web site. Found out he was playing a gig at the Mandarin Oriental and called the hotel to see if you were registered. Jackpot.”

“You have got to be kidding!”

“Nope.”

I mutter to myself, “The only reason I told Riley was to get him off my back, uuhhh.” Exasperated, I throw my head back. That’s it. I’m so done with Riley.

“I told Stan I’d kill him if he tells Edward. Let’s just hope he doesn’t squeal.”

“Oh dear god. He better not,” I say, closing my eyes and shaking my head. “Now I am petrified.”

“Don’t be scared. Just think up a good excuse in case you need it. You’ll come up with something.”

Weak kneed and scared stiff, I creep back to my office.

Back at my desk, prepared to bury my worries in paperwork, I check my e-mail, then my voice mail. Four new messages. The first two are from winners, checking on the status of their concert tickets. The third is from Edward. I hit the pound key, “Message skipped.” The fourth call is from Stan welcoming me back to town.
Thank you,
Stanny.
Why do you even care?
“First skipped message,” the lady says, and Edward’s chilling voice is on the telephone. “Leelee? Edward. I’d like to see you in my office as soon as I return from lunch. I’ve been given some disturbing news and I’m hoping you can clear it up. See you when I return.”
Click.
Dial tone.

I can feel my heart clanging in a way I’d only felt a couple of times in my life. The first was the day our principal, Mrs. Carrington, caught Mary Jule and me smoking on the roof of the gym at Jameson School and instead of
telling
us to come down she beckoned us down with her long, slender pointer finger. The other time was the night I fired Helga demanding that she leave my Peach Blossom Inn kitchen immediately,
with
her sacred hippo collection, and never step a foot back inside. Both times I’d had Mary Jule with me. This time I’m flying solo.

As the minutes tick by, my heartbeat increases and my pulse quickens. One glance at my watch lets me know it’s close to one. Edward left for lunch almost an hour ago and is bound to be back soon. I sneak into the bathroom to call Virgy and even she’s at a loss. I thought for sure she’d be able to mastermind a scheme to get me out of this. “I’d tell you to tell him that you just happened to bump into Liam on Fifth Avenue but it sounds like he’s too smart for that,” is all she can advise.

“I’m scared to death,” I tell her, huddled in the corner.

“Oh hell, Fiery, if you’re gonna be fired anyway, just leave. Run out the door. Why put yourself through it?”

It was the only relief I’d felt since tiptoeing into the staff meeting this morning. “You’re right. I can always e-mail him a letter of resignation from home.”

“Definitely. Get out of there!”

I’m running through the parking lot when I spot Edward’s bright yellow corvette turning in from Union Avenue. (Yellow is the FM 99 color by the way.) Darting behind another car, I hunker down and watch as he drives past, all the while praying that he didn’t see me. When enough time has passed for him to make it safely inside the building, I zigzag to my old BMW, ducking behind and weaving in between the other parked vehicles. Just as I’m digging inside my purse for my keys, I hear a loud engine approaching. Determined not to look around, I click the remote on my keychain and quickly open my front door.

“What’s your hurry?” I hear, and turn to see a blackened window rolling down. Edward’s mug is staring straight at me.

“Oh, nothing. I just forgot something in my car.” I’m surprised my voice isn’t trembling.

“Why would you need your purse just to get something out of your car?”

“Because.” My mind starts racing for an excuse. “Be-
cause
, I don’t go anywhere without my purse. My mother taught me that. Never leave your purse unattended. It goes along with never leaving your diamond ring on the bathroom sink.”

“Did you get my message?” he asks, sternly.

“What message?” If I act as if I haven’t heard it, perhaps he’ll just drop it.

“I’ll meet you in my office.”

I’m still planning my getaway when he parks two cars down and jumps out, walking briskly toward me. “So what did you forget?” he asks, turning toward the building, expecting me to follow.

“I … I forgot my phone.”

“Personal calls aren’t allowed.”

“I know that,
Edward,
I just like to have it in case of an emergency.”

He stares harshly and he and I, Dead Woman Walking, stroll in silence all the way back upstairs.

“I’ll call you shortly,” he says, and turns into his office. “After I make a phone call.”