Blue Like Elvis (17 page)

Chapter 25

By Saturday
afternoon, I was a mess. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was about this “fancy”
dinner date with Tucker, and it was making me a little crazy. I didn’t want to
be nervous, but the more I fought it, the more jittery I became. I had to
reapply my mascara twice because my hands were shaking so badly. I growled out
loud when I did it a third time.

“Again?” Sandra called
from her bedroom.

“Don’t even start
with me”

She drifted into
my bathroom, arms folded across her chest. “You’re only making it worse. Let me
help you.”

“Help me how?”

“Sit.” She shoved
me to sit on the closed toilet and told me to tilt my head back. When she
picked up the mascara wand, I held up my hands.

“Oh, no you don’t!
You’ll have me looking like one of those Solid Gold Dancers.”

“Hey! Give me a
little credit here, will you?”

“Just promise me
you won’t bring in the ice blue eye shadow.”

“You have my word.
Now hold still and just relax.”

I took a deep
breath and tried my best to calm down. “This is so silly. It’s not like I’m
going out with Robert Redford. It’s Tucker, for crying out loud. I’ve known him
all my life. Why on earth should I be so jittery? I mean, what’s the worst that
could happen?”

Sandra continued
brushing my lashes with mascara. “Hold still!”

“I am!”

“If you want my
opinion, I think you’re afraid you might just like Tucker Thompson more than
you want to. You have this absurd notion that you all can’t possibly connect on
any other level than those kids you used to be who were always at each other’s
throats. You’ve got to get over that, Shelby. Tucker is a good guy. One in a
million. And he obviously likes you—”

“But don’t you
think it’s a little soon for that? It hasn’t been that
long since we
witnessed his nasty little breakup with Cassie, remember?”

“Do I need to
remind you that it hasn’t been that long since you had a nasty little breakup
with a certain sailor? Not that I knew you then, but how many long talks have
we had about Will and everything that happened?” She nudged my face, focusing
on the eyelashes on my left side.

“But that’s
different.”

“How is that
different? You were both recently engaged. You both recently broke off your
engagements—”

“
He
didn’t
break off his engagement. He was dumped.”

“I just don’t see
what difference any of it makes. Go out. Have a good time. It’s not like he’s
going to propose or anything.”

“Sandra!” I
swatted her arm.

“Stop that! You
almost got a streak of black up your cheek! Now hold still.”

I took a deep
breath and blew it out before tilting my head back again. “The difference is,
he’s on the rebound. He has to be. And I don’t want to . . . I
just don’t want to . . .”

She leveled her
eyes at me. “You don’t want to get hurt.”

“I don’t want to
get hurt again,” I whispered.

She moved my chin
with her finger, finished applying the mascara, then recapped the wand. “And
you won’t. Shelby, just look at this as an elegant dinner at a beautiful
restaurant with an old friend. Nothing more. You’ll be fine. I promise.”

I blew out another
breath and nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Now then. What
are you wearing?”

“Oh, I don’t know.
Pajamas?”

“What?!”

I had to admit I
felt good in the little black dress Sandra dug out of my closet. She loaned me
a beautiful matching shawl and helped drape it over my shoulders. She talked me
into wearing the only pair of black heels I had, which were a little high for
my personal taste, but they really did complete the outfit, especially paired
with black hose. I was just putting on my lipstick when the doorbell rang. I
capped the lipstick and headed downstairs to answer the door.

“Wow, Moonpie. You
look . . . amazing.” Tucker seemed surprised by my non-uniform
ensemble. “I’m speechless here,” he breathed.

“Oh, please. I put
on a little extra lip gloss. No need to get tongue-tied.”

He smiled and I
felt my heart rate jump. He’d taken a pass on the scrubs, choosing a handsome
black sport jacket, gray slacks, and a white button-down oxford shirt. I had to
chuckle when I realized his tie had tiny golf balls and clubs on it.

“Why am I not
surprised you golf? Do they teach that in med school?”

He looked down at
his tie and laughed. “Absolutely. Second year. Mandatory. You can’t graduate
unless you’re a scratch golfer.”

He closed the door
behind me, and we walked out to his car. “You look really nice tonight, Shelby.
I mean that.”

“Yeah? Well, you
look pretty good yourself, Dr. Thompson.”

He helped me into
his car, and we chatted all the way downtown. I couldn’t believe I’d fretted
all afternoon, so nervous I almost made myself sick. Thankfully, the nerves had
settled, and I was actually enjoying just being with him.

We turned onto the
interstate. “Any more mice?”

“Oh, funny you
should mention that. We found a house to rent. In fact, we’ll be living not far
from you near the campus.”

“Really? That’s
great! Where’s the house?”

I told him about
the house belonging to Lori Ann Trussell. He knew Lori, of course, and seemed
genuinely pleased we’d be living closer to his neck of the woods. “That’ll be
great. Think how handy it will be when the mice show up. Your knight in shining
armor will be just around the corner now.”

“No more mice,
thank you very much. Lori Ann assures us the house is varmint free.”

“Bummer. I’ll have
to come up with some other reason to stop by. When are you all moving? Need
some help?”

“Don’t offer if
you don’t mean it. Of course we’ll need help. I’d rather not have to ask Mom
and Dad to drive up again. They need to know I can handle these things on my
own.”

“Just say when,
and if I’m not working, I’ll be glad to help. Maybe I can rope in Trevor to
lend a little muscle.”

“That’d be great.
I haven’t seen much of Trevor lately. Where’s he been hiding?”

“He was out of
town for a while doing some research with a doctor up in Canada. Trevor’s a
gifted surgeon. He’s already getting offers from all over the country. He can
pretty much name where he wants to go when he’s finished his residency.”

“It’s so hard for
me to comprehend that he’s a brain surgeon. Isn’t that at the top of the pecking
order when it comes to medicine?”

“I beg your
pardon?” he scoffed in jest.  “Anesthesiology is hardly chopped liver. Hey,
those brain guys got nuthin’ without us. How’d you like him digging around in
that pretty little head of yours sans anesthesia? Huh?”

He had a point.

“Darn right. So
let’s just say neurosurgery is somewhere to the south of anesthesiology on that
linear list of yours.”

“Ok, then,” I
muttered. “Touchy subject?”

He threw his head
back and laughed. “Nah, I’m just playing with you. Trevor’s the best. And he’s
got a lot more muscle than me, so I’ll make sure he shows up on moving day.”

We pulled up at
the main entrance of The Peabody Hotel. A doorman, dressed in top hat and
tails, opened the car door for me.

“Welcome to the
Peabody,” he said with great flourish.

“Thank you.” I had
to admit, I enjoyed the pampering. Tuck handed the valet his keys and took my
hand as we walked through the doors.

I remembered
visiting the Peabody when I was a child. Jimmy and I loved to come and watch
the duck parades. Each morning at 11:00, five mallard ducks, along with their
duckmaster escort, ride the elevator down from the roof, then walk the red
carpet to the hotel’s Grand Lobby fountain. They spend the day there, floating
and waddling along the fountain’s edge, never leaving the area. Then at 5:00,
the duckmaster shows up and leads them back to the elevator, and back to their
rooftop home.

The lobby was already
crowded with tourists, all waiting to see the parade. Tucker took my hand and
pulled me to a spot along the roped-off area. In less than five minutes, a man
dressed in a red jacket showed up to gather his brood. A recorded message filled
the air, explaining the daily routine.

Tucker leaned toward
me, his mouth close to my ear. “Do you know about the history of the duck
parade?”

“I’m sure I did at
one time, but I’ve forgotten.”

“It all started
back in 1932 when the general manager of the hotel and some of his hunting
buddies came back from a hunting trip in Arkansas. As a prank, they put their
live duck decoys in the fountain here. But the hotel guests loved it, and soon
it became a popular attraction for guests and tourists. So they replaced the
live decoys with five mallard ducks, and they’ve been doing it ever since.”

“Whoa, those are
some
really
old ducks,” I teased.

He laughed. “Actually,
they only work a three month gig, then they’re retired. Sent back to the farm
they came from.”

Suddenly, John
Philip Sousa’s
King Cotton March
began to play and the five ducks jumped
out of the fountain waters. All of them shook their tails for good measure,
splashing water on several of the tourists to the delight of the many children in
the audience. Then, the five lined up and headed back down the red carpet and
onto the elevator, their escort right behind them.

As the crowd
applauded and began to disperse, Tucker and I made our way to the restaurant. Evidently
we weren’t the only ones eating early. Apparently the duck parade brought in an
early dinner crowd to the old hotel. The maitre’d seated us at a table in a
quiet corner, close enough to see the tuxedoed piano player, but far enough
that the music didn’t interfere with our conversation. Tucker pulled out my
chair for me then took the one directly next to it instead of across from me. I
liked that. A succession of waiters immediately began looking to our every need.
I couldn’t help smiling at all the fuss.

“This is amazing,”
I whispered from behind my menu.

“Oh, I forgot to
tell you. Feel free to order something other than fried green tomatoes. Though,
now that I think of it, I don’t even think it’s on the menu.” He searched the
pages of the leather-bound menu then finally shrugged. “Nope, not here.”

“Should we leave?
Make a scene? What?”

“Nah, I bet we can
find something suitable to your Southern palate.”

 “Is that so? Well
then, what would you recommend instead?”

He leaned toward
me, his brows dancing. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d skip the roast
duck. I mean, it’s kind of tacky, don’t you think? Parading them around the
lobby then plucking their feathers and roasting their little carcasses?” He
winced and produced a fake shiver. “That’s just wrong.”

“Good to know.”

“However, their
steaks are out of this world, if you’re so inclined.”

And so it went.
Teasing conversation while lavishing in that extraordinary restaurant, waited
on hand and foot by an exceptional staff. Our glasses never emptied and not a
single crumb ever remained on the linen for more than a moment, quickly whisked
away by the non-intrusive staff. The live piano music set a relaxing
atmosphere, the talented musician playing a wide range of songs from Glenn
Miller to Peter, Paul, and Mary, to Billy Joel’s newest hit, “Just the Way You
Are.”

Tucker was right.
The steak was the best I’d ever had. As was the Caesar salad which started our
meal. The crisp-tender asparagus was cooked just the way I liked it as was the
baked potato.

We shared an
unforgettable slice of key lime cheesecake and sipped after-dinner coffee, our
conversation never stopping even for a moment.

“Tucker, this is really
lovely. I can’t begin to thank you for bringing me here.”

“Good. I was
hoping to impress you,” he said with a smile.

“Me? Why on earth
would you feel the need to impress me?” I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

He folded his
napkin and laid it aside. “You really want to know?”

Goodness, is he
into mind reading now?

“Sure.”

“Because . . .
because I hoped this might be a beginning for us.”

Oh no.

Of course my face
heated. Doesn’t it always?

“A beginning?”

“Shelby, I—” He
stopped, reaching for my hand. “I want to know if you’d consider seeing me. I
mean, more than just as friends.”

My heart pounded.
It’s
too fast. Too soon! I’ve barely gotten beyond thinking of him as Chubby Tucker.
How can I possibly think of dating him?

“I know it’s fast.”

There goes that
mind reading thing again.

“I realize you
must think I’m jumping the gun a bit. So let me explain something.”

“Explain what?” I tried
to keep my eyes on his and not on our entwined hands.