Yankee Doodle Dixie (15 page)

Liam digs inside and pulls out a strip of paper, which he unfolds. He leans into his mic. “And the winner is … Kathy Warren.”

Edward initiates a phony round of applause.

“Kathy Warren, if you’re listening, call in and talk to Liam White. He’s right here waiting to talk to youuuuu.” Johnny cuts to a commercial.

There’s a conversation going on during the commercials between everyone in the control room except me. The girl who’s never, one time, been at a loss for words is suddenly dumbstruck. My eyes dart around the room and without knowing it fixate a little too long on Liam. Edward notices and I can clearly read the “that’s enough” look on his face. I weigh losing my job against standing there just to be in the presence of Liam White. Even though I’ve already mastered the art of surreptitious gawking, my head, in a rare moment, actually wins out over my heart. So I turn around and leave.

About ten minutes later I hear the control room door swing open, and Edward’s voice is drowning out all the others. This is my last opportunity, I’m thinking. My last chance to talk with Liam White. After all, never in my life have I been this close to a “real” celebrity before. Unless, of course, you call Jerry the King Lawler or Tojo Yamamoto celebs. Alice’s high school boyfriend, Tim, would round a group together every Saturday morning for the wrestling matches at the WZCQ TV studio, to whoop and holler at the fake blood splattering all over the ring. We weren’t but ten feet away.

Plus Memphis has had its own list of famous people and if you’re lucky enough, you might have a sighting. Rufus Thomas, the Funky Chicken himself, was walking down Beale Street one night and Virginia dared me to ask him for his autograph, which of course I did, with no hesitation or fear. Alice rode an elevator with Cybill Shepherd once and she’s told the story so many times I feel like it was me on that elevator. Mary Jule and I attended Al Green’s church one Sunday and when I was little I saw Elvis in his front yard at Graceland. But never have I actually carried on a conversation with a real star. Until now.

When I hear them leaving the control room, I charge out to the little reception room down the hall. Tidying the coffee area has not yet become a task I aim to do on a regular basis, but today I’m considering it a fine part of my job description. I’m rinsing the coffeepot (even though it’s full) when I hear them approaching. When I sense he’s only a few feet away, I turn around. “It’s nice to meet you, Liam.”

He stops right in front of me. “You, too, Leelee.”

I cannot believe he remembers my name.

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” he asks.

To have to tell a famous singer with whom you’re carrying on a conversation that you haven’t bought tickets to his show is beyond embarrassing. I had not anticipated this wrinkle in my well-executed plan. “Actually … well, I thought I didn’t have a babysitter so I didn’t get tickets, but now I do. So I’m planning on looking for tickets,” I say, not missing a beat.

He turns to the other guy with him. “Do you have any tickets with you?”

The man reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small stack wrapped in a yellow rubber band.

“How many would you like?” Liam asks me. “Two, four, six?”

It’s all I can do to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head. “Seriously? Are you—are you sure?”

I can feel Edward’s eyes burning a hole in my left cheek.
This is it, I’m fired.

“Of course,” Liam says.

Between Edward’s piercing eyes and Liam’s offer I’m as nervous as a Chihuahua stuck inside a room with a pit bull. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and twist it into a knot. My weight shifts from one foot to the next. Despite Edward’s dissecting stare, and knowing full well I could be fired I say, “Well, I have three best girlfriends who would kill me if I went without them.”

The guy with Liam counts out four tickets and hands them to me.

“Now you have four tickets,” Liam says.

“Thank you. That’s very, very generous of you,” I tell him, avoiding Edward’s eyes at all costs.

“Give her backstage passes, too,” Liam says.

The hair on my arms stands straight up.

Once again the man with Liam reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out stickers with Liam’s picture and with a Sharpie writes “Memphis 3/31” in a blank space, followed by the letters “A/S.”

“Hi, I’m Leelee,” I say to the guy while he’s writing. All of a sudden, I’m Chatty Cathy.

He looks up at me. “Deke.”

“Nice to meet you, Deke.”

He grins. But just slightly.

Liam takes the passes from him and hands them over to me. “Leelee. What a great name. I’ve never known a Leelee. Family name?”

I nod my head. “My grandmother was a Leelee.”

“That’s lovely. Will I see you tonight?” His sexy, yet tender smile has turned me into jelly.

“Yes, you will. Thank you again.” It’s highly possible that I might just faint.

As he’s walking off he winks.
Just like Peter.

Edward escorts Liam and Deke to the door before asking me to join him in his office. I lag behind on purpose as we’re walking down the hall, like a kid trailing behind her teacher on the way to the principal’s office.

When I turn into Edward’s office he’s standing in front of his desk with his arms crossed. There’s a scowl on his face. No doubt about it, I’m in big trouble. “Let me see your tickets,” he says, well, demands.

I hand them over. Oh well, so much for the concert, so much for the backstage passes, so much for my job! Why oh why do I do the things I do?

Edward walks behind his desk, takes his seat and fans out my tickets, laying them right next to his. After studying them intently he looks up, eyes piercing. “Yours are in double D. That’s way behind row Z. Never mind.” Scooping up the tickets like a card shark he reaches across the desk. “Here.” There’s a smirk on his face. He’s
not
firing me. He is also
not
mentioning my backstage passes. Could that glaring invitation possibly have eluded him? I’m not getting my hopes up.

I’m not sure whether to keep my mouth shut or stroke his ego. I decide on the latter. If nothing else, I’m slowly learning how to steer my way through the cesspool of his pompous malarkey. “I bet yours are fantastic seats, Edward,” I say, with a huge smile.

“Let’s see.” He bends down and glances at his tickets. “Row R. Center. On the aisle of the eighteenth row.” The chair squeaks as he leans back and puts his feet on the desk. “Perfect.”

“Wow, those really are good seats.”

“Of course they are. A gift—actually a
bonus
—from White’s record label.” All of a sudden he yanks his feet off his desk and sits straight up, leaning toward me. “There are no gifts in radio. That would be payola and Classic Hits FM 99 does not engage in such illegal activities.” He points at me for some reason and then relaxes again. “Sony always takes care of me. It’s good to be the PD.” He crosses his arms behind his head, closes his eyes, and cradles his head into his palms.

Hoping he’s finished with me, I start to head for the door but my movement startles him. After commanding me to have another seat, I’m made to endure a fifteen-minute lecture about “radio protocol” and the way I’m supposed to behave when a star is around. I manage to convince him that I was only trying to promote FM 99 and promise to mind my p’s and q’s while at the concert. I’m off the hook this time but as I leave his office and step out onto a sea of eggshells I find myself tiptoeing back to my office.

Chapter Seven

“You mean to tell me that we not only have free tickets but we’re going backstage to meet him?
Tonight?
” Alice shrieks into the phone, on a four-way call during my lunch break. I’m darting into the grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner, anything I can do to keep from having to drag the girls through here after school. Of course the drawback to shopping at lunchtime is I can’t buy anything that might spoil. So today I’m shopping for macaroni, pizza sauce, bread, fruit, granola bars, coffee, and anything else that will keep in my car until I get home.

“You’re lying,” Virginia says.

“Would I lie about something like this?”

“Yes,” they all answer in unison.

A lady pushing her grocery cart out to the car overhears my conversation and shoots me a funny look as I pass by.

Cupping my hand over my mouth, I whisper, “Well, this time I’m not.”

“Thank god you have this new job,” Mary Jule says. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to us.” Mary Jule is, hands down, the most excited of the three about my job. Deep down inside she probably wishes it were hers. None of my friends actually have to work but I know there’s a teeny envious streak in all of them.

“I was just thinking the same thing. Hey, can everyone get a babysitter?” I ask.

“What do you think husbands are for?” Alice says.

“As you know, I never had that luxury with Baker when I was married,” I say, as a gorgeous bunch of white lilies distracts me. “Y’all hold on a second, I need to find out how much these lilies cost.”

“Where are you?” Alice asks.

“Seessel’s. In the flower department. Hold on,” I tell her. “How much are these lilies, please?” I ask a lady who’s arranging yellow roses and baby’s breath in a tall vase.

Virginia says something else, but I’m not really listening.

The lady stops what she’s doing and pushes the lilies aside so she can read a tiny price tag on the bucket. “These lilies are four dollars each, ma’am,” she says.

“Okay, thank you. I’ll probably get some next time,” I say to the lady before rejoining my phone conversation. “Flowers are ridiculous this time of year,” I tell the girls.

“It’s Easter,” Mary Jule reminds me.

“Oh yeah. Wait, Virginia, what did you say a second ago?”

“I said Baker is a
loser
.”

“That is something I’m finally well aware of. Hey, speaking of husbands, do you think John might watch Sarah and Issie tonight? I almost hate to ask Kissie, she’s been spending so much time at my house lately. I’m sure the poor thing could use a break.” John is the most likely husband to keep my children. He does anything and everything Virginia asks.

“If I tell him to he will,” Virginia says, matter-of-factly. “What time does the show start?”

“Eight.”

“Bring the girls over around seven. Wait a second. Why don’t we all go out for a drink before the concert? I’ve heard about this great new place down on South Main. I think it’s called the Cocktail Garnish.” Virginia Murphey has been looking for any excuse to extend the party since we were fifteen, back in the days when we’d steal bourbon out of our parents’ liquor cabinets.

“Woah, woah,
woah
. I’m not sure I can be ready by then,” Mary Jule says. “I haven’t even found an outfit yet. I’ve got to run up to the mall right now. If I can’t find anything, I can’t go.” Mary Jule is not kidding when she says this. Her entire closet is full of clothes she’s only worn once. She can tell you to what special occasion she wore each outfit, but rarely will it see the light of day twice. I keep telling her that eBay should be her new best friend but so far she’s never taken me up on my advice.

“And I’ve got to find a pedicure appointment or I can’t go, either,” Alice says.

“What? Who’s going to see your toes? It’s freezing outside,” I say. “Wouldn’t you know it? I’ve been waiting for warm weather since last August in Vermont and Memphis gets a record cold snap.”

“Well, at the very least I have to get my nails done,” Alice says.

“I got mine done yesterday, thank goodness. What are you wearing, Fiery?” Virginia asks.

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe jeans or this new dress I have on. I bought it last night because even if all I got to do was catch a glimpse of Liam White I figured I better look cute. It’s adorable.”

“I was gonna wear jeans and a long top—to cover my gigantic stomach,” Virginia says. “What do you think?”

“You don’t have a gigantic stomach,” we all say.

“Everyone gets a big stomach after babies. Everyone but Fiery,” Virginia says.

If I’ve heard that once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. “Virginia, I told you why my stomach isn’t big. It’s from all those years of ballet.” Mama had me in ballet shoes before I knew my ABCs.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Virginia responds.

“I do not have time to listen to this,” Alice says. “I’m hanging up so I can find someone to do my toes.”

“Wait, Alice,” I say. “I’m thinking of wearing jeans, too. What do you think?”

“Absolutely not,” she says. “Wear the dress. It will look like you came straight from work and didn’t take the time to dress up for him. Play it cool.”

“Maybe he’s single,” Virginia says. “Do you know?”

“No idea.”

“Did he have on a wedding ring?” Mary Jule asks.

“I never looked for that.”

“You have lost your edge, Leelee Satterfield. Where’s your Kravitz spirit?” Virginia says.

“I’ll Google him and see what I can find out,” Alice adds.

“Google him and find out? Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? I highly doubt the guy has any ideas about me other than a random act of kindness.”

“Whatever,” Virginia says. “Just refuse a date with a rock star if it makes you happy.”

“That is completely ridiculous. I have to get back to work now. See y’all tonight.”

*   *   *

Six hours and eleven wardrobe changes later, four peach daiquiris, one pedicure, two manicures, and an incident with a curling iron on the fritz, the girls and I pull up to the Orpheum Theatre, where there’s a long line into the parking lot across the street. We take a chance on a garage a little farther down on Beale and luckily someone’s pulling out of a spot on the first floor—a “lucky Jimmy” Daddy used to call it. He claimed the good parking spots waited on him and that he never had to walk more than a few feet to where he was going. When I asked him who Jimmy was and why he was lucky, he told me about his lucky college roommate, Jimmy, who kissed more pretty girls than any other boy at Ole Miss.

This unseasonably cold weather is wreaking havoc on my Southern soul. Having endured Vermont’s glacial conditions for fourteen long months, only to come home to spring temperatures under the fifty-degree mark is disheartening to say the least. As we hustle down Beale Street to the theater, huddling next to each other for warmth, the wind off the Mississippi rips through our hair. I try tucking my long curly locks inside my jacket but it’s no use. My hairdo has already been blown to hell in a handbasket.