Sweet Talk Me (23 page)

He stared at her a second. “So basically, I’m a liability.”

She paused. “No, not that exactly.”

“A dark cloud?”

“No. Well, sort of. But that sounds so mean.”

“You ever heard of projection?” he asked her.

“Of course.”

“I think maybe you’re worried about
you
, not Weezie. You’re not stepping out into the sunshine for whatever reason—maybe Dubose or his mother is casting you in the shade. And it’s easier to pick on me and the horrible effects I could have on everyone else’s chances to shine than to look at your own issues. I’m calling bullshit, however. There’s no way that people won’t recognize Weezie’s awesomeness on her own terms. She won’t let that happen.”

True’s already petite chest seemed to cave in a little.

A minute later, they finished the line.

Weezie was waiting for them, her whole body shimmering with joy at being there. “Terence! True!” she said. “This is so great. Only a month to go. I really need to start apartment—”

Harrison waggled his eyebrows to jolt her memory.

It was their secret signal. She clamped her mouth shut. He’d told her they’d discuss it later.
Not
today. If she stayed within the bounds of socially acceptable behavior her entire first semester, he’d buy her a car.

All because when True was upstairs changing outfits, he and Weezie had had quite a productive discussion.

“You know what those socially acceptable boundaries are,” he’d said to her. “I know all about having a stage persona, too. But I leave it there in the concert hall. You’re going to make a great talk show host someday. But one thing you haven’t figured out is that you’re bigger than your work passion. You have family and friends, and they matter even more. If you had to choose between True and being a talk show host, which would you choose?”

“True,” Weezie had said instantly.

“See? And if someone told me to choose between a hit single and Gage, I’d choose Gage.” He’d choose True, too, but he wasn’t going to go there. With Weezie
or
himself.

Weezie seemed to be getting it.

“This means you’re going to save your tell-all interviews for a studio set,” he’d advised her. “When you’re at home or at school, be Weezie, the sister, the friend, the intellectual, the
Star Trek
fan. That girl is a joy to be around. You always made my day brighter when I’d come over and water your mother’s plants all those years ago. Am I making sense to you?”

“Yes. I really,
really
get it.” She’d hugged him to prove her point.

He’d hugged her back. He’d seen it in her eyes—she was soaking it up.

“And to help you remember that your talk show side is only part of who you are,” he’d said, “I’m going to buy a car for Weezie, the friend.”

“Really?”

“As a little girl, you liked the color blue more than anything else. And you constantly showed me the sky because you wanted me to enjoy it along with you.”

“I remember, too.”

“So if True says it’s all right—because we can’t go forgetting she’s your sister and really cares about you—I’m getting you a blue car. And it’s gonna have a personalized plate that says
THING ONE
, because that was my nickname for you back then. Are you on board with that?”

She’d jumped into his arms. “Yessirree, Thing Two!”

Now Thing One—Weezie—was doing her best to appear docile in the large, drafty multipurpose room at Trident Tech, her hands folded in front of her, a not-so-believable Mona Lisa smile on her lips. That girl was dying to walk around the room and play Oprah. Or Kelly. Or Rachael Ray. God bless her for trying just to be Weezie.

True didn’t seem to notice her sister’s subdued attitude. She looked around the room with her left eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. Not all the students looked particularly wholesome. There was the biker chick. A guy who looked a little like Charles Manson. And an older man wearing a
Rugrats
shirt. The usual suspects you’d find at a community college: good people who needed a break, some of whom needed advice about making a positive first impression.

“All right,” Harrison said sweetly, “why don’t we check out all the buildings? And we’ll head on over to the barbecue after that?”

“Fine,” said True. She was barely listening.

Weezie flipped her hair off her shoulders and walked proudly in front of them.

He squeezed True’s elbow. “A little pep from you would go a long way. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ve brought her up right. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s gonna do great.”

“How do you know she will?” True murmured.

“Because the provost has it going on. And that’s Weezie’s nature—to thrive. Why don’t you trust in the universe a little bit more?”

“I did. And it took my parents before their time.”

He sighed inwardly. He couldn’t make True believe anything she didn’t want to. And for all he knew, Weezie would forget everything they’d talked about. All he could do was try to help. The same way he’d tried to help Gage. If they blew him off, then there was nothing he could do.

It was frustrating to see people he cared about suffer. But he’d learned to live with it by packing his bag and leaving.

Nothing like becoming a country music star because you have a God complex and no one else will play along with you. He’d had to create his own little kingdom where he was ruler, and it was working out pretty good. Except for the studio always breathing down his neck. And the total lack of privacy.

And the loneliness.

As the evening progressed, True did all the right things with Weezie: Expressing admiration for the beautiful new library. Wondering along with her if all her teachers were going to be friendly. Reassuring Weezie that no matter what, she’d survive as long as she put her studies first. After they’d explored everywhere they could—including locating the parking lot for students—they headed to the large reception area, where a bunch of serving tables were set up with the smell of hickory-smoked barbecue strong in the air.

“Mmm, that smells good,” he said to the ladies.

Weezie followed him and True to join the line. “I hope they have barbecued tofu.”

Harrison kind of doubted it. But then, wonder of wonders, there was tofu spinach salad for the vegetarians among them.

They found seats across from the buffet at a section of tables decorated with red-and-white-checkered throwaway plastic tablecloths. The centerpieces were made of silk sunflowers stuck into a ribbon-wrapped foam base with a little scarecrow stuck on the side. The decorations were cute but not over-the-top, striking just the right note with parents who’d rather the school spend its money on teacher salaries and student resources anyway.

A disc jockey was setting up. Harrison looked for a dance floor and saw one in a dim corner, a couple of barn-style lanterns glowing overhead.

“It’s not even fall yet,” said Weezie, poking at the centerpiece. “But they know we all want it to be.”

Her enthusiasm made mush out of Harrison’s heart. He shared a glance with True. She felt it, too. Here her sister was so proud and excited to go to college, to figure out her future.

He remembered when he was Weezie’s age—depressed and starving. But he knew he’d been on the right track, too, heartache or no, so it had all been worth it.

“Do you remember feeling the way she does now?” he asked True.

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

He heard a little sadness in her tone. “It’s not too late to do what you want to do. It’s never too late.” He bit into a huge barbecue sandwich loaded with pickles, so he wouldn’t look like a know-it-all.

She pushed some barbecue around her plate and seemed to be thinking of what to say back when another family joined them.

When everyone introduced themselves, no one questioned his Terence Jones persona. Their student was a skinny young man with a farmer’s tan coming from Berkeley County, where he’d been working construction.

“But I want to be a radiological technician,” he told Weezie. “Medicine is a surefire way to stay employed. And I like big machines that can see right through your body.”

“Cool,” said Weezie. “I want to be a talk show host.”

The boy’s mother chuckled. “That’s an interesting job. Not many of those around.”

“You might as well just run off to Hollywood,” the father said. “What’s the point of school?”

“It takes more than natural talent,” Weezie replied. “It takes connections in the business and technical expertise. I can’t get those by waiting tables in Hollywood and waiting for my big break. I need to be in school.”

Damn, Harrison was proud of her. She didn’t get annoyed with the naysayers, and her answer made such good sense. She had what it took. He sensed it, having entered a profession himself where doubters proliferated.

“If anyone can become a talk show host”—True laid her hand over her sister’s—“Weezie can.”

His two girls—he knew he shouldn’t call them that, but he couldn’t help himself—shared a special look, and Harrison, who was a geek at heart, mentally high-fived himself.

As the meal wound down, the disc jockey introduced himself, the lights dimmed, and the music began. “Play That Funky Music” got some of the crowd up on their feet and over to the dance floor. Their tablemates stood and said good-bye—they couldn’t stay. The boy had to get up at four
AM
to go to work on a new road.

After they’d left, Weezie gazed over the room. “I’m glad I’m coming here. I like it, and I don’t care that it’s not New York or Atlanta. I’ll get to those markets someday.”

Markets
. Harrison shared another secret look with True. Weezie had a clear vision of what she wanted to do. It was cute. And impressive.

“Good,” True told her sister. “There’s no need to rush into total independence at one fell swoop. Take it one step at a time. That’s sensible.”

Weezie looked down at her plate. “I really wanted to”—she looked up at Harrison, and he could tell she was fighting a mighty war within herself—“I really wanted to thank you for taking me here tonight. And showing me such support.”

True put her hand on her heart. “Weezie, we love you.” True looked at him. “Harrison believes, just like I do”—
Yes, you’re on the right track
—“that you’re going to succeed at whatever you put your mind to do. I want you to be independent. And if things go well for you this first semester, we can think about letting you get an apartment after Christmas.”

“Really?”

True nodded and smiled, her mouth showing signs of strain but maybe some excitement, too. “I know you said you’d go ahead and rent your own apartment now. But if you could be patient just one semester, I’ll be able to help you with the rent. You’re brave to take on the expense on your own, but wouldn’t it be nice if you could work because you want to, not because you have to? That’s a lot of stress.”

Weezie nodded. “That makes sense. But I’m going to be stressed living with you and Dubose in his mother’s guesthouse. You’re going to be on one long honeymoon. I don’t relish being a third wheel. And you know I don’t even
like
him. That’ll make it worse.”

Harrison wisely said nothing.

“It’s not going to be like that,” True promised her. “I don’t want you ever to feel uncomfortable in your living space. And Dubose won’t want you to feel that way, either.” She grabbed Weezie’s hand again. “Please give him a chance.”

Harrison felt a little guilty for enjoying True’s discomfiture. But not too guilty.

Weezie looked down at the table. “All right,” she muttered, and won points with him for responding within the bounds of socially acceptable behavior. “I see Jamie, one of my friends I want to get an apartment with. I’m going to dance.” She pushed her chair back.

“All right,” True said. “Will you bring her over later to say hello?”

“It’s a guy,” Weezie said.

“A
guy
?” True called after her, then looked at Harrison. “Over my dead body.”

“What do you mean? What if it’s a three- or four-bedroom apartment? It would be nice to have a guy around to change lightbulbs and take out the garbage. Plus, maybe a guy’s presence would fend off would-be intruders.”

True’s expression was so bereft, Harrison took pity on her. He put his hand on the back of her neck. “Hey,” he said, “she’s a Maybank. She’s made of tough stuff.”

“Actually, she’s not a Maybank, at least by blood,” True said quietly. “Mama got pregnant by another man. I don’t know who he was, though.”

“You’re kidding me.”

True shook her head. She wasn’t looking at him—her eyes were on the dance floor. “I found out when I was little. I was eavesdropping on the stairs and heard Mama and Daddy fighting. Not that it matters. We’re sisters, and she was raised to fight, not roll over. Mama and Daddy may have stifled us in many ways, but they did endow us with the sense that we don’t quit when the going gets rough.”

“Exactly.” He caressed her back, and barely even realized it. He’d comfort anyone this way. “She’ll do great.”

He was looking at the dance floor, too. Weezie was having the time of her life dancing with a guy wearing a black-and-white-striped scarf and tight black jeans. His hair was dyed orange. But she was also dancing with a girl dressed in a nondescript dress and comfortable shoes. She appeared not to have a lot of money to spend on fashion. Or maybe she just didn’t care.

“Look at her,” he murmured. The kids were all laughing together. “She’s holding her own.”

“Yes,” True said.

“I hope knowing your mother’s secret wasn’t a big burden on you all these years.”

She sighed. “No, not really. But it did make me somewhat afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of being bad. Rebelling. Daddy was so very sad and upset…”

“But that was between them,” he said. “It shouldn’t affect your choices.”

“I know. But there was Honey, too, punished her whole life for being herself.”

“She still managed to have a heckuva good time. She didn’t let it bother her. Maybe you care too much what other people think.” He sat quietly a few seconds and hoped his point sank in. “Will you ever tell Weezie about her origins?”