Talk of the Town (24 page)

I glanced out the side of the car, toward the gorilla and the fish, waiting on the loading dock with various backpacks and other bulky belongings.

“Hang on,” Carter said, as the car clicked forward.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” We climbed the first hill slowly, and I once again had a view of the entire fairgrounds. The lights, the stars overhead, the heavy full moon lifting on the horizon combined to create an instant of peaceful perfection. I turned to Carter and saw a reflection of my emotions, but then the front car topped the hill and the rest was a blur. I screamed like a banshee. Sometime during the ride, Carter convinced me to let go of the safety bar, and I floated above the seat, laughing and screaming at the same time, exhilarated and terrified, completely alive in the moment.

When the roller coaster returned to the platform, I sat in the car, feeling lightheaded and floaty, like my body was still moving, even though we’d come to a stop. The safety bar lifted and I stood up, then fell clumsily back into the seat, laughing and trying to catch my breath.

Stepping onto the loading dock, Carter reached for me. I slipped my hand into his and staggered onto the dock, a dizzy Cinderella.

“Ready to take another spin?” His fingers squeezed mine just before he let go, and I felt it all the way to my toes. I wanted to ride the roller coaster with him again, but I knew it wasn’t a good idea. I was already feeling wild and giddy, like a high school girl on a first date.

I tried to clear my mind as we wandered toward the railing where the gorilla and the fish waited patiently. “I’d better get back to the hotel,” I said, the proverbial wet blanket. I picked up my fish, and the bag felt cold against the warm places his fingers had touched. “This was fun, though. I needed a little downtime.” I motioned over my shoulder toward the roller coaster. “Or up and down time. That was great. I can’t remember when I’ve laughed like that.” Sadly enough, that was true. The realization settled over me like a lead cloak. There was a disconnect in my life lately—a growing chasm between the things I enjoyed and the things I did each day. I missed being with the local station, producing
Good Day LA
, effortlessly mixing cooking and fashion with the latest health and fitness news, segments promoting worthy charities, and human interest pieces showing the lives of people trying, in their own little ways, to make the world a better place.

Maybe reality TV wasn’t for me. The chewing up and spitting out of hopes and dreams was good for ratings but hard on the soul. Maybe all those years of Episcopal school had more effect on me than I’d thought. Deep inside, a part of me felt a growing sense of restlessness, of unfulfillment, a nagging worry that maybe, just maybe, the God I’d visited in my stiff Mary Janes and itchy Sunday sweaters expected me to do something . . .
more
with my life.

Beside me, Carter sighed, as if my melancholy mood was rubbing off as we strolled along the midway. “This was good, tonight. Sometimes you just need to get away for a while, you know?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, reminded of the things Imagene had told me about Carter. “I heard that you’re taking care of your brother while he’s going through cancer treatments. That has to be hard.”

He quirked a brow at me, surprised, I guess, that I’d been investigating him.

“Imagene mentioned it when I saw her in the restroom. She was glad you were out here having fun, I think.”

His lips parted in a silent
ah
. “Word gets around in a small, small town.” That was a quote from a country song—I couldn’t think of which one, but a contestant had performed it on the show sometime this season. We’d had a tough time getting in touch with the songwriter to secure all the necessary permissions.

I nodded in agreement. “That must take an incredible load off while he’s going through treatment. A solid support system is a big part of recovery.” The last bit sounded like TV drivel from some onair medical expert, which it was. It struck me that I’d so often stood just off set, watching cancer victims and families pour out their hearts and experiences. I’d never once put myself in their shoes. My family was healthy. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to have one of my sisters or my brother going through that.”

Carter nodded, still looking away. “You don’t know it until it happens. Then you deal the best way you can. I wanted to be the one to give bone marrow to Chris, but I wasn’t a match, so I couldn’t. I could come back home and keep his business going, make sure the bills get paid. I’m no sound and lighting systems engineer, but I can do the legwork for him—go out and look at the sites, get copies of the blueprints, talk to the customers. Chris does the design work from home or from the hospital. It keeps his mind off things.” He chuckled as we walked past the giant metal cowboy and the Kiddie Korral, which was dark now. “He’s pretty determined not to let this slow him down. Two weeks ago, he was doing the schematics for a new church building in Austin while they were starting a drip to get him ready for the bone marrow transplant.”

“Schematics for a new church building in Austin.”
Suddenly, Carter’s presence in Daily made sense. The pad for a new building had been cleared behind the Caney Creek Church. I felt an inordinate sense of relief, knowing there was a logical reason for his presence here, and that reason didn’t have anything to do with
American Megastar
or Amber. “So is your brother going to do the sound and lighting for the little church out on Caney Creek?” He took his attention from the metal cowboy long enough to give me aquizzical sideways look, and I added, “I passed by there the other day. It looked like they were clearing land for a new building.”

He eyed me a moment longer, then switched the gorilla to his other arm, shrugged, and said, “We’ll see. They’re quite a ways from being ready. Hopefully Chris will be back on his feet by then.”

And you’ll be where?
Where would Carter be once his brother was well? What was his life like before? What would it be like after? “Then what’s next for you once your brother’s back on his feet?”

“We’ll see.” He shrugged, and the gorilla moved up and down. “This past year, I’ve learned to just take life as it comes. You never know what’s around the corner.” He smiled at me as we exited the fairgrounds gate. “See you at the hotel.” Walking backward a few steps, he lifted the gorilla’s shaggy blue paw and waved good-bye. I laughed and strolled on to my car. I had the feeling he was watching me. I wanted to turn around and look, but I didn’t.

We left the fairgrounds in a stream of departing vehicles. All the way to town, I found myself checking the rearview mirror, trying to decide which set of headlights was Carter’s. By the time I’d parked in the alley behind the hotel and killed the engine, he was pulling in. Remembering my entrance into the darkened corridor the night before, I was glad.

He stopped beside my car and leaned out the window. “I’m headed to the Buy-n-Bye for a soda. Can I bring you anything?”

A quick pang of disappointment registered somewhere in the rebellious part of me that had been picturing us raiding the café again tonight. “No, but thanks.”
Remind him that you have to work tonight, Mandalay. As a matter of fact, remind yourself. No Batman and Robin adventures around the hotel this evening.

He waited to see if I’d change my mind, then pulled back inside the window. “Slide your computer cable under the door. I’ll plug it in as soon as I get back.”

“All right.” Grabbing my purse, the fish, and my laptop case, I got out of the car. He waited, shining his headlights on the entrance while I fumbled for my hotel key and opened the door. Slipping inside the hotel as Carter drove away, I hiked my laptop onto my shoulder, then hurried past the moaning dumbwaiter and the closet full of Styrofoam heads, made a quick grab at the fresh cookies on the antique buffet, and rushed up the stairs. The hallway smelled of new paint, but within the realm of Suite Beulahland, the scent was still a mixture of aging plastic and flowery perfume like my grandmother wore.

I stood just inside the doorway, taking in the place—what I could see of it with the light from the hall—with a renewed sense of awe. In the morning when there was plenty of sunlight, I needed to snap some pictures of the room to show Paula. She, of all people, would appreciate the thematic collection of oddities in this place. She would find some deeper meaning in it.

I propped the door open and then tried calling her, balancing the cell phone on my shoulder as I transferred the fish to an empty water glass in the bathroom, then carried him to the bedside table, where he could enjoy Elvis from several angles. Unpacking my laptop, I slid the cord under the door.

Paula’s home line rang unanswered, and her cell rolled over to voice mail, which probably meant she’d gone on one of her many online-arranged dates.

By the time I’d changed into my sweats, I heard Carter jogging up the stairs. A few moments later my light came on and he pulled the laptop cord taut under the door, leaving the computer tethered in the alcove between the rooms. Carter knocked three times, and I knocked back. Sitting on the floor with the computer on my legs, I listened as he moved around his room, then grabbed something from the bathroom across the hall and went downstairs. I resisted the urge to shuck the laptop and follow.

Waiting for the old-fashioned dial-up connection was arduous.

By the time my email window opened, I’d closed my eyes and let my mind drift back to the fair. I was on the Ferris wheel, sailing over the top, falling off the edge of the world in slow motion.

“Hang on, here comes the good part. . . .”

“What kind of a friend would I be if I let you miss out on the fun. . . .”

A long, slow sigh passed my lips, and I laughed to myself. Then the email server beckoned, and I felt guilty. David was at home working and I was in Texas doing . . . what exactly?

I checked for David’s name in my inbox. Nothing tonight. No doubt, he was busy catching up from his trip. On the way home, he had probably gone to the marina to check on the boat. Without regular together time, the boat became lonely.

Ursula was waiting in my inbox, along with flight schedules from our travel planner, questions from three different production assistants, an email from Rodney, who was planning to switch assignments so he could be my crew chief, and a whine from the wardrobe mistress, who hadn’t been able to find Amber for her fitting today. Fortunately, as skinny as Amber was, she looked good in practically anything.

I put out a flurry of emails, answering questions, disseminating plans and travel schedules, and emailing driving directions to the crew. When that was finished, I took a deep breath and plunged into three messages from Ursula—one with useful information about the schedule for next week’s show and two reminders that bad things would happen to me if the Justin Shay/Shokahna fiasco escalated and reflected badly on
American Megastar
. As if I didn’t know that already. Fortunately, after sending the final email, Ursula had headed off on a flight to New York to supervise Cal Preston, her personal choice to be the winner of this season’s contest. At least she’d be occupied with trying to make Cal’s hometown show outshine the rest, and therefore she would be too busy to harass me and my crew this weekend.

I answered her email with a glowing report, telling her how well everything was progressing in Texas and that the groundwork was in place for a smashing reunion show. I left out the details, mostly because in print it would sound ridiculous. When the crew got here and heard about the horse and trailer, they were going to laugh me out of the county.

What if I couldn’t pull if off?

What if, tomorrow, one nosy reporter morphed into many, and this whole project turned into a media circus?

What if the hopes and dreams of Daily and Amber Anderson were crushed beneath the tirelessly marching feet of a juicy scandal and the public’s need to know?

My heart started racing. Setting down the computer, I closed the door and then walked to the window and checked Main Street in both directions. No unusual traffic. No sign of strangers hiding behind trash cans with long-range lenses.

Standing with my chin in my hands and my elbows resting on the window frame, I let my forehead fall against the cool glass and tried to get my thoughts in order. My earlier sense of peaceful euphoria hit bottom with a painful crash that left a big black splatter of reality—something like a Rorschach blot. Make of it what you will.

By the door, the laptop chimed, letting me know an instant message had come up. Probably Ursula, ringing in to threaten me from somewhere high above the central United States.

Pushing away from the window, I returned to the computer, sat down, and clicked the IM window to open it.

Hey, gurl, you OK?
The screen name was Paula’s. I relaxed instantly. A chat with my best girlfriend was just what I needed tonight.

Yeah, fine. How r you?
Apparently, Paula wasn’t on a date tonight. Strange that she hadn’t answered her home phone or her cell.

Kind of wacked. You sitting down? NTTYS.

Need to tell you something? The last time Paula sent me an instant message with
NTTYS
in it, Bernie, the producer who’d mentored us through our college internships, had fallen victim to an aneurism and died right there in the newsroom.

What? You’re scaring me.

Wasn’t going to tell you til you got back. That’s y I didn’t answer the phone
.

TELL ME WHAT?
I sat staring at the cursor, the seconds seeming to stretch on forever as I waited for Paula’s reply. When it came, I stared in disbelief.

Check out profile #21672 on Mydestiny.com.

I growled at the screen.
A date? You scared me to death 4 a date?

Just look, K?

I opened a window, brought up
Mydestiny.com,
and entered the profile number. On dial-up, the search was slow, so I moved back to Paula’s window.
It’s slow. You have a date with this guy?

Just messaged him, anonymously. He asked for my picture.