Yankee Doodle Dixie (30 page)

“Okay, sounds good.” He balances his guitar against the side of the couch, grasps the menu and stands, looking out the window. As he’s walking toward the telephone on the desk, the sound of his cell phone stops him. I watch as he takes it out of his pocket and glances at the number before answering. “Hey man,” he says. “Now? Damn. I’ll be right there.”

“Hey babe, I’ve got to run down to Deke’s room for a minute. Why don’t you call in our order? I like my steak medium rare. And will you ask for another bottle of this cab while you’ve got them on the phone?” He picks the wine off the bar. “Oh, and one more thing, order about four shrimp cocktails. I’m starving,” he says, with a forced smile and then he’s out the door.

After calling in our room service order I change my mind and decide to go on back to my room to freshen up, especially now that he’s down with Deke. Before leaving I scribble out a note in case Liam beats me back. I grab the room key, resting on the desk, and dash out the door. In my room I change out of my summery blouse and dab perfume on the deep grooves in my collarbone and alongside the veins on my wrists. I decide not to change into dressier pants; but keep on my weathered, form-fitting jeans. I throw on a white T-shirt and top it with a delicate pink cardigan with soft pearl buttons and three-quarter-length sleeves. I find mascara in the bathroom and reapply my gloss—but leave the rest of my face nude.

When I return, fifteen minutes later, Liam’s still not back. I can see the sun beginning to set; later now that the daylight stretches into the eight o’clock hour. Allured, I go and stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, where just last night I let myself be kissed by this mystery rock star. And kissed him back, too. I feel giddy and guilty at the same time. I worry what Kissie would think of me. Because Kissie is my parent. Always has been. She was the one who made sure I got a bath. Made sure I had a hot meal. Made sure my clothes were pressed and my sheets were changed. Even though my mother had everything money could buy, Kissie never once acted jealous or envious. Before I knew better, I asked her if she wished she lived in a bigger house or drove a nicer car like Mama. Anytime I’d ask her a question like that she’d say, “The Lawd tells me to be grateful for everythin’ he gives me. Bible says, it’s much easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than a rich man to get to heaven. That’s because the rich man don’t know his need for Jesus. He thinks he can do it all on his own cuz he’s got so much money. He don’t think he needs the Lawd. But I sure need Him.”

Kissie somehow managed to pass along to me her values. Despite my parents’ racist attitudes, despite the racial unrest still prevalent in the South, I don’t see myself as prejudiced. And that’s all because of Kissie. She’d say it’s because of Jesus, but I say it’s because of her.

Settling onto the couch, I notice his guitar and pick it up. The doorbell startles me and I lay it down quickly, in case it’s him. After sprinting to the door, I’m disappointed when I open it. It’s only the room service man. He wheels in a cart donned with a white tablecloth, heads straight for the round table in front of the windows, and transfers all the food. As he’s leaving he asks for my signature.

“Thank you, Mrs. White,” he says, and I don’t correct him. It feels lovely to be called “Mrs.” again. As soon as the door closes, I peek under the pewter dish covers and the smell of the sizzling hot steaks with béarnaise sauce folded over the top makes my weak stomach growl all the more. I have to force myself to wait for Liam.

Fifteen more minutes go by and he’s still not back. I dial his cell phone but it goes straight to voice mail.

After a full thirty minutes have passed I call Deke’s cell phone. He doesn’t pick up so I dial the hotel operator to be connected to his room and he answers on the first ring. “Hi Deke, it’s Leelee,” I say.

“Hi.”

“Would you please let Liam know that his food is here? I’d hate for it to get cold.”

When Deke tells me that Liam had to go down to the front desk to take care of some business, it seems a little odd, I mean isn’t that what Deke is for? Liam asks him to do everything else.

After a full hour, and no Liam I go ahead and sit down at the table. The quiet in the room is only interrupted by the sound of my knife as I set it down on the plate after each bite. I try and savor each piece of steak (by now, as Daddy would say, it’s ice cold). But my shock at being left alone is quickly turning to offense—I feel like I’m giving this man a whole lot of second chances for only having known him a few weeks. My fantasy is fading and the dashing prince from last night’s ball is not the nobleman I hoped him to be. As I chew the filet and watch the city slowly come alive for the night, I ponder leaving. Surely, there’s a red-eye flight home to Memphis. And even if there’s not, I’d rather sit in the airport all night than stay here any longer feeling abandoned and dejected.

I’ve nearly convinced myself to leave and take a cab to LaGuardia when the doorbell rings again. This time I take my time walking to the door. I look through the peephole at Liam with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I slowly open the door to a man with a sullen look on his face. He’s been gone nearly two hours.

“Sorry, forgot my key. I bet you’re ready to kill me,” he says, and strolls inside.

“I
am
wondering where you’ve been. Is everything all right?” Why can’t I just act curt? Alice would have no problem putting on her bitch. She tells Richard exactly where he should go. She’ll stare him down and relegate him to the laundry room for the rest of the night for washing and folding.

“Deke and I got into some serious business. He had to switch our hotels in Reno and needed my okay. Plus Sue, my keyboard player, can’t finish the tour so I’ve had to hire another player. Sue’s out in a week and a half and another guy, Steve, is in. We had a lot to rap about.”

Calmly I say, “Huh. I called Deke when our food came and he said you had to go downstairs to take care of business at the front desk.”

“Yeah,” he says, not missing a beat, “that and I had to go to Sue’s room. She’s having a hard time with it all.” He walks over to the bar.

“With what all?” I say, sitting on the end of the couch. My knee accidentally hits his guitar but I manage to catch it before it tumbles to the ground.

“Leaving the tour,” he says, and returns with two wineglasses.

“Why is she leaving?”

“Family issues. She has to come off the road for a while. She’ll be back though.”

“I wish you had called to—”

He cuts me off, having spotted our dinner on the table with my plate half eaten. “You ate without me? How was it?” He hands me a wineglass, which I put down on the coffee table.

“Pretty good,” I say, before adding, “I waited too long to eat, though, and it got a little cold.”

“Why didn’t you order another one?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think to do that.”

Liam sends his back without hesitation.

Within fifteen minutes his cold food has been picked up and a brand new filet is redelivered, and I’m sitting at the table next to him while he munches on a hot, sizzling steak. When he’s done, and two of the four shrimp cocktails are left on the table untouched, I can’t help but think about the terrible waste of food and money. He gives no thought whatsoever to overordering or reordering for that matter. Maybe Kissie’s got a point about that camel and the eye of the needle.

After shoving his plate off to the side, he reaches across the table and takes my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. “I can’t get over how pretty you are,” he says. By the tone of his husky voice and his enticing smile I can tell what’s on his mind. “Tell me more about you, Leelee Satterfield.”

Two days ago, those words would have turned me upside down but tonight I’m no longer enthralled by his flattery. And I’m not really all that excited about holding his hand, either. His mystique, the wonder of his world has faded and if I’m honest with myself, I’m no longer captivated by what’s inside that world. “What else would you like to know about me,
Liam White
?”

“Tell me something that not many people know about,” he says, seductively squinting his eyes.

“Let’s see, I hate turnips,” I say, lifting my eyebrows and knowing full well that’s not what he’s after.

“That’s not the kind of info I had in mind,” he says, with a wink.

“Okay, how about this? I’m a great breakfast cook.”

“How great?” Now he’s caressing my hand.

“Pretty great.” I nod and smile. “Peter taught me how to make maple cider French toast when I was in Vermont.”

He rolls his eyes and retracts his hand. “Your sort-of boyfriend taught you to cook?”

“No,” I say indignantly. “I
knew
how—but only the basics … I don’t want to talk about Peter.”

“You brought him up,” he retorts.

“That’s only because…” What I want to say is I brought him up in context of the question. My subconscious brought him up, actually. Because he is lovely. He is respectful. He is kind and I know for 100 percent certain that he never would have done the things to me that you have done in the last twenty-four hours. In nine months he never once tried luring me to his bedroom.
There’s something I want to know about me, too. Why am I taking all this? Why am I allowing another man to treat me disrespectfully? What is it about me, or my past, that allows this to happen?

When it gets right down to it, it’s obvious. I just couldn’t see it before. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve put up with it because he’s Liam White, rock star. Fame is the perfect trap, its insidious flame luring those unfamiliar with its powerful grip right into the threads of its silky smooth web. He’s told me how pretty I am, he’s bought me gifts, he’s flown me first class on a fabulous trip to New York. And to make matters even worse, everyone thinks I’m sharing his room. Every single thing Kissie predicted has come true. Right down to his honeysuckle tongue. How did she know? And more importantly, why didn’t I listen?

I get up from the table, pick up my purse, which is on the floor in front of the sofa, and head toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he says, from his seat near the window. I watch him take another sip of his wine and put the glass back down on the table.

“To my room,” I say, and open the door.

“To do what?”

“Pack.”

He looks down into his wineglass. “When are you coming back?”

“I’m not,” I say, and let the door close behind me.

*   *   *

As I’m heading out of the hotel, wheeling my suitcase behind me, I see a man standing at the curb. From behind he looks familiar and when I stop to ask the doorman for a taxi to LaGuardia, I see his face.

“Phil!” I say, and step toward him. “How are you tonight?”

He whips his head around and smiles when he sees me. “Hi, Leelee.” I see him notice my suitcase. “You’re not leaving, are you?” he says, with a puzzled furrow in his brow.

“Yes. I’ve got to get home.”

“Is everything okay?”

I nod my head. “Everything is just fine.” I pause before speaking again, remembering his words to me earlier in the day. “But … I sure would love to know something before I leave.”

He tilts his head to the side, inquisitively.

“When we were out at the pool today, what was it that you started to tell me about Liam? About the way you two see things differently?”

Hesitating, he presses his lips together. I can tell he wishes he’d never said anything by the way he falters.

“Please tell me, I need to know,” I say.

Phil stares at the pavement and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Finally he looks into my eyes. “You know, I think it’s pretty simple when it boils down to it. Something happens to certain people when they become famous. Everywhere they go, they have folks falling all over them. No one ever tells them no. Everybody wants to be their friend. It’s sad, actually. I’ve been in this business a long time, worked for quite a few celebrities and have only met a handful who are normal and don’t buy into their own bullshit. After a while they start to believe their own PR. It’s not really their fault, the world places them high on a pedestal and hands them a life free of accountability. It’s the ugly side of showbiz, darlin’.”

The evening air is chilly and the wind is blowing my hair all around my face. I can’t help but draw my arms close to my chest. Phil moves nearer to block the wind. “White and I are different when it comes to women.” He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a respect thing.” He drops his voice to a step above a whisper. “Why do you think he’s never been married?”

The cab pulls up to the curb and the doorman loads my bag into the trunk. I reach into my purse for a tip, pondering his words.

“Maybe I’ve gone too far, Leelee. This is really none of my business,” he says, “but you seem like a classy lady.”

I sigh and close my eyes for a brief moment. The doorman opens the back door of the cab and motions for me to step inside. “You haven’t gone too far. You actually saved me from going too far. I appreciate your honesty,” I say, before taking my seat in the cab. “Liam White should take a life lesson from you.”

When the doorman shuts my door, I wave at Phil from the window before the cabbie edges onto Columbus Circle.

*   *   *

As I’m walking to my gate, I happen to notice a crowd of people waiting to board a flight to Albany, New York. When I spy most of them bundled up in winter coats I can’t help but wonder if any of the passengers will be driving on to Vermont. Albany is the closest airport to anywhere in southern Vermont. Albany is only two hours away from Peter.

I pull my cell phone out of my purse to check the time. It’s nine o’clock. It dawns on me that by the time I rent a car at the Albany airport I could be there by midnight. I’ll appear at his door and he’ll scream my name. He’ll take me in his arms and twirl me around, telling me how much he misses me and that he thinks about me as much as I think about him.

The longer I stare at the word “Albany” above the gate agent’s head, the more I convince myself to do it. I reason that I can still be back to work by Monday. Even if I just spend twelve hours with Peter, I’m sure he’ll want to start his life over, move to Memphis and find a chef’s position. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be able to find a good one. With all the people I know in Memphis, it shouldn’t be a problem at all. I’m completely convinced of it. So much so that I run up to the lady at the ticket counter only minutes before the plane is due to leave. “Can you fit one more on that plane?” I ask, frantic to get inside.