Talk of the Town (41 page)
“I think he understands very well.”
“Butch should not frighten Am-beer with this foolishness. She is, after all, such a fragile lee-tle thing. Like the fish.” Her gaze drifted toward the bathroom, and she smiled slightly. “Sometimes a quick departure is . . . merciful, no? But this . . . this conversation Butch speaks of was only idle talk. Butch should not be troublingk you with such . . . foolishness.”
“He was trying to do the right thing.”
A concept you would know nothing about.
“I imagine he thought I should know I was being set up.”
“Man-dee-laaay,” Ursula admonished, looping an arm around the full-body Elvis pillow. Her elbow compressed the neck so that the head bulged forward—no doubt illustrating what she planned to do to me. “You must not listen to a silly boy. Why wouldt I bring Butch back to hizz job to find Am-beer, if not to save this segment . . . for you.”
Hmmm . . . let me think. . . .
“Maybe so that Butch would tell Amber about her imminent exit from the show and she would bail on her own? How’s that for a scenario? That would save you from taking the risk of manipulating viewer votes, wouldn’t it?”
The lazy sweep of her gaze stopped, shot back to me. “I have no control of viewer votes. You know this, of course.”
“But Dysterco does. Convenient that you’re sleeping with the president of the company, isn’t it?”
Bingo
. I’d struck a nerve there. Ursula sat up, bent Elvis in half, and fired a visual laser bolt at me.
“I could have you terminatedt for such talk.”
“Go ahead.” Hopefully, she only meant terminated from my job. What were the odds that Ursula had connections with the Swedish mafia? “But I’ll tell you what’s going to happen first.” No point stopping now. Might as well go all the way. If I was headed down in flames, I was going to take as many of Ursula’s plans with me as I could. “I’m finishing Amber’s segment, and it will be good. I have the crew at a secluded location, and you won’t be contacting them. We’re filming Amber’s welcome home concert tonight, and I’m not telling you where. When the show airs, you will not, I repeat not, in any way manipulate the viewer votes. You know, and I know, that Amber has talent, and she has public interest. With a good hometown segment, she’s got every chance of making it to the Final Showdown. Ultimately, Cal Preston has the greater fan base, so in the end he probably comes out on top, but either way, it’ll be fair, and having made the final two, Amber will have offers from other labels.”
Like Higher Ground
. It occurred to me that by doing this, I could be giving Carter Woods exactly what he wanted—what he’d scammed me for.
One troll at a time, Mandalay. Knock out the big one first, cross the bridge, then worry about the rest.
Ursula swung her legs lazily over the edge of the bed, dropped Elvis, stood up, and towered to her full five-foot-eleven-inch height. She smiled. Murderously. “And how, lee-tle fish, do you expect to accomplish this thing?” Pinching her thumb and forefinger together, she held her hand in the air, recreating the motion she must have used just before flushing the goldfish. My goldfish.
I’d never come so close to contemplating murder in my life. I pictured the scene, like something from a horror movie. Vampira, the evil, blood-sucking boss, taken out by a stake through the heart.
“Watch me,” I said. “If I see any, I mean any, indication over the next few weeks that the viewer tabs have been tampered with, I’ll go public. I’ll blow the whistle so loud you’ll be able to hear it all the way to the FCC and the federal courthouse. I don’t care how well you and Dysterco think you’ve covered it up; between my testimony and Butch’s, we’ll get attention. The last time I checked, fraud was a crime.”
Ursula scoffed, took a few steps in my direction, then stopped, seemingly to investigate a
Birthplace of Elvis
platter on the wall. “You will never prove anythingk.” But there was a little tic in her cheek that indicated otherwise. She knew that if Butch and I went public, given the notoriety of the show, there would be an in-depth investigation. The media would go wild.
“I won’t have to. The scandal will be enough. It’ll be ‘Quiz Show’ all over again. The studio won’t want the notoriety, and neither will the network.” In an industry where public opinion was everything, public scandal was the kiss of death. If the viewers found out they’d been duped by
American Megastar
, the show would be history.
Ursula’s eyes widened, then narrowed. She was temporarily speechless. Finally, she stammered, “You . . . you vill be ruinedt if you do this thingk. You vill never work in television again.”
“And neither will you.”
Ka-ching. Little fish has the money cards, baby. Read ’em and weep
.
She turned to me, appraising my determination. I was determined, more so than I ever thought I’d be. I was ready to go all the way to the mat. If Ursula wanted a fight, she’d get one. I was through being everyone’s patsy.
Her chest rose and fell with a long breath. She blinked slowly, then again, as if she were seeing me for the first time. Manda Florentino, fire-breathing dragon, the Rocky Balboa of reality TV. I felt larger than life. Later, I would probably second-guess this moment, but right now I was shielded by an armor that even Ursula and her career-killing sword of doom couldn’t penetrate. For the first time in a long time, I was doing the right thing, standing on principle.
It felt . . . exhilarating.
“Mandee-lay.” The word was almost a plea. A plea, from Ursula.
Any minute now, the world would be coming to an end. “Think of what you are doingk. In four weeks, the season will be finished and you vill never see this girl, Am-beer, again. She izz not worth the demise of your career.”
It was my turn to inject the conversation with a rueful laugh. “Wasn’t the demise of my career part of the plan anyway? A little fringe benefit? Amber’s not the only one being set up here.”
“It does not needt to be so.” Ursula dangled a carrot to see if I would bite.
Backing away a step, I opened my purse and took out the skeleton key for the room. “You have my terms. I’m not changing my mind.”
Letting her arms fall open, Ursula lifted her hands, her expression one of utter confusion and complete disbelief. For once, she couldn’t have exactly what she wanted. She couldn’t have me. “Mandee-lay, why will you not hear me? Why wouldt you do this . . . this foolish thing?”
Opening the hallway door, I stepped into the threshold. There was no going back from here. “Because it’s the right thing, Ursula. You should try it sometime.” Slipping through the door, I closed it behind me, then stuck the skeleton key in the lock and turned it. I backed away with the key in hand and hurried down the stairs, leaving Ursula imprisoned in a one-room palace of Elvis memorabilia. The thought was delightfully satisfying.
By the time I reached the bottom landing, Ursula had already started to pound on the door. A mixture of threats and Swedish obscenities echoed along the corridor.
Donetta gave the commotion a look of concern when I passed through the downstairs hallway.
“No matter what she says, don’t let her out.” I pointed up the stairs. “It’s for her own good. For Amber’s good.”
Donetta took in the racket with an unconcerned flutter of false eyelashes. “I was just closin’ up for the evenin’. I don’t hear a thing, hon.” Her deep red lips curled upward into two circles of blusher.
“Good,” I said, starting toward the beauty shop with her. “I need your help. We’ve got a concert to put on.”
The dumbwaiter moaned as we passed by. A chill ran up my spine, followed by a palpable sense of satisfaction. I hoped the ghost of the Daily Hair and Body was preparing for a very active night.
When the town of Daily, Texas, sets its mind to something (good Lord willin’ and the creeks don’t rise), it’ll happen. We wanted to put together a welcome home concert Amber’d always remember, and by golly, we did. The ladies got the funeral casseroles, coffee cakes, and banana breads out of their deep freezes. Bob kicked all those reporters out of the café, closed it down, and set to work frying all the chicken nuggets he could, with only two hours’ notice. Harlan and Ervin borrowed tables and chairs from the fellowship hall at the Baptist church. Doyle and Frank helped Miss Lulu dig out the two big canopy tents she uses every year for the Fourth of July party at Boggy Bend. Betty Prine (if you can believe it) and her literary society even brought over fresh flowers, table linens, and some fancy French hors d’oeuvres and crumpets they had left over from their First Tuesday Tea. Even though her house is right across the street from the jail, Betty didn’t say one word to the press about the plans for Amber’s welcome home concert. She was mad at those reporters because they parked on her lawn and ran over her hydrangea bush.
It’s not easy getting dozens of casseroles and a whole community of people out of town right under the noses of a bunch of nosy reporters, but Daily folks are resourceful. People snuck out of town a few at a time while Forrest and Buddy Ray kept the press milling at the jailhouse. They told the reporters there’d be a big news announcement from Justin Shay’s lawyer at eight that evening, which was thirty minutes after Amber’s secret concert was supposed to start out at Harve’s Chapel. At seven forty-five, Forrest and Buddy Ray dressed the prisoner up in a deputy’s uniform, and the three of them left out the back door, pretending to be headed off on patrol. I imagine those reporters had a long night before they figured out Justin Shay’s lawyer wasn’t even in town and the jail was empty.
In the meantime, the Dailyians gathered for the biggest party we’d seen since the highway department put a historical marker out at Boggy Bend. There wasn’t enough room for everyone in the little church building, but nobody seemed to care. Folks set up their lawn chairs and blankets on the grass outside, Brother Harve threw open all the doors and windows, and Caney Creek saw the biggest choir practice it’d ever had. The music of the gospel band and the choir and Amber’s clear, sweet voice lifted into the night and covered us all with a sheen of glory.
In all my life, I never did see a girl look happier than Amber was right then. Her tiff with Amanda-Lee was over. She had her brothers watching her from the front row and that cute little Butch giving her a shiny smile and all the filming crew looking pleased, despite the tight quarters. Amber even coaxed old Verl up onto the stage, and the two of them performed a rendition of “Danny Boy,” an old song Verl comforted the kids with when they were little. I never even knew Verl could sing, but listening to the two of them, I could see where Amber got her voice. Verl sure must have felt good when that crowd of folks, who’d always thought he was nothing, stood up in their seats, clapping and wiping their eyes. I almost couldn’t take it all in, but it brought to mind that verse about the least being the greatest and the greatest being the least. Verl was humble, even when the crowd went wild with applause. He just blushed and waved off the attention and went back to his spot on the front row. I couldn’t help thinking he sat a little straighter after that, and beside him, Andy, Amos, and Avery looked proud of their grandpa. It was a far sight from the times he’d staggered down the bleachers at the football games, that was for sure.
Halfway through the concert, the spiky-haired reporter—the one who’d been the very first to arrive in Daily—showed up with her cameraman. Amanda-Lee gave a worried look as the lady squeezed her way in the back door. Doyle got up and offered his seat, and wonder of wonders, that reporter just sat down real nice to watch the show. I guess even she could see the night was magic all on its own.
Amanda-Lee relaxed, but she still seemed down-in-the-mouth. In fact, she was the only one in the room who didn’t look happy. I knew why, of course. She was thinking about Carter. I sure wished we could have located him and got those two kids together to talk things out, but during the commotion of everyone preparing for the concert, he disappeared. Donetta called the phone number he listed when he rented the hotel room, but no one answered, so she left a voice mail, inviting him to the concert. She made sure to add that Amanda-Lee would be there. All during the preparations and the concert, Donetta and me hoped Carter would get the message, turn around, and head back to Daily. If we could get him and Amanda-Lee together, I was sure the magic of the night and that big old Texas moon would do the rest. Sometimes situations look different in a softer light. There was many a time Jack and me got in a wrangle over things that turned out to be mostly a misunderstanding. I tried to tell that to Amanda-Lee and suggest that she could get Carter’s phone number from Donetta, but she wasn’t in the mood to listen. She said it didn’t matter and she had work to do, but thanks for the offer. Then she went on watching the concert and looking sad.
As Amber finished her last song and left the stage, Donetta and me stood outside the church, feeling plain bushed. Folks gathered around to congratulate Amber and visited with one another on the lawn and filed to the food tent.
