Time and Chance (18 page)

After we toasted Berry
put his arm around Peggy's neck and murmured in her ear, not so hushed, “Let's
go get that dinner I promised you. Know what I mean?”

Peggy paused, looked
at me, then said with excitement, “Oh goodie, the White Oaks, sounds great, I
feel like a celebration. Let's all go. You too Joe.”

Joe closed his eyes
like Bella Lagosi dying.

Berry frowned, “These
guys have other….”

“Oh phooey, I insist,”
Peggy stood.

What can you say.

* * *

At the White Oaks
Country Club entrance (Peggy had suggested that we all drive over together in
Berry's Humvee), Joe got to the entrance first and held open the door.

Berry, with his hand
in the small of Peggy's back, ushered her in.

I stepped in past Joe,
behind Berry.

I felt a rush of wind
and heard Joe say something nasty to the back of my head.

Ignoring him, we
entered the exclusive Country Club's (I had been here a couple times with Lamar
Frazer) lobby. Hadn't changed—oak paneling, green carpeting, six feet armored
knight in a corner (minus the knight), thick wooden chairs, huge crystal
chandelier, large oil paintings of red-capped fox hunters on chestnut steeds.

 
Moving to the maître'd's stand, Berry’s
disappointment that Joe and I were there embarrassingly evident, greeted by red
bow-tied Andy, Berry told him he would be four.

Entering the dining
room, Berry began sprinkling his new weather personality around to the many
dining room guests.

Watching him, Joe
allowed a whisper to me, “This sucks.”

I almost felt sorry
for Joe.

Berry finished with
introductions, Andy seated us at a small table in a corner that had been
hastily set up for four people instead of two. I sat opposite Peggy and Berry
sat opposite Joe. I noted we were in the elegant Andrew Jackson Room. More
large oil paintings of fox hunters, red tapestry-covered walls, green
tablecloth, matching napkins, crystal water glasses, wine goblets, gold-rimmed
maroon plates, gold flatware. A flickering centerpiece candle floated in a
little silver wishing well.

A waiter, looking like
he ate a lot of quiche, came to the table, introduced himself as Roland, and
read off a list of specials.

Berry then took
charge: “Roland, this is a celebration, bottle of Dom Perignon.” He pointed to
Peggy. “This sweet pea you're going to see a lot more of in this town. Peggy
Moore, the new TV12 weather gal.”

“Hi Ms. Moore,
congratulations, love your nails.” Roland said, lit our centerpiece candle, and
left.

Time passing, enjoying
my Dom, amid Berry's talk on how we were on the cutting edge, outside the box,
I felt something under my left pant leg's cuff. I looked at Peggy. Her eyes
sparkled and the something moved further up my leg.

For appetizers, Berry
ordered escargot. Peggy chose a shrimp cocktail. I had a half dozen Oysters
Rockefeller and Joe asked Roland if they had any goose liver.

Roland’s eye brows
raised, “That would be foie gras, yes we do.”

Joe said, “Some Ritz
crackers too and a glass of Cold Duck.”

After the appetizer,
dishes cleared, the Dom finished, Berry ordered a bottle of red and a bottle of
white (Roland recommended a French Beaujolais and a domestic Riesling). Not a
wine guy, I was impressed.

The main course
arrived shortly thereafter. Berry had lobster, Peggy filet mignon, and Joe had
baby back ribs.

I hate what food does
to a good buzz so I played with another half dozen Oysters Rockefeller.

Me on oyster number
four, Berry, having some problem with his lobster, raised his glass of Riesling
and said, “Another toast to the new TV12 weather girl, the biggest thing to hit
Nashville since Patsy Cline.”

“Oh, Berry, you're so
sweet.” Peggy imitated blush.

Joe gulped some
Beaujolais.

After another toast by
Berry, I noticed his words becoming thicker, his eyes heavier, red blotches riding
high on his cheeks, his toupee a little crooked.

I floated a glance at
Peggy. Around my knees, her toes were bolder than they had been all night.

Joe, between bites,
seemed to be clawing in all the activity above and below the table.

* * *

 
Dinner finished, a flurry of waiters cleared
the table and Roland sparked cherry's jubilee. The flame reflection on Peggy's
lips. Grand Marnier spiked Berry. Irish coffee calmed Joe, and I ordered
another Jack Daniels.

Peggy had, “Drambuie
and decaf, thanks,” and layered her lips with fresh cherry lipstick.

A little past 11:45,
the lights came up, and servers started to put chairs on tables.

One of Peggy's feet
rested on my right knee.

Joe, turned sideways,
legs crossed, puffed on an eight inch Aliados cigar.

I smoked a Salem,
sipped black coffee and pretended I knew what all this was about.

While I pretended,
Berry began rambling about guesting county and western stars on Peggy's weather
show. In midsentence, like a goon had hit him on the head with a baseball bat,
he tipped forward and his face plunked on the stained table cloth.

“Oh dear.” Peggy tried
to straighten his wig.

Joe stood, “Well,
Jack, I guess we better take Sally home.”

Surprised to hear Joe
use Berry's nickname, I said, “Guess so,” drained my coffee and put Salem out.

“Poor Berry.” Peggy
tried again to straighten Berry's toupee. She looked at Joe. “Do you think he's
all right?”

“He's all right, just
drunk as a skunk.” Joe rubbed his stomach, burped, and took charge. “I'll drive
us back to the The Berry, take Sally home.”

Joe cased Peggy, then
me, sniffed the air.

I said, “Smell
anything, Joe?”

“You don't want to
know.” He blew a large plume of white smoke toward the ceiling and hefted Berry
to his feet.

* * *

After Joe dropped us
off at The Berry, departed with Berry in tow, Peggy suggested I follow her to
Tara. I told her I had to see a guy named Pete about a piano but she, pinching around
my inner thigh, insisted we needed to talk about our rehearsal schedule. A
sucker for pinches, I followed.

Peggy unlocked the
front door to Tara and we stepped inside. She pressed the switches that
illuminated the pool and sunken den.

I said, “Looks familiar.”

“Getting to be a
habit, dear.”

Somehow, I didn't want
to believe that, but I knew it was so, and for another closer-to-home reason a
thought occurred to me. I asked, “You pick up Snakebite, airport, this
afternoon?”

“Are we detecting a
little ol’ bit of jealousy pooh?” Peggy closed the door, snapped the dead bolt,
latched the security chain.

“Just wondered.”

“Don't be such a worry
wart. Take that coat off, get comfortable.” She squeezed my maximus and kicked
off her shoes and I found myself locked in an embrace.

After a minute she
took off my coat, threw it on a chair and just then the phone on the bar
chirped. Peggy went over and picked up: “Oh hi there … it went great … sure
did, just like you said … oh no, don't come out tonight, I'm pooped, been talking
business ‘til the cows come home.” She looked at me, “Yep, startin’ rehearsals
tomorrow … got to get my beauty rest … I do too … maybe tomorrow … of course …
sure do … going to take a hot bath and go right to beddy-bye … me too.”

 
She hung up, laughed. “Berry was funny.”

“That was Berry?”

“Silly, just little
ol’ Snakebite, he worries about me.”

Sounded like hickory
dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock. “Just wanted to be sure of my lines.”

“Lines?”

“This play we're in.”

“Silly billy. Want a
drink?”

“No.”

“Me either.” She
teetered to the sofa, plunked herself down, patted a spot next to her like
nice
doggie come sit
, said, “Ya are jealous, ain't ya?”

Don't answer.

“Ain't ya?”

No, no, no. Don't
answer.

“You are, ain't ya?”

Either way you lose.

She said, “You're so
sweet.” She thrust her arms in the air like a touchdown had been scored. “Oh
Jack, I'm so excited about this weather show I could scream. I hope you'll help
me be good.”

I remembered, now
yesterday morning, when Berry informed me of his decision to put Peggy on the
weather. And Berry thinks he's using her, and she thinks she's using him, and
Snakebite is somewhere in there with Stella, and I'm in the middle with the
raisins and nuts.

She said, “Will you?”

“What?”

“Silly, help me be good.”

“Good is relative.”

“Silly Jack, it'll be
the best weather show ever. Come over her, sit beside me.”

“No.”

“Stinker.” She got on
all fours, and crawled across the floor.

Her hands hard, from
up here, it looked like another Lovelace replay.

At a pause in the
action, she said, “I like him, Mr. Carr. I like him a lot. Him mine now.”

Hope she gets the “hims”
straight.

PART THREE

CHAPTER 1

Two weeks later

Jack’s
Time

Monday, April 30, the
day of Peggy's premiere with us in real time, the past two weeks I had been
spending considerable time at Tara. Peggy had put Snakebite, Stella, everybody
on notice, her new TV show demanded all her attention, stay away, she was in
rehearsal, needed her rest. Her performances Saturday night at Felix The Cat,
she wanted me to go, but no, not a good idea. Presenting a house key to Tara,
she suggested I be at Tara when she got home from her Saturday night
performances.

“What about Snake—”

Her fingers on my
lips, her eyes said a hasher version of shush up.

Anyway, Sunday pretty
much a repeat performance, after leaving Tara Monday morning, I dashed home to
dress in Monday's uniform (navy blazer, etcetera).

* * *

Driving to TV12, I
glanced at Blancpain, little after 8:25 A.M. Winston's top down, sweet spring
air, I settled in the right lane at 55 mph and began shaving. Norelco humming
away, my thoughts went to our new weather show. Berry had come up with the
title “TV12's C&Weather with Peggy Moore”. We built a new weather set that
resembled the Grand ol’ Opry stage: red barn door, bales of hay, weather vane.
The set was fine, it was the other stuff that wasn't coming together. After two
weeks of run-throughs, format changes, late night rehearsals, the show was
treading on, what my Aunt Jane might call, shifting sand.

* * *

I got to the station a
little after 8:45. Joy, not at her desk, everything appeared under control and
aroma from a fresh brew of coffee filled the air. I poured a mug, closed my
door, took off my coat, went to my desk and, long day ahead, passed on Jack
Daniels and began going through the morning mail.

As I sorted the junk
mail from the stuff I needed to read, I was thinking about today's game plan.

Joe and I had been
advised to be in Berry's office at 4:00 to catch Peggy's premiere. We were also
advised that after the premiere, tonight, we were going to The Berry Inn. Berry
had invited select executives from Dillards (sponsors of Peggy's weather show,
part of the sponsorship package included Peggy wearing a different outfits from
Dillards each night) to the Pheasant & Grouse for a celebration. Peggy was
to be presented a plaque by Berry. Newspapers invited, our LIVE-EYE unit was
also to be there. I was advised to instruct station news personnel, for the
plaque presentation, around 8:00 P.M., to cut into CBS programming for a live
report. In addition, I was directed to have a story on the late news about the
gala. Joe was told to have Jay make a promo out of Berry's plaque presentation,
run “the bejesus out of it” on our air. Berry had ordered a media blitz to
advertise the premiere and, for the past two weeks, on all our newscasts, we
presented stories on set construction, Peggy's hair stylist, show sponsor,
assorted doo-dah-day.

* * *

Going through the
morning mail, I got a call from Luther Mays. Returned from his two-week Sedona
vacation, he had heard about Peggy's premiere, seen the on-air promos. Nothing
personal toward me, but he said he was at Channel 3 as we spoke, had been hired
to do their weather casts. Lust in his voice, he said, “Say hello to Joe and
Berry.”