Yankee Doodle Dixie

by Lisa Patton

  The big buzz around the office is that Liam White himself is stopping by the radio station for an interview. Liam White, at least to my girlfriends and me, is the equivalent of Sting or Jackson Browne or possibly even Jon Bon Jovi. Maybe not quite as famous, but he’s certainly our definition of eye candy. His mellow, harmonic voice has captivated me since I was first old enough to appreciate the bliss of rock ’n’ roll. Around the age of eight or nine, I discovered the wonder of “Miss Thing” (one of his very best songs in my humble opinion), on the radio and when I became old enough to study his album covers I discovered how thrilling it can feel on the inside when a handsome face stirs the female desire.

  To think he’ll be coming to the radio station where I’m employed is, well, it’s just unimaginable. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. Truthfully, I haven’t been this giddy since American Bandstand. I even went out last night and bought a new dress for the occasion. I mean, why not? How many times does a girl get to see a celebrity of that caliber in person? Even if I just watch him pass by my office I still need to look nice. Besides, Johnny swears he’ll make sure that I get to meet him. If left up to Edward, he’d just prance Liam White right on past me without so much as a wave. After all, he made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want his staff “hounding the stars.”

  Each jock, on every shift this week, has been promoting Liam’s appearance. They’ve been giving away a pair of concert tickets every day and the grand prize winner gets entered into the pot to win a chance to speak with Liam on the phone when her name is announced. Not only that, she also wins two backstage passes to meet him in person after the show. My job is to deliver the tickets to the winner once she shows up. Now I realize the winner might be a man, but it would be a crying shame given Liam’s delicious looks.

  Liam is due in around nine thirty to catch the tail end of the morning drive time audience. That way Johnny can talk about it all morning, play Liam’s hits, and keep the listeners hanging on till the end of his shift. I can tell Stan is plenty peeved that he wasn’t asked to conduct the interview. From what I’ve been observing, Johnny gets way more breaks than Stan. It all comes down to the difference in their two personalities, if you ask me. One is fun. The other is, well, not in the least bit fun.

  If truth be told, I’ve been twitchy and flustered all morning, literally counting down the minutes to Liam’s arrival, not to mention the flurry of texts to the girls. So when the control room door swings open (I can hear it from my office) and Johnny pops his head in my door seconds later, I practically jump out of my skin. “Hey kiddo,” he says, “White’s in the lobby and Edward just left to go down to get him. Make up an excuse to be in the control room after say, five minutes. I’ll make sure you get to meet him.”

  Breathe Leelee, breathe. “I’m a wreck,” I blurt out.

  “What?”

  “I’m nervous,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears.

  “You’ll be fine.” Johnny rubs the top of my head with his knuckles and smiles. “Hey, why don’t you put all the ticket winners’ names in a hat and bring that in with you? White can draw the grand prize winner from there.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Why not?” he says, with a shrug.

  I slightly shake my head. “Edward is why not.”

  “Forget that buffoon. It’s a perfect excuse for you to be in the control room.”

  No doubt about it, meeting Liam White is definitely worth the risk. “Okay, but now I’m even more nervous.”

  Johnny cracks up laughing. “You’ll be fine.” He holds up a hand with five fingers spread apart. “Remember … five minutes.” Then he’s gone. That adorable laugh. I could listen to it all day long.

  The sudden appearance of a certain face only makes matters more tense. I flat don’t have time for Stan. “Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmmmm,” he mutters from the doorway. He must like my new dress. It’s somewhat sexy, admittedly, a V-neck, light blue, with a small, thin ruffle running from the right shoulder down to the hem on the left side. It’s fitted at the waist with three quarter length sleeves.

  Stan, despite all evidence to the contrary, thinks he is one hot hunk of burning love. I remember hearing his voice for the first time on the radio, and I distinctly recall thinking, Now that’s the kind of disc jockey that I could hear in my sleep, the kind that would make my heart melt. That man’s voice could lure me anywhere. But after getting to know him, he couldn’t even lure me into an all-expense-paid shopping spree at Saks Fifth Avenue.

  He strolls into my office acting like he’s looking for something on my desk. He’s looking for something, all right, he’s looking for information. And he thinks he’s incredibly sneaky, glancing at all the messages I’ve taken for the other jocks. I can see his eyes staring at the little pink notes even though he’s pretending to be in search of something else. “Where … is my highlighter? I could have sworn I left it right here.” He’s pushing the messages, which are neatly stacked in piles, off to the side but furiously scanning them at the same time.

  I’m absolutely dying to ask him why he feels the need to be so dang nosy all the time but of course, I wouldn’t dare. “What color is it?” I ask, casually.

  He’s a crafty one, that Stan. After a short pause he answers, “Orange. I’m a UT fan.”

  I slide open my drawer and hold up an orange one. “Here, take mine. I’m not using it right now.”

  “Aren’t you kind.”

  I tilt my head and grin.

  “Thank you, Ms. Satterfield.” Plucking it out of my fingers he glances at my chest. “Nice dress you have on today,” he says, now standing much closer to me, his breath a looming stink bomb on the horizon. To make matters worse, he honks his snot up into his nose so loudly I’m just sure it can be heard clear down the hall.

  “Thanks, Stan,” I say. I can’t help but wince as I take a step backward. I’m on the verge of vomiting from the sound of him swallowing all that gunk in his nose.

  “Well. What’s the occasion?”

  I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. He’s the last person I want to know about my premeditated wardrobe purchase. Even more importantly, though, I don’t want him to notice how flustered I am about meeting Liam White.

  “You’re not fooling me.”

  “What do you mean?” Uh-oh. I’m busted.

  “Liam White? A huge star? Right here in the halls of 99.”

  I scoff. “It’s not like I’ll be talking to him.” Hopefully, I sounded convincing. I’m not about to let him in on Johnny’s scheme.

  “Yeah, but he’ll pass by here on his way to the control room. He might just look your way. You never know.”

  Just at that moment, Edward’s full-mouthed self can be heard all the way down the hall. My heart sinks to my toes just thinking about the fact that I’m actually within fifteen feet of Liam White. I can hear Edward bragging about the FM 99 award plaques and gold records. Funny thing is, he’s the only one talking. Stan hears him, too, moves into the doorway and stands there with his neck craned down the hall, just about as conspicuous as a car mechanic at a deb ball.

  I’m not trying to be ugly, but Stan’s heinie or “honkus” as Virginia calls it, is too wide for the both of us to be in the doorway. My plan, all along, has been to pretend to be reading the phone messages when Liam White walks by. Now I’m the one having to stand sideways and peer out the doorway to try and get a glimpse of the arriving entourage. And it’s my office. Not Stan’s.

  When I muster up the courage to peek out the door, Liam is standing with his arms crossed and Edward is still blabbing away about his stupid plaques. There’s another guy who looks as bored as Liam. I notice him glance at his watch. “We should get on with it,” he says.

  Edward looks offended, but only for a second. “The control room is around the next corner,” he says, and continues talking incessantly as they meander down the hall. I’m sure Edward has never walked so slowly in all his life but to him, the observance of his vanity wall by
a big star is well worth the stroll. “Johnny Dial will be the jock conducting the interview,” Edward says. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He’s won more R&R awards than any deejay in Memphis.”

  Of course Edward never bothers to introduce me; he marches right by my office without so much as a glance in my direction. As planned, I look up from reading the phone messages and smile nervously at them anyway. By luck, I manage to catch Liam’s eye while in the small sliver of space between Stan’s rotund left hip and the doorjamb … and he smiles back. My pulse stops. The other guy doesn’t look at me, and Edward certainly doesn’t. Our boss never introduces Stan, either, but that doesn’t stop him from hollering out to Liam as they pass by. “Mr. White. I’m Stan Stallone. Middays. Huge fan, huge fan.” He trails pathetically behind them toward the control room, pronouncing huge as “youge.”

  Liam White is even better looking in person than he is on his album covers. I’ve seen him on TV before, Soundstage and Austin City Limits, but boy is he a drool up close. Blondish hair with a receding hairline—much like Sting. His close-cut beard and mustache give him a bit of a rugged look. So do his blue jeans. His flannel shirt is untucked and rolled up at the sleeves, and he’s wearing a pair of white Nikes. A brown leather jacket is draped over one arm. I could have drooled all over him.

  How in the world am I ever going to get rid of Stan? I keep thinking. He could thwart my entire plan. I have to race down the hall to the copy machine, make a copy of the winner sheets and have the names cut up in strips and placed inside an FM 99 ball cap, all within a matter of minutes. As nosy as Stan is, he’ll be watching my every move. I grab the folder marked “Liam White Ticket Winners” on my desk, tuck it under my arm and head down the hall, leaving Stan in the doorway.

  Stan spots me and calls out, “Where are you going?”

  “To the copy machine. Gotta work,” I say over my shoulder.

  “Have fun,” Stan hollers back.

  When I return from the copy room, I notice Stan’s sitting in the other control room across the hall from my office. It’s the room where the traffic guy, Michael, broadcasts the morning traffic report. There’s a window from there into the main control room and that sneaky Stan has nabbed a ringside-seat for the interview. He sees me walk by but doesn’t invite me to join him. Little does he know I’ve got other plans.

  I can hear Johnny from the clock radio on my desk and it doesn’t appear that he’s started the interview yet. There’s a seven-second delay, in case someone accidentally cusses, but it sounds like he’s simply announcing the name of the last song he played, “Dancing Hearts.” One of Liam’s biggies.

  I fumble for a pair of scissors and hurriedly cut the winners’ names from the sheet into strips. When I rush to the prize closet to pull out an FM 99 ball cap another idea comes to mind. If there’s one thing Edward dearly loves it’s all this FM 99 paraphernalia, or “swag” as he calls it. If I dare enter the control room during the Liam White interview, I better have enough swag to warrant my presence. It’s risky, but as Virginia would claim, worth getting fired over. I grab enough shirts, hats, and coffee mugs to outfit Liam’s entire band.

  My heart is blasting out of my chest while waiting for the on-air light to go out. When it finally shuts off, I slowly push open the weighted door. Liam is on the far side of the control room across the board from Johnny and by the way they’re laughing I can tell things are going well. I see him glance over at me, making eye contact for the second time. Johnny shoots me a mischievous smile but then continues his conversation with Liam.

  The other guy, the one accompanying Liam, is standing in the corner, clearly relegated to that location because Edward’s backside is taking up residence in the only other chair in the control room. When Edward first sees me, I can tell by the way he squints his eyes that he’s peeved. But after observing the abundance of swag in my arms, his scowl transforms into an expression of pure elation. He gets up out of his seat and starts grabbing the stuff away from me, passing it out as if it had been his idea all along.

  “Here’s a sweatshirt for you,” Edward says to Liam. “And a T-shirt and a hat.” He leans over and plops a ball cap down on Liam’s head.

  Liam calmly removes the ball cap and lays it on the desk next to the mic, an act that hardly deters our program director.

  “What else do you want? A coffee mug? We can load you down,” Edward tells him. “Look at the quality of this stuff. First rate. Sure to last.” He’s feeling the material of one of the sweatshirts with one hand and bouncing a coffee mug in the air with the other.

  “If it means I get to meet the redhead, I’ll take it all,” Liam says with a Memphis drawl that is as smooth as Jack Daniel’s Tennessee whiskey and just as lethal.

  My knees go weak.

  Edward whips his head around in my direction. I can tell by the puzzled look on his face that he’s in a conundrum. His strict policy about his staff not rubbing elbows with the stars is battling with the fact that one of the stars actually wants to meet his programming assistant. Edward’s introduction is lame at first, then he wises up and all of a sudden I’m his best friend. “Leelee is our wonderful programming assistant,” he says, with an artificial smile.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Liam says and stands up. He tries to squish around Edward but there’s no room. Edward never bothers to move so Liam gives up and extends his hand around him.

  “Thank you. Nice to meet you,” I say, positive he can feel my hand shaking.

  “Programming assistant? You must run this ship,” he says.

  Out of nowhere, I’m suddenly shy. I can hardly say a single word when I realize I’m actually shaking hands and talking with Liam White. All I can manage is a timid head nod, reduced to the awkward social habits of my six-year-old.

  Johnny, who senses my stage fright, does his best to intervene. “Hey Leelee, have you got the names of the winners?” One side of his headphones is pushed away from his ear.

  “Right here in the hat.” From somewhere outside of my body, I can feel myself walking over to Johnny behind the control board, handing him the ball cap.

  “Hang on a second,” he says under his breath as he readjusts his headphones and pushes a button on the board. “We’re talking with Liam White, our guest in the Classic Hits FM 99 studio today. He’s in concert tonight at the gorgeous Orpheum Theatre downtown. Have you ever performed at the Orpheum?”

  “No. Tonight’s the first time.” Liam’s wearing headphones as well.

  “You’re in for a treat.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  To watch Johnny Dial converse on the radio, you’d never know there’s a mic in front of him. His hand gestures and body language give the impression he’s talking with someone in his own living room. He’ll scratch his head, rake his fingers through his hair, and even sneak a crotch scratch while he’s talking. “It’s been through several renovations,” he says. “The last one was just a couple of years ago when they increased the depth of the stage to be able to host larger Broadway productions like Phantom and Les Mis. The sound in the place is state of the art. That must be pretty important to you.”

  “Sound is everything,” Liam says with a nod. “I’ll keep sound check going an extra hour just to make sure the mix is right.”

  “I’ve heard other musicians say the same thing.”

  “If a guitar is too loud, and the audience can’t hear the background vocals, that’s a problem. They can’t experience the full show.”

  “Or your voice. That would be an even bigger problem,” Johnny says, and rests his chin inside his right palm.

  Liam laughs. “I suppose. We travel with our own sound guy, and our own sound equipment. The board doesn’t look much different than the one you’re using.”

  “I’d like to apply to be his sound guy. I give good board,” says a voice out of nowhere. It’s Stan on the mic in Michael’s traffic room. All heads turn toward the window between the two control rooms but not a word is spoken. Johnny never a
cknowledges the comment. Neither does Liam. Poor Stan.

  “We’ve been giving away tickets to your show all week and one of our lucky winners gets to go backstage and meet you tonight,” Johnny says, and waves me closer.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Liam answers. He seems sincere. At least he does to me.

  “Our lovely programming assistant, Leelee”—he reaches out his arm to pull me close to him—“has all of the names in this FM 99 ball cap. Liam, if you’ll do us the honor of choosing a winner, we’ll get this show on the road.” He motions to me to hand the cap over to Liam.

  Edward jumps up, snatches it away from me, and hands it over to Liam himself.

  I feel Johnny press his left elbow into my side, just like Virginia would do if Edward did something stupid like that in front of her. With his other hand, he pulls the mic closer to his lips. “That’s it, Liam. Mix up the names really well.”

  Liam digs inside and pulls out a strip of paper, which he unfolds. He leans into his mic. “And the winner is … Kathy Warren.”

  Edward initiates a phony round of applause.

  “Kathy Warren, if you’re listening, call in and talk to Liam White. He’s right here waiting to talk to youuuuu.” Johnny cuts to a commercial.

  There’s a conversation going on during the commercials between everyone in the control room except me. The girl who’s never, one time, been at a loss for words is suddenly dumbstruck. My eyes dart around the room and without knowing it fixate a little too long on Liam. Edward notices and I can clearly read the “that’s enough” look on his face. I weigh losing my job against standing there just to be in the presence of Liam White. Even though I’ve already mastered the art of surreptitious gawking, my head, in a rare moment, actually wins out over my heart. So I turn around and leave.