by Lisa Smartt
It might seem odd that Doug was so agreeable about trying to sneak into the gala. His only comment was, “I knew life with you would be a great adventure. Gosh, I had no idea how much of one.”
If Doug had thought it was a bad idea, I wouldn’t have done it. I’m serious. I’ve learned to trust his judgment as he has kept me from jumping off some cliffs that would have been fatal. I think deep down he was as committed as I was to giving Dave and Ashley a chance to be together. And of course, that meant keeping Dan Dubois at bay.
We dressed to the nines, no, the tens, and headed down to the lobby. As the elevator doors opened, a well-dressed older woman approached me and said boldly, “Don’t I know you?”
I put out my hand. “You might. I’m Carlie Jameson.”
“Yeah, you’re that mean lady on the Food Network, right? The one who tells all the chefs they can’t cook?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not on the Food Network.”
“Oh, wait, you’re on the insurance commercial…riding the motorcycle with the gecko, yes?”
“No ma’am. I’m a writer.”
“Oh gosh, yes! Saw you on The View. You’re the one who writes about fat funny single girls, right?”
“Well, yes ma’am. I did. I mean, I’m married now. But yes, my first book was about being single.”
She gave Doug the once over, winked at me, and said, “Well, looks like you haven’t done too bad for yourself. Fame must have its privileges, huh?” She turned toward the front door.
But I called out. “Actually, ma’am, wait! It’s not like that! Really.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s not like that. Doug here, he loved me before I was famous. I was working at the Dollar General Store in Commerce, Georgia, when he fell in love with me. Seriously. He did. He fell in love with a chubby woman who was 5’11 and stocked sweet potatoes for a living. Amazing, isn’t it?”
She just patted my arm. “I’m happy for you, Dear.”
A wave of insecurity fell over me. Doug had loved me for more than four years but I still experienced these occasional waves of doubt.
“Carlie, why do you do that? You don’t know her. What difference does it make? She may have just been trying to get your goat.”
“No. She wasn’t. She really did believe you only would have loved me for my fame or money…or I don’t know.”
“But what difference does it make? You’re you. I’m me. I love you. You love me. Stop trying to convince the world of something that’s none of their business.”
See, I wish I could be more like Doug. He lives and loves and doesn’t clamor for people’s approval. But tonight my clamoring for approval might just come in handy.
Chapter 9 CARLIE: Dan, Dan, Go Away
The Walt Disney Concert Hall was striking even from the outside. It looked like a big curved mirror just beckoning the rich and famous. All the limos and cars were lined up for valet parking. But we told our taxi driver to just drop us off and we’d walk up to the ropes where all the other “regular folk” were standing. When he asked if we wanted him to wait for us until after the event, we declined, paid him, and added a hefty tip.
As we walked toward the concert hall, Doug asked an important question. “So, how is this going to work? I mean, we don’t have tickets. There are no tickets. And here we are like we’re going to just waltz in the door.”
“I’m still thinking on that.”
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and gently grabbed my arm while doing that raised eyebrow thing he does. “What? You don’t have a plan? You’re kidding, right? We just told the cab driver to leave.”
“Well, right. Because we need to get in there and we will. Haven’t you ever seen those PBS specials about animals adapting to the needs of their environment. We need to keep Dan Dubois from stalking…and we will.”
Just about that time, I saw Barbara Walters. She was an A list guest and even though she recognized me, she assessed me as a C list guest so she just threw up her hand and kept walking. So much for getting in on her coattails.
A short line was forming past the ropes. People were showing tickets and a well-dressed woman with a clipboard was sending them into the grand entrance.
Doug was beginning to weaken. “Look, let’s turn around. It’s not like Ashley is going to fall in love in just one night. Let’s just surrender.”
“Surrender? You’re kidding, right?”
I thought about hopping inside a catering van or a florist truck, but this was no Disney movie. Oh, and all those movies where the heroine slides in on her belly through the air conditioning vents? Puh-lease. Not gonna happen. Plus, even if the vent was big enough, I know I’d tear my dress. And it wouldn’t be a Haile Berry moment either where people would be all, “She is so gorgeous even though she’s covered in dust and her dress is torn.” Oh no. I’m not even sure if I have on high quality undergarments ‘cause I was in a big hurry back at the hotel. No. The only way was straight through the front door. We must confront Clipboard Lady.
About that time the paparazzi was going crazy as Ashley and Dan Dubois stepped out of a big SUV limo. We stood behind the ropes with photographers, reporters, and fans. Dan Dubois was in a classic black tux and he had a devious grin on his face. He looked older in person even though his dark hair was all spiky and pristine looking. Sure, people said he was handsome and generous. But, really. How can you trust a man who uses that much hair product? Ashley wore the most beautiful sleeveless black formal gown with long black gloves. Her hair was down and she didn’t even look tired from all the Oscar mayhem.
Thank God for a great set of lungs. “Ashley, Ashley! You forgot to call me back. I’m over here!” Ashley jumped and walked to the ropes where Doug and I were standing. Dan Dubois followed along behind.
“Carlie, what are you doing here? Do you have tickets?”
“No. And we need to get in too. Can you get us in?”
“What do you mean you need to get in?”
“I’ll explain later. Just get us in, if you can.”
“I don’t know, Carlie. It’s all full. Plus, we just found out James Taylor and Carole King had airplane trouble in St. Louis. They’re not going to make it in time and the people in charge are going crazy. The evening’s entertainment just canceled so they’re pretty stressed. Really.”
I smiled because my prayers had just been answered. “We’ll sing. Doug and me. We’ll do it. Get us in and we’ll sing for our supper. I promise.”
Doug’s mouth flew open. “What? Carlie, you’re joking.”
“Doug, we sing all the time. Plus, James Taylor? You have every word memorized off every album. You can do this. We can do this. I love Carole King and I can nail So Far Away. I promise.”
Ashley and Dan started laughing. “Dan, these are my friends, Doug and Carlie Jameson. She’s the author of the book, and obviously, she’s a closet singer. Or a shower singer anyway.” Ashley told the security guy to let us through the ropes and soon she was greeted by Clipboard Lady. A few minutes later several men and women in charge of the event came out to greet us. Ashley explained who we were and our willingness to fill in for James Taylor and Carole King. Evidently, we had a divine appointment. We were in. Just call us troubadours. Reluctant troubadours, but troubadours nonetheless.
Doug’s face had gone completely white at this point. But I wasn’t worried. We both knew Carolina on my Mind like the back of our hands. I had sung You’ve Got a Friend many times in the car. I had no cause for worry. Besides, I was interested in learning more about Dan as we approached the grand entrance. “Dan, tell us a little about yourself. I mean, obviously you play football and sell Buicks. But other than that, what do you love?”
“Fast cars and good lookin’ women.” He glanced at Ashley and her face turned a rosy pink.
I replied, “Ashley’s more of a family person. She likes family cook-outs and little kids and stuff like that. She could live in the fast lane, but she’s chosen not to. Doug and me? We like that
about her.”
Dan glanced at her again, “Yeah. She seems to be a real southern gem. So many of the girls out here get their minds filled with ridiculous fluff, but she seems to have her head on straight.”
Doug was still the color of school glue when he whispered in my ear, “Do you know when to come in on the chorus of Carolina on my Mind?”
I whispered, “Oh, absolutely.”
I put my hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Well, Doug and I better go check in with the band, but we’ll be back. I’m sure they’ll make a place for us up there at the head table with you and Ashley. Until we get back, watch your manners, Dan. We’re watching you.” I chuckled like it was a joke, but I had a feeling Dan knew the truth.
Evidently God watches over people who try to protect newly-famous actresses because our singing turned out remarkably well. They provided an acoustic guitar for Doug and he nailed it. We even got a standing ovation for our interpretation of You’ve Got a Friend. I want to believe my subtle 70’s dance moves with swaying arms sealed the deal. Our affectionate Sonny and Cher glances toward each other certainly didn’t hurt. Dan and Ashley emceed flawlessly. But I detested the way he looked at her, like a lion looks at a gazelle. Plus, I was a little disgusted when the CEO made a big deal about Dan’s selfless donation to the cause.
After we did every song we could think of, I grabbed the hand-held mic and said, “It’s been our pleasure to be with you tonight. Thanks for your kind attention. Okay, people, get out those checkbooks and write a hefty check. I’m sure they will also accept stocks, bonds, cars, boats, or other forms of property. Good night, everybody.”
The CEO of the hospital was jubilant concerning our performance. When he asked about our charge, Doug laughed and said, “Oh, I thought we’d have to pay you.” Our picture made the front page of the LA Times the next day. One reporter wrote, “The folksy down-home style of the bodacious southern writer and her talented husband wooed the crowd.” You know how I love that word “woo” so I deemed it a wild success.
As people were leaving the gala, Dan patted Doug on the back. “Well, the car is waiting to take Ashley and me back to the hotel. It was nice meeting the both of you.”
I chimed in, “Actually, we’ll ride with you, if you don’t mind. We came by taxi and it’s late and we’d sure love a ride.”
Dan looked at me like he saw a tornado coming toward his trailer park. I interpreted it as a sign from God that we were doing the right thing. The four of us rode back to the hotel but Dan’s attention was focused solely on Ashley. Finally he said to her, “I guess you saw the interview on ABC Sports. I mean, where I talked about wanting to meet you?”
Ashley pretended to be looking for something in her purse. “I didn’t see it. But yeah, I heard about it.” She looked up at him. “I’m sure meeting me in person was disappointing. I mean, no one is ever as impressive as we think of them in our minds, right?”
“Not true. You are way more beautiful in person, Ashley. Stunning even.”
Doug put his hand on my leg which I knew was code for, “Stay out of this, Carlie. Ashley’s a big girl.” He was right. She was nearly thirty. I should leave her alone. For one brief moment, I felt bad about all my interfering. Thankfully, the moment was indeed brief.
“Ashley, we took Dave and Collin to the airport this morning. Yep! Flying back to good ol’ Tennessee. Dave told us to give you his best. Maybe you can come see us in the next few weeks. I’m sure he’d love that.”
Ashley smiled. “Maybe so.”
By the time we got to the hotel, Dan Dubois had shot himself in the foot without any help from a 1970’s Cher wanna-be. He talked trash about his ex-wife’s aging appearance (she’s thirty-seven), complained about signing autographs, and told a terribly long story about a tall red-headed swimsuit model who tried to pick him up outside a bar in Philadelphia last Friday. Truthfully, I doubt she had to try that hard. Poor stupid Dan. If only we’d had a dog for him to kick.
When the limo driver stopped, Ashley gave Dan a dismissive hug and a final admonition, “I have a big day tomorrow. Thanks for helping with the emceeing. I think they had a banner night with their fund-raising. So we should feel happy about it, right?”
Dan reached for her arm, “Can I call you, Ashley?”
“I don’t think so.”
He passively waved to the three of us as we got out of the limo and asked the driver to take him to a downtown bar. I’m sure the swimsuit models would be lined up waiting. Well, the ones in his delusional mind anyway.
I put my arm around Ashley as we approached the elevator, “You know that thing people always say about how it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Well, I’m asking for forgiveness. We got in your business and I’m sorry. It’s not that I have regrets really. I mean, listening to Doug sing Carolina on my Mind was a banner moment in my life. I’m still kind of giddy.” I reached out to hold Doug’s hand. He looked at me and smiled which I knew was code for, “We have a babysitter, Carlie. Talk fast and let’s get to the room.”
I hugged Ashley as we got out of the elevator on the tenth floor, “We’re gonna miss you, friend. Promise you’ll come see us soon. I’m proud of you, Girlfriend. I am.”
“Thanks, guys. You went to a lot of trouble tonight because you care about me. I can’t complain about that, right? Have a great flight. Call me when you get home. And yeah. I’ll come visit soon. I promise.”
Chapter 10 CARLIE: Why Can’t Life Be a Hallmark Movie?
When the plane landed in Nashville, James was crying and Doug’s back was hurting but it was still good to be home. Well, almost home. We live three hours from the airport so we still had a little drive. The minute we left the airport, James fell asleep in the car seat. Doug and I had a long conversation about the upcoming trip to Spain, Ashley’s career, the Alabama ice carving that was mistakenly called “Missouri” in one of the West coast newspapers, and Dave. What were we to do about Dave?
Doug says the same exact thing every time he pulls into our driveway after a long trip. “Looks like all is well at the Jameson Farm.” And I always say, “It’s good to be home and it’s good to have someone to be home with.”
I know a lot of people wouldn’t want to live in the house they grew up in. They’d want to do bigger or better things, I guess. But not Doug. This beautiful old farmhouse is filled to overflowing with his heritage. Oh sure, we’ve knocked down a few walls and replaced the outdated wallpaper. We even re-did the upstairs bathroom last year and put in a fancy shower that sprays from all sides. But I don’t like it. For some reason, the all-around shower reminds me of a recurring bad dream I had in college. In the dream I’d be studying algebra in my dorm room and then the room would flood with ocean water and I’d get eaten by a huge plastic shark. If you’ve ever taken College Algebra, the dream makes sense to you. If you’ve taken College Algebra and this dream doesn’t make sense, it’s because a + b = c seems reasonable to you.
But despite the changes we’ve made in the house, it’s still the home Doug grew up in. The kitchen smells like fried apples and the porch swing still makes creaking sounds on windy nights. We’ve kept the outside painted white because there’s just something about an old white farmhouse that says, “Welcome home.” Home. One of my favorite words.
The next morning, as Doug was walking out the door, I asked him to invite Dave and Collin for supper. James heard me say it and yelled, “Cowin! Cowin!” I decided to just buy barbecue at Sally’s as no one should have to face my cooking right after a long trip.
We’d kept two high chairs at the kitchen table since the day Dave moved down the road. But it was always sad when I sat three placemats on the table. Doug and I were a couple. Dave was alone.
I love Hallmark movies but I’ve always thought it was cheesy when they’d feature some tall good-lookin’ guy in his early 30’s and they want us to feel all sorry for him. Poor young Bradley is gainfully-employed, has unnaturally high cheekbones and a sculpted body, but he can’t find t
he right woman. Poor handsome Bradley. No one wants him. If only we knew the right girl. Oh, and did I forget to mention that Bradley does volunteer work at a homeless shelter when he’s not busy trying cases as a public defender? Come on, people. Give me a character I can root for. Give me the underdog. Oh, and don’t even get me started about the fact that Bradley has a ridiculously clean apartment with paisley throw pillows on the couch. Newsflash. I love you, Hallmark Channel. But Bradley would have pizza boxes on the couch, not paisley pillows.
Because I know Dave I now have a different perspective on the lonely good-lookin’ Hallmark character. Maybe there’s a part of Hallmark man’s history that is untold. Dave is marketable sure. But he has intimately known love. Real love. Crazy, passionate, compatible, sexually-charged, best friend, “I can tell you anything” love. And now we want him to love again. The fact that he doesn’t have throw pillows on the couch gives me a glimmer of realistic hope.
I didn’t want to hit him over the head with my matchmaking efforts. Believe it or not, some people find me a bit pushy. So I prayed it would all just come out in normal conversation. I mean, I would say something like, “Pass the coleslaw please.” And Dave would say, “Do you think I have a chance with Ashley?” And I would say, “Oh yes, Dave. Yes. And you should fly to California and get down on one knee and ask her to marry you and be Collin’s mother. You could even tell her you understand she’d have to be on location sometimes. You know, that you’re prepared to be an actress’s husband.” Then I would serve peach cobbler and wonder aloud what color I should wear to the wedding.
But it didn’t work like that. At all. As the meal was wrapping up, Collin hit James in the face with a big handful of baked beans. Dave made him say “sowwy” but James had missed his nap so he was crying and screaming, “Cowin is not my fwiend, Mommy. You not my fwiend, Cowin!!”
