After the meal, George and his father snuck off to do their guy-bonding thing over a round of golf, while Olivia and Ellen retired to the patio. The longer they sat there soaking up the sun and sipping on the wine, the more Olivia came to realize Izzie hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said George’s mom was a chatterbox. The woman loved to talk, especially about her son. Olivia was already familiar with the highlights of George’s childhood from Izzie’s files, but Ellen’s heart had every minute of George’s life memorized, providing her a never-ending supply of stories to tell. Listening to Ellen, Olivia wondered if Eugene had the same bountiful cache of Olivia-stories tucked away somewhere. She had a feeling he did.
When George and Greg returned, Ellen dished up coconut cream pie for dessert, serving it with a few more family memories and decaffeinated coffee. George and Olivia were reluctant to leave, finally saying their goodbyes as the sun was going down. Olivia had made it through the entire day without dropping anything or saying anything stupid or accidentally farting when she laughed, and she let out a sigh of relief. As an unexpected and much-appreciated bonus, George’s mom pulled Olivia aside before she climbed into the truck, gave her another hug, and whispered, “Now I know why my son loves you so much.”
George’s father pulled George aside as well, and hinted about how much he would like to teach at least one grandchild how to golf before he died of old age, then he gave his son a tight man-style hug and stood on the porch with his arm around his wife, waving as George backed the truck out of the driveway. Olivia tucked her hand along George’s thigh, George breathed out his own sigh of relief, and they both wore smiles the entire drive home.
As happy as the day had been, though, a shadow seemed to follow them up the stairs to George’s apartment. The feeling pressed heavy on Olivia as she brushed her teeth and got ready for bed, making it hard for her to fall asleep. Late in the night, after what felt like hours spent chasing those elusive winks, Olivia rolled over to ask George if he felt the same way. She found him lying awake, flat on his back with his arms folded beneath his head, staring up at an invisible spot on the ceiling. She slipped her arm around him, snuggling against his side, and pressed her lips against the square of his jaw.
“You need to tell your dad,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes as a tear snuck out and slid down the side of his face, disappearing into his hairline. Another one immediately followed. “I know I do.”
“Let me help you.”
He brought his arms around her and scooped her up, lifting her so she lay on top of him. He held her eyes with his as he brushed her hair away from her face. “What are we doing here, Liv? What is this?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She wiped away his tears, but more came and took their place. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop.”
He nodded, a soft, anguished sob escaping his chest as the tears poured down, but his words and his actions that followed contradicted what she feared was his true desire. “I don’t want to stop… not tonight.”
He stripped her of her panties as he rolled them both over, his face pressed tight into her neck as he entered her. His tears slowed as they made love, but they continued to fall, dampening her cheeks and her hair, seeping into the pillow beneath her head. His rhythm was off and he struggled to find it, stopping completely more than once to simply hold her as he lay buried deep inside her.
“Liv… I can’t…”
“Shh, it’s ok,” she whispered. “I know.”
She pushed up and rolled them over as one, and used her body to gently rock him to sleep. She held him close to her heart for the rest of the night, sheltering him from any pain that may have tried to sneak into his dreams.
George woke up the next morning looking a little hung-over from the sugar of the sweet potatoes and the emotion of the night, but he showered and shaved and went about his Monday as though Sunday had never happened. Because Olivia loved him, and because she knew some Band-Aids should be peeled away slow so as to not disturb the fragile healing happening underneath, she went about her Monday as well. Then they went about their Tuesday and their Wednesday. By Thursday the shadow of Easter had all but left his eyes. Olivia didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. It was something only George could decide.
Chapter Eighteen
Louise continued to spend her free time after work at the Walmart on the north end of Juliette, and every once in awhile Olivia would swing out there just to hang out with her. Olivia had long ago quit using the scooters to get around the store, and only occasionally enjoyed a cocktail in a McDonald’s cup, but she could never pass up the goodies Louise piled on the pretty, plastic serving platters or a glass of her Arizona Sweet Tea.
Louise was no longer alone when Olivia visited her. Most of the employees chose to take their break with Louise instead of in the back room, and there was always someone from the church or an auxiliary club member doing some late night shopping. They would pull up a chair and enjoy a lady finger or a pita rollup with Louise, share a little gossip, and be on their way.
Louise had given herself Olivia’s childhood dream job of supermarket sample lady, and she was doing it with more style and class than Olivia could have possibly imagined bringing to the position—and she was doing it for free.
Whenever Louise had a lull in traffic, she and Olivia would talk like they used to. Louise had become Olivia’s very own Paula Dean, always there with an easy ear and a tasty treat, homemade with love. She didn’t judge Olivia. Her advice was soft, easy to accept or reject, never offered without asked, but one night, after a particularly long night at Garretson that wore on Olivia’s last nerve, Louise took the McDonald’s cup out of Olivia’s hand, replaced it with some sweet raspberry tea and asked, “Olivia, why in heck are ya still slavin’ away at a job ya hate when ya have so much more ta offer the world?”
“What?” Olivia asked in confusion. She didn’t understand what Louise meant, but she also sometimes just plain couldn’t understand Louise. Her southern drawl had become so thick she wasn’t southern anymore. She’d gone too far south and slipped around the world, and was now approaching Canada from the north.
“Garretson’s ain’t for you. It never was, Honey-Child. Yeah, sure, it’s fine for me and fine for Carla, and I hate ta say it, but it’s more than fine for your friend Isabel. But you, Child?” Louise shook her head. “No, it just ain’t right.”
“Am I that bad at it?” Olivia asked with a frustrated sigh. Man, she hated her job.
“It’s not a matter of bein’ good or bad, it’s a matter of spunk—and you, Livie dear, got too much spunk ta be wastin’ it goin’ blind lookin’ at metal cutouts the rest o’ yer life.”
“So what do I do?” Olivia asked.
“Ask your heart.”
She handed Olivia a fruit kabob and stood to greet Father O’Neil who wanted to know how she made the yogurt dip so sweet without sugar. As Louise praised the virtues of honey, Olivia nibbled on a hunk of pineapple and thought long and hard, and listened to her heart.
Her heart did not want to sort metal. Her heart wanted to sing. Her heart wanted to dance. The very next day, Olivia and her heart handed Sam her timecard, said goodbye to her nighttime sisters, and jumped into the real world feet first with eyes closed and nose plugged, and landed in the DJ booth of KFGB Lite 103.4 every weekday afternoon from noon to five.
She got people through their afternoon slump with contests and chatter and easy listening. The station manager insisted she play the same playlist the old DJ had been playing since 1987, a classic mix of the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s, with every song played at exactly the same time every single day. Olivia got sick of listening to the bland, overplayed selections after the second day. She thought the Carpenters were groovy in their own way, but she wasn’t in the mood to sing long, lonesome songs with them every day at 3:24 p.m. She wanted to dance.
So, on her third day there, when she couldn’t stand listening to Peter Gabriel anymore, she
thumbed through all the CD’s and albums that were going to waste collecting dust on the shelves behind her, and smiled when she came across Earth, Wind and Fire. Who wouldn’t love a little “Boogie Wonderland” in the afternoon?
She stopped the crappy playlist in the middle of a song and started playing the songs of her heart. After a little disco dancing, she shook it up and got a little sultry with Amy Winehouse’s “Valerie,” and when a caller called in and requested a country song, she didn’t tell them the scripted response, “I’m sorry but we don’t play country music.” She popped in “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” by John Denver and the phone lines lit up like the New York skyline.
She played whatever anyone wanted to listen to, no matter the genre. As long as she could shake her ass or clap her hands to it, she played it. The listeners loved it, she loved it, but her boss was not amused. The second she went off-air, he unceremoniously fired her for not following station rules and regulations. She went from ecstatic to suicidal in 2.7 seconds and sat on the hood of her car outside of Kitty’s with her head in her hands and tried to figure out what the hell had happened, and what to do next.
Clete happened by on patrol and when he saw her sitting there, he pulled over. Leaning out the window, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I got fired.”
“From the radio station?” he asked in disbelief. “Why? You did amazing today!”
She shrugged and kept pouting.
“Get in.”
“Why?” she asked without looking at him.
“Just get in the damn car.”
“You’re cussing in idle conversation again.”
“You have that effect on me, Olivia. Now get in the car,” he said.
She slid off the hood of her car and got into the police cruiser. He called in a 10-10, or a 10-42, or a 10-whatever-the-hell-it-was, and they drove outside of the city limits and up a country road, to a one-lane dirt trail that dead-ended at a metal building. It was the creepiest place Olivia had ever been to in her life. As if on cue, a tumbleweed tumbled by and a crow cawed. She narrowed her eyes and snuck a glance at Clete.
“You aren’t going to murder me and chop me up into little bits and leave my pieces for the buzzards, are you?”
“Not as long as you don’t piss me off.”
“You’re still cussing,” she pointed out.
Clete rolled his eyes and got out of the car. Olivia assumed she was supposed to follow him, so she did.
The building was even creepier outside of the car than it had been inside. She hopped closer to Clete and clutched onto his arm, and whimpered. When Clete opened the door and they stepped inside, she suddenly realized she was at another radio station. And not just any radio station—they were at 97.9 The Breeze, aka 97.9 The Weeze, as in the radio station the old geezers listened to. Of course this would be Clete’s choice. He loved the boring shit they played. It was worse than Lite 103.
She started to protest, but he hushed her, and clamped his hand over hers on his arm, giving her no choice but to shut up and follow him into a little office where a very round, very short woman typed furiously on a laptop.
“Better slow down before your fingers catch on fire,” Clete said with a smile.
The woman looked up in irritation, but let out a little gasp of surprise when she saw him. She jumped from her chair and ran around the desk, and Clete wrapped her up in a big bear of a hug.
“Cletus! Oh my goodness you’re looking good these days! Hot, hot, hot I say! What have you done to yourself?”
“Nothing different, I swear. Must be the lighting,” Clete said as let her go.
“Don’t swear. It’s unbecoming,” she scolded him with a swat. Her eyes landed on Olivia and her mouth opened in an ‘O.’ “Lighting, my ass. Maybe it’s this cute little thing you’ve got standing next to you? Huh? Huh?” She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Cletus, you dog you!”
“Kelly Little, this is Olivia Hanson. Olivia is looking for a job, and she’s perfect for your new station.”
“Oh, really?” She looked Olivia over head-to-toe. “You have any experience in radio?”
“A few days,” Olivia said.
“A few days?” Kelly guffawed, but then she squinted her eyes and leaned in closer to Olivia. “Your voice sounds familiar. Were you on Lite 103 this afternoon?”
“Yes,” Olivia answered in shame.
“You’re hired. Be here tomorrow at eleven. You go on right after the farm report and work until seven. Long hours, I know, but there’s only three of us. You make number four. Welcome aboard.” Kelly waved her off and returned to her laptop.
“Um…” Olivia looked at Clete and then back at Kelly.
“What?” Kelly demanded.
“It’s just that… well… I, uh,” Olivia stuttered.
“Spit it out,” Kelly demanded.
“I’m sorry, but I hate your station,” Olivia admitted. She looked to Clete and said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to that stuff all day long. I won’t do that to myself.”
Olivia apologized again and started for the door. Kelly called after her, “Have you listened to our station lately?”
“No.”
“We play everything—except that black metal crap. Play whatever you want but keep it clean. We got kids listening,” Kelly said with a wave and sat in her chair. “I liked the mix you did today. You need to talk more, though. You’ve got a cute radio voice, so take advantage of it. And that face… Cletus, my god… that face!” Kelly snapped her fingers then slapped her desk. “She’s going on a billboard.”
With that Kelly picked up the phone and punched in a number with the eraser end of a pencil. “Rachel? It’s Kelly. Swing by tomorrow with your camera. I need print ads… yeah… uh-huh… right. Bye.”
She didn’t look back up at Olivia, but she said, “Be here at ten instead for pictures. And maybe try to run a comb through your hair. Rachel’s a whiz at Photoshop, but no one’s that good, darling.”
“Uh… ok,” Olivia agreed and Clete dragged her out of the office and back to the cruiser.
“Kelly used to be our dispatch operator until she sunk her life’s fortune into this little radio station.” Clete put the car in reverse and turned in his seat to see where he was going as he backed down the dirt road. “She’s a bit of a tornado, but she’s good. You’ll get used to her energy.”
“Yeah,” Olivia said on a heavy exhale. Wow. Tornado was right. That woman was a force of nature. Olivia was going to need a lot of coffee in the morning to keep up with her. What a crazy day. She didn’t know what to feel anymore.
“You hungry?” Clete asked.
Do pigs oink? Hell, yeah, she was hungry. Olivia shrugged, “I could use a burger or something.”
“How about something better for you?”
“Kale?” Olivia asked with a wrinkle of her nose.
Clete laughed. “I was thinking grilled tuna.”
“Ribs?” Olivia countered.
“Chicken?” Clete offered.
“Fried?” Olivia hoped.
“Grilled,” Clete decided.
“You have an obsession with fire or something?” Olivia asked.
Clete laughed and drove her to his house where Allie was home with a sitter. Allie jumped to her feet at the sight of Olivia, and dragged her into her bedroom. While Clete cooked, Olivia and Allie lay on Allie’s bedroom floor and discussed important, world-changing topics like bangs or no bangs, who was hotter, Drake or Josh, and how, if the sky were suddenly purple instead of blue, it would be cool for about a day, and then it would be the boring old sky again, and they’d be wishing it was orange instead.
Dinner was served and a chocolate cake sat on the counter calling Olivia’s name, but no matter how many times she tried, Olivia couldn’t choke down her Brussels sprouts. Clete and Allie ate all of theirs, and Clete gave Allie a piece of cake as a reward then sent her to get ready for bed and school in the morning.
Olivia and Clete set
tled in the living room and talked while Allie bathed, and then Olivia and Allie teamed up against Clete to let Allie stay up just five minutes longer, “Pa-leeeeease!” Clete gave in, then sent her to bed with a hug and kiss exactly five minutes later. He was definitely a stickler for the rules, but Allie didn’t seem to mind.
“You want something to drink?” Clete asked after Allie was tucked in.
“Milk to go with that piece of cake you forgot to offer me,” Olivia said with a smile.
“You didn’t eat all of your dinner.” Clete returned her smile.
“You made Brussels sprouts on purpose.” Olivia smiled bigger.
“Who, me?” Clete denied, but his eyes were twinkling.
“So…” Olivia tipped her head toward the kitchen and batted her eyelashes. “Cake?”
Clete caved and sliced her a piece, and she ate it with a glass of milk while they talked some more. An hour later, she accepted his offer for a beer and soon the coffee table was full of their empties.
She talked to Clete more that night sitting on his sofa than she had in all the days she had stayed at his house, and it left her wondering why in the world she hadn’t curled up on the sofa and talked to him before. He was somewhat chatty at the bar, but still kind of stiff and formal. At home, when he relaxed, he turned into an interesting guy with even more interesting stories. After a few beers, he was also a deep well of juicy gossip. He knew everyone and everything… and he smelled really good, too.
As they talked, they moved closer to each other on the sofa. A little shift by her, an unconscious move by him, closer and closer they moved, until they were inches apart, turned toward each other, with his hand on her thigh and hers on his arm. Before Olivia knew it, it was well past midnight and well past time for her to leave, and even though she didn’t want to and he seemed reluctant for her to go, she said goodnight to Clete and walked the few blocks back to Kitty’s.
Olivia Page 32
