Chapter Twelve
Sunday passed in a total mind fog. Winnie worked on autopilot throughout the birthday party held for the daughter of a couple who’d graduated with her, though they hadn’t had any classes in common. Their booth, situated near a bounce castle and a guy contorting balloons into swords and wiener dogs, enjoyed healthy patronage from invited guests. By the end, Winnie’s hand cramped from all the crowns and Star Wars armor she’d painted on little, gap-toothed faces.
Marcy collected their fee and handed Winnie her share of the cash. “You seeing Cory tonight?” From her tone, she expected to hear a yes, and her eyebrows shot up to hear otherwise.
“Cory said he’s been feeling bad for neglecting the family farm, so I told him to catch up. Lisa’s home, too, and it’s been a long time since they last saw each other.” She had to laugh. It sounded to her ears like she’d given him permission to take a day off from her. I can’t be that pretentious. Cory was his own man, and it wasn’t like they needed to spend every waking moment together.
If he took that TV job in New York, it would definitely put an end to steady dating. Let him deny interest in work all he wanted, he’d be a fool to pass up a lucrative opportunity. Hell, she’d co-host with Milly Wilkins if offered the chance. Sitting up close and personal with the Hemsworth brothers and Channing Tatum? Uh, yeah.
Moving to New York with Cory if he asked, though? Entirely different situation. She had no ties outside of St. Florence. Marcy might get on her nerves occasionally, but she was family and practically a sister. Her parents’ friends made her feel at home whenever she visited, and her business cemented her here. Local businesses loved her designs and referred others to her often. More than once, a full schedule forced her to decline bidding on projects.
“Okay, but is anything wrong?” Marcy asked. “You two okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” As soon as the question came out, Winnie got a good look at Marcy’s expression. Her cousin had acted timid today, more studious around the children as she painted. No trouble guessing the reason.
“Nothing is wrong. You did nothing wrong. Cory is not mad at you for tweeting that video, and neither am I.” Not anymore, at least. Winnie slept off her annoyance and woke that morning in Cory’s arms, content yet not 100 percent confident about their future. Some morning nookie and pancakes with fruit helped assuage some doubt, but after most of the day without Cory, her mood darkened again.
“I’ll never stop apologizing for it.” Marcy set about to packing up her side of the booth. “I wasn’t even thinking. I tweet out shit all the time, and I never believe it’s going to make a ripple because I don’t have many followers.”
“I bet that number shot up after The Watercooler aired.”
Marcy huffed out a hollow laugh. “Like, it quadrupled, and that post got retweeted thousands of times. I’d delete it but it’s way out there—”
“Eh, forget it.” Winnie waved a hand. No sense trying to stuff toothpaste back into the tube. No parents gave her odd looks at the party, so she figured her fifteen minutes were close to over. Tomorrow somebody would discover a famous rock star dead in a pool of his own vomit, or the tweeting public would shift to a different celebrity scandal.
“How?” Marcy squeaked. “All these people have me on their timelines now, and some of them are kind of famous. People I’ve heard of, anyway. And now there’s this pressure to be witty and interesting every time I tweet. Like Matty Rose cares how the peach crop at Carter Mountain is doing—”
“Wait, what?” Winnie had a Twitter account as well, but hardly paid attention to it. At best, any designs she added to her blog were automatically fed to the social accounts she used for her business. She’d heard some celebrities followed accounts en masse, something Winnie expected was a gray hat SEO tactic, but Matty Rose? Too much of a coincidence.
“You sure it’s him for real?” she asked. “There’s parody accounts out there, and fan clubs.”
Marcy shook her head. “No, the handle has one of those verified badges on it.” She gathered her brushes. A loud hiss to their left turned their attention toward the bounce castle, which began a slow deflating. “Well,” Marcy continued, “for all I know some intern’s running it. They probably followed while looking for tweets about Cory.”
It made sense. If Matty Rose was serious about wanting Cory to replace him, he’d certainly do his research. It seemed like a roundabout way of getting information, though. Why not just call Cory on the phone?
What if he had? Cory probably didn’t tell her everything about his life.
“Let’s talk about something else, huh? Want to get something to eat before the homecoming fair?” The thought of food truck fried fare made her stomach turn. “I got leftovers we can trick up, like Chopped.”
“Like what?”
“I got chicken wings and pizza rolls from Calachino’s. I have some cheese and tortillas…I could use the chicken meat and make quesadillas with some homemade guac. Or there’s sandwiches.”
Marcy made a face. “Oof. Sounds spicy. Last time I had Calachino’s wings I was up ’til three, and we’re talking lunch.” She pulled out her phone and called up her email. “Do you mind if we go to Perk Me Up? I get their newsletter, and this week’s came with a coupon for buy one get one lunch half off.”
Now Winnie’s stomach felt like Marcy’s face at the mention of hot wings. She liked the food at Perk Me Up fine, but since Aaron ran the place for his folks, she avoided eating there whenever possible. When she happened to be in town and hungry, she always checked through the picture windows for him before ordering to go. Yeah, she’d done work for the place, but she hadn’t had to deal with Aaron for that.
She looked around at the retreating partygoers, little children collecting their goodie bags and thanking the hosts. Parents taking sticky hands and stepping over extension cords. The birthday boy was considerably older than Presley, so very likely the boy hadn’t been invited. It meant Aaron, who had no reason to take time off, might be working today.
“I don’t know,” she said warily. “It’s a lot of food, and I’m not famished.”
“Please?” Marcy begged, bouncing on her heels. “I’m really craving some pancakes.”
“I have pancake mix—”
Marcy talked over her. “You don’t have white chocolate chips, or raspberry syrup.” Hands on hips, she nudged Winnie as though to challenge her.
“I’ll pick some up,” Winnie muttered. Who sold white chocolate chips? Not the quickie mart in town. She’d gladly drive into Charlottesville if it meant skipping a run-in with Aaron Oleson.
“Raspberries are out of season, Win.”
“If that’s the case, you sure you want to be eating what Perk Me Up has in stock?”
Marcy huffed and rolled her eyes. “You can’t avoid Aaron forever, you know.”
“I don’t have to give him my money, either. He can give me his if he wants another logo.”
Marcy slammed her paint case shut. “First off, I’m buying since ya’ll bought the beer yesterday. For two, it’s not just Aaron’s business. There’s Erica, who’s really nice, and Patsy and Dean. They all have a share of the place, and they more than make up for Aaron’s shortcomings.”
Winnie smiled. No missing the dreamy lilt to her cousin’s voice at the mention of the older Oleson brother. Marcy had crushed on him big time at school, which amused Winnie. Dean hardly fit the profile of teen idol, his nose perpetually in a book and his shirts buttoned to his throat, even in the summer. If Marcy wanted to drool at him still, though, she only needed to visit the library. They’d relaxed their rules in recent years—one could carry in coffee and sneak in snacks so long as they cleaned up after themselves.
But, yeah, a library picnic offered less appeal than sandwiches at home.
By the time they packed up the cars then arrived at Perk Me Up as their lunch crush filtered out the doors, Winnie’s heart lodged in her throat and she reconsidered leftover chicken wing quesadillas. She saw no evidence of any Olesons as a waitress guided them to a booth, and Winnie eventually relaxed after ordering.
She waited until after their food arrived to address Marcy’s ongoing silent appraisal of her. “What?”
Marcy shuffled a few white candy chips along the surface of her pancakes with the tines of her fork. “Winnie, I want you to know how I’ve always admired you….”
“Oh lord, are you going to break into a Bette Midler song?”
“Come on!” Marcy’s cheeks pinked. “I’m trying for a moment here. Yeah, I’m getting sappy, but I really envy you. You’re a much better artist than I am, way better at this face painting stuff, too.”
Winnie speared a chunk of blackened salmon and layered a few shreds of romaine and shaved parmesan. “Marcy, don’t sell yourself short. The kids love your work. Your lines are always longer at the farmers market.” She filed this heart-to-heart under idle chatter. Marcy attempted speeches like this every few months, usually when news was slow in coming. Winnie appreciated her cousin’s feelings, and heartily returned them, but she really wanted to eat her lunch and get out in case Aaron showed up.
“Marcy, you’re amazing. I’d be lost without you at the booth. You’re the money man, the reason we’re able to do this almost for a living.” Seriously. Had Marcy not turned her on to point of sale capability with her phone, she’d still be lugging change around in a cigar box. Marcy knew where to find supplies at cost, too, expanding their profit margin.
“Keep up the compliments. We’ll be singing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ in harmony when Krissy comes back to clear the plates.”
“You’re going somewhere with this, right?” Winnie asked. “You want a raise? Going solo? One Chick, One Brush.”
Marcy flicked a drop of syrup in her direction as she pointed her fork at Winnie’s lunch. “I meant to say don’t feel like you have to nibble on bunny food in public. You never did before. You never gave a fuck what people thought.”
“Is that all?” Winnie looked down at her salad. Caesar dressing, juicy salmon, whatever else Perk Me Up put in it to make her want to lick the bowl clean. “Marcy, the calorie count on this salad probably equals the cheeseburger. I just happen to like a salmon Caesar.” She sipped her water. “I didn’t get the milkshake because I’m cheap.”
“Right.” Marcy laughed and cut a few triangular bites from her short stack. “I’m sorry. I guess I feel responsible for putting more attention on you than you want.”
Winnie kept her gaze fixed on her food. “Look around, Marce. People eating, talking to each other. They’re not concerned with us, and I….” She set down her fork and sighed. Nope. Not possible to brush away her paranoia when Marcy willingly admitted her own insecurity.
“Yeah. Maybe I was worried a bit about what Aaron might say or do, and maybe it influenced my lunch choice.” Knowing Aaron, though, he’d twist his lip at anything she put in her mouth. No-win. “I won’t change who I am for anybody, and Cory seems to like me for me, so good for him.”
“How romantic,” Marcy drawled.
“You want pizazz? Read a romance. I have several you can borrow.” Winnie stabbed at her salad and scooped up a healthy bite dripping in tangy dressing. She’d picked out nearly all the fish so that only a few dark pink shreds remained, so she focused on the savory croutons and fresh lettuce. If she ate nothing else until the fair, she risked garlic breath and aftertaste for the next few hours. Yuck.
“Let’s pick up some bottle drinks at the quickie mart before we go to the high school, okay?”
Marcy swirled her last chunk of pancake around her syrup-sticky plate. “That all we’re picking up today?” she asked with one eyebrow raised.
“If you mean Cory, he’s going to the fair with his family. We’re not joined at the hip. We’ll probably hook up later.”
Her voice sounded comfortable talking about him. They’d make plans, and Cory could roam freely without worrying her. She liked to think he had no problem with her doing her own thing as well. Keep it casual and give no thought to tomorrow, right?
What if tomorrow he announced he was taking that TV host job in New York?
Winnie pushed away her plate, unable to bear the smell of food.
Winnie underestimated the popularity of Two Chicks, Two Palettes. She expected a few high schoolers might bring their younger siblings over to get their faces done, but right as the homecoming fair opened, two teenagers slid into the chairs and asked for zombie makeovers. She and Marcy spent the next hour applying scabs and scars and gray pallor to older faces, and the occasional adult even came by asking for full-on sugar skull and KISS-style makeup.
Coolidge High had gone all-out this year, bringing in portable carnival rides. Winnie saw a few spinning car contraptions, a bungee jump, a mobile zip line, and a Ferris wheel set up on the football field. Her booth, along with other small games of chance and food trucks, lined the area. It looked like the whole town, and most of the surrounding hamlets, had come out for fun.
Marcy leaned over to her during a too-brief lull. “I hope all the equipment doesn’t damage the field. We need all the help we can get for homecoming. Imagine those kids trying to play ball and dodging deep pits in the dirt.”
“They’ll be fine, and the team’s not that bad right now.” Despite her hang-ups over high school, Winnie had attended a few games over recent years. St. Florence offered so little in the way of nightlife, and sitting in the stands had allowed her to catch up with a few former classmates she’d gotten along with back in the day. Once in a while, too, she got a new client in between plays.
“Anyway, they have a few days to get the field in shape,” she added. “I think it’s cool they have all this now.” Not like when they were students, and homecoming week consisted of an in-school pep rally, the parade, and the after-game dance. Few frills, but Cody and his teammates had made up for it in touchdowns.
“Yeah. A nice fair is good for morale. The elephant ears, not so much for my ass.” Marcy’s gaze panned toward a fair food truck selling candied apples, cotton candy, and other carnival treats. “Where’s my granola bar?”
“Next to your brushes.” No time for a snack, though, as a new line formed at the booth. Winnie waved in two adults wanting butterfly faces and did a double-take when Satin and her Lost Girls partner Blaze approached. Without her leather vest, ass-kicking boots, and multiple ear hoops, the brew mistress rocked a soccer mom look in jeans and a Coolidge High hoodie. Satin’s hair, usually streaked with colors not associated with nature, appeared as though she’d let the neon fade.
Satin arched an eyebrow at Marcy in response to the giggling that followed their choice of makeup. “What?” she challenged. “Can’t two grown women get a big ol’ butterfly painted on their faces at a school fair without the whole world judging?”
“I’m not making fun,” Marcy insisted and helped Blaze with a smock. “I guess I had you ladies pegged for something more…Mad Max.”
“Oh, that would have been good for this year.” Blaze’s head turned up, causing Marcy to miss her cheek with a brush poised to outline the design. “Y’all know we’re having a big Halloween party at the brewery, right? We got a live band and prizes for the best costumes.”
“Is the prize free beer for a year?” Winnie started on Satin’s forehead, noting tiny pricks near her eyebrow line where she’d presumably had piercings. “If I win, does that mean I can add that year after the free year I already have?”
Satin snickered. “More like gift cards. And T-shirts. They aren’t moving as fast as I like, and since we’re thinking of redoing the logo, I want to get rid of our current inventory. Speaking of which….”
Winnie smelled a new job. “Drop me an email tomorrow, and we’ll talk.”
Satin gave her a thumbs up.
“You gals want face painters, too?”
Marcy made a sputtering noise, but Satin gave her a serious nod. “Hey, sometimes we have vendors come out selling jewelry and pottery and stuff. Can y’all do henna tattoos?” she asked, then nudged Winnie. Luckily she’d just set down her brush. “Better yet, we’ll set you up a table and you can draw tattoo designs for people.”
“I love what you did for her,” Blaze said. “Next time I go in for ink I’m calling you up.”
Marcy waited for Blaze to stop fidgeting before resuming her work on the butterfly wings. “Now that’s a thought, Win. Temporary tats for grown-ups. Anybody thinking about one but not sure how it’ll look can come up and we’ll give them a test run, so to speak.”
Winnie considered it. The only thing that concerned her about the enterprise was that an actual tattoo artist wouldn’t have the paint materials she and Marcy used for their gigs. It wouldn’t look the same as a genuine tat. “The henna ink sounds more feasible for the Lost Girls crowd. Halloween is out, but maybe the next time you all put on a festival?”
“I’ll put you on our email list, if that’s okay,” Satin told her. “Always looking for ways to get involved. We’d have had a booth here, too, but the school didn’t want alcohol on the grounds.”
Yeah. Coolidge High, by virtue of location and quality faculty, rarely reported incidents of unruly behavior among the student body. Even though the homecoming fair was open to the public, Winnie could see they didn’t need the temptation of beer samples an underage drinker might pilfer.
She and Marcy finished up the biker chicks’ butterflies, applying a shimmering powder to bring out the color of the wings, took their money, and wished them a great rest of their evening. Conversations with their remaining customers followed a similar thread, as those waiting in line listened in and were keen to chime in on tattoos they’d get if they had the money and the nerve. One woman in line to get a Queen of Hearts makeover asked Winnie about Satin’s tattoo. “Was it easy for the guy at the salon to transfer?”
Winnie shrugged. “I suppose.” The finished product looked very much like the drawing she’d completed for Satin. “I doubt I have the stones to work an ink needle myself. When I draw a logo for a client, I’m comfortable because I know I can use an eraser. Not so much with a needle on a guy’s butt.”
“I can think of one butt you wouldn’t mind branding,” Marcy hinted, and Winnie glared at her. That a few people clustered around the booth chuckled at the remark irritated her all the more. How could she not think for a moment people in town were aware of her and Cory being together? Everybody had an opinion—fine, whatever. She felt like the subject of a joke right now.
Hell if she’d let Marcy know she got her goat, though. Winnie straightened, smiled, and picked up a makeup sponge to apply white to her customer’s face. “Maybe, maybe not,” she said coyly. “It’s one tattoo you’d never see.”
She held back the sponge while the lady in her chair whooped.
“Speaking of butts,” Marcy tapped her phone, which sat on her table, with her pinky. “Cory better get his up to the main stage soon. I heard from Lisa earlier the school roped him into announcing the homecoming court.”
“Whatever happened to tradition?” Winnie shook her head. In their day, homecoming king and queen were revealed at halftime during the big game. She understood why the school wanted the couple presented for the upcoming parade, but all these events used to happen on the same day. Stretching out activities to celebrate a football game for days seemed to her like a shameless money grab. Indeed, Coolidge’s homecoming week brought in alumni from around the Commonwealth, many of whom left substantial monetary gifts in their wake. Winnie hoped, at least, some endowments would benefit the school library and art rooms.
Not always, though. Coolidge liked to give away alumni-sponsored scholarships, really stipends in the four figures to students excelling in various subjects. How long before they touched on Cory to establish a fund to help an honor roll athlete pay for textbooks?
“I like tradition fine,” Marcy said, “but there’s something to be said for change. Nothing wrong with a little pomp and circumstance, especially if you don’t get much of it throughout the year.”
Winnie pondered her cousin’s words. St. Florence maintained a steady population, with few of the younger generations returning home after college. One could live comfortably here and commute to Charlottesville—even Richmond if the salary was worth the distance—but few stayed cradle to grave and actually worked here. Had she not owned her home outright, she might have moved closer to the city, but thankfully the ability to work online gave her flexibility. Yes, aside from homecoming week and the occasional food or wine-related festival, St. Florence remained pomp-free.
Definitely not the place to keep the interest of a retired football player with money. Much as she’d enjoyed her time with Cory, Winnie stayed on edge waiting for the other cleat to drop. She hoped he’d have the decency to talk to her first, though, before tipping off the press. She’d hate to hear on TMZ first that he decided to work with—
“Milly Wilkins.” Marcy pointed to a clearing between the booths and the concessions. “Holy cow.”
Bystanders drifted away from the face painting and craft booths as the few bodies in the distance parted to reveal the television host strolling the grounds in a smart tailored yellow suit and heels, her hair and makeup perfectly set like she expected to broadcast live at any minute. Milly flashed a mega-watt smile and signed everything waving underneath her face, all the while multi-tasking in the way only a celebrity could. She listened to jokes, nodded at praise, grinned for selfies and chatted as her admiring throng moved with her like flotsam toward the stage. Save for the woman awaiting the completion of her Queen of Hearts makeup, everybody waiting to have their faces done left to become part of that commotion.
“I guess that seals it,” Winnie murmured. She hadn’t intended to say it out loud, but one glance at Marcy’s sad smile told her she understood. What else would bring a famous person with no ties to the area to a small-town high school shindig but Cory Levane? She ought to be impressed his would-be co-host made the effort to woo him personally.
Or, Cory had made the deal and decided to drop the news on the whole town to boost homecoming spirit.
Winnie finished with her last customer of the evening, willing her eyes not to tear up and her hands not to tremble. Technically, they had the space for another thirty minutes, but with the crowning of the court about to begin they’d lost the crowd. She frowned as Marcy draped a towel over her station before checking for her phone.
“What?” Marcy challenged Winnie’s silent disapproval. “I got the cash box, and I got nothing worth stealing.”
“Everything is worth stealing. People take for the sake of taking, even in a Mayberry town like this.” Winnie collected her brushes, washed off what still had paint clinging to it, and proceeded with the breakdown of her area. She took her time, wanting an excuse for missing the apparently star-studded ceremony happening closer to the field. A voice filled the air via loudspeaker, reminding the crowd to assemble by the stands for the big moment.
“I don’t want to miss the homecoming court,” Marcy wheedled, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She wanted to gawk at a lady from TV who’d never show her face in town again after this. Milly Wilkins was probably checking her New York heels for cow patty residue. The thought gave Winnie a chuckle.
“You coming?”
“Go on. I’ll hold down the fort.” Winnie nodded and shooed her away. Seeing Cory now would roil her stomach and break her heart.
***
He scanned the crowd, recognizing several faces from the past. Aaron Oleson held his young son on his hip while they surveyed the amusements for the five-and-unders, and Johanna Gleason waved down her brood, distributing napkins for messy faces and ride tickets for eager hands. Cory nodded in passing to several former classmates, amazed by significant changes in some and how time had frozen others. A few pounds here and there, strands of silver among the blond, but overall everybody looked and happy and great. He wished he felt as good.
Of course, he’d stalked the Two Chicks, Two Palettes booth when he had free time, and watched for any hint of emotion on Winnie’s face. His heart panged to see her bantering with customers young and old, and he’d wanted nothing more than to walk over there and join in on the fun, make her smile. While she’d claimed she wouldn’t mind a few hours of space, he found it agonizing. A couple should enjoy a fair together, fighting over who got to carry the popcorn and toss the bean bags into the cornhole boards to win the giant stuffed unicorn.
It wasn’t to say he resented hanging with his family this evening. Lisa kept him up to date on her life, and he swelled with happiness on seeing his parents strolling the grounds in awe. They were proud of him for coming home to participate, they’d told him, and as he looked around the grounds of his old school—where his football career began—a sense of pride stirred in his mind and heart.
Some people might peak in high school, and it relieved him that he wasn’t among that group. Winnie, either, though he doubted she shared his sentiments whenever she came back to Coolidge. He wondered if this was the first time since graduation—they never discussed her attending games and alumni events.
He intended to ensure her success with this children’s book. It would be shelved in stores and made available at every online channel selling books. He’d arrange for publicity, too, and maybe get her on TV with him on a national morning show or—
“Cory Levane!”
Milly.
He blinked. Was that Milly Wilkins wobbling her way over to him with half of St. Florence in her wake? A wave of nausea, definitely not brought on from the hot dogs his father purchased from the Pep Club booth, crested within him and threatened to make him sick. Had the TV personality come here on her own to woo him, or had Ray decided to play matchmaker behind his back.
Milly air-kissed both his cheeks. Camera phones captured the moment at every angle. They’d be trending soon, but Cory only thought of Winnie and if she saw the woman. One glimpse of Milly would be enough to convince Winnie that he planned to leave St. Florence behind, and she was too proud to uproot and follow.
“It’s nice to see you again,” he told Milly. “How’s Matty doing?”
The peppy, dark-haired woman let out a high-pitched laugh and clasped her hands. She was all white teeth and pink fingernails and gold wrist baubles. “Last I heard, he was totally embracing his retirement. Helen managed to get him on a plane to St. Bart’s for an extended second honeymoon.”
He nodded, not really concerned. You could take the celebrity away from the cameras, yada yada. He envisioned Matty clutching the door to his dressing room, friends and family dragging him away by his pant cuffs. “Must be hectic having to do the show with different people every day.”
“Yes, but everybody’s been so professional. I can’t wait to find a good fit, though.” She eyed him like a prized stuffed unicorn dangling out of reach atop the cornhole booth. “I think we can dispense with the trivial pleasantries, Cory.”
“My agent sent you?”
She shrugged, giving him a crooked grin. “It’s not just him. You have a lot of fans who think you’d be great for the show. Is this where you’re headed?” He stepped to the side, trying to distance himself from onlookers and get to the main stage, and Milly fell in beside them. They resembled a pair of dignitaries touring the grounds while the townspeople tracked them. Holy crap, this is embarrassing.
He couldn’t very well tell the gawkers to buzz off, either. Glancing at Milly, he said, “I’m flattered you went through the trouble of coming here to see me, but I would have been happy to arrange a more formal meeting.”
“This some kind of Statue of Liberty play, Levane?” She arched an eyebrow. “You know, a fake out. A bluff?”
They neared the stage, situated on the track surrounding the football field, under a tall lamppost. The bright light shone down on them, illuminating much of the space in the dimming evening, and Cory got a better look at the woman with him. Milly Wilkins appeared never to age, probably a requisite given her line of work, though Cory detected the faintest of wisdom lines at the corners of her eyes. They became more pronounced when she smiled, and he had to admit he liked this view of her more than the one he remembered from watching Matty and Milly Live with his mother.
“Milly, I don’t want to waste your time.” He spoke low and hoped she heard over the din of the fair. “I’m happy to be a guest on your show anytime. In fact, when my book comes out, I’ll give you first crack at an interview. Whatever Ray told you about my wanting to replace Matty Rose, though, you shouldn’t accept it as gospel truth.”
Milly’s brow wrinkled, and her lips pursed. “Who’s Ray?”
Huh? “Uh, my agent? You didn’t hear from him?” Weird that Milly would show without prompting. “I know he’s been chomping at the bit to get me to sign onto some kind of show. With all these rumors about me taking over as your co-host, I figured he was doing some overtime on my dime.”
The woman laughed a bit and shook her head. “If you want the truth, our shortlist ran about twenty people. All kinds—regional morning hosts, comedians, and a few athletes like you. You have to have somebody who’s a genuine people person with a great sense of humor. I’ve seen clips of you on Colbert and ESPN, and I’d be lying if I said you lacked potential.”
“I’m flattered, and while I’ll work in some way, I’d just as soon keep out of the spotlight.” As a book author, he could stay at home, maybe answer tweets from young fans. “Your job sounds hectic.”
Milly fanned her fingers out, holding them under her chin, and gave a coquettish smile. “I’ve been up since four. Bet you wouldn’t know it.” She fluttered her lashes before relaxing. “Anyway, my assistant talked to somebody in your camp earlier, but not a man. Louise, Elizabeth…”
“Lisa?” Really? What possessed his sister to pose as his rep and negotiate and job he wouldn’t pursue? Where did she get her balls?
“I believe so. She knew quite a bit about you and sounded serious about your interest in taking over for Matty.” Milly’s smile fell. “I take it, now, though, it’s not the case.”
Cory took the woman’s hand in a firm shake. “Milly, let me apologize for my over-anxious and intrusive family. Clearly you were lured here under false pretenses. Seems a lot of people want a piece of the action now that I’m a free agent, so to speak. If you’ll excuse me.”
He left Milly to her fans, and when he turned back to check on her saw she continued to sign autographs and smile for phones like he hadn’t been there. She’d find happiness with whomever sat next to her on the set. That’s showbiz.
He found Lisa with his parents close to the main stage, chatting with Mr. Yates, Coolidge High’s principal. He’d served as the dean of boys when Cory attended, and helped him when it came to choosing the right school to further his academic and sports career. Happy as he should have been to run into a mentor, Lisa’s interference in his life nettled under his skin. They needed to clear the air.
“Sorry to be rude here, but I have to talk to Lisa privately for second.” He acknowledged that the homecoming court presentation was scheduled to start, and as Mr. Yates blustered out a warning to be close, he was pulling Lisa toward the fence surrounding the football field. She held a paper cone filled with kettle corn and dropped a few nuggets like Gretel leaving a trail.
Her worried expression gave him pause, like she predicted his anger over her deceptive behavior with Milly’s assistant. “What’s up, bro? Why are we—ow!” She jerked her arm away and walked the last few steps to the gate by herself. Standing by the base of the stands, they had some privacy but Cory kept an eye out for nosy passersby.
“Guess who I saw out by the kiddie games, Leese? Milly Wilkins. She got this idea I wanted to co-host her talk show. Any idea how that happened?”
Lisa’s eyes cast down and her cheeks, already a bit pink from the wind, deepened in color. He spotted a shine in one of her eyes and guessed tears would appear soon, even though he’d kept his voice low. Great. Last thing he wanted was a blubbering sibling.
“I didn’t think they’d take me seriously,” she began.
“Why call them at all? You’re not my agent. I’ve never known you to be so interested in my future that you’d pretend to rep me. This isn’t like you, Leese. What were you thinking, really?”
Lisa folded the edges of the paper cone over to conceal the leftover popcorn. He figured she wanted something to do with her hands besides wipe away tears. “I saw all this stuff on TV about how Matty and Milly liked you for their show, and that maybe that other guy would get the job. You know, he’s in all those stupid body-snatcher movies.”
More like body-switching, as in grown man trades bodies with middle schoolers and causes international incidents, but Cory got the gist. “Well, if he replaces Matty that means no more sequels. That’s a good thing, huh?”
Lisa laughed, a bit, but sniffled more. “Who turns down a TV show, Cory? You’d be perfect for it, and when Patsy told me Aaron said you were going to throw away all these opportunities, I figured you needed a push.” She shrugged. “Like if Milly or Matty personally offered you a shot.”
“Lisa.” He drew his sister into a hug and thankfully she shed no tears nor wailed her remorse. He might have known Aaron meddled, but it didn’t sound like he’d told Lisa to make the call. When had being retired become a temporary situation? His NFL pension stood to keep him comfortable provided he didn’t spend carelessly.
He thought of Winnie, and how she might have reacted on seeing Milly Wilkins skulking about the fair, and put two and two together. “Lisa,” he said, “you know I’ve been going out with Winnie Segal, right? We have something nice going. I’m not about to walk away from that for a lousy TV show.”
“Yeah, I saw the tweets and the stuff on the entertainment shows.” She pulled away and rubbed her nose. “Patsy said it’s a casual fling, nothing serious.”
“What the hell does Patsy know about my life? Why are you getting it from her rather than asking your own brother?” It came out harsher than intended. Lisa blinked and stepped back as though he’d breathed fire with his words. He wanted to apologize, but it stuck in his throat. Why should he? He was angry. Thanks to all these “well-meaning” acts by people with no stake in his private life, Winnie probably nursed doubt about a future with him.
“Hey, it’s not like you and Winnie were ever steadies,” Lisa said, holding up her free hand. “Y’all never hung out at school…hell, you never talked about her at home. And Mom said she was drawing pictures for this book idea you had. How am I supposed to get a romantic relationship from all that?”
Clearly Mom had said nothing about him escorting Winnie up to his room the other night, but a clandestine tryst between an unmarried pair in her own home hardly seemed like something she’d boast about. He felt grateful his mother had refrained from kicking down the door. Cory shook his head, sighing. “Leese, I love you. If you’re curious about what’s going on in my life, ask me directly. ’Kay?”
His sister nodded and fingered the popcorn cone again, shaking out a few small puffs.
“Look, I gotta go do this homecoming thing now. I’ll tell Mom I want to have a family dinner, and I’ll bring Winnie. It’s overdue anyway. I want everybody to get to know her better,” he said.
“Winnie’s cool, really.” Lisa shuffled in place. “She used to do all that artwork for the yearbook club, and I saw her face painting booth. She’s got talent.”
Cory nodded and parted with a quick goodbye, determined to clarify his feelings for Winnie once and for all. The woman had talent, indeed, and something more important.
His heart.