The One That I Want Read online

  Thankfully, Dane Tyler didn’t seem to be inside the radio station yet. I figured we might miss running into him altogether, especially once I realized that the listening/reception area was in a different part of the building from Blake’s booth. We would only be able to hear them talk during the interview, not actually see them.

  The room that the bosses had approved for the various newspaper people to congregate in was swarming with live bodies, though. Nia’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Pappayiannis, and her brother Dimitri were busily setting up all of the desserts at a long table—a veritable feast of Greek pastries, English teacakes, chocolate confections, and a range of hot and cold beverages. I spotted dueling trays of baklava and galaktoboureko from across the room and my mouth began to water.

  Nia waved to us when she saw us walk in.

  “Where’s Chance?” Shar demanded.

  His young girlfriend flashed a grin. “Don’t be mad at him. He has a client for the next hour, but he’s planning to pop in as soon as he can get here.”

  “Okay then,” Shar said. “Do you need any help?”

  Nia shook her head. “We’ve got it under control. Maybe just tell some of your friends not to be shy. They can come over and get a dessert plate or a drink anytime.”

  “Will do.” Shar blew her an air kiss and the two of us began spreading the word about the refreshments. It gave me an opportunity to praise the bakery publicly, which I hoped would lead to even more business for Nia’s family. They were good, hardworking people. They deserved it.

  In our rounds, Shar and I got to chat with Elsie, Vicky, and a few other members of the Quest group. Shar had put out the word to all of them about the event, of course. And even though several couldn’t come because of work, vacations, or other commitments, I could tell that Shar had singlehandedly been responsible for at least half of the attendees.

  The other half consisted of media people. There were local photographers and a few reporters, including that obnoxious woman from the dress rehearsal night. This afternoon, I spotted her relentlessly pushing her business cards on people and trying to dig for more information on Dane Tyler. She even approached me once, but I slid away from her as fast as I could. I didn’t want her trying to trap me into saying anything or misquoting me on something. People like her scared me.

  Blake’s bosses from the station—Leonard and Doug—were also there, and Shar and I were both relieved to see how delighted they looked with the size and enthusiasm of the crowd. Shar had been right about that, and I was glad we could be present to help out her brother.

  I made a point of saying to Vicky, within Doug’s hearing, “Wasn’t Blake clever to think of doing a celebrity interview like this here in Mirabelle Harbor?”

  She readily agreed. Although, later, once the boss guy moved away, she whispered, “Have you ever even met Shar’s brother?”

  “A few times. You?”

  She shook her head. “He has a sexy voice, though.”

  I laughed. “That he does.”

  Blake epitomized the modern radio personality in that way. Not only was he more loquacious than most people, his voice was incredibly resonant. At Michaelsen family gatherings, I could tell instantly if Blake was in the house, long before I ever saw him.

  But, as good looking as he was, I knew I’d never be able to think of him romantically. And all of Shar’s brothers, Blake included, always treated me like just another sister. Even Shar knew better than to speculate about matching me up with one of them.

  Up until the time of the actual live interview, the station’s typical playlist was being broadcast. The music was piped into most of the rooms in the building, including our reception area. Given that it was “LOVE” FM, the songs on rotation on this afternoon’s playlist were a compilation of romantic hits through the decades. I’d already heard a smattering of eighties hair-band ballads—Poison belting out “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” and Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again”—along with a few delightfully sappy Air Supply hits, some seventies-era Bread and Kansas, more recent Elton John tunes, and a handful of really modern power love songs, including Jason Mraz’s “I’m Yours.”

  “Nothing but love, 24/7,” or so said the 102.5 slogan.

  But promptly on the hour, Blake announced that, after the next commercial break, he’d have “the guest we’d all been waiting for.” And he urged us to “stay tuned for Dane Tyler,” who was apparently “already in the house.”

  My pulse kicked it up a couple of notches. Dane wasn’t in the reception room now, but that wasn’t too surprising, given the crush of people and the immediacy of his interview ahead. But would he be able to avoid coming in here afterward? With so many reporters present, I seriously doubted it. Talking to the press after events like this was part of his job.

  Everyone in the room paused in both their conversation and their afternoon tea treats when Blake’s voice came back on the air.

  “Today,” he said, “we’re fortunate to have a guest from Hollywood that you all know and love, Dane Tyler. Welcome to LOVE FM.”

  “Thanks, Blake,” we heard Dane reply. “It’s a pleasure to be here in beautiful Mirabelle Harbor.”

  I snuck a glance around the room as Shar’s brother asked Dane a series of questions about “The Bachelor Pad” and what it was like to be back in the Midwest again. Every person I could see—male or female, young or old—was listening with rapt attention.

  After chatting about the play and its run for several minutes, Blake said, “Have you reconnected with any old friends in the area during the past month?”

  “You mean beside the mosquitoes?” Dane quipped.

  Those of us in the room laughed, a very encouraging reaction for the bosses in attendance, even if Dane couldn’t see or hear us. Shar’s brother chuckled into his mic.

  “Most of my family has moved away from here, either because of work or to head into warmer climates,” Dane admitted. “Although, yes, I’ve seen a few old friends from when I was in high school. And I’ve even met a couple of new people that I’d like to get to know better.”

  The collective sound of “ooooooh” echoed through the reception room.

  “Ah,” Blake said, amusement vibrating through his voice as it piped down to us from the overhead speakers. “I’ll bet you’ve set some hearts on fire since your return to Chicago this summer. And, since this is the station of LOVE, after all, perhaps you could offer our listeners some advice on how to get that special someone to notice them.”

  The sound Dane made was suspiciously like a snort. “Neon clothing, dangerous looking tattoos, and a few unusual piercings usually do the trick. If all else fails, just take a trip to L.A. and tell everyone you’re a director.”

  Blake chuckled loudly. The guys were having fun in there.

  “I may have to try that, Dane, especially if my love life in the Windy City doesn’t improve soon. But seriously now,” he said, although I more than suspected that Blake wished he could just go with Dane’s irreverence and take the jokes to a slightly racier place. “Got any wisdom to give us regular single guys—or gals? Our listening audience is hopeful you might.”

  “Hmm,” Dane said. “The truth is that I consider honesty a big turn on. And kindness. And authenticity. There’s not enough of that out there.” A long, nearly uncomfortable moment of dead air followed, and I was worried there might have been a technical malfunction. But then Dane cleared his throat and the joking tone returned. “I’m not much of an expert on long-lasting love, although I seem to be asked about it fairly frequently. I can, however, suggest some romantic movies, starring yours truly, of course, that should set the scene for love in anyone’s bedroom, family room, or den.”

  “Do tell,” Blake encouraged.

  “Trust me on this, all of you in radioland,” Dane said. “Just put on Love at Cedar Ranch or Weekend in Maui, pour some wine for yourself and your significant other, and let the love flow.”

  I had to admit, both of those films had some incredibly steamy s
cenes in them. They’d probably have an aphrodisiac effect on many. Once upon a time (until I met Dane in person), they turned me on, too.

  “Or, better yet,” Dane continued, “recreate that scene from A Private Obsession where my character filmed his love interest for three years through that small opening in the wall separating their townhouses. Just turn off the lights, turn on the camera—with mutual consent, of course—and I’ll guarantee you’ll get some action.”

  This made Blake, all the afternoon tea attendees, the bosses, and probably most of the 102.5 listeners burst out laughing. The guy Dane had played in that latter movie was a stalker—non-violent, but still very creepy, and pretty much the polar opposite of “romantic.” The “lights, camera, action” bit was a cheesy play on words, but Dane knew how to sell it.

  The men bantered back and forth for a few minutes more in the booth before the DJ paused for a commercial with many thanks to the actor for visiting and the promise of a John Legend tune coming up after the break.

  And then bedlam overtook the reception room as Dane Tyler entered it.

  Everyone cheered. The bosses beamed. The reporters swooped in. And I backed away toward the only side exit.

  I didn’t quite reach it, though, before Elsie sought me out. Then Chance stopped me. He’d slipped in toward the end of the interview and wanted to make sure his sister caught a glimpse of him. “I don’t want her to hound me later. You know how she gets.”

  I assured him that, yes, I knew.

  He winked at me then dove into the heart of the crowd to find Shar and, then, Nia.

  At one point, Dane himself caught my eye, but he was trapped in an onslaught of questions by press people. I made sure to slide out of his view before he could get any closer.

  Hiding out for a while in the far back corner of the room, I checked my phone for voicemails and messages. Nothing from Analise or the camp, but there was one email that surprised me. Sender? Ben Saintsbury.

  Curiosity had me clicking on it.

  “Hey, Julia!” Ben wrote. “It was great seeing you in person at the reunion. Sorry we didn’t have a chance to chat more on Saturday night, but…well, I’ve just been thinking about you a lot since then.”

  It was fascinating the way Ben tried to reel people in and convince them he cared. He’d thought about me “a lot” in the past day and a half? Great. That was a true sign of interest and commitment. There was more to his message, though.

  “I spoke with a couple of old friends who knew a few of your old friends, and I just wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about your husband’s death last year. I hope you’re doing okay, and that my comments to you weren’t TOO tactless.”

  At this, I actually laughed aloud. A group of women nearby turned to glance at me. I smiled and pointed to my phone. “Funny Facebook joke,” I explained. They nodded and looked away.

  Ben’s email ended with a pair of “XO”s and a plea to get together for drinks sometime soon. Yeah, that would be happening—not.

  Still, it was thoughtful (maybe?) that he’d thought to email me. Insecurity made people act like jerks more often than any of us probably wanted to admit. And I knew he hadn’t known about Adam’s accident when he’d made those insensitive comments at the party. It would be fair to give him the benefit of the doubt with that at least.

  So, I clicked Reply and typed, “Thanks for the condolences and the invitation, Ben. Now’s not the best time for me to get together with anyone, but I appreciated hearing from you. Hope you’ll have a fun summer.”

  I signed it, hit Send, and exhaled. I’d had my fill of men behaving foolishly for a while, midlife crisis or not. I needed a break from them all.

  A moment later, Shar came over with a plate piled with desserts. “Help me eat these,” she demanded. “It’s in celebration, so they have no calories.” She glanced approvingly at the management heads who couldn’t have looked happier.

  As I gave in to my temptation for Greek pastries, Blake himself approached us. His shift had just ended and he’d turned over the reins, with the help of REO Speedwagon’s “Keep on Lovin’ You,” to Amelia, the next DJ on the station’s schedule.

  “Thank you, ladies,” he said warmly to both his sister and me. He kissed Shar on the cheek. “I know what you did. I owe ya.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll collect on that later.” She grinned at him, but Blake and I both knew she wasn’t entirely joking. Shar was a loving sister, but she didn’t let her brothers off the hook when it came to an unpaid debt.

  “No doubt,” he countered.

  We talked for a few minutes before he nudged Shar and motioned subtly toward Vicky, who was across the room chatting with one of the bosses.

  “Who’s the babe talking to Leonard?”

  “She’s a friend of ours, and her name is Vicky. Do not call her ‘the babe,’ that’s insulting,” Shar retorted. “She’s a high school French teacher. Lives in town.”

  “Really…” Blake raised his eyebrows. “When did foreign language teachers become so hot? Is she single?”

  “Behave yourself, Bro. She’s currently unattached, but she’s looking for a nice guy.”

  “What? I’m nice. Mostly.” Blake paused. “Well, okay, not that nice but—”

  Shar slugged him not very gently in the bicep, but she couldn’t hide her laughter.

  I excused myself, congratulating Blake on a very successful event and edging even closer to the exit. I figured I could probably slip away now without anyone else caring.

  I got as far as the hallway when a voice behind me said, “Excuse me, Julia Crane?”

  I swiveled around and Dane Tyler himself had materialized by the door, as if he’d been teleported there, just like his character in that one sci-fi thriller, Time Jumpers.

  “So, I was surprised to see you here, but very glad. I’ve been trying to talk with you since I got done with the interview,” he said, smiling at me but looking wary, as if he was afraid I might snap at him and bolt without warning. It wasn’t without precedent.

  “Oh? Um, I—well, you’ve been very busy,” I managed. “T-Thanks for the flowers you sent me, by the way. They were lovely.”

  He looked mildly reassured but still glanced anxiously over his shoulder and down the hall. “They were just a little token.” He paused. “Look, I can do small talk for hours, but I’d rather not. Most likely we’ll get interrupted in a minute or two, though, so I’ll cut to the chase. Do you accept my apology for my idiotic behavior at the play that night, or do I need to grovel a little longer?”

  In spite of myself, I grinned at him. “Well, I’m not sure. I still have a few unanswered questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How did you get my address?”

  “You’re in the book. Well, you know, the online book. They’ve got you listed in the White Pages. It doesn’t take a detective.”

  I considered this. “But how did you know which suburb I lived in? Julia Crane isn’t exactly an unusual name, especially not in a metropolis like Greater Chicago.”

  He exhaled. “Okay, you caught me. After everyone else left the Knightsbridge that night, I asked Rosemary which town her friends were from. She said Mirabelle Harbor. You told me you were a junior high English teacher. On a hunch, I thought you might work in the town, so I looked up the school’s website. And there you were.” He bowed his head. “I pretty much wanted to crawl under a rock.”

  He glanced up at me—his expression sheepish and embarrassed, yes, but his eyes told me more of the story. He looked pained. Truly disappointed in himself. I could tell he was genuinely sorry for having hurt me. He wasn’t just going through the motions of an apology. At least I didn’t think so. The guy was an actor, after all.

  When I didn’t immediately reply, he swallowed and said, “That’s when I looked up your address. And, uh, when I contacted my agent.”

  “Your agent?”

  “Yeah. See, there’s a database for the Dane Tyler Fan Club members. A record of all the
people who’ve ever joined. And there was a Julia Meriwether on that list. Number 49202, just like you’d said.” He rubbed his forehead and I could see a thin sheen of sweat forming. He was actually…nervous. “So, then I Googled you, and—”

  “Wait, what? You Googled me?”

  He nodded. “I came across your husband’s obituary. I read it. All of it.” He paused and swiped at his forehead again. “Julia, truly, I’m so sorry. I was incredibly out of line at the theater. When I think about what I’d said to you—”

  “Dane?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve groveled enough. Really. Your apology is accepted.”

  I don’t know why I did this next thing, but I reached out and gently touched his arm—an added gesture of reassurance. He seemed to need it, and I wanted him to believe what I was telling him.

  He lightly covered my hand with his. Just briefly. Just long enough only for me to feel the warmth of his palm on my knuckles.

  “Thanks,” he whispered, pulling his hand away. I did the same.

  In the silence that followed, I heard a few people talking and some footsteps from down the hall, moving leisurely toward us.

  “So, who are you bringing to the Closing Night party on Saturday? A friend? A boyfriend?” he asked, a glint of pure curiosity in those blue, blue eyes.

  “Neither,” I was forced to admit. “I’m not coming. I gave the tickets away to two of my friends. Sharlene and Elsie.”

  “W-Why? Are you busy that night? Out of town?”

  I shook my head. “No. I just hadn’t really thought it would be a good idea after…um, well, after last time. I wasn’t sure you really wanted me there, so—”

  “They’re VIP tickets,” he sputtered, half laughing and half indignant. “We only give those out to family members, very close personal friends, or huge theater donors.”

  “Then I guess you should’ve given them to someone like that,” I retorted, “since I don’t fit any of those categories, do I?”