"It's basketball, baby, not ballroom dancing." William Duncan sat across from Vince Harper, a local assistant coach, talking about one of Will's favorite subjects--sports. "The Grizzlies need a strong big man, not a bunch of little guys dancing around the court."
Vince laughed at Will's comment. "They already have a big man. What he needs to do is put some numbers on the board and average more than ten points a game."
"Okay, we'd better watch out before we get into trouble with the Grizzlies." With that said, Will turned and faced the camera.
"Well folks, this is William Duncan from The Memphis Zone, and that's it this week in Southern sports. I'd like to thank my guest tonight, Coach Vince Harper, who's with the Melrose High School Golden Wildcats." He turned toward the coach. "Thanks for coming out, coach."
Vince smiled and nodded. "Not a problem, Will. Thanks for having me, I had a blast."
Will turned back to the camera. "I'll see you next week when my guest will be Gary Rankin, head coach for the Riverdale Warriors football team. So remember," Will said, holding up two fingers toward the camera. "Where can you get the inside scoop on local sports? Right here on The Memphis Zone."
The camera panned out, the lights rose, and Will unhooked his mike. He now had show number twenty-two successfully under his belt. He stood up and extended his hand to Vince. "Thanks again for coming down, man, I appreciate it."
"Sure man, anytime. And if you ever decide you need a cohost include me on that list. I like sitting around talking sports." Vince gave Will's hand a firm shake.
"I'll keep that in mind," Will said with a chuckle. He knew Coach Harper wasn't about to give up being on the field for sitting in a studio. Besides, he didn't want to crush his fantasy by revealing all the work that went into a weekly sports show. Somebody had to plan the show, book the guest, and write the script; and right now that somebody was Will.
"Vince, before you run off I wanted to invite you to bring some of the guys down to the studio sometime. I'd like to have them on the show. Or, we can come out and film a show from the gym."
Vince nodded. "I'll talk to Coach and get back to you."
"Thanks." Will made a mental note to call Vince in a couple of weeks.
Larry Stone, the executive producer of Gator Productions, and his sidekick, Manny, walked into the studio and over to the set, which consisted of a basic black laminated coffee table and two comfortable dark-brown cracked leather chairs. A mural of athletes in action completed the backdrop. As they crossed the room, the lights turned up full blast.
Larry was a short, stocky guy with the presence of a much larger man, which is why almost everyone called him Stone instead of Larry. He gave Will a thumbs-up.
"Great show," he said, before extending his hand and looking up at Vince. "Thanks for coming down, Vince, you're a natural on camera."
"Yeah right," Vince laughed. "But, I'll come back anytime you want me, just ask."
"I'm gonna hold you to that," Larry said, pointing at Vince. Then he turned and motioned for Manny to take a note. "Write that down. When the Wildcats win the state championship this year we'll call that marker in."
The men laughed and strolled off the set. An intern escorted Vince out while Will headed for his office.
Manny stopped short of running into his boss when Larry stopped and snapped his fingers. "Will, hold up. I've solved our little problem." He glanced back at Manny as he walked up to catch Will. "You got the résumés?"
"Right here, boss." Manny held up a manila folder.
"Give it to him."
Manny handed the folder to Will. "Mr. Stone wants you to look those over and give him the green light on one. His preference is noted."
Larry's cell phone rang, and he gave Manny a sarcastic look. "I'm standing right here," he said flipping the phone open. "You were supposed to tell him that if I was gone." He rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath before answering the phone.
Eyes bulging, Manny rested a hand on his hip, and pulled his chin in. "Pardon me, but I'm performing my duties as assigned," he said, in a fake French accent.
Will shook his head, trying not to laugh as he turned his attention to the folder. This week Manny's a Frenchman; last week he was British. Will couldn't keep up with his changing accents and mannerisms. The love-hate relationship between Manny and Larry amazed Will. Manny took his job as office manager as seriously as he took his acting career. He never missed a beat. Larry recognized that but was homophobic, which kept things in the studio interesting.
Will didn't care one way or another about Manny's sexual preference, as long as it didn't affect any of his shows.
"Anyway," Manny said, turning back to Will.
The name on the first résumé caught Will's attention. He couldn't believe his eyes. He blinked and read it again. It can't be.
"Is everything okay?" Manny asked. "Your eyebrows are practically touching."
"When were these candidates interviewed?" Will asked, without looking up from the folder.
"Larry conducted phone interviews with them last week. He's worked with one of them before, and I think his uncle Mack recommended the other one."
Will focused on the details in the résumé. Was this the Jodie Dickerson he knew? The age seemed about right. There was no high school or any other telltale information on the résumé, but somehow he knew this was his Jodie.
"You have this glazed-over look in your eyes." Manny waved his hand in Will's face. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
Will shook his head, clearing the images running through his mind's eye. It might not be her, he told himself. "No, everything's fine. I'll look these over in my office and get them back to you. When does he need an answer?" Will asked, gesturing with the folder toward Larry who was still on his cell phone.
"ASAP. In other words, I go home at four today and he wants your answer before then."
Will checked his watch. Eleven-twenty. "I'll let you know something in a few." He left the two of them standing in the hallway and walked down to his office.
Once inside, he sat down, took off his tie and leaned back in his chair. He propped his heels up on the corner of the desk, and pulled Jodie Dickerson's résumé from the folder. He read through the two pages carefully, noting all of her television experience, and longing for the days when personal information topped your résumé. Her employment history started at The Clifton Reader in Clifton, Tennessee. Bingo! The Jodie he knew worked at the hometown paper after he left for college. Stapled to the résumé was a business card that included her e-mail address and a Memphis phone number. The corners of his lips curled up.
"You're looking at the new producer of Today's New Bride, a show for the gal who's tired of the traditional and wants to jazz it up a bit."
Jodie Dickerson took out her last hot roller and glared at the imposter looking back at her in the mirror as she finger-combed her hair.
Her new roommate, Tracy, poked her head out from the bathroom at the other end of the hallway and laughed. "What do you know about brides or weddings? You've never been a bridesmaid or even in a wedding for that matter, unless something happened in Atlanta that you didn't tell me about."
"No, but I know how to produce a show, and I've been reading through a stack of bridal magazines. Plus, they'll have a production assistant to help research everything, anyway. That's the sort of stuff I did when I was a P.A." Jodie thought for a second and bit her lip. "I hope the company's not so small they don't have a P.A."
"I still can't get over the fact that you left Atlanta to come up here and produce a show about some country bumpkin brides."
Jodie heard Tracy's voice drawing closer. "That's okay, I got a promotion out of the deal. I might not have made producer at CNN for a couple more years. When I interviewed with Gator House Productions, he said I'd have an opportunity to work on multiple shows, which will propel me into a producer spot at one of the major networks in a couple of years or so."
"But Memphis isn't as exciting as Atlanta. Do you think you'll last a couple of years?"
Jodie looked up at her friend now standing in the doorway dressed in a light blue cocktail dress with matching shoes. Her unruly red mane had been brushed up into a ponytail.
Jodie shrugged as she slipped on a pair of black sandals. "I'll have to." Tracy knew why she was in Memphis. "Coming here serves two purposes."
"Speaking of which, have you seen him yet?" Tracy asked, hesitating a bit.
Jodie shook her head. "Not yet. I've only been in town two days. I need to settle in first."
"Right, so I guess you haven't seen Roz yet either?"
"What! And ruin my weekend. I think not." Jodie stood up, dressed and ready to go.
Tracy folded her arms and gave her friend a skeptical look. "You know, everybody has to go home and face the music some time."
The music in Tracy's home had been quite different from the music at Jodie's. Had her friend forgotten that? "Tracy, I came here to help my little brother, so I plan to see him, but I don't have to see Roz in order to do that. At least not right away. Besides, I stand a better chance of having him open up to me if she doesn't know I'm in town."
Tracy shrugged and twisted her lips. "Yeah, but she's still your mother."
Jodie gently grabbed Tracy by the shoulders, turned her around, and headed down the hall. "Yes, ma'am, I'll give her a call in due time. It's just like you to keep me straight. So, where is this wedding? We're going to be late if you don't stop drilling me."
Minutes later, with the windows down and a cool March breeze blowing in the car, they whizzed through Memphis in Tracy's Prelude passing popular spots from Jodie's past. Growing up everything exciting happened in Memphis. Clifton was over fifty miles away and dullsville.
"Remember when we used to sneak out on weekends and drive down to Memphis and hang out on Beale Street?" Tracy asked.
Jodie laughed. "Yeah, and stand around outside because we weren't clever enough to get fake IDs."
"Boy, were we country," Tracy said laughing.
"Yeah...and luckily we never got arrested for driving without a license."
"Man, I forgot about that," Tracy replied, and they laughed together.
Jodie remembered all the good times, and unfortunately, the bad ones as well. They had been friends since the sixth grade, so she was sure Tracy remembered her dysfunctional upbringing, but she was nice enough not to bring it up.
Before Jodie knew it Tracy whipped into the parking lot of a massive redbrick church that resembled one of the Roman cathedrals she'd seen on television. A selection of high-end luxury cars filled the lot.
"Who's Caroline marrying again?" Jodie asked, barely able to remember the details Tracy shared about the wedding.
"Walter Oats, and his family's filthy rich. They're philanthropists who support every local arts project and charity for the poor that happens in this town. Tax write-offs, you know."