Part 39 (2/2)
But my finger hesitated. I was paralyzed with indecision, insecurity, fear.
The call went to voice mail.
I put the phone on my nightstand, not wanting to hear the message.
56) Mr. Owen has a laugh
THE NEXT NEXT morning I approached Mr. Owen's office with a belly full of dread. The fourth of July was quickly approaching, and the moment could no longer be put off. I had promised Noah I'd get the day off and we'd spend it together before going over to Mama's house for his big party. morning I approached Mr. Owen's office with a belly full of dread. The fourth of July was quickly approaching, and the moment could no longer be put off. I had promised Noah I'd get the day off and we'd spend it together before going over to Mama's house for his big party.
”What can I do for you, Wiley?” he asked, looking up from his desk. The look in his eye said the entire world could kiss his fat b.u.t.t for all he cared.
”Can I have next Thursday off?” I asked.
”Can you have the fourth of July off? Wiley, you kill me. Really!”
”It's my son's birthday.”
”Why do you always bring your son into this?”
”Because it's his birthday?”
”You're worse than a single mother.”
”I'll take that as a compliment. Since I'm a single father, you're not far off the mark.”
”Others have seniority,” he said. ”You know that. I can't let you have off a holiday and ask those with seniority to work to cover you. It doesn't work that way.”
”You don't understand, Mr. Owen. It's his tenth birthday.”
”So? Your s.h.i.+ft is only five hours. You'll have the rest of the day off. I can't help you, Wiley.”
I sat down in the chair opposite his desk and regarded him carefully.
”You don't understand,” I repeated. ”It's his tenth birthday. We're going to have a big party, and I will be there, and FoodWorld will survive without me.”
”I have a business to run, Wiley,” he said in a patient tone. ”Your personal problems are none of my concern. If you want this job, you will have to meet expectations like everyone else.”
”What about my expectations?”
”I don't see how that has anything to do with it. You're compensated for your work. If you don't like working here, you're free to go elsewhere.”
”Now that's why you don't get invited to the really good parties,” I said.
”If you'd like to quit, Wiley, I have a stack of applications here from people who would love to replace you. Up to you. Just let me know. If you don't mind, I have work to do.”
”Let me put it this way,” I said. ”I won't be here that day because there are some things that are more important to me than Daily Deals! and asking people if they brought their frikkin' FoodWorld card.”
”Suit yourself.”
”And since you're paying me the least possible amount that you can legally get away with, I'm not sure I can be bothered to care about FoodWorld's bottom line. Maybe if you guys cared about your employees, they might care about your business.”
”We're not communists, Wiley,” he observed.
”Unfortunately,” I said, getting to my feet.
”You better make sure you're here,” Owen said to my back as I left his office.
57) Love me tender
AFTER I I got off work, I drove over to Fairpark and wandered about, feeling restless and unhappy. I needed to be alone, without Noah hanging on my t.i.ts. I needed time to think. got off work, I drove over to Fairpark and wandered about, feeling restless and unhappy. I needed to be alone, without Noah hanging on my t.i.ts. I needed time to think.
Elvis stood there in all his glory, towering up into the sky like the miniature G.o.d that he was, clutching his microphone, caught in the middle of a twist and shout.
Good old Elvis.
The park was deserted, which was not surprising because it was hot, hot, hot, and sane people did not wander about in public parks when the sun was higher and hotter than Paula Deen's cholesterol levels.
I thought of Jackson and Noah standing in front of Elvis, having their pictures taken, and suddenly there was a lump in my throat.
d.a.m.n that man and his pharmaceutical ways.
Since I was alone, I sang for Elvis in a soft, hesitant tone of voice.
”Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfill....”
I was probably not the first to sing for Elvis; I certainly wouldn't be the last. There was a certain appropriateness to it, after all. I could not imagine the soundtrack of my life without Elvis singing the tracks. It was only right I returned the favor once in a while.
”Cause my darling I love you, and I always will....”
I sat down on one of the iron benches and put my face in my hands.
I was staring into the gaping maw of thirty-five, no closer to my dreams than I had been as a freshman at Ole Miss singing Elvis songs to rowdy bar-goers on the weekends. Nothing came of my picking and grinning, my earnest songs. Nothing came of my books except apologetic royalty reports and the collective yawns of reviewers. My prospects for a decent job were about as good as the chances that Paula Deen would stop telling her viewers to slather their creations in sugar and b.u.t.ter. I had no career to speak of, no future, no money in the bank, no man to go home to and make love to and be with, no chance in h.e.l.l that I would ever get gay-married and live happily ever after.
I don't often throw myself a pity party, but I threw one for myself that afternoon, sitting there on the bench staring into s.p.a.ce. I couldn't help but feel that maybe Bill and my mother were right, maybe there was something really wrong with me. Maybe I didn't deserve happiness. Maybe there was no room in the Magnolia state for souls like mine. Maybe I really was born at the wrong time, in the wrong place, living a life that fit me about as well as Elvis's sideburns or Honey Boo Boo's baby fat.
I looked up at Elvis and sighed.
If you could make it out of here, I thought, I thought, why can't I? Or do we wors.h.i.+p you precisely because you made it out, and we know we never will? why can't I? Or do we wors.h.i.+p you precisely because you made it out, and we know we never will?
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