Trouble in Tennessee

ON SATURDAY, Treble’s only scheduled appearance was at a mall grand opening midafternoon. Let’s just hope I don’t blow the small stipend I’m getting on cute shoes before I even leave the premises. Ah, retail therapy. Thank God for clearance sales and outlet stores.

A coworker from the station had recently invited her to do some outlet shopping near the Georgia-Tennessee border—Treble’s enjoyment over her finds had been marred by the guilt of being less than an hour and a half from the pregnant sister she hadn’t seen in four years. Treble knew she’d been a disappointment as a daughter, but did that mean she was doomed to be a bad sister, too?

Stop it. She refused to spend a sunny June morning cooped up in her apartment, agonizing over Charity’s recent request. At the very least, Treble could agonize by the pool.

After loading this morning’s juice cup and cereal bowl into the dishwasher, Treble changed into a fuchsia-striped bikini.

“You’re so lucky,” Charity had said back when she’d been selecting bridesmaid dresses. “You can pull off any color. I have to stay within three main hues or look so washed out I scare people.”

Untrue. Charity looked like an angel, a beautifully blond vision of their mother. Petite, fine-boned with flawless porcelain skin. Treble took after her biological father, the first of many men who’d been unable to commit to her. When she’d tracked him down after leaving Joyous, she’d been surprised at how handsome he still was. But the dimpled persona and rich drawl were just superficial niceties.

Treble had inherited his height, dark hair, bold features and almond eyes. And his tendency to run away? No, her leaving Joyous had been best for everyone, not an act of cowardice. Trouble J was audacious and unafraid.

She packed a tote bag bearing the station’s call letters with a towel, SPF protection, a black pen and a Sudoku book—one of the assistants at the station got her hooked on the puzzles—then hurried toward the front door. Fresh air would do her a world of good.

Outside, the warmth embraced her. Though the sun would be punishing in large doses, she looked forward to stretching out for a little while like a relaxed feline basking in the rays. Treble had barely situated herself in a poolside lounge chair when she heard her name called. She peered over the top of her sunglasses at the smiling Latina woman in a one-piece suit coming through the gate.

“Hey, Alana.” Treble waved, then waited for her friend to come closer so that they weren’t yelling over the commotion of kids splashing in the pool.

Alana Torres was a fellow tenant and friend. Sometimes Treble got the woman passes into clubs where Treble was broadcasting. Both of them were fans of high-octane action films, and they went to a lot of movies together when they were mutually between boyfriends. The curvy bank teller, however, had been seeing an airline pilot since February.

“Haven’t seen much of you lately,” Treble said as her friend dragged a chair closer across the concrete. “But seeing you now, you look incredible. Muy caliente.”

The woman lowered her dark eyes but smiled proudly. “Thanks. I haven’t entirely adjusted to the new haircut.” Since they’d known each other, Alana had worn her thick black hair long, but had had about six inches taken off recently.

“It’s sophisticated.” Treble put her hands behind her and lifted her own hair off her neck. “And probably a lot cooler.”

“My high school reunion is this month. I know it’s shallow, but I’m determined to look hot. Chubby girl’s prerogative.”

“I doubt you were ever as chubby as you felt, and you’ve already lost—what, fifteen pounds?”

“Twelve.”

“Promise me you won’t drop so much that you turn bony, okay?”

Alana laughed as she opened her sunblock. The citrus scent was strong, but preferable to the chlorine from the water. “Yeah, that’s likely to happen, given the way I’m addicted to the bakery across the street from the bank. Whoever invented soup in a loaf of bread was a diabolical genius.”

To Alana, baked goods equaled what cute shoes were to Treble—an irresistible vice.

Glancing around, Alana lowered her voice. “Thank goodness Greg has such stamina and creativity when it comes to helping me burn calories.”

“You mean his suggestions are more fun than jogging?” Treble grinned. “No, seriously, I’m asking. It’s been so long that I barely remember what it’s like to…burn calories.”

Alana returned her smile. “Your listeners would never believe you. I heard some of the advice you gave your callers last night and, girl, where do you get those naughty ideas?”

“Repressed sexual energy. It leads to a rich fantasy life.”

“You had a great show. I know you tease that your main concern is boosting the ratings, but I think you enjoy helping people. You’re a generous soul.”

Yeah, so generous she wasn’t even bothering to examine her schedule for the possibility of lending physical and moral support to her only sibling. Treble heaved a sigh.

“Don’t tell me work’s not going well?” Alana asked, misinterpreting her friend’s brief frown.

“It’s not the radio thing, it’s…You know the expression ‘you can’t go home again’? Let’s just say I always clung to that as kind of a guarantee.”

“Okay. And…?”

“Someone I really care about wants me to take a few weeks out of my life and go home. I think I’d rather have my show canceled.”

Alana winced. “That awful?”

“Hard to say. I’ve managed to avoid finding out for the past four years and was tipsy for part of my last long weekend there.” Her behavior had fuelled the fires of gossip.

While she wasn’t proud that she’d had too much to drink at Charity’s wedding, she didn’t feel she should have to apologize, either. The person with the real right to be annoyed was the bride, who had been so starry-eyed over Bill anyway, she wouldn’t have noticed if Treble had set herself on fire at the rehearsal dinner. In fact, one of the underaged bridesmaids had downed four glasses of champagne at the reception and thrown up in a topiary, garnering nothing but an off-color joke and some pitying “Guess she learned the hard way” comments. Treble, on the other hand, had been a legally drinking adult who neither table-danced nor drove anywhere while under the influence. Couldn’t a girl nurse a broken heart with a few festive libations without, the next day, her stepfather acting as though an intervention was in order? It was as if he held her to a high standard of behavior, then watched her, waiting for her to screw up.

Harrison had financed the open bar in the first place! Why was it no one minded when weathered, old farmhand Bobby Charles Picoult got buzzed on draft beer and started loudly guffawing at the same anecdotes he’d been telling since Treble first moved to Joyous as a girl? Because Bobby Charles is local color. You’re an outsider. Even though Treble had moved to Joyous right before kindergarten, by the time she’d left, she’d felt completely out of place. She doubted anyone besides her sister had been sorry to see her go. Even poor Charity had probably been relieved at the decrease in tension at home.

“A few weeks is a long time,” Alana pointed out loyally. “Do you have that much vacation? Whoever asked should completely understand if you say no.”

“Charity would understand. It’s not in her to whine or hold a grudge.” The thought made denying the request even more difficult somehow.

Well, Alana’s right, a few weeks is a substantial chunk of time. Weren’t first babies often overdue? There’d been a woman at the station who’d seemed pregnant for, like, a year; by the end of it, she’d been miserable, the size of a house and threatening violent death to anyone stupid enough to ask, “Still haven’t had that kid?” Treble couldn’t imagine sitting around her sister’s house waiting for an unknown date.

“I know what you mean about not wanting to go back,” Alana said. “I skipped my five-year reunion. I told myself it was because I was busy that weekend and most of the people I cared to keep in touch with, I already was. But that was just rationalizing. At the time, I’d been interning for a company, making less than minimum wage and sharing a closet-sized apartment with three other girls, but that job was supposed to lead to a great full-time position. Until the corporation declared bankruptcy and cut their losses, me included.”

Treble shot her friend a sympathetic look. Interning had been crucial to getting Treble’s foot in the door at the station, and she would have been devastated if no job had materialized. She loved having her own show, loved her listeners and the relative freedom of sharing her opinion over the airwaves.

“In high school,” Alana continued, “I was one of those socially acceptable nerds. Chubby and awkward, never with an actual date to a dance, but smart enough that I had my own niche with the other straight-A geeks. So when the reunion rolled around and I was minus a job and plus the college ‘freshman fifteen’ I never lost…It’s frustrating how the least healthy food is usually the cheapest. I felt like a total failure.”

“You’re not! Corporate America has many problems, none of them a reflection on your abilities. Also, you’re gorgeous.”

“Now, maybe. And it’s sickening how much I want other people to see that. I’ve asked myself a dozen times why I even care what they think.”

“Ever come up with an answer?” Treble’s comparatively small graduating class held an annual reunion in conjunction with the town’s July festival. She’d never once been tempted to attend.

“I don’t know.” Alana shifted on her lounger. “I think for most of us, adolescence is when we were the most insecure and vulnerable. Maybe when we’re around the people who knew us then, we think they can see those insecurities. Or maybe their presence brings back all our vulnerabilities the way catching an old song on the radio can lead to visceral déjà vu.”

Tell me about it. When Treble had helped deejay parties in college, there were one or two songs with such negative personal connotations that she tried never to play them. Then there was music that to this day made her feel good all over. Particularly the U2 song that had been on the radio her junior year at university when Brady McCall had…

“Something funny?” Alana asked. “You sure are grinning.”

“Um, it’s nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Ask me about it next time you invite me over for peach daiquiris.”

“It’s a date.” Alana scowled. “I’m going to hate it when you finally find your dream home and move out of the complex.”