Page 30 of Good Days Bad Days
“I’ll do my best, but no promises,” Mark agrees, locating his seat on the opposite side of the large round table, next to Hollinger, a representative from the EBN head office, and another man in a boss suit too busy chain-smoking to say anything.
Martha doesn’t acknowledge my arrival at first. She’s already in conversation with Jerry Bartholomew from Jerry’s Shoes. He’s in his fifties and his bloodshot eyes and reddened cheeks make it clear that the drink in front of him isn’t his first. Martha is laughing, tossing her head back like she’s learned how to be a socialite overnight. A twinge hits between my shoulder blades when I watch her interact with the businessmen.
To my left is Tony Caveola, owner of a chain of Italian restaurants. He’s already a sponsor forThe Classy Homemaker. It’s on me to get him to expand his advertising dollars to the sinking ship ofJanesville Presents ...
“My God, these women are gorgeous,” he says, taking a sip of his whiskey neat. His voice sounds raspy, like he smokes more than a few packs a day. I try to follow his eyeline to see which of the Bunnies he’s staring at, but the air is thick with cigarette smoke, and the dim lights turn every Bunny into a runway model. “Ever been before?”
“To the club? No. I ...” I don’t tell him the truth—that I’ve never enjoyed this kind of joint. “It’s a bit of a trek.”
“What, an hour from Janesville? You’re a single guy. What do you have keeping you at home?”
I’m happily a homebody, but that image won’t do for impressing the men here tonight. I glance at Martha, sipping on a glass of pink champagne and looking nearly as lovely as the Bunnies. If she can play a part tonight, so can I.
“Mark and I have been meaning to take a trip. He’s thinking of applying for a key.”
“That’s great. Why not, you know? My wife wouldkillme, otherwise I’d be right there with you two. But as for tonight—what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?”
A new Bunny in a blue satin corset and matching ears drops off my drink. The busty auburn-haired waitress takes Tony’s order for the next round with a slight southern accent that leaves him tittering.
“That accent,” he says, shaking his head like he’s heard the voice of God. I take a sip of my scotch and the nip hits me almost instantly. I’ll need it tonight. I take a deep breath and ask the first question that comes to mind.
“How do you like WQRX’s programming this fall?”
Tony raises his eyebrows and gulps down a mouthful of whiskey.
“It’s all right. Local TV is its own breed. No one hustles to get home in time for local news, or what is that show with all the losers from the town? My wife and I saw it the other night and laughed our guts out.”
My shoulders stiffen and I take another drink, knowing he’s talking aboutJanesville Presents ...I hold still, hoping Tony won’t notice my irritation. My God, I hope Martha didn’t hear that.
“But there’s one show she won’t shut up about. The one with the hot blonde making food and cleaning house. I saw it when I got the flu last month and had to stay home from work. My wife loves that girl, and I gotta say—I didn’t mind watching her on the TV either. Sweet thing. Was hoping she’d be here tonight ...”
“She’s just talent,” I say, a protective twinge hitting my shoulders again, this time over Betty. Behind us a jazz trio starts to play their version of Patsy Cline’s waltzy “She’s Got You.” Some of the men from the other tables wander onto the parquet floor with their companions.
“Yeah, makes sense. She’s definitely too sophisticated to be in a place like this. Was already surprised the one next to you was here. Is she someone’s younger sister?”
“Martha is my producer, actually.” When I say her name, she turns in my direction. She’s smiling and seems to be pleased to see me.
“Greg! There you are. We were just talking about you.”
“So were we,” I say, gesturing to asshole Tony.
“Well, look at that,” she says, putting out her slender hand. “I might as well introduce myself since I already know who you are, Mr. Caveola. I’m Martha Smith. Greg and I produceThe Classy HomemakerandJanesville Presents ...”
Tony’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s been shit talking my show right to my face, and then he laughs and hits me in the shoulder as though I’m in on the joke.
“Damn fine shows you’ve got going on.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Caveola.”
“Tony. You should call me Tony,” he says, taking Martha’s hand and squeezing it. “Wanna take this conversation onto the dance floor?” Tony asks Martha as she’s trying to tell him about all the changes we’re making onJanesville Presents ...
Martha looks at me like she’s asking my advice. I’d rather choke on my drink garnish than dance with that asshole, but I get why she’s considering it. Dancing with Tony could get him on our side. Then, the other advertisers might consider sponsoring us, too.
“Why you looking at this guy? Is he your boyfriend or something?”
“No,” we both say in unison. “No,” she says again.
“Then what do you say?” Caveola puts out his hand, the song changing in the background. She takes it and doesn’t look at me this time. Damn. This is unfair to Martha.
