Talk To Me. Jan Freed
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thing to them is that other people think they are!”
A thunderous wave of applause and feminine cheers buoyed Kara’s ego. This was starting to get fun. She glanced at the monitor just as a teen in full rapper gear rose from his seat and lowered his mouth to Danny’s microphone.
“A woman shouldn’t dis her man, you know what I’m sayin’, Mama? An’ if she does—” he hitched one shoulder and looked away, then gazed deliberately back into the camera “—he should dump her ass! Wha’ dya think of that?”
Kara waited for the rumble of male approval to fade, then said, “I think you missed your nap this afternoon.”
The audience erupted into laughter, a balanced mix of high and deep tones. Gram reached up and squeezed Kara’s hand briefly, whether in approval or caution wasn’t clear.
Still smiling, Vanessa shook her head. “I should put you up against that fish guy—what’s his name?”
Uh-oh.
“Travis!” Gram trilled.
Great, Kara thought Now she talks.
“Oh, yeah, Travis. Danny, head over his way would you? I’m dying to know what he has to say. You men in the audience want to let him speak for you?” Vanessa cocked her head and cupped an ear. “What’s that?”
The men roared yes.
Kara watched the monitor sickly as the camera zoomed in on Travis, who was being prodded and shoved into standing by the man sitting next to him. Good grief, was that grinning replica of her ex-husband really Jake?
“Hi, Travis.” Vanessa directed a beauty-queen wave across the auditorium. “I want you to meet Kara. Kara, say hello to Travis.”
Kara opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“You’ll have to do better than that, girl,” Vanessa teased amid the chuckles. “The women here are counting on you. So Travis, do you agree with Kara that Terrence should’ve apologized to the waitress instead of getting mad at Tiffany?”
“No. Kara always—I mean, from what I’ve seen, she appears to lose the big picture in favor of petty details. The issue here isn’t whether Terrence was right or wrong about the food being late. The issue is respect and loyalty.”
That old song and dance?
“I’ve got a question for Kara,” Travis continued. “Let’s pretend the shoe was on the other foot and Terrence had told Tiffany in a real loud voice that...oh, that her hair needed washing, for example. And everybody at Sonic heard. Are you telling me that Tiffany wouldn’t get mad at him?”
“That’s different and you know it. You’re talking about an intimate comment on a person’s appearance, whereas I’m referring to a correct or incorrect fact. The waitress was either late, or she wasn’t. Nothing personal involved.”
“See now, Kara, you weren’t listening to me.”
Ladies do not scream obscenities or foam at the mouth.
“The larger issue isn’t about time or dirty hair,” he continued in the condescending tone that had always set her teeth on edge. “It’s about having enough respect for the other person that you either lower your voice so the whole city can’t hear you, or postpone the conversation until you’re alone.”
She sniffed. “As I said, what complete strangers think is more important to a man than what his significant other thinks.”
“That’s so irrational, so typically female,” he mimicked, twisting her earlier words to his advantage.
“Oh, really?” Disconcerting, talking to a television monitor. Especially when his image kept dissolving into hers.
Kara turned toward the tall, spotlighted figure near the back of the auditorium. She didn’t need to see his features to sense his every blink. “Then tell me why a man won’t stop and ask for directions?”
A beat of silence. “Excuse me?”
“If men don’t care more about what a complete stranger thinks than what their significant others think, why will they keep driving in circles when we’re tired and hungry and ready to get there, instead of stopping to ask a stranger for directions?”
Every woman in the audience chuckled at that one, but Kara barely heard.
All her senses were tuned into the signals crackling above the sea of heads. A confusing, exhilarating, frightening exchange she hadn’t experienced in nine years.
He shifted his stance, and the connection broke. “We don’t stop and ask complete strangers because they may not know the right directions.”
Kara blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“No. They could give us completely wrong directions and we’d be worse off than before.”
“My, God, you are serious. If people don’t know the directions, Travis, they’ll tell you they don’t know.”
“Not if they’re embarrassed to admit they don’t know.”
“Oh, well, you’re talking about male strangers. A woman would never consciously hurt someone just to save face, like Terrance was willing to hurt that waitress because he was embarrassed to admit he was wrong. Thanks for clearing that up.”
“Hey, that’s not what I—”
“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” Vanessa interrupted, laughing into the camera. “Time out. I created a couple of monsters here. We have to take a commercial break, but don’t go away folks. We’ll be right back with our next couple and more fascinating debate.”
The remote-camera spotlight cut off.
Kara groped blindly for her seat, hit cotton candy hair and stumbled to the left. She sat with a sigh of relief.
“Boy, you and Travis are something else!” Vanessa exulted to Kara. “I’d love to keep the discussion going, but I’ve gotta move on to other opinions. Maybe I’ll get back to you guys later.”
She leaned down and spoke for Kara’s ears alone. “You kicked butt. Fish man didn’t stand a chance.”
Remembering the currents leaping between her and Travis, Kara smiled weakly, glad an auditorium had separated them. Proximity to her ex-husband had always scrambled her brains. Whatever quirk of fate had delivered them to the same auditorium today, Kara didn’t plan on reading too much into it.
If she didn’t bump into him for another nine years, that would be far too soon for her.
Ross HADLEY SLUMPED in his auditorium chair, oblivious to the third couple whining on stage.
The flawlessly produced road show, which he’d attended in hopes of picking up pointers, couldn’t compete with the tingly sensation in his abdomen. The one signaling something out of the ordinary. The gut-deep feeling he’d rarely experienced but had learned not to ignore.
The last time he’d tingled was three years ago, when Sally had dragged him to “Cooking for Couples” classes on the advice of their counselor. His sharing an activity that was important to her hadn’t salvaged their marriage, but it had boosted his reputation at KLUV-TV, Houston. The better result for all concerned.
The instructor that fateful night had been a pretentious British ass named Henry Frey. He clearly hadn’t wanted to teach seventeen amateur gourmets any more than one workaholic fast-food junkie had wanted to learn.
Ten minutes into class, Ross had awakened and smelled the Earl Grey tea.
He recognized good broadcast entertainment when he saw it, and Henry had been a natural talent. His monologue on American culture, as cynical as Americans themselves, had been delivered in a snooty British accent that made his sarcasm seem terribly witty. And his flamboyant style of mixing ingredients and kneading dough added visual interest to the stand-up comedy routine.