Something to Talk About(6)
"Can we at least announce your engagement in the country club newsletter?" her mother insisted.
Casey's stomach burbled, and she reached for her napkin. "Not yet, Mother. Soon."
"Darling, are you feeling ill? You look awfully pale." Ferrence touched her forehead with the back of his fingers. "You're clammy. Are you nauseous, again?"
Casey brought the napkin to her lips and nodded desperately. Just change the subject, I'll be fine, she wanted to say.
Oblivious to Casey's consternation, Leona rattled on. "I don't know why you two haven't set a date. You've known each other all your lives. A long engagement seems overly cautious, doesn't it?"
"I was thinking the country club ballroom would be a nice place for the reception, don't you Leona?" Ferrence jumped in with an obvious attempt at changing the subject.
It had the desired effect, and Leona's face lit up. "Oh yes! I can just imagine a beautiful white, rose arbor at one end with the buffet in the center. I think an ice sculpture would be an exquisite centerpiece to the table, don't you, John?" Leona turned to her husband who, up to this point, had sat amiably mute throughout dinner.
He sat up straight, his eyes wide. "Uh, yes, dear." His response complete, he settled back, assuming invisibility again.
After twenty minutes of discussion concerning flower arrangements and table drapes, Casey had had enough. "Ferrence, if you don't mind, I need to go home. I'm so tired, I can barely think straight."
Casey stood without preamble and came around the table, dropping a kiss on first her mother's cheek then her father's. "Thank you for a lovely dinner. I'll talk to you next weekend." She turned and walked out of the country club restaurant, followed by her fiancé.
"Darling, you really shouldn't be so hard on your parents. They only want what's best for you," he chided.
"Oh shut up, Ferrence. I don't need you telling me how to run my life, as well." She was immediately appalled by her remark.
Not waiting for him to open the door, she pushed past him into the balmy, August night air. As warm as it was outside, it was far less stifling than the country club's dining room had been.
She took a deep breath and willed the tension to leave her. Realizing how rude she had been, she turned to the man who would one day be her husband. "I'm sorry, Ferrence, I didn't mean to be so short with you. It must be my nerves. The new show is weighing heavily on my mind, and I can't think of anything else."
"Darling, I hate to see you so distressed. Why don't you quit and let me take care of you?"
"I'll be fine-I'm just venting. I'm sorry I upset you." Slipping her arm into the crook of his, she leaned against him as they walked toward their cars.
"Shall I follow you home?" He voice held hope, the puppy-dog look almost comical, if it wasn't so pathetic.
Casey felt her stomach knot around the cordon bleu. "Not tonight." Before he could say more, she opened her car door and slid inside. She rolled the window down and smiled up at him. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me lately." She reached for his hand. "Call me tomorrow?"
He smiled the same smile she could remember from as far back as her memory reached. "Tomorrow, then. Sleep tight." Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles then turned toward his car.
As Casey started her engine and drove away, her heart beat sluggishly. What was wrong with her? Ferrence was perfect for her. With blond hair and softly blurred features, he was handsome in a quiet, nondescript sort of way. He had been her first kiss, her prom date, and both their parents were crazy about the idea of their marrying.
When Ferrence had proposed the week following her two wild-hair dates with Rip, Casey had been certain saying yes was the absolute right thing for her.
Sure, sex had always been a politely enjoyable experience with him. No fireworks or angsty passion. Casey had always assumed they had just gone straight past that stage of a new relationship because of their long-standing friendship. So why now? Why did it feel like something was missing? They hadn't had sex in months because of his or her schedules, but neither of them missed it much. Not even to celebrate their engagement. Why?
An unwelcome face appeared in her mind, and she stomped on the gas. No. Rip O'Rourke couldn't be the reason or the answer to her problem. He'd been the root of all her problems since he'd arrived at K-YAK, and still was. Maybe she needed to see a therapist...
When she arrived home, Casey tossed her purse on the kitchen counter and stepped out of her heels, kicking them across the floor. It was still early for a Friday night. She grabbed the remote and switched on the television, clicking through the channels. Nothing appealed, so she turned it off. Restless, she paced around the room, lifting half-read books and putting them down. Too keyed up to go to bed, she switched on the radio.
A gravelly, male voice filled the speaker. "Hi, Rip, this is Larry. What do you think about dating smart women?"
With a glance at the clock over the mantle of her fireplace, Casey realized she was listening to the last minutes of Rip O'Rourke's show. She reached out to turn it off, her hand pausing as she listened to his voice coming over the airwaves.
Casey had always been a sucker for a gorgeous voice, and his was deep and rich-timbered, the kind that could turn a girl's knees to jelly, if you didn't know whose it was.
"Well, Larry, it's like this-I don't date smart women. I think dating smart women is kind of like drinking alcohol-free beer."
"What do you mean?" Larry asked.
"I mean...why bother? Personally, I like a decent buzz when I drink a beer, otherwise why drink it? I don't like to date smart women, because they always wanna talk. After doing what I do for a living, I sure don't want more talking."
The caller chuckled. "Yeah, man. I know where you're comin' from. There are a lot more interesting things to do with a woman than talk."
"Now, you've got the idea. It was nice talking to you, Larry. Why don't we see what other folks think?"
Rip saw Brent's message appear across the monitor. Take caller number 5-Mad Lady. Rip punched the lit button on the console and answered, "This is K-YAK 102.5 FM, Rip O'Rourke speaking from the 'Just for Men' show."
An angry female voice filled his headset. "Rip O'Rourke, you are the most conceited, self-centered, egotistical man I've ever had the misfortune to listen to."
"Guilty." Rip grinned and gave a thumbs-up to the sound tech.
"You don't even have the brains to be ashamed of it."
"Guilty again." Rip chuckled. He thought he recognized the woman's voice. The identity of his caller was just on the edge of his consciousness. "Who am I talking to?"
"Let's just say I'm one smart lady with a bone to pick."
"Okay, Smart Lady, pick away. That's why I'm here." He'd let her talk until it came to him who she was.
"Your reasons for not dating smart women are an affront to all women in the world."
"Everyone is entitled to an opinion," he responded.
"Your problem is you're scared of smart women. You couldn't carry on an intelligent conversation if you had to."
"Thank you, Smart Lady, that's exactly my point. Why would I waste time talking when I could be making love to a woman?"
She snorted in a very unladylike manner. "Puh-leeze! You can't make love all the time."
"Says who?"
"It's not physically possible. What are you going to do after you make love?"
He laughed. "Sleep, of course."
"You couldn't date an intelligent woman because she would expose you for the moronic buffoon you are."
Gotcha! There was only one person he knew who could string together enough big words to make an insult sound like a compliment.
He grinned. "Smart Lady, I'll bet you've never made love to someone who knocks your socks off." He dropped his voice to a sexy purr, "You've never made love to someone who makes you want to stay in bed all day, have you...Casey?"
The click on the other end of the line was loud enough for the audience to appreciate, and Rip chuckled into the microphone. "I guess our caller doesn't know what I'm talking about. Smart Lady's been hangin' out with the wrong guy. How about it? Anyone else have an opinion they'd like to share?"
Taking Brent's cue again, he punched line number eight. Another female voice came on the line. "Yeah, Rip, I agree with Smart Lady. Dating dumb women is an affront to the feminine gender and a giant step backward for the feminist movement. You should be ashamed of yourself for even saying that on your show."
Rip smiled. He loved it when he could get listeners riled up enough to call in with opposing opinions. "As I told Smart Lady, everyone's entitled to their own opinion." Click. "Next caller."
When the hour was over, Rip trudged out of the sound room, tired but satisfied with the way the show had gone. Casey's call had made his day. He was getting to her.
Brent met him in the hall. "Do you really think that caller was our Casey?"
Rip grinned. "I'd bet my last dollar it was."
Leaving the studio, he headed for his car. Before he got halfway across the parking lot, he heard a high-pitched squeal a moment before a woman launched herself from the side of his car and raced to greet him.