Can't Help Falling in Love (20 page)

    
Allison and Karen watched the network monitor, as a full shot suddenly appeared
on the screen showing the entire band. The director then cut to a succession of
long shots that showed the entire band as they sang in front of a striking
backdrop of silhouetted guitar-playing men, medium shots that honed-in on
various band members, close-ups of the lead singer with one curl hanging over
his sweating brow, moving camera shots, and even an extreme close-up of the
frets on the lead guitar.

    
Allison wept. She could not take her eyes off the network monitor, where the
details taking place unknown to the rest of the world yet all around her were
blended into a technically perfect presentation the way people at home in their
living rooms were seeing the broadcast at that exact same moment.

    
The entire three minutes passed too quickly.
It’s over?
she
thought,
when she saw the band taking a bow.
Twenty hours of work by
seventy-two people just passed like it was only a few seconds?

    
“You were great!” she heard the director shout through his microphone.

    
Allison knew that what she had just witnessed had made a colossal impact. There
were some Norwegian jugglers on
The Ed Sullivan Show
now, but she could hear pandemonium erupting in the lobby
just on the other side of the wall behind where she and Karen were standing.
The band had not only done good, they had broken through an unseen barrier
between young and old, launched a trend that might not change for decades, and
set in place an image for themselves that could forever imprint their look and
sound on the minds of millions. She and Karen were so overjoyed and relieved
that they hugged each other. 

    
“I’ve got to congratulate him!” Allison nearly screamed to Karen.

    
“And then go change clothes,” Karen said. “People are already gathering at the
Peabody Hotel for the
AIM
Awards. You both have to make your grand
entrance!”

     
The
AIM
Awards was the big event of the year,
and Allison was his girl. She had to look better than a movie star for him, for
her father, for Karen, for herself, and for all that she had promised to
herself during those long years in college when she labored alone late at night
studying for exams, dreaming of the future, and praying that her ambitions were
not in vain. She’d always hoped that one day she might win a major award for an
important achievement that would prove to everyone she was more than a
hairbrush in a cast of thousands, that she was an outstanding contributor to
the advertising industry. She was also determined to look better than Sharon
Eaton.

    
We
should be the most striking couple on the red carpet
, she thought,
even
though
Sharon
vowed that she’d grab the spotlight from everyone and
show
up wearing a diamond-studded
Coco
Chanel
gown.
Allison emerged wearing
a ravishing
red satin damask
formal that featured a strapless sweetheart neckline on a fitted bodice that
glittered with diamond-looking stones. The tightly-fitted waist and horizontal
pleats accented her perfect figure. The final touch was her choice of long
white over-the-elbow gloves that would have given Rita Hayworth a run for her
money. The overall effect along with her red hair pulled to the right and
gently cascading over one bare shoulder wowed the crew. Several of them stung
the air with a rowdy chorus of complimentary whistles when she passed, but no
one was more charmed than the man whose promise ring she proudly
wore.    

    
He met her wearing a smart dark blue suit and matching fedora, a sharp contrast
to his glitzy stage attire. They paused inside the door that opened to the
overcrowded lobby.

    
“Thank you for being with me during the show,” he said. “Did you approve of
everything?”

    
“Approve? You were so wonderful I cried so hard my makeup ran down my face!”

    
He kissed her, softly at first, and then passionately. His hands were tightly
holding her waist, and he held his lips to hers as if he wanted them to merge
into one. No one saw the two of them, although a noisy throng waited just on
the other side of the door. He had endured the microscopic scrutiny of
penetrating cameras, and soon, she would undergo intense analysis by the
curious and perhaps envious, but for those precious seconds, they were alone in
the world and free to give themselves over to the deep passions surging through
their blood. Allison easily imagined that Heaven had opened up and angels were
tickling her with their wings.   

    
“I love you, Allison,” she heard him say.

    
“I love you, too,” she replied in a throaty whisper.

    
They kissed again, but this time he was not satisfied with merely kissing her
lips. He kissed the soft, sensitive side of her neck and the tender folds of
her ear, while she gave in to the temptation to kiss his chin and cheeks.

    
Finally he murmured, “Maybe we should go?”

    
Allison caught her breath and gazed searchingly into the deep pools of his
languid eyes. “First, I have to tell you something . . . .”

    
“Yes?”

    
“You have cherry red lipstick all over your face.”

    
He quickly withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at his cheeks.

    
On the other side of the door, rowdy admirers had gotten wind of the fact that
he was soon to emerge among them, and they began chanting for him to come out.
To everyone’s intense delight, the door swung open and they responded with a raucous
chorus of cheers. Allison emerged alone, but she teased them by extending one
white-gloved arm behind her holding onto an unseen man’s hand. Then, after a
moment of sublime suspense, he stepped out, kissed her again, and they faced an
ovation of flashing light bulbs, catcalls, whistles, and applause. They were
instantly besieged and barely able to navigate through the crowd to the exit.
Outside, studio personnel had thoughtfully drawn up her car, which sat idling
with both doors open. They took her Chevy convertible because the car was new,
but he drove. They made their exit feeling like newlyweds embarking on a
honeymoon.

    
Phillip Samuels had grown bored standing around the huge Peabody Hotel indoor
pool, where Sharon Eaton was holding court with all the pomp of a Queen
awaiting her coronation. True to her vow, she had arrived draped in a stunning
black strapless floor-length evening dress of lace over silk with a ruffle
bottom that fit tight around her lower legs and swished when she moved. She stood
planted in a strategic position at the center of the atrium right beside the
pool, which had been decorated with six huge bouquets of red roses nestled in
greenery that cuddled flickering candles and floated languorously across the
glass-like water. Fichus trees had been placed every few feet around the edge
of the pool, and they were decorated with hidden lights. No less than a small
crowd of people sipping from long-stemmed wine glasses surrounded
Sharon
, while she chattered self-consciously
about herself, her nomination for Rookie of the Year, her ascension to Vice
Presidency of Star Records, her merger with B&B Marketing, her former
successes in
Nashville
, and her current ambitions in
Memphis
.  

    
Phillip turned to Wiley Pearson, one of his associates, and said, “Thank God
this room has fifteen-foot ceilings. At least I can breathe in here. Otherwise,
the atmosphere would be suffocating! There’s too much
hot
air!
” he said
sarcastically, nodding toward
Sharon
.

    
“I take it you don’t have a high opinion of the First Lady of Marketing?”

    
Phillip had rejected the prissy wine in long-stemmed glasses and instead
clutched a highball glass. He took a big swig of his gin and tonic and bitterly
replied, “If she’s the First Lady, then I’m Vice President Richard Nixon!”

    
“She’s getting all the attention tonight,” Wiley said. “I overheard her say
that her dress was embedded with real diamonds in the front and back.”

    
“Really?
I might dance with her later then. I’ll see
if I can’t pluck a few of them off. She owes me more than that after
practically seizing control of my company. See that goofball standing right
next to her?”

    
“The tall Italian-looking guy with the dark hair and
sideburns?”

    
“That’s Guido Rizzo. Doing business with his family is like bartering with the
Devil. They don’t give in to anything! They forced me to give up controlling
interest!”

    
“Why did you?”

    
“I didn’t have a choice. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, if you know
what I mean.”

    
“Oh. That sounds ominous. And speaking of menacing, who are those guys
loitering around the back area over there?
Security?”

    
Phillip glanced where Wiley was looking and muttered, “I don’t know. I wouldn’t
be surprised if they’re FBI.”

    
“Surely not.
Why would they be here?”

    
“Why not?
They’re everywhere. Maybe they’re guarding
the gold-plated awards. Who cares?”

    
Indeed, beside the lectern the awards committee had outlaid a table draped with
a white cloth that was adorned with the six annual awards the committee
intended to give out that night, but the intimidating-looking huddle of
dark-suited men were nowhere near the display. Would-be winners meandered by
the ostentatious outlay and ogled the prized statuettes, but no guards stood
over them.

    
Another small cluster of men loitered not far from them, press photographers
and journalists, who had been waiting entirely too long for their restless
energies. They had already snapped photos of everyone arriving at the party, and
nothing remained for them to do but wait for the actual awards so they could
grab their last pictures and leave.

    
A pianist had quietly taken his place at a grand piano on the far side of the
pool, but just before he began to softly play, Elizabeth Worthington, a
heavy-set arts patron with Rex, her dour husband and benefactor, entered the
party room in a rush, excitedly making a beeline to Phillip. She grabbed
Phillip’s arm and excitedly chattered, “You’ll never guess who just drove up
outside at the valet stand! It’s none other than Allison Webster, one of the
two nominated for Best Print Ad Campaign. She looks like a princess in a
stunning crimson gown! And guess who’s with her—none other than that dear boy
everyone’s talking about who created such a sensation on
The
Ed Sullivan Show
tonight, the record singer making all the waves! Allison got him that booking,
you know! I understand that the two of them are an item!”

    
Wiley nodded in agreement. “Everyone in the lobby’s talking about him.”

    
“She’s with him! He’s divine, and I’ve just got to get his autograph! He’s on
your label, Phillip. You should have told me he was coming here tonight!”

    
Elizabeth
was not the only person buzzing about
the “dear boy” everyone was talking about. Once they had driven up under the
porte
cochere
, news of the
singing sensation’s arrival in their midst quickly spread from the doorman to
the valet to the bellmen and to the front desk clerks. Even the housekeepers,
kitchen help, and banquet servers were immediately informed, as gossip of his
unexpected appearance spread like a wildfire throughout the hotel.

    
Tittle-tattle voices such as Elizabeth’s had also carried the extraordinarily
exciting report through chit chat whispered breathlessly from ear to ear among
everyone attending the poolside party, easily sweeping away all conversations
about Sharon Eaton, talk that had already grown stale. Without a single effort
on Allison’s part, her mere presence in the hotel at that moment with the Man
of the Hour caused such a stir that news of their impending entrance quickly
reached Sharon and Guido.

    
Guido frowned and said to
Sharon
in an undertone, “This won’t do at all!”

    
Sharon
cupped her hand over his ear and replied
so quietly that no one else could hear, “Do something to distract the
photographers. This night isn’t about
her.
It’s about
me
!”

    
A young, white-gloved and tuxedoed server standing near the group had already
overheard that her idol had arrived, and she was breathlessly awaiting his appearance
in the flesh. She took her eyes off the guests and stared in anticipation at
the double doors. When the doors finally opened and she saw a flash of
movement, she forgot herself, nearly dropped her silver tray on which several
long-stemmed wine glasses were precariously balanced, and screamed, “It’s
him
!”