Hers By Request Page 2

  It had been eight months since Danny had died in Iraq, and the pain of losing her fiancé was still fresh. She missed him so badly it seemed like she had lost two men, her lover and her best friend. Countless times over the past months she’d be in the middle of her day when something caught her attention and she’d think, I have to tell Danny about this—only to feel the renewed pain of his absence tear at her heart all over again.

  That cliché about time healing all wounds was crap. How long would it take before she stopped crying herself to sleep every night? Months? Years?

  The song ended and the deejay came back on.

  “Let’s switch to a tune with a happier outlook and a more upbeat style, ‘Walking My Baby Back Home’, by Nat King Cole. Remember, we still have another thirty minutes in this request hour, so call me, I’m waiting to play something especially for you.”

  As she had done several times in the past few weeks, she picked up the phone and dialed the toll-free number.

  “Thanks for calling Dev’s Dream Machine. What can I play for you tonight?”

  “Could you please play ‘Someone To Watch Over Me’?”

  There was a short pause on the other end before the deejay acknowledged her request. “That must be a favorite of yours. You’ve called in and asked for it a few times.”

  Darn. This guy was keeping track? She winced as heat crept up her neck. Up to now she’d felt safely anonymous with her calls. “Yes, I have. Is it a problem?”

  “Not at all. If that’s what you want to hear, that’s what I want to play for you. You can call in and ask for it every Friday if you want.”

  A ghost of a smile twitched her lips at the kindness in his reply. This man had the perfect voice for his job, she decided. Warm, deep, intimate—just right for late at night when a person could imagine he was speaking only to them. Tonight his voice sounded strangely familiar. She shrugged it off. After all, she’d listened to this station for weeks now, and her favorite show was the Friday night request hour he called Dev’s Dream Machine.

  “How did you know it was the same person?” She tugged the quilts up to her ears to thwart the cold draft trying to sneak down her neck.

  “I have a good ear for voices.”

  “You have a good voice for the ears, too. I bet your friends told you to become a deejay by the time you were in high school.”

  He chuckled. “Actually, no. Back then I was a player, not a talker.”

  Amanda got quiet, not sure what kind of ‘player’ he was referring to. The silence lasted a few seconds too long to be comfortable. “Well, thanks for playing my song. I’m a big fan of this format. Not many stations play this kind of music nowadays.”

  “Glad you enjoy it. Can I dedicate your song to anyone in particular?”

  “No. He’ll know it’s for him. Thanks again.” Her voice caught and almost broke as a fresh wave of loneliness swamped her.

  “You’re welcome. Call anyti—”

  She hung up before he finished, afraid a sob might escape and be heard over the line.

  The very next selection was Ella Fitzgerald singing her request. She blotted her tears on the sheet and lay in the dark, remembering the days in junior high when the taunts of the other students were especially brutal and Danny’s unflagging support kept her from sinking in a sea of misery. It had been their song ever since, and listening to it somehow made her feel he was still looking out for her.

  Dev of the Dream Machine followed it with “For All We Know”, which sent a fresh torrent of her tears dampening the covers. She knew it was just a coincidence, but the man certainly knew how to string a couple of songs together for maximum impact. She listened for the remainder of the hour, then, exhausted by the emotional release, fell asleep to the sound of a stranger with a voice as dark as a moonless night and as soft and warm as her favorite cashmere sweater.

  The following morning, coolly professional in her charcoal gray pinstripe suit, Amanda rang the doorbell. She’d convinced Zoe to give her plan a try. Now she silently prayed for success. Zoe hovered behind, her pressed jeans, white button-down oxford shirt, and herringbone blazer as businesslike as her eclectic wardrobe allowed.

  The door opened to reveal a slender, attractive woman in her early sixties.

  “Hello, Mrs. Wyndham. Thank you so much for meeting with us.”

  “No need to thank me, dear. I’m grateful for any distraction when I’m down here this time of year.” She stepped back, opening the door wide. “Come in, come in, ladies.” She huffed out a breath and shivered. “How the Admiral can stand to go fishing in these temperatures is beyond me. I should have stayed in town and let the man fend for himself, but he might have starved to death.” She smiled ruefully and motioned them forward. “Men. Can’t live with them, can’t shoot them.” She chuckled at her own humor, then morphed quickly back into the proper hostess.

  “Mrs. Wyndham, I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Zoe Silvercreek,” Amanda began. “She owns the Silvercreek Gallery down town, so you may have seen her there.”

  “I believe I have, though I must admit I’ve not been in the gallery in quite some time.”

  She led them from the spacious foyer to a large living room with a high, beamed ceiling, whitewashed planked walls, and a panoramic view of the bay through a series of French doors that opened onto an enormous deck. Nautical memorabilia was scattered throughout the room and multiple sectionals in shades of blue provided enough seating for a large gathering.

  “Mrs. Wyndham, this room is beautiful,” Zoe exclaimed.

  “Why, thank you, dear. I wish I could take credit for it, but I hired a decorator and let him have his way with me.” She winked conspiratorially. “I mean with the room, of course.” She switched from coquette to jet-set so fast Amanda had trouble deciding how to react. She shot Zoe a wide-eyed look and tried a noncommittal smile.

  Mrs. Wyndham gestured toward the sectional in front of the fireplace. “Please, make yourselves comfortable while I get us some tea.” She disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

  Zoe put her hands out toward the fire. “Lord, I’m so nervous my hands are like ice. How did I let you talk me into this?”

  “I think your balance sheet did most of the persuading. Let me do the talking unless she asks you something directly. She’s always been very friendly and easy-going when I’ve met with her to do their books.”

  “Great. You talk. I’ll just sit here and try to look professional.” She sat primly on the edge of the sofa and clasped her hands in her lap.

  Mrs. Wyndham returned pushing a glass teacart with a full tea service and a tiered server filled with several types of pastries and tiny sandwiches. “Now, ladies, help yourselves and tell me what brings you to see me today.” She poured a cup of fragrant oolong and handed it to Zoe who bobbled it but recovered without spilling any on herself or the sofa. She rolled her eyes at her friend in dismay.

  Amanda quickly spoke up, drawing Mrs. Wyndham’s attention. “Last week when I was here working on your books, you mentioned that you wanted to throw a seventy-fifth birthday party for your husband, and we were wondering if you had hired someone to handle the preparations yet.” She accepted her cup of tea and a linen napkin.

  “No. Not yet. It will be quite a bit of work and I didn’t feel there was anyone locally who could handle it. Why? Do you have someone in mind?”

  Amanda set her cup down and straightened her shoulders. “Actually, Zoe and I have been thinking of starting an event planning business for several months”—she crossed her fingers against the slight exaggeration—“and we’d like to apply for the job.”

  “Oh my dear, I don’t know . . .” The woman shook her head slowly.

  “Mrs. Wyndham, we know we don’t have experience or former clients who could give us references, but we have enthusiasm, talent
, and excellent organizational abilities. Zoe is imaginative, artistic, and capable of creating whatever ambiance you want for your party. My skills lie in the financial and detail-oriented side of the business, and together I know we can produce an event your guests will talk about for years to come.”

  Amanda studied the woman who even in the dead of winter in a sleepy resort town, was fully made-up, every strand of silver hair styled to within an inch of its life, and capable of producing ‘high tea’ on a moment’s notice. There was no doubt in her mind that if they got this job their company would be on its way to success.

  “Well, Miss Adams, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I think this affair might be just a little too large for your first attempt. The guest list would be extensive and I’m sure you understand that their social status would demand the highest standards in every aspect of the event. Taking a chance on a couple of unknowns would be a very risky proposition.” Mrs. Wyndham sipped her tea, her frown clearly indicating her reluctance to hire two untried young women.

  Not willing to give up so easily, Amanda poured the maximum amount of gentle persuasion into her next few words.

  “Mrs. Wyndham, would you at least let us work up a proposal and take a look at what we can do? The opportunity would be a valuable learning experience for us, and who knows? We may even surprise you.”

  Mrs. Wyndham sighed deeply. “All right, young lady, you’ve twisted my arm. Against my better judgment, I’ll look at your proposal. But don’t get your hopes up,” she added quickly. “My standards are high. I won’t accept inferior work, regardless of my willingness to support local talent.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am. You won’t regret it.” Zoe hadn’t said much during Amanda’s little speech, but the absolute confidence with which she said those words was unmistakable, and Mrs. Wyndham gave her a nod and a fleeting smile.

  By the time she climbed into her car, Amanda’s professional façade was wearing thin. At least Mrs. Wyndham hadn’t turned them down flat. There was still hope.

  Zoe collapsed into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door. She heaved a sigh as she clicked the seatbelt. “Sorry, Mandy, I totally blew our chance to become Blue Point Cove’s premiere event planning service. I told you I wasn’t any good at this kind of thing.”

  “Don’t be silly, Zo. And don’t be so quick to give up.”

  Amanda put the car in reverse and swung it around to head down the long, curving driveway.

  “Okay, so our first interview could have gone better, but Orville and Wilbur didn’t get airborne their first try either. We just have to come up with a concept that is so imaginative, outlined in a proposal that is so precise and detailed, that Mrs. Wyndham will have no choice but to hire us to make it a reality.”

  Zoe raised a single eyebrow. “Right. No problem.”

  “I’d say no problem the two of us can’t solve with the judicious application of brains and hard work.” Amanda gave a decisive nod to her friend. “Nobody said this was going to be easy. But your first painting wasn’t a masterpiece either, was it?”

  “Are you kidding? I painted over it three times and finally took a palette knife to it to put it out of its misery.” Zoe laughed at the memory. “Okay, partner, I’m still on board. What’s our next move?”

  “Pizza and brainstorming. Here, after you close the gallery tonight. I have an eight-dollar bottle of Chianti that I’m hoping will spark our creativity.” She angled to the curb in front of the gallery and Zoe hopped out, her enthusiasm restored. She slammed the door, took a step away, then turned around and tapped on the window.

  Amanda leaned over and cranked it down. “What?”

  “I just want you to know how happy I am to be working with you. You’re the perfect foil for my lack of self-confidence.” She grinned and whirled away to the gallery door. “See you around six.” She waved and went inside.

  Amanda rolled the window up. We are a good team, she thought, already setting up spreadsheets in her head for food, drinks, entertainment, and prop rentals.

  Now all they had to do was come up with that irresistible idea.

  CHAPTER 3

  Amanda took a sip of her wine and straightened the yellow legal pad, her freshly sharpened pencil poised above it. She and Zoe had finished the pizza but so far no fantastic ideas for the Admiral’s birthday bash had made it onto the paper.

  “Okay, we’ve decided both a nautical theme or a sportsman theme are too easy, and too clichéd,” Amanda said. “Let’s see, this is his seventy-fifth birthday so that means he was born in nineteen thirty-three.”

  “So,” Zoe mused, “when you’re seventy-five and looking back, what’s the time you want to remember?” She spread her arms, palms up, as though the answer was obvious. “When you were a teenager, spreading your wings and discovering girls. So let’s look at the late forties and early fifties.”

  “Okay.” Amanda concentrated. “World War II ends, prosperity increases, Hollywood is full of glamorous movie stars making big-budget musicals, and the kids are listening to swing, jazz, and big bands. A much happier time I bet the Admiral could get very nostalgic about.” She sat back, her eyes sparkling. “What do you think?”

  Zoe nodded her head and grinned. “I’m liking this idea. We can go with the big glam of that era. Those social high-brows love to dress up and have the champagne flow like water.”

  “And, oh my God, Zo, the music from back then? It’s fabulous. I’ll find a group who can play those songs. Maybe I can get in touch with that deejay from WMES, too. He could either deejay the whole thing or give the band some breaks if Mrs. Wyndham insists on live music.” She beamed at her friend and clinked their glasses together. “See? I knew you’d be great at this.”

  Zoe started scribbling on her tablet. “We’ll need the main room and dining room inside, the big deck up by the house for the tables and the pavilion down by the water for dancing.”

  “And fairy lights. Lots of fairy lights,” Amanda said dreamily. “I wonder if there will be a full moon that night?”

  “Hey, romance girl. Back to reality. You need to be figuring out how much this will cost, not the phase of the moon.”

  Amanda snapped out of her daydream. “Right. I’m on it. Rental tables, chairs, linens, tableware, glasses. Food. Booze. Serving help, bartenders, valet service.” The legal pad started to fill. “Thank God she doesn’t want a sit-down dinner. Canapés and finger food will provide more variety and cost less.”

  They stared at each other, the enormity of the undertaking starting to register.

  Zoe gulped the last of her wine and jumped up. “You gotta go. My head’s exploding with ideas and I have to get to my drawing pads.”

  “Okay. Let’s plan to get together again Saturday night and compare notes. I’ll want at least a rough idea of what you’ll need for decorating by then.”

  “Deal.” Zoe grabbed her pad as Amanda headed for the door. “Hey, what are we calling this business, anyway?”

  “A to Z Enterprises?”

  Zoe grinned and slapped a high-five. “Perfect.”

  Amanda sat in her car as Zoe’s energy drained from her. She’d thought Mrs. Wyndham’s budget was huge when she first heard it. Now she wondered how they’d ever stretch it enough to cover their expenses and leave a decent profit for them to split.

  Dev sat in the studio watching the clock. Only ten minutes left in his ‘request’ hour. Seemed like his frequent caller wasn’t going to check in tonight. Probably just as well. No point in—

  A light appeared on the call-in lines. He watched the little button blink for a second then took a slow breath and punched it.

  “Dev’s Dream machine. What can I play for you tonight?”

  “Would you please play ‘My Funny Valentine’?”

  Yep, it was her. But not the request he’d expected.


  His gut relaxed. “Sure thing. Is it for anyone special?”

  “It is. Dedicate it to Frank from Amanda, please?”

  He caught the wobble in her voice, and was that sniffling he heard on the other end? Shit.

  He wanted to keep her on the line, but not crying, so he added, “You’ve got great taste in music, Amanda. I’m surprised someone your age is so into the big band era.”

  She cleared her throat and gave a half-hearted chuckle. “How old do you think I am?”