The Romeo Arrangement

I’ve had my share of flings in real life, too. Cautiously because I’ve always known the risks. Sleeping with the wrong person has destroyed more than one career in Tinseltown.

I shake my head, dispelling the sex-crazed track I’ve been heading down and grab Grace by the waist, hold her hips against mine as we fly across the floor to another tune.

The feel of her, the scent, the sight, it’s the grounding I need, even if it’s still driving me a special kind of crazy.

I need to remember why we’re here.

As the music ends, I grasp her hand and pull her up on the small corner stage where the local band—who aren’t bad for a group of kids barely old enough to drink—flash a thumbs-up.

They must appreciate how we’ve been tearing up the floor.

She’s frowning as I shoot her a grin before asking the lead singer if I can borrow his mic.

The singer passes it over with a lopsided grin and flips his guitar aside to clap politely as I take center stage, pulling Grace along with me.

Not so much as a beer bottle clinking against the table can be heard as all eyes settle on us.

First, I ask them to give the band a big Dallas hand.

They applaud generously. No surprise. They’re being plenty generous to me, too.

When it quiets down, I look out over the crowd, a group of hard-working folks that truly are the heart of this nation.

Farmers and oilmen still smudged up in their clothes, hardworking office women giddy with time off, a couple police officers in their uniforms drinking beers, though I don’t see Drake or Sheriff Wallace with them.

Dallas has a pulse. This little town looks out for everybody in it. The very thing I always heard my Army buddies talking about when they’d get homesick.

They’d been jealous of me, of course, and told me point-blank when they found out who I really was. I’d pretended my life was amazing, never letting on how I’d envied them.

All for this sense of home.

“Hi, ladies and gents. I have a big announcement,” I say into the mic, and for the first time in my life, I’m nervous. I’m speaking from the heart, my words rather than a script. “But first, I want to say thank you. I’d wager a few folks in the crowd knew who I was, even before the latest flap in the media came out. I’m sure you’ve all seen it. Ever since my arrival in Dallas, you’ve treated me like I’m just another neighbor. The new guy who bought that ranch on the land old Jonah Reed always swore was no good.”

A low rumble of laughs winds through the crowd. I knew mentioning North Earhart Oil’s founder would help win over any holdouts.

“It’s true. I’ll never laugh off winter again after spending entire weeks snowed in,” I say. “And I’m glad I did, so the next time I visit Southern California, I’ll have plenty of horror stories for the folks who freak if it dips below fifty degrees.”

I wait until more laughter dies.

“Seriously, though, it’s not the weather telling me how good I’ve got it. Dallas folk show me every week. I appreciate being able to go to the café, the grocery store, feedstore, gas station, and bars, without being assaulted with newshounds looking to break the next big scoop on Ridge Barnet’s scandalous life.”

The crowd goes quiet, but faces are smiling.

Grace’s hold on my hand tightens.

I squeeze her hand back, silently showing her that I know what I’m doing.

“Y’all made me feel like one of the guys, but I never realized what being one of the guys meant, until now. Until recently when, as some of you know, the newshounds discovered where I’ve been holed up. I want to apologize for that, and in advance for any and all hyenas who might pop up around here hounding you folks for info.”

I sigh, looking around the room, watching several worried faces.

“I should’ve known the truth would leak out eventually. I should’ve introduced myself like this sooner, and thought of you. All of you. You respected my privacy, but I didn’t respect your community by keeping my head in the sand since I came here last fall. People, I apologize.”

There are a few hushed mumbles, people wondering where I’m going with all this.

I have to admit, I’m better with scripts than I am with improvising on the spot.

Still, I know having the community on my side will help thwart the real hyenas I’m worried about coming for Grace and Nelson.

“Guess what?” I flash Grace a grin before continuing. “I don’t care what the hell the entertainment media says. They’ll print their own words in chickenshit if it sells stories—pardon my French—but here’s what I do care about.”

I grin, waiting for the laughter to die down again.