Allie came in to check on Sam before she left. “How is he?” she asked, but the tape was done, and Charlie set up the next triple play: Billy Joel, Garth Brooks and Tony Bennett. He listened to “River of Dreams” begin before he turned back to the Allie and the puppy.

“Not good.” He took off the headphones and put them on the counter next to the basket. “See?” He tickled the puppy’s chin and Sam moved his mouth weakly once. “I can’t get him to take much. Harry said the same thing. I don’t think he’s going to make it, Al.”

Allie lifted the tiny body out of the basket and put him on the counter to rub his stomach. “Maybe he’s too warm. Maybe it makes him lethargic.”

“He’s a puppy. He should probably be in an incubator.”

Sam began to move his legs feebly against the counter.

“He’s cold,” Charlie said, but Allie held the bottle to his mouth and Sam took it, making feeble sucking sounds, gulping down formula.

Charlie put his head down next to Sam, pushing the headphones away. “I’ll be damned. He’s taking it. No, wait, he’s stopped.”

“Wait a minute. Move your head.” Allie shoved his head away from the puppy and pulled the headphones back close, and Sam began to suck again, weakly, but with a good rhythm.

“I don’t believe it,” Charlie said. “He likes Billy.”

“Maybe it’s the beat.” Allie smiled down at the puppy. “Maybe it sounds like his mom’s heart or something.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s working.” Samson sucked on like a champ and Charlie sat back, more relieved than he’d realized. Maybe Sam would make it, after all.

Allie bent over the puppy, cooing encouragement. Her rump was right in front of him. Practically an invitation. He pulled her into his lap, careful not to knock the bottle out of her hand or out of Sam’s mouth, and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. Her blue sweater was made of some kind of soft bubbly yarn, and she was warm against him, and he buried his face in the back of her neck and smelled the flowers in her shampoo. He spoke to her, mainly because he wanted to hear her voice. “How’s the show so far?”

“Terrific, as always.” Allie concentrated on Sam. “I can’t believe this. He’s drinking like a fraternity boy.”

“What do you mean, ’as always’” This is just the second time we did this.” Charlie tightened his arms at the thought.

“Well, we’re good.” Allie’s voice went cold. “He’s stopping. What’s wrong?”

Charlie reached around her for the headphones and listened. “He must not like ‘Friends in Low Places.’ It’s one of my favorites.”

“Well, play Billy again, for heaven’s sake.” Allie squirmed around on his lap, exasperated. “He drinks when you play Billy.”

Charlie swallowed and put the headphones back. “Stop moving around on me like that. It’s distracting.”

“Play Billy.” Allie’s voice brooked no disagreement.

“Burp him until this is done and then I’ll put Billy back on again,” Charlie said, surrendering. “Does is have to be ‘River of Dreams?”

“I don’t know.” Allie bent over the puppy, and Charlie let his hand trail down her back. “Better not mess with success. Play Billy.”

“Right,” Charlie said, and when Garth was done, he let Billy rip again, and Sam went back to the bottle like a trouper.

Good thing it was a good song.

By the third play-through, Sam had fallen asleep and was back in his basket.

“I bet if we put headphones on his basket, he’d do better.” Allie started to get up. “There’s a pair-”

“Wait a minute.” Charlie pulled her back into his lap, and when she turned to protest, he kissed her, wanting her softness against him and her mouth on his for just a moment. She relaxed against him, and he felt her tongue tease his mouth, and then he grinned and opened to her, cupping her breast hard in his hand while he bent her head back with the kiss and she wrapped her arms around him.

“Hello,” she said a few minutes later, coming up for air. “What was that for? I’m in favor of it, but what was that for?”

“That was for me,” Charlie told her, trying to get his breath back. “Go get those headphones now, or I’ll take you right here in the booth.”

“Oh.” Allie stayed where she was for a moment and then grinned when he didn’t move. “Talk’s cheap, Tenniel.”

He grabbed for her then but she slipped away from his hands, and he let her go because the song was over, and also because he had every intention of plying her with Chinese food later and of making love to her until she screamed.


* * *

“This is great,” Allie said at two-thirty as they split a double order of garlic chicken, eating from the carton with two forks this time. “The show was really good tonight, right up to the end. I knew you were going to be a hit, but I had no idea it would be this fast. And I haven’t even started on the publicity yet. This is wonderful.”

Charlie stabbed his fork into the chicken. “No, it’s not. I told you, I don’t want to be famous, so just knock it off.”

Allie gave an exasperated sigh. He really was impossible. It didn’t matter, because she was going to make him famous anyway, but he was still impossible. “What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you want to be a success?”

Charlie ignored her. “Dump some rice in here, the garlic’s really heavy.”

“I bet I know what’s wrong.” Allie tipped the rice carton into the chicken.

“I do, too. There’s not enough rice.”

“No, you’re afraid of success.” Allie patted his hand, suddenly sympathetic. After all, he had hit the big time pretty quickly. “It’s very common, you’ll get used to it. Trust me.”

Charlie moved the carton away from her, holding it behind him. “No, I won’t. Look at me.”

Allie obediently looked up at him, her fork poised in case he moved the carton back.

“I do not want to be successful,” he said, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Successful screws with people’s heads and makes them think they’re above the law and can get away with anything. I’m not like that. I am not going to promote the show. I am not going to have my picture taken. And I am not going to ask any more questions that will get me in trouble. I just want a nice, quiet show. I’m a nice, quiet guy, and I want a nice, quiet show. Is that too much to ask?” He glared at Allie and she glared back at him, annoyed that he could be so wimpy.

“No,” she snapped. “Certainly not. Anything I can do to help you on the road to obscurity?”

“Yes.” Charlie moved the carton back within her reach. ‘Give me something nonexplosive to talk about tomorrow. Something nice and innocuous.”

Allie stabbed her fork into the chicken. “Stewart drinks coffee from the break-room urn and doesn’t pay for it and then he blames the money shortage on the technicians.” She chomped down on her forkful of chicken and gazed balefully at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, that is fascinating, but I don’t think Greater Tuttle will be interested. Come on, cooperate. You’re my producer, produce. And move over. You’re hogging the bed.” Charlie shoved her over with his hip and looked into the carton. “Oh, there’s rice on the bottom. Maybe we should dump this stuff out on plates.”

“Whatever you want, Oh Great One.”

“I want another topic for tomorrow’s show,” Charlie said.

“Okay, how about…” Allie leaned over his shoulder and scooped up some more chicken, trying to think of something stupid for him. “Sometimes Grady does his show stoned.”

Charlie visibly corraled his patience. “I noticed. But I don’t think Tuttle will think that’s news, either. I need a real topic here. Stop sulking and give me some help.”

Allie shrugged. “Okay. The streetlights in Eastown are still out.”

“Allie…”

She waved her fork at him. “You said, innocuous.”

“Innocuous, not brain-dead.” Charlie took the carton back. “I will let you have more of this when you come up with something good. Something people will talk to me about, so I won’t get fired, but that does not involve newspaper headlines.”

Allie looked at the carton with longing. “It’s mean to keep moving the carton away. You know how I feel about food.”

“Then think fast.” He took a huge forkful of chicken and savored it while she watched.

“Food.” She moved closer to him with her fork. “You were all mopey about the little grocery stores going out of business when we took you on that tour the other night.”

Charlie moved the carton farther out of her way as he ate. “That’s the best you can do?”

Allie nodded. “You wanted boring. Do a nostalgia thing. All we have now all over town are those damn FoodStops. Fluorescent lighting and house brands that taste like dog food.” She eyed the carton. “I wonder if Samson would like Chinese? He was eating like a trooper when I left. Do you suppose anybody’s noticed we’re playing Billy Joel every hour?”

Charlie ignored her, lost in thought, and Allie grabbed the carton while he was distracted. “It doesn’t sound very exciting,” he said. “Maybe I’d do it.”

Allie shook her head and scooped up some more chicken. “You’re worthless. I could make you the biggest thing on midnight radio, but no, you want things quiet.” She passed the carton over to him in disgust.

Charlie took another huge forkful and handed the carton back. “Old-time grocery stores.” He chewed and then nodded. “All right. I’ll do it. You can have the rest of that.”

Allie poked her fork in the carton. “All that’s left is rice.”

“Too bad.” He took the carton out of her hands and put it on the floor with their forks. Then he sat back and put his arm around her. “Now what are we going to do?”