The Rumors

"Hey Johnny, check your schedule. There's been a change for tonight," Gina Evans, Johnny Waters's twenty-five year old assistant called out as he stomped past her office door. It looks like he's in another one of his moods. Sighing, she toyed with a golden brown curl that dangled over her left ear. "Did you hear me?" He didn't reply. He did leave behind an odor, however. What was it? She couldn't quite place it. It wasn't offensive or pungent. More sweet, like caramel or sugar. Cotton candy! That was it. "Hey! Where'd you get the cotton candy from?"

Johnny burst into Gina's office waving his arms in protest. "What cotton candy? I don't have any cotton candy. Who said I have any? Who've you been talking to?" His voice rose with each breath. Intense eyes bored into Gina's. "There was NO cotton candy. Do I make myself clear?" Twirling around, with more the grace of a 13 year old ballerina then a 43 year old lounge pianist, he marched out of Gina's office as quickly as he had entered. A few moments later, his office door slammed.

What was that all about? What kind of trouble has he gotten himself into this time? Gina's mind was racing. Camped behind her pressed wood desk, cramped inside her tiny office, she reached for the phone, intending to give her best friend Margie a call. If anyone would appreciate Johnny's latest predicament, she would. Out of sheer habit, Gina pushed the button for line one and lifted the receiver to her ear. "...at this late notice," said a male, refined, and vaguely familiar voice. "You can't let me down like this. I'll see you never..."

"Gina! Get off the line," Johnny screamed through the phone, interrupting the voice Gina couldn't quite place. "This is a personal call. Don't make me tell you again."

She gulped. "Yes sir, Johnny. Mr. Waters. I was just trying to make a call. I didn't realize you were talking."

"I don't give a rat's ass what you were doing. Just get off the phone and leave us alone."

Bastard! She slammed the receiver onto the cradle. Escape was a concept she always considered but never equated as something feasible. "I wish I didn't need the money!" she hollered loud enough to make her feel better but quiet enough so as not to carry into his office. Now she was going to call Margie for sure. Picking back up the receiver, she punched line two and the one-touch button for her best friend.

“Hey Gina. Did you hear what happened to Frankie?” Margie asked.

“No. But I bet you haven’t heard the latest ‘bout Johnny,” Gina said. Just then, she recognized the voice she couldn’t quite place earlier. Randolph P. Stuart, the man who’s organized the county fair for as long as she could remember. “Guess who’s working the fair again this year?”

“NO WAY!” shouted Margie. “After last year? After what happened to Mrs. Heppleman’s prize calf? There’s no way that Stuey would ever invite him back.”

“Not only has Stuey – Mr. Stuart invited him back, but he’s threatening to ruin him if he doesn’t show up.” Gina smiled for the first time since Johnny freaked out about the cotton candy. “I heard it with my own ears.” Well, that was mostly the truth. She didn’t hear those EXACT words, but that must have been what they were talking about on the phone, what with Johnny smelling of cotton candy and all.

“Oooh, I can’t believe this,” Margie said. “I’m going to spread this to everyone. But don’t worry, I’ll give you credit.”

Gina heard a nearby door unlatch. “Miss Evans,” Johnny yelled. “Get in here. I need you to do a letter for me.”

“I gotta go, the circus clown needs me,” she whispered into the phone and hung it up. “Right away, Mr. Waters.” This was definitely not a call-the-boss-by-the-first-name-to-his-face kind of day.

Grabbing a steno pad and her favorite pen, the Carnivale Swizzle she’d purchased from pens-r-us.com, Gina trudged to Johnny’s door. Forcing a smile on her face, she opened her eyes wide and stepped into his office.

The aroma of cotton candy no longer lingered. An oppressive cloud of Calvin Klein’s Obsession hung in its place. Gina nearly choked as she located the chair closest to a window and dragged it even closer as she sat down. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the phone rang. Johnny held up an index finger, demanding quiet and answered the phone.

“Johnny Waters Music, what can I do you for?” he barked into the phone. Gina couldn’t hear who he was talking to or what the person was saying, but Johnny’s face became angrier and angrier. “Enough!” he screamed into the phone. “I want to know where that came from!” He glared into Gina’s eyes and threw the receiver into its cradle. “Someone’s going to pay.”

Watching the veins on Johnny’s neck poke out and feeling more scared then she could remember, Gina opened up her steno pad and placed it on her lap. “I’m r-ready whenever you are, Mr. Waters.”

Shaking with rage, Johnny took a deep, audible breath and gripped the front of his desk with both hands. Through clinched teeth he said, “Forget about the letter. I have another project for you.”

Gina folded her hands across her steno pad. “Whatever you want, Mr. Waters.”

Sending his office chair rolling into the wall, Johnny stood up and pounded his fist on top of his desk. “I want you to find out who’s spreading rumors about me.”

“Rumors?” she asked in an unnaturally quiet voice.

“Yes! Rumors!” He waved an index finger in her face. “Rumors of me. Working the fair.” He shook his head and turned to face the window behind his desk. “It’s bad enough that Randolph Stuart blackmailed me into getting him tickets for my latest show, but now everyone seems to think I’m back to doing carny gigs.” He let out a loud, pained moan and turned back around. “I want you to find out who’s spreading this. You can start with that nosy friend of yours, Margie. I swear to you, Gina Evans, I’m going to ruin whoever’s responsible.”