Can't Help Falling in Love by David W. Menefee, Carol Dunitz Page A

often they should name a booth after
me!”
        
The hostess said, “Let me show you to the booth!”
        
They followed her down the aisle. Allison looked ahead to the farthest booth
that he seemed to prefer. She had to think fast about whether to slip into the
seat that backed up to a wall, or to take the seat facing the wall. If I sit with my back to the wall, he’ll be facing me and can look only
at me and there’ll be few distractions while we talk about his work and what I
might do to help, but if I let him take that seat, I’ll be able to see only
him. In a snap decision,
she slipped into the back seat so that he would see only her. That’ll
be better all the way around!
        
No sooner were they both seated than an overly-excited teenage girl wearing a
tight red angora sweater ran up to their table clutching a 45-rpm copy of his
latest record. “I know you’re him!” she gushed, pointing to the name on the
record. “Can I get your autograph?”
        
Before he could answer, she thrust him a pen and her record. He graciously laid
the record on the table and signed his name on the dust sleeve, and when his
head tilted down, a long curled lock of his hair fell becomingly over his
forehead. He seemed to not notice, and when he smiled at the girl and gave her
back the record, she was so overjoyed she actually curtseyed before running
off.
        
Allison was instantly overwhelmed. Now that she could finally relax, she was
still in knots. He was just as desirable as she remembered, but she recalled
that he was also as unattainable as before—if not more so. She asked, “Does
that happen often?”
         “Not so much yet. Our first record just came out, but
it’s happening more and more.”
        
“It would be nice if some of your future records featured your picture on the
dust sleeve along with some space for you to sign an autograph when asked.”
        
“That would be good, which is another reason to get some great new pictures. I
was on Dewey Phillips’ radio show a few days ago. Listeners were phoning in
wanting to know who I was. A lot of them think I’m a colored guy.”
        
“I’m sure that a great photographer could get some wonderful shots of you that
would clarify that nicely. In fact, if you ever make a whole album, the cover
ought to have your name in great big letters superimposed over a live concert
photo of you singing and playing your guitar. I have a good photographer in
mind already!”
        
“I don’t have much money, Allison.”
       
Allison addressed his remark. “When we position you right to maximize your
potential appeal with the girls, I don’t have any doubt that the nickels and
dimes will come rolling in. The key is to show you in just the right light.
Girls like the one that was here a moment ago spend every night thinking about
their dream guy. Record albums are like paper dolls to them. They also cut out
pictures from all the popular magazines, tack them to
their bedroom walls, and dream, dream, dream.”
        
“Just like guys?”
         “The same. Don’t you have any sisters?”
        
“No, I’m an only child.”
        
“Well, I’m sure your mother had her favorites, just like all women and girls.
Who knows? You could end up in the movies like Marlon Brando and James Dean! But it all starts at the beginning. Having a winning portfolio
is one of the first steps. I’d like to arrange a sitting with a talented
photographer as soon as possible. We can work out payment details later. I
think the photographer I have in mind will do them as a favor to me.”
        
A waitress came up to their table. “You ready to order?”
        
“I haven’t even looked at the menu!” Allison exclaimed.
        
“Your date’s been here before,” she said with a wink at him. “I bet he knows
what he wants.”    
        
He replied, “The best thing they have here is a fried peanut butter and