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coffee.
    “I’ll give you two a minute to decide and then come back for your order,” Liz said, giving him a sly wink.
    “What was all that about?” Dayna asked, reaching for the old-fashioned cream dispenser.
    “She likes you,” he said.
    She smirked. “She’s known me all of five seconds.”
    “Trust me. Liz is one of these people who instantly make up their mind whether or not you’re going to be in her good books for life. She says it’s instinctive.”
    “And what if I’d been blacklisted?”
    “Then you don’t want to know.” He brought his mug up to his lips and watched Dayna tear open the ends of twin sugar packets. She dumped them both into her coffee, then stirred. “I see I’m going to have to teach you how to drink it black like a grown up.”
    “Cut me some slack. My alarm went off at three-thirty for the first time in my life today.” She closed her eyes and savored the initial sip. “Ohhh, yeah. That’s good stuff.”
    “Better than the sludge at the station, that’s for damn sure.”
    She put down her mug and folded her arms on the table. “You know where Bonnie’s moving Willie?”
    “Weekend shift, I heard.”
    “Six a.m. to noon on Saturdays and Sundays. That’s it. He gets only twelve hours a week on the air, three of them spent playing old-timey gospel music.”
    “It sucks, but what can you do? I’m sure he’ll get some remotes thrown his way.”
    “But it’s so degrading,” she said, her eyes turned down. “He’s not even sixty yet. Did you know that he’s been working at Country One-oh-three since 1985?”
    “Yep.” Tack actually didn’t know the exact year, but he suspected Willie Williams had been at the station since reel to reel was state-of-the-art technology.
    “And did you know that his very first day on air was August 16, 1977?”
    “The day Elvis died.”
    She nodded. “He worked at his uncle’s station in Pittsburgh. You know, just sweeping the floors and erasing tapes and keeping the record collection in alphabetical order. But the day Elvis died, one of the DJs got so busted up that he couldn’t go on the air. Willie got to sit in the chair for his shift, and the rest is history.”
    He was mesmerized by the way her face lit up as she recounted the story. “Wow,” he said. “That’s really something.”
    “He’s been in radio for thirty-five years. Don’t you think that’s amazing?”
    “It’s quite an accomplishment, sugar. But you need to remember that this business can be a cruel one, whether you’ve devoted a few days or entire decades to it. There ain’t no job security on the airwaves.”
    Liz returned with her order pad and pen poised to write. “What can I get you?”
    Tack slid his unopened menu across the table. “The usual. The Roadhouse skillet and a side of brown toast.”
    “Alrighty. And what about you, Dayna?”
    “The skillet sounds good. What’s in it?”
    “It’s a big ol’ heap of scrambled eggs, mixed with homestyle potatoes, fried sausage and peppers smothered in melted cheese. Breakfast of champions.”
    She slammed her menu shut. “Oh, what the hell? I’ll have that too,” she said, eyeing up Liz’s sparkly necklace. “So, you’re actually Elizabeth Taylor?”
    “Elizabeth Penelope Jeanne Taylor,” she said proudly. “Being born with a handle like that affords a girl certain privileges.”
    “I imagine that it would. So other than your obviously fine taste in jewelry, do you have anything in common with your famous namesake?”
    Liz laughed as she poured a steamy refill into each mug. “Honey, I may have only been married twice, but I do expect a man to pamper me like Cleopatra.”
    “Get to the best part,” he said. “About who’s working back in the kitchen.”
    Dayna pressed a finger against her lips. “Don’t tell me. Richard Burton?”
    “My chef’s name is Mickey Brunie.”
    “Oh man, that’s priceless.” Dayna laughed.
    “I’ll get Mickey on this and swing by with more