Good Day Iowa!

I had heard the door to the quaint little sports bar open several times since I had arrived, but for some reason I turned to look this time and was surprised at what I saw. As she walked in, I could tell that something was wrong. Her normal posture - usually very tall and proud - was instead slumped over, her shoulders drooping. Instead of her normal smile - the smile that made her look like she had 50 teeth - she was displaying a sad frown. Her bright eyes were dull, and maybe even tinged with red. If it was visible in the muted light of the bar, I knew she was upset. I could tell all these things even though I had never met her before in person.

So how did I know that she was upset, and not her usual perky self? Because she's on my television every weekday at 12:30 p.m. She's one of the co-hosts of a show produced by our local television station. It's advertised as "Good Day Iowa, with Tracey Willis and Steve Ransom" a community action and awareness program featuring items of local interest. Of course, the reality is that it's basically a 30-minute commercial, where businesses purchase time selling their product in exchange for a nice advertisement package on the station. To their credit, they also use the show to highlight area non-profit agencies whose purpose is to improve life in Iowa. It's produced on a very low budget, and the currently sad host who just walked into the bar is one of the reasons the show is so successful.

That's why I watch - I love watching Tracey's cheery disposition as she interviews guests and often gets to do whatever it is the sponsor is promoting. I've seen her take grounders on the infield of the local minor league baseball team, jump out of an airplane, and play soccer with an energized group of kids at the local Y. Soccer is her jam, since she has told us several times on the show that she played soccer through college, and she has the legs to prove it.

That's another reason I watch her show. She's cute, in a very playful way. I wasn't kidding about her smile. I know that her personality and her willingness to do just about anything to promote the show to potential advertisers makes all her guests feel important. But back to the cuteness - she has long brunette hair that she can put up in several different ways. She's nicely shaped, with pert breasts a little larger than the ones sported by most of the soccer players on the Women's National Team. But her legs are truly tremendous, and while I didn't think I was a leg man, I am when I think about her. Of course, she's also half my age, so she would always remain just a cute co-host of a local TV show, and a pleasant lunchtime distraction on the television in my office.

There was no smile tonight, and it was evident as she trudged in, taking her place a few stools down from me at the bar. I tried not to stare at her, since she was already feeling lowly, and I didn't want to make it worse. But I was stealing an occasional glance, enough to see that she was wearing a dark, long-sleeved sweater and very nicely fitted blue jeans. Her hair was down, falling around her shoulders, before ending midway down her back.

It was a late fall Wednesday night, so there were no games of significance on the screens - at least none of the games had caught my attention. I had been preparing to leave before she walked in. But I had nothing pressing to do the rest of the evening, and since my career was working with people to help them with their problems, I was drawn to stay for at least a little while longer. Being lonely here was better than being lonely at home.

It's difficult being a single man just past sixty. I hated the dating scene, so I rarely tried to participate. I knew part of the reason for my hesitancy could be attributed to the fact that I would never find anyone to replace my late wife. Many women had tried, but there was always something holding me back from getting too serious with any of them. It was as if I hated conflict so much that I didn't let any relationship get to the point where conflict could possibly happen.

My Lucy died several years ago after a long and brave fight with ALS - "Lou Gehrig's Disease." It was difficult watching her waste away while knowing there was nothing that could be done to stop it. I stayed strong with her to the end. Ours was a marriage that I felt was truly idyllic. Because of that, I could easily find faults in the women who now claimed they were interested in me, and I was afraid I'd be unhappier with a new woman than I am now without anyone.

We had two boys, but both got educated in college and thought they needed to escape what they felt was the stifling boredom of living in a flyover state. They both found successful careers in big cities, about 500 miles apart from each other and about 1,000 miles away from me. I don't get to see them that often, and since they both seem happy with their careers and locations, I'm afraid opportunities to see them will be few and far between.

I spend my time working Monday through Friday as a relationship therapist - I try to help couples and even some individuals and families work through problems that are causing tension and unrest. I think in the past I would be known as a marriage counselor, but I try not to limit myself to working with couples only. I work for a privately owned mental health agency, which means most of my clients aren't receiving any kind of assistance in paying for my services. I probably make a little more than those in similar positions but working for a governmental health agency, although that part doesn't really matter to me anymore. With the life insurance we purchased for each other twenty years ago, I'm not really hurting for money.

Outside of work, I try to stay fit by walking and riding my bicycle. After Lucy died, I became somewhat of a hermit, coming outside only to go to and from work, and spending too much time looking for happiness in a bottle of wine. Because of that, I began to gain weight, until I looked at my puffy face in the mirror one day and was disgusted with what I saw. After that, I learned to cook healthy foods, though I'm not a vegetarian: I eat a lot of chicken and fish. I forced myself to quit drinking at home while I was alone and set limits for how much I'd drink when I was out. I've joined up with a local bicycle club and on good weekends there is usually a group ride. But I also enjoy walking or riding by myself, spending that time thinking of Lucy and the great life we shared.

When Lucy was first diagnosed with ALS, I also immersed myself in helping the local ALS awareness chapter do whatever I could to bring an awareness of this terrible disease, including raising money to donate to research. After watching Lucy die a little every day as the disease took control of her body, I didn't want another family to ever experience the pain I did, and I didn't want another victim of ALS to be held prisoner by a disease they could not control.

But all those thoughts were temporarily pushed aside as I stole glances in Tracey's direction. Soon I could see a tear rolling down her cheek, and at that moment I dropped the fantasy part of my interest in her and switched into therapist mode - something that had always been an occupational hazard for me. If someone was struggling and looked like they needed help, it didn't matter when or where it was - if I could help in any way at all, it was worth trying.

I looked over at her and said, "You look like somebody who is having a rotten evening. Is there anything I can do to help?"

She turned to me and tried to force a smile, but it wasn't nearly as full and bright as her TV smiles. "Thanks for asking," Tracey replied, "but I wouldn't want to drag anybody else's evening down."

That was my cue as a therapist to make sure she knew I was serious about being able to help her, and not some leering old man who only had one thing on his mind...although I had to admit I didn't watch her show daily on my lunch break to see how she was feeling.

I reached for my wallet and pulled out one of my business cards. I learned a long time ago that there are people in need everywhere you turn, and having a business card available at an instant authenticated my claim that I could help them.

I moved over one stool closer to her and leaned her way, stretching my arm out to offer her the card I held in my fingers. "That's okay, I promise you I've talked with people who have some pretty serious problems, and I really would like to help if it would make you feel better."

She picked her head up a little and looked at the card before cautiously taking it from my hand. She looked down again and read the printed words - "Brian Stewart, licensed therapist specializing in group and individual counseling." It had my office address and phone number as well.

Tracey studied the card as if she was looking for a loophole. After a few seconds, she turned her head back to me and asked, "So why are you so interested in me, Brian Stewart?"

I smiled and replied, "Well, Tracey Willis, this is a side of you that the public normally doesn't see, and to be honest I'd rather see you as your happy self on your show than your sad and upset self here tonight."

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "So you know who I am. How do I know you're not just perving on me hoping to find me at a vulnerable time?"

It was a fair question, because I figured if a sixty-year-old widowed therapist thought she was cute, I knew there were many other men that thought the same thing. "Well, mostly because if that were the case, I certainly wouldn't have given you my name, office address, and phone number. I'm trying to be straight up front with you. I think you could use someone to talk to, and I wanted to let you know that you would be safe with me."

She studied me, trying to find a weakness in my story. Eventually she said, "Okay, Brian Stewart, let's talk. But not here - can we go over to a table where we might have a little more privacy?"

I smiled at her. "Of course - shall we freshen our drinks before we go?"

It was Tracey's turn to smile. "Yes, that would be wonderful."

I signaled the bartender over and watched as he refilled our drinks. Tracey was an adult and could do whatever she wanted, but I knew it would not be a good idea if she consumed an over-abundance of alcohol, so I pledged myself to help her regulate the amount she drank. I also knew that my drink would be my last since I have a two-drink maximum pledge of my own.

We took our drinks and sat at a two-person table on the far wall of the club. She took a sip and then put her glass down. I copied her, and as I sat my drink on the table, she looked over at me again.

"So, you're the therapist - tell me what's wrong with me."

I've heard this line at the beginning of numerous sessions over my career. It's usually spoken when clients come in not believing I can help. Usually, they end up amazed at what I do for them.

"If I had to guess, I'd say that you have invested a lot of time and energy - and maybe even love - in a relationship, but tonight you found out that the relationship wasn't all that you had hoped it would be. So naturally you're upset, but I have a feeling you're more upset at the time invested and consequently wasted, and less of whatever you discovered tonight that put you in this mood originally."

Her eyes widened gradually as I explained to her what I thought the problem was. When I finished, she stammered a bit, and then said, "Are you sure you're not a stalker? Because you pretty much hit the nail on the head, and I don't know how you would have known otherwise."

I chuckled and replied, "No, I'm not a stalker. I didn't know for sure, but I've seen other people with this problem before, and you were showing similar mannerisms, so I went for it. Do you want to talk about it - this one is free, no charge!"

She gave me a sly grin out of the corner of her mouth. "Are you here trying to drum up business?"

"No, I have plenty of business. If you wanted to see me professionally, it might be a month or more before I could get you in. I'm talking to you because I could see how upset you were and that wasn't the Tracey Willis with which I was familiar, so I wanted to help."

She smiled. "I appreciate that. I'm feeling a little better already. But you do understand that what you see on the show is a stage presence, and not necessarily how I am away from the cameras."

"I believe that" I replied, "to a certain extent. I think happiness and a bright smile like that can't be completely faked. I think you probably come across as happier away from the cameras more than you might realize."

She took another sip of her drink. "So, tell me, Brian Stewart - why are you watching the show? We don't really cater to your demographic."

I laughed again and replied, "That's very true - there's rarely something on your show that appeals to me. So...why do I watch the show? If I tell you, I'm afraid you're going to think I'm perving on you after all!"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I'm a pretty good judge of character, and you're not setting off any alarms just yet. Of course, you realize I haven't given you MY business card yet!"

She laughed after she said that, and I couldn't help but join her. I was glad to see I'd taken her mind off her problems, at least for a few minutes anyway.

"Okay, I'll tell you if you promise not to get mad at me."

She held up some kind of modified Scout salute and said, "Promise."

I wet my lips with my drink, and then said, "It's like this. You are correct, I realize your show is not geared to men my age. While I do enjoy the spots when you raise awareness of some worthy cause, most of your show content is not my idea of entertainment. But I watch it for one reason - I watch it because I enjoy you! You could be talking to a boutique owner on one segment, and then switch to the latest cute puppy available for adoption from the local Humane Society next and follow that up with a sad but inspirational interview with someone who hopes to benefit from the next Cancer Walk-a-thon. And in each segment, you treat your guests like they are the most important people in the world. I watch because of that - I watch because of your people skills."

It was Tracey's turn to take a drink, and I couldn't really tell in the dim light of the bar, but I thought maybe she was blushing. She turned back to me and replied, "Wow - that's about the nicest review of me and the show that I think I've heard! Thank you, Brian!"

"You are most welcome, but don't be too quick to thank me, because I will admit watching the show for another reason - I think the host is pretty darn cute!"

A look of surprise crossed her face, and then suddenly she couldn't contain a grin. "Yeah, lots of women think Steve Ransom is pretty cute, but I don't hear that from too many guys.....just kidding!"

She had me going on that one. Her playfulness and cheery manner were coming back, and I knew she was going to be fine, at least for the moment. "Well, he is a moderately good-looking guy! But I like your smile much better!"

She blushed again - chalk one up for the old therapist! I took a last pull on my drink, then turned to her and said, "I think part of the happy Tracey Willis is returning. I hope I've helped in some way. I hope you understand that you'll never be truly happy until you find someone who eagerly wants to put as much effort in a relationship with you as you do with them."

She nodded and replied, "Thank you, Brian Stewart. Thanks for allowing me to air my problem with you. You have been a tremendous help!

She got up to go, but I wanted to make sure she was safe to drive. "Do you need me to call you a cab? I don't want anything to happen to you on the way home."

She smiled one more time (nearly showing all 50 teeth) and replied, "No, I'm fine. There was very little alcohol in my drinks - I ordered them that way. I knew the last thing I needed tonight was to get drunk and do something I'd regret tomorrow. But thanks for the offer, and thanks for the conversation!"

She turned to walk out the door. I paid for my drinks, including a healthy tip, and left about five minutes later. As I drove home, I admitted to myself that I was a bit melancholy. On the one hand, I had gotten to meet Tracy Willis in person and found out that despite her problems of the evening, she could still find a way to be happy and make me feel good being with her. On the other hand, it was probably going to be my only chance to meet her, and that meant going back to admiring her from afar weekdays at 12:30 p.m. on my office television. That would just have to be good enough.

******

The next two weeks slogged by. Work was becoming tedious, and there wasn't really anything new or exciting outside of the office either. The only project away from work that was receiving my focus was the annual "All Out for ALS" fun walk and run that was coming up in a few weeks. I was on the planning committee for the event, and I had spent a considerable amount of time reaching out for sponsors and those who could donate prizes to be given away. It was an event that I helped with every year, and it had become one of Iowa's premier fundraising events. The cure for ALS was getting closer every day, and events like this raised thousands of precious dollars to allow research to continue.

On my lunch break on a Monday about three weeks before the event, I received a message to call Marilyn Loomis, the local chapter president for ALS Iowa Foundation. This wasn't unusual, since the frequency of conversations I had with her increased the closer we got to the race. I heated up the soup I had brought to eat in my office, and then called Marilyn. She answered on the second ring.

"Thanks for calling back, Brian. I have a favor to ask you, but feel free to turn me down if you don't feel comfortable about it."

That was an interesting way to start a phone call, but I said, "Okay."

Marilyn continued - "Have you heard of the local program called 'Good Day Iowa?'"

If she only knew I watched it every day! "Yes, I'm familiar with it." I tried not to sound too excited about it.

"They want to do a segment on the upcoming fun run and walk, and I thought you would be a good person to interview, since you've been on the planning committee every year and your personal story about ALS is so captivating."

Another chance to spend some time with Tracey? Heck yes, I was willing! I told her so, although not letting on with my excitement over seeing Tracey again.

"Great," Marilyn replied. "Please call Steve Ransom at this number so you can get it set up. They'd like you to do it quickly, since they pre-record their segments and play them at a later date, and we're running out of time to get it on their schedule."

Rats! Steve Ransom? The guy who I thought might be cute? He was certainly no Tracey Willis! But then I remembered that the purpose of this interview was to promote an event that meant more to me than most anything else, not as an opportunity to chat with Tracey again. I took down the number and quickly called, setting up a taping of my segment for two days from now during my lunch break.

I looked at the clock on my desk - right on time. I clicked the TV on, and there she was, same as every day, smiling that huge 50-teeth smile, alongside the not-so-good-looking Steve Ransom. Did he know how lucky he was to spend so much of his time working with Tracey? He wasn't worthy of her. But then few people were!

******

Wednesday came around. I hurried through my last appointment of the morning. Fortunately, it was with a client who was doing very well after months of regular appointments, so releasing her a bit early wasn't going to be a problem.

I changed into my event race t-shirt before I left the office. I made the drive to the TV studio in about ten minutes. I walked up to the receptionist and told her why I was there. She picked up her phone and punched a few buttons, then hung back up and told me that someone would be with me shortly.