"May I help you?" Skinny white boys were rare in this neighborhood, and ones that smiled like this one were unheard of. Maybelle had to admit to being downright curious about what he could want in her record store.
"Yes, ma'am, please." He looked a bit more serious and she added a good ten years to her mental estimate of his age. He was still skinny, though. "There's a song I heard on the radio and I can't find it anywhere."
He smiled again and she couldn't help smiling back – the man looked like a toothpaste commercial, but it was kinda cute on him. "And what did it sound like?"
Keeping a straight face was impossible as he sang with verve about finding a boy who was so fine. She managed to keep from laughing out loud, which was an accomplishment, and cleared her throat. "That's by a couple of my girls – they go by the Dynamites. But you can't play it on your show, Mr. Collins."
"Recognized me, huh?" he said, a bit sheepishly.
Nodding, and smiling just a bit – he really was cute as a button – she told him, "It just took me a minute since you weren't in black and white."
"So why can't I play the record? They're pretty good, they could be the next big thing."
He was practically shining with sincerity and she shook her head. "In case your surroundings didn't give you the idea, the girls are black. Your audience wouldn't let you show them, let alone your sponsors."
With a shift in his smile, he looked different. No longer clean-cut and whitebread, he now looked like a rascal, someone dangerous that you wouldn't take home to mama. "Ma'am, I'll tell you a secret, but you gotta lean real close so I can whisper in your ear."
"Don't you be trying to tease Miss Maybelle, honey. It'd take a lot more than a tv show man to turn my head." Only the reminder that she didn't know this man or how he would react kept her from smacking him upside the head just as she would any friend that she was joking around with.
He leaned in anyway and her high heels made them just about equal in height. Stopping just about an inch away from her ear he whispered, "Integration is coming. Don't tell anyone, or they'll think I can tell the future."
This time she did smack him, but he only laughed. "I don't care what color they are, they've got a great sound. So do I get the record?"
She moved past him to get one of the copies she'd had pressed of the single the girls had written. "That'll be ten dollars."
Whistling, he said, "That's one expensive 45, Miss Maybelle."
"Oh, you ain't paying for the record." This time it was her turn to smile dangerously. "You're paying for my disappointment if I don't hear the song on your show. If you play it, you can come get your money back."
"You know, normally pay for play works the other way around." The thousand watt grin made it clear he was just joking. She thought that kidding around with a random white man was probably the strangest thing she'd ever done, and the thought made her silent. His smile diminished and he said, "I'll be playing it today for sure, if you care to tune in WYZT between four and five. And then I'll be back for my money."
"You do that. It'll be right here waiting for you." The bill he handed her got tucked into her bra absent-mindedly, and then her face heated up as she realized what she'd done and said.
He didn't mention it, just said, "Thank you for the record, Miss Maybelle, and I'll see you tomorrow."