Mean Woman Blues

slapped some powder on Terri’s nose, someone else led her to the set (which was much nicer than the rest of the studio), and she had time, looking out at the expectant audience, to get nervous while someone else clipped a microphone on her. She’d forgotten about the audience.
    There was no sign at all of David Wright.
    And then he was introduced, and he came out of the wings and made his bow. The audience went crazy. Jessie wasn’t kidding; this thing really was a phenomenon. She was scared to death.
    Her nervousness wasn’t even slightly helped by the fact that the onscreen David seemed very different from the offscreen one. He seemed distant now, no doubt focused on doing his job rather than on her. Oddly, he wasn’t nearly so attractive under the lights. His eyes suddenly seemed small and calculating, way too intense for comfort.
    It’s charisma
, she said to herself.
That’s what makes him a star.
    The first thing he said was, “Terri, where you from, gal?”
    She was a little taken aback by the sudden change of accent— from semi-English to full-out Texas— but the warmth appeared to be back in his eyes. She went with it.
    He asked her a bit about school and her art, and then he said, “Well, they sure didn’t invent the phrase ‘starving artist’ for nothing. It’s not a calling that’s even recognized as a real job by most people, is it?”
    “No, it isn’t. Most people think—”
    “They just think it’s some kind of a self-indulgent hobby, don’t they? And since it’s not particularly valued by society, there aren’t many grants for art students.”
    I should have seen this coming
, she thought.
That intimate little talk was all about stealing my material. I’m going to come off looking like an idiot if I just let him rip me off.
    “Hence,” she said quickly, “the concept of the day job.”
    “You’re a real hard-working girl, Terri. I hear your day job is running errands for people who have bigger fish to fry, people whose jobs— unlike that of fine artist— are actually respected by society.”
    Once again, she dove in before he could spew her whole life out of his own mouth. “Yes, they work really hard too. But I don’t have twelve hours a day for my chosen profession…”
    As she finished her speech, she made the mistake of glancing briefly at her host’s eyes. They were not merely focused; she could have sworn they were downright malevolent.
    Like Corinne Kay Walker, the woman whose landlord had tangled with
Mr. Right
, she got to tell her story— Terri against the bank— and then Mr. Right asked, “Can we right this wrong?”
    I must have done well
, she thought. The whole audience was on its feet. The theme music seemed even more urgent and frenetic than it had when she watched the show at home. The collection baskets were passed and people dug deep into their pockets. That part made her feel a little cheesy, but later, Jessie just shrugged. “It’s show biz.”
    After the screaming, yelling, stomping, and pocket-emptying, an older woman came on, a consumer advocate who’d written a book called
Banking on Big
, and she ended up getting almost more applause than Terri. “Know what they do?” she’d say. “They know you’re on vacation in July and August, and might not see your statements. So that’s when they introduce the new fees.” The audience booed loudly.
    “How do they get away with it? They’re banking on big: No one’s going to challenge a corporation named Bank of the Western Hemisphere. Did you ever notice their names? Calculated to intimidate.”
    Or, “Do you realize many banks now penalize you for not using the ATM? Fees for teller transactions aren’t uncommon. And have you noticed how large the fees are these days compared to what they used to be?”
    By the time she had finished, she’d whipped the audience into a meringue. But Mr. Right wasn’t yet done. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a surprise guest today— a gentleman who phoned us when he found out about Ms. Whittaker’s plight and asked if she needed a lawyer. Would you welcome, please, Mr. George Pastorek.”
    Terri’s jaw dropped. George Pastorek was going to be her lawyer? She knew only two names in the world of consumer advocacy, and the other one was Ralph Nader.
    “What happened to Ms. Whittaker is an outrage,” Pastorek began, but he couldn’t get another word out before the audience was on its feet, cheering. “It’s the kind of thing that can only