Cal, my best friend at the paper, gave me quite a shock today at lunch.

Things were rolling along as they usually do when we get together—no mention of the murder trial she was covering, just lots of laughter and total nonsense.

“So why does Beck call them the ‘Self-Righteous Brothers’?” Cal wanted to know as I pulled the latest CD by the local Poteet Boys from my purse. The quartet had sent it to me in the hopes of receiving a review.

“Well, for starters, track number one is called ‘You’ll Be Thankin’ Me in Heaven.’”

Cal tried to swipe the case from my hand, but I snapped my wrist back just enough to keep the CD out of reach.

“Ellie, it does NOT say that!”

“Au contraire. Here’s another one: ‘If I’da Been a Disciple, I’da Done it Right.’”

This time I definitely heard snorting.

Mercilessly, I continued. “Oh, and we mustn’t forget ‘You'll Be Lucky Just to See the Back of My Head (in Heaven).’”

At that point she disappeared from view, although I and the rest of the restaurant patrons could hear guffaws as she wallowed on her back on her side of the booth.

Finally she sat up, dabbing the corner of her eyes with her napkin. “Ellie, that’s just too funny. I think you made my week.” She sipped her water. “That baby must be getting all sorts of great endorphins from you.” She nodded at my stomach. “So what names are you and Chip considering?”

Smiling, I told her, just as I’d done with dozens of others before, that we didn’t plan to reveal that until after the baby was born.

To my surprise, her hand shot out and twisted my arm.

“Hey, that hurts,” I complained, trying to pull free.

Her grip intensified and her eyes bulged. “Don’t name it anything stupid.”

“Okay, okay, Norman Bates, you can let go now.” I started rubbing my arm the instant she released it. “Ow. That’s going to bruise.”

Looking shocked, Cal drew her hand back across the table and immediately resembled my friend again. “Ellie, I’m so sorry.” She looked as if she were going to cry.

Convinced that she meant it, I decided to let the trespass slide. “Hey, that’s all right.” I kept rubbing my wrist. “At least tell me what brought that on.”

Tears filled her eyes as she rummaged in her purse for a tissue. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—that—my mom named me something really dumb and I’ve hated it all my life.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Cal’s a great name. I wish my mom had named me something cool like that instead of Eleanor.”

She shook her head and picked at the lettuce on her plate. When she finally spoke, her voice was so quiet it was barely discernible. “Just like Ellie’s not your real name, Cal’s not mine. It’s a nickname too.”

“Really? So what’s your real name?”

She raised her head and measured me with puffy eyes. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

How could I say no? “Promise.”

Cal looked away, pursed her lips, and exhaled before turning her eyes back to me. “It’s Calgon.”

I blinked. “Calgon? You mean—”

“Like the bubble bath? Yeah. Do you know how many times I heard, ‘Calgon, take me away!’ in grade school? It got to the point where I had to leave the room every time those stupid commercials came on TV. My dad even went to see a lawyer about having my name changed.”

We sat without speaking for several moments as I digested my quiche along with what she’d just shared. “You know, I don’t want you to take this wrong,” I said, treading carefully in an attempt to avoid another outburst, “but I think the name really suits you.”

Cal looked skeptical. “How do you mean?”

“Look, you’re just associating Calgon with all the taunting you received as a kid. But the fact is, you’re someone refreshing to be around! Whenever I spend time with you, it’s like I’ve had a nap or something. I always leave feeling better than I did before we got together.”

“Really?” She acted like she didn’t believe me but wanted to. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No.”

“Thanks, Ellie. I really appreciate that.” Suddenly she grabbed my arm again. “But I’m not ready to make my real name public knowledge.”

Wanting to get my arm back unharmed, I assured her the information was strictly off the record.