Scarlet Oaks and the Serial Caller

by Michaela James

  Niles pulled the thickly woven garment over his head. “You are?”

  “Yes, I am,” Scarlet voiced with assertiveness while grabbing the family size packet of Oreos and following Niles into the living room.

  Niles placed two cups on the coffee table. “So how is this plan twofold?”

  Nodding her head as she simultaneously stuffed a cookie in her mouth, Scarlet began, “You know my friend Mia?”

  Niles removed Prudence’s pillow from the couch. “Now that you’ve sold half your furniture, could this little lady perhaps sleep on the floor?”

  Scarlet offered Prudence a look of sincere apology, and Niles continued, “Big boobs, short skirts, hooker earrings?”

  “That’s her,” Scarlet replied, unphased. “Mia suggested I try that speed dating thing, where you have a little timer and attempt to get to know if a person is worth spending more time with.”

  Looking dubious, Niles said, “Go on.”

  “So,” Scarlet began, warming to the subject, “I’m going to do my own version. I’m going to get on all those dating sites, probably with a fake name, then have lovely men take me out to dinner. That’s why it’s twofold – I can eat again!”

  Niles raised his blonde eyebrows. “And when they all fall in love with you, because you know they will, what then?”

  Smiling sweetly at her friend, Scarlet responded, “That’s the beauty of my plan. Just three dates each. That way I don’t have to, you know, give anything I don’t want to. If they’re kind enough to feed me, I’ll amuse them with witty dialogue. I won’t feel bad ending it after three dates because neither of us will have had time to form a serious attachment.”

  Stroking Prudence’s round belly, Niles said, “It seems dangerous to me Scar. Why don’t you want to date any of the guys I’ve got waiting in the wings for you? They’re all financially set and chomping at the bit to take you out.”

  Scarlet pulled a face. “You mean Howard, who talks about how many crunches he does each morning and looks like he plucks his eyebrows? Or Peter, who you said was ideal for me? Niles, he has six cats and will only feed them fresh salmon from that seafood company on Mission Street.”

  Trying not to laugh, Niles responded, “I pluck my eyebrows and what’s wrong with a man who takes care of his cats? Think how well he’d take care of you.”

  Standing, and taking Niles’ now empty cup into the kitchen for a refill, Scarlet said over her shoulder, “I appreciate your help, Niles, but I’m looking for a man I can introduce to my Grandmother.”

  Holding her breath, Scarlet steered her MINI Cooper into the local gas station on what, judging by her gauge, could only be fumes.

  Twenty minutes later with a latte, she couldn’t afford, in hand, Scarlet walked into the lobby of Bay Radio. Bombarded with the usual questions and comments from the receptionist ... “What had she done with her hair? Was that a new purse?” And “Wow, her boots were rockin’ it.” Scarlet made her way up the steep, thinly carpeted, stairs.

  Nodding at fellow DJs sitting in their glass-fronted studios, Scarlet, with a contented sigh, entered her own. Looking around the familiar little cave, she decided it was time to replace some of the posters. Not, Bruno Mars – he’d been super sweet at the meet and greet – the signed ones must stay.

  After unceremoniously pulling down Queen and Poison, Scarlet began sorting out giveaways and checking levels. Drinking her customary three dainty sips of water, she hit the switch connecting her to thousands before chatting about the next four songs in a row.

  Ignoring a large neon ‘On Air’ sign above the door, station manager, Brian, walked into her studio.

  Casually concluding with, “You’re listening to the Scarlet forty,” Scarlet turned off the mic and looked expectantly at her boss.

  Heavy lidded eyes looked everywhere, except at Scarlet. Brian began, “We’ve got to talk, Scarlet. It’s just not working out with Harold.”

  Neither of these declarations made much sense to Scarlet. She wasn’t Harold, and why did this issue concern her.

  Dramatically flopping onto the guest stool, Brian shook his head. “The man clearly has a drinking problem. I’m sick and tired of him showing up late if he bothers to show up at all.”

  Scarlet attempted to give an expression of sympathy, then after an awkward silence said, “I’m afraid I hardly know the man. I don’t think I’m the one to try and help him.”

  Giving a wry smile, Brian retorted, “Oh, I think the man is way beyond an intervention. Besides, I’m trying to run a friggin business here, Scarlet.”

  Still, at a loss as to why this involved her, Scarlet suffered through the silence and waited.

  Standing up and finally looking at her, Brian concluded, “The only answer is for you to take over his show. You start Monday.”

  With that, Brian opened the heavy studio door and walking much faster than his large frame usually allowed, disappeared down the long hallway.

  Staring out at the empty corridor, imagining maybe Brian would reappear saying, fooled you, just kidding! Scarlet sat, with an uneasy sense of disbelief swirling in her head.

  Did Brian expect her to do the top forty and Harold’s show? More money would be great, but she already spent seven hours at the station. What was Harold’s show anyway? She’d only ever met the guy at Christmas parties and, admittedly, he was drunk at every one.

  Scarlet looked at her board. One more song and she was live again. Deep breaths; keep calm. This was surely all a misunderstanding, and she just needed Brian to see reason. He wasn’t known for seeing it, but there was always a first time.

  That evening, holding Prudence a tad too tightly, Scarlet paced back and forth in her living room. Niles, having had little success in calming her down, wasn’t quite ready to give up.

  “Okay, let’s go over what we think we know for sure…one more time,” he urged.

  Having a list of things to report seemed to calm Scarlet for the moment. Kissing Prudence’s damp little snout and setting her on her Little Mermaid sleeping bag, she began, “He’s fired Harold. Harold’s show is a call-in show for men, using sports analogies to fix their problems. The show runs from seven until midnight. And I take that job, or have no job.”

  Niles swore under his breath for the fourth time that evening. “And no mention of why it has to be you? No mention of who’ll be doing your top forty show? No concern over the fact you know nothing about sports?”

  “I don’t understand it,” Scarlet replied in a high-pitched whine. “Do you think he’s just hoping I’ll quit?”

  “It’s possible,” Niles replied rationally. “But it doesn’t seem likely when your show receives such high ratings. He knows you’re a hard working, reliable employee who sells air time. So why get rid of you?”

  Shaking her head, eyes filling with tears, Scarlet responded, “I don’t know. He must just hate me.”

  Standing up and taking Scarlet in his arms, Niles said, “He doesn’t hate you. Something wacky must be forcing his hand. When we know what that is, we’ll go from there. Why don’t you come running with Tom and me tomorrow? He just got back from Delhi. Said he couldn’t find anywhere to run there that wasn’t chockablock. We’ll swing by at eight and no, Prudence can’t come – people will stare.”

  Scarlet agreed the endorphins would do her good. Prudence needed a slightly larger pair of running shorts anyway. Her silver spandex ones must have shrunk in the wash.

  After seeing Niles out, Scarlet, depressed and exhausted, climbed into bed. Turning off the light she attempted to disable the thought – life as she knew it was forever altered.

  Employing her Gran’s just get on with it attitude, Scarlet was ready to go when Niles and Tom pulled up bright and early the next morning. Even without a pig on a leash, they turned a few heads. Tom was brown as a berry after a three-week assignment in India. His dark curls were perfectly coifed and his cologne so strong, Scarlet imagined, even in the expanse of the Golden Gate Park, he was invading people’s senso
ry space.

  Niles, bless him, wore his usual mismatch of colors. Red shorts, orange running shoes and a green and purple striped t-shirt.

  Scarlet ran between the two men, a high ponytail swinging from side to side. Her ensemble of white shorts and t-shirt with electric blue running shoes almost balanced the trio out to a look of normalcy.

  Forty-five minutes later, with drama and glamor perfectly intertwined, Tom pronounced he couldn’t possibly run another step. After blaming it on all the Masala Chai and Naan he’d consumed, he proceeded to say their next run must start at the Ferry Building. “It was time,” he continued, loud enough for every passerby to hear, “they started training for their first half marathon and that, of course, is where the route begins.”

  Although thankful for the diversion and happy to see Tom again, Scarlet chose to spend the remainder of her weekend in a more leisurely fashion. On Sunday evening, in an attempt to stay up as late as she could, she began watching the Downton Abbey DVD collection her Gran had given her the Christmas before last. Max had refused to watch period dramas so all the finery, history, and traditions, tightly covered in impossible to unwrap cellophane, still awaited her.

  From what Scarlet had heard, Downton Abbey’s Lady Mary was pretty racy by last century’s standards. Apologizing for the spoiler, her Gran had divulged the following…Mary treated one of her sisters horribly, showed disdain for her mother’s heritage, and had numerous men falling at her feet.

  Yes – a little of Lady Mary’s spit and fire was just what Scarlet needed right now. If it could keep her awake until one or two in the morning, even better. Not an easy task when she was used to going to bed around nine.

  Thanks to Mary’s Turkish Diplomat, not to mention the nerve of the Irish Chauffer, Scarlet and Prudence didn’t wake up until ten on Monday morning. Trying not to dwell on the oddness of this new schedule, Scarlet brewed some tea and gave Prudence sow nuts. After the little pig had consumed her usual one-pound portion, she stood staring at the empty bowl.

  “You’re still hungry?” Scarlet enquired. “It must be this fall weather. I feel the same. Lay on the carbs!” Giving Prudence a second bowl, Scarlet, thanks to Niles, ate cereal and toast while doing a little research on her new job.

  The reviews on Harold’s show were mixed. Some complained he was an old hack who needed to retire. Other listeners said his sports analogies helped them tremendously with their relationship woes.

  “How on earth,” Scarlet asked Prudence, “could a reference to sports help a relationship problem?”

  Thankfully, Scarlet’s new studio was situated on the opposite side of the building, avoiding the doubtless pain of walking by her old one. There were still so many unanswered questions, but this was not the time to think of them. In half an hour she’d be on the air, helping troubled Bay Area sports enthusiasts with personal issues…well, hopefully helping them!

  Making a mental note of all the work needed to make her new workplace feel like home, Scarlet checked the equipment and located the websites she’d perused earlier. After some dusting, removal of empty fast food containers and adjusting of the mic and stool, she was ready to go.

  With comparable ease, Scarlet introduced herself to this new audience, gave major kudos to the Giants for their World Series win and discussed the upcoming games for the 49ers.

  Then, proclaiming it to be a good baseball number, she began nine songs in a row. “That should give me enough time to have a few sports analogies ready to go,” she said aloud, with not even a little pig to hear her.

  Uncertain as to which scenario would have been worse, no callers at all or the reality of six on hold, Scarlet attempted to control her breathing.

  The first two guys were seemingly curious about who she was and what had happened to Harrold. Scarlet assured them she wasn’t new to radio, but this was certainly a different and exciting avenue for her. She voiced her belief Harrold had retired, then felt sad imagining him half passed out in front of, Wheel of Fortune.

  The third caller wanted to talk about the 49ers chances against the Redskins. Scarlet, shaky on the subject, opened the window showing stats on the game. Luckily, Rod from Modesto, evidently wanted Scarlet to hear his thoughts on their chances.

  The fourth caller said how unimpressed he was having a woman hosting a men’s relationship show. Was Bay Radio so hard up they couldn’t find a male DJ to fill this time slot? While offended, Scarlet inwardly agreed with him.

  The fifth caller was her first real relationship problem. The way the man spoke about his wife was quite bizarre. But when Scarlet thought about it, bizarre was probably going to sum up this new job of hers.

  The man introduced himself as Stewart, but Scarlet could call him Stew. He spoke very slowly and after stating something would add an unnecessary self-confirmation, as if you’d doubted his truthfulness. Stew confided, his wife belittled him constantly. The woman had done it since they married two years earlier. She’d pretended to like him and find him funny, but now she didn’t want sex and was only interested in his paycheck.

  Something about Stewart’s voice made the hairs stand up on the back of Scarlet’s neck. What kind of sports advice could she give him? Wanting him off the phone and off the air, she feverishly clicked on each of the websites she’d previously opened. Panic began to set in. Finding nothing even close to appropriate for the problem he put forth, Scarlet started mumbling how sorry she was for him. With sweat beads forming on her upper lip, she repeated her circuit through sports sites. Elation, when she saw a somewhat fitting analogy, lasted but a moment. As her shaking finger went to enlarge it, the window maddeningly disappeared. In a desperate attempt to recall what she’d just seen, Scarlet suggested, “Maybe it’s time you sent her for a bath.”

  There was a long pause. Scarlet cringed imagining how many people were laughing at her right now.

  “Do you mean showers?” Stewart finally offered.

  The humiliation almost complete, Scarlet said, “Oh yes, of course, showers. I just like baths more…nothing like a deep, relaxing bath.”

  That was it – unmitigated humiliation. She wasn’t talking to busy Moms who like pampering. This was a men’s relationship show. Any man listening right now was sure to never listen again.

  “You think a bath would work better?” the man enquired in his slow drawl.

  Wishing he’d just go away and trying to keep her voice from quivering, Scarlet responded, “I do, yes.”

  After Stewart hung up, Scarlet braced herself for the sixth caller. Looking at the board, she saw the light had stopped flashing. “Astonishing,” she muttered sarcastically.

  Leaning back and allowing her body to un-tense, Scarlet looked at the clock. Oh, joy, just three more hours to go. Setting up another row of nine songs, she took a deep breath thinking, Well, it can only get better.

  Once a month, Scarlet packed her pepper white MINI Cooper with eighty percent pig gear. Added to this were gifts for her nephews, something from the Bobbi Brown counter for her Mom and in the little room left, a change of clothes for herself.

  After strapping Prudence into her luxury console car seat, designed for dogs, but also perfect for a pig, they were ready to go.

  The one and half hour drive to Aptos was more than welcome after the stress of her first week on Mending Men. Beautiful fall weather enabled Scarlet to have the top down on the MINI. Prudence, wearing a sparkly pink visor and positioned so close to Scarlet she could almost be driving, evoked priceless looks when they stopped at traffic signals.

  Forty minutes into the drive, the route diverted slightly to walk the Redwood Shores Bay Trail. Prudence’s leather harness strained slightly across the chest as she trotted happily alongside her owner. Scarlet sighed at the thought of having to buy a larger one. Max had returned from work one evening, shortly after he’d surprised Scarlet with Prudence, arms laden with everything one could possibly need to take care of a micro pig. Now, with evidence Prudence was not staying tiny, her diva dressing day
s may have to end. Breathing in the smell of damp leaves beneath her feet, mixed with the signature red bark of enormous trees, Scarlet put future expenses out of her mind. With whispers of stubborn fog in the air, the two travelers got back on the road, just a short distance left until they reached Aptos. Scarlet felt invigorated by the walk but Prudence, after being one with nature, slept for the remainder of the drive.

  The MINI mastered its last curve of the winding driveway, to reveal Scarlet’s mother standing outside a familiar blue front door.

  On tip-toed feet, Marilyn, right arm extended, drained a painted, steel watering can into a begonia-filled hanging basket.

  ‘It’s eleven AM,” Marilyn pronounced. “I was so hoping you’d be here earlier. I do miss you, Scarlet.”

  Popping the trunk, Scarlet responded, “I’m sorry Mom, but you know my schedule is seven to midnight now.”

  As if Scarlet had said nothing at all, Marilyn continued, “If you don’t leave my side I guess it will be okay.” Sighing, she added, “But I’m sure you plan to call on your brother while you’re here. How much time will that leave us? I only get to see you once a month as it is.”

  “I’ll stay with you the whole time, Mom. I’ll visit Trent and Violet on my next visit.”

  “Violet!” Marilyn repeated, looking astonished. “Why would you want to visit her when she’s purposely distanced herself from all of us?”

  Groaning inwardly, Scarlet unstrapped Prudence from her car seat, allowing the little pig to run free in Marilyn’s ample front yard. Kissing her mother on the cheek, Scarlet finally answered, “Because she’s the only sister I’ve got. I’m certain it’s impossible to get access to her anyway. I’m all yours Mom, it’s good to see you. What a gorgeous day.”

  Smiling, Marilyn said, “Sixty-eight degrees, per that cute new weatherman on channel thirty-nine. Did I tell you I saw him in Santa Cruz? He was sitting one table away from me with a very homely young woman. Isn’t it odd he wasn’t with someone glamorous?”