Scarlet Oaks and the Serial Caller

by Michaela James

  Having not used her real name on the dating site, she doubted it could be from any of the men who’d responded yesterday. Niles would have left food. Maybe they were from Max. Shaking her head, she reasoned, Max, picking wildflowers … never in a million years.

  Leaving the mysterious flower in the car, Scarlet put it out of her mind, affording her and Prudence a relaxing hour of mind-numbing late night television.

  ****

  “Tom has some exciting news for you!” Niles announced, with what Scarlet knew to be forced enthusiasm, from her doorstep the following morning.

  Tom and his cologne walked in a few seconds later. “Wake up beautiful, I have your favorite coffee.”

  Bleary eyed, Scarlet shuffled into the living room. “Guys, it’s not even eight yet!”

  “Sorry, Scar,” Niles replied. “Tom’s just so excited to tell you his latest scheme. You know he gets a little antsy when he’s not on assignment.”

  “It is not a scheme!” Tom retorted, looking affronted. Viewing Scarlet through narrowed eyes, Tom continued, “Niles tells me you’ve joined one of those ghastly dating sites.”

  Taking a sip of her Caramel Brule Latte, Scarlet said, “This is delicious, thank you.” Waving a finger in the air, she added, “But, did he also tell you how it’s twofold?”

  “He did,” Tom replied condescendingly. “But I have a better idea…I’m going to throw you a party, full of the most eligible men in the Bay Area.”

  Scarlet gave Niles a furtive, help me look.

  Stroking Prudence’s soft underbelly, Niles gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. “Tom has a very innovative way of letting you know whom to spend time chatting with, versus who just gets a, so lovely to see you.”

  Shifting forwards, until he was on the very edge of the couch, Tom began, “I work with engineers who put their lives on hold to fundamentally change this world of over seven billion people. Their compassion and their knowledge of sanitation is life-saving for underdeveloped countries. We don’t stay in five-star hotels when we …”

  “Tom,” Niles interrupted, “can we get to how this pertains to Scar?”

  Tom blushed. “They’re rich, too.”

  Niles, realizing he’d thrown his partner off track, picked up the original conversation. “Tom’s idea is to introduce you to some of these engineers. The only snag being, he hasn’t known many of them long enough to determine their sexual orientation.”

  “I know I should know,” Tom admitted, throwing his arms in the air. “It’s just we work so damn hard. At the end of the day, we go to our hotel rooms and crash. When we’re done, we fly home.”

  With a half grimace, half smile, Niles reported, “Tom was up most of the night, figuring out a way for you to know who is who, or should I say, who they like.” Standing up, Niles concluded, “I’m going to feed this pig before she gnaws my arm off. I’ll let Tom explain his ingenious evites.”

  “So,” Tom began animatedly, “the engineers I know for a fact are straight, received evites saying all men must wear a tie. The ones I think are straight, but wouldn’t put my life on it, received evites saying to wear a striped shirt. My gay friends, I’ve asked to wear a bow tie. All gay men own at least one bow tie.”

  Coming back into the living room, Niles said, “Tom felt we had to ask some of our gay friends. Firstly, to help fill the room, but also to make you feel a little more at ease. Kind of nice knowing, not every man you meet wants to ravage you.”

  When both men regarded her eagerly, eyebrows raised and idiotic grins on their faces, all Scarlet could say was, “Thank you so much! I can’t wait.”

  Tom, in a sympathetic tone, said, “We’re here to help…Max dealt you an unfair hand.”

  Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. It wasn’t until Scarlet reached her late teens, that she discovered Plato had said this over twenty-three hundred years before her Gran.

  “I do understand, Dave,” Scarlet soothed. She and the Bay Area had been listening to him rant for the last fifteen minutes.

  “So what if I forget to unstack the dishwasher,” Dave continued. “Is that a crime? Yes, I like to watch the 49ers on Sundays. What man doesn’t, right? But you know what she does, Scarlet? I bet you can guess what she does.”

  Sighing inwardly, Scarlet replied, “I’m not sure I can, Dave.”

  Speaking in a slightly quieter tone, as if his wife were in the next room, Dave elaborated, “She holds out on me, Scarlet. I have needs. What man doesn’t, right? Can you guess how long she makes me wait?”

  “I couldn’t hazard a guess, Dave,” Scarlet forced herself to reply.

  “Three weeks!” he responded, in almost a whisper.

  Unable to ignore the flashing light signaling four callers on hold, Scarlet said, “I think you and your wife need to huddle, Dave. It’s evident you need some sort of a compromise. If you could maybe just watch the last half of the game. And perhaps your wife could be clearer about what chores are yours to get done on a daily basis. There’s a good chance these issues could be resolved.”

  Dave’s subsequent tirade made it clear, suggesting a man only watch the last half of a football game was akin to women only watching the part of Titanic where the ship sinks.

  Scarlet voiced apologetically, “Wish I could have helped more, Dave, please stay in touch.” Thankfully, the next caller was Rod from Modesto, asking her thoughts on the 49ers’ chances against the New York Giants. Feeling smug, Scarlet rattled off some facts. She’d done her homework, knowing Rod would call sometime this week. He allowed her a minute, it might have even been a minute and a half, then entertained the Bay Area for a good twenty minutes with his predicted stats on the upcoming game.

  Two calls had dropped and fearing she was seconds away from losing the one remaining, Scarlet interrupted with, “You’re so knowledgeable; it’s great to get your input every week, Rod.”

  Basically, hanging up on him, she flicked the switch, saying, “Thank you for calling Mending Men. This is Scarlet, how can I help?”

  “I used to listen to you do the Top Forty,” the man began.

  Feeling nostalgic at the mere mention, Scarlet replied, “Thank you so much. I’m happy you found my new program. Who am I talking with?”

  “I’d rather not give my name,” came a gravelly reply.

  Thrown for a moment, Scarlet took a breath. “What can I help you with tonight?”

  “How many other people are with you at the station right now?” came the man’s response.

  His tone, coupled with the question, had Scarlet’s heart rate increasing by what felt like tenfold. “We always have security here,” she lied. “And I have colleagues working in the adjacent studio.”

  “Is that right?” the man asked sarcastically. “I think you only have your P.I.B. and who knows if they’re even still there.”

  Attempting to stay calm, Scarlet said, “I’m sorry caller, but if you don’t have a relationship problem, it’s time for our nine in a row.”

  “I didn’t say ….” The man began, but Scarlet cut him off, playing, Chasing Cars, by Snow Patrol.

  Barreling out of her studio, Scarlet shouted, “Sylvia!” Deducing she was not close by, Scarlet ran down the corridor still calling the girl’s name. Shaking and panting, Scarlet stopped at the top of the stairs, fumbled with her phone, and dialed Niles. Breathlessly giving him a synopsis of the scary man’s call, she took the steep stairs two at a time, before practically falling into the lobby. After screaming Sylvia’s name again, the sought-after girl finally appeared.

  “What on earth is all the hullaballoo about?” Sylvia asked in a tone that suggested the art of speaking was exhausting to her.

  Seeing another person, who wasn’t wielding an axe, allowed relief to outweigh Scarlet’s anger.

  “Sylvia,” Scarlet gulped for air, “where were you?”

  “In my uncle’s office,” the girl replied as if that were a perfectly reasonable place for her to be.

  Hav
ing calmed down a little, Scarlet noticed Sylvia’s state of undress. Her denim shirt was untucked and half-unbuttoned. She had no shoes and more lipstick on her chin and cheeks than on her lips.

  Anger now fought a battle with fear as to who was in charge. What surfaced was something in between. “Aren’t you the P.I.B tonight, Sylvia?”

  “Yes,” Sylvia replied, her eyes focused towards the ceiling.

  Scarlet sucked in a deep breath. “Then why weren’t you in the control room on the studio floor?”

  Looking over her shoulder into the station manager’s, and conveniently her uncle’s, office, Sylvia retorted, “Everything was working fine, so I took a break.”

  Anger definitely winning the battle now, Scarlet said through gritted teeth, “I would really appreciate you, at least, being on the same floor as me. If you need a break, please let me know where that break will be taking place.”

  Still looking bored, the girl turned towards her Uncle’s office. “Okay,” she said, dragging out the second syllable much longer than necessary.

  Seeing car headlights appear on the opposite side of the station’s glass doors, Scarlet ran to unlock them. Hugging Niles tightly, she thanked him for getting to her so quickly. Firmly gripping his hand, Scarlet led him upstairs to her studio. Concluding a healthy amount of venting and a little laughter at Niles’ comments on her poster choices, she decompressed. Half an hour later, Niles watched Scarlet close shop for the night. Descending the staircase, they found Sylvia, seemingly eating the face off a man an inch shorter than herself.

  “See you tomorrow night,” Sylvia called as Scarlet and Niles left the station. Not trusting herself to speak, Scarlet raised her arm in response.

  Shaking his head, Niles spat, “See you tomorrow night my ass. You’re getting her fired first thing in the morning.”

  Curling her lip, Scarlet said, “That won’t happen…she’s connected.”

  Niles, jaw set, responded, “I swear this place is run by the friggin mafia.”

  “She’s it? She’s your entire backup in that whole forsaken building? Just you and her, all night long?”

  Two hands around her large mug of hot chocolate, Scarlet replied, “You know how tight Brian is with that sort of thing. If it doesn’t show, he’s not prepared to pay.”

  Stroking Prudence’s head a little too roughly, Niles said, “So this Sylvia girl is the P.I.B? Remind me again what that is.”

  Putting her mug on the coffee table, Scarlet leaned forward. “That’s just it Niles, people who don’t work in the business wouldn’t know what a P.I.B is. How did that caller know? P.I.B stands for Person In Building. Their job is to make sure all the stations keep running; dead air is suicide for radio.”

  Watching Prudence escape from his firm hand, Niles asked, “So how is that little tart connected?”

  Scarlet gave a wry smile. “She’s Brian’s niece. Apparently, she can’t keep a job so, surprise, we get her!”

  Getting up to heat more milk Niles said, “This is insane, Scar. How can you ever feel secure in that building again?”

  Following Niles into the kitchen, Scarlet replied, “I knew it was only the two of us, but until tonight I hadn’t given it much thought. She’s certainly not allowed to have a friend there with her.”

  Niles poured warm milk into their large mugs. “Tell me exactly what that caller said. You were understandably rattled earlier.”

  Adding a generous spoonful of Ghirardelli’s sweet ground chocolate mix, Scarlet took a breath. “He said he remembered me from my Top Forty show. I was all happy about that for a moment. Then, he asked how many other people were at the station with me. He knew I was lying about having security and tried to make me question whether Sylvia was even there. It’s not like he said he was going to come and kill me or anything, but it still freaked me out. I shouldn’t have let it.”

  Taking both their mugs, Niles retorted, “You should damn well let it, Scarlet.”

  Raising her eyebrows at, Scarlet, only used by Niles when he was displeased with her, she said, “Niles, I’ve been in this business a few years now. You’ve heard all the stories. Radio personalities, for whatever reason, attract the loons. It’s all part of the job.”

  Taking an initial tentative sip of his hot chocolate, Niles smiled in remembrance. “Like that guy who put your photo on a T-shirt and wore it to all your remotes.”

  Scarlet began giggling uncontrollably, leaving Niles to continue, “Or the guy who painted a big sign, marry me, Scarlet, and held it five feet away when you did the Farmer’s Market remotes.”

  Her giggling now under control, Scarlet said, “He was quite cute actually.”

  Trying to sound serious, Niles replied, “Yes, and so was the massive python he had hanging around his neck.”

  The giggling returned, and Scarlet admitted, “I’d forgotten about the snake!”

  “But Scar,” Niles said in a sobering tone, “a crazy T-shirt guy or reptile dude is one thing, but when someone goes out of their way to make you feel unsafe…”

  Nodding her head slowly, Scarlet said, “I agree. Maybe now that I’m in the night market I’ve acquired a whole new breed of loons.”

  “Sounds an awful lot like acceptance to me,” Niles said reproachfully.

  Scarlet ran a hand through her shoulder length dark hair. “Short of hiring my own personal bodyguard, there’s not much I can do but accept it.”

  Looking up from a glance at his watch, Niles said, “You’ve got to sit down with that idiot Brian. I don’t care how unreasonable he is; you have to try. I’ve got to get…I’ll call you.”

  Following Niles to the door, Scarlet said, “I’m having lunch with my friend, Janet, tomorrow. She’s the DJ for Bay Radio’s country station and always in the know. I’m going to get the scoop from her first, then go into Brian’s office knowing the gossip…I mean facts,” Scarlet concluded with a grin.

  ****

  Accompanied by the clarity morning often brings, Scarlet wondered if she’d overreacted to the caller. But, the fact of the matter was, she didn’t like working at night, and it just wasn’t fair. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t use that verbiage with Brian, but she was going to ask him why. Why, after years of great ratings, he unilaterally moved her to a men’s relationship show? Allowing Candy, with zero experience, to sashay into an established and thriving market.

  Janet looked glamorous in a turquoise tunic-style top and skinny jeans. Engulfing Scarlet in a perfume filled, jewelry jangling hug, Janet then flashed overly bleached teeth at the waiter.

  A man with narrow hips in tight black pants hurriedly made his way to their table. Janet, teeth still displayed said, “This is Armando. He makes the best cucumber-cilantro margaritas in the world.” Winking at the handsome waiter, she added, “We’ll take two and keep them coming.”

  Armando lifted his arm with the flair of a bull fighter. “I shall return ladies!”

  Despite the margarita tasting refreshing and delicious, Scarlet took tiny, infrequent sips, mindful of why Harold had been fired.

  “Thanks so much for taking the time to visit with me.”

  Downing her margarita in three swift gulps, Janet replied,

  “Oh sweetness, it’s my pleasure. I miss seeing you at the station. What time do you come in now?”

  “Seven PM,” Scarlet groaned.

  “Ouch!” Janet replied, waving her empty glass in Armando’s direction.

  Seconds later, Scarlet imagined he had them made and ready, Armando appeared with two more drinks. Thanking him, Scarlet professed she’d barely made a dent in her first. Feeling like an amateur, she explained the need to be in charge of her senses for Mending Men that evening.

  Janet gave a low throaty chuckle. “Darling girl, I’m at a remote in two hours. A new Western Bar’s opening at the Wharf. They’re paying yours truly to talk it up a little.” Raising her glass in the air, she continued, “This, just makes me talk a bit more.”

  About the time Scarlet was wondering if th
ey were actually going to eat anything, Janet waved Armando over again asking, “What do you recommend for us today?”

  With what Scarlet would bet was more of an accent than he truly possessed, Armando suggested they have the panko crusted fried avocado wedges, on a flour taco shell with charred tomato sauce crème.

  “Sold!” Janet declared, loud enough to catch the attention of nearby tables.

  Scarlet was fascinated. Apparently, it wasn’t only men who felt they could order for you. The avocado dish did sound delicious; she just hoped it was a decent size and not one of those little artistic numbers.

  Breaking into Scarlet’s thoughts, Janet asked, “Okay, what do you want to know about Candy?”

  Leaning back in her chair; finally feeling as if they could have a real conversation, Scarlet began, “What I would love to know is, how she landed the Top Forty show when she has no programming experience and no longevity at Bay Radio.”

  Janet gave a dramatic sigh. “That’s easy my sweet friend. She’s sleeping with Brian.”

  Scarlet wasn’t a good enough liar to look shocked. Of course, this scenario had occurred to her many times in the last ten days. But, despite knowing the power of sex, she’d hoped it couldn’t be true. To acknowledge it, was to admit she had no security in her chosen career whatsoever. That no matter how hard you work or how much success you acquire, some trollop could appear on the scene and steal it out from under you.

  “The word is,” Janet added conspiratorially, “Candy threatened to tell Brian’s wife about the affair if he didn’t give her a show.”

  Suddenly needing to gulp instead of sip her drink, Scarlet suggested, “And I was the sacrificial lamb; the antelope with a gammy leg.”