Oh, Lord, he should have said something earlier before she started making plans for their future. “Listen, before you say anything, I think you’re a terrific lady, but I’m not ready for a steady relationship, so if you’re planning—”
“Great.” Allie sank into her chair. “Don’t think I didn’t enjoy last night. I did. But I don’t think it should happen again.” She beamed up at him. “I’m so relieved you feel the same way.”
“Well…” Charlie stopped, confused.
“Not that we can’t still be friends,” Allie went on. “And even roommates. I talked to Joe while you were in the bathroom this morning, and if you’d like to stay with us on the couch for the time you’ll be here, it’s all right.”
“Oh, well…” Charlie nodded four or five times, his head wobbling a little as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Uh, sure. Good.”
“Great.” Allie picked up some papers from her desk, clearly eager to get back to work. “I’ll tell Joe when I get home tonight.”
“Good.” Charlie stood up. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Uh, I think I’ll go watch Harry for a while.”
Allie waved her hand at him as he left, already working on those papers. Efficient at all times, that was Allie.
It was really irritating of her.
Why don’t I feel better about this? Charlie thought as he headed for the booth. This was what he wanted. She’d just taken care of it for him. Just the way she took care of everything. He shook his head at the acidity in the thought. This was probably just stupid male pride. He wanted to be the one to break things off. Oh, well. Her loss.
He walked off down the hall, wondering why he felt so empty if it was her loss.
INSIDE THE OFFICE, Allie threw the papers down on the desk beside Samson’s basket, and sat back. She was really glad. Glad, glad, glad. At last she’d made a mature adult decision about a man, and now she could concentrate on the important stuff like making Charlie’s show a hit.
Boy, was she glad.
Really.
CHARLIE WATCHED Harry through the window into the booth. He was talking animatedly into the mike, his hands moving up and down the console like a maniac’s. Howlin’ Harry.
Great. First he got kicked out of Allie’s bed and now he was following an insane person.
When Harry stopped talking and leaned back, Charlie knocked on the window and Harry motioned him in.
“Nice job on Mark in the break room today.” Harry grinned at him as he came in. “Look, Ma, no hands.”
Charlie grinned back. It would be impossible not to grin at Harry. He radiated goodwill. “I should have known better,” Charlie told him.
“Why? Mark didn’t.” Harry gestured to the console. “Anything you need to know about here?”
“Why don’t you give me a fast refresher?” Charlie said, and Harry looked at him strangely and then explained how the noise level on the cassette and CD players were controlled by the red plastic sliding tabs on the console. Charlie did fine until Harry told him that if more than one slide was up at the same time, they’d all be heard, and then began to discuss the three thousand ways the slides could be combined for effect. “Great,” Charlie said when Harry was finished and Charlie was lost. “I think I’ll just stick with one at a time.”
Harry shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Can I sit in here and watch the rest of your show?” Charlie asked him, hoping that he’d learn by watching what he hadn’t gotten by listening.
“Hey, you’re welcome anytime,” Harry told him and then went back to the mike to announce that Tuttle had just heard a Howlin’ Harry triple play.
His howl was actually worse in the booth than it was on the radio.
AT NINE FIFTY-EIGHT, Allie took her seat at the production console and watched through the window as Charlie leaned on the wall of the booth and Harry hunched over the mike. Charlie’s loose-limbed body relaxed against the white acoustic tile, and she followed the lines of his arms with her eyes, focusing finally on his long, large-knuckled fingers. He had big hands, but they were agile, she remembered. Lovely, long fingers.
She wrenched her mind back to the show. Fingers didn’t count in radio. Just in bed. And from now on, they were just in radio, not in bed. Tonight was the first night of the rest of her career. If she was going to make Charlie a star—and she was—tonight was the night she studied him to see how he worked. Then she’d know how to shape the show, how to publicize it, how to make Charlie the Tuttle flavor of the month. She felt her heart beat faster and grinned at herself. She’d be back on top in no time. She turned her attention back to the booth, keeping her mind firmly off Charlie’s body and strictly on his potential. For radio.
Harry was shrieking, “And that’s it for tonight for all you wild and crazy Howlers out there. Next up is the new boy on the block, Chucklin’ Charlie Tenniel. So here’s one last Howler from Harry. Harooooooo!”
Harry moved the mike slide down and the disk slide up, and Allie heard the “The Monster Mash” come up on the speakers.
Chucklin’ Charlie Tenniel? Poor Charlie. Well, she could fix that. She could fix everything as long as she kept her concentration. She was going to make him a star if it killed them both.
Harry talked to Charlie for a minute and then came out and joined her. “The news is punched up and ready,” Harry told her, then frowned slightly. “I thought Bill said Charlie had a lot of experience.”
“Yes.” Allie checked the phone lines in front of her while she talked. The chances of anyone calling in were slim, but she was prepared to nurture anyone who did, even on the first night. “He had a couple of years with a Lawrenceville station.”
“Sure doesn’t act like it.” Harry shrugged. “Oh, well, it’s not like it’s brain surgery. If I can do it, he can.”
“Stop that.” Allie looked up at him, exasperated. “You’re very good. You’d be better if you stopped that damn howling, but you’re still good. And, Harry, that Chucklin’ Charlie thing has got to go. We’re running a class program here.”
“That I wouldn’t know anything about. How does he want to be intro-ed?”
“Well, he hates Ten Tenniel for some reason, so that’s out.” Allie sat back. They needed a good title. A catch phrase. “Just Charlie is too bland. Charlie Late Night?”
Harry shook his head. “Sounds like Letterman.”
“Okay, uh, Charlie At Night?”
Harry shook his head again. “Boring.”
Allie cast around for more ideas. “Charlie Overnight? Charlie Midnight? Charlie All Night?”
“Last one’s good,” Harry said. “Kind of sexy. He’s got that voice.”
Allie tried not to look hopeful. “You think he’s going to be good?”
“Hard to tell.” Harry shifted on his feet. “Listen, Al, I was wondering…”
His voice trailed off and Allie was left with the unheard-of occurrence of a speechless Harry.
“Yes?” She nodded at him, trying to be encouraging.
Harry swallowed. “I know you don’t have time to work on my show, but if you could give me a few tips, well, I’d really—”
“Stop howling,” Allie said firmly. “You’re a lovely, warm, intelligent man. Use it.”
“Howling is my life.”
Harry didn’t appear to be joking. Allie sighed. “Let me think about this and get back to you tomorrow.”
Harry grinned, lighting his whole face. “Thanks, Al, that’s great.” He looked over his shoulder at Charlie who was surveying his new domain with what looked like terror. “I’d stay on top of him tonight, if I were you. He looks like he’s going to blow.”
“Not Charlie,” Allie said loyally, but she wasn’t reassured by the look on her new star’s face. “He’ll be okay once he starts talking.”
“That’s usually when I screw up,” Harry said.
When the news was over, they both watched as Charlie leaned over the console, pushing the mike slide up and the cassette slide down, and then spok
e into the mike. His deep voice filled the production room for the first time.
“This is Charlie Tenniel for WBBB, and I never chuckle. I just play good music and talk to people. I only got into town yesterday, and a beautiful little town it is, but I’ve already got a few questions, especially about your new city building.”
Allie looked at Harry and saw her own confusion reflected in his eyes.
“But mostly I just like it here. This is a great place to do a little late-night talking and play a little late-night rock and roll. I’m assuming this city does rock and roll? I thought so. This one is for my new home-town.”
Cheap Trick came on with “I Want You To Want Me,” and Allie grinned.
Now if he’d just give her some scope, she could move him from fun to fantastic. He had a great voice and a terrific personality, and wonderful hands—
Scratch that last part.
She pulled her mind back to the show. He was really good. Harry listened for a while and then left, giving Charlie a thumbs-up through the booth window as he went. Charlie nodded and then looked out at Allie.
“You’re doing great,” she said to him, doing her cheerleader imitation through the production mike. It was like being back with Mark, except this time she was telling the truth. “Your voice is terrific. No wonder you were a hit in Lawrenceville.”
Charlie shook his head. The song ended, and he worked the slides and leaned into the mike again. “Like I said before, I never chuckle, but I don’t mind having a few laughs now and then, for all the right reasons. One of those reasons seems to me to be this new city building His Honor the Mayor wants built.”
Allie froze at the console. No. Not the mayor. Bill played poker with him every Thursday. This was not the way to build an audience, this was the way to build an enemy. An enemy they didn’t need, especially if it was the boss. She tried to shake her head at him through the window, but he was oblivious, concentrating on the mike.
“Now, I’m new in town,” Charlie went on, “so maybe you can call in and tell me I’m all wet here, but I was in your old city building today, and it’s a beautiful place. Marble floors, frosted glass, lots of wood paneling, and that’s real wood paneling not that splintery stuff they sell for two dollars and ninety-nine cents at the back of the lumberyard. This is a building that was made with good materials, fine workmanship, and above all, pride. It’s the kind of building that might inspire a politician who worked there to take the service part of being a public servant seriously. Now, if you laughed at that, my friend, you’re a cynic. Shame on you.”
Allie clasped her hands in front of her and prayed, Don’t say anything dumb, Charlie. Please.
“So where’s the joke? Well, have you seen the model for the new city building? Hey, take a trip downtown to the old building to the planning office and have yourself a laugh. It looks like a one-story parking garage with windows. Which might be pretty appropriate for the politicians around here—a place to park and watch the world go by. Of course, like I said, I’m new in town, so I don’t really know much about your politicians. Except that if they prefer this new concrete bunker to their old marble palace, they have lousy taste in architecture.
“If you think the old city building deserves another hundred years, call in and let the city know why. And if you think the new plan is better, well, call in and tell me I’m wrong. In the meantime, this one’s for the city building. Hang in there, old lady.”
When she heard the beginning of Aretha Franklin’s “Rescue Me,” Allie put her head in her hands and gave herself over to a moment of panic. Then reality claimed her. Bill never listened to the show, and she was pretty sure the mayor didn’t, either. The station had been playing opera for the past week, and before that there had been Waldo and the aliens. Charlie couldn’t have more than four people listening to him, and they were going to be mad he wasn’t discussing the Martian question. There was nothing to worry about.
Then the phone rang.
“WBBB, the Charlie Tenniel show,” Allie said.
The voice was an old man’s, raspy and loud. “Yeah, let me talk to that disc jockey fellow.”
“Certainly, sir. Can I tell him what you’d like to say?”
“No, damn it, I’m gonna do that.”
“Uh, right. Sure.” Allie hesitated, knowing she should find out what the caller wanted before turning him over to Charlie. On the other hand, he obviously wasn’t going to tell her. And it would be a bad idea to alienate any callers. After all, this might be the only one Charlie got. And it would be a chance for her to find out how he handled himself with callers. “Could I have your name, please?”
“Eb Groats.”
“You’ve got a caller,” Allie told Charlie over the production mike. “A Mr. Eb Groats.”
Charlie nodded and Allie punched up the call. Samson whimpered at her feet, and Allie stuck her head under the desk to see what was wrong. He actually seemed hungry, and she hurried to drip more formula into his mouth, giving all her attention to him until Charlie came back on the air after the song.
“I’ve been talking to Eb Groats from up north of the city limits. Eb tells me he was around when part of the building went up. Right, Eb?”
“Well, son, like I was telling you, we put that back wing up about ’35. My first job, I wasn’t more’n seventeen.”
“Well, Eb, you did a great job.”
“Hell, yes.”
“Don’t say hell, Eb. The FCC doesn’t like it.”
“My wife doesn’t either. The hell with her.”
“But about the city building, Eb.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing. That building was built to last. Any dang fool could see that.”
“Even me.”
“Even you. Even that other dang fool Rollie Whitcomb.”
“Mayor Whitcomb seems pretty sold on the new building.”
“Course, he does. His brother’s gonna get the contract.”
Charlie said, “What?” and Allie raised her head so fast she smacked it on the underside of the producer’s desk.
“You check into it, boy. The contract will say Somebody or Other Construction, but you follow the trail back and you’ll find Al Whitcomb’s name on it.”
Oh, no, not this. Allie rubbed the back of her head and thought fast.
“I think that’s slander, Eb.”
“Not if it’s true, it ain’t. I’m old, but I ain’t stupid.”
“That’s for darn sure. Well, Eb, you’ve certainly made my first night on the job one to remember. And possibly my last night on the job, too. Thanks for calling. And call back and tell me I’m a fool again sometime, Eb. You sound just like my grandpa. I’m glad you were listening in.”
“I wasn’t. My great-grandson listens to that fool Harry the Howler and we kind of slopped on over into your show.”
“Well, slop on over anytime.”
“Will do, son. Good luck on savin’ that building.”
“Thanks. I’m going to need all the luck I can get.” There was a click on the line. “Of course, I’ve already had more luck than any new guy in town deserves. My first caller is a great guy like Eb, and the first lady I met in town yesterday is the kind of woman a man never forgets, even when she says goodbye, which she just did today. Fortunately, I’ve had a lot of experience with rejection. Anyway, this is for that lady who said I insulted her in the bar yesterday. Trust me, honey, I meant it in the nicest possible way.”
Allie shook her head when she heard Patsy Cline slide into “Crazy.”
“Very funny, Charlie,” she said into the mike. “About the city building—”
“I didn’t mean to, believe me,” he told her. “I thought it was just a nice, friendly kind of topic.”
“Bill’s a backer of Rollie Whitcomb.”
Charlie laughed shortly. “He would be. He’s just like my dad.”
“Your dad backs mayors?”
“My dad buys mayors.” Charlie swiveled away from the window to refill th
e cassette stack. “Oh, well, at least nobody’s listening.”
Just me. Allie watched Charlie pushing the slides happily for the next half hour, playing music and talking to three callers who wanted to put in their two cents about the city building. Things were going well. In fact, four callers in the first half hour of a new show was phenomenal.
They were safe.
But safe made for lousy radio.
She could fix that.
Of course, they didn’t want to make enemies, but since nobody seemed too upset about the mayor’s brother, that wasn’t a problem. And Charlie was great with callers, absolutely brilliant. More people should know that. Of course, Charlie didn’t want to be famous. But this was a civic issue. She had a civic duty.
And she wanted the show to be a hit.
“I’m a slime,” she told Samsom, fast asleep in his basket. “A career-obsessed, pathetic slime.” Then she picked up a clear phone line and punched in the mayor’s phone number.
CHARLIE WAS FEELING pretty good. He liked Eb and the three people who’d called after Eb, the console was brand new and a piece of cake to run, and it didn’t really matter whether he was a success or not at this hour of the night. And actually, it was fun. Once again his life was under control. He’d have all his days to track down that damn letter and figure out who wrote it, and then he could play radio at night until he finished the job and left in November.
Life didn’t get much better.
Then Allie’s voice came through his headphones. “Caller on line two.”
“Who’s this one?”
“The mayor.”
He swung around to stare at her through the window, but she just shrugged and smiled and punched the button that transferred the call to him.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Uh, Charlie Tenniel.” He shot an agonized glance at the digital readout on the console. Fifteen seconds till the last song was over.
“Well, what the hell is going on down there? Where’s Bill? What is this garbage?”
He sounded like an overbearing, handshaking politician. Charlie had met a lot of them growing up and he hadn’t liked them. Still, it wasn’t his job to make waves. “We’ve been talking about the city building, sir.”
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