Jennifer Crusie Bundle

by Jennifer Crusie

  Charlie frowned at Allie. “Charlie All Night?”

  Allie shrugged, trying to look innocent. “Harry and I thought it was catchy.”

  “Knock it off, Allie,” he said, and she batted her eyes at him, too happy with the way things were going to care if he was mad or not.

  When he took the booth over, Allie met Harry coming out.

  “You were good tonight,” she told him. “That was a nice intro for Charlie, but you were really good before that, too.”

  “I thought you didn’t like the howling.”

  “I hate the howling.” Allie folded her arms. “Why don’t you just talk like you did tonight to those people on the phone?”

  “Because usually there aren’t any people on the phone.” Harry snorted, and Allie wasn’t sure whether his contempt was for her or for himself. “I’m not Charlie, honey. I don’t do that philosophical stuff.”

  Fighting the urge to point out that Charlie had a way to go before he posed a major threat to Plato, Allie followed him out into the hall. “Harry, you don’t have to be Charlie. Just be yourself. I thought about this today. Talk about things you like. Like…cars.”

  Harry stopped so suddenly she bumped into him. “Cars?” He considered it and shook his head before ambling down the hall again. “Nah.”

  “You could make it work, Harry,” Allie said, still pursuing him. “You know a lot about cars and stereos and guy things.”

  Harry stopped again and Allie bumped into him again. “Guy things? Cut me a break.”

  “Harry.” The exasperation in her voice must have gotten to him because he turned around. “You can do this,” she said slowly and distinctly. “I will help you.”

  Harry shook his head at her. “If anybody could, you could, Al, but I don’t think so. I’m just not star material.”

  “Yes, you are,” Allie said, but he turned away again. “Wait a minute.” She caught his arm. “How’s Sam?”

  Harry shrugged again. “I got a little more formula down him. Not much. I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

  “Oh, no,” Allie said and went back to the booth to see if she could tickle some more calories into the puppy.

  BY ONE, Charlie had logged twenty-one calls: sixteen in favor of the city building, three in favor of impeaching the mayor and two women in favor of dating Charlie when he got off work. He was pretty sure he’d contained the controversy, but he was also pretty sure that the mayor and his brother had just lost a ton of money thanks to him.

  So much for laying low.

  Allie waved to him through the studio window. “Do you need me to stay around?” she said into her mike.

  She looked tired, so Charlie shook his head at her. “Just shut the phones down. Sam and I are going to take it easy for the rest of the night.” He tried to tickle the puppy into taking the bottle again, but it was no go.

  He hated it, but they were going to lose him.

  Allie came in to check on Sam before she left. “How is he?” she asked, but the tape was done, and Charlie set up the next triple play: Billy Joel, Heart and Tony Bennett. He listened to “River of Dreams” begin before he turned back to the Allie and the puppy.

  “Not good.” He took off the headphones and put them on the counter next to the basket. “See?” He tickled the puppy’s chin and Sam moved his mouth weakly once. “I can’t get him to take much. Harry said the same thing. I don’t think he’s going to make it, Al.”

  Allie lifted the tiny body out of the basket and put him on the counter to rub his stomach. “Maybe he’s too warm. Maybe it makes him lethargic.”

  “He’s a puppy. He should probably be in an incubator.”

  Sam began to move his legs feebly against the counter.

  “He’s cold,” Charlie said, but Allie held the bottle to his mouth and Sam took it, making feeble sucking sounds, gulping down formula.

  Charlie put his head down next to Sam, pushing the headphones away. “I’ll be damned. He’s taking it. No, wait, he’s stopped.”

  “Wait a minute. Move your head.” Allie shoved his head away from the puppy and pulled the headphones back close, and Sam began to suck again, weakly, but with a good rhythm.

  “I don’t believe it,” Charlie said. “He likes Billy.”

  “Maybe it’s the beat.” Allie smiled down at the puppy. “Maybe it sounds like his mom’s heart or something.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it’s working.” Samson sucked on like a champ and Charlie sat back, more relieved than he’d realized. Maybe Sam would make it, after all.

  Allie bent over the puppy, cooing encouragement. Her rump was right in front of him. Practically an invitation. He pulled her into his lap, careful not to knock the bottle out of her hand or out of Sam’s mouth, and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. Her blue sweater was made of some kind of soft bubbly yarn, and she was warm against him, and he buried his face in the back of her neck and smelled the flowers in her shampoo. He spoke to her, mainly because he wanted to hear her voice. “How’s the show so far?”

  “Terrific, as always.” Allie concentrated on Sam. “I can’t believe this. He’s drinking like a fraternity boy.”

  “What do you mean, ‘as always.’ This is just the second time we did this.” Charlie tightened his arms at the thought.

  “Well, we’re good.” Allie’s voice went cold. “He’s stopping. What’s wrong?”

  Charlie reached around her for the headphones and listened. “He must not like ‘Friends in Low Places.’ It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Well, play Billy again, for heaven’s sake.” Allie squirmed around on his lap, exasperated. “He drinks when you play Billy.”

  Charlie swallowed and put the headphones back. “Stop moving around on me like that. It’s distracting.”

  “Play Billy.” Allie’s voice brooked no disagreement.

  “Burp him until this is done and then I’ll put Billy back on again,” Charlie said, surrendering. “Does it have to be ‘River of Dreams’?”

  “I don’t know.” Allie bent over the puppy, and Charlie let his hand trail down her back. “Better not mess with success. Play Billy.”

  “Right,” Charlie said, and when Heart was done, he let Billy rip again, and Sam went back to the bottle like a trouper.

  By the third play-through, Sam had fallen asleep and was back in his basket.

  “I bet if we put headphones on his basket, he’d do better.” Allie started to get up. “There’s a pair—”

  “Wait a minute.” Charlie pulled her back into his lap, and when she turned to protest, he kissed her, wanting her softness against him and her mouth on his for just a moment. She relaxed against him, and he felt her tongue tease his mouth, and then he grinned and opened to her, cupping her breast hard in his hand while he bent her head back with the kiss and she wrapped her arms around him.

  “Hello,” she said a few minutes later, coming up for air. “What was that for? I’m in favor of it, but what was that for?”

  “That was for me,” Charlie told her, trying to get his breath back. “Go get those headphones now, or I’ll take you right here in the booth.”

  “Oh.” Allie stayed where she was for a moment and then grinned when he didn’t move. “Talk’s cheap, Tenniel.”

  He grabbed for her then but she slipped away from his hands, and he let her go because the song was over, and also because he had every intention of plying her with Chinese food later and of making love to her until she screamed.

  “THIS IS GREAT,” Allie said at two-thirty as they split a double order of garlic chicken, eating from the carton with two forks this time. “The show was really good tonight, right up to the end. I knew you were going to be a hit, but I had no idea it would be this fast. And I haven’t even started on the publicity yet. This is wonderful.”

  Charlie stabbed his fork into the chicken. “No, it’s not. I told you, I don’t want to be famous, so just knock it off.”

  Allie gave an exasperated sigh. He really
was impossible. It didn’t matter because she was going to make him famous, anyway, but he was still impossible. “What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you want to be a success?”

  Charlie ignored her. “Dump some rice in here, the garlic’s really heavy.”

  “I bet I know what’s wrong.” Allie tipped the rice carton into the chicken.

  “I do, too. There’s not enough rice.”

  “No, you’re afraid of success.” Allie patted his hand, suddenly sympathetic. After all, he had hit the big time pretty quickly. “It’s very common. You’ll get used to it. Trust me.”

  Charlie moved the carton away from her, holding it behind him. “No, I won’t. Look at me.”

  Allie obediently looked up at him, her fork poised in case he moved the carton back.

  “I do not want to be successful,” he said, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Successful screws with people’s heads and makes them think they’re above the law and can get away with anything. I’m not like that. I am not going to promote the show. I am not going to have my picture taken. And I am not going to ask any more questions that will get me in trouble. I just want a nice, quiet show. I’m a nice, quiet guy, and I want a nice, quiet show. Is that too much to ask?” He glared at Allie and she glared back at him, annoyed that he could be so wimpy.

  “No,” she snapped. “Certainly not. Anything I can do to help you on the road to obscurity?”

  “Yes.” Charlie moved the carton back within her reach. “Give me something nonexplosive to talk about tomorrow. Something nice and innocuous.”

  Allie stabbed her fork into the chicken. “Stewart drinks coffee from the break-room urn and doesn’t pay for it and then he blames the money shortage on the technicians.” She chomped down on her forkful of chicken and gazed balefully at him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, that is fascinating, but I don’t think Greater Tuttle will be interested. Come on, cooperate. You’re my producer, produce. And move over. You’re hogging the bed.” Charlie shoved her over with his hip and looked into the carton. “Oh, there’s rice on the bottom. Maybe we should dump this stuff out on plates.”

  “Whatever you want, Oh Great One.”

  “I want another topic for tomorrow’s show,” Charlie said.

  “Okay, how about…” Allie leaned over his shoulder and scooped up some more chicken, trying to think of something stupid for him. “Sometimes Grady does his show stoned.”

  Charlie visibly corraled his patience. “I noticed. But I don’t think Tuttle will think that’s news, either. I need a real topic here. Stop sulking and give me some help.”

  Allie shrugged. “Okay. The streetlights in Eastown are still out.”

  “Allie…”

  She waved her fork at him. “You said, innocuous.”

  “Innocuous, not brain-dead.” Charlie took the carton back. “I will let you have more of this when you come up with something good. Something people will talk to me about, so I won’t get fired, but that does not involve newspaper headlines.”

  Allie looked at the carton with longing. “It’s mean to keep moving the carton away. You know how I feel about food.”

  “Then think fast.” He took a huge forkful of chicken and savored it while she watched.

  “Food.” She moved closer to him with her fork. “You were all mopey about the little grocery stores going out of business when we took you on that tour the other night.”

  Charlie moved the carton farther out of her way as he ate. “That’s the best you can do?”

  Allie nodded. “You wanted boring. Do a nostalgia thing. All we have now all over town are those damn FoodStops. Fluorescent lighting and house brands that taste like dog food.” She eyed the carton. “I wonder if Samson would like Chinese? He was eating like a trooper when I left. Do you suppose anybody’s noticed we’re playing Billy Joel every hour?”

  Charlie ignored her, lost in thought, and Allie grabbed the carton while he was distracted. “It doesn’t sound very exciting,” he said. “Maybe I’ll do it.”

  Allie shook her head and scooped up some more chicken. “You’re worthless. I could make you the biggest thing on midnight radio, but no, you want things quiet.” She passed the carton over to him in disgust.

  Charlie took another huge forkful and handed the carton back. “Old-time grocery stores.” He chewed and then nodded. “All right. I’ll do it. You can have the rest of that.”

  Allie poked her fork in the carton. “All that’s left is rice.”

  “Too bad.” He took the carton out of her hands and put it on the floor with their forks. Then he sat back and put his arm around her. “Now what are we going to do?”

  Allie folded her arms. “You know, we’re getting into a rut here.”

  “I know.” Charlie leaned over her. She slid down into the bed away from him, and he followed her down, pinning her to her pillow. “A little take-out Chinese, a little interesting conversation, a little great sex.” He slipped her nightgown off her shoulder and kissed her neck. “My kind of rut.”

  She savored his arm around her and his lips on her shoulder, but she kept her voice cool. “I have to get up and brush my teeth now. And then I think we should just sleep for once. We need some variety. This is getting boring.”

  “Variety.” He moved his hand up her side, and she shivered. “Variety,” he went on. “Fine. Tomorrow, I’ll bring in a goat. But for tonight, I think we…”

  Allie pulled away a little. “A goat?”

  He blinked at her, surprised. “You’ve never done the goat trick?”

  “The goat trick?” Allie blinked back at him. “Of course. I’ve done the goat trick. Thousands of times.”

  Charlie sat up. “What? I didn’t think you were the kind of woman who’d do the goat trick thousands of times. I’m shocked.”

  “You’ll get over it,” Allie said.

  “I’m over it now.” Charlie moved back on top of her and kissed her, deep and long.

  “Grocery stores are a dumb topic,” Allie said when she came up for air.

  “Quiet, woman,” Charlie said and kissed her speechless.

  CHARLIE’S NEXT EVENING began well. As far as he could tell in his poking around the station during the day, there was absolutely nothing illegal going on. The closest thing he had to a clue was that the college kids collected “Turn Us On” stickers. As a lead to an in-station drug ring, it was pretty flimsy, about as likely as a lead to an in-station prostitution ring. Still, he’d checked out the bandstand Joe had talked about before and all he’d found were mosquitoes and mud. No drugs.

  He was beginning to suspect that the letter had been a hoax. He was also beginning to suspect that Bill thought it was a hoax, too. At least, he didn’t seem to be particularly interested in how things were going. Beattie caught Charlie in the hall and grilled him on his living arrangements, his eating habits and his plans for his show, but Bill didn’t even ask him what he was doing about the letter.

  It was all highly suspicious, and Charlie intended to pursue it, but first he had to get his radio act together so he didn’t make a fool of himself on the air. He shouldn’t have cared about that, but he did. He also found himself caring about the people at the station, with the exception of Mark, and feeling relieved as he became surer that he wasn’t going to have to bust anybody there. Joe combined the virtues of real friendship and great cooking, Karen was cheerful and extremely grateful, Grady was quiet and kind, Beattie looked at him with approval since she liked the city building and was now doing daily editorials on saving it and even Bill seemed to be warming to him. At least he hadn’t called Charlie a moron again, even after the front-page story on the city building showed up in the Tuttle Tribune. Charlie particularly liked Harry, who, when not howling, was intelligent and, on this particular Thursday night, in a great mood.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Harry told him as soon as Charlie was in the booth. “Some woman called in and said she was having an argument with her boyfriend over leaving the
car parked in neutral or in first, and asked my opinion.”

  “That’s great,” Charlie said, confused.

  “No, it was.” Harry’s face was lit with excitement. “I explained it to her, and then about five minutes later some guy called in to talk about it, and then a little later some other woman called in with a carburetor problem, and then a couple of other people, and it was great.” He leaned back in his chair, suffused with happiness. “I can’t believe it. People called my show.”

  “Hey, if I had a car problem, I’d call you,” Charlie offered. “You know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, but now Tuttle knows. This has been great.” Harry got up and clapped Charlie on the back. “Really glad you’re here, man.”

  “Oh.” Charlie blinked. “Well, I am, too.”

  “Five people,” Harry stood up and stretched. “Great show.”

  Charlie sat down in the vacated seat. The memory of the bumper stickers came back. Dumb idea, but…“Harry?”

  Harry turned in the doorway.

  “If you were going to buy drugs in Tuttle, where would you go?”

  Harry’s face sobered instantly. “I don’t know. I hear the bandstand’s the place to score.”

  Charlie nodded. “I’d heard that, too, but it’s deserted most of the time.”

  “Drugs’ll kill you in radio,” Harry said. “Bad for your voice. Hard to concentrate.”

  “Right.” Charlie gave up and turned to the console.

  “Charlie?”

  He looked back over his shoulder at Harry.

  “Don’t ask anybody else about the drug thing,” Harry told him seriously. “This isn’t that kind of place. People wouldn’t understand.”

  Charlie nodded. “Right. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Harry hesitated and then left the booth.

  Great. Now Harry thought he was a druggie. The things he did for his father and his father’s friends. Oh, well. At least he had the show. It was a weird thought, but after only two nights, he was beginning to look forward to the show. It was fun, but it was more than that. It made him feel good. He didn’t want to think about it too much because then he’d start cooperating with Allie, and he’d end up a star, after all.