All of Me

by ANDREA SMITH

  “This is a call-in show, Autumn,” he replied, his tone a bit impatient. “It’s pure entertainment. There won’t be any scripts when Midnight Caller goes live, you do realize that, right? You’re not expected to solve complex issues or bring about world peace. The demographics for this radio spot are going to be late-nighters, lonely hearts, insomniacs, and, of course, your fair share of drunken idiots and kooks. Your ability to respond to their questions or concerns with quick wit and pithy anecdotes is the key to the success of this spot, got it?”

  Quick wit?

  Pithy anecdotes?

  I nodded. Oy!

  “Sure,” I replied, trying my best to sound confident, when in fact, I wanted to run like hell out of the booth. “No problem.”

  “Great, put your headset on and watch for my cues.”

  He exited the booth and sat behind the glass window, where I noticed Dirk Sexton had now taken a seat next to him.

  Time for me to put on my big girl pants and make this happen. I waited for my signal from Neil, and then pressed the illuminated red button on the panel.

  “Who do we have on Line 1, Neil?” I asked, reading the script.

  “We have Christy from Fishers, Indiana, Autumn, she has a problem getting over her ex.”

  “Go ahead, Christy, tell me about it,” I crooned into the mic, hoping my voice contained the appropriate amount of empathy.

  Clearly, Neil was trying to emulate a distraught female voice, when he posed as Christy from Fishers, Indiana. It was all I could do not to bust out laughing when he read his part, his voice raised an octave or two.

  “Yes, hi Autumn, this is kind of embarrassing to admit, but since I dumped my boyfriend a month ago, I keep wondering if I did the right thing. Yeah, he was a jerk most of the time, but since we broke up, I just get the urge at times to drive by his house, you know, to see if I made the right decision. You get what I mean don’t you?”

  I didn’t, but in keeping with the expectation to keep my responses quick-witted and pithy, I did the best I could.

  “Actually Christy, to be totally honest with you, when I drive by an ex’s house it’s only to put a brick through a window or something dead in his mailbox. Don’t second guess yourself, babe. Move on. There’s another jerk out there just waiting for you, I promise. Who’s our next caller, Neil?”

  Oh yeah, I was on a roll!

  “We have Donald from Noblesville, Autumn. He has an issue with his mother-in-law.”

  “Hello Donald, tell me about it.”

  “Well, Autumn, my mother-in-law is a total bitch. Always nosing into our business by doing stuff for us that clearly sends the message she thinks I can’t take care of my wife in the manner to which she is accustomed.”

  “Can you elaborate a bit for me, Donald? What exactly is she doing to emasculate your big male ego?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I need deets, Donald. Give me the deets.”

  “Uh... well, okay for example, when we’re out of town she takes in our mail, mows the grass, and waters our plants. And then, she brings over a home cooked meal for us at least once a week. It’s like she doesn’t think my wife is capable of cooking dinner seven days a week. It’s just crazy. What do you think I should do?”

  “I’ll tell you, Donald, go and make yourself a Xanax smoothie and sleep like the big mean baby you apparently are. Call me when you have a real problem. My guess it will be when your wife dumps your ass and files for divorce.”

  “Next caller?”

  I could tell I was nailing it. At least I hoped I was. Was I allowed to say ass on the radio? Maybe I’d gone too far. My insecurity was trying to show its ugly head.

  “We have Dirk on the line from Indy. He has some comments to make on your advice to the last caller.”

  My eyes quickly darted to the glass window. Oh shit. Dirk Sexton had donned a head-set. It was apparent I had gone too far with my smarmy advice to Donald. Well, screw that. I’d done what I was instructed to do, although the directions hadn’t been all that detailed. So, I’d flown by the seat of my too tight skirt, and now I had Dirk, aka Roland, about to give me the ole bum’s rush right out of the studio door. This wasn’t on the script I’d been provided.

  I leaned into the mic, “Go ahead, Dirk. Tell me about it.”

  “Yes, hi Autumn. I actually thought your advice to Donald was on target. I totally approve.”

  Seriously?

  They were both in the booth waiting for my pithy response.

  “Well Dirk, your approval is why I get out of bed each morning. Thanks for calling.”

  Four

  Dirk

  The Golden Ticket, that’s what Autumn would be to WQRK. The station was at a lull, the shows were getting too political or maybe just repetitive and boring. Thank fuck the music was still good with our Classic rock slots during the work-day that could drown out the monotone drivel of my morning analysts.

  As if that wasn’t enough, I had my hard-ass father just lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to fuck it all up like he’d predicted. According to him, I had no head for business. I was too damn caught up in ‘snagging tail’ as he so bluntly put it many times. Accused me of not being enough of a ‘people person’ whatever that meant. He encouraged me to do more mentoring and less shit-canning. According to the old man, employees were more productive when they were happy. To me, it was common sense to reward and punish as appropriate. I had several stations to run. No time to coddle or mentor and still have an active social life. The old man forgot what it was like to be young, robust, and horny. The reality was that those who performed and met each and every one of their metrics were rewarded by continued employment and salary increases; and those who did not were dead weight and sent on their way. In fact, I was about to fire yet another way past retirement commentator who forgot we weren’t in the fifties and no, women weren’t required to cook dinner for their husbands and then give them a blow job every fucking night. (Although, I could be down with a BJ and a whiskey before ordering some Italian. But I digress.)

  The point was, the guy was not bringing in profit with his antiquated talk show. The callers he’d pissed off put a bounty on his head. Too much liability and that was something I just didn’t need.

  Then there was Autumn. Holy shit. In no time, the entire Indy sector will be abuzz with her snark and wit. WQRK would be the talk of the town. Cab and Uber drivers would be tuning in as they safely accompanied their clients home. The hospitals would have the nurses sitting around their radios screaming ‘Preach, girl’ every time Autumn put a loser in his place. The bars would be taking bets on who would get shafted in a blaze of ‘Burn!’

  I could see it all playing out exactly as I’d dreamed. Her voice was the perfection I’d been searching out. Endless amounts of candidates didn’t quite have that succulent mixture between roque and honey. Smooth with an edge.

  A voice that had men wondering how far she could swallow their cocks all the while afraid she might bite it off if they weren’t careful.

  Obviously, it didn’t hurt that she was so far from my type that my libido should have no problem keeping in check and refrain from fucking her on my mahogany desk. I liked my women lean and mean. And yes, I was shallow, but at least I was honest about it. There was nothing about Autumn that tempted me to cross the line, which was a good thing because I needed to keep my eyes on the prize and it had nothing to do with a sharp-tongued, intelligent woman. I was attracted to the tall, stiletto wearing lithe goddesses who could be plied to my sexual will with mere words. My cock knew exactly what it liked, and Autumn didn’t quite fit the bill.

  Although her voice…

  A man could fantasize a million different scenarios with her voice alone. Jack off to a dozen different fantasies listening to her vowels stretching out across the radio waves.

  In a word, she was perfect.

  Perfect for the job and ideal for me because she posed no temptation whatsoever.
And that was vital to me because I did not need another close call with the office fuckmance. It’s like romance but without the commitment, only the orgasms.

  It would seem, not all women were onboard with that. It didn’t matter that I was always exhaustingly upfront with my intentions. My power and money were even more attractive than my hard-earned body and good looks. Who was I to deny the ladies my talent and attention?

  Human Resources vehemently disagreed. Which explained the new company policy of no fraternization…or else. The “else” being a big fat lawsuit and a stamp on my dick saying, “Off limits.”

  Surprisingly enough, I was okay with that. I know, I know, who in their right minds wants to stop having sex? Not me, for damn sure.

  However, I was getting bored. The women I was fucking were starting to look alike. Sound alike. Even their names felt like a big old run-on sentence, one melting into another. I needed something more. Something that would give that much sought-after adrenaline from the chase. The Caveman Effect, that’s what I called it.

  This was why I had called the hotline the night before. Surely, I wasn’t the only guy on the planet sick of meaningless, boring, I-don’t-even-have-to-work-for-it sex, right? Then again, I could afford to be choosy about who I entered into a relationship with if I was going for long term, which I was. I needed someone to ground me; to make me want to sink my dick into her and only her. Yeah, I know. It’s a radical change, and it would definitely take some effort on my part, but I was committed to giving it a try.

  When I saw Ramona’s profile, I knew we were kindred souls. Both hot, both able to soothe away the bad days. Both probably sick and tired of having to fuck the boredom away.

  Finally, today was a good day. My life was about to get a lot more interesting. My station was going to give dad a billboard sized middle finger and I would laugh all the way to the bank.

  With a drunk-on-the-endless-possibilities grin on my face, I leaned into the microphone, pressed on the intercom and made her day.

  “Autumn Dey, welcome to the WQRK family. I need you to be ready to go on in two weeks. You’ll be on Monday through Thursday, from midnight to three. Be at the station by 11:30 to prep. Bridget will go over the contract with you and make sure all the T’s are crossed and the I’s well dotted.”

  With that, I winked at our new recruit, and when her face beamed with unrestrained happiness, I knew I had made her day. I was betting she’d celebrate with a bottle of champagne back at her apartment, where she probably had a cat waiting for her.

  With a new bounce in my step, I walked out of the sound room and made my way to my office, ready to conquer the radio world with my new weapon of mass erection. That voice would be making us a lot of money.

  Welcome, indeed, Autumn Dey.

  Five

  Autumn

  Have you ever heard about the twin-to-twin connection, also referred to as twin telepathy?

  The gist of it is that twins, in some cases, possess the ability to telepathically sense pain, both physical and emotional, and respond to it. Although there is no scientific proof of this, studies of twins, both identical and fraternal over the years have shown some evidence it does exist.

  I call bullshit.

  I am a twin. Of the fraternal type.

  I was born twenty-two minutes after my twin sister Summer. She came into this world without a wince from my mother at six pounds.

  Not me.

  I wanted to hang inside of Mom, until finally the obstetrician had to pull my nine-pound, two-ounce body from her by way of forceps and some sort of suction device which caused my newborn picture to be dubbed affectionately of course, Conehead.

  My mother never held it against me. She relished the fact that my delay in exiting her womb officially took place after the September equinox, so I was born in autumn. Thus, our names: Summer and Autumn.

  And our differences physically, emotionally, and socially were more like night and day.

  We took our share of ribbing with the last name of Dey, but it was nothing compared to the shock of classmates, teachers, friends of the family when they learned we were twins. As if they didn’t understand that there are several different types of twins.

  Summer was tall, slender, with big cornflower blue eyes and long, straight golden hair. She’d always been willowy, the body of a dancer. A perfect Size 6.

  Me? I’m not as tall as Summer. My hair is dark, my eyes are brown, and the adjective willowy is not one that will ever be used in describing me. My parents claim I’m simply big-boned. But while that might be, I still have an ongoing love affair with all things sweet. And chocolate is at the top of my list of guilty pleasures.

  Mom had put both of us in ballet classes when we were seven years old. Summer had taken to it like she was born to pirouette. I, on the other hand, being shorter and stockier and not nearly as coordinated as my twin, needed help hoisting my leg up and over that friggin’ ballet barre.

  After a couple months of classes, I begged Dad to convince Mom I was never going to be the next Anna Pavlova. He took pity on me and convinced her that maybe ballet was not my thing. So, she switched me to tap dancing lessons which were not nearly as torturous. Both of them came to our recitals. Both of them told us how proud they were of our diverse talents.

  Through high school and college, Summer and I were each other’s best friends even though our interests and social standings were polar opposites. Summer was a cheerleader and Homecoming Queen; I played soccer and was captain of the debate team. We both went to Hanover College. I majored in Communications, while Summer chose a Business major in Sales & Marketing.

  After college, she had no problem grabbing a six-figure salary in pharmaceutical sales, while I did what I did. Phone Sex. And now my own slot on a nighttime call-in radio show. I was getting there.

  I hit her name on my contact list as I left the radio station, anxious to share the good news with her.

  “What’s up, Sis?” her high-pitched voice sang out.

  Yeah, I had it all over her in the voice category. Summer’s voice was sweet, but pitchy. Kind of like a pixie voice. But who couldn’t forgive that when they looked at the whole package? That’s why she did so well in sales.

  “Got a new job,” I announced proudly. “I’ve got my own call-in radio show on Quirk-99. The new show Midnight Caller I told you about?”

  “Shut up!” she shrieked, “Oh my God Autumn, that is fan-fucking-tastic! Where are you now?”

  “I’m just getting ready to head home. I’m still near the radio station, why?”

  “Girl, we need to celebrate this great news! I’ve made my last call for the day, how about we meet for a drink at The Thirsty Lizard? It’s just a block from the station.”

  I hesitated momentarily. I was glad my twin was happy and felt celebratory at my news. But I knew her well. Over drinks I’d be invited to meet her at the crack of dawn at her gym where she worked out religiously every morning at six. She’d taken me with her a few times, and quite frankly, I didn’t enjoy the torture as much as she apparently did.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt for me to at least drop a few pounds before I started my show at the station in two weeks. I wasn’t keen on any further button popping incidents like the one that happened today.

  “Hello? Earth to Autumn,” she chirped, “Are you in?”

  I wasn’t on call tonight. Summer had no clue I did the 900 call thing. There was no way I’d ever tell her either. “Sure, I’m game,” I said trying for perky.

  “Great! Be there in ten minutes. I want details! This is so exciting, Autumn!”

  An hour later, Summer and I were still sitting inside the bar, sipping our Cosmopolitans. I was in the middle of a sentence when her head snapped up and looked past me.

  “Holy hell,” she whispered with a soft giggle lowering her eyes back to mine. “I just got a lady boner, I swear. Check out the man candy at three o’clock.”

  I swivel
ed around in my seat, perusing the after five crowd starting to sprinkle in and there he was. My new boss. The shallow man whore.

  Bloody hell.

  Six

  Dirk

  The Thirsty Lizard was my playground. I’d scored so many numbers here, it amazed me there were still women I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting. Biblically, that is.

  “Hey, grab a table, will you, Heath?” I asked my best buddy from when we were kids.

  Poor guy was so shy, he nearly broke out in hives every time he needed to talk to a woman he was interested in. Women friends were fine but if he wanted to get down and dirty, his speech sounded like a phone conversation inside a very long tunnel. Broken and incomprehensible.

  I knew why, of course. He and I had been inseparable since primary school when bullying was still called “boys will be boys” and parents did nothing to stop it.

  Heath was getting shit from some asshole kid on the basketball court. I stepped in, punched the kid in his filthy mouth and helped Heath get up. Him and all his extra pounds.

  He thanked me, I said “No problem, dude” and we became instant best friends from that day on. Turned out his overweight problem was due more to boredom than anything else so one summer trying to keep up with me, Heath became a new man.

  Well, boy in this case since we were barely twelve.

  But no matter his transformation, Heath was never able to build his confidence. He was a good guy. A regular gentleman who believed kindness would eventually save the world.

  Or something. Makes you wonder how he and I could possibly get along.

  But he was still uncomfortable, self-conscious even, around beautiful women despite the fact that he was a regular good-looking guy with hipster glasses.

  What could I say? He was a librarian.

  “Yeah, there’s a corner booth down there. Get me a stout?” he asked, as usual. Heath was definitely a creature of habit.

  “Sure thing,” I said, and despite the glaring differences between us, Heath was the brother I never had. For as much shit as I gave him, I would jump in front of a train to save his life.