by ANDREA SMITH
“In the car. I thought I’d give you a call. I need a favor.”
“It sounds urgent. What kind of favor?” I asked rubbing the sleep from my eyes.”
She paused, stumbling around for words. “God... um... the date... last night... err... shit.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” I asked.
“I just don’t want to put you in a spot with, you know, your boss... with Dirk,” her voice trailed off.
Oh. God.
My pulse quickened. What the hell had happened? Had he behaved inappropriately with Summer? Stood her up? Stuck her with the bill? Would I need to hurt him?
“What the hell happened?” I asked abruptly.
“Oh Autumn,” she wailed, “It was horrible. Maybe he had a case of nerves or something, but he was... well...”
“Spit it out Summer,” I halfway snapped. “What happened?”
“He... he was kind of a complete buffoon at the restaurant. I almost felt sorry for him. It was like he’d never been on a date before. His social skills... well, they were lacking, and I’m being very generous with my choice of words here. It was the worst first date I’ve ever been on if you want to know the truth.”
My stomach did flip flops with the news. I don’t know why, but I found comfort in her misery about their first date. “So, what’s the favor you want from me?”
“Okay so I definitely think he wants to see me again, Autumn. He’s into me for sure. But there’s just no way. I mean, I acted like I had a good time and wanted to see him again, but seriously, I wasn’t about to hurt his feelings. I didn’t want to add to the embarrassment I’m sure he was already feeling. I’m just not good at throwing darts at the male ego.”
Since when?
“So,” I replied, “What? You want me to tell him?”
“Would you? Please? I don’t want to jeopardize your job with my rejection of him. You’re so good with delivering bad news, and I really suck at it.”
I gave a sigh. “Yeah, sure. I think I can break it to him,” I replied. I was beginning to wonder who had actually shown up for that date with Summer.
Dirk? A buffoon?
“Oh thank you, thank you!” she replied obviously relieved that I’d do the dirty work, “I owe you, Sis. Oh, and Autumn? Be gentle, okay?”
“Sure,” I replied rolling my eyes. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“I’m driving to South Bend for a pharmaceutical symposium this weekend. I’ll talk to you Monday afternoon when I get back. Thanks again, and love ya!”
I got out of bed and went into the kitchen to start coffee. As it brewed, I went into the living room to check on my hermies.
Shit!
Diane had evidently tunneled under the partition to the other side. She was over in one of the water ponds with Carlos. I quickly took inventory of the rest: Dirk, check; Harry, check, Lance, check. Summer? I lifted shells and rocks, nothing. My hand traveled to the stick pile in the corner. I found her shell... no Summer inside of it. One of them had eaten Summer. I was no closer to finding the culprit than before.
Confused and a little bit offended that one of my crabbies would devour my sister, I shuffled back to the coffee and poured the delightful black gold and inhaled the aroma that would magically give me the power to analyze the clusterfuck that was my sister’s love life.
So how would I approach Dirk Sexton with this? If Summer had read him correctly, it could indeed wound his ego. She didn’t know what I knew; excuse me, what Ramona knew.
Maybe Dirk Sexton was totally out of his element when pursuing any relationship other than a shallow, sexual one. God, I wondered just how bad it had gone last night. I wasn’t sure how soon Summer expected me to give him the news. Since she’d be gone all weekend, he most likely wouldn’t call her until next week. I’d give it the weekend and see if he called in to Ramona. If not, I’d have to talk to him Monday.
Oy!
Twenty
Dirk
As I dialed the 900 number for Ramona, I fleetingly wondered if booking a shrink wouldn’t be cheaper in the long run. Also, just a little less sleazy.
By the time I’d convinced myself that only predators and men with bad breath actually needed to pay three dollars a minute for advice by a non-professional, Ramona’s southern drawl was already greeting me over the line.
“Hey there, handsome. What can Ramona do for you tonight?” I heard a sucking sound, like she’d just popped a lolly out from between her lips and closed my eyes. I tried to visualize the mouth from the picture all pursed and sexy, red lipstick melting over the sugar.
“Ah, hey Ramona. How are you?” I said, looking out the window of my cosmopolitan dwelling. All steel and glass, like a rich man’s cage.
Yeah, okay. Now I just sounded like whiny pussy. Oh, woe is me, I have too much money.
Man up, asshole.
“I’m peachy, darlin’. Just like my lollipop,” she answered, all giggles and soft vowels.
“Good. Good. So, I need some advice.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Tell Ramona everything; I’ll try my best to help you.” I really wanted to believe her but, truth be told, she was a sounding board. Not knowing who I was and what I was really talking about, I didn’t have to see the judgment in her eyes or hear it in her voice.
“I went on a date, last night. She was beautiful and smart but…”
“But what?” she asked, pressing me as if it really mattered to her. What should I say?
I was a commitment phobe?
I was as shallow as the sink in my marble bathroom?
Curious, I put Ramona on speaker phone and actually searched the phobia of commitments. I knew Panteraphobie meant the fear of your mother-in-law, I figured there had to be a word for my ailment.
“But what, sugar? You still there?” Ramona’s speaker voice brought half my brain back to the conversation at hand. Like a band-aid, I needed to get this shit over with but first…
“One second Ramona.”
There!
Holy fuck.
Gamophobia. The fear of commitment, more importantly, the fear of marriage. I almost felt validated. If the fear had a real Greek name then it was legitimate.
“Sugar? Hello?”
I blinked and then just spilled the entire evening in one solid breath of shame.
“It was horrible. I lost my shit and, to be honest, I’m too shallow to have a serious relationship. I’d be better off with a blonde beauty on my arm. A smokescreen, of sorts.” I took a deep breath and the silence on the other end of the line was deafening.
So, of course, I continued my vocal diarrhea.
“Beautiful in the eye of the public and beautifully independent in the shadows of our private lives.”
Jesus, I was such a baby.
I needed some levity in this conversation. Or monologue, to be exact because Ramona had evidently lost her ability to speak.
Maybe she choked on her lollypop?
“You free, Ramona? I’m sure we could work something out.” It might cost me less to give her a steady pay for her walking on my arm.
“Ah…what?” she croaked and the twang was non-existent.
“Ramona?”
“Oh, sorry, sugar. I had to get a drink of water. You got me all out of sorts with your indecent proposal and such. Wooooweee, darlin!’”
We both laughed and that was the end of that.
“So, your dream girl isn’t after all?” She asked and I dove into the story of the date. All the gruesome details out there for the world to see. From the sushi phobia to the flying shrimp catastrophe.
I was even able to tell her why I’d been so out of sorts.
“She mentioned something that freaked me out. She put our names together. To.Ge.Ther. Like the Indy version of Brad and Angelina and we all know how that shitshow ended up, right?”
“Right. So, let me get this straight, dumpling, you are not interested
in this beautiful lady?”
“No. My gut says she’s perfect for what I need on the outside, but my mind can’t deal with having to live the lie. Maybe if she were like her sister? I could totally get down with that.” I heard Ramona choke again and wondered if she had an esophageal disease.
“Go on,” she croaked, “What about the sister?”
“Her sister... oh God, well for starters, she’s fun, I mean really fun. It’s kind of sexy actually. But alas…I wish I could combine the two, and then I’d have the perfect woman.”
“You know what I think, doll?”
“What’s that?” Finally, some sound advice.
“I think you’re full of shit, to be honest, darlin’.”
It took me a while to register what she had just said.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, darlin’. You’re afraid to commit and to have to be held accountable for your actions so you’re blaming it all on this wonderful young lady. Using her sister’s personality as an excuse.”
I was getting reamed by a stranger and it wasn’t in a good way.
“Hey, now. Wait a minute…” But she wasn’t done with me.
“Women aren’t perfect, sugar. And trust Ramona when she says, men aren’t either. That said, I don’t think you and this girl, what was her name?”
“Uh... Summer,” I answered like a scolded child.
“Well, I don’t think you are a fit for Summer sweetheart. Move on.”
“Right. Back to the starting block, then?”
“Back to the starting block, indeed.”
It was Monday and my conversation with Ramona swam inside my brain the entire rest of the weekend, maturing to something plausible and true.
Summer was not the right woman for me.
I needed to get my shit together.
A knock on the door brought my attention back to work. Taking a sip of my dark roast, no sugar, I signaled for whomever it was to come in. It was Autumn of all people.
“Hey, what’s going on? A little early for you, isn’t it?” I commented glancing at my watch. I noted it was only half past ten in the morning. “Is everything okay?” I asked, afraid she would suddenly backtrack and quit. Holy shit that would be bad.
“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. I just…”
She looked everywhere but at me. My desk, cluttered with papers I needed to read and sign. My shelves, decorated with business books, diplomas from Purdue University, and magazine covers signed by the greatest artists of our time and before.
“Is that Mick Jagger’s signature?” She suddenly blurted out, pointing at the Rolling Stone cover with a big ol’ blob over his face.
“Uh, yeah. They came through for a promotional interview during their last American Tour. You a fan?” I asked. I loved the Stones. They were practically the reason I loved music.
“Duh! I can’t trust people who don’t like the Stones,” she said, her gaze finally landing on me with a suspicious brow raised, daring me to contradict her.
“Agreed. They were the reason the 70’s music scene stayed alive.” I winked to accentuate our commiseration around music.
“Finally! Someone understands me!” She cried out, her arms in the air and head thrown back as though she were thanking the Lord above.
She was adorable and totally on point with her musical preferences. I liked her. A lot.
“So, what brings you here? I’m sure it has nothing to do with Mick Jagger.” I asked, taking a seat at my executive chair and hand signaling her to do the same across from my desk.
Of course, she stayed standing, talking as she perused my shelves for more delightful musical nuggets.
“Yeah, okay. Well, it’s like this Dirk. Umm... I talked to my sister the other day and, apparently, she doesn’t think you guys are a good fit. She’s rather particular about her conquests.” She only turned around once she’d finished her sentence.
I knew I was smiling, relieved to be honest. Strangely enough, Autumn did not seem so surprised.
I figured she would, at least, be disappointed that things weren’t working out. After all, I was quite the catch, obviously.
Flying shrimp notwithstanding.
“Oh, well. That’s too bad. She was lovely.” I hid my sigh of relief behind another sip of coffee.
“Right,” was all Autumn said before turning back to me and finally sitting on the chair across from me.
“Now that the emotional train wreck is behind us, let’s talk artists, shall we?” she announced, propping her converse-clad feet up on my desk.
Anyone else would have annoyed me. In fact, I probably would have fired any one of the many employees at the station had they dared put dirty shoes on my desk but Autumn Dey was the Gold Olympic Talk Show Host. She was bringing in the greenback so firing her was out of the question. Besides, I liked her.
“Okay…,” I continued. “Do you know that I once met Tom Petty? I was about twelve years old. He ruffled my head and told me I was a nice kid.”
Autumn’s mouth dropped open, her expressive eyes became saucers of wonder and her entire body went still as a statue.
After a few seconds, she registered the information and reacted with a, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up!” followed immediately by a slap of the hand over her mouth.
Her eyes were still big round saucers of surprise but for a whole new reason. “Oh my God! I am so sorry. That was totally unprofessional,” she apologized profusely.
“But the shoes on my desk are okay?” I answered with a cheeky tone to my voice and a wink to let her know it was all good between us.
“Right. Of course not. But…cursing is probably worse.” She brought her feet down and sat like a normal human.
“Not sure about that. I think I prefer the f-bombs to the dirty soles of your shoes.”
“Okay. So, if I promise to curse more and sit like a proper lady, do you promise to tell me more about your superstar encounters?” She asked, like a kid being promised candy all day long for the rest of her life.
“Deal.” I said, extending my hand out to shake for good measure.
Autumn leaned over the desk and repeated “Deal,” before shaking mine.
The electric shock that occurred when our fingers touched was a surprise. A romantic would have taken it as a sign of soulmates meeting in the universe of love.
Me? It was because the air in the room was cold causing a multitude of electrons to dance around. Positive electrons clashing with negative electrons caused the current.
It definitely had nothing to do with chemical attraction.
Nothing at all.
Twenty-One
Autumn
Sexton! The Stones! Tom Petty! Classic rock was his music poison, how cool was that? I wanted to hear more about it, know more about him. I told you, I loved puzzles and enigmas. Dirk Sexton was a puzzling enigma. A complicated man, a contradiction of his veneer.
When we’d shaken hands, there’d been something. As cliché as it sounded, it was a spark of electricity; a jolt of a connection. I wasn’t familiar with it, so I couldn’t determine what type of connection it might’ve been in that brief moment, but my right hand still tingled from it.
I was humming the melody of ‘Jumping Jack Flash’ as I headed down the hallway towards the front door when a female voice called out my name. It was Melanie from Advertising.
She waved for me to come back to where she stood in the doorway of her office. “Autumn, I was just going to call you. I have some great news,” she said, her lips parting in a wide smile, “We have several advertisers who want to buy promos during your time slot each night, isn’t that great?” she asked, beaming.
I crinkled my nose in confusion. “I don’t understand. I already have commercials during my time slots.”
“No, no,” she said quickly, “This is different. They want you to pre-record the commercials—in your voice endorsing their various products. They like Autumn Dey
and, more importantly, your voice and your following. This means you get paid a nice chunk of money for each voice promo you do for their products.”
Shit. Melanie was definitely laying it on thick. I wondered if she worked on commission for personal promos.
“Really?” I asked, a sense of pride creeping over me. “I have a following?”
She placed her hand on a hip and cocked her head at me as if I was clueless. I suppose I was. “Seriously, step into my office lady.”
I did as instructed and she pulled some graphs out of a folder on her desk showing the increasing number of listeners for my time slots on an upward continuum over the past couple of months.
“But how can you actually tell how many listeners are listening?” I asked.
“It’s based on sales revenue for the canned commercials you run presently, and the increased demand from our advertisers to run their promos during your time slots. With you doing the endorsing, they expect further increases in revenue, get it?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but what kind of stuff am I endorsing? I mean, what if I’m endorsing a product or service I don’t use or that I find repulsive?”
She snickered, “No worries. You have the right of refusal. She pulled more papers from the folder. “So far, the promotions are for Hip-Hop Pizza, Spa-tastic, Tic-Tac Tile, Juice Hut, oh and Slather.” She closed the folder and smiled. I’ll schedule the sound booths as soon as we get the copy from these advertisers.”
“Wait - hold up,” I replied, holding my hand up to emphasize my point. “I’m familiar with everything but the last one - what exactly is Slather?”
I saw the color rise to Melanie’s already pale cheeks, “You know,” she said in a whisper, her eyebrows arching upward.
“No, I don’t know,” I responded, “Clue me in please.”
She paused, looking around to see if anyone else was close by then cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered, “Lube for uh... sex. You know, to make him last longer?” She was actually doing hand gestures afterwards to make sure I understood the product.