All of Me

by ANDREA SMITH

  Seconds after Heath left my office, I heard the melodic rasp that was Autumn’s voice and headed straight for the door, wondering if she was up for dinner before her show. By the time I got to the door, she was walking hand in hand with Heath the Traitor.

  Okay, maybe not hand in hand per se but pretty fucking close.

  The last thing I heard from my vantage point were their plans to go to The Lizard.

  Without me.

  Really?

  I was her friend. He was my friend. Wasn’t there a code that said friends of friends shouldn’t be friends?

  I had officially turned three years old with that last thought. But all childishness aside, I was jealous. The problem was, I didn’t quite know what stirred up these pesky emotions. How did others deal with all of these…feelings?

  It didn’t matter.

  I was going to man up and “coincidentally” run into them. Which would lead me to sitting with them, turning their pair to a trio.

  Nobody liked to be the third wheel which meant Heath would take the hint and skedaddle.

  Because Autumn and I were friends.

  Good friends.

  Heath and I were like brothers which meant he’d get over it. Bro code by-laws guaranteed it.

  Twenty minutes later, I was walking into The Lizard, my swagger attracting women like bees to honey, but my laser gaze was fixed on one table only.

  For every television sitcom ever invented, there came a time for that one episode where the protagonist was blissfully going about his day and then BAM, the sight before him would stop him dead in his tracks. Inevitably, the soundtrack that accompanied him would scratch like an LP record coming to an abrupt stop.

  I heard the brutal ending to “I’m too sexy” in my mind as soon as my eyes registered who was sitting across from Autumn.

  Taking a deep breath, I kept my charming, honeysuckle smile on my lips just as I approached the table.

  Heath the Philanderer was laughing it up with both sisters as though he were their own personal comedian. Worse, he bumped Autumn with his shoulder as though they were suddenly best buddies with inside jokes.

  Well, wasn’t that just fucking cozy.

  Showing all my teeth with my forced laughter, I was sure I looked like Manson on crack laced with a little whatthefuckareyoudoing as I greeted the trio like a fly on soup.

  “Ladies,” I said with a smile, albeit awkward when directed at Summer, “Heath,” I spat, letting the last two consonants hiss through my teeth. Hopefully, my so-called best buddy would detect my reference to the snake in the garden of Eden. To be clear, the snake’s name was Heath.

  “What’s up, brother?” Heath asked, seemingly happy to see me as he raised his fist for a bump.

  “Bossman! Take a seat. Heath was just telling us the story of when you two were teens and jumping into the lake up north. I hear there are fishes in the water still using your swim trunks as summer tents.” The table erupted in laughter at my expense but admittedly, that shit was funny.

  If you weren’t the victim, of course.

  Summer nodded, sliding down the booth to give me space to sit. As I lowered on the seat, I signaled the approaching waitress, Dottie, I believed was her name, for my usual beer. Her blonde hair flew back like a shampoo commercial when she saw me, which was why I had ordered at a distance. She had a great ass, perfect for sinking my fingers into her flesh, but no single man wants that kind of clingy on the first fuck.

  But back to the situation at hand.

  “Yeah, well, I’d lost a ton of weight that summer, so my trunks were three sizes too big. We hadn’t gotten to the store yet for new ones.” I watched Autumn’s reaction to my admission and basked in the warmth of her smile. It truly was like a warm blanket on a cold night.

  “You were fat?” Summer said on a gasp.

  “Summer! Oh my god. What is wrong with you?” Autumn cried out in my defense.

  “What? You wouldn’t know it by looking at him now.” With a shrug, Summer turned her gaze to me and apologized, but I knew what she meant.

  “Yeah, it was mostly baby fat. Nothing an entire summer on a bike didn’t fix right up.” I reassured both Autumn and Summer before turning to Dottie and thanking her for the beer but quickly dismissing her before she thrust her tits in my face. For some reason, I did not want Autumn to see that side of me. We got along well and I didn’t want to fuck it up right from the start.

  Both Heath and Summer had a red ale while Autumn, who was working in a few hours, was drinking what looked like ginger ale.

  Unless she was hiding gin or vodka inside. Doubtful.

  “What do you have planned for this weekend?” Heath asked both women as I took a sip of my beer. Guinness. Like a real fucking man.

  I was being an asshole because…who the hell knew why.

  “Nothing, really,” came from Autumn while Summer explained her mani-pedi-mud-something or other, suggesting Autumn join her for a spa day.

  I jumped on that occasion like a cat on a mouse.

  Looking straight at Autumn, I announced, “I’ve got VIP tickets for the Indy 500 if you’re interested.” I then realized I had my trademarked thousand-watt grin plastered on my face. The one I used to get women under me. Or on top. Equal opportunity for me, baby.

  Naturally, I toned it down. She was my employee and my excitement merely borne out of friendship and, of course, to stick it to Heath the Loser.

  Autumn squealed and immediately said yes about five times in a row, making a warmth grow in my stomach, like when I used to eat my hot soup way too fast and I could feel it inside.

  Except, my dick twitched.

  Soup definitely did not have that effect on me.

  “Great, I’ll text you the details.”

  That’s when Heath the Meddler piped in. “I’ll bring some of the posters I still have at home so Autumn and I can get autographs.”

  Fucker. Did he not get the hint?

  “Oh my god! I can’t wait.” Autumn squeaked and despite my annoyance at Heath, I was just happy to see that smile plastered on her face.

  Because happy employees are productive employees.

  My second beer arrived. Dottie knew the deal.

  Things were back in my court by all appearances. Yeah Heath, I’ve got this...

  At least that’s what I thought until Heath the Player yawned and stretched his arm across the booth and behind Autumn’s shoulders. I saw the move coming from a mile away. In fact, it was one we had swiped from a movie back in our teens.

  I almost smirked at the outdated move. Surely, Autumn would see it for what it was.

  Summer asked me to let her out so she could go to the ladies’ room just as Dottie came back to ask if everyone was doing okay.

  Another round was served as Heath started telling another story.

  Beer number three was not far behind.

  Soon, it was forty minutes before Midnight Caller and I was ready to stab my best friend when his lips touched Autumn’s hand like a fucking knight in shining bullshit. She giggled like he was reciting the balcony scene to Romeo and Juliet. That’s when she slid out of the booth and said goodbye to everyone.

  The more I drank, the more I wanted to make Autumn laugh. But when she bent down to whisper in my ear, “Promise me you won’t drive,” my heart skipped a beat and my desire to kiss her beautiful, full lips grew exponentially. She was worried about me.

  No woman had ever been worried about me.

  They’d be lustful. They’d be hopeful to gain something. They’d been eager to please. But worried? Never.

  “I promise, sugar.”

  With a gasp and eyes like a doe caught in headlight, Autumn raised her hand in sign of goodbye and then bolted out the door as though she’d seen a ghost.

  Had I said something wrong?

  I wasn’t slurring but six Guinness beers in any man’s system was asking for trouble. I dared not get up lest I fall flat on m
y face.

  Thank fuck for Uber. The silent option.

  Twenty-Five

  Autumn

  I was prepping to go on my show, putting my notes together for tonight’s theme. I couldn’t shake the thought of Dirk and how he’d behaved this evening at The Lizard. It was almost as if he wanted to one-up Heath at every turn.

  Another puzzlement for sure. What was the catalyst for his totally out of character actions? I felt my forehead furrow in confusion, until it all became perfectly clear: Summer.

  Maybe Dirk’s ego had indeed been sliced by her quick rejection of him, no matter how dismissive and unaffected he’d appeared by it. Even his spiel to Ramona most likely was a result of his what I call ego-in-denial syndrome. I nodded my head. It explained everything!

  The one-up-manship evident by his invitation to me for the Indy 500 was simply to show Summer what she’d so casually walked away from.

  And then suddenly his words from earlier this evening came back to me: I’ve got VIP tickets for the Indy 500 if you’re interested.

  He hadn’t specifically asked me to accompany him to the 500, I’d just presumed that was what he meant. Technically, he only offered me tickets. Perhaps the station got lots of VIP tickets for promotional purposes, and he was trying to impress Summer by offering us tickets to the biggest yearly event in Indy, which of course was way more appealing than mud facials.

  God, now I felt like a total idiot! How in the hell was I supposed to interpret the whole ticket thing? I certainly didn’t want Dirk to think I had assumed his offer was anything but a generous gesture to my sister and me.

  I didn’t have time to ponder it further, Neil was behind the glass, putting on his headphones and giving me the signal that we were about to go live.

  “Hey Indianapolis, Autumn Dey here for the next three hours to help get you through the night. I thought it might be fun tonight to have you listeners call in and tell me what your theme song is!

  “You ask What are you talking about Autumn? What’s a theme song? Well, let me explain. A theme song is personal to you. It doesn’t have to necessarily be your favorite song—it’s more like the tune that gets you through the tough times; the song that plays through your head when you’re stressed, when you’re down and out; when you’re determined; or when you stand tall and draw on your strength and passion to show the world that yeah, I’m my own person, and I damn well like the person I am! A theme song is the catalyst that’s with you during happy times, sad times, and everything in between. The best way to describe it is to say it’s a reflection of your soul, your spirit, and your inner aura if that makes sense. So, whether you’re from the Greatest Generation, a Baby Boomer, Gen-X’er, Gen-Y’er, Millennial, or Gen Z, I want to hear your theme song! I can even have Neil here spin a couple of them for us - if I like them that is. So, give it a thought, and then I’m ready to take your calls. The number is 555-WQRK. We’ll take a quick commercial break so you can learn about this fantastic new product called Slather! Stay tuned.”

  I hit the button, sending it to the promo Dirk and I’d created just days before. I was still trying to figure out how to approach my boss on the whole Indy 500 thing coming up without looking like a complete idiot.

  I got up and opened the door that led from the sound room to the producer’s booth and handed Neil a piece of paper. “Here,” I said, “get this one cued up. It’s my theme song.”

  He glanced down at the paper and then looked back up at me with a smile. “You got it, sweetie. Get ready, we’re back in seven.”

  I got back to my mic and when Neil gave me the signal, I pushed the red button. “Well, we’re back Indianapolis and it looks like we’ve got some lines lit up. Neil, who’s our first caller?”

  “Autumn, we have Hester from Noblesville. She has a theme song I think you’ll like.”

  “Go ahead, Hester.”

  “Am I on? Hello? Can you hear me?” Apparently our first caller was from the Greatest Generation.

  “Hester, yes, I can hear you. We’re on a time delay so turn your radio down so you aren’t hearing feedback.”

  “Wh-what? Oh... okay. Can you hear me now?” the elderly woman asked.

  “Sure can. Go ahead. Tell us what your theme song is.”

  “Over there,” she practically yelled into her phone. “You know how it goes, right? Over there, Over there. Send the word, send the word over there!” her crackly voice, off both key and pitch, rang out with the World War I and II patriot song.

  “Yes, Hester, great song,” I interrupted.

  “Reminds me of my late husband, Wilburn,” she said with a sniffle.

  “Oh, Hester,” I replied, my voice filled with compassion. “Was he a veteran?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Was. He. In. The. War?” I repeated, putting more volume behind it.

  She cackled loudly and I pictured her slapping her knee at the question. “Oh no, no honey, you see, it’s my theme song because every damn time Wilburn climbed on top of me, seems like I was always a tellin’ him, ‘Over there! Over there!’ He just never seemed to have a sense of direction in the sack,” she finished, her cackling now breaking into a coughing fit.

  “Whoa! Hester! Life goals. I love it and gentlemen, take a page from the Great Generation handbook. Never be afraid to ask for directions when you’ve lost your way. Thanks for calling, Hester. You take care now. Who’s next Neil?”

  Neil was still trying to contain his amusement from Hester’s call. “We’ve got Damian from Logansport, Autumn.”

  “Hey Damian,” I greeted, “Share your theme song with us.”

  “Dude,” he said, his voice husky like he’d just taken a hit off of a joint, “Man, it’s gotta be ‘Dirty Deeds,’ you know, Autumn, the ones that are done dirt cheap? I totally rock that song. It’s like it was written for me, man, you know? Like with me in mind. Dig it?”

  “I get it, Damian,” I replied, glancing through the glass at Neil who had his index finger making air circles beside his right ear. “Can you share with us why that particular song is your theme?”

  There was a slight pause. “Man,” he replied, “I could... but I think I’m gonna have to plead the 5th on that one, chicky-poo.”

  The next caller was Dean from Terre Haute. “Hi Dean,” I greeted, “So, lay it on me. What’s your theme song?”

  “D-Didn’t even have to think t-twice about it Autumn. Fifty years ago come August, I attended the b-best r-r-rock concert in the history of this country. Are you w-w-with me?”

  Dear Lord. The stuttering. Poor thing.

  “I’m with you Dean,” I replied, looking through the glass window at Neil, holding my hands up in abject cluelessness. Neil scribbled something on a piece of paper and slapped it against the glass window, his other wrist up against his mouth trying to hide his laughter from me.

  W-W-Woodstock

  “Oh of course, Dean... Woodstock, everyone knows that, right? I mean there’s never been anything close to the epic proportions of Woodstock, am I right?”

  “Right on, babe! So can we play the song I’m t-talkin’ bout?”

  In a panic, I looked over at Neil again, and he gave me the ‘okay’ sign with his fingers.

  “Sure thing, right after this quick station break. Stay tuned, we’ll be right back with Dean’s theme song!” I pushed the button, sending it to commercial, and pulled my headset off, scrambling out of the sound booth into Neil’s office.

  “Relax you Millennial,” he said with a chuckle, “I’ve got you covered on this.”

  “Neil, of course I’ve heard of Woodstock, but shit, weren’t there like a gazillion rock groups there? How do you know which song is Dean’s? I asked totally baffled.

  “He gave enough hints, Autumn. Chill, you’re back in twelve.”

  I scooted back into the sound booth and put my headset on, watching Neil’s cues.

  “So, we’re back and now let’s jam to Dean’s the
me song, what are we going to listen to Neil?” I asked turning to glare at him.

  He leaned into his mic for the announcement, “Here’s ‘My Generation’ by The Who for all of you B-B-Boomers out there,” he said, as the first chords of the classic rock song started.

  I smacked my forehead with my hand. Of course! The stuttering.....DUH!

  We had five more Boomers call in which surprised me a little being how late it was and all, but I enjoyed the tunes they called their own. We had everything from Aerosmith to Zeppelin cranking between calls.

  The next caller was too embarrassed to tell me her theme song, but she asked for mine.

  “Well,” I said, “As long as you’re asking, I happen to have it cued up for your listening pleasure. So here it is before we go to commercial. Stick around.”

  I pulled my headphones off after the first stanza of Freddie Mercury belting out the lyrics to my theme song, ‘Fat Bottomed Girls.’

  After the break the phone lines were once again lit up. Damn, this turned out to be a good theme after all. I’d been apprehensive that listeners would want to share, but it seemed as if they really were into it.

  “Well, I’m back and ready for more. Neil, who’s our next caller?”

  “Autumn, we have Roland on the line from the city. He wants to share his theme song with you.”

  Roland?

  I continued to look at Neil, but nothing about his expression revealed anything scurrilous.

  “It’s Line 3,” he said nodding to avoid dead air.

  “Hi Roland, how are you, tonight?” I asked tentatively. After all, he couldn’t be the only Roland out there, right?

  “Hey there, Queen A,” he started, the words a bit heavy and the tone a bit lower, but there was no denying that Dirk was on the line and I was freaking the fuck out. This meant I needed to get rid of him quickly and painlessly before he made an ass of himself and by association, the station.

  “What’s your song, Roland?” I rolled my eyes at the name. He needed to be a tad bit more original.

  “Well, usually it’s “I’m too sexy” by Right Said Fred, but I’ve been trying to get bitter,” Dirk paused briefly on the other line and I fought the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes before he continued.