All of Me

by ANDREA SMITH

  I grabbed some tissues from my handbag and shook my head vigorously. “No, no, Mike, it’s fine. I’ll pull myself together. I owe my listeners an apology at the very least.”

  “Hey,” he said softly, “Nobody needs to know your personal shit. It was wrong for Dirk to put it out there like that.”

  I gave my nose a hearty blow. “Dirk deserved better than I gave him,” I said sniffling. “I own this one.”

  “You sure you’re okay? You’ve got two more hours of this.”

  “I’m sure. And hey, you’ve got to get the station’s copter warmed up anyway for Chopper Bill to cover all the metropolitan traffic that will be clogging up the interstates in just a few hours. Go on, I’ll be fine. And thanks, Mike.”

  I wiped away the last of my tear stains, took several deep breaths, and then donned my headset, giving Andy a nod that I was good to go when he gave me the signal.

  Fifteen seconds later, I was back on the air. “Well Indianapolis, for those of you who are still tuned in, I guess you’re probably wondering what that was all about. I’m not one to put my personal life out there, but it seems as if that’s exactly what’s been done. So, lest you think poorly of the station, let me fill in the blanks for you all.

  “Who remembers high school? Or maybe the better question is, ‘Who wants to remember high school?’ Ladies, do you remember the popular clique? Maybe you were even part of it, huh? The girls who had the perky personalities, gorgeous hair, petite figures, designer clothes, and once a month wore their cheerleading uniforms to school for the big pep rally? Even back in grade school, these girls outshone the rest. They were never the last ones picked for Red Rover at recess; always the first ones picked to show the new students around school because they were teacher’s pet, and even when puberty started, nary a pimple nor blemish would make an appearance on their flawless skin - do you remember?

  “Yeah, well that was never me. But I did experience it up close and personal because my fraternal twin sister was all of those things. And beyond that, she was the sweetest and most loving sister a girl could ever have. To this day, she’s always there for me, supportive, caring, and totally clueless as to how it feels to live in my world which was and is quite different than hers.

  “Many of you may have already seen my promotional ads and billboards around town. Yep, that’s me. I’m a full-figured gal who tried like hell to be all the things I was never meant to be. And that’s okay, because along the way I learned to appreciate the woman that I am. To not dwell on the negatives, but to focus on the positives. And the most positive quality I felt I possessed was my voice, and my ability to train and hone it to transition myself into characters who were not me by design. I actually earned a living doing such things, and I never had to leave the confines of my apartment; never had to put Autumn Dey out there competing with skinny girls for jobs where one’s physical appearance should never even matter. Yeah, I knew from the start I’d never qualify as a Victoria’s Secret model, but that was okay as long as I was given a fair shot at anything else.

  “But that’s not quite the way things work in our ‘must look perfect’ society. Cosmo tells us through their ad copy for everything from age defying make-up to hemorrhoid cream that skinny is beautiful yet dare to post a column now and then about ‘making your curves work for you.’ Note to Cosmo: Put a fat girl in your ad copy sometime - and not to pitch some diet milkshakes, ‘kay?

  “You’re probably thinking ‘Autumn get to the damn point here,’ by now. So, I will. As much as I preached to myself that I was happy in my own skin, my inner skinny girl was telling me different based on past experience. And she had a name, Ramona. Some might say Ramona was my alter-ego, and maybe in some sense she was. But she was also that skinny girl inside of me who would never be judged by anything other than her voice, and the sexy, skinny blonde picture which represented me on the website. I admit it, I worked at a 900 call-in service, but I was there, with my seductive twang, when horny, and sometimes just lonely men called in. But I wanted more. I wanted to venture out and do something that I could be proud of. And then I came here. To Quirk-99 and I sat in a waiting room full of beautiful, willowy talent and almost ran out the door because I didn’t feel that I could compete with them, even on radio where you’re only judged by your voice... and your personality. I have to admit, my initial impression when meeting the owner left my inner Ramona face-palming when a button on my skirt popped at the start of my interview for this job. I was certain I’d blown my chance.

  “Imagine my surprise when my future boss didn’t bat an eye and subsequently gave me the opportunity to do an impromptu, mostly unscripted, audio test for his new baby, Midnight Caller. The rest is history. I’ve been here for several months, and I love what I do. I absolutely love being the ‘Night Hawk,’ a name my callers tagged me, and listening to those callers, sometimes giving pithy responses, other times identifying with their challenges, doubts and idiosyncrasies, and hopefully conveying sound advice.

  “Tonight, I’ve failed all of you with the inappropriate and unprofessional spat which occurred during my segment. I take ownership for the impetus behind it. I was deceptive in reference to my former position as the call-in fake persona, Ramona. I apologize to whomever I hurt with this. Sometimes we simply cannot exorcise the demons of doubt and mistrust based on what we know and what experience tells us. Guilty as charged. So I’d like to extend my sincere apologies to those who were listening, and for those whose calls weren’t taken. I’ve got a couple of hours left on the air. Feel free to call in and tell me whatever you’re feeling—good or bad. Chew my ass if it’s what you think I need. Don’t hold back.”

  I hit the button, sending it to traffic. Looking across at Andy in the Control Booth I saw his smile as he gave me the thumbs up.

  I took a deep breath after ninety seconds and, from where I sat, I saw that the switchboard was lighting up.

  Andy gave me the signal, and fifteen seconds later I hit the mic, “Autumn Dey back here. Who do we have, Andy?”

  “Autumn, we’ve got Troy from Carmel on the line, he has a special message for you.”

  “Hi Troy, let me have it,” I said.

  “Autumn, I’ve seen your pictures around town and I listen to your show every night it’s on. My only complaint is that I wish you were on seven days a week. I love your voice, and more importantly, I love your words, pithy or not. When I saw your ad pictures it was like icing on the cake. You are one beautiful woman, inside and out. Please don’t ever doubt yourself again.”

  “Thank you, Troy,” I answered, a lump was already forming in my throat.

  “Who do we have next, Andy?”

  “We have Tillie, from McCordsville, Autumn, and she wants to give you her insight.”

  “Hi Tillie, I’m listening.”

  “Autumn, I just want to say I’ve been where you are ever since I was in grade school. Body shaming by others, including my family was rampant. My own mother had me on every trendy diet ever invented, and it irrevocably damaged my own self-image. Having said that, I think maybe you need to consider the fact that not everyone judges you by your body or your looks. You are so beautiful. Don’t doubt yourself, and don’t doubt those who see the truth. That is all.”

  I was moved almost to tears by Tillie’s assessment. She truly understood my insecurities.

  “Thank you, Tillie,” I replied, “You truly get it and I love you for that.”

  “Andy, who’s next?”

  “We have Brendon from Logansport on the line. He thinks you’re totally awesome.”

  “Hi Brandon,” I greeted. “I’m all ears.”

  “Hey, man I don’t ever call in, but I listen every time you’re on, Night Hawk. I just want to say I heard tonight’s show, and well... hell, I hope that Dirk guy didn’t make you cry. Because... well, if he did, I’m ready to tear him a new one physically. You are a sexy woman in every way. That’s all I’m saying. If you get shit-canned from Quirk-99,
I damn well won’t ever tune in again, I can tell you that.”

  “I appreciate your words, Brandon, but please understand one thing—I brought a lot of this on myself. I have issues, so don’t be so harsh on the station, okay? They’ve given me the break of a lifetime and no matter what happens, I will always be grateful for that. Thanks for your call.”

  I saw that the lines were still lighting up. I didn’t want the listeners dwelling on the live fight Dirk and I’d have over the air. I just wanted to explain my former career, and the reasons I was in that type of business. I certainly didn’t want to make any trouble for Dirk or the station.

  I looked over at Andy, throwing my hands up in a ‘What the hell’ expression. I didn’t intend for calls to come in like this, making me out the victim because clearly that wasn’t my purpose.

  “Andy, let’s take one more call before a news break and commercial.”

  Andy cleared his throat and gave me a look, his hands raised up in an apologetic shrug and leaned into his mic. “Autumn, we have Dirkson Everett Sexton on the line. The owner and CEO of Sexton Communications, who owns and operates seven stations within the Tri-State area. He has a special message for you.”

  Holy shit.

  I tossed a frantic glace to Andy, but all I got was a mouthed, “Sorry,” from him.

  I hit the button, “Hello Mr. Sexton. Autumn Dey here.”

  His voice was clear, concise and authoritative. I just knew he was going to fire me over the airwaves.

  “Ms. Dey,” the older man replied, no resemblance at all to his son’s ‘come fuck me’ voice, but I was all ears nonetheless. “I just want to say that I’m extremely happy with your hosting of Midnight Caller and I’m hoping you remain part of the Quirk-99 family for a long, long time. I can promise you that I will do everything in my power to see that this happens.”

  I felt my jaw drop and it wasn’t in a good way. I didn’t want Dirkson Sr. to throw any fuel on the fire between Dirk and me. I’d thought I’d made it clear that I owned this whole debacle. I knew Dirk had called me out in public on the show, but I was not without blame for all of it. I shouldn’t have hung up on him. We should’ve dealt with it right then and there, one on one like adults. But nooo, I’d freaked out and ended the conversation which allowed Dirk to boil.

  “Umm... Mr. Sexton, I’m appreciative of your support, but really, there’s no need. I’m sure everything will work out just fine.”

  “Yes Ms. Dey. I can assure you it will.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Dirk

  Three weeks later…

  I’m in motherfucking Kentucky.

  Kenfuckingtucky, where the only interesting thing within a state-line radius is…the motherfucking state-line.

  The night of the on-air version of Autumn and my War of the Roses was just the thing to trigger a call from my father.

  The following Monday I’d been summoned by my father to fix the problems of our sister station WHRS-101.6 or so affectionately called W-horse after their beloved Kentucky Derby.

  Anyone see a problem with that?

  I don’t see W-horse.

  I see, “Welcome to Whores 101.6”.

  Fucking Kentucky.

  Three weeks since I’d seen Autumn. Three weeks of having her on my mind and not on my dick which was where she belonged. I willed her out of my heart, but my heart had a mind of its own - more so than my dick.

  I’d left the station that night, determined to drink away the bitter taste of being deceived. My father had called before I’d taken my first shot of bourbon, and then showed up an hour later to make sure I had a firm grasp on his disappointment. In a nutshell, the gist of the conversation could be summed up in one sentence:

  “Get your shit together, you toddler and by the way, you’re leaving for Kentucky.”

  At first, I thought it would be the perfect excuse to get a couple of day’s reprieve so I could clear my head and look at our situation objectively. But it was three weeks later and I was still hurt. I still felt betrayed.

  Autumn Dey knew my darkest fears and secrets before I even knew she existed. She knew about my feelings for her sister or lack thereof. The whole thing could have been a laugh out loud moment if not for the fact that she immediately knew who I was and played me for a fool.

  But then, who was I kidding, she never acknowledged she loved me so maybe it was better to cut it short. Move away and regroup.

  In WHRS land.

  Admit it, you saw it…Whores-land. This is my fucking life.

  At the tiny station manned by a handful of employees, my father had seriously neglected this part of his world.

  The station had listeners, no doubt, and the numbers were much smaller than our Indy station, but we were in a city of more than a half-million people, so there were missed opportunities. There were four other local stations; one catering to teens WQMR-106.5 with their pop music and evening teen call-ins, one country, one bluegrass, and the oldie station that catered to everyone else. WHRS was a bit of a mutt with all kinds of different music and only documentaries to fill in the non-musical spots.

  I had to fix this, which meant restructuring with little means and a lot of imagination.

  Then my father called…again.

  “Dirk, how’s it going, son?” he asked, his voice sounding far away like there was an ocean between us when in truth there were about two-hundred and sixty miles.

  “What do you need, Father?” I’d taken up to calling him this just to irk him.

  “I see you’re still pouting. Didn’t look good on you at six, boy, and at thirty, well it’s downright shameful,” the smug bastard answered. “And I’m calling you with some good news for a change.” He was waiting on the line, knowing full well that the only good news for me would be the prospect of me getting the fuck out of Dodge—or more accurately, Louisville—was going to break my silence.

  “Fine. I’m listening,” I said on a sigh because, screw it, he knew he’d won.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you off.”

  Jesus Christ, someone help me.

  “Dad! Get on with it.” That’s what he was waiting for, to hear me call him Dad.

  “If you insist,” (cue the eye-roll) “I thought you might want to know that there are eight other major stations across the United States that want in on Midnight Caller. This means syndication in the top marketing areas: Dallas, Phoenix, Seattle, Chicago, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Denver, and LA. This is your baby,” (great choice of words, Dad. Thanks for the reminder) “So I thought you should be the one negotiating the contracts.”

  All feelings aside, it was a mark of success for me to have this go national. I should be feeling a great sense of pride at this news but I all could feel was loss.

  My first thought was that I should be calling Autumn to tell her how amazing she was and everything she had accomplished.

  In the past three weeks, Midnight Caller was all anyone in Indy was talking about. Her voice, our fight, her heartfelt apology, and her positive message being sent across the waves to young women of our great city.

  She was a local superstar and this opportunity would propel her to national stardom. I wanted to be the one standing beside her, introducing her at meetings, watching her own the wavelengths of this country with a smile and a sassy comeback.

  I still loved her, and my biggest fear was that it would never stop.

  When the silence grew too long, I heard my father sigh on the other end.

  “You know, I don’t tell you enough, but I am incredibly proud of you.”

  What now?

  At my lack of response, he took it as his cue to continue.

  “I am and so is your mother, even though she chooses not to get involved in the business side of things.”

  A fond smile graced my lips at the mention of my mother. At home she ruled, at work she let my father do his thing.

  “But, son, you need to step back and t
ake inventory of this situation between you and Autumn. Gandhi once said, ‘The weak could never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong.’ And you, my dear son, are the strongest man I know.” Then he chuckled before adding, “when you’re not pouting like a toddler, that is.”

  I belted out a laugh, something I hadn’t done in three weeks and decided he was right.

  I was miserable without Autumn. I missed her quirky jokes, her hearty laugh, her sincere smiles.

  I missed her voice, her kisses.

  I missed us. We worked together; we were like two moving parts of an engine making beautiful friction together.

  I needed her back in my life. Permanently.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right, Dad,” and then it occurred to me. “Wait a minute, was this…” I started but dear old dad quickly interrupted me.

  “I need you to get back to Indy and negotiate the national air-time with the other stations. And then there’s the contract you signed to appear with Autumn in the television spots for Steele’s Gym. You start taping next week. Hope you’re in shape, son. I hear Autumn’s been a fixture at the gym taking Yoga classes. Wouldn’t do for her to show you up now would it?”

  Goddamn it.

  “You sneaky old man! This was a farce you came up with to get me to think about Autumn?” I was shaking my head, a little impressed by his initiative.

  “Nah, this was all your mother’s idea. She hates to see you hurting,” he told me and, in the background, I heard her chastising him, “you weren’t supposed to tell him!”

  Shaking my head, I laughed and thanked them both for the shove towards sanity-ville.

  “Now, hurry up and pack. I need to give the hotel room to Rob McEntyre. He’s been waiting to restructure this station for a month.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll be on the first flight back. And Dad?”

  “Yeah, son?”

  “Thank you, love you both.”

  “Love you, Dirk,” I heard them both say.