‘I’m not exactly a kid, either,’ Henri said perversely. What the hell was wrong with her. And why was she saying stuff that made it sound as if she were a prude.
Maybe because you are a prude?
Growling at her subconscious to shut it, Henri asked Jess if he wanted freshly cooked crepes.
‘Crepes?’
‘Pancakes, thin ones.’ Holding the plate up high, Henri grinned inanely. Honestly, if this is what it was like actually wanted a guy, she wished she could go back to be good old asexual Ms Prime.
‘Okay.’ He grabbed a plate from the rail about the sink and Henri plopped a crepe on it so fast half of it fell off the side of the plate.
‘Is that the way the French serve it?’ Jess asked with amusement, bending down to pick up the kamikaze piece.
‘No, I guess I am just useless at this.’
Jess shrugged. ‘Raelene says you’re a famous radio star, you shouldn’t be worried about not being able to cook.’
‘Well, I used to be on radio, I’m not anymore.’
‘Shouldn’t give up on things like that.’
Before she allowed herself to ponder the sensibility of the words, Henri shot back, ‘That’s a tad rich, coming from you.’
Raelene was entering the room just as Henri spoke, and expelled a large gasp at the comment.
Jess, for his part, simply put down his plate and walked out.
‘I shouldn’t have said that, should I?’ Henri asked Raelene rhetorically.
The pretty girl, wrapped tightly in a towel that showed all her curves, shook her head.
‘Probably not what he wanted to hear?’
Raelene nodded. ‘Really, really, not.’
Then to top off her rotten day, Rodney appeared on Peter’s show.
Why did Henri continue to listen to the bloody thing? See, it was even making her swear!
‘So, let’s hear it for Rod, calling all the way from London.’
Her ears had perked up at that.
Then she heard the voice.
Familiar and deep.
‘Yes, hi, Peter, thanks for having me on.’
‘So, what’s our topic for tonight, then? Ten Reasons to Say I Don’t to what?
‘To trying not to forget my former girlfriend.’
Henri was outraged. Surely it couldn’t be him.
With that voice, it couldn’t be anyone else.
Peter was obviously prepared to sink to any low to get her to call him back. Well, it wasn’t going to work, no matter what Rod from London said.
‘Let’s hear the story, my friend.’
‘Well, I really loved this girl, but she would, you know . . .’
‘Didn’t want to ride the sausage dog?’
This was too much. Henri considered storming the studio and wrapping the mic cord around Peter’s neck, but it would probably only inflame the ratings. Her brother was notoriously lacking in fear.
‘I wouldn’t have put it like that, but it was months and months, and I figured she just didn’t–’
At that point, Henri switched off.
Rodney and Peter could ride off into the feral sunset together, as far as she was concerned. What kind of men gang up on someone like that, on national radio?
Knowing Peter couldn’t answer because he was on air, Henri rang his mobile.
‘This is it. If I could I would do away with you both. Dig the graves with my own hands. Don’t call me. Don’t speak to me. Ever again. How could you, Peter? You knew I loved him. To mock me on national radio, it’s–’
And she hung up.
Because she had begun to weep.
At 10:00 p.m. Peter listened to the message and immediately called Rodney back.
‘Did it work?’ the banker asked, hopefully.
‘Not exactly. I don’t think she heard the whole programme.’
‘Shit, how come?’
‘She left me a voicemail and says never to speak to her again. Death was mentioned.’
‘Me or you?’
Peter sighed. ‘Both of us, I reckon.’
‘But I said I still loved her. On air.’
‘And my bloody ratings were low, thanks to it. How could she not have kept listening?’
‘Well, Ashley hates me, and now Henri wants to kill me. Couldn’t have gone worse.’
‘Welcome to my life, mate. Welcome to my life.’
Rodney swore loudly. ‘We need to get her back.’
‘I know. But how?’
By the time Peter hung up, the need for a drink was so strong that all thoughts of trying to call Henri and sort things out were momentarily forgotten. The studio had plenty of water, and donuts, thanks to X and his newly discovered passion for pleasing his immediate superior. But no fucking booze. Peter was too exhausted to do a booze run, but needs must.
Then Eva Claire walked in. ‘Whisky? Ice?’ She handed him a glass.
And Peter downed it in a shot, all the while observing Eva’s legs.
Don’t go there, my friend, don’t go there.
But she was so delicious looking in that tight red dress.
Don’t go there.
Women were only trouble.
Look at her bloody sister and Rodney.
Stupid bastard wanted her back, and Peter knew that Henri could hold grudges for an eternity. Still hadn’t spoken to her childhood friend of fourteen years when the girl had the gall to tell Henri she needed to put on some weight.
Peter should tell the stupid bugger there wasn’t any hope.
For any of them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE MYSTERY OF WHAT HAD happened to Jess at Harvard played on Henri’s mind as she called bingo the next day. Well, it was more an effort not to think about her brother’s betrayal, but the distraction worked well enough to annoy the patrons.
‘And we have a four, that’s a four. And next, an eight!’
Henri yawned and looked at her watch. Another whole hour to go.
‘Come on, put some life into it,’ the lady with the cat’s eyes glasses (Mrs Doskesvky) threw a pencil in the air in despair. ‘I’m fallin’ asleep here, honey.’
In spite of the surroundings, Henri longed to hurl a load of expletives the old biddy’s way. Not having her brother around to fuck this and bloody that was resulting in Henri feeling distinctly put out by her recent reluctance to swear, even to herself.
God, she was becoming a prude. It was no accident Peter swore like a trouper – their father had never shied away from letting the profanities rip.
Then again, she used to tell her brother than swearing was a lazy way of trying to say something. To which he replied in the most disgusting terms possible that it was not, and she was a stinky bovine – or something equally as putrid.
Now, staring at Mrs Doskesvky, she understood it actually served a unique purpose – it released the tension that might otherwise cause you to kill or at least severely maim someone!
Pastor Paul was surveying the scene from the back of the hall, and hurriedly approached Henri between games.
‘I don’t suppose you could tell a few jokes or something; it’s just that we’ve been getting complaints.’
‘You said I was doing fine.’
Pastor Paul blushed. ‘I figured you’d warm up. Sorry, don’t mean to be insulting.’ He tapped a finger against his skull – his way of thinking deeply. ‘Let me think . . . maybe we can bring on someone to act as your bad cop.’
‘Hah?’ Henri had no idea what he was saying.
‘A double act, you know, like Laurel and Hardy?’
Could Henri’s career sink any further south?
‘Look, Paul, you’ve been very generous but I don’t want to cost the church extra money. What don’t you look for someone else, and in the meantime, I’ll try to perk it up a little.’
‘No, Henri, I didn’t mean . . .’
She put a hand on his heavy-jacketed arm. Why the man had to wear a lumber jacket indoors in summer was beyond her.
&
nbsp; ‘No, really, it’s okay. I can’t really hide out here for too much longer anyway. I need to get on with my career. Feeling sorry for myself is getting a little boring, even for someone as pedestrian as me.’
The friendly minister shook his head furiously. ‘Come on, honey. No one would say you’re pedestrian, especially not now that you’ve got yourself that crazy new wardrobe.’
Henri looked down at the white and grey rocker tee and flippy grey skirt that she had teamed with a pair of short black biker boots. ‘I don’t know. People say I look better, but this gear doesn’t feel like me.’
‘Perhaps the trouble is you are still looking for you.’
‘Let me guess, I need to go to church and pray to find it?’
‘Either that you just let your hair down, have a little fun. You’re a good person, Henri Prime, the problem with you is that for some reason you hold yourself back.’
‘Do I? Why would I do that? I am pretty forceful when it comes to my career.’
‘Don’t you mean, was? Isn’t your brother over there in the city running a show that is rightfully yours? Whilst you sit here in my, let’s face it, lovely but uneventful hall, reading out numbers to the elderly. I wouldn’t call that forceful.’
He didn’t know the half of it; her agent was actually marrying her ex.
‘But I don’t want to do that job, not the way MNC want it.’
‘Then think of an alternative. Compete. Don’t just lay down and take it.’
Henri pondered this as Jess strode into the hall with a huge jug of frozen ice and lemonade. She couldn’t help but notice how buff he looked.
Jess, for his part, almost dropped the icy lemonade at the sight of her; no doubt from the embarrassment of being caught with Raelene. Maybe he thought she was ratting him out to his dad.
No, he didn’t seem to care who saw or said what when it came to him. Just kept his own mouth shut about how he felt – and that was the very thing that was driving his family (and Henri) crazy.
She suspected Em would allow him to keep a harem of girls up in his bedroom, if only Jess would spill the beans on what happened at college.
‘And Henri?
She reluctantly turned her focus back to Pastor Paul.
‘You need to let your hair down in other ways, too.’ His gaze was steady, the meaning clear.
Really? The pastor thought she should start putting it about? Honestly, you couldn’t even trust the clergy nowadays!
‘Aren’t you supposed to tell people not to do that?’
‘I’m supposed to tell people to do what’s right, and not abuse themselves. Sometimes, the right thing for someone is to let themselves be what God intended, however that manifests itself.’
The refreshments table was steadily being devoured by the oldies, and soon they would be ready for another chance to win the jackpot of the day.
Henri thanked Pastor Paul for his help, but told him that she wasn’t actively avoiding ‘letting her hair down’.
‘I just haven’t met anyone I like enough.’
Looking over at Jess, then back at her, the pastor shook his head.
‘Now, now, you know better than to lie to me, young lady. After all, I am supposed to be a conduit to God.’
Henri smiled politely but somehow she doubted that God would approve of what she was feeling for Jess.
Now, finally, she got all those lewd innuendos Pete used to make about girls at school; Rodney’s roving eyes when she wore something a little too tight.
Henri Prime finally understood lust.
And she was fairly sure Pastor Paul wasn’t talking about that.
To Henri’s despair, Raelene appeared at the house later that afternoon and wanted to speak to her. Great, just great, she mumbled to herself as the door swung open to reveal the gorgeous, much younger female – dressed that day in impossibly tight denim shorts and some sort of sheer shirt that showed off distinct curves of the sort Henri could only dream about.
Why would Jess look at Henri when this beauty was at waiting for him at her homemade radio station down the road?
‘Hi, Raelene.’
‘Henri, we need to talk.’
Shit, Henri swore, deciding that a little profanity was good for the soul. This might turn into one of those smackdowns, with Henri on the losing side. Raelene had obviously seen how Henri had looked at her man.
‘Sure, come in.’
Raelene shook her head. ‘No, listen, come to the studio with me. Someone approached me with an idea for a show – and some money to go along with it – but I need you to make it work.’
Shrugging on a white cardigan – a remnant of more ‘prissy’ times, Henri stepped out onto the porch.
‘So, do tell.’
As they walked along a street crowded with kids on skateboards or just milling about, enjoying the afternoon sun, Raelene explained that ‘some dude’ came by and said he’d pay $2000 a month in ad revenue to promote this website called www.TheRightStuff.com.
‘The site sells corny, cheesy, cutesy wedding gifts and so on. He says he needs a wholesome but edgy programme and likes the idea of someone who has a home studio – something about me making a good PR story.’
Henri had heard this sort of stuff before. It was probably above board, but the in her experience, the problems came when, a few months down the track, the advertiser no longer felt the show offered ‘good value’ and pulled the plug on the sponsorship (and occasionally even the business), putting a number of radio professionals out of work.
Still, they weren’t talking about professionals here, were they? A cute girl with a radio station in her garage in Queens could only benefit from a couple of grand a month.
The garage was painted white and green and blended perfectly with the small house to which it was attached. A huge antenna was perched on the roof.
Raelene threw open her tanned, slim arms. ‘Ta dah!’
‘Cute,’ Henri offered.
What do you say on sighting a garage?
There was a side entrance and once through it, Henri was amazed at the equipment Raelene had managed to amass.
‘God, this lot must have cost a fortune.’
‘My dad is a retired engineer. We trawl eBay looking for stuff and then fiddle around with it until it works.’
‘But this stuff,’ Henri waved at the audio processor and transceiver, ‘must have cost thousands.’
‘Not when it is busted. Like I said, Dad knows what he is doing. Can take up to a year to fix, sometimes, but now we have a fully functioning station, just like what you are used to. The 300 watt transmitter has nearly a 50 kilometer range – Dad scored it from some clapped out station out west that was just falling to dust. We’re lucky we live up on a hill, it helps!’
‘Pretty good range.’
‘I know, especially in New York. Lots of people squashed in here.’
‘Soundproofed?’
Raelene nodded. ‘We’ve had to – our neighbors aren’t the most understanding. I make a few bucks letting new bands record their stuff here – you saw the mixer.’
‘Talk radio is expensive, are you sure you want to go down that route?’
‘Well, as you can see,’ Raelene pointed to a black box with a blinking light, ‘I have pre-recorded music shows that don’t need presenters, so that keeps the costs down. And, the songs are actually by local bands who want airplay. People send me emails with their votes for each track, and each week a mate does ‘Top of The Pops’ type show with the most popular.’
Taking a seat on one of the stools at the production desk, Henri swung around to face Raelene. ‘It’s all very impressive, but why me? You seem to have a load of good ideas.’
‘Ideas. Talk radio ideas. That’s what I need you for. I have no idea what to do when it comes to chat. I am more your DJ type of gal. TheRightStuff wants a two hour talk show aimed at twenty-somethings. I’ve got the music side rumbled, but what the hell do I talk about?’
Heaven only knows, Henri
thought. There was so much babble in the world, that she and Peter had found it difficult enough to entice listeners with loads of giveaways, ridiculous comedy and a huge advertising budget.
‘Let me have a think, and get back to you.’ Already, a number of ideas were flying around Henri’s head. This was what she did and it was nice to be back in the thick of it. Okay, the thin of it, but nevertheless, it felt good.
‘Actually, and don’t be mad, there is something about the deal I haven’t told you.’
‘Why would I be mad?’
‘Because I mentioned I knew you and this guy, he knows all about your brother and the Ten Reasons show so offered me the money with the caveat that you were including in the deal.’
Henri frowned. ‘How, exactly.’
‘Um, to present it with me.’
Right. Henri Prime will now be staring in a shabby little radio show coming live from a garage in Queens. Peter was going to love this.
‘Look, Raelene, I appreciate the offer but–’
‘Please don’t say no. I get that this is just a pathetic little garage and you are a big star, but if you just help me out, I will be eternally grateful. You can have all the money, it’s not about that. I’ll do anything for you, pleeeeease.’
The Revenge Date/Ten Reasons to Say I Don't Bundle (Romantic Comedy) Page 20