‘You know my name is Jess. I take it you’re that ass in the fancy car that came looking for Henri the other day.’
‘Not as dumb as you look, are you?’
‘Unlike you, no.’
Shit. Smart arse, wasn’t he? Or ass, as they say in this country. ‘Look, can you tell me what my sister’s new show is called? She hates me at the moment–’
‘Huge surprise.’
Wanker.
‘Yeah, well, I want to send flowers to that burgeoning little business in the garage before tonight, but I don’t have the address, and I really would like to mention the show.’
The surly bastard was silent for a moment, probably weighing up the pros and cons. Why were Americans so bloody proper when it came to these things? ‘Throw caution to the wind’: that was Peter’s motto. Alongside ‘fuck any willing, unrelated female’.
And he stuck to both religiously.
‘I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you – in a few hours everyone will know.’
‘Great, so hit me with it.’
‘‘Ten Reasons to Say I Do’.
‘WHAT!’
Jess seemed to get the irony. ‘Heard that somewhere before? You know, it would be a shame if you lost listeners or advertisers, wouldn’t it?’
‘It’s my bloody show.’
‘But is it? It’s Henri’s original idea, isn’t it?’
‘So?’
‘So, her copyright, unless she signed it away.’
Bloody prick. Of course she hadn’t. MNC and Peter were so convinced of Henri’s convivial nature there didn’t seem any need.
And there wouldn’t have been, if Peter hadn’t interfered.
Fuck. And triple bloody fuck.
Hanging up on Jess, Peter called Eva.
‘We need to talk.’
‘Really?’ Eva purred.
Shit, why did that excite him?
No second dates, big boy, remember!
‘My sister is about to steal our thunder, and I might not be able to do anything about it. She won’t bloody talk to me.’ Rattling off the details of Garage Radio’s new Friday night show, Peter wondered what Eva was wearing.
Then admonished himself for wondering.
No second dates.
Not phased, Eva told him to come to her place and they would discuss the new programme together, before their own show aired later.’
‘It will be okay. You’re huge.’
It didn’t sound as if she meant the radio show.
Down boy!
Forcing his brain back to the matter at hand, Peter said: ‘MNC won’t be happy, will they?’
‘Your ratings are through the roof, and as you say, she is working from a garage. Calm down, will you. Come over, ‘she repeated. ‘Let’s talk about it.’
By this time in the conversation, Peter was fully erect.
Fucking hell.
What was it about that Eva?
Maybe one second date in a lifetime couldn’t hurt.
Could it?
Then commonsense clicked back into gear. No, I’ll see you at the studio later. I’ve got stuff to do. As long as you think it will be okay.’
‘I think everything will be great. Eventually.’
Damn that sexy voice.
Peter wondered if he could somehow get her moved to another show. How, she was in charge of programming or something.
But he couldn’t walk around at work with a permanent erection, either.
Even if Chewy and X thought him a legend for doing so.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAELENE AND HENRI SAT OPPOSITE each other on Mrs Morris’s old kitchen stools and stared at Johnny, who was acting as producer (and first guest).
Henri had insisted that Raelene front the programme, so Raelene tentatively opened the show with thanks to their sponsor TheRightStuff and then passed over to Henri to announce the format of the show.
Although there were only about ten listeners, including the Calinkos and a couple of bingo regulars, Henri was more nervous than she had even been on the commercial networks she’d worked for previously.
Thanks to Jess and his generosity to share his legal knowledge and connections, she knew there wasn’t a huge likelihood that they would be sued. The original idea for Ten Reasons had been hers and she had never signed it away.
Jess. She threw up in front of Jess. Try not to think about it now, Henri told herself sternly. The show must go on – as will the embarrassment.
So, with the legal rights and wrongs in mind, Henri decided there was no better way to burst her brother’s self-inflated bubble than telling the world (well, the ten listeners) that Henri Prime was back.
‘So, welcome to ‘Ten Reasons to Say I Do’. Many of you may recognize an immediate similarity between this programme and another, on air at a much larger station. Well, what you may not know is that the name of that MNC was created by me, Henri Prime, and my brother’s tasteless discussions of fornication were just not me, so I left the partnership. Today, I sit here with the lovely Raelene Morris, and our own version of that original show. Ring in and talk to us about your marriage plans, and we’ll aim to give you ‘Ten Reasons to Say I Do’.
‘Thanks Henri, and it’s a pleasure to have you here at Garage 19.98. Our first caller is Johnny, from Queens.’
‘A local boy, hah?’
The girls grinned at the irony of it. Sitting a few feet away, Johnny couldn’t be more local.
‘So Johnny, tell us your problem.’
‘Well, girls, I wanta get hitched, but I got no girls on the horizon. What’s a boy to do?’
Henri frowned. That wasn’t the question they’d agreed he’d ask. He was suppose to ask about getting married when all his friends wanted to party.
‘Well, Johnny, why do you want to get married so desperately?’ Raelene shrugged at Henri. Couldn’t change the question now, could they?
Leaning forward, Henri urged Johnny to talk up. What the hell, they’d started with him. They might as well keep the show going. Particularly as the quickly and recently refurbished Innkeeper digital box (bought on eBay last week hot from a station fire in Phoenix) showed there were no other callers.
‘My mum and dad are so happy, together, you know. Holding hands, laughing. Sometimes fighting. They’re a team, they share everything. I want that with someone.
Johnny looked straight at a spot behind them, speaking with such honesty that Henri actually felt herself tearing up. She hadn’t expected that. Something about guaranteed sex, yes, but love and companionship . . . Wow.
Suddenly, the lights on the rectangular panel that filtered their two phone lines lit up.
Snapping his fingers, Johnny put call number one through.
‘Hey caller, who are you?’
‘Hi, yes, I’m Missy. He sounds lovely. I’m not really the prettiest of girls, but I want what he wants. Maybe we could meet.’
Before the girls could reply, Johnny had pressed his ‘on air’ button and was telling the girl he was ‘a skinny dude with bad skin, rank hair and no money.’
‘Well, I’m a bit fat and I’ve got this big schnoz that got me bullied at school. But I want to share stuff with someone.’
It didn’t seem to put Johnny off. ‘Sounds radical, babe.’ When he was smiling naturally, and not leering, the boy was actually quite okay looking; not as much like prison-bait as he was a few moments before.
Henri asked: ‘You know, guys, our listeners might be wondering what a couple of teenagers want with marriage, when they could be having sex with lots of different people, having a good time, to use a tired euphemism.’
‘Sex isn’t a good time.’ Johnny replied. ‘Well, not really. Most of the time I do it because I think that’s what the girl wants. What I want is to go the movies, share holidays, plan cool Christmas presents for a girl I love.’
‘Sex isn’t nearly enough,’ Missy said. ‘As a girl, you can end up feeling really crap afterwards. That’s not the same thing in a re
lationship. Well, I’m hoping it’s not.’
The next call was another teenager who agreed with Johnny and Missy.
As did the next three that rang in.
Raelene raised her hands in wonderment at the way the show was going.
Suddenly, Raelene’s dad, a chubby guy with a round cleanly-shaven face and a bunch of curly grey hair, appeared and passed them a note. He was monitoring the airwaves and had apparently worked out via plugging in to some larger organization’s online system that Garage 19.98 was picking up dozens of new listeners by the second.
Unbelievable. Teenagers advocating marriage was scoring highly in all areas of New York state, within the edges of the maximum reach of their signal.
Smiling happily and high-fiving each other, the girls continued the show, which young kid after young kid agreeing with Johnny about casual sex and marriage.
Eva appeared in the production booth, looking as hot as hell, and indicated for an ad break.
Peter stood up as she walked in. ‘What’s up? We don’t do unscheduled ad breaks.’
‘You sister’s show is what’s up.’
‘I told you. You weren’t worried, remember.’
‘Things change.’
‘Are you on crack? Come on, they have about five listeners, forget it.’
‘Upstairs says they are picking up audience share by the minute. And have a guess where from?’
Ah. Upstairs has come downstairs and thumped her!
‘It’s a show from a garage. Fucking hell, Eva, calm down. We are the top-rated show. You said it yourself, less than five bloody hours ago.’
‘Carson Abramson will be shitting bricks if he finds out the advertisers are calling in with questions; questions like: why are you letting this show steal your thunder? Two shows by the same name aren’t going to work.’
‘You have a whole bunch of legal people somewhere upstairs, you know. Didn’t any of them think to get Henri to sign over the rights to the name?’
‘We didn’t want to rock the boat, given that she left without demanding any payment at all.’
‘That’s because I dealt with it.’
‘How?’
‘I offered her half of mine.’
‘And?’ Eva’s eyes showed a flicker of hope.
‘She didn’t take it.’
‘Shit. Might have been able to use that as acquiescence of us owning the idea. At least get some sort of injunction to stop her using it.’
‘Well, tough. Can’t do.’
Peter then noticed that Eva wasn’t sporting her usual power-dress. Instead, she was wearing jeans and a loose fitting top, and her hair was out.
Nice. Really fucking nice.
And then his brain overrode his dick. No second dates!
‘Look, let me try to work this to our advantage, turn their stupid little attempt at the big time into a laughing stock.’
‘And how, exactly, are you planning to do that?’ She had her arms crossed. Sexy.
Stop it! No second dates. Remember!
‘Just leave it to me.’
Eva patted his arm. An electric shock rode up to his shoulder.
‘I’ve got to get back on air, leave, will you.’
If she was insulted by his brusque tone, it didn’t show.
Peter watched her bum all the way out the door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ABOUT AN HOUR LATER AT Garage 19.98, a caller they all recognized was put through.
‘Ladies, this is Peter Prime.’
What the hell was Johnny thinking, putting him through?
‘Hey Peter, nice of you to call,’ Raelene began to look worried, but Henri knew Peter was pretty desperate to be calling on their maiden show. She rolled a finger at Johnny to indicate he should be ready to cut him off in case of profanity or worse, sabotage.
Trust him to try and ruin this so early on. Well, Henri conceded, it wasn’t surprising, seeing as he had set the whole US experiment up for failure in the first place by almost missing that first MNC meeting; then taking on a sexual element to Ten Reasons that he knew would piss Henri off.
As usual, the booming confidence of her brother tore at Henri’s heart. She knew that all his bravado about sex was a cover, even if he didn’t.
‘Just called to wish you luck.’
‘Really?’ Henri wondered if they were live on his own show; if this was some sort of joke.
Why call on air to do that?
What was he up to?
Yes, of course. She could see it now. Probably made it his problem of the day. Ten reasons not to listen to their show, or something equally droll.
She told Raelene to keep him talking, then raced out and told Johnny to get a whistle, then cut Peter off without notice and blow the whistle as hard as he could down the phone. That should give MNC’s production levels a jolt.
‘Cool, like it,’ Johnny said.
He would. In spite of his less than liberal views on marriage, the drug-addled teenager couldn’t change his spots that quickly.
Back in the studio, Peter was extolling the virtues of his Ten Reasons’ concept and Henri was torn between outing him as a fraud on live radio (it was her concept, she wanted to scream), and leaving him alone because he was fragile and in definite need of psychiatric help.
She went for the later.
Sort of.
‘Hey Pete, how are you?’
‘She finally talks to me.’
Was he going to do this now, on live radio?
‘I’m your sister, of course I’ll talk to you. But I want to thank you for acknowledging how great our idea is and that it can work for and against marriage.’
‘Well, er, I, um, aim to please.’ Peter sounded confused. Probably expected Henri to tick him off, at the very least.
The incoming call light was flashing, and Johnny indicated another caller was on the line.
Raelene snapped her mic on. ‘Gotta go, Mr Prime, loads of incoming lovers needed our help.’
‘Take care, Peter,’ Henri said, mouthing ‘now’ to Johnny.
In an instant, the call disappeared and although no sound emanated from into their soundproof booth, the girls watched in amusement as Johnny blew long and hard into a plastic kids whistle.
‘Fucking hell!’ Peter screamed.
He and Chewy and X and Peter, all listening intently to the call, yanked off their earphones as the whistle pierced their skulls.
Storming out of the studio, Peter demanded to know where the delay was. After the first show, Henri had insisted on a five second delay for the show, and as far as Peter knew, Chewy adjusted the settings each show to ensure it was there.
‘Sorry dude, I forgot.’
‘Bloody moron, Chewy. My ears are ringing.’
Chewy shrugged as he pressed the buttons that brought in announcers from the news desk upstairs.
Eva and Carson Abramson shot through the door.
‘What was that?’ Eva asked.
‘That was out of order Prime,’ Abramson added.
‘It wasn’t me. It was my darling sister.’
‘She doesn’t work here anymore. Have you gone nuts?’ Carson growled. ‘Where was the fucking delay.’
Eva put a hand on Carson’s suited arm. ‘Calm down, it’s done now. It won’t happen again.’
Allowing himself to be placated, Abramson turned to leave. ‘I’m sick of your bullshit Prime. You are just lucky the ratings are so fucking brilliant, otherwise your ass would be history at MNC.’
When he was gone, Eva and Peter stared at each other.
‘You said the ratings were showing a blip.’
‘Abramson doesn’t know yet.’
‘Shit.’
‘Ah hah.’ Eva smiled. ‘Still, at the moment you are still top-rated. The Garage may be picking up listeners, but for now, you are relatively safe. Especially as next week you’ll be working from LA.’
‘What?’
‘We need you to go and shake some hands. Some of our affi
liates out there aren’t sure about the Englishman in New York.’
‘Can’t they just tune in? They get me out there, don’t they?’
‘It’s business. And you know a break would do everyone good.’
And keep him away from the Garage for a week, including next Friday’s show.
There was nothing else to say.
Except . . .
‘Fine, whatever.’ Peter stood and observed Eva’s casual outfit.
‘You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?’
She nodded. ‘So I’ve been told.’
Not by me, Peter recalled. Until now.
‘Look, Eva, I’ve been thinking. How about another date? My hotel room, some champagne? Strawberries? A burger or two, for me of course.’ Peter patted his stomach. Christ, he could use a burger and bourbon right about now.
Shaking her head, Eva said: ‘Sorry, no. You’re a nice guy, Peter, but I am getting over fooling around for the sake of it.’
The Revenge Date/Ten Reasons to Say I Don't Bundle (Romantic Comedy) Page 22