Songbird

by Syrie James

  Thirteen

  “It’s definitely going to rain.” Kyle took a seat opposite Desiree at the small table next to the window. Despite foreboding weather, they’d spent the morning touring the Pacific Science Center, and decided to have lunch at the elegant, revolving restaurant atop the 605-foot Space Needle.

  Desiree leaned close to the glass, admiring the panoramic view of the city and surrounding lakes, bays, and mountains, marred only by the gathering dark clouds that seemed to be closing in on them with astonishing speed. “It’s breathtaking,” she said. “I just wish the sun would stay out for more than five minutes at a time.”

  “We’ve still got at least an hour of sunshine,” Kyle responded, with the certainty of a man who’s lived in a rainy climate all his life. “And since the restaurant makes one full rotation every hour, you’ll get to see the whole view by then.”

  Their spinach salads and fresh broiled salmon were scrumptious. They agreed to skip dessert, admitting that they’d both splurged far too often on sinfully fattening foods over the past few weeks.

  Just as they emerged below from the high-speed elevator, the sky opened up. They raced back to the car, huddling together under Kyle’s umbrella. Despite the overhead protection, huge drops splashed against Desiree’s open-toed shoes and seeped through her nylons to drizzle down her legs.

  “Wow!” She slammed the car door and slumped against her seat. “When it rains here, it really rains.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet. This storm is just getting started.” Kyle pulled out from the curb, adding, “I like the rain. I like the sound of it on the roof, and the smell of it in the air.”

  “I don’t mind the rain if I’m inside looking out.” The windshield wipers were fighting a losing battle against the steadily increasing torrent. Desiree shook out the skirt of her burgundy dress, trying vainly to dry the dark, wet spots left by the rain. Glancing in the vanity mirror on the visor, she cringed at the wayward tendrils of hair around her face which had frizzed in the moist air. “Splashing through puddles on a rainy day can be fun. But I don’t like to get soaked right before a job interview.”

  “Don’t worry,” Kyle said. “They expect you to be a little soggy around here. Everyone’s used to it.”

  Everyone but me, Desiree thought.

  A few minutes later, he parked in front of a tall, high-rise building in the center of town, then gave her directions to find the radio station. “Ed Alder and the receptionist came in especially for this appointment. They said the door would be unlocked. I’ll wait for you down here.” He kissed her. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks. And thanks again for setting this up.”

  She opened her umbrella against the downpour, then stepped out and hurried up the street to the building’s wide, glass doors. A quick elevator ride brought her up to the top floor. Desiree caught her breath in astonishment when she stepped into the sleek, modem lobby with its plush, red carpeting and gleaming oak furniture. The KXTR logo and slogan, Something EXTRA for Seattle, were mounted in shiny, gold, three-dimensional letters on a mirrored wall behind the receptionist’s huge desk.

  This makes KICK look like a hick station, she thought. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered the black vinyl benches, ancient linoleum, and nondescript decor of her own station’s small lobby.

  She introduced herself to the receptionist, who buzzed the program director on her phone.

  “Mr. Alder will see you now,” the young woman said to Desiree. “Please follow me.”

  She led her past a glass cabinet filled with trophies and awards, down a long hall hung with framed photographs of deejays, and stepped into a room which put the offices at KICK to shame. Textured wallpaper was printed in subtle beige with the logo pattern of the broadcasting company that owned the station. The desk, which dominated the room, was massive and modem. A bar was built into one corner. Leafy potted plants stood regally beside floor-to-ceiling windows, which offered a magnificent if rain-streaked view of the city below.

  “Mr. Alder?” the receptionist said. “This is Desiree Germain.”

  A ruddy-faced, dark-haired man unfolded himself from a swivel chair and extended a large hand to her across the desk. “Miss Germain. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His face broke into a wide grin, flashing large white teeth. He spoke with a pronounced Texas twang.

  She returned his smile and his firm handshake. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Alder. Thank you for seeing me on a Sunday. I know the station runs seven days a week, but I’m sure you don’t usually come in over the weekend.”

  “No problem, no problem at all. I understand your time constraints. You’ve got a job to do.” His long arm swept toward the leather chair facing his desk. “Please, have a seat.” He sat back down and lit a cigarette with a gold lighter.

  While she continued to admire the imposing office, he told her the history of the station. She’d done her homework; she knew quite a bit about the station already, but he cited facts about its ratings and advertising rates that further impressed her.

  “They stole me away from a top Houston station last year,” he said proudly, blowing out a puff of smoke, “and I’m doing my damnedest to make us the highest rated station in the Pacific Northwest.” She filled him in with details of her background and experience that weren’t listed on her resume. His cigarette had burned down to a stub when he offered to take her on a tour of the place.

  The station was the epitome of modern sophistication. The newsroom and sales offices were sharp and clean. Production rooms were outfitted with the latest equipment, and the music library was immense and well-organized. He led her past two small, empty control rooms, then stopped at the third door where a familiar red beacon flashed just outside.

  Desiree looked through the window beside the door into the glass-paneled room. A man sat at an enormous, state-of-the-art console, moving his hands animatedly as he spoke into the mike. His deep tones emanated from speakers overhead. She took an excited breath. The equipment was gorgeous. Nothing like the antiquated console she worked with at KICK. Her hands fairly itched to touch that board, to move those beautiful levers up and down.

  Then her gaze fell on the binder that lay open on the counter before the deejay. In dismay, she said: “Do you work from a script?”

  “We do,” Mr. Alder replied. “Only way to control what goes on the air.”

  Desiree bit her lip as disappointment surged through her. The stations where she’d worked in the past had always allowed her to speak extemporaneously—to ad lib and joke as she pleased. She’d never worked from a script, and wasn’t sure she would like it. It seemed to her that it would remove all the spontaneity and excitement from the job. Oh, well, she reminded herself, you can get used to anything.

  “So what do you think?” Ed asked after they’d returned to his office and taken their former seats.

  “Very nice,” Desiree said sincerely. “You run a beautiful operation here.”

  “That we do. Now, let’s get down to business. I’ll be honest with you. We’ve only ever had one female deejay at KXTR, and she didn’t work out too well. But Kyle Harrison’s spent a lot of advertising dollars at this station, so I listened to the tape you sent. It was pretty good.” She waited expectantly as he lit another cigarette, sat back in his chair, and took a drag. “You’ve got some experience. Your on-air personality is a real departure from what we’ve tried in the past. I can’t be sure how you’ll go over, and ratings, you know, are the name of the game. But I’m willing to take a chance on you. I’d like to offer you a position.”

  Desiree’s heart leapt. Was it going to be that easy?

  “I have to tell you up front, though,” he went on, “there’s no way we can match or even come close to the salary you’re earning now.” He named a figure that was almost insultingly low.

  “Mr. Alder,” she replied, frowning, “that’s not much more than I earned in my first position seven years ago.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s
the best we can do. I’ve heard rumors about a possible buyout at KICK. You might be out of a job soon. I’m offering you a position if you want it. And after talking to Kyle—if I’m reading my signals right—salary won’t really be the deciding factor here, will it?”

  Desiree felt her cheeks redden. Striving to remain polite, she asked, “Which shift would I have? Morning or afternoon?”

  He took a drag on his cigarette. “We can use a voice like yours on nights.”

  “Nights?” If he’d slapped her in the face, she couldn’t have been more stunned.

  “Two A.M. to 6 A.M. Five days a week.” His white teeth flashed again as he added magnanimously. “With weekends off. How’s that sound to you?”

  Desiree struggled to keep her voice calm. “Mr. Alder, I worked evenings and nights for seven years. I have the afternoon drive at KICK now. My show receives critical acclaim. When Arbitron comes out with the new ratings, we expect it to be one of the top shows in the area.”

  “Yes, little lady, but that’s Anaheim. People are different down there next to Hollywood.” He emphasized the three syllables of the word with mild derision. “Maybe it’s common to hear the voice of a lovely woman like yourself on the afternoon drive. But let’s be frank. You’ve got a bedroom voice, the kind men want to hear late at night.”

  Desiree felt the hot rush of color sweep from her cheeks to her forehead. A bedroom voice? She shot out of her chair, her heart pumping furiously. “Thank you for your offer,” she said calmly. “I’ll certainly consider it and let you know.” Then, before he could open his mouth to speak, she grabbed her purse and stalked from the room.

  ***

  “Will this rain ever let up?” Desiree peeled her damp, clinging dress over her head and threw it over the shower stall in Kyle’s bathroom. In her haste to leave the station, she’d forgotten her umbrella and had been drenched by the downpour.

  “It should be over in a couple of hours.” Kyle tossed her a fluffy towel and she vigorously dried her wet hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you to bring a raincoat this weekend.”

  “I should have thought of it myself.” She stripped off her wet underclothes, hung them up to dry, and ran the towel over her body. “I knew that it rains a lot in Seattle. I guess I was hoping for blue skies in summer.”

  “We do get blue skies—you had a glimpse of them yesterday—and they’re stunning. It’s the rain that makes everything so crisp, clean, and green. Don’t you get tired of all that sunshine back home?”

  “Never.”

  “It’s always the same in southern California. No change of seasons. No—”

  “I like it that way. It’s beautiful. Warm. And predictable.”

  He followed her into the bedroom, watching as she put on a clean, dry bra and underwear and a pair of jeans.

  His eyes glimmered. “Are you sure you want to get dressed?”

  “Yes. I’m cold.” She drew her long-sleeved, cotton top over her head.

  “I can think of another way we can get warm.”

  He stepped toward her, but she raised a hand to stop him. “Not now, Kyle.” At his look of disappointment, she added, “I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood. I just had the worst interview of my life.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed with a frown. “I know, and I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset. But it’s only one station. There are others. I can call—”

  “No. I’m not going through that kind of embarrassment again.” She crossed to the window, where beating rain blurred the glass in thick rivulets, obscuring the distant pines. “Ed Alder made it clear that the only reason he bothered to listen to my tape or meet with me was because of his relationship with you. I want a job on my own merit, not as payment for your faithful advertising.”

  He winced at that, but said: “I don’t blame you. I was just trying to help.”

  “I know. And I appreciate all the effort you went to on my behalf—I really do. But I won’t work for someone who doesn’t respect my talent. And I refuse to take another night shift.”

  He nodded slowly. “Try another station, then. This time, I’ll stay out of it. But Desiree—even if the only thing available is a night shift, it won’t last forever. In time, they’ll see what they’ve got, and—”

  “No. I might be stuck doing nights again for years. You can’t imagine what havoc that kind of schedule plays with your life. I won’t take a step backward. I paid my dues. I won’t do it again.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  She dropped down beside him on the bed. “Kyle, I love you. But—”

  “But what?”

  “I want to stay in California.”

  He blew out a deep, disappointed sigh. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.” She lay sideways on the bed and absently traced the line of stitching in the blue quilted comforter with her index finger. “When you first suggested I look for a job in Seattle, I agreed to give it a try. I almost had myself convinced it would work. But I was wrong. And it’s not just the rain, or the rude things Alder said about my voice. It’s everything that Southern California has to offer— commercials, TV, film. It’s all there. I have a following, a reputation in that market. I can’t leave just because the station might be sold. I’d be crazy to give up what I’ve worked so hard for.”

  He dropped down beside her, his jaw tense, his eyes riveted to hers. “You’d be crazy to give up what we have.”

  “I agree,” she returned softly. “I’m not talking about giving up our relationship.”

  “You’re not?”

  She smiled lovingly into his eyes, touched his cheek with her hand. “I want to marry you, Kyle. But I want to stay at KICK.”

  His forehead furrowed. “How do you propose we do that? Live in separate cities?”

  “Yes.”

  He cursed and looked away.

  “There’s no guarantee we can ever live in the same place for long, so there’s no reason why we have to start out that way.”

  He stood up and raked his hand through his hair. “What makes you so certain you’d have to move on, even if you did lose a job? Who says you couldn’t find work at another station in the same area?”

  “Because a deejay cast adrift is practically untouchable in the same market. Don’t ask me why. It’s the way the business works.”

  He cursed again, then strode across the room and braced his arms on the dresser top, his back to her. “So even if we get married, we can only look forward to seeing each other on weekends and vacations. Twice a month here, twice a month in Southern California—at best. Or maybe we can buy a house in the San Francisco Bay Area and meet half way.”

  “That could work.”

  He whipped around to look at her. “Is that what you want?”

  “You’re the one who suggested we meet on weekends. You’re the one who said a long-distance relationship could work. I’m just trying to make the best of it.”

  He shook his head bitterly. “That was before I tried it. I can see now why your marriage fell apart.”

  She stared at him. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying…you were right. I don’t think it can work. At least not for me. I’ve spent the past few weeks here in body, but not in spirit. And now my business is suffering.”

  She swallowed hard, knowing he was referring to the blown contract. Tears threatened and she fought hard to keep them at bay.

  “I love you, Desiree. But I don’t want to be torn, day after day, between you and my work. I want to be together, live in the same house, share the same bed. I want to spend mornings and evenings with you, make love to you every night, and wake up beside you every morning. I want to make a home together, raise children together. I want a full-time partner…for life.”

  She nodded, the sound of the rain beating against the windowpane matching the dull thudding of her heart. “I want those things, too,” she said quietly. “And I wish more than anything that we could make it happen. But I don’
t see how it’s possible for us.”

  Fourteen

  Desiree shivered beneath her old sweatshirt as she trudged barefoot across the damp sand, avoiding scattered masses of dark, stringy seaweed. An early morning fog hung low over the Santa Barbara coastline, casting a dull, white glow across the bay. She’d walked this beach every morning for eight days now, trying to make some sense out of her life and her reason for being. Sam, her boss, had insisted she take the time off.

  “You’ve been walking around here all week like a ghost,” he’d growled. “Something’s eating you up inside. One of these days you’re gonna break. And I like you too much to sit around and wait for that to happen.”

  “I’m fine,” Desiree had insisted. “Really, I—”

  “The hell you are. Look, I’m giving you next week off.” He’d waved away her protest with an impatient hand. “Go away somewhere. Relax. Don’t tell me where you’re going. And don’t come back until you’ve solved your problem, whatever it is. Got it?”

  Santa Barbara, the quiet, stately community just up the coast, seemed the ideal place to meditate in solitude. But now, on the Monday morning she was due back at work, she had yet to make peace with herself. She’d checked out of the hotel and knew she ought to get in her car and drive home. But she didn’t feel ready. Her heart still ached and tears came to her eyes every time she recalled the Sunday afternoon two weeks ago when she left Seattle.

  Kyle had begged her to spend the night, to wait and take her scheduled flight the next morning. But there had seemed no point in staying. Every extra moment she spent with him would only make the ultimate parting even harder to bear.

  “I’m sorry,” she’d said, throwing clothes into the open suitcase on Kyle’s bed.

  “Sorry? What good is it to be sorry? Stop packing, please.” Kyle had laid a restraining hand on her arm, but she’d shrugged it off. “Don’t walk out on me like this. Not now. It’s pouring outside.”