Ten Years Later

by Lisa Marie Latino

  She noticed me slowly walking towards her desk. “Why are you walking funny?” She asked. “Wild night last night?”

  “I wish!” I awkwardly chuckle through my abdominal pain. “I went back to the gym this morning and got a trainer who completely kicked my ass.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s his name? Bruce the Bodybuilder?”

  I smirked. “No.”

  “Zeus?”

  I laughed. “I don’t know what’s worse, that or his actual name--Xander.”

  “Xander to the rescue! Zapping vast amounts of fat in a single bound!” Laney said in a booming Superman-narrator-like voice, extending her arm to “zap” me, and then letting out her signature cackle. “Not that you have vast amounts of fat, of course.”

  “Oh, but I do.” I grimaced, thinking back to the number I tipped the scale at.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re really crazy for going to the gym so early and spending money on a trainer. You don’t need to. Go on, have a hamburger. Or a burrito.”

  “Not anytime soon. But I’ll see you later,” I said, heading towards the newsroom.

  “Wait, before you go, I have some gossip, hee-hee-hee,” she cackled mischievously.

  “Ooo, you know I love that,” I replied, rubbing my hands together earnestly. “What do you have for me?”

  “I heard that Dan wants a female presence on the station and that he is actively searching for someone,” Laney whispered.

  I frowned. “Why is he looking outside the station when I’m right here?”

  “Well I know that; you know that, but does HE know that?” Laney asked.

  “What do you mean? Of course, he knows. He knew what I wanted from Day One.”

  “Uh yeah, but Carla, have you mentioned anything to him since Day One? It’s like day a million-and-one by now.”

  I bit my lip. “No.”

  “So maybe he thinks that you are happy being a little eager-beaver producer. Cut a new demo tape. Give it to him,” she insisted.

  “Yeah, but he hears me go on-air with Tommy sometimes. If he thought I had legitimate talent, wouldn’t he reach out on his own?”

  “Dan is in his own world; you know that. You need to be direct with these people. Do the tape!”

  “I will,” I said defiantly.

  “Good, now go. And skip the sweets that are in the newsroom, or else Xander will give you a spanking!” Laney laughed.

  ■ ■ ■

  Before I could even give thought to my demo tape, I had a show to produce. I was on my computer in the control room typing out notes when my host, Thomas Jay, approached me.

  “Who do we have on the show today, Dags?” Tommy asked in his endearing New York accent, calling me by his nickname for me. Tommy is my best guy friend at the station, but also my sort-of boss. I produced his show in the overnight, and we’ve been a team ever since.

  “We have David Wright in his usual spot at 5:05, we have author Tim Hicks at 3:05 to talk about his new Scandalous Tiger Woods book, and we have Tom Coughlin coming in-studio in the 2 p.m. hour to talk about his charity,” I said, handing him a rundown of today’s show.

  “The Coughlin spot is nice. Good job,” Tommy said.

  “Thanks!” I smiled, going back to typing out my notes. It was too bad Tommy was married and old enough to be my father, because if he had been single and my age, I would have totally dated him (and if my name was Andrea, I probably would have been doing so already). He was just so nice, and we had a great connection. My single status infuriated him more than it did me: “Boys your age don’t know what a good woman is. If I were thirty years younger, watch out baby!”

  “So C-D, did you hear Dan wants to give me a partner?”

  I shot right up, stopped typing and swirled my chair around to give him my undivided attention. “No, I didn’t,” I said, genuinely surprised. How the hell had Laney not caught wind of THAT one? The afternoon-drive time slot on WSPS was the equivalent to playing center field for the New York Yankees; the opportunity didn’t go to just anybody. That slot scored the biggest ratings in all of New York.

  “I hear he wants to give me a female,” Tommy replied.

  I gasped. Again, how did Laney miss this important piece to the story? “They wouldn’t pair you with someone from within?”

  “I guess not...” His voice trailed off.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I don’t know, the closest thing to a female co-host I’ve had has been with you. Maybe I should put your name into the mix.”

  “Really?” I said, touching my heart.

  “Sure. Why not? I’ll talk to Dan for you.”

  My imagination started running wild. How could Dan possibly say no to hiring me for this position? Tommy and I had great chemistry. Our listeners knew we’d been a team for years, I had more than proven myself AND he was willing to go to bat for me. All these facts, along with a killer demo tape, surely would get me my dream job.

  A few minutes later, we were on the air. I was smiling the entire time. What a day this had been for Project Reunion. I got a trainer, a diet plan, and a very tangible job prospect. The pieces were starting to fall into place already!

  During our first commercial break, I whipped out my iPhone. This demo tape had to be cut tonight, and there was only one person I wanted to record it with.

  5

  As I drove through Honey Crest to meet up with Dante later that night, I thought about the soft spot I held for the town. (Don’t get me wrong, the second I am able to afford moving out I’d be long gone, but as far as hometowns go, Honey Crest was legit.) Honey Crest was an upper-middle-class New Jersey suburb, located about an hour outside of New York City. It had a population of 8,000 but the feel of a town much smaller. You couldn’t go to the bathroom without someone knowing. My favorite part of Honey Crest was its quaint center that had lots of cool shops and unique restaurants. My most beloved spot was the Kettle Black Café, because of its laid-back atmosphere, sinful desserts and amazing discounts (Katie was their pastry chef). Dante’s apartment happened to sit directly upstairs from my sugar haven.

  As I stepped out of the car, I caught a whiff of the newly baked goodies coming out of Katie’s kitchen. I closed my eyes for a second and imagined stuffing my face with a piece of Katie’s white chocolate raspberry cake. Immediately my stomach started to rumble; all I’d had to eat that day were egg whites, salad and grilled chicken. It was going to take every ounce of willpower I had (which wasn’t much) to not walk in there and binge myself into a sugar coma. I walked past the display window, frowning at the sweets I had to, unfortunately, give up, and ran up the narrow staircase to Dante’s place. I knocked lightly on the door. Nothing. I waited a few seconds and knocked again, harder. Still nothing, but did I hear the faint sounds of someone… moaning?

  I banged on the door violently. “Dante, are you all right?” A few seconds ticked by.

  “Just a second Carla; everything’s fine!” He finally answered.

  I sighed. I was tired, hungry and irritable. I wanted to get this over with.

  The door flung open. “Hi!” A shirtless Dante exclaimed, a little too happily.

  “Why the hell are you so cheer- ohhhh.” My answer appeared in the form of a disheveled Stacy, our waitress from yesterday, sheepishly exiting Dante’s apartment.

  “Carla, you remember Stacy, right?” Dante grimaced, trying to make the best out of the uncomfortable situation.

  “Yes, I do,” I replied with a tight smile.

  “Nice seeing you again,” Stacy said, her face flushed with embarrassment.

  I walked in the doorway past her and sat in a folding chair in front of the makeshift audio studio Dante used for song recording. I folded my hands impatiently as he bid his latest conquest farewell.

  “Bye, I had a really good time!” I heard her say excitedly. I rolled my eyes. It was not like I cared about what Dante did, but it was yet another reminder about what I was not doing.

  “Have a good night,”
Dante waved as he pushed the door closed. “Sorry about that,” he chuckled nervously.

  “No need to apologize—or lie. Next time, though, could you not double book your friends and fuck buddies?”

  “She came over at three, and we lost track of time,” Dante quickly explained.

  “It’s 7:30!”

  “Well, you know how it is...”

  “No, I don’t,” I bitterly replied. “Let’s just get this taping over with. I have to do my cardio in the morning before work and gotta go to bed.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The awkward run-in with Stacy was quickly forgotten about, and we put together a beautiful tape. I sounded crystal clear, I hit on all my points, and had a great rapport with my “co-host.”

  “I’ll have you as a guest on my show!” I joked as he walked me to my car.

  “Oh yeah? As what, a former high school star-turned-nothing?” Dante replied.

  I was shocked by his response. It was not like Dante to admit any kind of anguish. “You’re not a nothing,” I insisted.

  “Well, I’m not a something either.”

  His words tugged at my heart. “You and me both.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Carla. You are well on your way to a cool-ass job. But me? I’ve got nothing going on.”

  “Well, speaking of demos, are you still sending yours out to record labels?”

  “It’s an impossible process,” he complained. “I have all these meetings where I’m promised the world and nothing ever comes of it.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his piercing eyes filled with worry.

  “I don’t get it. You have the voice of an angel, and you’re an incredible performer. How could these record execs not see that?” I ranted.

  “I guess for the same reasons why, five years later, your boss still won’t give you a shot on air, yet you run circles around every single host they have on now,” Dante reasoned.

  “So in other words, the entertainment industry is run by a bunch of morons?”

  “Exactly.”

  I drew Dante in for a hug, and he held on tighter than usual. “We’ll find our way,” I whispered, half-believing my words.

  “I hope so.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The next day, without hesitation, I marched into Dan’s office and handed him the CD.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s my demo tape,” I proclaimed.

  If he had a semblance of interest, he didn’t show it. “Okay, I’ll take a listen and offer my advice.”

  I frowned. Offer my advice? “Okay, thanks,” I replied hastily and made a beeline out of there.

  ■ ■ ■

  “Why didn’t you tell him the tape was for the job and not for him to critique?” Katie demanded later that night as we sat in the Kettle Black way after closing.

  “Because he STILL obviously doesn’t see me as anything but a producer,” I said in between bites of her seven-layer fudge cake. It was only Day 2, and my boss’ comment had spiraled me out of control and off my diet.

  “Well, it’s your own fault,” Katie snapped. “Not only is he in the dark about your wanting the job with Tommy, but now your boss thinks you are sending your resume out to other stations!”

  I slammed my fork down. “Shit, I didn’t even think of that! I’m a disaster,” I said, burying my head in my hands.

  “You are not a disaster,” Katie said, rubbing her hand on my back for support. “You’re just not assertive enough.”

  “Yes, I am!”

  “Don’t get defensive with me,” Katie responded. “Look at today!”

  I groaned. “I know,” I said, putting my head back down.

  “How badly do you want the job?” Katie asked.

  “You don’t know the answer to that?” I responded, jolting my head up.

  “No, I obviously don’t, because anyone who wants a job as badly as you apparently want this one would have said something to set the record straight,” Katie reasoned.

  “So, in other words, get my ass in his office tomorrow?” I asked meekly.

  “Uh, YEAH,” Katie said sarcastically.

  “I think I’m going to need another piece of cake,” I said, handing her my empty plate.

  Katie smirked, and dutifully cut us each a slice.

  ■ ■ ■

  The next day, sick to my stomach with nerves, I tiptoed back into Dan’s office. “Hi Dan,” I stammered, not nearly as confidently as I had the day before.

  “Hi, Carla. What’s up?” he asked pleasantly.

  “I just need to talk to you about something real fast,” I replied.

  “Yes?”

  “Well,” I began. “The tape I gave to you yesterday wasn’t for you to critique. Not that I wouldn’t want your advice, I mean, you’re ‘The Man,’ ” I quickly gushed.

  “Okay...” Dan replied slowly.

  “And I’m not looking for other jobs, I’m very happy here at W-S-P-S.”

  “Okay...” Dan replied even slower.

  “So what I’m trying to say is, the purpose of the tape was to be under consideration for The Thomas Jay Show co-host position.”

  “Okay,” Dan simply replied.

  “Okay,” I repeated.

  We stared at each other in uneasy silence.

  “And?” I blurted out without thinking.

  Dan smiled. “I’m still mulling over what to do, and a decision will be announced soon.”

  “Oh, well, that’s great!” I smiled brightly. “I’m glad that we are on the same page. Thank you!”

  Well, he hadn’t flat-out told me no. Could it be that he was juggling the producer lineup so I could seamlessly assume the co-host’s position? Probably not, but as Xander said, “act as if.”

  I confidently walked out of Dan’s office “as if” the job was in the bag.

  ■ ■ ■

  “You made me go in there for nothing!” I accusingly said to Katie later that night, as we again sat at the Kettle Black after closing. Instead of cake, though, I was snacking on celery sticks. Now that my psyche was stabilized, the reunion renovation was back on the wagon.

  “Well, how was I supposed to know?” she said. “You came in like a raging lunatic last night, and I just offered my advice. And at least you know the truth now.”

  “How? He was looking at me as if I rode the short bus into work!”

  “Well, for someone who has the gift of gab, I thought you picked a bad time to finally shut up,” Katie joked.

  “Ha-ha.” I rose from my chair. “Well, it’s past my bedtime, and I have a gym date with Xander tomorrow.”

  Katie disapprovingly shook her head as she walked me to the door. “Yea, I’ll be up earlier than usual too, I have a doctor’s appointment,” Katie quipped.

  “What for?”

  “Just a routine checkup,” Katie shrugged. “I still can’t believe you are working out with Andrea’s trainer,” she added.

  “I actually can’t believe it either,” I agreed. “And Andrea was definitely not happy when I agreed to let him train me.”

  “That’s Andrea, though. She’s probably scared you’re going to wind up with a better body than hers, pregnancy notwithstanding.”

  “True…” I trailed off. I sensed something weird with Andrea and Xander’s relationship since Day One, but I didn’t want to start drama predicated on a gut feeling.

  “Hey,” Katie said, peering out the window. “Isn’t that the girl who waited on us from Downtown?

  I saw Stacy skipping away from the building, in the same tousled state as a couple days before.

  “Yea,” I sighed as we watched her throw her head back in post-orgasmic glee. “I saw her on Monday when I went by Dante’s to cut the demo. That’s his new plaything.”

  “Eh, whatever. She’ll be gone in a week,” Katie laughed.

  6

  Day 8

  I spent my day off on the Fourth of July help
ing my mother get ready for our big Independence Day barbecue-cum-surprise engagement party extravaganza. My mom had invited about 60 people, so there was a lot to be done. No one but our immediate family (and my best friends) knew what our party guests would ultimately be celebrating later this evening.

  Mom was going all out, as she normally did for events. Clusters of red, white, and blue star helium balloons flew lazily above each peak in our wrought iron fence. Under a pitched white tent were rows of tables decorated in American flag tablecloths, and each table was topped with a red, white, and blue rose center piece. Floating in our key-shaped, in-ground pool were patriotic-themed lily pads, with not-yet-lit candles placed in their centers. She had two full-service bars set up on our property and hired a catering service to take care of the cooking, bartending, and clean-up. We were even having a DJ! Most weddings weren’t even this nice. Luckily, the weather cooperated, for it was a picturesque summer day.

  After we had finished decorating, Mom handed me a last-minute grocery list about a mile long. Chuckling to myself over how over-the-top she was making this evening, I walked to my car. But something stopped me—the sight of Jimmy sitting in his running car, holding the ring box over the top of the steering wheel while puffing on a cigarette, a nervousness Mother Superior had no clue about. Uh-oh. Problems in paradise?

  I opened the front passenger door. He was in such a deep trance, he didn’t even flinch.

  “You know I hate smoking,” I choked as I climbed into the black Range Rover.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, flicking the cancer stick out the window.

  “What’s wrong, Junior?” I asked while opening the window.

  “I’m nervous about tonight,” he said, clearly shaken.

  “Why? It’s only the single-most important question you’ll ever ask in your lifetime,” I joked.

  “How do I ask?” he said, ignoring me.

  I was stumped. Very rarely was I rendered speechless, but positive matters of the heart had a funny way of doing that to me, probably because I didn’t have much experience in that field. (If you needed someone to deliver a 10-hour presentation on “The Art of the Heartbreak” however, I was your girl.) “I have no idea,” I answered. “I have never asked someone to marry me before.”