Ten Years Later

by Lisa Marie Latino

  “I’ll leave with you. Dan, thank you again for the opportunity, I can’t wait to start on this weekend.”

  My right hand went instinctively over my heart. I thought I had just stopped breathing.

  “The pleasure is all mine. Get me your demo so I can give it to my label friends.”

  “Of course! I’ll bring some CDs with me on Saturday and leave them on your desk!”

  “Sounds good, bro!” Dan and Dante pounded fists, and Dante motioned for me to follow him out. I didn’t even bother to say goodbye to Dan.

  “So what do you start on Saturday?” I immediately grilled Dante as we exited Dan’s office.

  Dante broke out into a huge grin. “Dan offered me the weekend overnight shows!”

  The worst had happened. The same man who told me I had to “work my way up” and still dubs me as “inexperienced” after being with the station for five years had just offered Dante, a college dropout, an on-air job on the spot. “That’s, um, great!” I lied.

  “I’ll be working Saturday and Sunday morning, two to six,” Dante added.

  “You’re okay with giving up your weekends?” I asked innocently. Most people have been passed out for hours by the time 2 a.m. rolled around; for Dante, 2 a.m. was dinnertime.

  “I have a steady girl now, I’m not into going out and causing trouble like I used to.” He shrugged.

  “That’s right,” I muttered.

  “But the only reason I’m doing it is because the dude seems to like me, and as you said on Friday, I think he could help me with my music,” Dante continued.

  “I did say that,” I exhaled. “Of course, he can help.” We walked the rest of the way to the parking garage in silence. With each footstep, my animosity towards Dante grew to supersede what I felt for Dan or even Ruby. How could my best friend, who had been there every step of the way as I tried to break into this business, take this job without consulting with me first?

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” Dante asked as we buckled our seatbelts. “Will you come with me on Friday night to the studio? I know it’s so late, but I’m actually kind of nervous about my first show.”

  Every fiber of my being wanted to say no. My ego had been battered and bruised enough; how would my psyche be able to handle having a front row seat to my best friend living out my dream? “Of course, I’ll be there,” I sighed. Our 27-year history wouldn’t allow me to say otherwise.

  ■ ■ ■

  “What do you mean your boss gave Dante a job?” Katie barked into the phone later that night.

  “I don’t know, Katie! I’ve been working my ass off for YEARS and because Dante is a pretty singer he gets on-air over me? How would Dante like it if I got a record deal over HIM?” I was feverishly pacing around my room, talking much louder than I normally would this late at night. However, I couldn’t care less whether my mom, Andrea next door, or Dante’s family down the street could hear me. My rage for the situation had grown worse after I got home and reflected on the full scope of the day’s events.

  “You know what kills me the most about this whole thing?” I continued. “Dante didn’t have to ASSERT himself. He just got the job HANDED to him, despite not having EXPERIENCE! And, he didn’t even have the decency to ASK ME if it was okay to take it, or my thoughts on the whole things PERIOD…”

  “I’m just as shocked as you are,” Katie interjected.

  “…And can you believe he actually had the balls to ask me to come to the studio Friday because he was ‘nervous’? Like, what planet is he on?!”

  “You said ‘no’, right?”

  “No,” I wailed, plopping down on my bed. “How can I let him go in there blind?”

  “Carla, it’s not your job to groom him. Dan’s the boss. Let him schlep into the city and help his new guy work the graveyard shift. The station has done nothing but shit on you. Why do you keep trying to be its savior?”

  “You’re right,” I replied defiantly. “I’m not going.”

  “Well now you have to go, you made the commitment.”

  “Not if I conveniently get a stomach bug that day,” I said innocently.

  Katie sighed.

  “Katie, I want you to tell me the truth. Am I being over-dramatic about this whole thing?”

  “You are over-dramatic over everything,” Katie laughed. “Look, I can’t take sides here. I love you both very much and want nothing more than for you guys to succeed, but I do see where you are coming from. Maybe you can use Dante to your advantage.”

  “How?”

  “After he settles in, pitch the idea that you two do the show together. If Dan heard how well you two worked together on the tape, how could he turn that down?”

  “Dan dubbed me inexperienced, remember? How could he let such a “rookie” get on the air with Sir Ezra?” I snapped. “Besides, don’t you think that Dante should have brought that up in today’s meeting? That’s what a true friend would have done.”

  “At the end of the day, every man only looks out for himself; you know that.”

  “Don’t I ever,” I muttered bitterly.

  “Well, if you want you can go into business with me,” Katie laughed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m buying the Kettle Black!” She squealed. “I talked to my parents, and they are lending me the money to re-open it!”

  “What?!” I exclaimed, dizzy from the jarring change of subject.

  “Well, I was thinking about it this weekend. Why should I waste my time sending out resumes when I have a golden opportunity right in front of my face? I was born for this!”

  I couldn’t agree more. Owning a business was a huge step, and it was hard to imagine anyone our age running one successfully, but if anyone in the world was equipped to handle the pressures, it was Katie. She’d managed Kettle Black as though it was hers anyway, and she had the perfect mix of passion, bossiness, and organization a good entrepreneur needed to prosper.

  “I want to change the name too, but I’m not sure what to call it. Any ideas?”

  “Katie Cake?” I joked, referencing her old middle school nickname.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she mused. “It’s pretty damn catchy.”

  I chuckled. Only Katie would seriously consider naming her business after the mean moniker the bullies used to taunt her with back in middle school.

  “Katie Cake, Katie Cake, baker’s wo-man…get your cakes as fast as you can!” Katie giggled.

  I groaned. “Stick to making the cakes and please leave the slogans to the professionals.”

  11

  Day 56

  “I don’t understand why I have to waste my Friday night sitting here with you guys and Gwen’s parents as you plan the wedding,” I complained to my mother as I watched her set the dining room table.

  “Because I said so,” Mom weakly argued.

  “But this has nothing to do with me!”

  “This is going to be your new family too, Carla. We’ve only met the Carringtons a few times, but now we really have to get to know them. After Dad and I die, it’s only going to be you and your brother. I have to make sure you two stay close.”

  “That’s not going to happen for at least another 40 years… unfortunately!”

  Dad sooooo owes me for this, I thought as I watched Mom inspect the wine glasses. He asked if I could keep Mom company so he could finish cooking and Jimmy could get ready in peace. (“She’s in rare form today,” he warned.) It would probably be less frustrating babysitting a newborn chimpanzee.

  Mom took a step back to inspect the table, rubbing her chin in thought. “I don’t like these wine glasses,” she decided. “I’m going to go in the basement and dig out the ones Grandma Teresa bought us for our 20th wedding anniversary.”

  I shook my head as I watched her hurry out of the dining room. I sat down on one of the padded dining room chairs and picked up one of the “faulty glasses”. As I studied it in the light I wondered, Will I ever be lucky enough to have 20th wedding an
niversary gifts at my disposal?

  I wish I could say things have gotten better since that fateful Tuesday after Labor Day weekend. Unfortunately, I kept doing the “one step forward, two steps back” tango. For example, I made great headway at the gym, but then something set me off, and I slipped back into my old eating ways. Maybe I should have considered checking into a food addiction rehabilitation center and focused on just that facet of my reunion checklist; one goal achieved would be better than nothing. But how else could I deal with life’s hardships, other than washing down a plate of greasy mozzarella sticks with a bottle of wine? If you come up with a better remedy, please let me know, I’m all ears.

  The story of my love life has always read like a Greek tragedy, but lately, it’s gotten even grimmer. I’ve been getting rejected before I even had a chance to be rejected! A month ago, on LoveAtFirstSite.com, I was actually matched up with a seemingly normal, handsome Italian guy from Brooklyn, who worked for a major public relations firm. What sold me, besides his looks and resume, were his creative writing skills, as evident in the following open-ended guided communication question:

  Carla, 27, New Jersey: If Hollywood was to make a movie about your life, which movie star would play you and what would it be called?

  Luca, 30, Brooklyn: My movie would star James Marsden and Lea Michele, and break all kinds of box-office records. It would be called “Cupid’s Arrow,” the dating website that serves as the starting point to the movie’s plot.

  Tired of finding love in all the wrong places, our hero (we’ll call him “Lucas”) decides to sign up for the country’s number one online dating service, CupidsArrow.com. The young, handsome, successful (did I mention handsome?) man isn’t on the site for more than a week when he meets this beautiful, equally successful Italian girl named “Cara.” ;-)

  Cara and Lucas meet at this beautiful Italian restaurant on the Hudson River, and they immediately click; the conversation and merlot are flowing like water. However, the date is interrupted when she gets an urgent call to produce the American radio broadcast of the Japanese Baseball Championship Series, since the original producer gets deathly ill from some bad sushi, and must leave immediately. Cara rushes out of the restaurant, and Lucas is sad because he doesn’t know when he’ll see her again.

  With “Already Gone” by Kelly Clarkson playing in the background, Lucas dejectedly wanders the streets of New York City until a brilliant idea hits him: he will fly to Japan to find Cara!

  He takes a cab to JFK, plunks down $2,000 in cash for the plane ticket, and takes the next American Airlines flight out to Tokyo. He spends the entire 14-hour flight dreaming about having Cara in his arms again.

  Lucas lands the next afternoon, and despite the language barrier, finds his way to the stadium and talks his way up to the press box. Cara’s hazel eyes light up as she sees Rafael standing at the doorway, and they embrace to Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams.” The screen fades to black, and Cara and Lucas live happily ever after.

  In other words, Luca incorporated the few personal details I was willing to divulge on my profile to write an eloquent, thoughtful and sweet answer. This was a guy I hadn’t even met yet, and he took the time to do that! To put it into perspective, I was with Mark Falcone for two years and, on the off chance he actually remembered to get me a card on special occasions, he never wrote anything extra. Like, not even an “I love you.” He would sign the bottom with just plain old “Mark.”

  Needless to say, I was eager for “Lucas” and “Cara” to meet. Luca’s overactive imagination was on par with my own, and I was giddy with anticipation of where it would take us…

  The meeting never happened. After that message, he fell off the face of the World Wide Web. At first, I was concerned; leave it to me to find my soul mate and then have him get hit by a bus. But LoveAtFirstSite.com shows when people last log on, and he checked in almost daily. What was going on? Just yesterday, a month after our last digital meeting, I got this:

  Luca, 30, Brooklyn: Hey Carla! I hope you’ve had a good month. I’m sorry that I’ve been MIA, but I was dealing with end-of-relationship drama. Now that it seems to be over with, I hope we can continue talking. You seem like a great girl, and I’d like to get to know you, maybe take you to that Italian restaurant on the Hudson. But if not, I understand. Sincerely, Luca

  I zipped my mouse over to the “Close Connection” tab on the bottom and did just that. I didn’t think I’d be logging back on anytime soon, if ever.

  I could have picked every pathetic word of his apart, but why bother? It turned out that Luca and Mark had a lot in common after all. They were both using this website to help them escape their current situations. But instead of getting too down about Virtual Player Luca and what could have been, I thanked God for sparing me the inevitable heartbreak and wasted time.

  I was trying to keep positive by telling myself that things could always be worse; for example, I could have a really stressful and un-fulfilling job that I dreaded going to every day. Oh, wait a minute…

  Ruby Smith was officially the vilest, most disgusting human being on the planet. While her grasp of New York sports had gotten markedly better, her attitude had not. Tommy and I had adopted an approach that my grandmother called “fesso contento” which in Italian meant “to play stupid and happy,” even if you were angry or frustrated with the situation. Unfortunately, it looked as though we were going to have to play clowns for a long time. The ratings had actually gone up, thus proving Dan right in his hire. (Although I thought the ratings hike could mostly be contributed to the NFL season.)

  Dan was also right about another new WSPS talent. The week leading into Dante’s first show, he somehow coerced me into not only accompanying him to the studio for his debut but also helping him brush up on his sports knowledge. Each night, after I got home from work, we would pour over newspaper articles and online blogs while ESPN played in the background. When we weren’t together, I would randomly dial his cell pretending to be a caller:

  “Carla from New Jersey, you’re on W-S-P-S.”

  “Hi Dante, I’d like to talk to about the Mets. What are we going to do about Carlos Guzman? He’s dragging this team down! We have to get rid of him!”

  “Well Carla, unfortunately, he’s locked in until 2020 so he’s not going anywhere. What the Mets need to do is drop Guzman in the lineup and take the pressure off him...”

  On the eve of his premiere, we did a mock show in front of Stacy.

  “Yay!” She clapped like a hyper seal. “I have no clue what you guys are talking about, but you two sound so amazing together!”

  “Thanks!” we said in unison.

  “Carla, you should really do this for a living,” Stacy continued.

  “She’ll be on-air soon enough,” Dante reassured her.

  I grew uneasy. “Well, I sort of do. I’m just behind the scenes.”

  I was still twisted up over the fact that he got the job I’d been coveting since I was eight years old, but what kept me afloat was the show pitch I decided I was going to present to Dan after Dante settled in (if I ever grew the balls to do it). If anything, practicing with Dante fine-tuned our eventual show, I reasoned. And look, we already had our first fan in Stacy! (Who cares if she thought a field goal was when “they shoot the football into that tall basket thing. Two points!”)

  Before we knew it, the big night had arrived. Dante was a jittery mess our whole ride into the city.

  “What if I screw up?” he asked for the hundredth time.

  “It’s 2’oclock in the morning. Three people are going to be listening. You are putting unnecessary pressure on yourself.”

  “What if I blank out on a name, or I give the wrong statistic?”

  “Shake it off. Ruby does it once every five minutes, and she doesn’t seem to catch any flack for it.”

  “True.”

  It was a good thing I was there for Dante’s first show. The overnight producer was half-passed out among a sea of empty Chinese takeou
t food cartons; Dante would have been doomed. I helped him neatly lay out his notes, and gave him a quick tutorial on how to work the gadgets in the studio.

  I sat down next to him and impulsively grabbed his hand. “Okay, before you go on the air, just remember to let it all flow. Don’t depend on your notes too much. You know this shit; take command of it,”

  He squeezed my hand tighter. “You’re right, okay.” He continued to hold onto me as he put his headphones on.

  “We’re coming on in ten seconds,” the producer mouthed through the glass.

  The color rushed out of Dante’s face. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t, I’m right here,” I reassured him. I never saw Dante get so edgy before a presentation of any kind. I was picking up on his nervous energ y.

  The on-air light sparked on, and the producer signaled for him to go. Dante took a deep breath before speaking. I clenched my eyes shut.

  “Good morning folks, I’m Dante Ezra, and you’re listening to W-S-P-S New York, sports for the people, by the people...”

  As he went into his introduction, he slowly let go of my hand. He was going to be okay.

  It was a very bittersweet moment for me, for a variety of reasons. I was wistful, like a mother dropping off her child at school for the first time. I had imparted my wisdom to him, and all I could do was hope that my teachings would be able to guide him through. And while I was genuinely happy to see Dante slide into his new role as easily as he did, I felt hurt that I was never given this opportunity. What did Dante have that I didn’t?

  Dante only got better since his first show. I haven’t gone back with him during his shift, but I’ve listened to each one. His delivery is smooth; he’s charming and has a blast with callers. He’s a true natural.

  I started to realize what Dan saw in Dante and not in me. I couldn’t dazzle the listeners the way he did. I never dazzled anybody. I simply didn’t have that “x-factor” to be a media personality. Because of this realization, I had quietly decided against going to Dan with my idea that Dante and I co-host the weekend overnight shows together. Why tinker with radio gold?