It wasn’t bad. As soon as it finished, I welcomed the listeners to our version of a hootin’, hollerin’, good time. Just as I started talking, the door opened and Giselle and all the TV folks crowded into the booth, laughing and chatting up a storm. I flipped the switch, yanked off the cans, put the show on auto, and glared at them.
“What the heck? Didn’t y’all see the on-air sign? All that racket went out over the air! Where’s Herb?”
Herb stuck his head in. “Sorry, Marty. I forgot to tell ‘em to wait ‘til you was done. My bad. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine, just effing fine.” He might have said it, but his face betrayed him. He looked worried.
“You need to get all these people out of here! Now!” I said. Okay, I shouted.
Giselle shook her head and wagged one of her talons toward me. “Uh, oh! Somebody’s a Grumpy Gus this morning.” Her voice sounded like she was making a naughty school-girl porno. “Now, you all stay right where you are. You can ignore Little Miss Crabby Britches. She’s just jealous because I’m getting all of the attention.”
One of the cameramen, a neighbor of my folks, turned his ENG camera toward me. I knew I’d probably hear about it later from Mom, but I shot him the bird anyway. No way was I going to let them have even a second of useable footage of me on video.
Giselle slithered over to the lighting panel and began flipping switches and dialing knobs. “Give me a second and I’ll get the lighting set so you can get good shots. Of me, of course.” She turned on all of the lights, making it so bright I thought I was going to go blind.
“Brr. It’s freezing in here! Looky!” She giggled and pointed at her chest. “My headlights are glowing!” She ignored the sign Herb had posted next to it and began poking at the thermostat.
Herb, obviously torn between the room’s very costly equipment and Giselle’s “headlights”, managed to rip himself away from whatever fantasy he was engaged in, and went and adjusted the thermostat back to where it had been.
“Sorry, Giselle, gotta keep it low. This here equipment don’t like it when it gets too hot. You’ll have to wear you a sweater or a jacket like Marty.”
Giselle shot him a nasty look, but then must have remembered the cameras. She plastered on the creepy smile and snapped her fingers toward Alejandro, who was, once again, parked by the door, messing with his tablet.
“Alejandro, sweetie, be a dear and run out and buy me a portable heater. There is just no way I’m going to be able to tolerate this temperature. I’m just too darned tiny. I don’t have enough fat to keep me warm. You know, like Marty has.” She smirked at me.
Alejandro slipped out of the booth, presumably on his way to do his evil mistress’s bidding. I wondered if he was getting paid or if he got off on being bossed around.
While everyone was shuffling places, dodging each other’s cameras, Giselle managed to finally get to where she was supposed to be. “Now, this is my spot,” she giggled suggestively, brushing up against a camera guy, as she settled into the chair on the other side of the work station.
He ignored her, but a slight look of annoyance crossed his face as he lifted the camera off his shoulder and turned to his news reporter. “Got all we need?”
She thanked Giselle and Herb, and the two of them took off. The other crew, thankfully, had enough as well and left too.
I watched the countdown again, getting ready to talk. “Once again, folks, welcome to the “Giselle and Marty: Morning Drive Party” here on WRRR, where we’ve Hot Hits to Heat You Up! That was Ricky Ray Riley’s latest number one. Ricky and the boys are getting ready to head out on tour in the next few weeks. They’ll be down in Charlotte later in September, but if you want to catch them right here at home, now’s your first, last, and only chance. Keep listening and I’ll have a pair of backstage passes up for grabs sometime this hour. By the way, I’m excited to be back on the air. And, guess who’s finally joined us! It’s Giselle St. James, my new partner. Giselle and I are hosting the “Bomber’s Last Stand”, next Wednesday night. Y’all plan to come on out and see us, get autographs from the players, and party down with Ricky Ray.”
Still using that porn-queen, sex-kitten voice, Giselle gave another little giggle and said hello.
“I’m just so thrilled to be starring in my new show,” she said. “If y’all turn on the news right now, you’ll see me on the air. I know you’ve just been dying to see me! I do want to apologize in advance for Marty Sheffield. I’m hoping they didn’t get a shot of her. She is wearing the most atrocious outfit I’ve ever seen. In fact, I don’t think you’d even call what she’s wearing an outfit. More like rags. She evidently missed out on the fashion gene. But then, she’s such a flat-chested heifer, she’d never be able to fit into dress like mine, anyway.”
I knew better than to take her bait, but I couldn’t help myself. First of all, she’d “outed” me, using my real last name instead of O’Neal, my on-air name. Now, it wasn’t a secret, but that’s just not something pros do to one another. Pissed me off. I decided right then and there that if the station owners wanted conflict, they were dad gum good and well going to get it.
“Well, at least I’m still the same weight I was in high school. Did y’all know Giselle’s graduation present was a nose job and liposuction? By the way, Giselle, I’ve been meaning to ask. How much did that new boob job set you back? Did you have to pay by the cup size or the ounce?”
She glared poison daggers my way. “Why, Marty, where on earth did you ever hear such awful rumors? Unlike you, I’ve always been a little busty, but teeny everywhere else. I have the hardest time finding clothes that fit. In fact, I had this dress specially ordered. Coletta’s down on South Main will do that. If any of you out there listening need custom sizes like me, y’all should check out Coletta’s.”
When she said that I gasped and Herb made a sort of guttural noise, like a bull moose in heat. His face turned beet red and he made slashing motions across his throat. Coletta’s was not one of our advertisers. In fact, they were the biggest competitor of one of the station’s longest standing, most dependable sponsors. Mentioning Coletta’s was a massive no-no.
I hastily hit the kill switch and Herb went ballistic. “What the eff?” He screamed at Giselle. “Don’t you know better than that? Didn’t Marty give you the list of sponsors?” He screamed out a few more of his not-quite-cuss words.
“Yes, Herb,” I interrupted him in mid-stream. “I gave it to her last week when we had that meeting. Just like you told me to do. And I gave her the spiel, too. The one about how we are only supposed to talk about advertisers, eat at restaurants of advertisers, shop at the stores of advertisers. Evidently, she was too dense to understand where her paycheck is coming from.”
Giselle sniffled, got off of her stool, and minced over to Herb. She put her hand on his chest and stepped well into his personal space. Right into spit-firing range. “Oh, Herbie, I’m so sorry. I promise never, ever, ever to do it again. I could have sworn I asked Marty about Coletta’s and she assured me that they were a sponsor. I bet she wasn’t listening when I asked. Either that or she lied so I’d look bad. Please, please don’t be mad at little, old me.”
Herb fell for it. “Marty, you tryin’ to effing sabotage this show? Get it together, now.” He was as angry as I’d ever seen him. I thought he was going to have a heart-attack right then and there.
I wanted to yell back, to defend myself, but I also knew that the middle of the broadcast was not the time to do it. Plus, when Herb starts turning crimson, there’s no use in trying to even say a word to him, much less attempting to reason with him. I murmured something that sounded suspiciously like an apology and attempted to calm down before our next cut-in. It wasn’t easy.
I’d like to say things got better from there, but that would be a colossal lie. The TV folks may have left, but, to my sorrow, Giselle hadn’t. She hogged the air-time, constantly talked over me, made vapid and inane comments, and kept poking fun of my weight, my clothes, and my hair. Worst of
all, she dissed, over the air, two of the biggest selling artists in country music, calling George Teoria old and ugly, and Ricky Ray untalented, right after their respective songs wrapped up.
Although I happened to agree with her about Ricky Ray, I would never have admitted it in public. As far as DJ no-no’s go, putting down an artist was right below using curse words (FCC violation), saying negative things about a sponsor (or mentioning someone who wasn’t), or knocking the show off line, causing the station to have to make up ad spots.
Things finally got so bad that I thought Herb was going to fire her right then and there. I hoped so, anyway. But, sadly, he didn’t. Instead, he finally left the booth, mumbling about taking early retirement as he did so.
We had exactly fifty-seven minutes left of our train-wreck of a show when Alejandro finally returned from his mission. He’d already taken the heater out of its box and was trying to untangle the twist tie that held the cord in a neat bundle.
“What the devil took you so long?” Giselle hopped up, snatching the heater from his hands. “I’m fricking freezing to death.” She kept up her tirade while she worked on getting the tie off, calling him all sorts of unprintable names.
Alejandro shrugged, pulled out his tablet computer, and ignored her. I’d learned during one of her on-air monologues that he was indeed a hair stylist and make-up “artiste”, but he was also working as her personal assistant. Evidently, all “celebrities” needed one to manage their busy, incredibly important life-styles.
I’d thought about asking her at the time exactly how personal his assistance got, but I hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. Judging from the looks of the stuff he had pulled up on his screen at the moment, though, I’d say the answer was “not much.” Alejandro appeared to prefer other small, dark-haired, Latin men. Although, with the sunglasses still firmly in place, I wondered how he could even see the screen.
Giselle eventually managed to yank the cord free, plugged the heater into the outlet, and turned it on. And, almost as soon as she did, everything went dead. Lights, computer, air conditioning, and, of course, the show. Right in the middle of one of Ricky Ray’s biggest selling songs, too. Not that I minded that particular bit, of course. But don’t quote me on that. At least not on the air.
Herb and Tony, the station’s head engineer, raced past the booth, and dashed down the hall toward the computer room, the guts of the station. I followed and had the pleasure of hearing Herb use real cuss words for only the second time since I’d known him.
Georgina has spies all over the place and she fines him by spending big bucks from his personal checking account if he even says damn. Truthfully, I don’t think it’s the money that makes him normally stick to pretend curse words; deep down inside, Herb loves Georgina and I think he wants to please her. At least I tell myself that. It gives me hope.
To my knowledge, until Giselle took down the station, Herb hadn’t said an actual, bona fide cuss word since he found out Ricky Ray dumped me before the wedding. When he heard about that, he strutted right up to Ricky Ray, poked him in the chest, and called him one of the nastiest names you can call a man. And, then, he brought the left heel of his ruby-red, snakeskin cowboy boot right down on top of Ricky Ray’s Teva-clad right foot. Herb may be crude, gross, and a letch, but he’s also loyal.
Herb and Tony were using flashlights to study the massive computer system which ran the station. It was eerily quiet and dark in the building with the power out.
“What the eff?” Herb asked Tony. “Breaker?”
Tony ignored him and poked around for a bit. Giselle’s space heater had caused the entire system to go down. And, it didn’t look good. The back-up system and the back-up to the back-up system had also failed. He called in extra help and got busy trying to get the station back on the air. Herb paced back and forth in the hallway, sweating up a storm and using even more real cuss words. It was a stunning display and I could barely tear myself away.
After about an hour, the heat inside the building was becoming nearly unbearable. Herb told Giselle, who had spent the entire time whining and fussing at Alejandro and complaining about her big debut getting ruined, to just go ahead and leave.
“What about me?” I asked. “You want me to stick around? I’m supposed to stay until noon and cut some promos and spots.”
Herb scratched himself under his left arm. He’d long ago ditched his jacket and the purple shirt, and was wearing one of those tacky sleeveless undershirts. It was ringing wet and clung to him. A graying matt of chest hair tufted out of the top and when he raised his arm to scratch, I saw a chunk of his gut. It was not a pleasant sight by any means.
“Naw. You go on and leave, too. Ain’t no effing use in you sitting here doin’ nothing.”
I wasn’t about to complain, so I retrieved my back pack and dug around for my phone so I could call Harry and let him know I was getting off earlier than expected.
I couldn’t help but get all fluttery inside when he answered. He seemed quite happy to hear from me. He told me he was already out and about, and would be there to pick me up in about thirty minutes or so. I decided to sit outside while I waited and was almost out the back door when Herb caught me again.
“Listen,” he said. “You know that show effing sucked, Marty. You got to do better, you want to keep your job. I thought you was fixin’ to make sure everything went smooth.”
I closed my eyes and massaged my temples. “Herb, I tried. I really, really tried. She is just totally incompetent. You’ve got to talk to her. Tell her we’re partners and she can’t hog all the air time.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me close. His nose was about three inches from mine. I attempted in vain to back up, but he just gripped tighter. His hand was sweaty and his breath smelled worse than Delbert’s nastiest smelling cat food. “I don’t think you effing understand, Marty. Corporate don’t give a crap ‘bout none of that. They ain’t gonna blame Giselle. Case you ain’t realized it, she’s got something goin’ with that new guy they sent down to replace Zagle. This thing keeps blowin’ up, they’re gonna blame me and you. I’ll talk to her, but you best figure out a way to make sure when y’all are on air all that crap as like happened today don’t happen again. Maybe you can make nice with her?”
I’d never seen Herb like this. Normally he was crude and crass and grinning and coming up with tacky schemes. When he gave me that speech, he sounded scared and serious. And, he’d let slip another actual cuss word. Things really were grim.
I managed to free myself and contemplated, briefly, hugging him. Then, I came to my senses. “Okay, Herb. I’ll make nice, if you think that’ll help.”
The very idea of doing so made me want to stick needles in my eyes, but I also really, really wanted to keep my job.
Just then, Harry cruised into the parking lot on his big Harley, stopping in front of the glass door.
“See you tomorrow,” I told Herb, barely glancing back at him as I headed out. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Just as I said it, I got stung again, this time below my other eye. And, once more, I could have sworn the little bugger was wearing a jester’s hat. You’d have thought I’d have just gone on over and checked myself into the psych ward right then and there, but you’d have thought wrong. I probably should have, of course. Because, as crazy as my day had been so far, it was about to get a whole heck of a lot crazier.
6
I’ll admit that the best part about having Harry pick me up at the station on that rocking motorcycle was seeing Giselle’s face after I planted a big old kiss on those soft, sexy lips of his. I knew she was watching, so I might have been a dash more passionate than I would have ordinarily been with a guy I’d known less than twenty-four hours. But, when I saw her out by her car yelling at Alejandro when I came out of the building, I just couldn’t help myself. I know. I’ve already mentioned that when it comes to Giselle, I’m immature. So, sue me.
It didn’t hurt that Harry l
ooked hotter than anybody has a right too, either. He wore mesh motorcycle over pants and a sparkling white t-shirt that showed off that amazing physique of his. Then, when he pulled off his helmet, there was that hair and that smile and those gorgeous eyes. When I finished kissing him, I snuck a peek at Giselle, who’d stopped her fussing and was staring at us all googly-eyed.
She swished over, tugging at the top of her dress so it showed maximum cleavage.
“Hi,” she purred, holding out her hand to Harry, “I’m Giselle. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
Harry swiped his hand through his hair and flashed a chilly smile. It was fabulous and made me want to kiss him again.
“Harry. Nice to finally meet you, Giselle. I’ve heard about you from Kyle.”
Giselle, being the brainless wonder that she is, totally missed his sarcasm. She stepped closer to Harry, brushing her boobs against his arm. “I’ll bet you did. I hate that he had to leave town when he did. We were really just getting to know each other. Maybe you and I should get together sometime and you can catch me up on how Kyle’s doing.”
Harry put his hand on her shoulder, and gave her a little push backward. “Well, that’s a great idea, Giselle, but I’m only here for a short time and I really doubt I’m going to have much time to spare between practice, games, and spending my time with Marty, here.”
He stepped toward me and reached around my waist, pulling me tight against his side.
Okay, so looking back, that might have been the exact moment when I fell head-over-heels for Harry. Seriously, though, who would blame me?
I looked up at him, trying for “adoringly”, although I’m not sure if it came across quite like I intended.
“Oh yeah, I’m going to be keeping Harry really busy while he’s in town.” I gave Giselle what I hoped was a creepy smile like the ones she’d be laying on me all morning. “Sorry, Giselle.”
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