"Rick was listening at midnight? On your first shift?"
"Is that unusual?"
"Nah," Yvonne said, "probably not." But she didn't sound too convincing.
Rick leaned back in his chair, one eye on the Gavin trade magazine charts, as he and Yvonne went over which songs to add or drop from the play list next week. "Where's your shadow today?" he asked, keeping his tone casual. It was the first day in a week that Christie hadn't been at the station by early afternoon.
"I told her you and I were going over the music right after I got off the air," Yvonne said. "She said she'd be in later."
"Doesn't she ever sleep?" It sounded more impatient than he'd intended.
Rick wasn't sure what Christie's frequent visits were doing to her sleep schedule, but they weren't doing anything for his concentration. He kept getting distracted by the sound of female laughter from Yvonne's office across the hall. If Christie had been getting in the way, the problem would be easy to solve. But she was making herself useful, taking some of the weight off Yvonne's shoulders. She was willing to help with anything-filing, organizing tapes and CDs, or helping to pack up the van for a live remote broadcast. All further proof that Rick had made a good call when he hired her.
Yvonne was studying him. "What is it with you and her, anyway?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." His answer came out a little too quickly.
"Do you have some kind of problem with her?"
Rick raised an eyebrow. "Aside from the two of you gabbing across the hall like magpies, no. I don't have a problem with her. Why?"
The problem was, he found her just about impossible to ignore. Try as he might. When she wasn't in Yvonne's office, she was up and down the hall on one errand or another, usually singing some snatch of a song. Often, it was the one that was on the air; just as often, it could be some obscure country song or show tune. Not that she was too loud; in fact, the singing always got quieter as she went by his door, and always picked up again when she passed it. Well, no wonder. He'd been all but rude to her, and there was no good reason for it. He could shut his door, but that would be the final act of defeat. In five years as program director here, he'd made it a point to always keep it open, always be available.
"You've barely said two words to the girl since she got here," Yvonne said. "And why in the world were you monitoring her first air shift? You probably scared her half to death."
"The CD player jammed, and I bailed her out. She complained about that?" Rick caught himself raising his voice.
"No." Yvonne backed off. "She just told me about the problem with the player, and she said you called."
"I told her she was doing a good job. Did she tell you that?"
"She didn't really say anything." Yvonne was still backpedalling. "I was just surprised you'd be listening at that hour. Especially her first night. You know everybody's first shift is usually awful."
"I was helping."
Yvonne held her hands up in front of her in a gesture of defense. "I know, I know."
"So why am I a beast all of a sudden?" His voice had risen again.
She didn't bat an eye. "I don't know, Rick. Why are you a beast all of a sudden?"
A silence followed. What was happening to him? He never yelled at the jocks. If one of them needed to be chewed out, which was rare, his voice got deadly quiet. It was much more effective. He wasn't sure if Yvonne needed chewing out-she never had beforebut something had to be done, and quick. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I need some more sleep. Or more coffee."
"I'd lay off the caffeine if I were you," Yvonne said.
This had gone far enough. He and Yvonne had always had a good working relationship. They'd even done some friendly flirting. It was safe, because both of them knew it didn't mean anything. That had stopped cold the day Christie had heard him call Yvonne "gorgeous" over the phone. He felt as if he'd just been caught. Caught at nothing.
And now, Yvonne was starting to overstep her bounds. Time to get things back under control. "Are you finished?" he said.
"Well, there is one more thing."
Rick refused to cringe as he waited for the other shoe to drop.
"Well, she wants to learn everything. And she's sharp as a tack, Rick. I don't know if you-"
He circled his hand in the air, motioning for her to speed up. "Yes, I've noticed. Your point is-?"
"One of the things she's interested in is the music. She was here the other day when I was listening to some of the new discs-the songs you're thinking about adding to the play list-"
"Right."
"Well, she might be asking you about adding a segment on her show where she auditions a couple of new songs and gets the listeners' opinions."
Rick groaned and dropped his head against the back of his chair.
"Now, I'm not trying to tell you what to decide-"
"I should hope not."
"Just-be nice, Rick. Okay?"
He brought his head up, looked her in the eye and said, with perfect blandness, "I'm always nice."
Christie finally decided to approach Rick about the new music segment after he was off the air, since she knew he usually didn't go home right away. She'd been stalling, balking at another encounter in the office she still thought of as the lion's den. And at the thought of making a fool of herself. She hadn't been within six feet of him in the past two weeks, and even at that distance, he set her off balance. Enough was enough. She needed to prove to Rick, as well as herself, that she could hold a conversation with him without being intimidated, or succumbing to ridiculous little butterflies. She had to make sure he knew she had a brain in her head.
When she arrived at the station shortly after 7 P.M., the production room door was closed, with the light above it glowing bright red, indicating the microphone was in use. Cutting commercials. Of course.
She'd come to attack the beach at Normandy, and the Germans were out to lunch.
Christie headed to the break room to wait him out, rounded the corner, and walked straight into Rick. He was turning away from the coffee machine, mug in hand.
Before she knew what was happening, Rick caught her around the shoulders with his free arm and spun her neatly around in a half-circle. All she could see was Rick's crisp white shirt up against her face. All she could feel were his arm and his chest, both warm and firm, with Christie captured in the middle. Then she came to a stop, and Rick reached past her to set his sloshing coffee cup on the counter.
He pulled her back and steadied her with both hands. "Are you okay?"
His hands on her shoulders felt as warm and firm as the rest of him. Christie staggered back. He held her by the elbows, still steadying her.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Did I get you?"
One brief little spin couldn't account for her lightheadedness, or the sudden speed of her heart. Christie looked down at the splashed coffee, in a semicircle pattern on the floor around them. "How did you do that?"
"I'm not sure." He laughed. "Reflexes took over. Did I spill any on you?"
He studied her, his hands still on her shoulders, and for a second Christie could imagine he was searching for something other than spilled coffee. Then he let her go and stepped back.
She reached her arms up around herself, selfconsciously patting down her sweater. "I don't think so." She was still catching her breath. "I thought you were in the production room."
"Just on my way back to it. What are you doing here this time of night?"
This wasn't how she'd planned on approaching him. Their first real, face-to-face contact since she'd started, and it was a head-on collision. "I-" She couldn't think. "I wanted to run something by you. If you have time." She brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "And I thought I'd mop up some coffee."
"It's a deal." Rick moved toward the hallway, but his eyes were locked on hers. Was there a little unease on his side, too? "I've just got one commercial left to cut. Meet me in my office in ten minutes?"
Christie used the ten minutes to take car
e of the spill as best she could with paper towels, while she got her heart to slow down. Just shaken up, she told herself, although getting whirled around by Rick had been more enjoyable than she cared to think about. I need to get out more.
At least he seemed to be in a good mood. And his shirt had smelled good.
The break room floor's thin carpet bore plenty of evidence of past spills. When Christie was satisfied that the latest splatters weren't any worse than the others, she went to Rick's office. He'd beaten her there, and she wondered how long it would be before she could whip out a commercial in less than ten minutes.
Christie had a sense of deja vu as she sat down, once again, in "The Chair." She tried to forget that crashing into him had been like running into a warm wall.
A warm wall. It wasn't a bad description. Rick wasn't exactly cold, but he wasn't exactly approachable either. He leaned back again in the big chair as he listened to her. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but the watchful gray eyes told her otherwise. It was hard to read those eyes as she described what she had in mind: audition a couple of songs a night and take calls from the listeners. She would get their reactionsanything from a simple tally of which song they preferred, to more detailed comments, if they had any. It seemed, to her, like a good way to get a sense of what the listeners would like to hear on the station.
The idea was simple enough. Maybe he'd thought of it before. Maybe that was why he showed almost no expression until she finished.
"Christie-" he said when she was done. He fingered the handle of the omnipresent black coffee cup, and sighed. "Time for a lesson in Ugly Radio Reality."
She had the feeling he'd be able to mop her up like so much spilled coffee by the time this was over.
Rick tried not to notice the vulnerable look on her face, or the way her light green sweater brought out the burnished shades of her hair. He cleared his throat.
"Radio stations," he said, "are programmed a certain way. We actually have more freedom here than they do in Los Angeles. There, it's all done by consultants. The program director gets the play list-boom. Done. That's why those L.A. stations have that uniform sound."
"With the same few songs. It drives me nuts."
"But it works. The ugly truth is, people want to hear the familiar. They'll say they want more variety, but if they hear something they don't know, their first urge is to change the station. Which is exactly what we don't want them to do."
"You're saying new songs scare people away?" The idea visibly incensed her.
Rick nodded. "I don't like it any better than you do. But it's true."
"So that's why most of what we play is at least ten years old."
"You got it."
Christie moved forward slightly in her chair, her hair just brushing the shoulders of the soft-looking sweater. "But we do add new songs eventually."
"And ever so carefully."
"So what's wrong with me prescreening a couple? Wouldn't that help give you an idea which songs the listeners are more receptive to?"
Her eyes were full of purpose, and hope. Yvonne was right. Christie was sharp. But it was her determination that would take her far. Unfortunately, all that ambition had to be tempered with reality. And he had the dirty job of dishing it out.
"We have the trade magazines for that. And-"
"And?"
With another deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair, reluctantly meeting her eyes as he prepared to give her another dose of disillusionment. "Ugly Radio Truth Number Two. Have you noticed what kind of listeners call on your shift?"
Rick watched her wince, and knew he'd hit home. The overnight audience consisted largely of drunks, depressed people with no lives, and a lot more who were just plain-strange. "Overnight listeners are a different breed. They're not really... representative of our main audience."
"So what are overnights for?" She didn't quite hide the frustration in her voice, but it was a good try.
He looked at the pretty redhead perched on the chair in front of him. No wonder he'd avoided her. She was a fascinating mix of determination and vulnerability. He admired the determination, but the vulnerability killed him.
That wouldn't do. He collected his thoughts and dealt the final blow.
"Overnights? They're life support for the station," he answered flatly. "Radio is a twenty-four hour business, so we need a live body on the premises twentyfour hours a day. It's also a place where advertisers can buy commercial time at inexpensive rates. And, of course, if there's ever a fire or flood, we're the local Emergency Alert station."
"So I'm here in case of a disaster." Christie maintained eye contact, but her glassy look struck right at the center of Rick's conscience. He'd been way too blunt. There was a difference between being realistic and being sadistic.
Rick contemplated her steadily, and his voice softened. "No. It's also a place where talented newcomers can sharpen their craft. Make all those beginner's mistakes in front of a smaller audience. It's a starting point."
Christie thought she was beginning to read his expression, and it looked suspiciously like compassion. Just what she didn't want. She scraped up her remaining dignity and stood.
"Okay," she said. "Fair enough." She faked a smile. "It doesn't hurt to ask, right?"
Rick stood, too. Another display of gentlemanly manners. "No, it doesn't hurt to ask." He looked as if he were going to say something more. For no good reason, Christie flashed back to the way he'd steadied her after their crash in the break room. Yet for the most part, it seemed his mission in life was to cut her off at the knees.
He was talking again, something about not needing to set the world on fire her first month. She didn't want to hear it. All she wanted was to get out of there.
She didn't need anyone to feel sorry for her. She could do it herself, thank you very much. She hurried out to find a place where she could do just that, in private.
Rick returned to the production room to record the commercial he'd been too tongue-tied to finish after his collision with Christie. This time he did it in one take, but his mind was elsewhere.
He'd given his troublesome rookie her first disappointment. Well, at least she hadn't taken it out on him, although he could tell she'd been tempted. She'd put a good face on, the way professionals were supposed to do. And he'd given her the right answer, the same answer he would have given any other jock. He wasn't any harder on Christie than he was on anyone else.
Was he?
Hard to say. No one else had approached him about anything similar. Rob had his requests and dedications. Yvonne did a noon feature on Fridays, one hour that he let her have free rein with. Of course, Yvonne had more experience.
Okay, so Christie's idea, kept within limits, wouldn't have hurt anything. Major-market stations weren't as flexible as this one. He'd given her a realistic idea of what she could expect somewhere else.
He loaded the commercial into the computer and went back to his office for his jacket. Picking it up from the back of his chair, he looked up to see Christie framed in the doorway. If it was possible, she looked more crestfallen than she had a few minutes ago.
She said, "Do you have jumper cables?"
Rick almost laughed. He understood the look on Christie's face perfectly. It was such a clear-cut case of adding insult to injury.
"I tried Rob first," she added.
I'm sure you did, he thought. "Wouldn't have worked anyway. I don't think we have a song long enough for him to get clear over to the parking structure and jump a car." Rick picked up his keys. "It's okay, I've got cables. Let's go."
Christie led him out, and Rick noticed again how straight her posture was when her pride was wounded. "Thanks," the back of her head said to him. "I thought it was starting a little funny, but..." she trailed off.
"I've been there. Everyone has."
That did it for conversation until Rick drove them to Christie's car. Her Toyota had to be fifteen years old if it was a day. It was a bright shade of blue rarely seen
on the road these days. A typical car for a disc jockey, but not for a loan processor. Rick suddenly felt something akin to embarrassment over his car, a three-year-old sedan he'd bought just last year. Up until he'd financially recovered from the divorce, he'd driven a car much like Christie's. But she didn't know that.
He'd barely stopped before she scrambled out of his car. Rick caught up with her as she was starting to open the hood of her old Toyota. "I can get it," he said.
"The latch is tricky," she said, groping underneath the hood. When she pulled it up, he was surprised at what he saw. He didn't know much about cars, but the parts inside lacked the look of age and grime he'd expected. "How old is this car?"
"It's an '85. I bought it used when I was seventeen."
"Looks like you've taken pretty good care of it."
"It didn't look like this when I bought it. I paid for the car, but my dad did all the work."
There was something final-sounding about her use of the past tense. Rick looked at Christie, but her eyes were on the engine. The car would never be a classic, but it clearly meant something to her. He wanted to ask, but something stopped him. Instead, he got the cables and hooked up the cars. By the time the Toyota roared to life, the obvious had occurred to him.
Without disconnecting the jumper cables, he went to Christie's window on the driver's side. "We have a problem here," he said. "Where do you go now?"
"Why?" There was a hint of challenge in her tone. Rick could imagine what she was thinking: as far away from you as possible.
He rested his hand on the door. "We don't know if your battery's even charging. You could lose your headlights, maybe lose power altogether. There's no telling if you'd make it home or not." He sighed. Letting Christie out on the road, no matter how badly she wanted to go, just wasn't an option. And she was supposed to be on the air in a few hours. This was getting complicated. "You shouldn't be driving this car at all. Not until you get it checked."
He was glad the two cars were still attached by the cables. If Christie could have pulled away, he was sure she would have. It was a good thing she was reasonable enough not to drive off, cables and all. His exwife might have.
Love on the Air Page 4