Christie waved it away. "I'm sorry. I just wondered..."
"Rick and me?" Yvonne shook her head. "No. Not ever. We kid around sometimes, but that's because it's just a joke. Rick's the most professional guy I've ever worked with. It's kind of like on Star Trek. Rick is Captain Kirk, and the station is his Starship Enterprise."
"So what does that make me? Space bimbo of the week?"
Yvonne laughed. "Oh, Christie. I love you."
"Great," Christie said. "Under company policy, you I can date."
This time they both laughed.
"Thanks for listening, Yvonne. I'm sorry I was such a-"
"Forget it. You've been dragging this thing around for weeks."
"So, what if you were in my shoes? What would you do?"
Yvonne squinted pensively. "Either let the guy drag me off by my hair..."
Christie shook her head. Rick wasn't volunteering to do that, anyway.
"Then I'd find someone else to fall for, fast. Or I'd start sending demo tapes to other stations."
That night, Christie loaded a cassette into the air check machine in the studio. She'd improved a lot in the last couple of months, and if she was going to find another job, this demo tape had better be good.
In the days that followed, Christie sent out tapes and became a master at avoiding Rick around the station. There was no point in risking any further contact. She wasn't sure what she was more afraid of: another blowup, or of how she'd react if he were nice to her. Those Christmas kisses-and everything leading up to them-had some long-term repercussions. Too many things carried some reminder of him. Everything from Chinese food to her car, which now started with a roar, thanks to the alternator the garage had replaced at a suspiciously low price.
The nights alone in the studio were the worst. All her life, music had pulled at her emotions. Now it hit her so hard she felt like she was missing a layer of skin. The sad love songs were too close to home, while the happy ones mocked her with images of lovers climbing the skies as high as the highest star. At least "Key Largo" was off the play list, after an inordinately long stay. It had shown up in the rotation of songs shortly after that conversation at Rick's apartment, when she'd told him about her early obsession with Bogie and Bacall. Christie had finally asked Yvonne to take it off.
Then there were the commercials. Rick was on far too many of them for Christie's taste. One minute, he was coaxing her out for an evening of fine dining; a few minutes later, he was promising her the deal of a lifetime on a used car. The fact that he was just as convincing on either one should have told her something, she thought. The eternal chameleon, he could change color as the situation warranted.
At first, Christie sent resumes and tapes to radio stations on the West Coast, but she quickly broadened her search. She was prepared to move to Podunk, Iowa if she had to.
What she wasn't prepared for, on the day of her first live appearance, was to arrive at the station and find Rick already loading the van.
ccHey, I'm supposed to be doing that." She approached the van, wary of this latest new wrinkle.
"Just giving you a head start." Rick lifted a crate full of extension cords. "Don't worry, I'll be letting you do all the setup. So the earlier we get there, the better."
Her worst suspicions were confirmed. "You're coming along?"
"Who else?" Rick smiled. Either he had amnesia, or he was a gifted actor. "I don't see any reason to bring another full-timer in on a Sunday afternoon. Remember, program directors have no lives." He lifted a speaker and loaded it in. The other one, she noticed, was already inside. His memory was working, all right.
Like Christie, Rick was wearing a station staff shirt, but his definitely fit him better, the sleeves hugging his upper arms as he loaded in another crate. Christie's shirt had just come in last week, silk-screened with her name and the blue and gold KYOR logo. It had been a minor thrill to put it on for the first time, but the manufacturer definitely had a different idea of "small" than she did. The sleeves hung down to her elbows, and the shirt itself was so long it nearly covered her bottom. She'd done her best to tailor it by tucking it in and cuffing the sleeves.
"You don't have to do this," she said. "Yvonne took me along on her broadcast at the clothing outlet last week. She walked me through the whole thing." In spite of her arguments, Christie knew that having backup on her first live appearance made sense. She also knew that having Rick there would make her a nervous wreck.
"You can't be too safe," he said, still unperturbed. "Believe me. There are a lot of little things that can go wrong. I've seen power go out on the equipment, microphones die... and don't tell her I told you, but on Yvonne's first remote, she locked herself out of the van."
"Okay," she said. As if she'd ever had any choice.
Christie got busy helping him load, determined to carry her own weight, literally and figuratively. When all the equipment was inside, she closed the back of the van and took the keys. For the first time, Rick showed what might have been faint discomfort. Apparently, it went against his male instincts to let her drive. Well, too bad.
But he still held the driver's door open for her, and she sighed inwardly. Male instincts indeed.
She'd been worried about what to say during the ten-minute ride in the van, but Rick took care of that with a running commentary of what to expect when she got there. Christie did her best to concentrate, but it wasn't easy. The front of the van was roomy, but Rick seemed to fill it completely with his long legs, his voice, and his presence.
"You should have a pretty big crowd," he said. "They're having dollar burgers the first hour. And when that dies down, I got hold of a few pairs of movie passes for giveaways."
She glanced at him sideways. "Thanks." Movie passes were always a good draw. Plus, a hamburger restaurant at lunchtime was a natural. And with dollar burgers...
She'd look incredibly stupid if she managed to mess it up.
When he ran out of information just before they reached the remote, Rick shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. He'd bowed to the situation and let her drive, but it felt wrong. He was the man; he should drive. But she was the disc jockey; it was her remote. He sneaked another sidelong glance at Christie in her new, oversized station shirt. With some tucking, she'd managed to keep it from looking like a tent, but its bulky shape just emphasized how small and slender she was. Rick sighed inwardly. The baggy shirt was further proof that she could distract him no matter what she wore. Just one more reason he would have preferred to drive; it would have forced him to keep his eyes on the road. He looked through the windshield and tried to occupy his mind by thinking of natural disasters. Income tax forms. Boy Scout knots.
As long as this situation went on, that was what he had to do.
"... Now, mount the speakers in the stands, carefully ... Rick narrowed his eyes at her as they set up the equipment. It was the first time either of them had referred, directly or indirectly, to the speaker incident.
He seemed to be playing it for laughs. Christie took a chance. "Absolutely," she agreed. "Wouldn't want to hurt the speakers." She threw in a smile to show she was kidding, too.
Christie attached the first speaker to its mount on the metal pole. Rick held the stand steady, but otherwise let her do the work. She made sure it was secure before she let go.
When it held, she asked, "How's the foot?"
"Fine. Just don't step on my toes. Next speaker." There was no inflection in his voice. He handed her the second stand to set up.
She pulled up the collapsible pole of the stand to its full height, about a foot shorter than Christie. It reminded her of a tent pole. "This makes me think of camping," she said.
Rick's eyebrows lifted. "You're not going to tell me you're a woman who actually likes camping."
"I love it. I just went a few times, with my boyfriend in college."
"And this manly man had you setting up the tent?"
"Well, I helped." She giggled at the memory. "Although one of us d
idn't do a very good job. One night in Yosemite, the tent fell down."
"I see." He studied her. "The tent just sort of fell down. " His face was a perfect deadpan, but his eyes glimmered, implying all sorts of tent-shaking shenanigans.
"It did! We weren't-I mean-" She felt herself blush, and knew any further protests would only make it sound worse. "The point is, it was raining, and it was too dark to fix it-"
Rick nodded wordlessly. Instead of smiling, he kept looking at her with that mock seriousness, which was even worse.
"So we spent the night sleeping under flat, wet plastic," she finished awkwardly.
"Mm-hmm. Well, at least it doesn't look like rain." Rick handed her the second speaker and stood close by as she secured it into place. "So, what happened?"
"I told you! Nothing."
He burst out laughing, and Christie steadied the speaker. She'd only thought she was embarrassed before.
"I meant, to the boyfriend," Rick said. "Did you bury him out in the woods, or what?"
Oh. Christie waited for her face to cool. It was still a fairly personal question. But there wasn't anything very personal in the answer; like most of her past, it was pretty mundane. "He graduated. Moved to Washington, D.C. Last I heard, I think he was working for some congressman or other."
Actually, he'd asked her to marry him. Christie had been shocked. They'd dated for three years, but he'd been her first serious boyfriend, and at that point in her life, a long-term future had never entered her mind.
Her answer seemed to satisfy Rick. He was busy checking wires. Apparently he hadn't been that curious after all.
By the time they were done setting up, it was nearly noon. Christie realized she'd had precious little chance to be nervous. In fact, she was beginning to enjoy herself. It was almost time to start, and she felt the now-familiar thrill of panic. Rick made sure she knew how to work the equipment that connected her with the jock back at the studio, so she could broadcast her breaks. Then he stepped back. "It's all yours from here," he said. "I'm just here for backup in case you run into trouble."
His hand brushed her arm, just barely a touch, as he turned away. Christie felt an unexpected shiver of goose bumps and looked back over her shoulder to see if Rick had noticed. But he was walking away, toward the canopied sidewalk of the little strip mall that was home to the new Bonker's Burgers.
At the weekend disc jockey's cue from the studio, Christie spoke brightly into the microphone: "Hi, this is Christie Becker with KYOR, broadcasting live at the grand opening of Bonker's Burgers. And if you're hungry, come on down ..."
Dollar burgers were quite a draw, thank you very much.
In no time, Christie was besieged by listeners who didn't know her from Adam, but who were very interested in one dollar hamburgers and any prizes they could get their hands on. She staved them off with station bumper stickers, but on Rick's advice, held on to the movie passes until the mania subsided. She felt dwarfed by the crowd, so when she was making announcements, she adopted a perch on a three-foot-high block of cement at the base of a light pole. Rick was hanging back as promised, but from the sidewalk of the little strip mall, she thought she caught a grin.
She was standing on the light pole base, about to bait the crowd with the first pair of movie tickets, when the speakers abruptly stopped playing the radio station. Christie glanced around and spotted the trouble: a baby stroller had pulled loose the power cord near the restaurant's entrance. Before she could jump down to correct the problem, Rick was there, plugging the cord back in before the song on the air had finished the chorus. Christie caught his eye and nodded her thanks.
Click.
There it was again, she could have sworn it. From halfway across a busy parking lot. Professional chemistry, she reminded herself, as Rick faded back into the crowd.
The lunch crowd had thinned out, and the remote was in its last hour, when Yvonne pulled up. Christie went over to greet her as she climbed out of her car. "I thought I'd try a burger," Yvonne said.
Christie hugged her with a grin. "You lie like a rug. This remote has more reinforcements than the SWAT team."
"Okay, you win. I wanted to see how you're doing. You sound great."
"Thanks. It was a madhouse for a while, but it's been fun."
Yvonne's eyebrows arched. "Any trouble with Rick?"
"So far, so good."
"I thought I'd see if I could give him a lift back to the station, now that you've had a chance to prove you're not going to burn the place down."
Christie considered. It might be a good idea. Things were going well, but then there was the ride back in the van. And there was that click.
Rick's voice came from Christie's right. "That's okay, Yvonne. I'll help her tear down."
It was her first uncomfortable moment in the last two hours. Christie glanced at her watch. "Here comes my break," she said, and escaped to her cement perch.
Yvonne tried once more. "You're sure you don't want a ride back?"
"I'm fine." He smiled at her, and it was indistinguishable from any other smile she'd seen on him in the past three years. "Come on, Yvonne," he said lightly, "what do you think I'm going to do to her?"
His casual grin stayed firmly in place. Did the man have a single nerve in his body? He obviously knew she had some idea what had gone on between him and Christie, but he looked her right in the eye. Yvonne gave up. "How's she doing?"
"Terrific." Rick looked across the parking lot, and Yvonne followed his eyes.
Christie stood on the cement block, holding the movie passes high over her head. The sunlight hit her hair and turned it into red-gold fire. "I've never felt so popular," she told the crowd, shaking the prize drawing box tantalizingly.
Yvonne turned back to Rick. He was still looking at Christie, and in that moment, all he was doing was looking at Christie. She should have spotted it from the start, back when the always cool, collected and congenial Rick Fox had practically yelled at her when she questioned him about the girl. The man was smitten. If anyone ever looked at me that way, Yvonne thought, I'd melt in a puddle at his feet.
"And the winner is..." Christie juggled the microphone, passes and prize drawing box with surprising ease. "Sharon Wild!" She brandished the winning prize drawing slip as if she were awarding a Grammy. Amid a light smattering of applause, she hopped down and handed the tickets to a pretty brunette woman.
No one was going to get that worked up over someone else's movie passes, but the crowd obviously liked her. And she was playing it for all she was worth. It was, admittedly, a sight to behold.
Yvonne said, "She's something else, isn't she?"
Rick turned back, and the faraway look was gone, with no evidence that it had ever been there. He was good, all right. But Yvonne knew what she'd seen. "She does a great job," he acknowledged.
Yvonne couldn't keep her mouth shut. "You're going to lose her, Rick." She stopped herself there. He could take it whichever way he wanted, personally or professionally. Because whichever way he wanted, it was true.
Rick examined her. "Do you know something I don't?"
Careful. She hadn't driven over here to put Christie in hot water. "I know someone like her doesn't do overnights forever."
"Is she looking?" Rick's scrutiny deepened. She shouldn't have said anything.
"She hasn't mentioned it." But I told her she should start looking.
Rick's tone was neutral. "So what do you suggest?"
Sweep her up and carry her off? It might solve Christie's personal problem, but not her professional problem. "I don't know. Give her a raise?"
Rick laughed. "For the overnight shift? When she's barely been here three months? Management would love that. I've been trying to get more money for you for the last year and a half."
Yvonne frowned. "I only asked for that raise a few months ago."
"Yeah, well. It's not my fault you're slower than me." Rick stepped back. "You'd better get some lunch. Assuming that's why you came."
; Christie was on a natural high as they packed up the van after the remote. She thought it had gone well; it made her less worried about the number of items she carried. It was hard to remember how uncomfortable she'd been a few hours before. She and Rick worked smoothly side by side, and he kept her laughing with a steady stream of anecdotes about past radio disasters.
"You've sure got some war stories," she said.
"You get some, after fourteen years."
She'd had a question in the back of her mind for a long time. Now seemed like as good a chance as any to ask. "Rick, why did you leave L.A.? I mean, I know there was a lot going on then, but..."
"That's one of my worst stories." He was winding a long orange extension cord with the expertise of long practice. The winding slowed. "But I guess it's another good lesson in Ugly Radio Truth." He slapped the cord into the plastic crate and picked up the next one. After a long pause, he looked at Christie, but he seemed to be seeing somewhere past her. "When Sylvia left, it made the station grapevine. And there was someone standing by to take advantage of the situation. We had an overnight guy who was as enterprising as you, only he wasn't as nice about it. About that time, we got a new program director, and that didn't help." Another bundle of cord went in with a slap. "One night, an empty bottle of Scotch turned up in the studio. It wasn't mine." His eyes held hers, as if to be sure she believed him, but Christie didn't doubt it. He had no reason to lie to her, or even to tell the story. "So there were accusations, and of course I denied it. You have no idea how hard it is to be convincing when you're denying flat-out lies. I didn't use the word `framed,' because that sounds so paranoid, but-" He shrugged.
"They fired you?"
"Oh, no. They're not stupid. That's a lawsuit waiting to happen." He smiled ironically. "In fact, all would have been forgiven if I'd come clean and done a stint in rehab. That's the twisted part. If I'd been a falling-down drunk, I might still be there today. No, out of the goodness of their hearts, they took my word for it. It wasn't until a few weeks later that they announced some changes were being made. They were bumping me to overnights, and the overnight guy was getting my shift. They didn't dare fire me, but they could nudge me out the door. It worked."
Love on the Air Page 11