“Sure is, miss.” The man smiled.
“Thanks,” Blaze answered nervously. With halting steps, she slowly climbed on, found a seat, and sat quietly. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect. After several teeth-grinding minutes, the cars jerked into motion, and the iron wheels began to roll. Suddenly her heart jumped into her throat and fear flooded through her. It was at that exact moment when she realized she was actually leaving, and would never return. Lifting her gaze, she looked out at the dirty, slumish little collection of shacks as the train passed them by, and her gaze anchored on her house.
Thinking one last time of the two people who lay dead in the wake of Satan’s Breath, the little tarpaper shack melted into the dull, ash-colored darkness of her past. Fear, hurt, and anguish swirled inside her as she cried one last time for her aunt, but knew she was also crying for herself. She might not have had much schooling, but she had enough sense to know that the little backwoods gal with the hot Georgia dirt still clinging to her bare feet, had also died—and the real Blaze Alexander was born!
Chapter 1
Ten Years Later
“Hello, all you sinners. You’ve tuned in to station KCBS 93.1 on your radio dial. It’s Blaze Alexander here, your Queen of Steam, and playmate for the night. Come on, sweetie, just lay back and relax while I whisper in your ear, make you moan, groan, and scream with pleasure. I’m going to tease you, caress you, and blow in your ear from midnight ‘til dawn. Want to know what I look like? Just imagine your hottest fantasy, your ideal woman. Is she a redhead? A blonde? Or maybe she’s a mysterious brunette. Well, whatever she is, I’m her for tonight. Come on, move over there, fella, and make room for your favorite girl. Need a lick, a kiss, or maybe, ohhhh, yeah, that too, then I’m here, baby, just for you.”
Every time Blaze sat in her eagle’s nest high atop the twinkling city of Los Angeles, she felt like a queen on her throne. With her bold, red mouth almost eating up the microphone, she spoke suggestive words of passion with a deep, throaty, whisky voice that warmed the city like a sultry blanket. Tonight, she was in rare form as she used every x-rated word she knew to whisper, suggest, and coerce her public into an erotic web while she played music to fuck by!
* * * *
Wade Perry was only one of the people who fell under Blaze’s scorching spell. He was due to head back to Savannah the next morning, and had just come in from his last night on the town. Now, as he stripped off his clothes, he clicked on the radio and listened closely to the sexy words that never failed to mesmerize him. He’d discovered this wild woman of the airwaves the first night he was in town. Working at a radio station himself, he was curious as to what kind of radio was broadcast in a big city like L.A. So, he began his search, leaning close to the radio and listening to each station until he was bored. When he found Station KCBS, he didn’t need to look any further.
He had never heard anything like it. Most big cities had at least one raunchy deejay who was vulgar and downright offensive, but no woman that he’d ever heard of took the chances she did on the air. But, hell, what could he expect? This was L.A., after all. Everything here reminded him of how far from Savannah he was. It was like a different world. The people weren’t as friendly, and there seemed to be something in the air, an anything goes type of atmosphere.
When this Alexander dame called them sinners, she apparently knew what she was talking about. And what about her? She was a pistol. Lucky this broadcast didn’t go anywhere near Savannah. If it did, it would have that prim and proper little city gasping for air.
After shrugging into his robe, he mixed himself a drink, still listening to the deep whispery voice that made him want to take this woman and fuck the living hell out of her. He’d found out from those who knew her that Blaze Alexander was a petite redhead with a body to die for, but she wasn’t too friendly. It didn’t matter, really. He was leaving tomorrow and would never get the chance to meet her. He couldn’t help wondering, though, if there might be a chance that someday she’d get down to Savannah.
Yeah, sure, when pigs fly!
* * * *
Savannah, GA
“Well, that’s loyalty for you,” Greg growled as he argued with his late night deejay. “Why in hell did you accept the offer before talking to me? Maybe I could have wrangled you a raise.”
“Hey, man, it ain’t about money, okay? It’s Chicago. It’s the big time, for God’s sake. I’d be stupid to let this chance pass me by.”
“You could have given me more notice, at least. A week! What the hell kind of notice is that? I don’t have any idea who I’m going to get to replace you.”
The angry deejay stood up and grabbed the doorknob, then looked back at Greg. “Hey, Greg, you been good to me, and I don’t want to sound cold, but it ain’t my problem see. I’ve done something about my problem, now you can do something about yours.” He jerked the door open and walked out.
Greg turned abruptly and crossed to the window while running his fingers impatiently through his dark hair. This was one hell of a time to be left without a nighttime deejay. He’d been manager of WSCX Radio Station for three years now and still felt he had to prove himself to the boss. Old man Farewell never asked questions, he just looked at ratings. If they were up, he was happy. If not, someone paid, and it was always him.
Greg did everything he could to keep those ratings up, but this situation was impossible. How the hell was he supposed to get someone in that chair in five friggin’ days? All at once, he heard a loud noise behind him, looked around, and saw the janitor reaching for his wastebasket.
“Hey, Erik, can’t you do that later? I’m in kind of a crisis here and the noise you’re making isn’t helping any.”
The slightly stooping man with long, stringy-blond hair didn’t respond with words, just turned and shuffled out.
While staring out the window, Greg mentally clicked off all his other deejays, but couldn’t get a good feeling about any of them. They were okay where they were, but none were late night material. He needed someone new, someone different. Someone who would wake this town up out of its heavy, late night sleep and keep them awake. He turned when he heard a rap at his door and motioned for Wade Perry to come in.
Wade, thirty-one, blond, and even-tempered was a direct contrast to Greg, who was dark, bitter, and snapping. The two were known around the station as the Dynamic Duo. They hung together, talked about women, and Wade, through the years, had become Greg’s sympathetic ear.
“What’s up, man?” Wade said. “Looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Yeah?” Greg dropped down into his chair. “How can you tell?”
“Anytime you start combing your hair with your fingers, I know something’s up. What is it?”
“My late night deejay is skipping. He just gave me his notice.” He was restless, couldn’t stay still, so he jumped back up. “A week, can you believe it? A freakin’ week. Who in hell am I going to get to replace him?” He paced for a while, then turned and looked over at Wade with curious eyes. He stared at him thoughtfully for a minute. “Say something, Wade. Let me hear your voice.”
“Me?” Wade chuckled. “You are desperate.”
“Desperate? You don’t know the half of it. By the tenth, I’ve got to have a warm body in that booth, and I don’t give a friggin’ damn if they sound like Donald Duck. Hell, at this point, I’d be willing to take somebody off the street, that’s how desperate I am.”
The noise Erik made outside Greg’s office caught Wade’s attention. He glanced around quickly, then thumbed toward him. “What about Einstein there?”
“Hey, don’t tempt me. If I thought he had enough sense to operate the console, I just might consider it.”
“Who knows? Maybe under all that blond hair and stupidity is late night material.”
Greg narrowed his eyes at Erik curiously. “You know, now that you mention it, there is something real odd about that character. I mean, look at his body. Not bad at all. He’s lean, and m
uscled, yet he doesn’t have sense enough to work out. How does he do it?”
“You’ve got me.” Wade looked out at the stumbling janitor. “But if you think about it, he’s got some pretty strenuous jobs around the station. He doesn’t have time to get flabby.”
“Yeah, I guess so, but what about his name? Erik Grant. It sounds rich and sophisticated. Someone like him shouldn’t have a name like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it should be…” He hesitated. “All right, here’s a for instance. It’s like an ugly girl should be called Bertha, or Bessie, and a nerdy, or stupid guy should be called Irving.”
Wade leaned back comfortably, stretched his legs out, and crossed his feet. “Yeah, but you can’t always go by that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a blind date with a girl named Reba once and because of the name thing, I stood her up. I found out later what a knockout she was. Talk about feelin’ stupid.”
“Yeah, well,” Greg began as he plopped back down in his chair and put his feet up on his desk, “that doesn’t solve my problem, does it?”
The two sat deep in thought when suddenly Wade spoke up. “Anybody, huh?”
Greg looked over at him. “What?”
“You said you’d take anybody, right?”
Greg suddenly came alive, swung his feet around, and leaned forward in his chair. “What is it, Wade? Do you know someone?”
“Maybe. While I was in L.A. I heard an incredible late night show. The deejay wasn’t like anybody I had ever heard before.”
“Incredible’s okay, but how about good?”
Wade snickered, his fair complexion turning three shades of pink. “Hell yes, she was good!”
“She?”
“Yeah, she.”
Greg frowned. “What’s her name?”
“Blaze Alexander,” he answered, then saw Greg shaking his head. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. It’s just…well, we’ve never had a woman on late night before.”
“And you’re not going to have one now.” Wade looked at his friend with an expression of amazement. “Greg, you’re not seriously thinking of making her an offer, are you?”
“Why not?” He pushed the phone toward him. “Call her.”
“Me? Are you kidding? That’s not my job. I’m just the sound engineer around here, not a talent scout. Besides, compared to L.A., Savannah is just a cow pasture. Think about it, for God’s sake. Why in hell would a successful L.A. deejay leave the big city and big bucks for a smelly, old cow pasture in the Deep South?”
“Smelly old cow pasture?” Greg repeated, giving Wade an amused look. “I think we can do a little better than that, my friend.”
“Seriously, Greg, I don’t think so.”
“Why? Isn’t she any good?”
“Hell yes. She’s a pistol. A real sensation.”
“What does she look like?”
Wade shrugged. “Redhead…”
“There.” Greg’s face lit up with a smile.
“What?”
“The name thing. Her name is Blaze, and she’s a redhead.” Wade’s mouth opened, but Greg went on. “And what about Alexander? Have you ever had a Brandy Alexander? Hot, and intoxicating.”
“Greg, you’re reaching.”
“So what? It fits, right? Maybe I can talk her into changing her name to Brandy.”
“Hell, man, would you get off this name thing?”
“I’m just saying it’s a good sign. I just hope she can handle it.”
“Are you kidding? One broadcast and she’ll burn this city right down to the ground!” Then realizing how ridiculous the whole thing was, Wade said, “Man, what are we even talkin’ about? She’ll never accept an offer to come down here in a million years.”
Not listening, Greg picked up a pad. “What are the station’s call letters?”
“You’re wastin’ your time, Greg.”
“What the hell are the call letters?” Greg growled, becoming angry. “Besides it’s my time to waste.”
“Damn! I wish I had just half your nerve.”
“It’s not nerve, Wade. It’s desperation. Now what are the fucking call letters?”
He looked up thoughtfully. “Let’s see…K…hell, what is it,” he mumbled. “KL…no, KC…KCBS…I think. Ninety three point…one. Yeah, that’s it, ninety three point one.”
After making a few scratches on a pad, Greg looked up and smiled. “Don’t you worry, buddy boy, I’ll get her down here if I have to pick her up and carry her piggy back.”
Thinking about Blaze Alexander and her racy late night show, Wade couldn’t help but grin as he pulled himself up from the couch and walked over to the door. Just before he passed through, he hesitated, then turned around. “I hope you know what you’re doing. She’s a live wire. If I were you, I’d get an audition tape before you hire her.”
“I don’t have time for the formalities, Wade. My ass is in the fire here. Besides, your recommendation is good enough for me. Now get out of here before I decide to strap your ass in that booth come the tenth.”
* * * *
Los Angeles, CA
One, two, three, four. That’s good, a deeper knee bend girls. That’s right. Two, three, four…
Blaze was jumping, bending, swaying, and sweating while working out in front of her TV when her phone rang. She stopped, pressed the remote control, and toweled off her face. Grabbing it up, she breathed heavily into the mouthpiece, “Yeah, Blaze Alexander, here.”
“Hi, sweetie, it’s Scott.” A thick silence followed while Blaze took a drink from her sports jug. “Hey, you okay? You sound like you’re out of breath, is anything wrong?”
“No, I’m just working out.” Blaze upended her sports jug again and poured the water over her face, neck, and shoulders.
“Well, don’t overdo. I want to keep you nice and healthy.”
“Gee, Scott, I didn’t know you cared.”
“Sure, I care. Anytime a client brings in the kind of bucks you do, believe me, I care!”
“And I thought it was my smile. I should’ve known.”
“Well, you know us agents, dollar signs for hearts.”
“You can stop worrying. Me and Debbie Austin have got it all under control.”
“Say, I’ve got news.”
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“I got a call from a guy by the name of—” He looked down and around, and then said, “Damn, I lost my note. Just hold on. It should be right here.” When he saw it, he snatched it up, and then continued. “Greg Brannigan from a Savannah station. He tells me he’s real anxious to have you as part of his team. Made a pretty good offer, too. How do you feel about that?”
“Savannah? Go back to the dirt roads and jumping jive joints I left behind? No way in hell! Why did you even ask, for God’s sake? You knew what my answer would be.” She took another swig from her jug.
“Sure, I knew, but I had to ask. That’s the way we big city agents do business.”
“Okay, big city agent, gotta go. Debbie’s waiting.”
“Okay. Hell, I hate breakin’ this guy’s heart…say maybe you…”
“Real funny. Goodbye.”
* * * *
Savannah
The phone rang and Greg grabbed the receiver. “Hello!” he yelled anxiously into the mouthpiece, then pulled back, speaking in a normal tone, “Greg Brannigan speaking.”
“Scott Sanders, Mr. Brannigan.” The caller then lowered his tone as if he had bad news. “No dice, I’m afraid. She’s happy where she is, and doesn’t want to make a move at this time. Sorry.”
“What about money?” Greg persisted. “What if we offered her substantially more than she’s getting there? Do you think there’s a chance she might reconsider?”
“Mr. Brannigan, it’s not the money. She’s got more money now than she knows what to do with. The truth is, she comes from Georgia, and her life there wasn’t too easy. I won’t go into det
ail, but she’s had a lot of bad memories connected with that part of the country. Anyway, I’m sure you understand how going back might prove to be painful for her. This is her home now. No offense, but why would she even consider Savannah when she could go anywhere? She’s had offers from Chicago, New York, Philadelphia. Even New Orleans.”
“New Orleans, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. They really want her. Practically offered her the moon, but she likes L.A. and just won’t budge.”
“Yeah, well, if she won’t go to New Orleans, I guess it’s stupid to think she would come to Savannah. Okay, well, thanks for your time.” He hesitated before he hung up, then took a chance. “If she changes her mind…”
Scott tried to suppress a chuckle. “Yeah, sure.”
Greg replaced the receiver, then lowered his head and raked through his hair with his fingers, wondering what he was going to do. Suddenly, an idea came to him, and he smiled as he lifted his head. Maybe there was some kid in broadcasting school he could call. “Nah,” he muttered sarcastically, “it would be past their bedtime.”
Chapter 2
Los Angeles
She felt a hand sneaking up her thigh!
Long, icy fingers of fear coiled around her neck! She couldn’t breathe! And then a dark night, a burst of red, a dripping knife sent her back to the little tarpaper shack she’d grown up in. She was re-living thousands of summer nights, blaring railroad whistles, feeling the flaming hot wind of Satan’s Breath burning her skin while blowing through the valley. And then she saw his face hanging above her in the shadows. His leering, sweaty face, his grunts and groans and the feel of his ugly cock thrusting himself in and out—
And then all at once, she was back in the present.
She went wild, pushing and shoving. “Get your slimy hands off me!” Blaze shouted while scratching to get up from the couch. When she finally got free of the man’s clutches, she stood glaring at him. “I hate you and your kind. Do you understand? I hate the way you look at me, and I cringe when you touch me! I’d rather be fucked by any bastard on the street than by you!”
“Blaze, I—” He started toward her.
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