by Lucy Kevin
Bill laughed and for the second time I was struck by his rapid transformation from nerdy guy to cute guy with just a smile. “Believe me, I would never ask you to do something as awful as that.”
I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “But you just did.”
He shook his head. “I don’t play music. I do talk radio.”
I must have looked confused, because he said, “People call in and we debate issues.”
“I’m not an idiot,” I said in a snarky little voice. “I know what talk radio is.” Making a face, I added, “I grew up listening to Rush Limbaugh.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, and this time it was his turn to look confused, since I’m sure he hadn’t pegged me as the crazed, right-wing type.
“My parents kept talk radio on all night, every night when I was a kid,” I said to clarify.
“Wow. You must be all warped and shit.”
“Pretty much. I seriously doubt it was healthy to have Rush Limbaugh filtering into my subconscious every night. Like living under the Taliban’s rule. Or Communism.”
Bill laughed and then I laughed, suddenly happy to be around someone who could appreciate the travesties of my upbringing.
Out of the blue I was curious about his show. “Does anybody actually listen to you? I mean, it’s practically midnight.”
“You’d be surprised. I’ll sneak you on the air if you want.”
I knew I should probably be getting back to my apartment, but there was something oddly intriguing about Bill’s invitation. More to the point I figured, what the hell, I’m not doing anything anyway, and I’m not tired, so why not?
The campus radio station was in the basement under the drama department. We walked down the stairs and Bill unlocked the door to let us in. It smelled really bad, so much worse than urine, actually, that for a moment I longed to be back at the frat party.
“What stinks so bad?”
Bill grimaced. “Well, I’ve heard rumors about dead rats in the ducts.”
“Rats?” I was definitely going to be sick.
“That’s what they say. But I’ve figured out what it really is.”
“This better be good.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for his explanation.
He paused, clearly hoping to build up some suspense. “The pink and orange shag carpet hasn’t been vacuumed since it was installed in the 70’s.”
“That’s the best you can come up with?”
“And most of the DJs hate going all the way upstairs to take a crap.”
I planned on giving him a stern look that said, “You’re talking to a lady, here, buster,” but I just couldn’t pull it off. Instead I grinned. “You know, for being a moron who poured beer all over me an hour ago, you’re pretty funny.”
He looked absurdly pleased, so I added, “I’m still not going to sleep with you, though.”
Bill’s face fell a little, but he came right back at me with, “That’s what you think now, but just wait until you’ve heard me on the radio for an hour. You’ll be tearing off my clothes.”
I laughed again and spent a moment admiring the way he rolled with my sexual rejection of him. I’m sure he must have been hugely disappointed, but he carried on like a trooper. At least I hoped he was a little disappointed.
Because even though I didn’t want to get it on with Bill, I still wanted him to want me.
For my ego’s sake, and all.
We walked down the hall and around a corner until we were standing in front of the studio. A girl with purple hair and earrings in places that should never be pierced gave us the finger from behind the glass.
Bill blew her a kiss while I stood there with my mouth hanging open.
“What’s that all about?” I asked Bill, surprised as all hell. “I usually at least like to know someone’s name before they tell me to fuck off.”
He laughed. “That’s Chloe. She does the Underground Moods show from ten to midnight. Don’t let her greeting fool you. She’s actually pretty cool.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, throwing in a little eye rolling for effect. “I can tell we’re going to be best friends already. She’s just so welcoming. And charming. And delightfully coiffed. Which finishing school did you say she attended?”
Bill grinned. “She’s a little weird, but once you get past the hair and the piercings and the devil worship, she’s not bad.”
“Oh, well, if it’s just the devil.” Suddenly, I was dreading the next hour. I looked around in disgust. “Is everyone like her in this place?”
“Well, to be honest, if you go to any college radio station anywhere in the world you’ll find totally flipped out, weirdos who live in their own worlds.”
“How nice.”
“No, they’re all harmless. The only ones you’ve really got to watch out for, though, are ham radio devotees. Even I’m afraid of them.”
“You are?”
“Oh yeah. Bunch of psychos,” he said, almost gleefully. “If you ever need to write a paper on space aliens that live on earth, go to a ham radio convention.”
Chloe came out from behind the glass door right then. “My dad was into ham radio, dickhead.” And with that she walked up the stairs and out into the night, thank god.
“Prozac dealers could make a killing in this place,” I said to Bill as he ushered me into the closet that was masquerading as a radio station control room.
He hooted his appreciation for my dry wit. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”
I said “Thanks” like it was no big deal, but secretly I was thrilled. Someone other than my two best friends actually thought I was funny.
Would wonders never cease?
“Have a seat.”
I surveyed the various knobs and screens that were crammed into the five foot by five foot space. The board was all black and silver with white buttons and blue nobs that I was just dying to push and twist. There were also several red squares that Bill was sliding up and down and I wondered what would happen if I turned all of them up to eleven.
“So, do you have to take a class to learn how to use this stuff?”
I sat on my hands so I wouldn’t do something naughty with them, like hit some red button that said, “Do not push me under any circumstances. Ever. Or else.” I didn’t see one on the board that said that, but I was pretty sure I would accidentally find it if I started poking around.
“Yeah. Actually you need a license to be on the radio. FCC rules.”
He put on some headphones and tossed me a pair as Chloe’s final song, Heroin Dreams, was winding down. Leaning into the microphone sticking out from the console, he pressed some white buttons which turned green.
“Hello and good evening to one and all. You’re listening to Doctor Bill on KUW Radio 91.1 FM. I’m here every Thursday night to cure what ails you. Give me a call and we’ll talk about your problems until you’re feeling nice, tight and all right.”
I was surprised by how phenomenal Bill’s voice sounded coming through the headphones. I felt like I was listening to a rock-star on stage at a stadium.
In an instant, I saw the power of radio: A normal person could seem bigger, better. On radio, you could pretend you were a drool-inspiring, sex-object, and nobody would know the difference.
On radio, you could be in complete control, all of the time.
“Tonight, is your lucky night folks. I’ve got a gorgeous guest sitting here with me. I want to extend a warm welcome to…” He put his hand over the microphone and leaned over towards me, whispering, “What’s your last name?”
“Fulton,” I whispered back, feeling sort of ridiculous.
“To the bodacious and loquacious Georgia Fulton!”
Bill motioned for me to grab the other microphone that he had been setting up for me. Cautiously I said, “Hey there.” Then, feeling much bolder all of a sudden as I realized that my voice sounded pretty okay coming back at me through the headphones, I added, “And if you keep calling me bodacious, Bill, I may have to jump
you after all.”
Bill’s laughter in the mic reverberated through my skull. “Cross your fingers for Doctor Bill, folks. I’ll tell you this much, right now. If this were a commercial station I’d be putting a cheesy pop song on right now so that Georgia and I could take care of some lovin’.”
I leaned back into the mic, saying, “He wishes,” and realized that I was, surprisingly, having fun. A lot of fun, as a matter of fact.
And that was when it hit me. When I was on the radio, I sounded amazing too. Kind of like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when she says, “You have some amazing gifts,” to Richard Gere as they kiss for the first time while they’re making love.
I felt unstoppable.
Bill laughed again. “It’s gonna be a crazy one tonight. I can just feel it in my bones.”
Right then the red light at the bottom of the telephone lit up. Bill punched it. “We’ve got our first caller for tonight on the line. Welcome to the Doctor Bill show. Who are you and what’s your question?”
“Hey Bill. My name’s Jake and my girlfriend just threatened to dump me ‘cause she says I love my dog more than her. I think she’s messed in the head.”
“Tell me more, Jake.”
“I got Haley, this totally cool Rottweiler puppy in Thousand Oaks last year. Anyway, he needed a lot of training and attention right from the start. You know how smart big dogs are, right? So I decided to quit my job for a year just to be with him and train him and bring him up right. I used to live in downtown LA, but that’s no place to try to raise a puppy, you know what I’m saying? I mean, people aren’t spending enough time with their dogs and so the dogs just want to fight other dogs. So, I moved out to the country so that Haley could grow up in a less stressful environment.”
Bill cut in. “Without hearing too much more of the story, Jake, I’ve got to say that you sound pretty obsessed with your dog. Maybe your girlfriend is right.”
I couldn’t resist jumping in. I do have a major thing for big dogs after all. “Hey, wait a minute, Bill. I think I’m getting where Jake is coming from.” I looked over at Bill to make sure he wasn’t pissed that I was talking. He gave me a thumbs up, so I continued. “Jake, Haley’s the light in your life, isn’t he? He’s the best thing around, right?”
“Yeah, he’s always here for me. When I come home late my woman always has the bedroom door locked and I know she was going to be nagging me, but Haley is always happy to see me. He’s my boy.” While Jake was talking, I could hear him giving his dog little kisses.
“Is that Haley you’re with right now?”
“Yeah.”
I felt a little bad for taking over Bill’s show like this, but he was sitting in his chair, with a big grin on his face, so I kept going. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. Out, I guess.”
“You don’t really care where she is, do you?”
Jake was silent on the other end. I was starting to worry that I had pushed Bill’s caller too far.
Maybe I wasn’t like Julia Roberts after all. Maybe I was more like Renee Zellwigger in Jerry McGuire when she’s the only one in the office who stands up and says, “I’ll go with you,” and Tom Cruise looks at her like, “Who the heck are you?”
But then, before my worries got the best of me, Jake said, “I guess not. She’d sort of be in the way right now, come to think of it, wanting to talk or something.”
I breathed an audible sigh of relief and found my tongue again. “That’s what I thought. You do love your dog Haley more than your girlfriend. And you do put him first. And you know what, that’s cool.”
“Really? Wow, that makes me feel so much better. Thanks for your help.”
As Jake hung up, Bill was shaking his head. On the air he said to me, “Georgia, I can’t believe you were agreeing with this guy. I mean, he moved out to the country to raise his dog in a better environment! And quit his job to do it! He sounds like a wack-job. If I was his girlfriend, I would have left him a long time ago.”
“Bill, Bill, Bill.” My voice was rich with exaggerated pity. “Obviously, you’ve never owned a great dog.”
Bill groaned. “And there you have it folks, the gauntlet is raised and we’ve got our question for tonight. Do you love your animals more than you love your people? Are we warped to place so much focus on the well-being of our animals when there are kids living on the streets? Give it some thought and give me a call after this short musical break.”
I was hooked.
*
And thus began my career on radio, discussing dogs and love with strangers. I couldn’t think of anything that would be better than doing that all day. And it was fitting, somehow, that my life’s purpose should reveal itself to me in such a way.
You see, that night in the studio with Bill, the pieces of my life finally fell together and made sense.
You know how when you’re a kid you spend a lot of time alone in your room trying to figure out what to do with your life? Sitting in the dank, basement closet with Bill, I finally realized that I should utilize the one thing I had going for me.
My big mouth.
In retrospect, all of the signs were there right from the start. In the first grade, every Friday I lived in fear of bringing my report card home to be signed, because while the rest of my grades were high, I always got a “C” or lower in deportment.
Believe me there was plenty of yelling, and threatening, and grounding in elementary school. But, no matter how much I wanted to avoid the consequences, I just couldn’t be quiet. It was no fun and besides, there were so many things that just needed to be said.
Too bad that I was the only one with the guts to speak up, right?
I’ve always had a lot to say, living and breathing by my God-given right to provide running commentary to life. Unfortunately, while it may be annoying to have someone like me in the room when you’re trying to watch a TV show, it’s the height of impropriety in the third grade.
Let me make it clear to you how bad it is to be overly talkative when you’re a kid.
Having a big mouth is sit-in-a-corner-every-other-day during recess bad.
One time in third grade one of the boys had his arms wrapped around a tree and it looked like he was humping it. So I said to the other kids, “Look at him, he’s humping the tree!” which everyone laughed at and I thought was pretty great observation on my part. Thank god I was around that day during recess, right?
Nope. I got in huge trouble from the teacher. Evidently, a child my age shouldn’t even know about humping, let alone be pointing it out to the other kids.
Hey, not my fault if everyone else was a little behind in their development. I was calling it like I saw it. But of course, I got into a ton of trouble at home and my third grade teacher never treated me the same way again.
Having a big mouth is like taking home a “C” every week to your pissed off mom who then spends hours lecturing you about your upcoming future as a spinster because boys don’t like girls who talk too much.
Oh wait, we’ve already been over that, haven’t we? Sorry…
Anyway, since I already knew that I liked to talk, a lot, about anything, and that I had lots of strong opinions, the next day I sealed my fate by enrolling in the FCC mandated licensing program.
Girlfriend was going to be a superstar.
KYLE
Here’s something you should know about me: I believe in embellishing for impact. I never think of it as lying. I’ve just always thought that if one is going to tell a story, one should tell it properly. And that means that if I have to make a few small details more grand than they may have actually been, so be it.
Unfortunately, other people don’t always think that way. Take my ex-boyfriend Brian, for instance (whom I shall tell you all about in a little while if you’ll agree to be patient). You’d think I was committing a crime every time I told a really great story to our friends. He always had to make it a point to say, “No, that’s not what actually happened at all�
�� ruining what was a fabulous time for all of us.
In any case, given my career choice, embellishing for impact is a skill that I am very proud of. Otherwise, wouldn’t everyone just change the station?
Who needs the truth if it’s boring?
*
“Check this out,” I said to Diane, pushing into our shared bathroom as she was putting on her makeup.
“Mmphh,” she said to acknowledge my presence while giving fierce concentration to her lip-line.
“I just got the FCC handbook today and it says that I’ll be heavily fined and kicked off the radio if I use, quote, any obscene, indecent, or profane language while on the air.”
“Does that include fuck?”
“I think so.”
“Shit?”
“Yep.”
“Cock?”
I laughed. “Probably not if I’m in a deep discussion about fowl, but otherwise…”
She put down her lip liner. “Pussy?”
I snorted. “Do you mean ‘Come here pussy cat?’”
She did something really sloppy with her tongue.
“All of the above,” I said.
Turning back around to the mirror she picked up her lipstick. Unscrewing the cap, she looked at me in the mirror and said, “Well, in that case, you’re in big trouble.”
Feeling more than a little defensive, particularly because this was exactly what I was worried about, I said, “I don’t know. I think I can keep it clean during my show.”
Diane raised an eyebrow, then smacked her bright red lips together. “The original potty mouth? I don’t think so.”
“Thanks for your support,” I muttered.
“You don’t want me to lie to you, do you?”
“No,” I sighed. “I love it when my best friend tells me that I’m bound to be an utter and complete failure at something that I really want to succeed at.”
She rolled her eyes at my exaggeration and I continued, “Anyway, the station director gave me the 5am to 8am slot.”
Diane started working on her eyeliner. “Jesus! That’s way too early.” Holding the sleek black stick an inch away from her left eye, she narrowed it and said, as if she had just tasted something foul, “You don’t expect me to wake up early and listen to you, do you?”