With a Little Luck: A Novel

by Caprice Crane

  So you can imagine my surprise when Bill calls me into his office on a Monday morning to tell me that they want Ryan—Unprivate “Dr. Love” Ryan, mind you—and me to co-host a new morning show. The privatization of our relationship has resulted in a drop in listenership, or that’s how they perceive it, and they want to reclaim some of that traffic.

  “Berry, did you hear what I said?” Bill nudges.

  But I stand there, staring at his gross poster of Lita Ford in a bathing suit, holding a guitar, while I ponder what I’ve just heard. The poster in and of itself isn’t gross. Lita’s gorgeous, and we should all be so lucky to have a body like that. What’s gross is that it’s the only poster in his office. The only thing on his walls. There are no family photos on his desk, no finger-painted masterpieces framed on the bookshelf. Lita Ford is the focal point of this creepy man’s office.

  “Berry! Hello!”

  Finally I tear my eyes away from Lita and answer. “Yes, hello.”

  “This is great news,” he says, trying to convince me.

  “I don’t know, Bill,” I say, and start backing out of his office without even realizing I’m doing it.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “Me? Nowhere.”

  “Berry, this is what we need. It’s what the station needs. The show will be on KKCR. You can still keep your nighttime slot, Ryan can keep his evening, and you’ll have this show in the mornings.”

  “And when do we have our own life?”

  “You don’t get to have a life right now, Berry.”

  Even Bill realizes that the way he just said that sounded awful, so he starts backpedaling as he pushes his comb-over farther back on his head, one lone sprout now sticking up uncomfortably. “You’ll be like Regis and Kelly without Regis. Kelly and Hot Guy.”

  “They’re on TV,” I counter.

  “You’ll be on billboards,” he says. “Bus stops. We’re gonna do the full-court press.”

  “I’ll talk about it with Ryan,” I say. “It’s not just up to me.”

  “He’ll do it.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “I’ll bet you he says yes with minimal discussion,” Bill says, quite sure of himself.

  “Can I go now?” I say. “I need to prep for my show.”

  “You’re acting like this isn’t great news,” Bill says. “This is a big deal, Berry.”

  “I get it,” I say. “I appreciate the offer. I don’t mean to come off as ungrateful.”

  “Think about it, Berry.”

  “I will.”

  I weigh the pros and cons as I walk to my office. It seems like a no-brainer, right? A big morning radio show? Morning is “prime time” in radio. It’s a big deal. Pro. Having my private life made public on a daily basis? Con. I didn’t even get into the money thing, but it would double my pay at the very least, I’d assume. Pro. Navigating a brand-new relationship, live on the radio? Con. Having to work all day and then work all night? Con.

  Before I even get back to my office, my cellphone rings. I know it’s Ryan before I even answer. Not just because he has his own personalized ring on my cellphone, which has changed four times since we’ve started dating. The first song was “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd. No matter how much time we spent together, I always missed him when we were apart, so it seemed fitting. But it got old. Plus, one day when we were having our first mini-argument—neither of us felt like choosing where we were going to eat for dinner, and we got into a stupid disagreement over who picked where we ate more often (pretty sure it was me, but Ryan would disagree)—I decided that I did not in fact wish he were here. And that I was starving and going to kill him if he didn’t just pick a restaurant. I changed his song to “Hungry Like the Wolf” by Duran Duran. Then I felt guilty, and once my hypoglycemia faded and the hungry beast turned back into normal girl, I changed it to “Happy Together” by The Turtles. I mean, why would his ringtone be “Hungry Like the Wolf”? It made no sense. Unless he was obese, and then it would just be insulting. Then “Happy Together” just seemed too … happy, so after much internal deliberation, I settled on “No One Like You” by the Scorpions.

  And that’s what’s blaring as I walk through the hall and try to hold off on answering until I get to my office so we can at least have some privacy. I pick up my pace and rush into my office, kicking the door shut behind me.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re calling about,” I say, when I pick up.

  “This is amazing,” he says. “Are you freaking out?”

  “Kind of,” I say, but I don’t let on that my freak-out is not necessarily of the “Oh my God, I’m so happy” variety.

  “You’re on the fence,” he says.

  Through laughter that’s only half forced, I reply, “You know me so well already.”

  “It’s a no-brainer,” he says.

  “For you,” I counter.

  “For us,” he says. Then adds, “For anyone.”

  “Anyone who is used to just … talking on the radio. That’s your deal, not mine. I only talk if there’s something interesting going on or it’s been a while since I’ve introed a song. I don’t just blabber.”

  “But you can,” he says. “You have. You did it with me for the contest, and you were great.”

  “I don’t know, Ryan.”

  “Berry, this is huge.”

  “I know it is.”

  “It’s prime time,” he adds.

  “I know, I know.…”

  “I know you can do it. I know it’s weird for you to talk for a whole show. It’s not what you’re used to.… But it’s fun. I think once you got used to it, you’d love it.”

  “I know you want it … which, honestly, Ryan, is the only reason I’m even considering it.”

  “But you are.…” he says. “You are considering it?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m considering it.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  “Anything else?” I ask. “Because I need to prep for my show.”

  “You’re beautiful?” he says playfully.

  “Am I more beautiful because I’m considering doing this show?”

  “Infinitely.”

  “So I’ll be less beautiful if I don’t agree to it?”

  “Beyond. You’ll be hideous. Children will run screaming when they see you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’ll be just as beautiful,” he quickly corrects. But then he adds, “But seriously … you’ll be thirty-five percent prettier if you do it.”

  “Goodbye, Ryan.”

  “Goodbye, Berry.”

  And as I walk to the studio, I count my steps, looking for some sign that this will work out. Twenty-four. A decidedly neutral number. But still an even number … which I take as a bad sign.

  I’m almost at the diner, where Nat is waiting for me, when my cellphone rings. I know it’s my father without looking because just last week I changed his ringtone to “The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers. It wasn’t a very nice thing to do, now that I think about it, but he’d needed two hundred dollars to pay back someone named Fred, and I was feeling very put-upon at the time.

  “Berry,” he says, sounding panicked. “It’s Dad.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m down. I’m losing big. I need my lucky girl.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Carson.”

  “Dad,” I say, and sigh. “Really? You really want me to drive there?”

  “I know it’ll turn around when you get here. You’re my lucky charm.”

  I can hear the desperation in his voice, but I just got off my shift, and I tell him exactly that.

  “I know,” he says. “I was listening. I always listen. I have my one-ear RadioShack headphone in whenever you’re on so I don’t miss it.”

  Guilt.

  Guilt.

  Guilt.

  “I was about to meet Natalie at the diner,” I say. “She’s there waiting for me now.”

&nbs
p; “Bring her,” he says. “I’d love to see her.”

  “Yeah, I’m not so sure she’d love to drive an hour and a half to a casino right now.”

  “Never know until you ask.”

  “I’m pretty sure, Dad.”

  “I was winning for a while.…” he says, and then trails off.

  I stand at the diner entrance and see Natalie at the counter. She turns around and waves to me. I roll my eyes, and she nods knowingly. When I hang up the phone I walk in and shrug.

  “I can’t say no to him.”

  “I wish we were talking about Ryan,” she says. “And I wish you were recapping some sordid sexcapade.… But from the roll of your eyes and that fact that you’re Berry Lambert … I’m pretty certain we’re talking about your dad.”

  “Bingo,” I say.

  “If only that were his vice,” she replies.

  “I gotta go meet him at the casino. You’re invited.…”

  “Yeah, tempting as that sounds … the cigarette smoke and the desperation and all that velour …” She shudders. “I’ll pass.”

  “Lucky,” I say.

  “No, that’s you,” she corrects.

  “Well, I need to talk to you,” I say. “I needed our debriefing tonight. Something happened. It’s big.”

  “Can you tell me quickly?”

  “Yes, but I know what you’re going to say, and I need you to consider all of the different factors before you just try to bully me into doing it.”

  “Cryptic,” she says.

  “I’ll call you from the car. We’ll discuss.”

  “No, you can’t just leave me hanging like this.”

  “It’ll be one minute!”

  “Berry, you tell me right now.” Natalie is one whine away from stomping her foot.

  “They want me to do a morning show. With Ryan. Talk radio. Talking the whole time. No music. Just me and Ryan. Just talk.”

  “Just say yes!” she exclaims.

  “I said no bullying until we discuss!”

  “Berry, that is an incredible opportunity,” she says. “You can’t say no to that.”

  “I’ll call you from the car.”

  “You’re doing this.”

  “I’ll call you in forty-seven seconds.”

  “You’re so doing this.”

  “Aargh!” I growl as I walk to my car and put my headset on.

  Before I’ve even turned the key in the ignition, Natalie is calling me. I start the car and answer the call.

  “This is amazing,” she goes on. “I can’t let you even consider not doing this.”

  “Okay, Nat?” I try to rationalize. “That isn’t who I am. I’m not a talk-radio person. I like my privacy. Plus, I don’t know how those people even do it. How do you talk for two or three hours nonstop like that—I can’t imagine.”

  “It will go by so fast,” she says.

  “You don’t know that. It could be long and painful.”

  “No way,” she says. “The rush, the people calling in, the chemistry between you and Ryan?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “That’s the other thing. Ryan and I are still new. We’re still getting to know each other. You expect us to do that live on the radio for everyone in the world to hear?”

  “Yes!”

  “What if we have a fight? And we have to go be all happy and coupley on the radio the next day?”

  “You cross that bridge when you get to it,” she says. “Maybe you have people call in and decide who was wrong and who was right! That could be fun.”

  “Have we met?” I say. “This is me. I don’t like my business being aired to the public. And this would be that in the most literal sense.”

  “This would be amazing. I am so freakin’ excited for you that I’m about to get mad at you for not squealing and being excited about this.”

  “What if we break up?” I say.

  “You guys are crazy about each other,” she says.

  “We haven’t even said the L word,” I counter.

  “I miss that show!” she interrupts.

  “The other L word. The real L word. The four-letter, oh fuck, what-did-he-just-say word.”

  “Oh, that L word.”

  “Don’t you think you should say ‘I love you’ before you jump into a commitment like this?”

  “I love you,” Natalie says.

  “Very funny,” I reply. “Seriously. It’s too soon.”

  “You’d never feel like it was the right time to do this, Ber. I know you. Even if you’d said your I-love-yous and you guys were married with kids. You’d have a million other excuses.”

  “This show is a little bit like a marriage, though,” I say. “It is. We’re not ready.”

  “You’re doing this,” she says. “I can’t believe you have to go meet your dad right now. I need to smack some sense into you. You were right there. I missed my chance.”

  “I need someone to see this rationally with me.”

  “I am seeing this rationally. I am the rational one in this friendship. That’s why you need to listen to me. You’re doing this.”

  My call-waiting chimes, and I look to see that it’s Ryan.

  “Ryan’s calling,” I say.

  “Answer it and tell him you’ll do this.”

  “We’re not ready to be married!” I shout.

  “Stop being dramatic,” Natalie says.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Call me tonight. After you say yes!”

  I click over to Ryan.

  “Is this my beautiful co-host?” he says. “The girl who was stunningly beautiful when she woke up this morning but is somehow thirty-five percent more beautiful now?”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” I say.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I don’t even get to sleep on it?”

  “I was hoping you’d sleep on me,” he says. “Come over. We can celebrate properly.”

  “I’m going eighty on the 405 Freeway South.”

  “Wrong direction,” he says.

  “My dad … needs me.”

  Confession: I haven’t really given Ryan the whole rundown on my dad. In the beginning, I suppose it was because I didn’t expect Ryan to be around that long. Now I guess the whole situation is just more embarrassing than I’d like to admit. They’ve never even met. Not that I’ve met Ryan’s parents, but I’m so close to my dad that usually by this point in a relationship he’s somehow met whomever I’m dating. If I were being honest with myself, I guess because I like Ryan that much more I’m that much more afraid of what he’ll think.

  “Is everything okay?” Ryan asks, concerned.

  “Yeah,” I say, and sigh. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “Do you need me to meet you?”

  “No, no,” I say. “It’s not a real crisis. He’s … at a casino.”

  I guess now’s as good a time as any for Ryan to find out the crazy superstitious apple doesn’t fall far from a crazier, compulsive-gambling tree.

  “Oh …”

  “This isn’t really a phone conversation, but I guess there’s never a great time to tell someone your father is consumed by gambling in all forms and he considers you his lucky charm so whenever he gets in a bind you have to come to the rescue and either bring him good luck or cover his debts.” There. I said it.

  “Wow,” Ryan says. “That must be exhausting for you.”

  “It can be,” I say. “But I’m also pretty used to it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “The offer’s still good if you want me to meet you there.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but I’d rather you meet my dad in a better situation. He’ll be all wild-eyed and shouting things like, ‘Come on, seven! Come to Papa!’ And then I would just proceed to die a slow, mortified death.…”

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me, Ber.”

  “I know,” I say. Crap.

  “We should be together tonight. To celebrate.”

  “I didn
’t say yes yet.”

  “But you will,” he says. “And I want to be able to grab you and kiss you when you do.”

  “Then we’ll just have to put the decision off until tomorrow.”

  “You’re killing me!”

  “You’re too used to girls saying yes to you, anyway,” I tease. “It’ll do you some good.”

  “Breakfast tomorrow?” Ryan asks. “I mean … pretty soon we’ll be spending every morning together.… Why not get used to it?”

  “So cocky,” I say.

  “Pick you up at eight-thirty?”

  “Nine.”

  “Morning radio starts early. There’ll be no more sleeping in. You might want to get used to it.”

  “Or,” I say, “I might want to enjoy it while I still can.”

  My dad is smoking when I find him at the blackjack table. He hasn’t smoked in fifteen years. I thought. He also doesn’t usually go in for blackjack; he considers it a rookie game.

  “Dad,” I say as I pull the cigarette out of his mouth. “What is this?”

  “Well, it ain’t a breadstick,” he says. “Hi, cookie. Thanks for coming. I knew I could count on you.”

  “When did you start smoking again?”

  He stands up and gestures to me. “This is my lucky baby,” he says to anyone within earshot who’s paying attention. “My lucky charm.”

  Is he drunk?

  “Now we’re all gonna start winning!” he shouts, and then stumbles back to the table.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” I ask gently. “You’re smoking and … drinking?”

  My father has never been a drunk. I always consoled myself with the fact that while he may be a gambling addict, he didn’t have a taste for booze. I rationalized that this somehow kept him on the “classier” side of addiction.

  I sit down next to him at the table and hope that for some reason I do bring him luck. Luck enough to help him win some so we can get out of here.

  He’s up for about an hour, and for a minute I think there’s something to his crazy belief that I’m his lucky clover. My dad’s “friend” Jonesy keeps leaning in a little too close to speak to me, and when I feel his hand on my thigh I take the opportunity to step outside for some fresh air. I’m gone only ten minutes, but when I return to the table my dad’s somehow both lost another three hundred dollars and gotten into a fight with the dealer.