Читать книгу Playing Games - Dianne Drake - Страница 12

Monday Night and All Is Dry

“WELL, HE’S NOT BAD to look at, but with a pipe wrench he’s lethal, and not in a good way.” Three nights since the great flood and Roxy’s apartment still wasn’t back to normal. To his credit, Ned had sent in a water damage restoration crew, and nothing was permanently ruined. Just soggy.

“And he didn’t come back after he did all that?” Astrid handed Roxy the broadcast notes for the night. Nothing out of the ordinary—a new sponsor, a proposal from station management to add another hour of programming at the top end of her show, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense since her show was called Midnight Special and not Eleven o’clock Special. “They might as well make me drive-time,” she snorted. Drive-time, either morning or afternoon, was a coveted slot. But a deadly one for Roxy’s show since her late-night topics weren’t even close to drive-time subject matter.

“They know you won’t do it,” Astrid said, “but they keep hoping.”

“They’re lucky they get two hours of me a night. And they know that!” Of course, she was lucky to get those two hours, and she knew that. Hiring someone who’d jumped right from clinical counselor to talk-show host in the blink of an eye, and without any radio experience, had been a big risk for her station owners. And now, backing her in a syndication deal, and letting her continue to broadcast from their facilities was a heck of a nice thing to do. Of course, she would own that show, with a piece of it going to Astrid and generous compensation to her station owners, so it was a win-win thing all the way around. She hoped. Gosh, did she hope.

“So you said he wasn’t wearing a shirt when he came over?” Astrid waved at Doyle who was settling into his chair in the engineering booth, ready to scarf down a pizza.

“Nothing but jeans, and I swear…” she raised her hand into the air as if swearing a solemn oath “…I was good. I mean this guy is…like…the best thing you’ve ever had in your dreams—or fantasies—right there in my apartment in the middle of the night. And all I can do is stand there practically drooling. Not that he would have noticed.” Roxy waved at Doyle, too, then sat down in her chair. Still thirty minutes until air. She spread out her latest house plans on the desk. Coming along pretty well, except that aviary where the kitchen should go. “Then I didn’t even see him in the hall all weekend. Not once. I mean, he’s right across from me, so I kept watching, but I don’t think he even opened his door all weekend. Worse than that, he sent this big, burly plumber over—the kind whose pants didn’t quite make it up to his belt line by a good four inches. Believe me, that’s not the bare butt I wanted to be seeing in my kitchen. But it’s fixed, so I may never see him again. The handyman, not the plumber, who I never want to see again.”

“So unfix something,” Astrid suggested. “Then call him back over.”

Roxy laughed. “You’ve been hanging around me too long. I already did that this morning. The bedroom window doesn’t seem to open anymore. Imagine that.”

“Bedroom?” Astrid raised her eyebrows. “Nothing subtle about that, is there?”

“Mind if I interrupt you two with some work matters and do sound levels now?” Doyle asked, still chewing his last bite.

“Check away,” Roxy answered, then laughed. “Which is what I’ll be saying to Mr. Pipe Wrench in a few hours, I hope.”

“In the middle of the night again?” Astrid asked.

“Best time. Just ask Doctor Val. I think for once the two of us would agree on something.” Roxy folded her latest house plans and crammed them in her canvas briefcase. “I think I may have to go buy another home design program. This one seems to have some kinks in it.”

“Could you squeeze in a couple of promos before we go on?” Astrid asked. Then turning to the engineering booth window, she asked Doyle, “Think we could get them in? I know I shouldn’t be springing this on you at the last minute, but management wants a couple of spots to stick on in evening drive-time. They think it’ll tap a new audience.”

“Always drive-time,” Roxy sighed. “But if it brings ’em in, what the heck.”

“Just give me five, and I’ll be good to go,” Doyle called back.

One pizza slice left, he was obviously debating whether to cram it down or leave it for later. Knowing Doyle, he’d go for the cram and order a whole ‘nother pizza for later. “Extra cheese,” Roxy said. “Thin crust. I’ll buy.”

He winked at her before he bit into the last slice. “You bet you will, sugar.”

“Here’s the copy. Go over it a couple of times before you do it.” Astrid plunked some papers down in front of Roxy.

“I prefer to do it spontaneously,” Roxy called after her.

“Just as long as you get the name in…”

“I know. Five times.”

“Seven, if you can. Plus the time it comes on.”

“Like anybody listening in drive-time will still be up to hear me.” These were the people who did Monday through Friday, nine to five. According to market research they were heading to bed after the eleven o’clock news, so there was no chance she was reaching the right audience with drive-time promos. But free advertising was free advertising. “So Doyle, are you ready?”

“For you, babe, I’m always ready. Let me cue up then I’ll give you the count.”

He was on the five count when Roxy picked up her copy and looked at it for the first time.

“One,” from Doyle.

“Good evening, sugars. This is Doctor Val reminding you to tune in tonight as we talk about love, sex, and all the other little things that rock your world…and mine.” Including a building maintenance man who was a solid ten on the rock scale. “I promise to have an extra-specially good show for you tonight, but you won’t know how good until you turn me on.” Ad-lib time because the rest of it was drivel. “And I do so want you to turn me on.” Much better. Much more Val. “So stop by and check me out on Midnight Special at…well, midnight. The best hour of every night for everything. I’ll be waiting for you, sugars.”

Doyle gave her the cut sign, and Roxy wadded the copy and lobbed it into the trash. “I know, I only got the name in once, but they’ll get the drift.”

“And I do so want you to turn me on,” Doyle mimicked. “Doctor Val, raising erections all over the interstate. I can just see all the accident reports. So is the next promo better than this one?”

“Aren’t you the critic?” Astrid snapped at Doyle.

“Hey, I call ’em as I hear ’em.” Doyle gave the cue sign for the next promo just as Roxy slid the copy sideways until it flittered down into the trash can. One more ad-lib coming up, but this one all the way.

“Hello out there in rush-hour traffic. This is Doctor Val with two pieces of advice for you. One is listen to my program, Midnight Special. You’ll be amazed what you’ll hear in grown-up time when we can talk about the good things, the sexy things you’ll never hear on your way home from work. And the other piece of advice is drive naked, sugars. Makes the whole experience much more fun, especially if everybody else commuting right along with you is driving naked, too. So try it, then call me tonight at midnight and let me know if it was good for you, ‘cause, if I’m the one commuting next to you, I’ll be watching, and it’ll sure be good for me. Midnight Special every night at…midnight.”

Roxy turned to Astrid. “Got the name in more.”

“And you’ve got two minutes to do the right one,” Astrid yelled from her glass booth. “Doyle, erase that last mess and get ready for the correct promo.”

“Yeah, Doyle,” Roxy said, grudgingly grabbing the copy from the trash. “Cue me up to do the really good one. The one that will put everybody to sleep.”

Smiling, he gave her the sign, and Roxy read, “This is Doctor Val reminding you to listen to Midnight Special every weeknight at midnight. On Midnight Special we’re full of all kinds of surprises…” She couldn’t help herself. “And on Midnight Special we like to talk real dirty. Lots of sex on Midnight Special. So if you like sex, if that’s what makes you hot at midnight, you’d better tune in and listen to just how hot it can get on Midnight Special. ‘Cause sugars, Valentine gets hot every night on Midnight Special. That’s Midnight Special every weeknight at midnight.” She made a slashing gesture at Doyle and grinned at Astrid. “Seven times, count them. So is that better?”

“After work, the real thing. And Doyle’s locking the doors so you can’t get away,” Astrid grumbled, sitting down in her chair.

“You didn’t really expect me to stick to plain old boring, did you?” Roxy countered.

“Boring pays the—”

“I know,” Roxy said. “It pays the bills, but it doesn’t attract the listeners. And without listeners, there’s no program, and without a program we’re all slapping burgers on a grill somewhere down on the waterfront.” Astrid with her business degree, Doyle with one in engineering and Roxy’s in psychology—the trio couldn’t flip a burger together. But the burger-flipping imagery was good, she thought. “So I do what I have to do to keep us in this job.” She laughed. “And deep down you know I’m right, even though you won’t admit it. So just edit it, okay? Whatever you thinks works.”

“Five minutes,” Doyle said.

Roxy glanced up at the clock, wondering momentarily if Doctor Craig would be calling tonight. For sure he would if her ad-libbed, driving naked promo made it out on the air. Too bad Doyle had erased it.

Then briefly, Roxy imagined Ned Proctor driving naked.

ALMOST MIDNIGHT. He was tempted to turn on the radio and listen to the reigning queen of babble, since his plan to wander across the hall and ask Roxy Rose how her plumbing was doing went down the dumper when she went out a couple of hours ago. Going back across the hall…He’d been wanting to do that for several days now, but he needed some distance between himself and that whole humiliating faucet incident. What was he thinking, anyway, strapping on a tool belt and playing handyman? “Good disguise, Ned,” he muttered, plodding to the fridge for a beer. Three now, on an empty stomach, and he was getting a little buzz. But he didn’t care, since all he was going to do was settle in. “Bet she really bought that handyman bit hook, line and bailing bucket,” he added sarcastically.

He’d been watching Mizzz Rose for the past month, since she’d moved in. Quick glances in the hall mostly. Cute as hell. Sexy, actually. She was like an approaching electrical storm, all full of spark and sizzle. And sure, she was a little off center from normal, in the sense of the women he usually dated, anyway. They were all pretty much run-of-the-mill—good-looking, a lot taller, a whole lot more sophisticated. But Mizzz Rose fascinated him. Had since the day Oswald, the building super, had rented her the apartment across the hall from him and she burst into it like a tornado sweeping through a wide-open Oklahoma plain.

Sure, he’d wanted an introduction to her. Just not the one he’d gotten. There was no turning back from an embarrassment like that one, and no conceivable way to undo it, except maybe switch apartments. Which was as easily said as done, since he owned the building. Unfortunately, it was full right now, with a pretty long waiting list. Nothing open except the boiler room in the basement. So he was staying put for the time being, abject humiliation notwithstanding.

“So do I avoid her, Hep?” he asked his Siamese cat. She was named after Katharine Hepburn—elegance galore with a set of big claws. “Or just pretend it didn’t happen?”

Hep’s answer was a guttural I don’t give a damn growl, as she strutted through the kitchen, back arched, tail up, in search of a fluffed pillow for her nighttime nap.

“You’re right. Just ignore it.” Plodding back into his study with his beer and a bag of chips, Ned looked at the jumble of words on the computer screen, decided to call it a day, hit save then backed it up. No reason killing himself over this one. It wasn’t like he hadn’t cranked out a dozen books just like it before. Pop psychology had a way of bringing out all kinds of issues in people who’d never before had an issue until they read one of his books. To date, twelve bestsellers—the reason he could afford this building. A good investment, his financial guy had told him. Not that he wanted to be a landlord, because he didn’t. But he had to do something with the money he was making. And real estate was as good as anything else. Gave him a place to live, too—an upside that didn’t matter much, since he’d managed to get along for thirty-five years without getting himself too entangled in the usual trappings.

“Well, what will she be doing tonight?” he asked Hep, as he settled into his trusty ten-year-old recliner to listen to Doctor Val McCarthy. Pretty much everything that came out of her mouth was wrong. Bad psychology, bad advice, bad reasoning. But what the hell. She killed a couple of hours, and he sure liked her voice. It was a nice one to hear last thing before he nodded off.

“Welcome to Midnight Special, sugars. Are you ready for something special? Because if you are, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Doctor Val has something extra-specially special for you tonight.”

“That’s what she thinks,” Ned snorted, stretching out in his chair and turning off the floor stand reading light.

“So tell me, what’s on your mind,” Val continued.

“Don’t worry. I always do.” Callers number one, two and three all rang with cheating spouses, boyfriends or both. And Val pretty much rang true with her advice, which was becoming predictable, Ned thought. Same ol’ same ol’. Of course, how many ways could you spin it? You either dump them or you keep them. He chuckled. Or sleep with their significant other’s significant other. That certainly wasn’t a theory he’d seen in any of the books he’d read. Or written!

“Just be true to yourself,” Valentine said, wrapping up a conversation he’d apparently spaced out on. But she was right. Too bad he’d missed it. “There are more big hunks out there for you if you want to go looking. Make sure you’re looking in the right place, though. Someplace without a wedding ring, because if you get yourself hooked into that again, like you did last time, you’ll end up like you are now, wondering why he’s wandering. Now Doctor Val’s gonna go treat herself to something sweet for two minutes. So sugars, I’ll be right back, better than ever.”

“Two minutes, Hep? So she can go look under a rock for more advice?” Chuckling, Ned grabbed his cell phone and punched in the number for Midnight Special. “I have a question for Doctor Val,” he said, when a live voice came on. His Ned voice, only a little higher, because he didn’t want anybody he knew hearing him call that hack. It was a little slurred, too, he noticed, thanks to that beer buzz he had going and a rasp of exhaustion. “But it doesn’t involve a cheating spouse. Do you think she’ll answer my question, anyway?”

“And the nature of your problem is?” the voice on the other end asked. They always qualified the callers. Some made it through, a lot didn’t. He kept his fingers crossed.

“Met a woman I’d like to impress, but the first thing I ever did was pretty damned inept. Performance anxiety, I’d guess you could call it, and now I’m embarrassed to see her again. I just want to know some ways I could start it over between us. Or if I can start it over.” Sure, he’d twist it until it sounded like this was about bad bed performance. But never, ever let ’em know how he’d failed with a pipe wrench. Man, oh man, talk about bored silly, doing something like this. But since Roxy wasn’t home, he wouldn’t get the do-over he’d been plotting all weekend in case he ran into her again. Shutting his eyes, Ned cringed.

“You’ll be caller number one in the next segment,” the screener told him.

“That’s fast.” Actually, this wasn’t the call he’d intended to make. It just sort of slipped out. But what the hell! Go for it, anyway.

“Well, normally we hold that slot for someone else, a program regular, but apparently that’s not happening tonight, so you’re in luck. Just make sure you turn off your radio, okay? And no swearing or graphic words, because we’ll have to cut you off.”

Two minutes later, he got the cue. “Hello, sugar. And what can Doctor Val help you with tonight? I understand you sort of embarrassed yourself the first time you were with her and you’re looking for a way to redeem yourself? Is that it?”

Ned cleared his throat, not so much because he was nervous, but because he was preparing to raise the pitch a tad more, just in case Roxy was listening. Bad with a pipe wrench and getting advice from a radio shrink. Two strikes for sure. “I’ve wanted to meet her for a while,” he began. “And I finally did. But something happened, and yeah, I guess you could say I embarrassed myself.”

“How? We’re all on your side, so tell us the juicy.”

“Let’s just say it was something that comes naturally to most men, and I thought I could do it, but I found myself lacking in the skill. And she was definitely in need of that skill, but I had to call in someone else to help her out when I couldn’t, well, take care of the job.” Ned smiled. Should be interesting.

“You say you called in someone else to finish up for you?”

“That’s what happened, but that’s not why I called you. I just wanted your opinion on whether or not I should try it again with her. If you think she’ll have me back. And how you might suggest that I go about it after humiliating myself like I did the first time.”

“Well, I’m not a medical doctor, but I do know that it happens to all men at one time or another. No need to be embarrassed. And I’ve got to admit that Doctor Val is somewhat amazed at the lengths you’d go to for that woman of yours. Calling in someone else to finish—don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before. But if it was between three consenting adults, I guess that’s okay. I’m curious though. Since you were the one at the starting gate, wouldn’t you rather be the one at the finish, too? And since you were her first choice, I’m assuming she’d like you to go the distance with her. So does she? Does she want you there with her at trophy time?”

“That’s the problem…I really don’t know. After what I did…”

“Give it another shot. I mean, this gal is really lucky to have someone so considerate, someone who cares about her pleasure and fulfillment more than he does his own. And I’m betting she’ll be glad to have you back. Just make sure you take a little blue pill with you next time. Okay, sugar? Go on and knock on her door and tell her you want to give it another try.”

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Roxy asked Astrid on the next break. “I mean, he’s sending in the second string. Think the high and mighty Doctor Craig was listening? ‘Cause I’d sure like to hear what he has to say on the subject. Especially since it’s not me being off the wall for a change.”

“He’s in the queue. Just called in,” Astrid said. “And he was listening. In fact, he’s raring to go.”

Roxy smiled. “Should be interesting.”

“Twenty,” Doyle called. “And if you give me the last caller’s name, I’d be glad to stand in for him sometime when he needs that second string.”

“I’ll bet you would.” Roxy laughed. “You and every other guy listening tonight, except Doctor Craig, who wouldn’t even volunteer to stand in for himself.”

“Five, four, three…” Doyle gave her the cue to go.

“Well, Doctor Craig. Welcome back. You’re a little late, and I was beginning to think you were cheating on us, plying some other late-night talk show with your refutable advice.”

“Not a chance, Doctor. Not after what I just heard. Your callers need someone to set them straight—”

He sounds a little tired, she thought. Probably exhausted himself coming up with a response. “Straight? You mean after I bend them, Doctor?” She glanced at her dark-chocolate truffle. Someday she was going to make that man buy her a whole box of them!

“After you bend their ears with your refutable advice.”

“Come on, Doctor. Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”

“I think, Valentine, that you wouldn’t be so excited with the prospect of a pinch-hitter if you were the one committed to the regular hitter. You know, committed as in love.”

Roxy leaned back in her chair and smiled at Astrid. “Sounds like you want to get into my personal life, Edward. Is that what you’re trying to do? Catch a little glimpse of Valentine at home…in the bedroom?”

“Believe me, over the months I’ve caught that glimpse, and I threw it back.”

Wow! Pretty peckish, even for him. Roxy scrunched her nose at Astrid, like she was smelling something bad. “You’re forgetting, my caller was the one who’d already come up with a solution to his problem. At least his problem in the sack. And while that might not work for you, it seems to be working for him.”

“If it’s working so well, then why did he call you?”

“Maybe because he wants some advice on how to set things right between them, sexually.”

“So you told him to go take a pill and all his sexual problems will be over.”

“He wants sex, Doctor Craig. That’s all he asked about. Sex. Not love everlasting or some other storybook fairy tale. He likes the gal, and he wants to know if he should try it with her again.”

“I know we come from completely different disciplines, but tell me, Valentine—would you let your man line you up with someone else if he couldn’t perform?”

Her man…if only. “You’re assuming I’d get myself involved with a man who couldn’t satisfy me, which is an incorrect assumption.” Actually none of them had satisfied her, and she didn’t mean in the physical sense. But that was none of his business. “In terms of an early relationship—mine, yours, my caller’s—you simply don’t know what will satisfy you. You have an idea what you’d like, what you’ve liked in the past, but when you’re clean-slating it with someone new, it’s always a great big question mark. My caller got to that great big question mark and unfortunately he turned it into a great big huge question mark, so I told him it’s worth taking another chance on. Simple as that. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Roxy winked at Astrid, then continued. “Unless you’re burying your head in the sand, Edward, there are signals, hunches, tinglings telling you this is someone you want to pursue. And tinglings are the best indicators. The kind that start at your toes and don’t stop. Haven’t you ever met a woman and started tingling right away?”

She’d certainly started tingling the instant she saw Ned Proctor standing outside her door. Maybe even before that, when he was so grumpy on the phone. Or even before that, passing in the hall, or watching him through her peephole. Whatever the case, there had been tinglings. Strong ones. Still were when she thought about him.

“But your caller wasn’t talking about tinglings,” he countered.

“Wasn’t he? Something made him want to go back and try again, and it sure wasn’t good sex since he had to bring in the second string. And since you, Edward, are always the champion of hanging around, trying to work things out, which is what I told him to do, I don’t know how you could argue the point. Even though what my caller’s doing isn’t the way you’d do it…” Or the way she’d do it. “He deserves a do-over.” And she was betting Doctor Edward Craig had never, ever had a tingling or he’d know it was worth doing over.

“The way you’d do it, Valentine?”

Roxy leaned a little closer to the microphone. “The way I’d do it, Doctor Craig, is open to a whole lot of possibilities, many of which, I’m sure, you’ve never considered.” Possibilities she wouldn’t mind exploring with her not-so-handy handyman.

“Actually, the only one I consider is love, Valentine. That’s the only thing that comes with all those possibilities you talk about.”

Love? Well, that wasn’t one of her possibilities, no way, no how. But score one for him, anyway. When he was right he was right. Even though she’d never admit it. “You almost sound like a romantic, Doctor. But of course, I know better. You write books that espouse all that academic thinking, and your readers walk away, what? Happy? Enlightened? Glad their pockets are lighter by the cost of a book? Sorry, Doc. You’re still not ringing…or tingling my bell. And I’m sticking by what I said earlier. My caller needs to go back and try again. And take the pill with him, if that’s what it takes.”

“And I’m sticking by what I’ve said time and time again. You’ve skirted around the only truly important issue. But then, you always do, don’t you, Valentine?”

Doyle gave Roxy the slash-throat signal, then a five count into a commercial break. Good timing. The hard and fast rule for Edward Craig’s calls was that she always got the last word.

“What I skirt, Doctor, is being close-minded about issues my callers consider to be serious problems. That’s all we have time for tonight. Thanks for calling, again.” Then she was off. Truffle time!

“Whoa,” Astrid said, stepping into Roxy’s booth. “You two almost agreeing there?”

“Not agreeing,” Roxy argued.

“But getting pretty darn close. I mean, you guys were just a couple chapters off from being on the same page. Good thing you still managed to find a way to argue about it, because the last thing our listeners need is Valentine and Edward in bed together.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. The guy’s a snore. The only thing in bed with him is a pillow.”

“But it was close, Rox. You know it.”

“So I agreed with him tonight…on some points. Big deal. And he was right…on some points. That caller needed a lot more than a little blue pill to fix his problems, but that’s all Valentine can do—hand out the snappy fixer-upper, which is not necessarily the best one.”

“Is this really about that caller?” Astrid asked. “Because you’re sounding more like Roxy than Val right now.”

Yeah, because she was Roxy right now. Roxy tingling over Ned. “Just tired.” And full of expectations and anticipations and not sure what to do with them. “Not my usual self, I guess.”

“Want me to stick in a rerun for the last half of the show so you can get out of here and go find your usual self?”

“Nope. I’m okay. Just pour me a root beer and I’ll do better next segment.” Roxy saw Doyle’s ten-second signal and asked Astrid, “What’s up next?”

“In a nutshell, big-time mamma’s boy, age forty-two. She’s seventy-five. He’s unmarried, two of them live together. He wants a life, she won’t let him have it, and don’t you dare tell him to take his balls back from her like you did last time one of them called, okay?”

She crossed her heart, grinning. “Promise.” And just when she thought she might have some fun. “Welcome to Midnight Special, sugar. I understand you have a little problem with your mother? So before we get started, let me just say one thing.” She really hated mamma’s boys. They were all whiners. Didn’t listen. Made excuses. Got defensive. Horrible on the ratings. Her listeners turned them off, went to get a snack, have sex, grab a beer, or all of the above. “Mamma needs a man, junior. Even at her age, she’s still got it in her. So you go out and find her one, ya hear? Find her one who will give her some good, hot mamma sex and I’ll guarantee she won’t be bothering you about whatever she bothers you about, and you’ll be able to go out and get some good, hot junior sex for yourself.”

She smiled at Astrid, giving her the thumbs-up. Val was back, all the way.