Love on the Air (6 page)

"You do that. Have a good night."

She hung up, refusing to ponder the nuance of his
words like a lovesick sophomore. She sprinted to the
kitchen, opened a few drawers and found a butter knife
sharing a drawer with a million plastic forks, a few
stray napkins, and a slew of fast-food salsa packets.

She returned to the studio just before her song
faded. As she cued the other CD player and tried to
free the jammed disc, she glanced above the shelf to
see a butter knife that had clearly been left there for
just that purpose.

"Way to tell me about the butter knife," she said to
Yvonne the next afternoon.

Yvonne spun around on the studio's tall stool. "Oh,
hon, I'm sorry. I didn't think. We just got the thing
back from the shop. I thought it was okay." She made
a face. "If it's any consolation, it did the same thing
to me this morning."

"Mark didn't tell you? I warned him."

Yvonne shrugged. "That's McKeon for you." Mark
McKeon had been every bit as pleasant as Rob had
led her to expect, with barely two words of greeting for her and no introduction. "So, other than that,
how'd it go?"

"I made it through. I don't think I did any permanent damage, at least."

"I'm sure you were fine. So what brings you back
here so soon, anyway? You're about ten hours early
for your next shift."

"Well, really, I wondered if there was anything I
could do for you. I'm not used to having so many
hours free during the day, and-" Christie broke off.
"Oh, heck, who am I kidding? I just couldn't stay
away. I'll help you with anything I can get my hands
on. As long as I'm not getting in your way."

"Beginner's fever?" Something glinted in Yvonne's
eyes, and Christie could see her considering the possibilities. Then the hot line rang. "Hang on. Rick's out
on a live broadcast." She flipped the switch that let
her use the microphone to talk over the phone line.
"Hey, babe. How's it going out there?" Hearing the
casual familiarity gave Christie a prickly little feeling
that she didn't like.

"Running out of prizes." Rick's voice boomed
cheerily out of the monitor speakers overhead. "And
we've got an hour to go. I was thinking about holding
a drawing for the station van. Or Ed's Mercedes. What
do you think?"

Yvonne chuckled. "It's your funeral." She started
the machine to record the break. "Ready when you
are."

Rick's voice shifted into full-on announcer mode.
"Hi, Yvonne, I'm here at the grand opening of Mich elle's Crafts and Collectibles, here on Fifth and Hancock, where they've got ..."

Rick went on with his professional spiel, and Christie tried to examine that prickly feeling. Or smother it.
Why should she care if Yvonne flirted with Rick, or
whether there was anything behind it? That kind of
jealousy was kid stuff, and she'd outgrown it a long
time ago. There was no call for it now. Anyway,
Christie reminded herself, Yvonne was always calling
her "hon." And wouldn't she be a little more discreet
if there was really something going on?

"...We'll be out here 'til three, so stop on by. This
is Rick Fox with KYOR, your station for the best
songs of yesterday and today."

Yvonne stopped the recording. "Thanks, handsome."

"You got it, gorgeous." Christie prickled again.
"Wish me luck out here."

"Luck out there." Unexpectedly, Yvonne turned the
microphone in Christie's direction. "Hey, say hi to
Christie."

"Christie?" His tone changed abruptly. "What's she
doing there?"

Yvonne looked startled. She grimaced at Christie,
who quietly pushed the microphone back toward
Yvonne. "She just dropped by, wanted to see if she
could help out. I thought I'd show her some stuff when
I get off the air. Maybe straighten up that mess we
call a production room."

"Okay just make sure you get your own work
done."

Yvonne blinked at the monitor speakers. "Not a problem. Talk to you later." She cut off the phone with
a frown.

Christie said, "Is he always like that?"

Yvonne shook her head, still frowning at the speakers. "No. Never." She set the machine to play back
Rick's recorded break after the next song. "He must
be having a bad day."

"It didn't sound like it, until my name came up. Do
you think I got on his bad side somehow?"

"In three days? Don't be silly. Anyway, you've
hardly been around him."

"He's always like that with me. I mean, he goes
back and forth. Like when he called last night-"

"Rick was listening at midnight? On your first
shift?"

"Is that unusual?"

"Nah," Yvonne said, "probably not." But she didn't
sound too convincing.

Rick leaned back in his chair, one eye on the
Gavin trade magazine charts, as he and Yvonne went
over which songs to add or drop from the play list
next week. "Where's your shadow today?" he asked,
keeping his tone casual. It was the first day in a
week that Christie hadn't been at the station by early
afternoon.

"I told her you and I were going over the music
right after I got off the air," Yvonne said. "She said
she'd be in later."

"Doesn't she ever sleep?" It sounded more impatient than he'd intended.

Rick wasn't sure what Christie's frequent visits were doing to her sleep schedule, but they weren't
doing anything for his concentration. He kept getting
distracted by the sound of female laughter from
Yvonne's office across the hall. If Christie had been
getting in the way, the problem would be easy to
solve. But she was making herself useful, taking some
of the weight off Yvonne's shoulders. She was willing
to help with anything-filing, organizing tapes and
CDs, or helping to pack up the van for a live remote
broadcast. All further proof that Rick had made a good
call when he hired her.

Yvonne was studying him. "What is it with you and
her, anyway?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." His answer came out a little too quickly.

"Do you have some kind of problem with her?"

Rick raised an eyebrow. "Aside from the two of you
gabbing across the hall like magpies, no. I don't have
a problem with her. Why?"

The problem was, he found her just about impossible to ignore. Try as he might. When she wasn't in
Yvonne's office, she was up and down the hall on one
errand or another, usually singing some snatch of a
song. Often, it was the one that was on the air; just as
often, it could be some obscure country song or show
tune. Not that she was too loud; in fact, the singing
always got quieter as she went by his door, and always
picked up again when she passed it. Well, no wonder.
He'd been all but rude to her, and there was no good
reason for it. He could shut his door, but that would
be the final act of defeat. In five years as program director here, he'd made it a point to always keep it
open, always be available.

"You've barely said two words to the girl since she
got here," Yvonne said. "And why in the world were
you monitoring her first air shift? You probably scared
her half to death."

"The CD player jammed, and I bailed her out. She
complained about that?" Rick caught himself raising
his voice.

"No." Yvonne backed off. "She just told me about
the problem with the player, and she said you called."

"I told her she was doing a good job. Did she tell
you that?"

"She didn't really say anything." Yvonne was still
backpedalling. "I was just surprised you'd be listening
at that hour. Especially her first night. You know
everybody's first shift is usually awful."

"I was helping."

Yvonne held her hands up in front of her in a gesture of defense. "I know, I know."

"So why am I a beast all of a sudden?" His voice
had risen again.

She didn't bat an eye. "I don't know, Rick. Why
are you a beast all of a sudden?"

A silence followed. What was happening to him?
He never yelled at the jocks. If one of them needed to
be chewed out, which was rare, his voice got deadly
quiet. It was much more effective. He wasn't sure if
Yvonne needed chewing out-she never had beforebut something had to be done, and quick. "Sorry," he
said. "I guess I need some more sleep. Or more coffee."

"I'd lay off the caffeine if I were you," Yvonne said.

This had gone far enough. He and Yvonne had always had a good working relationship. They'd even
done some friendly flirting. It was safe, because both
of them knew it didn't mean anything. That had
stopped cold the day Christie had heard him call
Yvonne "gorgeous" over the phone. He felt as if he'd
just been caught. Caught at nothing.

And now, Yvonne was starting to overstep her
bounds. Time to get things back under control. "Are
you finished?" he said.

"Well, there is one more thing."

Rick refused to cringe as he waited for the other
shoe to drop.

"Well, she wants to learn everything. And she's
sharp as a tack, Rick. I don't know if you-"

He circled his hand in the air, motioning for her to
speed up. "Yes, I've noticed. Your point is-?"

"One of the things she's interested in is the music.
She was here the other day when I was listening to
some of the new discs-the songs you're thinking
about adding to the play list-"

"Right."

"Well, she might be asking you about adding a segment on her show where she auditions a couple of new
songs and gets the listeners' opinions."

Rick groaned and dropped his head against the back
of his chair.

"Now, I'm not trying to tell you what to decide-"

"I should hope not."

"Just-be nice, Rick. Okay?"

He brought his head up, looked her in the eye and
said, with perfect blandness, "I'm always nice."

Christie finally decided to approach Rick about the
new music segment after he was off the air, since she
knew he usually didn't go home right away. She'd
been stalling, balking at another encounter in the office
she still thought of as the lion's den. And at the
thought of making a fool of herself. She hadn't been
within six feet of him in the past two weeks, and even
at that distance, he set her off balance. Enough was
enough. She needed to prove to Rick, as well as herself, that she could hold a conversation with him without being intimidated, or succumbing to ridiculous
little butterflies. She had to make sure he knew she
had a brain in her head.

When she arrived at the station shortly after 7 P.M.,
the production room door was closed, with the light
above it glowing bright red, indicating the microphone
was in use. Cutting commercials. Of course.

She'd come to attack the beach at Normandy, and
the Germans were out to lunch.

Christie headed to the break room to wait him out,
rounded the corner, and walked straight into Rick. He
was turning away from the coffee machine, mug in
hand.

Before she knew what was happening, Rick caught
her around the shoulders with his free arm and spun
her neatly around in a half-circle. All she could see
was Rick's crisp white shirt up against her face. All
she could feel were his arm and his chest, both warm
and firm, with Christie captured in the middle. Then she came to a stop, and Rick reached past her to set
his sloshing coffee cup on the counter.

He pulled her back and steadied her with both
hands. "Are you okay?"

His hands on her shoulders felt as warm and firm
as the rest of him. Christie staggered back. He held
her by the elbows, still steadying her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Did I get you?"

One brief little spin couldn't account for her lightheadedness, or the sudden speed of her heart. Christie
looked down at the splashed coffee, in a semicircle
pattern on the floor around them. "How did you do
that?"

"I'm not sure." He laughed. "Reflexes took over.
Did I spill any on you?"

He studied her, his hands still on her shoulders, and
for a second Christie could imagine he was searching
for something other than spilled coffee. Then he let
her go and stepped back.

She reached her arms up around herself, selfconsciously patting down her sweater. "I don't think
so." She was still catching her breath. "I thought you
were in the production room."

"Just on my way back to it. What are you doing
here this time of night?"

This wasn't how she'd planned on approaching him.
Their first real, face-to-face contact since she'd started,
and it was a head-on collision. "I-" She couldn't
think. "I wanted to run something by you. If you have
time." She brushed a strand of hair back from her face.
"And I thought I'd mop up some coffee."

"It's a deal." Rick moved toward the hallway, but his eyes were locked on hers. Was there a little unease
on his side, too? "I've just got one commercial left to
cut. Meet me in my office in ten minutes?"

Christie used the ten minutes to take care of the spill
as best she could with paper towels, while she got her
heart to slow down. Just shaken up, she told herself,
although getting whirled around by Rick had been
more enjoyable than she cared to think about. I need
to get out more.

At least he seemed to be in a good mood. And his
shirt had smelled good.

The break room floor's thin carpet bore plenty of
evidence of past spills. When Christie was satisfied
that the latest splatters weren't any worse than the others, she went to Rick's office. He'd beaten her there,
and she wondered how long it would be before she
could whip out a commercial in less than ten minutes.

Christie had a sense of deja vu as she sat down,
once again, in "The Chair." She tried to forget that
crashing into him had been like running into a warm
wall.

A warm wall. It wasn't a bad description. Rick
wasn't exactly cold, but he wasn't exactly approachable either. He leaned back again in the big chair as
he listened to her. His posture was deceptively relaxed,
but the watchful gray eyes told her otherwise. It was
hard to read those eyes as she described what she had
in mind: audition a couple of songs a night and take
calls from the listeners. She would get their reactionsanything from a simple tally of which song they preferred, to more detailed comments, if they had any. It seemed, to her, like a good way to get a sense of what
the listeners would like to hear on the station.