Mr. D. about it. I took another look at the clock on the wall.
“Time flies?” he said.
“I have to be in the studio. Watching the clock is a major part of my job. Okay, then.”
“Okay to lunch?” His face split into a huge grin.
“Sure. Pick me up here.” There was no way I’d let him know where I lived.
I made my escape to the studio, where our early evening announcer signed off and I pulled a few CDs, annoyed that I might miss the cake. I went online for the latest weather report and local news and closed the studio door but left the light on. This was one of the occasions when Neil or Bill would give guests the grand tour so they could have the pleasure of staring through the window at me.
I lined up a short piece to begin with and glanced at the phone. It was too early for him to call, but… I wasn’t sure he’d approve. And that raised some uncomfortable questions. Did I need his approval? Was I using Willis the way I’d used Jason? (Except that had been entirely spontaneous…hadn’t it?) And we’d parted on good terms with no expectations and… Willis was just so unlike the men I usually dated, but according to Kimberly I made bad choices in that area. I pulled out my cell phone and texted her to save me a piece of cake, and then watched the countdown on the music currently playing.
Cake was nice and simple and not sullied by issues of morality. Unless you were concerned about your weight or a wannabe dancer obsessed with keeping yourself to bone and muscle (and probably planning to barf it up anyway), cake was a pleasure, pure and simple.
The music ended and I came on air and made a short announcement. My philosophy was that we did not have personality announcers, but a smooth flow of music and if our listeners noticed the voice had changed, that was fine. But it was the music that kept them listening.
When I flipped the mic off someone knocked at the door and I got up to answer it. To my surprise it was Patrick with a plate of cake.
“Kimberly told me to bring this to you.”
“Great. Want to come in?”
“Sure.” He came in and looked around. “So how does all this work?”
I gave him my usual semitechnical explanation and offered him a seat. “Stay while I talk on air, if you like. Try not to sneeze.”
“I won’t.”
“You’d be surprised how many visitors have a coughing fit.” I took a quick bite of cake and put my headphones on.
This time I talked a little longer, giving a weather update and mentioning the music that would be coming up later, aware that I issued an invitation to Mr. D. This is when I can talk.
Then I hit the play button for the CD, faded the mic down and switched it off and removed my headphones.
“Do you get nervous?” Patrick asked.
“No. Some announcers imagine they’re talking to one person, or their pet. I don’t. If you think about how many people might be listening it’s unreal, intimidating. So I just talk.”
“And you like being here late at night?”
Well, yes. “I’m not always here late. I can put a show together by downloading music and recording the announcements, and that’s what I usually do if I want an early night. An intern comes in to make sure everything is okay and can step in to broadcast from the other studio if something goes wrong. But generally I work live.” I forked more cake into my mouth. “Thanks for bringing me this.”
“No problem.” He cleared his throat in the way men do when they are about to get personal. “Kimberly seems nice.”
“She is.”
“You’ve been friends for quite a while, she said.”
He was asking for a character reference, in other words. I thought I’d move things along a bit for him. “She’d probably appreciate a ride home, if you’re driving, that is.”
“Good to know.” He nodded in an emphatic sort of way. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Unless you’d like more cake?”
I told him I was fine and he left me to the quiet of the studio. Now and again a group
“Time flies?” he said.
“I have to be in the studio. Watching the clock is a major part of my job. Okay, then.”
“Okay to lunch?” His face split into a huge grin.
“Sure. Pick me up here.” There was no way I’d let him know where I lived.
I made my escape to the studio, where our early evening announcer signed off and I pulled a few CDs, annoyed that I might miss the cake. I went online for the latest weather report and local news and closed the studio door but left the light on. This was one of the occasions when Neil or Bill would give guests the grand tour so they could have the pleasure of staring through the window at me.
I lined up a short piece to begin with and glanced at the phone. It was too early for him to call, but… I wasn’t sure he’d approve. And that raised some uncomfortable questions. Did I need his approval? Was I using Willis the way I’d used Jason? (Except that had been entirely spontaneous…hadn’t it?) And we’d parted on good terms with no expectations and… Willis was just so unlike the men I usually dated, but according to Kimberly I made bad choices in that area. I pulled out my cell phone and texted her to save me a piece of cake, and then watched the countdown on the music currently playing.
Cake was nice and simple and not sullied by issues of morality. Unless you were concerned about your weight or a wannabe dancer obsessed with keeping yourself to bone and muscle (and probably planning to barf it up anyway), cake was a pleasure, pure and simple.
The music ended and I came on air and made a short announcement. My philosophy was that we did not have personality announcers, but a smooth flow of music and if our listeners noticed the voice had changed, that was fine. But it was the music that kept them listening.
When I flipped the mic off someone knocked at the door and I got up to answer it. To my surprise it was Patrick with a plate of cake.
“Kimberly told me to bring this to you.”
“Great. Want to come in?”
“Sure.” He came in and looked around. “So how does all this work?”
I gave him my usual semitechnical explanation and offered him a seat. “Stay while I talk on air, if you like. Try not to sneeze.”
“I won’t.”
“You’d be surprised how many visitors have a coughing fit.” I took a quick bite of cake and put my headphones on.
This time I talked a little longer, giving a weather update and mentioning the music that would be coming up later, aware that I issued an invitation to Mr. D. This is when I can talk.
Then I hit the play button for the CD, faded the mic down and switched it off and removed my headphones.
“Do you get nervous?” Patrick asked.
“No. Some announcers imagine they’re talking to one person, or their pet. I don’t. If you think about how many people might be listening it’s unreal, intimidating. So I just talk.”
“And you like being here late at night?”
Well, yes. “I’m not always here late. I can put a show together by downloading music and recording the announcements, and that’s what I usually do if I want an early night. An intern comes in to make sure everything is okay and can step in to broadcast from the other studio if something goes wrong. But generally I work live.” I forked more cake into my mouth. “Thanks for bringing me this.”
“No problem.” He cleared his throat in the way men do when they are about to get personal. “Kimberly seems nice.”
“She is.”
“You’ve been friends for quite a while, she said.”
He was asking for a character reference, in other words. I thought I’d move things along a bit for him. “She’d probably appreciate a ride home, if you’re driving, that is.”
“Good to know.” He nodded in an emphatic sort of way. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Unless you’d like more cake?”
I told him I was fine and he left me to the quiet of the studio. Now and again a group
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