Read Online The Balance Thing by Margaret Dumas - Free Book Online Page A

help?”
    Josh got his grin under control. “I’d be honored,” he said.
    I let out a huge breath. I hadn’t realized how nervous I’d been about whether Josh would be willing to listen to my opinions.
    He reached under the mixing board and pulled out a backpack, then rummaged in it until he eventually found a legal pad and pencil. He looked at me expectantly. “Tell me what to do.”
    Music to my ears.
    Â 
    THREE HOURS LATER Josh was beginning to get a clue. They were possibly the most gratifying three hours of my life. I knew I missed having a real job, but I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the actual work. Figuring out problems, identifying concrete goals, and planning strategies to meet them. The more we talked, the more I realized that I knew almost nothing about Josh’s business. I had no statistics to cite, no demographic data to turn to, no market analysis. The sheer volume of what we’d have to do if we were serious about broadening Vladima’s viewer base was enormous.
    Finally, I could sink my teeth into something other than cartoon necks.
    When we finally ran out of steam, Josh started flipping through the pages of notes he’d taken. “Becks, I don’t know what I was thinking all this time just using your voice when I could have been exploiting so much more.”
    â€œExploit away. I’m happy to do it. Besides, as far as I can tell, the major qualification for using my voice is my overall level of bitchiness.” I made a face. “And apparently I have other outlets for that these days.”
    â€œIt’s not just the bitchiness,” Josh corrected me. “It’s also the obvious disdain you have for the material. That comes across as a nice little snobbishness when you record. It makes Vladima superior to the rest of the characters.”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œSeriously. But don’t worry. You’re still a great bitch.”
    Okay, I had started it, but it stung a little anyway. “Josh?”
    â€œYeah.” He was packing up his backpack.
    â€œAm I really a bitch?”
    Something in my voice must have told him I wasn’t joking anymore. He didn’t look at me, but I could tell he was thinking because his eyebrows came together and sort of vibrated. It’s a thing he has. “No,” he finally said, “you’re just old school.”
    â€œOld school?”
    â€œYou know, like Katharine Hepburn or Rosalind Russell or Joan Crawford. You talk fast and sound smart and you say what you mean.”
    â€œSo I’m a diva,” I said, deflated. “Which is pretty much a bitch in good shoes. Thanks.” At least he was honest with me.
    â€œNo.” Josh seemed bothered by the fact that I wasn’t getting it. “You’re just old school. It’s like you expect to be taken seriously while at the same time you’re this great-looking babe. No!”
    I was just beginning to like the sound of things when he corrected himself.
    â€œI’m not a babe?”
    He shook his head. “You’re not a babe or a fox or a chick or anything like that. You’re a grown-up. You’re”—a light dawned—“you’re a dame.” He seemed pleased with himself. “Yeah, you’re a dame.”
    â€œA dame.” This is how he saw me. This is why I should never ask his opinion about anything again.
    â€œYou know,” he went on, “Bette Davis had this great line. She said that if a man asks for what he wants, he’s a man, but if a woman asks for what she wants, she’s a bitch.”
    Bette had a point. “So you do think I’m a bitch.”
    â€œI think you’re not listening.”
    â€œI’m asking, Josh. Does everybody think I’m a bitch? Is that why I’m Vladima?”
    He mumbled something.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re Vladima because you kick ass.” He looked up from the