“Thanks,” I said with my guard up. I didn’t trust the woman. “April deserves a lot of the credit. She holds everything together.”
Nancy laughed lightly. “April is not the reason women are suddenly tuning into the station in droves,” she said bluntly. “It’s you who they want, Jericho. The number of listeners has doubled so far this week already.”
“Well that’s good to hear,” I said. Talking to the woman was like stumbling across a snake in the grass. I kept waiting for her to lash out. She didn’t strike me as the kind of executive who made courtesy calls to staff in the middle of the day just to hand out a grudging pat on the back.
“It’s great news,” Nancy enthused. “And we’ve drawn in several more advertisers who want to come on board as sponsors of the program. That helps the bottom line… and I think this is only the beginning. I have a couple of ideas…”
I screwed my eyes shut and waited for the inevitable…
“First, I want you to start running a kind of on-air club,” Nancy said. “We can call it the Sub Club, or something like that.”
“A club?”
“That’s right,” Nancy went on. There was a bubble of enthusiasm in her voice and it radiated down the line. “Every night between twelve-thirty and one in the morning, you run a club for all the women who want a little taste of submission. In that time, you speak directly to the listeners – no callers – just you giving instructions to all the ladies. They can obey your commands in the comfort of their own home and in privacy, but still get a sense of the Master-submissive dynamic.” The words came out in a long rush without pause or hesitation, as though she needed to explain the concept entirely before I had the chance to object.
I listened, and grudgingly admitted that it sounded like a good idea.
“What do you think?”
I wondered if she was pacing across her office, phone clutched to her ear and a frown of concentration on her face as if she were willing me down the line to bend to her wishes.
“I like it,” I admitted. “I think I can make that work.”
“Great!” Nancy’s voice came alive and I heard a tinkle of laughter that sounded like relief.
“What else?”
There was a significant pause down the line. I could hear a soft hum of background sound. Nancy’s voice came back at last, suddenly more hushed and confidential. “That Sondra who has been calling the show? I heard her say she wants to meet you when I was playing back the tapes.”
“Yes,” I said.
More silence. Nancy was diplomatically choosing her words.
“Do you want to?”
“Do I want to meet her?”
“Yes.”
“No,” I said.
More thoughtful silence. “Then have you thought about calling her? You can get the number through the producer’s log. They record the origins of everyone…”
“ I have the number, Nancy.”
The line went eerily silent for several seconds. “You do?”
“Yes. After the call was taken off air, she was still on the line. She gave me her number.”
“Well are you going to call her? Did she say what she wanted?”
“She said she wanted to meet me.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. But I can guess.”
“Do you think she’s some kind of a crazy stalker – someone who has become infatuated with you?”
I thought about that carefully. “No,” I said at last. “I don’t think she is obsessed with me – I think her fascination is with the lifestyle.”
It was Nancy’s turn to lapse into thought. I could hear her moving around the office. “So are you going to call her?”
“I don’t see an upside to doing that. If I do, it might encourage other listeners to think they can make contact with me outside the program.”
“Hmmm,” Nancy made a non-committal sound. “But if you don’t at least phone her, you run the risk of turning her into an obsessive fan.”
I said nothing.
“Do you want to block her calls?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I think she’s
Nancy laughed lightly. “April is not the reason women are suddenly tuning into the station in droves,” she said bluntly. “It’s you who they want, Jericho. The number of listeners has doubled so far this week already.”
“Well that’s good to hear,” I said. Talking to the woman was like stumbling across a snake in the grass. I kept waiting for her to lash out. She didn’t strike me as the kind of executive who made courtesy calls to staff in the middle of the day just to hand out a grudging pat on the back.
“It’s great news,” Nancy enthused. “And we’ve drawn in several more advertisers who want to come on board as sponsors of the program. That helps the bottom line… and I think this is only the beginning. I have a couple of ideas…”
I screwed my eyes shut and waited for the inevitable…
“First, I want you to start running a kind of on-air club,” Nancy said. “We can call it the Sub Club, or something like that.”
“A club?”
“That’s right,” Nancy went on. There was a bubble of enthusiasm in her voice and it radiated down the line. “Every night between twelve-thirty and one in the morning, you run a club for all the women who want a little taste of submission. In that time, you speak directly to the listeners – no callers – just you giving instructions to all the ladies. They can obey your commands in the comfort of their own home and in privacy, but still get a sense of the Master-submissive dynamic.” The words came out in a long rush without pause or hesitation, as though she needed to explain the concept entirely before I had the chance to object.
I listened, and grudgingly admitted that it sounded like a good idea.
“What do you think?”
I wondered if she was pacing across her office, phone clutched to her ear and a frown of concentration on her face as if she were willing me down the line to bend to her wishes.
“I like it,” I admitted. “I think I can make that work.”
“Great!” Nancy’s voice came alive and I heard a tinkle of laughter that sounded like relief.
“What else?”
There was a significant pause down the line. I could hear a soft hum of background sound. Nancy’s voice came back at last, suddenly more hushed and confidential. “That Sondra who has been calling the show? I heard her say she wants to meet you when I was playing back the tapes.”
“Yes,” I said.
More silence. Nancy was diplomatically choosing her words.
“Do you want to?”
“Do I want to meet her?”
“Yes.”
“No,” I said.
More thoughtful silence. “Then have you thought about calling her? You can get the number through the producer’s log. They record the origins of everyone…”
“ I have the number, Nancy.”
The line went eerily silent for several seconds. “You do?”
“Yes. After the call was taken off air, she was still on the line. She gave me her number.”
“Well are you going to call her? Did she say what she wanted?”
“She said she wanted to meet me.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. But I can guess.”
“Do you think she’s some kind of a crazy stalker – someone who has become infatuated with you?”
I thought about that carefully. “No,” I said at last. “I don’t think she is obsessed with me – I think her fascination is with the lifestyle.”
It was Nancy’s turn to lapse into thought. I could hear her moving around the office. “So are you going to call her?”
“I don’t see an upside to doing that. If I do, it might encourage other listeners to think they can make contact with me outside the program.”
“Hmmm,” Nancy made a non-committal sound. “But if you don’t at least phone her, you run the risk of turning her into an obsessive fan.”
I said nothing.
“Do you want to block her calls?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I think she’s
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