Read Online With a Little Luck: A Novel by Caprice Crane - Free Book Online Page B

rock and a chick who really needs some bleep, tune in to Berry’s nighttime show from seven p.m. to midnight. Maybe call in and see if she’ll change her mind.…”
    I can still hear him blathering as I walk down the hallway. There’s only one Howard Stern. Just because there are two of these guys doesn’t mean they’re twice as potent. Just makes them twice as pathetic for biting someone else’s style. One upside to my hostile work environment? Absolutely zero chance of stumbling into an awkward sexual relationship with a co-worker.

     
    As soon as I start the second-to-last Stones song, the phones start ringing.
No, dummies. That’s only nine
.
    “KKCR,” I say, as I answer the phone.
    “Am I it? Did I win? Is this Berry?” says the caller.
    “No, no, and yes,” I say.
    “But—”
    “This is the ninth song. I’m sorry, but we have one more to go.”
    “And what are the odds of me getting through again when it’s the tenth,” he asks.
    I’m stumped. I’m not sure how to answer him. I know the odds can’t be that good, but then again, how many people are so committed that they’ve listened to the station for twenty-four hours straight?
    “Well …” I start.
    “It’s okay,” he says. “I know I won’t get through.”
    He sounds so defeated.
    “You never know,” I say. “I hope you do.”
    “My mom is sick, and she really loves the Stones so much. I was hoping to win so I could take her. She has cancer.”
    “Oh, gosh,” I say, genuinely feeling like crap. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
    “How about a date to make it up to me?” he asks, changing the subject rather quickly.
    “I don’t date callers,” I say. “It sets a bad precedent.”
    “Pretend I didn’t call,” he says. “I’ll forfeit my chances of winning and not call back when you play the next song if you will have dinner with me.”
    Something’s definitely off. “I’m very flattered,” I answer, “but I really can’t say yes. Plus, there’s still a chance you can win and then take your mom to the concert.”
    Then I hear a giggle, which confirms it. Someone’s messing with me. This is the trouble with radio. And phones. And people.
    “Please!” he says now, in a loud, aggressive wail. Clearly mocking me. “Please!”
    “I’m going to do what you asked and pretend you didn’t call.” I hang up and take a few breaths. I wish I could say this was the first or fifth of fiftieth time I’ve had a prank caller, but I couldn’t even begin to count the number of prank calls I’ve had if my life depended on it.
    The thing is, everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame, even if they get there by being a complete jerk. What the majority of these people don’t realize is that just because someone at the station answers their call, it does not mean that they will be heard live on the radio. We have screening processes for that exact reason. The screeners haven’t failed me in a long time, and it takes me a second to recover—who lies about their mother having cancer? I wait until I’ve successfully started the next song and then get up to take a short walk to shake it off. I know we’re going into a commercial break after the song, so I have at least six minutes to regroup, long enough for a little trip to the vending machines.
    No highfalutin cafeteria for us here at the station. Nope, we’ve got two vending machines and a pseudo-Starbucks coffeemaker. I put my dollar in and opt for the seventy-five-cent bag of pretzels. Deciding that the bag is not large enough, I put another dollar in and buy another bag. Now I have two quarters, and it will cost only one more to get a third bag, and I’m pretty sure I have one in my pocket.… Yup, there it is, so I insert the three quarters into the machine and get my third bag. Of course, I’ll feel required to eat them all, and I’m moments from being a walking ball of bad carbohydrates and refined flour and sodium, but it was really the only move that made