Page 28 of First-Time Caller
I silently beg for a conversational assist. For one of the ancient ceiling tiles to give and release some of the equally ancient plumbing on top of my head, dragging me through the floor to the basement.
“Help me out here,” I beg.
“I thought you were supposed to be helping me.”
I scratch once at the back of my neck. “Any chance we can restart this conversation?”
She gestures at me with her hand. A quick flick down and up again. “And stop all of this from happening?” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Her lips twitch into a full smile and she grins at me.Beautiful, I think hazily, my brain clearly somewhere on the floor with the dust bunnies and the Slurpee stain Eileen left six months ago.She’s really fucking beautiful.
Maggie is going to kill me. I’m surprised she hasn’t barreled out of her office with another armful of oranges, demanding I do my job while pelting me with fruit. I don’t usually cut it so close to showtime, but I feel fundamentally rooted to the spot. Unable to move or . . . string together an appropriate sentence, apparently.
“All right, well.” I clear my throat and look longingly in the direction of the hallway that leads to my booth. There’s a sanctuary down there in the form of soundproof glass. “Best of luck with your dental needs.”
I flinch. I can’t believe I talk to people for a living.
She laughs and my head cocks to the side. That sound is familiar. A wisp of smoke I can’t quite get a hold of. Maybe in another life I was a person who was capable of having a reasonable in-person conversation with a stranger.
“Thank you,” she says. Her forehead crinkles in gently amused confusion. “I think.”
I nod and stare at her for another beat before turning and heading in the direction of the hallway. I’m changing the topic for tonight’s show.Conversation starters with strangers and why you should avoid innuendos about oral sex. Worst opening lines and how to say with body language that you’re usually more put together than this, but life has thrown you a curveball or seven and you’ve got no idea if your head is screwed on straight.
Maggie pops up from behind the door like a tiny radio gremlin, hell-bent on ratings glory. She’s glaring at me, because of course she is, but then she looks over my shoulder and her frown twists its way into a smile. It’s the same smile she gave me in her office when she cooked up her SaveHeartstringsplan.
That smile means nothing good for me.
“You made it,” she calls, a portrait of politeness. I think she’s trying to channel a Julie Andrews character from 1964. It’s unnatural. I’m so fixated on that weird-ass smile on her face that I miss the fact that she’s talking to the woman waiting in the lobby. I’m on a two-second time delay, watching everything happen in slow motion. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
The woman smiles and it’s nothing like the smile I earned when I embarrassed myself with sexualized dental comments. It’s tight and more than a little anxious. She drags her hands against the front of her jacket and then shoves them in the pockets. Makes a face and pulls them out again, holding one forward for a handshake.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
Maggie flutters forward, bypassing her extended hand for a hug instead. My frown deepens. I’ve never seen Maggie willingly hug anyone. I watch the woman’s face carefully to make sure she’s not slowly being suffocated or stabbed with a defunct ballpoint pen.
Maggie pulls back. “No pressure. Just like I said on the phone, okay? I figure you can meet everyone today and decide what you want to do from there.”
I’m still on my time delay as Maggie drags the woman across the small lobby of our radio station, an almost manic smile on her face. I realize three things in the span of two heartbeats.
1. Her eyes are the exact green ofHedera canariensis, the ivy my dad planted in my parents’ front yard. He makes me stand with him and examine it every time I go over there, listing off botanic factoids like an encyclopedia.
2. The name patch sewn onto the front of her jacket saysLuin short, neat letters.
3. I know where I’ve heard that laugh before.
CALLER:What does she look like? Lucie.
AIDEN VALENTINE:I have no idea.
CALLER:No idea?
AIDEN VALENTINE:No idea. I’ve only heard her voice.
Ithought people who worked in radio were supposed to be hideous.
That’s the saying, isn’t it?A face made for radio.The implication being that while a person might possess charisma and charm, they do not have the looks for a career in stardom.
It’s a stupid saying. And clearly, a saying that has no actual basis in fact or reality, because—
