After checking the weather on the super-duper, high-tech, industrial-strength “Jammin’ 97 Weather Computer,” also known as The Weather Channel, I learned that the clear weather was going to hold out all night. “Clear skies and an overnight low of seventy-seven,” I’d be sure to pass this on to my listeners. I decided not to worry about putting the top up on my car. Perhaps, after work, I would enjoy a midnight ride beneath the stars.
At 9:22, she called. I know this exactly because after I’d settled in and gotten my shift in order, I happened to find myself counting minutes. I loved my job, but it’s easy to get lost in one’s thoughts between breaks, and today, my thoughts were of Ashley.
“Hey, you,” the female on the line beamed. “What’s up?”
My standard, professional response, “Not much. Who’s this?”
“It’s Ashley, Silly! Who else would it be? WAIT, don’t answer that.” The way that she talked to me now had changed from before our meeting, and I hadn’t recognized her. She sounded different, somehow.
I covered with the ever reliable, “I’m so sorry, Ashley. I talk to so many people every day, it’s impossible to keep track.” And without missing a beat or giving time for dissent, I continued. “How are you doing, tonight?”
Without answering, she asked, “Oh my God, is that your red convertible outside?”
The studio was a relatively small, standalone building, housing a small independently owned company, one of the last independently owned radio broadcast companies left, to the best of my knowledge. It had only one am station, and one fm station. It was located on a main throughway on the outskirts of town, and it was clearly marked. Parking was on the side, and was clearly visible from the street, so I was not concerned that she might be stalking me when Ashley asked about my car. The Jammin’ Van and my car were the only two vehicles in the lot at the moment.
“Yep,that’s the one,” a bit matter-of-factly, because I was momentarily focusing on the upcoming break. “Listen, hang on just a sec. I’ve gotta do something, but I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Sure,” she easily replied.
“Okay, just hang on,” then I set the phone down and donned my headphones. I cleared my throat, then opened the mic, waiting silently and patiently for the song to end.
I made my announcements, gave the weather, and fired up four commercials before finally playing the station identifier and starting up the next song. It took about three minutes, total.
Picking up the phone receiver, “Okay, I’m back. Thanks for waiting.”
Without a moment of hesitation, “That was so cool!”
Again, a standard response to a standard remark, “It’s what I do.”
“Where did you learn to do that? You know… How did you learn to be a deejay?”
I chuckled lightly. “Oh, that. Well, I had to go to school for four years, and that cost me upwards of eighty-thousand dollars. Then I had to serve a two-year unpaid internship in New Mexico, before I could get a broadcaster’s license.”
A long pause. “Really?”
“No, not really. Just kidding.” After she laughed, I continued, “I just got lucky. I’m a born entertainer with a natural, radio-friendly voice. Made a friend who happened to be a jock here who used to sneak me in after hours to practice and make a CD demo; he vouched for me when I gave my CD to his boss. Boss said, ‘Practice under Rick, here for a few weeks, and if you’re good, I’ll put you on.’ And that, as they say, is that.”
“Wow, that is so cool!” She seemed really impressed. People often were, but I never really understood it. I just happened to be in the right place, and know the right people, and have the right skills for the job at the right time. As I said, I never understood it, but I never argued against it. It went along with the idea that radio is magic. After all, I still believed that is was.
“Yep,” was all I offered. Best to leave it at that.
“So, you’re friends with Rick?”
“Yep, been friends for years now.” Rick (or George, as he was unsatisfyingly named by his parents) and I hit it off when I met him at a live broadcast at the opening of a new bar. We had the same devious, villainous sense of humor, and we just kept carrying on until the job opened up at the station and he suggested I could fill it. I didn’t take much convincing. “Didn’t you know, all deejays are friends; we have a secret handshake and everything.”
“Ha ha, very funny.” Still, I knew she was amused at least a little.
“I try.” I’d had this particular conversation so many times.
“So, when are you gonna take me for a ride in your convertible?”
“Huh?” I had instantly become a moron.
My pulse quickened as she happily and just as assertively asked again, “When are you going to take me for a ride in your convertible? Oo, how about tonight? You just said it was going to be a beautiful night. Let’s go tonight.”
“Uh, sure.” Wait a minute, did she just tell me to take her for a ride without leaving me an out? And did I just say, “Yes?” “I sign off at midnight. Where do you want me to pick you up?” I decided to go with the flow; see where it took me.
Her response was instant. “My place is kinda hard to find. Do you know the Waffle House next the Museum and across from the hospital?”
“Sure, I know the one.”
“Great. You can pick me up there.”
“Okay, gimme until about twelve-thirty. I guess I don’t have to describe my car to you.” After I’d said it, I realized it sounded significantly cooler in my head. Ashley didn’t seem to notice.
“Great! See you then.” – click –
Yup. See you then.
III. Midnight came, finally.
I’d had sex with several listeners before, so this wasn’t really anything new. It felt new, for some reason, and I tried to think of reasons for that. She was the youngest listener I’d considered, and certainly the most beautiful so far. Maybe it was the way she’d moved on me, rather than the other way around. Whatever it was, I didn’t contemplate it long. I was going to do her, and it really didn’t matter how or why.
I had prepped for the next shift well before my relief, Steve, arrived at 11:40. I was making sure I had all my ducks in a row so that I could walk out the door without delay as soon as I played the top-of-the-hour station identifier. Steve had seen this behavior before.
“So, I guess you met another one at the club last night?” Steve knew me too well.
“Steve, you know me too well.”
He laughed. “Well, enjoy yourself.”
I paused, and looked him dead in the eye. “Steve, the idea is to enjoy her.”
He laughed again, and I laughed with him this time. He offered, “Have fun, see you on Monday,” but I was out the door and admiring the full moon before he finished the sentence.
I knew it would take me less than thirty minutes to reach the Waffle House, but I liked to be early. It allowed for unforeseen delays, and, in the event of no delays, it might allow me to watch the arrival of my companion.
The car had to drive itself to the destination, because I was too distracted trying to deconstruct my thoughts about Ashley. Why was I on edge? She was just another girl. We’d use each other, and we’d both enjoy the use. It would be a one time thing, or not. It would be about sex, and that’s it. If it continued, either it would eventually get old, or she would meet a real guy she liked for a real relationship, and that would be that. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. So why did I just miss the turn?