When He Was Bad.... Jane Sullivan

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СКАЧАТЬ minutes later, he pulled into his parking space next to his apartment and killed the engine, thankful that he’d moved to a new apartment only five minutes from the station. It was bigger than his last one, and the covered parking was a real plus in a city with an average annual snowfall of almost ninety inches. His recent salary increase had afforded him all kinds of luxuries: more space, more comfort, more convenience. All very good things.

      Nick grabbed Sara’s book, got out of the car and trudged through the snow to his apartment door. Glancing through the window into his living room, he saw a familiar head sticking up above the back of the sofa. He checked his watch. No wonder. He was late getting home tonight, and the game started in ten minutes.

      Nick unlocked the door, stomped the snow off his boots and walked inside to find that Ted, as usual, had let himself in and parked himself in front of Nick’s big-screen TV, which he said beat the hell out of the piddly twenty-six incher in his own apartment.

      “Hey, man!” Ted said. “About time you got home. The game’s about to start.”

      Nick closed the door and tossed Sara’s book down on the coffee table. “Let me grab a beer. Need another one?”

      “Has the answer to that question ever been no?”

      Nick pulled two bottles from the fridge and they sat down on the sofa. Ted looked as he always did, which wasn’t surprising since his wardrobe consisted of three pair of jeans and sixty-two concert and radio station T-shirts. And Nick knew that sixteen inches of snow was the only thing on the planet that could make Ted swap his flip-flops for the boots he was wearing now.

      He and Ted had met for the first time when Nick had been an intern at KPAT in Colorado Springs. Ted had been their morning man along with another DJ, a guy who was a genius behind the microphone but had a reliability problem stemming from his close personal relationship with the whiskey bottle. When that guy got canned, Ted had lobbied for Nick to fill the spot, telling the station manager that he needed a pretty face to balance his own butt-ugly one because wearing a ski mask during remotes seemed a little too serial killer. It had been an unheard-of opportunity for someone who’d done as little dues-paying as Nick had, and he vowed he’d never forget it.

      They’d been a great team on a show with great ratings, but eventually they’d been fired. Nick figured that the hoax they’d pulled on the mayor probably had something to do with it. They’d split up, Ted heading to Monroe, Louisiana, and Nick to Dallas, then Chicago, before finally landing in Boulder. Nick had learned his lesson. He kept the practical jokes to a minimum, stayed put and built a reputation, finally working his way up to his own show. Ted hopped from job to job, eventually ending up at a low-watt hole-in-the-wall FM station in Tupelo.

      When he’d called three months ago to tell Nick that he’d been fired one more time, Nick hadn’t been surprised. There was always some stunt Ted wanted to pull, music he declined to play, or ass he refused to kiss. But this time Nick had heard a touch of desperation in his friend’s voice that had never been there before, so he pulled a few strings and got him an interview for a producer’s job at KZAP. At first, Ted had flipped out: I’ve been playing rock and roll across this great country of ours for the past twenty years, and you want me to produce a gardening show? But then he’d gotten real and gotten down to business, taking the job when it was offered and staying with Nick until he could get back on his feet again.

      “Caught your show today,” Ted said. “Great stuff. Loved Amber, the pole dancing champion.” He drooped his lids and assumed a Madonna-like voice. “‘It’s, like, you have to become one with the pole. Feel the pole. Love the pole.’”

      “Hey, everybody’s got their thing. I respect that.” Nick gave him a sly grin. “Her thing just happens to be slithering naked up and down a pole in front of a roomful of drunk men.”

      And after her spot on the show, Amber had offered to show Nick the practice pole in her bedroom, complete with a private performance. When he’d declined, she’d given him an open invitation for the future. In light of Amber’s considerable physical assets, he’d surprised himself by feeling more turned off by her than turned on.

      Then Sara Davenport had shown up.

      He’d looked around to see her standing at the door of the studio, uptight and buttoned-down, but still considerably sexier than any psychologist he’d ever imagined. The nervousness she’d tried to hide had only made him wonder what other chinks there might be in the armor of rigid professionalism she wore. Only seconds passed before he was already thinking about pulling those glasses off her real slow, tossing them aside, then taking her in his arms and…

      “But your best bit was that psychologist,” Ted said. “She really let you have it, didn’t she? God, that was great. The kind of guest you kill for.”

      “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, the lady didn’t think it was all that entertaining. She thought I humiliated her.”

      “You kidding? She got her shots in, didn’t she?”

      “Yeah, but she still didn’t think much of me by the time the interview was over. I tried to ask her out to dinner as a peace offering, but that didn’t fly, either.”

      “Are you telling me a woman turned you down?”

      “It’s hardly the first time.”

      “Yeah, but it’s the first time since you were twelve years old.” He reached to the coffee table. “Is this her book?”

      “Yeah.”

      Ted thumbed through it. “Wow. Check out her bio. Education out the wazoo.” He turned to Nick. “Since when do you have a thing for the intellectual type?”

      He didn’t. At least, he didn’t think he did.

      Did he?

      “I just didn’t want her to go away mad,” Nick said. “That’s bad for business.”

      “So which was she? A six or a ten?”

      Nick winced. He’d taken that bit a little too far. Sara wasn’t a mud wrestler or a Penthouse pet or the owner of a nudist resort. Those women were used to his kind of banter. They thrived on his kind of banter.

      Sara didn’t.

      “That’s just a stupid bit I do,” Nick said. “I’m thinking of trashing it.”

      “No way. It’s that kind of bit that got you where you are. That show’s a cash cow, kid. Milk it for all it’s worth. If you don’t, one of these days you’ll be old and decrepit like me, and you won’t be good for much of anything.” He took a swig of beer. “Well, anything except producing a gardening show.”

      “For God’s sake, Ted. You’re only forty-one.”

      “In radio, I might as well be a hundred and forty-one.” He pointed his finger at Nick. “Take this as a warning, kid. This business chews you up and spits you out.” Then he waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, hell, why am I warning you? You’re riding the wave. If they’re talking syndication for your show, you’re gonna be on easy street.”

      “They’re talking. But I’m not holding my breath.”

      “Nope. You’ve got what it takes. I knew it from the second I met you. Syndication will put you on top, so you do anything—and I mean anything—to get there. СКАЧАТЬ