Sophie's Playboy (3 page)

"Four hours!" Sophie checked her watch. It
had
been four hours. She was late for a business dinner at The Club. But it was worth it. She had to remember to call Kira and thank her for being a pushy big sister. As she rushed home to her condo to change, then down to The Club, she couldn't stop thinking about the show. And smiling.

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Sophie's Playboy

by Natalie Damschroder

CHAPTER 2

Sophie's good mood lasted through dinner, despite the constant ribbing. It even survived Biff Cornwall, who approached her as she was making her excuses and preparing to leave another dull business evening. Chuck and Dave had encouraged her to approach Biff again about investment, but she hadn't been able to get near him.

"I caught your show today."

"Yeah?" Miffed at his avoidance and not adult enough to pretend she wasn't, she didn't look at him. "I can guess what you thought about it." She waved to her boss and headed for the coat check. Biff followed. Sophie's steps slowed when she saw who already stood there. The woman had an almost obsessive attachment to Biff.

"It was fun," he said. "Even if you don't know what you're talking about when it comes to golf."

Something pinged in Sophie's brain and she tilted her head at him. Could he have been the caller with the magic voice?

But no, that guy's name was Parker. This guy was a Biff all the way.

"Despite that," he continued suavely, ignoring Vanessa Whitehead while taking Sophie's raincoat from the counter girl and helping her into it. "I'd like to take you to dinner sometime."

For one instant, one split second when her hormones had begun to enjoy the feel of his fingers on the back of her neck, she considered accepting.

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The instant vanished under the proprietary gleam of Vanessa's ice-blue stare. The young widow ignored Sophie, tucking her hands under Biff's lapels. "I was looking for you."

Sophie rolled her eyes at the sultry voice she knew Vanessa had to work hard for. "Thanks for the invitation, Biff, but you're just not my type. Sorry."

She wondered, though, as she slipped past and headed for the main doors, how accurate that assertion was. The guy who wasn't her type would have been angry at her frank brush-off. She wasn't sure what expression the guy who
was
her type would wear, but she suspected it was the amused interest on Biff's face as she slipped past—and as he shifted Vanessa to one side.

* * * *

The call came out of the blue.

Sophie had nearly forgotten about her little playtime on the air and was solidly under the influence of spring fever on the heavenly May day when Stevie invited her to negotiate a contract. She took a morning off to meet with the station manager and other important radio people. They outlined her salary and expected benefits, probationary period, endorsement activities, and a lot of stuff that went right over Sophie's head.

"Why do you want me, again? You know I've never done this before," she warned them for the fifth time. Her soul, near-death from tedium, screamed each time she said it. But they didn't care about her lack of experience.

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"We got an overwhelming response to your show," Stevie explained patiently. "Our drive time personality is leaving for a bigger market. We need to fill the slot immediately. We think you'll be able to maintain the ratings, if not improve them."

Sophie tried to read the contract they'd handed her, but every time she reached the center of the first clause someone started talking again. Finally, she stood.

"I'll read the contract and consider your offer, then give you my answer by Friday."

"Good enough." Stevie and George, the station manager, stood and shook her hand. Melina Van Horn walked her back to the lobby.

"We don't have enough female personalities here," she told Sophie in her smooth accent. Greek, Sophie thought, judging by the woman's wild mane of dark hair and her aquiline nose.

"I hope you take the job. And remember..." She paused by the door. "Everything's negotiable."

It didn't take Sophie long to decide. She read the contract, noted changes she wanted, and held an imaginary conversation with Kira.

"Go for it!" her phantom sister said.

"But what about Chuck and Dave? I owe them."

"They've gotten what they paid for, Sophie. You don't owe them anything more than two weeks notice."

"I wanted something to change. Now that I'm getting it, I'm not sure I want it."

Sophie didn't need her sister to sort that one out.

Everyone preferred safe harbor to unknown seas in some 23

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regard. But when she compared her current empty existence to the rush she felt on the air, she knew the decision had already been made.

She and her lawyer attended another meeting at the station and got most of what she wanted. They wouldn't budge on the cancellation clause. She couldn't leave without penalty until the end of the contract in two years, but they could terminate her with no notice at any time. Sophie fought, to no avail.

"This is standard in every single contract," one of the station attorneys told her. "If ratings drop, we lose advertisers. We lose advertisers, we lose revenue. We lose revenue, we have to start laying off. Having you quit can cause as much damage as leaving you on the air when the show just doesn't work. This is a deal-breaker."

Sophie signed the contract.

She gave notice to MMT the next day. They begged and pleaded and offered a raise equal to the pay cut she was taking by going to the radio station.

"Sorry, guys. That won't fix what's wrong."

"Tell us how to fix it!" Dave ground his teeth in frustration.

Chuck, always the calmer of the two, shook his head.

"I don't think we can, can we, Soph?"

"No. It's not a problem with MMT. It's a problem with me."

And that was that. Sophie gathered her staff and announced her resignation, then spent three days fielding questions she didn't have answers to. Every time she got frustrated, she told herself, "Nine more days. Eight more days. Seven...."

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Once she was done at MMT, she immediately went to work at WNRK. They had one week to train Sophie in the equipment and regulations. She spent hours observing other personalities, both from inside and outside the booth, and accepting continuous lectures from Stevie.

For several hours a day she met with Melina to work out the specifics of the show.

"I don't want to rant for three hours," Sophie said two days before her debut. "Venting is important, but too many complaints will make me angry and depressed all the time."

Melina shifted on the beat-up sofa where they sat in the break room, the quietest spot they could find to brainstorm.

They had already worked out the schedule for breaks and news and Melina had taught Sophie her non-verbal signals.

"You need something positive, then."

"Right." Sophie got up to pace. "What's the opposite of a rant? A rave. Let's do half venting, half praising. Get it off your chest, then replace it with something good."

Melina scribbled as fast as Sophie talked. "We'll start the first hour with your rant," she said. "Then you invite callers to do the same. Continue in the second hour."

"Then I'll open the third hour with a rave. We won't let anyone say negative stuff in the second half. Only praise or stories with happy endings. Compliments to sales clerks, stuff like that."

"It's my job to keep the callers on track." The producer pulled her bushy black mane away from her delicate face and held it at the nape of her neck. Her eyes gleamed with 25

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excitement. "Do you want a free-for-all, or try to stick to a theme?"

"A little of both, I think. We'll set a theme, but it might get too restrictive if we don't allow anyone to stray from it. Part of the energy of the show we did was one caller feeding off another." Sophie dropped into a chair and crossed one jeans-clad leg over the other knee. That was one thing she already loved about this job. The dress code. She liked Melina, too, important since they'd be working so closely.

"How come you don't host a show?" Sophie asked. "You have the perfect voice for it."

Melina laughed. "I didn't always speak so clearly. I came from Greece when I was sixteen, and had very broken English. I was fascinated by radio and learned all I could, but there was no chance for me on the air. I like producing. I get to speak often enough. I wouldn't want to be in your seat full time, anyway. Takes too much energy."

Sophie understood that, but couldn't empathize. She had energy in spades. She was jazzed just talking about the show, never mind doing it.

"I thought you were Greek," she commented. "But Van Horn isn't a Greek name, is it?"

Melina smiled thinly. "No. My ex-husband was ... not Greek." She glanced at her watch. "I must go. I have an appointment. I'll see you Monday."

"Think we got it?" Sophie asked, biting her lower lip.

"Absolutely. You'll be fantastic." She waved over her shoulder and disappeared down the hall.

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Sophie transferred her chewing from her tender lip to her overworked cuticles. She hoped Melina was right. She thought change was hard when she knew where she was going. If the show flopped, there'd be nothing under her when she fell.

* * * *

"Good afternoon, and welcome to Rant and Rave! The talk show that lets you get it off your chest. Today's Rant topic is waste. There's too much of it, without a doubt. What kind of waste bothers you the most? Food? Packaging? An intelligent mind on a menial job, or maybe a warm heart on a two-timing jerk. Share it! Call 555-3246. All phone lines are open."

Sophie relaxed and settled into her chair. She lowered the microphone just a bit. "What annoys me the most
today
about waste is paper. All these electronic gadgets are supposed to make our offices paperless. But we print something off the computer, fax it, then make a copy and mail the original to them. And what about on the other end?

We get the fax, then the original."

Melina signaled that she had a caller. Sophie nodded and smoothly picked up the call.

"Kyle, you're on the air. What's your rant today?"

"Garbage."

"Well, that fits the theme. What about it?"

"We're wasting it. It's a prime energy source. We have literally tons of it rotting in landfills and on barges." Kyle rattled some technical explanation that went right over 27

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Sophie's head. Melina made a face, and Sophie cut him off at the end of a sentence.

"That's fascinating stuff, Kyle, and information we did not know. Thanks so much for calling. Our next caller is Lissa. Go ahead, Lissa."

Melina gave her a thumbs up and she shrugged. She hoped she hadn't sounded rude. The guy
was
a listener. And her first official caller.

Lissa went right into her rant. "I hate when the grocery clerks waste bags. I mean, we have enough bags at home already, I don't need them to put one item in each bag. If you say to pack them fuller, they argue that the bag will break.

Then they should have stronger bags!"

"Hear, hear, Lissa. And it gets worse when they double bag."

"Yeah! And you tell them not to and they ignore you like you don't matter."

The calls continued. From waste of supermarket bags came complaints about sales clerks who ignore customers or move too slowly, which led to people who walk or drive or talk too slow.

Halfway through the second hour, Sophie got her first repeat caller.

"Thank you, Rick, for enlightening us. Melina, who's next?"

"Parker on line three."

"Go ahead, Parker. What's your rant?"

"Wasted time."

Even with so few words, Sophie recognized those warm tones. She grinned.

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"Can you be more specific? Rick just told us about all the time we waste in the bathroom."

"I'm talking about time wasted on the golf course. Golf should be played for the sport itself. Not to chit chat with your foursome. Not to stroll between holes. Not to take ten minutes to line up every putt."

"Parker, are you obsessed with golf?"

He chuckled, and sparks zinged through Sophie's middle.

She swore his voice was familiar.

"No, I'm not obsessed. But I guess I come pretty close."

"Well, if we want to talk about waste and golf, lets talk about water and golf courses in the desert. That seems the height of wastefulness to me."

"You don't think people who live near the desert should have the recreational outlet of golf?"

Sophie ignored the flashing lights that indicated callers waiting. "You're phrasing the question wrong. Should we deplete a vital resource in an area where that resource is scarce, for a pastime that has no bearing on quantity or quality of life?"

"Of course golf has a bearing on quality of life," Parker grumbled. "It lowers blood pressure, reduces stress, exercises the heart and lungs—"

"—in heat over a hundred degrees, which forces everyone to drive carts rather than walk, thereby eliminating the health benefits."

"Boy, you don't give an inch, do you?"

"This is rant time, Parker. We're ranting."

"Seems more to me like we're bantering."

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Sophie grinned at his flirtatious tone. "This isn't dial-a-date, Parker. Try peddling it somewhere else. Thanks for calling." She hit a button. "Next caller is ... Jessica! Jessica, you're our last caller before the break."

Sophie had a hard time concentrating on the rest of the show. Her mind kept conjuring Parker's creamy voice. She opened her Rave hour with comments on purchasing trendy clothes at second-hand shops, a way to avoid waste. That started a discussion on fashion. Melina told her at the break that she'd had to tell six callers complaints weren't allowed in the second half of the show, so Sophie made sure to state often that this was Rave Hour and only to call to praise, compliment, or thank someone or something.