Ascension: Invocation (7 page)

"Doing what?"

Steve and Mike laughed heartily. "Doing your show, man!" said Steve. "'Doing what' he says!”

Graham shifted in his chair and waited for the hilarity to settle. What was happening on the air wasn't syndication-worthy. He knew that. "Guys, what you're hearing on the air right now... it isn't my show. It's a hijacked broadcast. I can't control what's happening in there."

Steve's eyes lit up. "That's why it's so fantastic! Graham, you know the state of radio. You read the trades, right? We're dying. Dying on the vine, bro. The Internet is fucking killing us. And why? Because radio has become so fucking predictable. Stale. The same five hundred songs played ad nauseam and devoid of personality. No life. No pulse."

"No pulse," Mike echoed, sadly shaking his head in agreement.

"What's happening right here, right now, today on your show is absolutely thrilling."

"It's damn exciting," said Mike.

"Dude, you've got a fucking space man on the air with you. Your second chair is motherfucking E.T. That's genius!"

"It's clever," Mike nodded.

"It's clever, and we know it's marketable. How many times has your stream crashed in the last two days?"

"A lot. I don't think I know exac-”

"The listeners have spoken! They want this kind of programming. I'm with Regal Networks now."

"Oh, yeah? When did you land there?"

"About two years ago after the bottom fell out of Prestige. Y'know, after they got swallowed up in the Stratus-RedComm merger. Fucking brutal."

"I bet. Sure."

"Anyway, we're confident that we can place you on at least thirty six stations in the first week alone. Hundreds within a month."

"What?"

"I know! We're talking Stern shit here, and you do nothing. Change nothing. Broadcast right here, we beam you nationwide, handle the stream, the website, place you in iTunes and develop the app, the works. You just come in to work every day and do what you do."

"That's just the thing... Steve, I'm not really doing anything. Mike, you know that...”

Mike shook his head. "You're being modest, Graham."

"I'm calling bullshit, too, Graham," Steve said. "I've seen you in action. When you were on your game, you were a motherfucking titan, man. I would have put you up against any jock in any top twenty market without thinking twice. But the pressure got you, bro. It happens. It happens to the best." Steve's cell phone began to ring. "But now you're back, Graham and we're willing to pay handsomely for a piece of the action. Look, I've got to take this. Mike, can you fill him in on what we talked about?"

"You got it," Mike said as he followed Steve to the door and closed it behind him.

"Mike...”

"I know what you're going to say, Graham, but you just hold on one minute because I got somethin' to say myself, ya hear?"

"Ok."

"This man is offering you and, yes, me a lot of money. A lot of money, Graham." Mie laughed. "Moneygram. Anyway, I don't think we can pass up this opportunity."

"Mike, you know as well as I do that this could end at any moment. Hell, you're trying to put a stop to it right now yourself."

"I can call off the dogs."

"What if he stops broadcasting?"

"Then we replace him with a new spaceman. Happens all the time and then you can control the script. Start talkin' more about boobies and less about math."

"If this goes national, he's going to want a piece. He could sue."

"He ain't gonna sue me. I'll eat his ass alive in a court of law. You think any judge is gonna allow someone to break every FCC regulation on the books, plus cost me a generous amount of revenue? I'm just a poor, defenseless, small-town businessman, Graham." Mike smiled. "And if the sonofabitch wants paid, we'll pay his butt. We'll have more than enough."

Mike handed Graham the agreement and pointed to the offer with his pen. It was more money than Graham had ever made. Double what he was making in Dallas; five times what he was making now. Mike's share was just as much plus they each got a split on the ad revenue.

"This feels weird, Mike."

Mike got up, walked slowly over to Graham and sat on his desk. "Graham, you know I'm on your side, right?"

"Yes, Mike. I do. I've always appreciated...”

"I know. I know. I think highly of you too. It's a mutual respect. And I mean no disrespect when I tell you what I'm about to tell you, son. You ain't gonna get another chance like this, Graham. You and I both know that this is your last stop. You're gonna grow old here, and I'm happy to have you. But don't kid yourself. Assholes like this boy Steve don't come around Tuscumbia, Alabama sniffin' for syndicated talent. It just don't happen. Hell, I ain't gotta tell you that. You know it. So, don't be a fool. Take the money. And, as for me...” Mike flashed that winning grin. "Well, Graham, I do think you owe me a payday right about now. I'm losin' my ass, son. Throw me a bone."



The Graham Barry Program went into syndication within a week. As Steve had promised, the show launched with thirty five affiliates nationwide. However, Graham was terribly concerned. For three days prior to the launch, he had not heard a word from the voice. He expressed his anxiety to Mike; their worst-case scenario of having to replace the voice with a paid actor might come to fruition. Mike assured him that this wouldn't be a problem and even advised him to begin the process of searching out potential talent for the role. In the days leading up to the maiden broadcast, Graham made a regular point of reminding listeners, hopefully including the pirate, that the show would soon be broadcast nationwide. They ran promos throughout the day letting listeners know and even went so far as to cross promote the show on the other stations in the cluster.

Everyone at the station was excited. Mike bought a keg and some fried chicken and held an after-hours party to celebrate the news with the rest of the small staff. The station's engineer seemed to enjoy rigging up the satellite dishes and new equipment necessary to facilitate the show. In all, it was a happy whirlwind.

However, a number of residents of the town didn't see this as good news, for obvious reasons. In the week leading up to the nationwide debut, they picketed the radio station with signs reading “Broadcasting Blasphemy!" and "Missing the Point - God". The newspaper ran an article on the launch but focused more on the controversy surrounding the show and Graham's checkered past. The Church of Christ continued their boycott of the station.

Quietly though, a string of sponsors began to get on board and the syndication guys loved the bad press. They used it to their advantage got as much mileage out of it as possible. They called Graham's show "shocking" and "in-your-face" and even "groundbreaking". It was titillating. The radio industry press was kind. They referred to Graham as the "comeback kid" and told his story with reverence and lively humor. Former bosses came out of the woodwork to sing his praises and tell funny stories about Graham's drunken tenure at their respective stations. To hear them recount it now, Graham was always more of a lovable, good-natured drunk in the mold of Dean Martin rather than his previous, more notorious, persona. It turns out that deep down; Graham was actually just a tortured artist, battling demons that he finally conquered. Everybody loved him now. All was forgiven. Of course, Graham didn't buy it, but he did allow himself to enjoy the redemption.

The show was to include music, but the primary focus, of course, was to be on Graham's discourse with his otherworldly co-host. The day of the first national broadcast, Graham arrived scared to death that the voice might not make an appearance. His backup plan was essentially a reversion back to his former, major market program. He had even spent a considerable amount of time listening to his own old air checks in an attempt to re-learn his own shtick. It wouldn't be hard to get back on that horse if need be, he finally concluded. He was convinced, however, that it would, most likely, alienate much of his local audience. When the clock struck 3pm that day, buttons were pushed, and Graham's voice was now heard not only in Alabama but Atlanta, his old Dallas stomping grounds, and thirty three other markets nationwide. He took a deep breath and cracked the mic as his theme music began its fade.              

“Good afternoon and welcome to the Graham Barry Program. I'm Graham and, well, welcome to the inaugural nationwide broadcast. Most of you don't know me. Some of you do. Hello, Dallas. What I'm hoping you'll hear today is an unusual piece of folly as I'm typically joined by a man from outer space. Yes. You heard correctly. My co-host is a being that claims to...”

"This is incorrect."

Graham breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time, he was happy to hear the voice, but a cheesy music bed came up under their conversation. Apparently, this was something the network had planned.

"And there he is now. What did I get incorrect?"

"We are not of your world but you are of ours."

"That's what I said. You're from outer-space."

"This is incorrect."

"Okay, fine. How about explaining what you mean?"

"When we speak of your world, we speak not only of your planet but your solar system and your universe."

"So, you're not from our universe."

"This is correct."

"Where exactly are you?'

"This will be complex for you."

"Again with the insults? Friends, the voice insults me a lot. Try me."

"It is not to be an insult. Our bodies exist on separate planes. In a short time, this will change."              

"Ahhh, yes. The great evolution you keep speaking about."

"This is correct."

"When exactly can we expect this evolution to begin? I, for one, am ready to get evolving."

"This is good. Time is relative but, as you measure it, it will begin in one hour."

Graham paused for a moment. The pirate was setting up some sort of stunt, and he felt more than a little helpless. His mind began to race, concerned that now he would be expected to launch a nationwide promotion with zero preparation.

"One hour? Well, that's not a lot of time, buddy. I'm not sure I can evolve that fast."

"This process will be gradual. You need not evolve immediately."

"Well, that's good news. What exactly will happen?"

"Our worlds will be joined."

"I knew it. You're invading us. Watch out, everybody, here come the spacemen."

"This is incorrect."

"So, is this going to be, like, Bam! Our worlds are joined or will this be more of a 'they are already among us' sort of thing?"

"We are not physically among you, but will be, in time. Your world will be aware of our presence."

That sounded rather ominous. Graham wasn't sure if he liked where the pirate was taking this. The last thing he needed was to be accused of using his show to make terrorist threats. "Are we talking explosions and great distress in the streets? Rainbows and unicorns? What?"

"We mean you no harm. Quite the contrary. There are no unicorns."

"You heard it here first, folks. There will be no unicorns at the apocalypse."

"This is correct."

It didn't sound like the pirate was joking. This was going in a weird direction. Graham looked out the studio window to the hallway. He saw Mike and Chris at the window. Mike gave him a kindly smile and thumbs up. Chris mouthed "take some calls". He was right. "Okay, spaceman, let's take some calls, what do you say?"

"This is acceptable."

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's your opportunity to speak to a man from another world. Here's how this works. You call 1-800-256-GRAM. I put you on the air. You ask him whatever you like. He changes your life."

"This is correct."

"Well, aren't you confident as hell? Y'know, I didn't think you were going to show up today. I figured you'd screw me on the first day national."

"This broadcast was predetermined."

"I see. And the last three days weren't?"

"This is correct."

"Whatever. To the phones we go. Caller, you're on the air."

"Graham Barry!! It freakin' rocks that you're back on in Dallas, man!" said the caller.

"Thanks, dude. Who's this?"

"You can just call me... The Muffin Man." The caller began to laugh uproariously.

"Oh, hey. I remember you." This guy had been a regular on Graham's Dallas show. He was kind an odd dude. He'd fit in nicely with his co-host.

"Hell, yeah, brother! We've missed you out here. Last time I saw you, you were hella drunk, pissing on a cop car outside the Melody Bar."

"Lovely. I'm glad I could grace you with such a memory."

"You still party, man?"

"Of course. Only now I party with the spacemen, bro. I've upped my standards. So up yours!"

"Hahahahahaha! Niiiice, dude!"

"You got a question for said spaceman?"

"Sure. I got a question. Hey, spaceman, when you come to party are you bringing the space drugs?"

"We bring enlightenment," said the voice.