Charlie All Night (7 page)
Authors: Jennifer Cruise
* * *
Charlie spent the next two hours checking out the tape library andmeeting Stewart, the night engineer. Stewart looked like a peeled egg
and was not a ball of fire when it came to engineering, but he was
something that Charlie found a lot more useful: a talker. After a half
hour with Stewart, Charlie knew more about the station than Bill
probably did. And the one incontrovertible fact he gleaned was that
Allie was universally admired. Mark wasn't.
"Allie's good people," Stewart told him. "She gets things done. Mark is
just a..."
"Yuppie scum dweeb?"
"That would cover it," Stewart agreed.
Cheered by the knowledge that not everyone at WBBB was certifiable,
Charlie went back out into the city to find something to say about
Tuttle on his first show. Nothing too controversial, he told himself.
No waves.
Allie was standing in the lobby with her hands on her hips when he
walked in an hour before his show. "Bill was looking for you earlier.
You were supposed to meet him at five. Mark apologized for whatever
it
was he said. Bill says that you are never to strike another employee
here again. Also, don't play liberal garbage on the air. Where have you
been?"
Charlie grinned at her. She looked like an aggressive cocker spaniel,
her hair swinging like a bright bell around her face, her eyes warm and
challenging behind her glasses, which had slipped down her nose,
as
usual. He resisted the impulse to push them up for her. They weren't
that close. They weren't ever going to be that close. "I missed you,
too," he told her. "And I didn't hit Mark. He fell over. What do
you
know about the city building here?"
Allie turned and went down the hall to her office, and he trailed after
her, trying not to admire the
swing of her hips in her brown jersey
dress.
"It's one of the oldest buildings in the city," she told him over her
shoulder. "The marble is Italian. My mother and father were married
there. The mayor wants to build a new one. That's about it. What do
you
want me to find out about it?"
"Nothing." He rubbed his hand over the back of his head and followed
her into her office. "The tape library here isn't too bad. I can fake
it for a while."
"Good." Allie looked at him. "Close the door and sit down."
"Why?" Charlie looked wary as he closed the door.
"I just need to talk to you for a minute." Allie swallowed nervously.
"This is about us. I've been
thinking all
afternoon—"
Oh, Lord, he should have said something earlier before she . started
making plans for their future.
"Listen, before you say anything, I
think you're a terrific lady, but I'm not ready for a steady
relationship, so if you're planning—"
"Great." Allie sank into her chair. "Don't think I didn't enjoy last
night. I did. But I don't think it
should happen again." She beamed up
at him. "I'm so relieved you feel the same way."
"Well..." Charlie stopped, confused.
"Not that we can't still be friends," Allie went on. "And even
roommates. I talked to Joe while you
were in the bathroom this morning,
and if you'd like to stay with us on the couch for the time you'll
be
here, it's all right."
"Oh, well..." Charlie nodded four or five times, his head wobbling a
little as he tried to gather his
thoughts. "Uh, sure. Good."
"Great." Allie picked up some papers from her desk, clearly eager to
get back to work. "I'll tell Joe
when I get home tonight."
"Good." Charlie stood up. "Well, I'm glad that's settled. Uh, I think
I'll go watch Harry for a while."
Allie waved her hand at him as he left, already working on those
papers. Efficient at all times, that
was Allie.
It was really irritating of her.
Why don't I feel better about this?
Charlie thought as he headed for
the booth. This was what he
wanted. She'd just taken care of it for
him. Just the way she took care of everything. He shook his
head at the
acidity in the thought. This was probably just stupid male pride. He
wanted to be the one
to break things off. Oh, well. Her loss.
He walked off down the hall, wondering why he felt so empty if it was
her loss.
* * *
Inside the office, Allie threw the papers down on the deskbeside
Samson's basket, and sat back. She
was really glad. Glad, glad, glad.
At last she'd made a mature adult decision about a man, and now
she
could concentrate on the important stuff like making Charlie's show a
hit.
Boy, was she glad.
Really.
* * *
Charlie watched Harry through the window into the booth. He was talkinganimatedly into the mike,
his hands moving up and down the console like
a maniac's. Howlin' Harry.
Great. First he got kicked out of Allie's bed and now he was following
an insane person.
When Harry stopped talking and leaned back, Charlie knocked on the
window and Harry motioned
him in.
"Nice job on Mark in the break room today." Harry grinned at him as he
came in. "Look, Ma,
no hands."
Charlie grinned back. It would be impossible not to grin at Harry. He
radiated goodwill. "I should
have known better," Charlie told him.
"Why? Mark didn't." Harry gestured to the console. "Anything you need
to know about here?"
"Why don't you give me a fast refresher?" Charlie said, and Harry
looked at him strangely and then explained how the noise level on the
cassette and CD players were controlled by the red plastic
sliding tabs
on the console. Charlie did fine until Harry told him that if more than
one slide was up at
the same time, they'd all be heard, and then began
to discuss the three thousand ways the slides could
be combined for
effect. "Great," Charlie said when Harry was finished and Charlie was
lost. "I think
I'll just stick with one at a time."
Harry shrugged. "Whatever."
"Can I sit in here and watch the rest of your show?" Charlie asked him,
hoping that he'd learn by watching what he hadn't gotten by listening.
"Hey, you're welcome anytime," Harry told him and then went back to the
mike to announce that
Tuttle had just heard a Howlin' Harry triple play.
His howl was actually worse in the booth than it was on the radio.
* * *
At nine fifty-eight, Allie took her seat at the production console andwatched through the window as Charlie leaned on the wall of the booth
and Harry hunched over the mike. Charlie's loose-limbed body relaxed
against the white acoustic tile, and she followed the lines of his arms
with her eyes, focusing finally on his long, large-knuckled fingers. He
had big hands, but they were agile, she remembered. Lovely, long
fingers.
She wrenched her mind back to the show. Fingers didn't count in radio.
Just in bed. And from now
on, they were just in radio, not in bed.
Tonight was the first night of the rest of her career. If she was going
to make Charlie a star—and she was—tonight was the night she studied
him to see how he
worked. Then she'd know how to shape the show, how to
publicize it, how to make Charlie the Tuttle flavor of the month. She
felt her heart beat faster and grinned at herself. She'd be back on top
in no
time. She turned her attention back to the booth, keeping her
mind firmly off Charlie's body and
strictly on his potential. For radio.
Harry was shrieking, "And that's it for tonight for all you wild and
crazy Howlers out there. Next up
is the new boy on the block, Chucklin
Charlie Tenniel. So here's one last Howler from Harry.
Harooooooof.
"
Harry moved the mike slide down and the disk slide up, and Allie heard
the "The Monster Mash"
come up on the speakers.
Chucklin' Charlie Tenniel? Poor Charlie. Well, she could fix that. She
could fix everything as long
as she kept her concentration. She was
going to make him a star if it killed them both.
Harry talked to Charlie for a minute and then came out and joined her.
"The news is punched up and ready," Harry told her, then frowned
slightly. "I thought Bill said Charlie had a lot of experience."
"Yes." Allie checked the phone lines in front of her while she talked.
The chances of anyone calling in were slim, but she was prepared to
nurture anyone who did, even on the first night. "He had a couple
of
years with a Lawrenceville station."
"Sure doesn't act like it." Harry shrugged. "Oh, well, it's not like
it's brain surgery. If I can do it,
he can."
"Stop that." Allie looked up at him, exasperated. "You're very good.
You'd be better if you stopped
that damn howling, but you're still
good. And, Harry, that Chucklin' Charlie thing has got to go.
We're
running a class program here."
"That I wouldn't know anything about. How does he want to be intro-ed?"
"Well, he hates Ten Tenniel for some reason, so that's out." Allie sat
back. They needed a good tide.
A catch phrase. "Just Charlie is too
bland. Charlie Late Night?"
Harry shook his head. "Sounds like Letterman."
"Okay, uh, Charlie At Night?"
Harry shook his head again. "Boring."
Allie cast around for more ideas. "Charlie Overnight? Charlie Midnight?
Charlie All Night?"
"Last one's good," Harry said. "Kind of sexy. He's got that voice."
Allie tried not to look hopeful. "You think he's going to be good?"
"Hard to tell." Harry shifted on his feet. "Listen, Al, I was
wondering..."
His voice trailed off and Allie was left with the unheard-of occurrence
of a speechless Harry.
"Yes?" She nodded at him, trying to be encouraging.
Harry swallowed. "I know you don't have time to work on my show, but if
you could give me
a few tips, well, I'd really-"
"Stop howling," Allie said firmly. "You're a lovely, warm, intelligent
man. Use it."
"Howling is my life."
Harry didn't appear to be joking. Allie sighed. "Let me think about
this and get back to you tomorrow."
Harry grinned, lighting his whole face. "Thanks, Al, that's great." He
looked over his shoulder at
Charlie who was surveying his new domain
with what looked like terror. "I'd stay on top of him
tonight, if I
were you. He looks like he's going to blow."
"Not Charlie," Allie said loyally, but she wasn't reassured by the look
on her new star's face. "He'll
be okay once he starts talking."
"That's usually when I screw up," Harry said.
When the news was over, they both watched as Charlie leaned over the
console, pushing the mike
slide up and the cassette slide down, and
then spoke into the mike. His deep, voice filled the production room
for the first time.
"This is Charlie Tenniel for WBBB, and I never chuckle. I just play
good music and talk to people.
I only got into town yesterday, and a
beautiful little town it is, but I've already got a few questions,
especially about your new city building."
Allie looked at Harry and saw her own confusion reflected in his eyes.
"But mostly I just like it here. This is a great place to do a little
late-night talking and play a little
late-night rock and roll. I'm
assuming this city does rock and roll? I thought so. This one is for my
new hometown."
Jefferson Starship came oh with "We Built This City," and Allie
grinned. It wasn't inspired, but it
was fun.
Now if he'd just give her some scope, she could move him from fun to
fantastic. He had a great
voice and a terrific personality, and
wonderful hands—
Scratch that last part.
She pulled her mind back to the show. He was really good. Harry
listened for a while and then left,
giving Charlie a thumbs-up through
the booth window as he went. Charlie nodded and then looked
out at
Allie.
"You're doing great," she said to him, doing her cheerleader imitation
through the production mike.
It was like being back with Mark, except
this time she was telling the truth. "Your voice is terrific.
No wonder
you were a hit in Lawrenceville."
Charlie shook his head. The song ended, and he worked the slides and
leaned into the mike again.
"Like I said before, I never chuckle, but I
don't mind having a few laughs now and then, for all the
right reasons.
One of those reasons seems to me to be this new city building His Honor
the Mayor
wants built."
Allie froze at the console.
No
.
Not the mayor. Bill played poker with
him every Thursday. This was
not the way to build an audience, this was
the way to build an enemy. An enemy they didn't need, especially if it
was the boss. She tried to shake her head at him through the window,
but he was
oblivious, concentrating on the mike.
"Now, I'm new in town," Charlie went on, "so maybe you can call in and
tell me I'm all wet here,
but I was in your old city building today,
and it's a beautiful place. Marble floors, frosted glass, lots
of wood paneling, and that's real wood paneling not
that splintery stuff they sell for two dollars and ninety-nine cents at
the back of the lumberyard. This is a building that was made with good
materials,
fine workmanship, and above all, pride. It's the kind of
building that might inspire a politician who
worked there to take the
service part of being a public servant seriously. Now, if you laughed
at that,
my friend, you're a cynic. Shame on you."
Allie clasped her hands in front of her and prayed,
Don't say anything
dumb, Charlie. Please.
"So where's the joke? Well, have you seen the model for the new city
building? Hey, take a trip downtown to the old building to the planning
office and have yourself a laugh. It looks like a one-story parking
garage with windows. Which might be pretty appropriate for the
politicians around here— a
place to park and watch the world go by. Of
course, like I said, I'm new in town, so I don't really
know much about
your politicians. Except that if they prefer this new concrete bunker
to their old
marble palace, they have lousy taste in architecture.
"If you think the old city building deserves another hundred years,
call in and let the city know why.
And if you mink the new plan is
better, well, call in and tell me I'm wrong. In the meantime, this
one's for the city building. Hang in there, old lady."
When she heard the beginning of Aretha Franklin's "Rescue Me," Allie
put her head in her hands and
gave herself over to a moment of panic.
Then reality claimed her. Bill never listened to the show, and
she was
pretty sure the mayor didn't, either. The station had been playing
opera for the past week, and before that there had been Waldo and the
aliens. Charlie couldn't have more man four people listening
to him,
and they were going to be mad he wasn't discussing the Martian
question. There was nothing to worry about.
Then the phone rang.
"WBBB, the Charlie Tenniel show," Allie said.
The voice was an old man's, raspy and loud. "Yeah, let me talk to that
disc jockey fellow."
"Certainly, sir. Can I tell him what you'd like to say?"
"No, damn it, I'm gonna do that."
"Uh, right. Sure." Allie hesitated, knowing she should find out what
the caller wanted before turning
him over to Charlie. On the other
hand, he obviously wasn't going to tell her. And it would be a bad
idea
to alienate any callers. After all, this might be the only one Charlie
got. And it would be a chance
for her to find out how he handled
himself with callers. "Could I have your name, please?"
"Eb Groats."
"You've got a caller," Allie told Charlie over the production mike. "A
Mr. Eb Groats."
Charlie nodded and Allie punched up the call. Samson whimpered at her
feet, and Allie stuck her head under the desk to see what was wrong. He
actually seemed hungry, and she hurried to drip more formula into his
mouth, giving all her attention to him until Charlie came back on the
air a few minutes later.
"I've been talking to Eb Groats from up north of the city limits. Eb
tells me he was around when part
of the building went up. Right, Eb?"
"Well, son, like I was telling you, we put that back wing up about '35.
My first job, I wasn't more'n seventeen."
"Well, Eb, you did a great job."
"Hell, yes."
"Don't say hell, Eb. The FCC doesn't like it."
"My wife doesn't either. The hell with her."
"But about the city building, Eb."
"Well, you're right about one thing. That building was built to last.
Any dang fool could see that."
"Even me."
"Even you. Even that other dang fool Rollie Whitcomb."
"Mayor Whitcomb seems pretty sold on the new building."
"Course, he does. His brother's gonna get the contract."
Charlie said, "What?" and Allie raised her head so fast she smacked it
on the underside of the
producer's desk.
"You check into it, boy. The contract will say Somebody or Other
Construction, but you follow the
trail back and youil find Al
Whitcomb's name on it."
Oh, no, not this
. Allie rubbed
the back of her head and thought fast.
No. Charlie felt the waves he wasn't supposed to be making lapping at
his ankles. No scandal. Do
not call attention to yourself. That would
be bad. "I think that's slander, Eb."
"Not if it's true, it ain't. I'm old, but I ain't stupid."
"That's for darn sure. Well, Eb, you've certainly made my first night
on the job one to remember.
And possibly my last night on the job, too.
Thanks for calling. And call back and tell me I'm a fool
again
sometime, Eb. You sound just like my grandpa. I'm glad you were
listening in."
"I wasn't. My great-grandson listens to that fool Harry the Howler and
we kind of slopped on over
into your show."
"Well, slop on over anytime."
"Will do, son. Good luck on savin' that building."
"Thanks. I'm going to need all the luck I can get." There was a click
on
the line, and Charlie spent a nanosecond cursing his lousy luck. He
looked out the window at Allie who was rubbing her head, probably as
stunned as he was. He shrugged at her and went back to his regularly
scheduled patter, steering as far clear of the city building as he
could. "Of course, I've already had more luck than any
new guy in town
deserves. My first caller is a great guy like Eb, and the first lady I
met in town
yesterday is the kind of woman a man never forgets, even when she says
goodbye, which she just
did today.
Fortunately, I've had a lot of experience with rejection. Anyway, this
is for that lady who
said I insulted her in the bar yesterday. Trust
me, honey, I meant it in the nicest possible way."
Allie shook her head when she heard Patsy Cline slide into "Crazy."
"Very funny, Charlie."' she said into the mike. "About the city
building—"
"I didn't mean to, believe me," he told her. "I thought it was just a
nice, friendly kind of topic."
"Bill's a backer of Rollie Whitcomb."
Charlie laughed shortly. "He would be. He's Just like my dad."
"Your dad backs mayors?"
"My dad buys mayors." Charlie swiveled away from the vindow to refill
the cassette stack.
"Oh, well, at least nobody's listening."
Just me.
Allie watched Charlie
pushing the slides happily or the next
half hour, playing music and
talking to three callers who wanted to put
in their two cents about the city building. Things were
going well. In
fact, four callers in the first half hour of a new show was phenomenal.
They were safe.
But safe made for lousy radio.
She could fix that.
Of course, they didn't want to make enemies, but since nobody seemed
too
upset about the mayor's brother, that wasn't a problem. And Charlie was
great with callers, absolutely brilliant. More people should know that.
Of course, Charlie didn't want to be famous. But this was a civic
issue, he had a
civic duty.
And she wanted the show to be a hit.
"I'm a slime," she told Samsom, fast asleep in his basket. "A
career-obsessed, pathetic slime." Then
she picked up a clear phone line
and punched in the mayor's phone number.
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