One Night (16 page)

“No,” Kit said. “Not negotiable.”

Peace was maintained when Tyler suggested that the onlookers watch from his booth while Tom and Kit talked in hers. Everyone seemed pleased enough, so we headed to the studio. Raoul went ahead with a pair of security men.

KLIP has two broadcast studios. One’s new, state-of- the art, and located on the ground floor. Wide picture windows open to the sidewalk and street, and speakers let passersby listen as well as watch.

Kit works out of the basement studio, the only KLIP host to still use the old place. As we settled in, I gently tapped the glass separating producer from star. Was it strong enough to hold back the general if he heard something he didn’t like? Tyler brought in three extra chairs. On the other side of the glass Kit was helping Prince Tom with his headphones and microphone—all a pantomime to us, because she’d turned off the mike. Just as Tyler signaled the two-minute warning, Raoul’s secretary hurried in, carrying rolls and coffee. The king looked pleased, and after studying the pastries at length, he made his decision and settled back into his chair with decaf and a sticky bun.

Three, two, one…

Once again Kit blew me away. She had world leaders in the room, the fate of a nation was in their hands, the diplomatic stakes were heaven high, and she, of course, played it her way.

“Welcome to ‘Kit Chat,’ this is Kit Carpenter. My dear people, if you’re still mad at me because Simone Sanchez wasn’t on the show yesterday, take heart. We’ve rescheduled her for another morning. We’ll be announcing that date during tomorrow’s show. So would you please stop with the calls and e-mails? No more complaints, I’m not in the mood. Want to know why?”

Did it matter?

“You’ve all heard me talk about my niece, Kelly.”

One of the reasons I chose not to listen to “Kit Chat.”

“She didn’t come home last night. You parents out there, you know the feeling, right? Well, you all know I don’t have children, she’s all I’ve got, and yesterday I spent the night wondering where she was and when I’d see her. No, it’s not what you’re thinking. She’s fine, I couldn’t be prouder. Yesterday, America, she had a night on the town with a prince. A gorgeous, charming young man who happens to be the future king of Lakveria. A very gorgeous, very charming young man who happens to be sitting with me right now. Crown Prince Tomas Teronovich, welcome to ‘Kit Chat.’ Talk now.”

Tom was so stunned that he could barely say hello. Beside me, General Kolar growled. Kit charged on. “Sure, you’re of Lakverian heritage, sure, you’re the male descendent of a long line of kings, but dear boy, you were born in Paris, raised in Texas—that explains the accent you’ll hear, America, if he ever opens his mouth—and you’ve been going to college in Great Britain. Why in the world should you be king of a very troubled Eastern European country?”

That was no better. Tom, haltingly, spoke of the election, the Lakverian people’s expressed desire for a unifying force while rebuilding democracy.

Kit said, “Uh-huh. Think it will work?”

Oh, he tried. Answer by answer, he tried. But under her eye, knowing even as he stumbled that she had another question waiting, he spoke with the enthusiasm of someone walking through a bed of scorpions.

It was mighty chilly in our booth.

I edged forward to Tyler. “Give me Kit’s headphone, just hers.” He tapped a switch and I was in her head. I said into the mike, “Ask him about his sister, Natalia. Ask him about the work she was doing.”

King Mikel and the general made noises.

Kit waited while Tom finished giving a stock overview of the UN peacekeeping mission. Then she said, “Tell me about your sister.”

Radio rule number one: Silence is the enemy. Tom was very silent. Kit filled the dead air with a prompt: “What work was she doing?” Tom turned in his seat and looked directly at me. The radio waves emanating from KLIP might have been empty at that moment, but his look was loaded. He turned back and faced Kit, took a breath and said, “Yes, we should talk about my sister.”

From then, it was golden.

I fed her a couple more questions, but they were hardly needed, and by the time Tom was discussing the work in the refugee camps that his sister had been doing, they’d found their groove. And by the time Tyler cued the first commercial break, Tom and my aunt were talking with the earnest energy of reconciling lovers.

The vice president poured another round of coffee; the king helped himself to a muffin.

Round two went even better. By then the phone lines were lit all across the board, and Tyler and his assistant were screening the calls, lining them up like planes ready for takeoff.

With just a few minutes to go before the end of the segment, Tyler turned to me and tapped his headset. “This one wants you, Kelly,” he said.

I shook my head. “You know my rule, Tyler: Kit can talk
about
me, but no one ever talks
to
me.”

“Caller says she owes you something. She asked for the delivery girl.”

I stepped to the board, put on an extra headset, and said, “Good morning, Simone.”

“He sounds just like a king should sound, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Of course, he’s not a king yet, but you’ve got him that much closer. Maybe, just maybe, things might not fall apart completely before he gets his chance. So, congratulations, Delivery Girl.”

“You give me too much credit. Without you, it wouldn’t have happened. Don’t you want to speak with him?”

“Not a good idea, I think. They’re on to something pretty serious—can’t you hear? Refugees and health clinics. If I butt in, it will all get off track.”

“That’s true.”

“Besides, it was you I wanted to speak with. Was it a wonderful night? Tell me it was, Delivery Girl, it’s the only answer I want.”

“All right then: It was a wonderful night.” Behind me, the king and his men shifted. Someone cleared his throat “And how was the house, Simone? Was that wonderful, too?”

She sighed. “I stayed for two hours. I had supper there, right in her kitchen. Yes, it was wonderful. I took loads of pictures; they’re being developed now. Come backstage tonight after the show and I’ll show them to you.”

Oops. No tickets. “I might need to sleep.”

“Nonsense. And I want to give you a copy of the photo of the three of us; I always get doubles.”

“Simone, I gave away the tickets to someone who helped me and Tom. But I’d love the photo.”

“Then you’ll have to come get it. I’ll send over more tickets. You sound blue and down, Delivery Girl. But why? You got what you wanted.”

“Yes, I did,” I said softly.

“Of course,” she replied, “those are the things that are painful to lose. And now your wonderful night is over.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Then all you can do is make this next one even better, so come to my show. Good-bye, Kelly Ray. Give my love to Prince Tom.”

I handed the headset to Tyler and stepped back to my place by the wall. In the booth Kit was wildly gesturing, the claw catching the light and flashing. I smiled. Maybe Kit would go to the concert with me, go backstage and meet her diva double. I caught my breath as I pictured the scene. Those two in the same room? Maybe not.

Raoul entered the booth and whispered in my ear. “Is that a good idea?” I replied aloud.

Vice President Ripley said, “Is what a good idea?”

“A reporter and cameraman from our affiliate television station would like to step in and observe and later talk with any of you gentlemen,” Raoul said. He turned to me. “And you, too, Kelly. They’re interested in you.”

“I’m not the story, Raoul. Not a chance.”

The politicians consulted while I tried to listen to Kit and Tom. I heard the Veep say, “He’s doing very well.” A few murmured words more, then Vice President Ripley nodded to Raoul, who quickly left the booth. He returned within seconds with two men, a glossy groomed reporter and a bearded giant with a camera perched on his shoulder. Everyone but the king shifted to make room.

“Isn’t there a Marx Brothers movie that goes like this?” I said aloud.

“
A Night at the Opera
,”
said my neighbor the statesman.

“No, I think she means
Monkey Business
,”
the camera guy said. His camera whirred and he pointed it at me. I clasped my hands on my head and hid behind my elbows.

Kit noticed the new activity. Any publicity is good publicity; she smiled broadly and made a clapping motion. Tom turned and looked; his face was pained. The camera whirred away.

I peeked over Tyler’s shoulder and looked at the phone log. “Are the callers friendly?”

He nodded. “Some in tears; among the eight on hold, we’ve got three Lakverian refugees living in Dakota City.”

I fed Kit another prompt: “Tell them they can make a difference. Tell them to call their representatives and demand the UN pledge be paid.”

Which is the plea Tom made just before Tyler cued them for the long mid-show break. The On Air light went out and the men in the booth with me applauded. Kit rose, stretched, did her little jig. Tom slumped.

Tyler began prepping the king and the general for their part of the show. I excused myself and went into the other booth.

“It’s going well,” I said. Kit didn’t need to be told that, of course. Tom looked as if he didn’t believe it, or as if he’d been awake all night. “Do I look as bad as you?” I asked.

“Worse,” he said. “I have a clean shirt.”

Tyler poked his head in. “We need to get set up. Can I bring in chairs?”

I held up my hand. “Just a minute.” He shrugged and closed the door. Beyond the glass the men were smoothing ties and patting pockets. Primping, as if Kit’s audience would be able to see them.

I faced my aunt, eye to eye. “Don’t bring them on.”

“What?”

“Don’t bring in the old men. You cannot turn this over to them. It will ruin what you’ve got going. Just keep it this way, you and Tom and your listeners. Please, Kit. Don’t bring in the old men.”

I turned to Prince Tom. He was shaking his head slightly. “Kelly, I promised.”

“You can do what you want, Tom. You make the decision. But this is the best way, I know it is. You and Kit, no one else.”

Kit swore, drummed her fingers on the artificial arm, and then said, “She’s right. She’s absolutely right, Your Highness. It’s good politics for you and even better radio for me. Look at those old coots: You can just feel the hot air getting ready to blow. Yes, it’s exactly what we should do, but, my dear boy, are you up to it? Another fifty minutes?”

He thought, nodded, and then a little boy’s smile spread across his face. “But would someone else tell my uncle?”

Kit and I pointed at each other as we both said, “You.”

She flicked her mike switch. “Tyler, tell the gentlemen that they can sit back down. Thank you.” She switched
off.

“That’s it?” I said.

“The rest is up to you, dear,” she said. “If you think it’s such a good idea that I dump these world leaders, you can explain it to them. You go make it right, Kelly. I may want them back here someday, so you make it right.” She flopped into her seat. “Oh, yeah. This one will cost me.”

I bit back a smile. Wait ’til she knew exactly how much.

“By the way, hon, what’s with Brant Butler showing up with his cameraman?”

“Raoul’s idea.” I tapped Tom’s arm gently. “Simone called. She’s listening; she sends her love. We both think you’re doing great.” Then I escaped.

*

Tyler cued the start just as I slipped back into the production booth. “What’s up, Kelly?” he said.

I took a deep breath and smiled at the men before turning to Raoul. “Could you get them out of here?” I motioned toward the TV guys. “Please? Maybe they could set up the interview space somewhere?”

As soon as they were gone, I faced the vice president. “The prince and Kit think it’s better to keep going with just the two of them.”

He raised his eyebrows. “She’s bouncing us?” I nodded. “You call me this morning to ask—to plead—that I skip an important breakfast and come on your aunt’s show with His Highness and General Kolar. You start my day by telling me that you’ve got the missing prince all set to go on national radio and would I mind coming down to smooth troubled waters.”

“Yes, and thank you very much.”

“And now you want to bounce us all.”

“Her listeners are probably burning up the phone lines to DC now, sir. Do you want to risk shutting that down?”

Vice President Ripley had been talking with a stern diplomat’s posture; still, there was a hint of a smile, and it blossomed now. “Do you really think I mind not going on the air with her?” He turned to the others. “Your Highness. General. She’s right. Kit Carpenter’s listeners are legion and they take action. Best, really, we let this continue as it is.”

The king of Lakveria was watching the interview. He nodded. “Tomas is doing fine; as you say.”

The general didn’t speak. He might not have agreed, but his vote didn’t count.