The Best New Horror 2 (16 page)

The network’s offer was impressive: a nation-wide weeknight call-in talk show with timely guests covering controversial topics. Andy
would have to move away from Cincinnati, of course, but that was okay. The only problem was Andy’s certainty that the show would be watered down by the network to satisfy their sponsors, eliminating, at the very least, the profanity allowed on his show and, at the most, restricting his broadcasting style. But TBN surprised him. Countless polls had shown that, due to the overwhelming popularity of television, very few people listened to the radio unless they felt they were missing something unique or unusually popular, so the sponsors
wanted
Andy to be profane and aggressive and controversial and they didn’t give a damn about his politics. Controversy usually attracted publicity, which
always
drew listeners. And listeners listened to advertisements.

After his recent experiences with bricks through windows and telephoned bomb threats, Andy was reluctant to use his real name on national radio, so, after acquiring the job and moving to the big city, he decided to come up with a pseudonym.

The Arthur Colton, Jr., Show began without fanfare, a strategic move by the network; they were confident that it would generate its own publicity and saw no reason to pay for any. They were right. The show created a wave of controversy and, within the first two weeks, inspired newspaper columnists across the country to write a column in response; some were positive, but most were vicious protests, some calling him a broadcasting whore who was willing to say anything, no matter how damaging or dangerous, that might garner a few more ratings points.

Once again, Andy was puzzled by his critics. He could understand if they just didn’t
like
the show, but they made it sound
dangerous
. Didn’t they understand that he wasn’t really that person on the radio? He didn’t even use his real voice anymore, let alone his real name; his radio voice was deeper, more authoritative than his regular speaking voice. And of
course
he didn’t share the opinions of his radio alter ego; nobody
really
thought that way about everything, it was
ridiculous
, a caricature. In fact, Andy had very few opinions of his own. He watched the news and read papers only for the benefit of his show. He wasn’t that concerned with world events; they were out of his hands. Didn’t they realize that it was—

—“Just show business,” he muttered, leaving the lounge with the paper and his coffee. He ducked into the control room where Tanya was occupied with a caller and didn’t notice when he snatched up her cigarettes. In the studio, he tried to read the rest of the article, but the dim shadowy lighting only made his eyes water, so he leaned back in his chair with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The night before, he’d gotten less than an hour of light dozing scattered between bouts of rolling and rutting in bed with a
voluptuous, squealing coed named Debi, and that morning he’d had a brunch date with Jaretta, his hairdresser, who had agreed to grab a hotel room halfway through brunch so they wouldn’t have to waste time deciding on his place or hers. Andy had seen them both before and would see them again, along with the several other women he saw regularly—Sherrie and Dina and Kaylee and Lynda and Melonie and Shawn—and the many others whom he had not yet met. His social life was better than it had been in Cincinnati despite the fact that he protected his identity and no longer used his celebrity status to impress women; it made no difference because, back in Cincinnati, he’d gained a lot of confidence with women, learned a lot about being funny and charming and tap dancing around commitment and exclusivity like Fred Astaire. And he was making a lot of money now, which didn’t hurt a bit.

But tonight, he was taking a rest. After work he was going to call Sol’s All-Nite Deli and order a pastrami and Swiss on an onion roll and one of Sol’s fat dill pickles, take them home and eat them with a cup of hot tea in front of
Shane
, which was on the Late Late Movie, then he was going to sleep until noon. Maybe later. He lit a cigarette and sighed the smoke from his lungs, looking forward to his evening with relish.

“This is the Arthur Colton, Jr., Show and we are now entering the final hour of the show with open phones for those of you who have something to say. Anything you want. You got a gripe? You want to bitch about something? Give me a ring. Any questions? I’m almost
always
right, you know. Give me a call. And if you have a personal problem and would like to benefit from my experience, strength and wisdom, as the sniveling drunks say at AA meetings, don’t hesitate to pick up the phone. Janice is calling from Witchita, Kansas. Janice, my dear, you’re on the air.”

“Yes, Arthur, I’m calling about your previous guest, Melissa Cartwright. I’m not a regular listener, but I heard Ms Cartwright was going to be on tonight and I’m a big fan of hers, so—”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“—I listened and I was very disappointed that you never allowed her to make her point. I mean, she is a very wise and warm person who has an open mind and she is
not
a man-hater. I think it’s sad that you deprived your listeners of what she has to say, but I think it’s indicative of a frightening trend in this country today toward
woman
-hating, a trend to which you seem to be a powerful contributor.”

Andy smiled. This was the pro-choice woman Tanya had warned him about earlier. Andy didn’t give a damn about abortion one way or the other—it meant
nothing
to him—but the great majority of his listeners were against it, and that was what mattered. It had been a
hot topic ever since abortion laws had been reintroduced back in the eighties and he got a lot of calls for it, so he’d prepared a stock response—a funny, sarcastic,
angry
response—specifically for callers like Janice from Witchita.

“Janice, my dear, I may be a lot of things, but I am
not
a woman-hater. Women are my favorite living beings. Anyone who knows me will tell you that Arthur
loves
women. But I do not love
castrating
women. This is a free country, so you’re entitled to your opinion just as I am, and
my
opinion is that
Mizzz
Cartwright
is
one of those castrating women. Believe me, I think there are plenty of men who
deserve
to have their balls chopped off, but not
all
of them, for crying out loud, and the women who think so are, in my opinion, no better than the psychotic
men who beat women
. Now. Why did you call? What’s your question?”

“I don’t really have a question, I just wanted to point out that this kind of attitude—the attitude you’ve exhibited on your show tonight—is greatly responsible for one of the most frightening changes to take place in this country in my lifetime.”

“And what is that, praytell?”

“Within the last several years, laws have been passed in every state in the country stripping women of the right to do as they please with their bodies. Abortion has become a
crime
. It’s like our bodies are now the property of the
state
! I don’t see any laws prohibiting
men
from doing what they want with
their
bodies! How would you feel if a law was passed that
required
you to have a vasectomy? How would you like to be arrested if you weren’t
circumcised?
And if you feel abortion is a moral crime, why can’t you at least
give
women that choice? Why can’t you allow them the
right
to commit that sin if they feel it’s necessary?”

“Are you finished?” he asked calmly. “Is that your question? Because if it is, I have an answer.”

“Yes. That’s my question.”

“First of all, that business about vasectomies and circumcision is just bullshit and I won’t dignify it with a response. Okay, now. You and the women who agree with you claim that it is your right—your inalienable
right
—to do with your bodies as you wish. But I disagree, and I’ll tell you why. Have you ever heard of Jerry Lewis?”

“Of course.”

“Have you seen his Muscular Dystrophy Telethon?”

“Well . . . I’m familiar with it.”

“Okay. Here’s a man who has performed financial miracles for the battle against muscular dystrophy, and yet children continue to have their bodies withered by this disease. Do they have that
right?
Do they have the right to be crippled by this disease?”

“That’s the most—”

“Do I have the
right
to get cancer?”

“That’s the most—”

“Does my father have the
right
to have a stroke? Does my mother have the
right
to have a heart attack? Which they both
had
, and they are now
dead
”

“That is without a doubt the most—”

“What I’m saying is that our bodies are really not our
own
. When it comes right down to it, we don’t
own
them. If we don’t have the right to choose whether or not we get these horrible diseases or are stricken with these deadly ailments, what gives
you
the
right
to
kill
the life that is
growing
inside
your
body?”

“That is the most
ludicrous
thing I’ve
ever
heard in my
entire
—”

“Thank you for calling, Janice. We go to Tucson, Arizona, where David is waiting to speak with the
host
. David?”

“Hey, Arthur, it’s great to talk with you, man, really.”

“Thank you.”

“I love your show and I think this country needs more people like you who’s willing to tell it like, well, like, y’know, it
is
. I mean, I get so fed
up
with, like, all these liberal talk show hosts who . . . well, who think this whole fucking country should be run by a bunch of communist faggots who . . . who, um . . . well, and women! They think the country can be run by, y’know,
women!
I mean, women like the one you had on tonight . . .
what’s
her name? The one who hates men?”

“Melissa Cartwright.”

“Yeah, like women like her can
run
the damned country, I mean . . . give me a
break
, okay?”

Andy smirked. Ignorant as he sounded, David was a typical listener—friend, not foe—and required a green light. “You’re right on the money, David. You’ve got your fingers on the pulse of America and I appreciate your call. Paul in Anderson, California, what’s on your mind?”

“I hear you get death threats.”

“Pardon me?”

“I understand that you get threats against your life.”

It was true; he still got some pretty scary threats. But his pseudonym and the anonymous nature of the network protected him. “Yes, that’s true. There are people out there who don’t like what I do and would like to kill me for it. Why, are you one of them?”

“Does it worry you?”

“Of
course
it worries me. Anti-American lunatics who want to kill me because of what I do?
Sure
that worries me.”

“Well, I don’t think you should be worried about that.”

“And why’s that, sir?”

“Because I don’t think you’ll be killed for what you do. I think you’ll be killed for what you are.”

The back of Andy’s neck shriveled like a raisin and his hand trembled as he hit the button. “Rest well, sir, and be sure to take your medication regularly.” He sighed heavily into the microphone. “Is the moon full, Tanya?”

She laughed beyond the glass.

“Tanya, of course, is my immensely talented producer, a lovely woman and a fine human being. You
see
? You see how
nice
I am to women? In fact, our next call is from a woman and her name is Mary. How are you tonight, Mary?”

“Oh . . . not so good, Arthur.” Her voice was soft, breathy and tremulous.

One of his devoted female listeners with a personal problem. Arthur shifted in his chair, got comfortable. “First of all, I need you to speak up, dear. Okay?”

“O . . . kay.”

“Now, tell me . . . what’s wrong?”

“Well, it’s about my boyfriend. He’s . . . he’s really hurt me, Arthur, and I just don’t know—”

“Physically? Has he
hit
you?”

“Oh, no, no.”

“Well, thank God for that. What’s his problem, honey?”

“I don’t know. I thought you could help. I listen to your show all the time and you seem so smart, so . . . worldly and wise.”

“That I am. So how can I help you.”

“All I want, see, is for him to let me into his life. And to let me let him into
my
life, see?”

Andy glanced over at Tanya and rolled his eyes. “Oookay, if you say so.”

“I mean, we don’t really share anything, you know?”

“Do you sleep together?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s sharing in my book.”

“Yeah, but . . . but . . . well, it’s little things.
Important
things. I don’t know anything about him, about his life, his past.
Y’know
, those little things that make people close. And he doesn’t
wanna
know anything about me. Like, what I want to do with my life and, well, what I’ve been
through
, I mean, just a year and half ago I was in a . . . in the hospital.”

“Oh? Anything serious?”

“Well, I had some, um, a few nervous problems. It wasn’t a . . .
regular
hospital. Um, it was a . . . a . . .”

“You were in the cracker factory, Mary? Is that it? C’mon, spit it out.”

She giggled. “Yeah. Guess so.”

“Okay, so you blew a fuse for a while. How are you now?”

“I’m . . . well, I’m—” She sniffed a couple times. “—better. I’m doing better. Anyway, he just doesn’t seem to . . .
feel
anything. You know. It’s like he doesn’t have any real
emotions
. And I also think he’s sleeping around.”

“Oh-ho, now, whoah, hold the phone. You mean, this guy is
your
boyfriend and he’s sleeping with
other
women?”