Back Talk, page 4
“You’re serious?” Anne said.
Hilton could see absolute mirth dancing in Anne’s eyes because Hilton’s secret of being an heiress was not information Veronica had been privy to as of yet.
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“Have you known me to be anything else?” Veronica said.
“Uh, no.” Anne took off her black blazer and put it around Hilton’s shoulders. Hilton slipped her arms into it and then stood there feeling distinctly uncomfortable. The blazer smelled of Anne’s perfume and it was still warm.
“Veronica, I think Hilton’s basic philosophy on clothes is to pick something off the floor, give it a good sniff, determine whether it’s inhabitable and then get dressed. Am I correct?”
Hilton nodded.
“But she has such nice lines,” Veronica said, running her hand along Hilton’s chin and checking her out.
Hilton shuddered.
“I think we’re making her uncomfortable. Let’s go,” Anne said.
She put her arm around Hilton’s blazer-clad shoulders and led her to the control room. “Do you think Veronica’s a lesbian? I can’t quite figure her out.”
“I hope not,” Hilton said, horrified by the thought.
Anne laughed. “For your sake, me too. I think she might have the hots for you. She’s already trying to cast you in her own image.”
“If I ever show up in a bun and a tight black shirt with a her-ringbone blazer, shoot me because I’ve completely lost my mind.”
“I promise. She is a great producer.”
“She scares me.”
Dave was sitting at the board doing show prep. He looked up.
“Nice outfit.”
“It’s highbrow grunge,” Anne said.
“Is there a dress code?” Hilton asked, genuinely concerned. No one had mentioned one and how did Anne know about her house-keeping methods? Were they that apparent?
“Hell, no!” Dave said. “Has Veronica been at you? She does that to all the new people. She has yet to make a convert. Just think of her as the Jehovah’s Witness of fashion. She’s always knocking but no one answers.”
Anne laughed hysterically. Hilton was still puzzled. “My only 29
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stipulation is that you wear clothes. You look just like Dave except for the underwear.”
Hilton blushed.
“Dare I ask? Let me venture … boxers?” Anne inquired, raising an eyebrow.
Hilton nodded. “They’re much more comfortable.”
“Really? I can’t say I’ve tried them. You know, that would make a great show segment. The news is kind of slow today.” Anne sum-moned Veronica to the control room. “Veronica, I need you to get me a pair of boxers immediately. I’m thinking a burgundy paisley would be nice, in silk, of course. What do you think?”
Veronica stood at the door looking perturbed. “I’m not a message boy.”
“No, but you’re a great shopper. Now get going, the show starts in forty-five minutes. I’ve got show prep to think of.”
Veronica went stomping off and Hilton could tell she didn’t like being treated as the office gofer. Serves her right for being a clothes Nazi, Hilton thought smugly.
“So what’s this?” Anne asked, looking at the Web cam Hilton had set up.
“I want to videotape the show and run the stream on the Web site.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, you’ll need to put your blazer back on so you’ll look presentable,” Hilton said as she took it off and handed it to her.
“Right,” Anne said, looking all business. She put the blazer on and straightened out the collar.
“Yeah, ‘cause you know Veronica won’t like it if you look sloppy,” Dave said.
“I don’t know if I’m entirely comfortable with this idea. What if I look bad on camera?”
“I’ve seen your promotion pictures. You’re very photogenic.
You’ll look great. Besides, most listeners expect radio people to be homely. In this case, I think they’ll be pleasantly surprised,” Hilton said.
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“Oh, well, since you put it that way,” Anne said with a laugh.
Hilton smiled and led Anne to her chair in the booth. “Let’s see how this works.” She went into the control room and adjusted the frames, had Anne move around in her chair and then had Anne come back to the control room and look at the video stream on the computer.
“Hey, that actually works,” Anne said, obviously pleased with Hilton’s efforts.
“I am not late for work!” an elderly woman said emphatically as she marched across the room. Thick black-rimmed glasses magni-
fied her pale blue eyes. She was wearing a purple flowered print dress and an enormous red hat with a long black feather. She nearly took out Hilton’s eye as she stormed by in her beige square-heeled shoes. She seriously looked like she’d escaped from the old folks’ home down the street.
“No, Lillian, I wasn’t talking to you. I was saying it works,”
Anne enunciated, pointing to the Web cam.
“I always leave at the same time, take the same bus and arrive at the same time. Consequently, it’s not possible that I’m late,” Lillian said. She peered down at Shannon, who was sprawled out on the floor sound asleep.
“Yes, Lillian, I know,” Anne said.
“And what on God’s green earth is that?” Lillian said, nudging Shannon with her foot.
Shannon groaned.
“It’s Hilton’s dog, Shannon,” Anne replied.
Shannon opened her eyes and then licked Lillian’s ankle.
“I had a boyfriend that used to do that,” Lillian said. She eased over gently and patted Shannon’s head. “Nice doggy. I read an article the other day that pets in the workplace are supposed to reduce your blood pressure. Is she on the payroll?”
“Of course,” Anne said.
“Pity she can’t do promo work. We could replace you-know-who with the tight hair,” Lillian said, nodding in Veronica’s direction.
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Anne laughed. “I’m going to go do some quick research on the history of underwear.” She left for her booth.
Shannon followed her, having obviously decided that since everyone had filled their spaces in the control room that it was too crowded. She returned to her usual spot in center of the floor under the fan in the main office.
“Who is that?” Hilton whispered to Dave.
“She’s the call screener.”
“The call screener is deaf?” she asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” he said, going back to setting up the board.
“But you’ve been screening calls all this week.”
“Lillian was on vacation visiting her older sister in Phoenix,” he said matter-of-factly.
“She has a sister older than her?”
“Yeah, and get this, they’re both chain-smokers … Pall Mall Reds. So much for the healthy lifestyle crap.”
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Welcome to monkey-land,” Dave said.
“How can she screen calls if she can’t hear the callers?”
“She can’t. That’s the beauty of it.” He leaned over to check out Hilton’s handiwork. “This is really going to improve ratings on the Web site.”
“Thanks,” Hilton said, trying not to blush.
Forty minutes later, Veronica breezed into the studio with a small bag from Nordstrom’s and handed it to Anne who was sitting on the couch in the anterior of the studio reading her research notes on underwear. “Are you sure this is an appropriate topic for our listeners?” She raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips.
Hilton smirked, thinking someone like Anne Counterman didn’t get where she was by listening to everything her producer told her. Hilton was getting the sense that Anne did what she wanted when and how she saw fit.
“I’m going to change. I’ll be right back,” Anne said, glancing up at the big clock on the back wall. In radio everyone lived by that clock. It was eight minutes to the top of the hour.
When she came back, Dave and Hilton were sitting on the 32
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couch waiting for her. Lillian still had her head down on the control room desk taking a quick power nap. Dave had assured Hilton that this was an every day occurrence and that she’dbe pumped and ready to go when the show started. Anne walked around a bit, adjusted her black linen trousers and nodded. “These are more comfortable, not to mention that they totally alleviate the panty-line issue. Okay, we’ll start the show off with the underwear discussion. Got that, Lillian?” Anne said, leaning into the control room door. Lillian woke with a start.
“Underwater? Like fish stories?” Lillian inquired, abruptly sitting straight up.
“No, like boxers,” Anne said.
“I knew a boxer once. He had terrible table manners,” Lillian said.
“Just remember, anything to do with clothes is fine,” Anne suggested. She gave Dave a pregnant look.
“I’ll watch her,” Dave muttered.
The intro music for the show started. Anne’s theme song for the show was Aretha Franklin’s song, “Respect.” Hilton took her seat in the control room and watched the video stream on the ancillary monitor she’d set up. This was going to work awesome.
Anne did an impromptu monologue on the virtues of underwear from the research she’d done on the Internet. She gave a brief history and then extolled the virtues of various undergarments.
Dave switched on the top-of-the-hour news and weather along with station identification for KCOM-FM while Lillian screened calls. Hilton carefully monitored the video stream.
“There’s someone here who wants to talk about thongs,”
Lillian screamed. “Is beachwear what we’ve sunk to?”
Dave reached over and transferred the call. Anne gave him the thumbs-up signal.
“It’s a slow news day, Lillian,” Anne said.
“Hello, Anne, this is Heather and I am wearing a thong.”
“Aren’t they uncomfortable?” Anne asked.
“No, not at all. They make you feel free, not stifled by excess fabric,” the breathy voice said.
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“Are you a leggy blonde?” Anne inquired. She rolled her eyes and smiled mischievously at the video cam.
“Of course. You must be psychic,” the woman said.
“You’ve got heels on right now, don’t you?”
The woman laughed flirtatiously.
Satisfied with the video stream, Hilton went to get a bottle of water from the employee lounge that was located just down the hall from the studio. She noticed the FedEx driver standing at the reception area obviously waiting for the receptionist’s return.
“Hey, can I get you to sign for something,” the driver said.
“Am I allowed to do that?” Hilton asked.
“Sure, I just need a signature. It’s a package for Hilton Withers.
Does she work here?”
“Oh, that’s me. I can sign for my own package, right?”
“Boy, she’s got you freaked already,” the driver said.
Hilton smirked apologetically for having no balls. She couldn’t think of anything she’d ordered. Still puzzled, she signed for the package. The FedEx driver was a short, buff, Hispanic woman who stared intently at her while she signed the form. Hilton looked up and smiled politely.
“You must be new,” the driver said.
“Yes, I’m Hilton,” she said, extending her hand. She refused to be snotty. She had done that once to a homely girl in her class when she was growing up and Gran had berated her for her unkindness and belligerence, for thinking herself better because she was lucky enough to be born pretty. Hilton had never forgotten that discussion. Unfortunately, being polite sometimes gave the impression she was interested. It was a difficult balance.
“I’m Dolores. Nice to meet you, Hilton. Do you order a lot of stuff?”
“Yes, computer stuff mostly. I’m kind of a tech geek.”
“You look pretty hip for a geek,” Dolores said.
Hilton wondered if this was a potential come-on. She smiled anyway. She could always pull her famous “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now” response if need be. It usually worked.
The break came and Anne signed off while the commercials set 34
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in. She was on her way to the break room to get a cup of coffee.
Hilton watched as Anne arched her eyebrow as she passed by.
“So haven’t I seen you … out,” Dolores said.
The emphasis on the word out was code for gay bar. Hilton laughed. “Perhaps a time or two,” she replied coyly.
“I thought so,” Dolores said with a knowing smile.
Veronica came swishing by the reception desk. “Don’t you have packages to deliver?” she said curtly.
Dolores just smiled conspiratorially and leaned closer to Hilton. “Don’t touch that one.”
“Oh, no … really.”
“Grave mistake,” Dolores said.
“Girlfriend, what were you thinking?”
“What can I say? Momentary lapse of judgment. I’ll see you around, Hilton.”
” ‘Bye, Dolores.” Hilton made sure she said it loud enough for Veronica to hear. She knew they could be friends now because Hilton had treated her as a fellow hunter and not game. Besides, it appeared being nice to Dolores really pissed off Veronica so that made it all the better.
Hilton took the package back to the studio and sat on the leather couch in the anterior. The commercials were playing.
There was still station identification and thirty seconds of bumper music to get through. She opened the package to find the largest dildo she’d ever laid eyes on. It was dark purple. She pulled it out of the box and eyed it ominously.
“What the hell is that?” Dave asked, peeking out from the control room.
“It’s a dog toy,” Hilton said. She threw it to Shannon, who was still lying on the floor of the anterior underneath the huge brass ceiling fan. Luckily, Lillian was out having a cigarette.
“It looks more like a …” Dave said, wincing as Shannon chewed on the end of it.
“A penis?” Hilton said, finishing his sentence because he didn’t seem capable.
“Well, yeah.”
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“It’s commonly referred to as a dildo.” Hilton took her seat in the control room.
“I didn’t realize they came that large,” Dave said, watching Shannon acutely.
“What d’ya mean? I thought all you guys were hung like horses,” Hilton teased.
“Not like that!” Dave replied. “That’s obscene.”
Hilton laughed.
“Who sent that?”
“My girlfriend,” Hilton said. “It’s a retort for a discussion we had that ended with me nailing her in the back of the head with a bar of soap.”
“Lemme guess, she caught you in the bath where you were held captive. Why do women do that?”
“Because we’re evil,” Hilton replied, thinking Nat must have headed straight to FedEx the evening before. She watched as Anne came back from the bathroom, still adjusting her pants.
“You’ve got to kind of tuck them down in your pants,” she noted. She bent down to scratch Shannon’s ears.
Hilton and Dave sat quiet as she looked at Shannon’s new chew toy.
Her face grew puzzled. “I didn’t realize chew toys came in that particular configuration,” she said, cocking her head to one side to get a better look.
“It’s new,” Dave said.
Lillian came back from her cigarette break just as Anne entered the booth. “What the hell is that! It looks like a giant penis.”
Both Dave and Hilton burst out laughing, and Dave nearly fell out of his chair.
Anne sat down in her booth and must have noticed the ruckus on the other side of the glass. She got up and looked at the dog toy again. “Is that what I think it is?” she said into the mike.
Dave was gasping and couldn’t respond.
“It’s a present from Natalie.”
“Do I want to know any more?” Anne asked.
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“Probably not,” Hilton replied.
The bumper music stopped and the show began. Anne took another call about the virtues of briefs versus boxers. “So let me get this straight, the package is more prominent in briefs than boxers?”
“Absolutely,” a flamboyant male voice said. “I mean, one should make the most of one’s, shall we say, accoutrements.”
“Gotcha,” Anne replied.
Dave was waving wildly at Hilton who was now in the anterior room with Shannon. Anne was still talking to the fag and gave Dave the “what’s up?” signal. Dave beeped in on her ISB, which allowed him to “talk in her ear” without the audience hearing.
“Tour group.”
Anne mouthed, “So?”
Dave pointed to Hilton, who was frantically attempting to retrieve the giant dildo from Shannon, who was having none of it.
The dildo was hers and she wasn’t giving it up without a fight.
Hilton had one end of it and Shannon was pulling fiercely on the other end.
“Thank you, caller, for your insights and now we’ve got some office business going on. Listeners, I believe I’ve been remiss in telling you about the new addition to our staff.”
Hilton stopped pulling for a moment and looked up at Anne, who waved.
“Her name is Hilton and she’s our new Webmistress. She’s a lesbian. I can tell you that because the entire Senate and I’m sure the House of Representatives and even our fair-haired son of a president has been informed of Hilton’s sexual orientation. I say orientation because I think preference is like I prefer cream in my coffee or I prefer French fries instead of mashed potatoes. One does not prefer to be a social pariah. One does not prefer to be ostracized, prefer to be an abomination, prefer to be cut off from one’s family, live outside of the law, face discrimination, worry about being a victim of hate crimes, et cetera! Oh, and all you people who are going to call in and tell me that all the homos 37
