Back Talk, page 5
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should be shipped off to Homoslavia, don’t bother, heard it all before. Lillian, our call screener, is a big old dyke who could kick your ass any day of the week. So homophobes need not apply here.”
“If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times I take the bus to work. I do not ride a bike,” Lillian screamed.
Hilton stopped what she was doing for a moment and asked Dave, “Why does she scream?” She and Shannon had inched closer to the control room and were still playing tug-of-war just outside the open door.
“I don’t know, maybe because she can’t hear, she thinks the rest of us can’t either,” he said, shrugging.
Hilton went back to wrestling with Shannon in a last-ditch attempt to gain control of the object of desire before the tour group made it down the hall. Anne didn’t seem too awfully concerned about the situation. Rather, she continued narrating the scene for her listeners.
“Hilton is a whiz kid with the computer and a looker for the ladies. I mean, she’s hot, and I say that from a straight woman’s perspective. Dave, our broadcast engineer, is going to lose one of his hands if he keeps sticking it in his mouth and biting it every time Hilton goes by. Don’t you dare,” Anne said, indicating that Dave was going to bleep that part out. “No editing is allowed. This is a freestyle show.”
Hilton let the remark pass unnoticed to let Dave save face.
Besides, she was still busy attempting to extricate the dildo from Shannon.
“Now, where was I before we were rudely interrupted by the broadcast engineer’s attempt at censorship. Anyway, Hilton is doing her best to extricate a giant purple dildo from her dog Shannon’s ferocious pearly whites. I mean, this dog is not going to let go. Shannon, for you dog-lovers out there, is a white Pyrenees that I’m thinking weighs at least a hundred pounds. Hilton might weigh a hundred pounds dripping wet. So who do you think is winning? My odds are on the dog. The aforementioned purple object—I don’t know how many times I can say dildo on the air 38
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and not have the FCC threatening to rip out my vocal cords. So from now on the dildo—there, I did it again, somebody slap me—will be referred to as the aforementioned purple object. It was a present from Hilton’s girlfriend and I’m thinking it’s either a practical joke, a not very good one, or some kind of a sexual slur. I know this is because I’m a woman and women, in general, are vicious. I’m thinking we could exclude Mother Teresa and Betty White. That woman can’t have a mean bone in her body, even if she is Hollywood folk. She would bake Michael Moore some cookies, I’m thinking four dozen, maybe more if he asked her.
Anyway, it appears Hilton made the mistake of regifting the object to Shannon. Right now, I’m thinking Hilton would prefer to be anywhere but here. Hey, Hilton, didn’t anyone tell you possession is nine-tenths of the law? Oh, listeners, it gets better. The tour group headed up by our prim and proper producer, Veronica, is now coming by. This bunch of radio buffs are about to be treated to quite a sight. Now, for those of you who have never been to a radio station, let me describe it for you. We have the soundproof booth that I’m in and then we have the outside studio that houses the control room where the broadcast engineer and the call screener sit, and then there is a big picture window at the back of the studio that allows the rest of the world to spy on us. Oh, yes, here we go. Hilton has almost won the tug-of-war. The group has stopped. Some of the older women are looking at the aforementioned item with a mixture of awe and wonder. Perhaps they’re thinking that their husbands are not so well-endowed after all.
That six-inch rule is coming to fruition, gentlemen.”
Hilton saw Anne stand up and wave genially to her audience.
Hilton was still tugging when Shannon obviously lost concentration and let go of the desired object. Unfortunately, Hilton was unaware of this new development. She ended up flat on her back holding the dildo straight up in the air. Anne quickly signaled for a break because she was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak. Dave’s face was so red he looked like he might need oxygen. Lillian sighed in disgust as she stepped over Hilton and went outside to have another cigarette. Hilton could have rolled over and died.
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Anne took the dildo from her, dog slime and all, and studied it.
“My God! This is impressive. Hilton, you’ve done something I’ve never been able to do.”
Hilton sat up. “What’s that?”
“Embarrass Veronica to the very core of her being.”
Dave started to breath again. “Not to mention I’ve got it all on video.”
“How the hell did you do that?” Hilton asked.
“I disconnected the cam to Anne’s booth and plugged in the extra one you’d brought. It was really quite simple. Sorry, boss, but I had to make an executive decision and what was happening here was obviously more important.”
“Good call. Remind me to put you both in for a Christmas bonus.”
“I can’t wait for the Christmas party,” Dave said, quickly going back to the control room. He checked the board and put on the bottom-of-the-hour news and weather.
Anne, Hilton and Dave were lounging in the studio on the couch after the show when Ed walked into the room. All antics stopped and Shannon did what Hilton wished she could do—creep into the control room and crawl under the nearest desk. Hilton mouthed the word “coward.” Shannon just whimpered. Hilton figured this was the end of her radio career.
Ed stood in the middle of the room while the suspense built.
His stern face erupted into a smile. He started clapping. “Good show. The only casualty was Veronica getting her knickers in a twist, and I suspect they’re always a little askew, but we got good feedback. Veronica is insisting that I put out a memo that forbids certain paraphernalia on the studio floor.”
“I can live with that,” Anne said.
Hilton and Dave nodded in unison. Ed winked at them. He left, shutting the door behind him.
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They all broke down into fits of laughter.
“Let me see that thing,” Anne said.
“You try getting it away from Shannon,” Hilton said. She sat down and took a deep breath.
Later that afternoon, Hilton sat on the steps of the back porch.
She liked her new schedule. She basically worked from eight-thirty to two, depending on how well the Web site update went. She was alone in the house for once. Liz and Jessie were still in class and Nat was nowhere to be found. The flower gardens had long gone to seed except for the hardy vincas, which ended up being tall on stem and short on flowers. Still, their shiny dark green leaves gave some color to the vast array of browns and yellows. The Chinese dogwood trees that lined the back fence had littered the lawn with burgundy leaves. Fall was in the air and for the first time in her life Hilton felt grownup. She didn’t know exactly what it was or how it came to be. But she felt sort of responsible.
Maybe the evil bitch Veronica was right about dressing for success. Maybe it was time to change her femi-nazi attire and give the business world a try. She wasn’t a college kid anymore. Although she wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, maybe it was time to leave off parties, getting laid and generally shirking responsibility. She wondered if her extended child-hood may have had something to do with Gran dying. If the old woman had still been alive, the house shenanigans would never have evolved to their current state and Hilton would have been expected to have a grownup career by now.
She looked over at Shannon, who was unmercifully chewing off the head of the dildo. Hilton inwardly flinched as she relived the day’s episode. Thank God Anne had a sense of humor.
“What’s up?” Liz asked as she came around the corner lugging a giant book bag.
“Boy, I don’t miss that,” Hilton said, pointing to the knapsack.
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“I’ll say. Why the hell are textbooks so, I don’t know, substantial? I swear they’re trying to kill us off before we have a chance to graduate.” She plopped down next to Hilton on the porch steps.
“They are. The professors want to make sure they don’t have any up-and-coming competition.”
“With tenure they have no worries. My God, when will the old farts retire?”
“How’s your new job at the computer lab?”
“It’s pretty good. I’m basically being paid to baby-sit. I have to make sure everyone has a spill-proof cup and that no one carts off a computer.” Liz pointed at Shannon’s new toy. “What is that?”
“It’s a dildo that’s approximately ten minutes from the trash can.”
Shannon barked in protest and put a protective paw over it.
“She has a larger vocabulary than some of my peers.”
“I think you’re forgetting who’s the alpha dog here.” Hilton pointed a finger at Shannon, who appeared to make a point of ignoring her.
“Why is she chewing on a dildo?”
Hilton relayed the story, which left Liz sputtering and wiping her eyes on her shirt sleeve.
“Can I see the video?”
“No!” Hilton said.
“How about if I make my famous lasagna, garlic bread and a tossed salad with red vinegar and oil dressing with fresh parme-san—and a nice bottle of Merlot.”
Hilton groaned. “You know I’m a complete whore for good food.” It was almost five-thirty and she hadn’t had any lunch.
“Video?”
“After dinner.”
“Deal. Oh, I can hardly wait. I better get started,” Liz said, getting up quickly.
They heard the rumble of the Harley as it pulled up in the driveway.
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“I hope she’s wearing a helmet,” Liz said.
“She better be because I’m not wiping her ass when she’s a paraplegic.”
“Hilton!”
“Hey,” Nat said as she came around the corner of the house.
“Tell me you wear a helmet when you’re on that bike,” Liz demanded.
“Sherry makes me.” Nat sat on the grass next to Shannon and scratched her ears.
Hilton glared at Shannon, who appeared not to notice. It was if she were saying, “You may be mad at her but I’m not.”
“How chivalrous.” Hilton sniffed.
“Is that—?” Nat said, noticing the badly mangled dildo.
“Yes, as a matter of fact it is. Shannon adores it.”
Hilton watched as Liz’s face grew tense. It didn’t seem to bother Nat in the least.
“Now, that must have been a sight walking down the street.”
Nat picked up the dildo, examined it and then gave it back to Shannon.
“Better yet, at the office. It’s grotesque.”
“Wait until you see the video of them—Hilton, Shannon, the dildo and the tour group,” Liz said. Hilton gave her a look, to which she responded, “It’s probably all over the Internet by now.”
“It’s not,” Hilton said emphatically.
“Video of them doing what?” Nat asked.
“Never mind,” Hilton said.
Nat pouted. “You’re still mad at me? I was the one who got nailed with the soap. I still have a bump on the back of my head.”
She rubbed the spot for emphasis.
“If I remember correctly you tried to electrocute me.” Hilton twitched and quivered for effect.
“You didn’t tell me that!” Liz said, giving Nat an accusatory glance as she leaned against the worn railings of the small porch.
“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Nat said coyly.
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“You did.”
“Come on, can’t we get past that?” Nat got up off the grass and sat next to Hilton on the porch.
“You slept with her,” Hilton said.
Nat smiled. “Now we’re even, aren’t we?”
“I’ll go start dinner,” Liz said. She closed the screen door quietly behind her.
Hilton didn’t say anything. Nat took her hand. “Why do we have to be like this?”
“Because you have a phobia about commitment.”
“I do not!”
“Then why do you date other people?”
Nat appeared to be thinking. Hilton waited.
“Because I can,” Nat ventured.
Hilton sighed. “That’s lame. Try again.”
“Because I love you too much to lose you, but monogamy isn’t good for a relationship. Because my parents have such a hideous relationship that it frightens me. Because I have an inadequate sense of self—”
Hilton cut her short. “Oh, please, you probably have a little black book filled with these lines. They’re out of some psychology class you took in your first year of college.”
“They are not. I’m sorry I made such a stink about your latest liaison. I was totally out of line.”
“Great.”
“What?” Nat pulled out a cigarette from her knapsack.
“I just want us to have a normal relationship.”
Nat lit her cigarette and laughed. “Listen, normal equates to misery. Look at our friends. At best they tolerate each other. What we’ve got is a lot better. I should never have said anything about the neighbor. I broke our cardinal rule, and for that I prostrate myself and beg your forgiveness.”
“Please,” Hilton said. She studied Nat as she smoked her cigarette. It dawned on her that Nat had no sense of danger, of consequence, of anything beyond today. Tomorrow didn’t matter and 44
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when it did she’d worry about it then. It was sort of like some pol-luted, warped kind of Zen. All that mattered was this moment and perhaps the next five minutes. The rest was irrelevant. What was past was finished. What was future was too mercurial to worry about. Hilton took Nat’s hand. “Maybe you’ll love me totally when you’re old and wrinkly and no one else wants you.” She could smell the pasta cooking and the pungent smell of spaghetti sauce.
Nat laughed. “You know I probably will. Now, let’s go check on dinner.”
They ambled inside. Liz looked down at their joined hands and Hilton could sense her relief. All was right with the family again.
For now, Hilton thought.
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Chapter Four
Anne was looking at the Web site Hilton had created. The past two weeks had been a blur and here it was Friday night and she still couldn’t get enough. Her mother was correct. She was a worka-holic, but one didn’t get to the top of the radio talk scene without wholehearted dedication coupled with complete obsession.
According to her mother, Victoria Anne Counterman, this was why her husband, Gerald, had left her. Anne pissed on her mother’s opinions once again. The Web site traffic was growing steadily. This meant a new market for sponsors and if the traffic continued it would increase revenue as more advertisers became interested, so Victoria-mother-of-all knowing-mothers could just go fuck herself, Anne thought smugly.
“I’m going to be happily obsessed,” Anne said to the empty room.
Perhaps the part Anne found most satisfying about the last two weeks was that she was interested in the show again. It was difficult 46
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admitting to herself that at thirty-nine her lifelong dream bored her. The worst part for someone who shared her life with the world was that she had to keep this a secret. How could she tell her loyal followers or her devoted staff that some days she was bored to distraction, that she could care less about the day’s topic or the caller’s opinion. She, Anne Counterman, hated her job. It was a disgrace to herself and she was perpetrating a fraud on her listeners. This had been plaguing her daily until Hilton had walked into her life, and all of a sudden the show became fun again. It’s a good God damn thing, Anne thought, leaning back in her black leather chair. Hilton, of course, had no idea this was occurring, but that was of little consequence. It was better to be a muse and not know it. Being an inspiration put pressure on a person and could inhibit their future productivity. She had often wondered if she’d done that to Gerald. Had she picked his brain too often? Had she sucked him dry emotionally with her need for approval and security? Had she sent him in search of calm, clear waters?
She exhaled loudly and shut her conscience off. What was done was done. She turned back to the Web site and began scrutinizing its parts. Speaking of creativity, she thought, the site should really have a message board where listeners could post notes to her as well as each other, a sort of online, off-air dialogue. That could spark tangents, and tangents were her forte. It could be a gold mine for brain-picking and she wouldn’t have to risk a relationship in the process. “It’s win-win,” she said aloud.
She headed for the technical back end of the Web site. It shouldn’t be that hard. She’d seen Hilton mucking around in it to change things. Surely, there would be a little icon or something for adding a message board. A box popped up indicating a password or the option to bypass. Anne thought nothing of it and opted for the bypass. She clicked the box and a message popped up on the screen. It read, “You have entered an unauthorized area. The system will now terminate itself.” A set of symbols started running through all the screens like the program was eating its own tail.
