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,
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,
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