what
exactly was the rationale behind the new city
building, Mayor? I understand the new building actually
has less space
than the old one."
That set Rollie off again, babbling about heating bills, big indows,
all that marble, and the stairs. Rollie didn't seem to have a grasp as
to why the last three were a problem, he just knew they were factors.
"Anything you want to say about your brother, the contractor?" Charlie
asked him when he'd
sputtered to a close.
"Fine businessman. Pillar of the community. Mason. Knights of Pythias.
Proud to be in the family."
Rollie meandered on, while Charlie waited for a verb. "Does he have the
contract for the city building?" Charlie asked when Rollie trailed off
again.
"Of course not. I don't know. I don't award contracts. Building
committee. Stalwart citizens. Pillars
of the community."
Charlie gave up. "Well, thanks for calling, Mayor. I'm sure Tuttle is
reassured now."
"Proud to do my duty," Rollie said.
Charlie punched the cassette button and shoved the slide up and music
came through his headphones. Unfortunately, it was Paul Simon's "Still
Crazy After All These Years."
He was screwed, as usual. He thought about it and began to laugh.
* * *
Allie sat stunned in the producer's chair, not sure whom she was in the
most trouble with—the mayor,
Bill or Charlie. She'd thought that maybe
talking with the mayor would boost Charlie's credentials.
The mayor
could give his side of the situation and Charlie could discuss it with
him. Serious talk radio. Maybe a nice mention in the Tuttle Tribune tomorrow since the mayor pretty much owned the paper.
And then Charlie turned out to be a hell-raiser. Asking about the
mayor's brother. Sheesh.
"You still there, Tenniel?"
She adjusted her headphones. "Uh, no, he's not, Mayor Whitcomb. This is
Alice McGuffey, the pro—"
"Well, you're fired. And so is he."
Then all she heard was a dial tone.
She sat back and tried to figure out the probable outcome of the mess
she'd created. Bill wouldn't fire
her, she was pretty sure. He wasn't
that dumb, and if he was, Beattie wouldn't let him.
Charlie could be vulnerable, though. And it was her fault.
All right, she'd just go in first thing in the morning and tell Bill
she'd called the mayor.
Then the phone rang and she got back to work.
At one, Allie shut down the phone lines at Charlie's request. By then
he'd talked to eleven callers about the building, all of them telling
him he was right and one asking if the mayor was drunk. "No, I think
he
always talks like that," Charlie said, and the caller said, "And we voted for him?" There were a
few nonpolitical calls: one male caller
wanted to know what he'd said to the lady in the bar, and four female
callers offered to show him the city and let him insult them all he
wanted. "Get me out of this," Charlie said to Allie from the booth, and
she shut down the lines for the night.
"Go home," he told her through the mike. "Stewart's here if I need
anything technical. I'm just going
to play music from now on. I don't
ever want to hear about the city building again."
Allie had been working since four, Charlie's show was off to a better
than great start, and besides, guilt was making her groggy. She'd done
her job and then some. "Thanks," she said. "I'll take you up on that."
She gave Samson to Charlie and told him how to feed him and then
watched while he gave the puppy a bottle to the rhythm of Gloria
Estefan. Samson was almost lost in Charlie's big hand, and Allie forgot
her career entirely as she watched him try to drip the formula into the
puppy's mouth. Sam tried to drink a little and then gave up, but
Charlie kept on coaxing, his blond-brown hair shining in the booth
light like brass as he bent over the little body, massaging Sam's tummy
with his thumb. "C'mon, Sam," he coaxed softly, and Allie shut her eyes
and prayed the puppy would make it.
She really didn't need any more trauma. She was due for a success here,
and Sam might as well
exactly was the rationale behind the new city
building, Mayor? I understand the new building actually
has less space
than the old one."
That set Rollie off again, babbling about heating bills, big indows,
all that marble, and the stairs. Rollie didn't seem to have a grasp as
to why the last three were a problem, he just knew they were factors.
"Anything you want to say about your brother, the contractor?" Charlie
asked him when he'd
sputtered to a close.
"Fine businessman. Pillar of the community. Mason. Knights of Pythias.
Proud to be in the family."
Rollie meandered on, while Charlie waited for a verb. "Does he have the
contract for the city building?" Charlie asked when Rollie trailed off
again.
"Of course not. I don't know. I don't award contracts. Building
committee. Stalwart citizens. Pillars
of the community."
Charlie gave up. "Well, thanks for calling, Mayor. I'm sure Tuttle is
reassured now."
"Proud to do my duty," Rollie said.
Charlie punched the cassette button and shoved the slide up and music
came through his headphones. Unfortunately, it was Paul Simon's "Still
Crazy After All These Years."
He was screwed, as usual. He thought about it and began to laugh.
* * *
Allie sat stunned in the producer's chair, not sure whom she was in the
most trouble with—the mayor,
Bill or Charlie. She'd thought that maybe
talking with the mayor would boost Charlie's credentials.
The mayor
could give his side of the situation and Charlie could discuss it with
him. Serious talk radio. Maybe a nice mention in the Tuttle Tribune tomorrow since the mayor pretty much owned the paper.
And then Charlie turned out to be a hell-raiser. Asking about the
mayor's brother. Sheesh.
"You still there, Tenniel?"
She adjusted her headphones. "Uh, no, he's not, Mayor Whitcomb. This is
Alice McGuffey, the pro—"
"Well, you're fired. And so is he."
Then all she heard was a dial tone.
She sat back and tried to figure out the probable outcome of the mess
she'd created. Bill wouldn't fire
her, she was pretty sure. He wasn't
that dumb, and if he was, Beattie wouldn't let him.
Charlie could be vulnerable, though. And it was her fault.
All right, she'd just go in first thing in the morning and tell Bill
she'd called the mayor.
Then the phone rang and she got back to work.
At one, Allie shut down the phone lines at Charlie's request. By then
he'd talked to eleven callers about the building, all of them telling
him he was right and one asking if the mayor was drunk. "No, I think
he
always talks like that," Charlie said, and the caller said, "And we voted for him?" There were a
few nonpolitical calls: one male caller
wanted to know what he'd said to the lady in the bar, and four female
callers offered to show him the city and let him insult them all he
wanted. "Get me out of this," Charlie said to Allie from the booth, and
she shut down the lines for the night.
"Go home," he told her through the mike. "Stewart's here if I need
anything technical. I'm just going
to play music from now on. I don't
ever want to hear about the city building again."
Allie had been working since four, Charlie's show was off to a better
than great start, and besides, guilt was making her groggy. She'd done
her job and then some. "Thanks," she said. "I'll take you up on that."
She gave Samson to Charlie and told him how to feed him and then
watched while he gave the puppy a bottle to the rhythm of Gloria
Estefan. Samson was almost lost in Charlie's big hand, and Allie forgot
her career entirely as she watched him try to drip the formula into the
puppy's mouth. Sam tried to drink a little and then gave up, but
Charlie kept on coaxing, his blond-brown hair shining in the booth
light like brass as he bent over the little body, massaging Sam's tummy
with his thumb. "C'mon, Sam," he coaxed softly, and Allie shut her eyes
and prayed the puppy would make it.
She really didn't need any more trauma. She was due for a success here,
and Sam might as well
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