Jennifer Crusie - Charlie All Night

“Come on up, Charlie,” Allie called to him from the stairway, and her voice was husky, and he began to climb the steps to her without thinking about it.

They showed him around the apartment: a big cream and peach living room with two couches and lots of lamps and bookcases, a white kitchen big enough for a full-size oak table and a mass of cooking gear, a large sea-green bathroom about the size of the bedroom in Charlie’s last apartment with an old clawfoot tub about the size of his old bed, and two large bedrooms, one in gray and red for Joe, and one in peach and white for Allie. It confirmed all Charlie’s suspicions that Joe and Allie were wonderful, warm, generous people who shouldn’t be allowed out without a keeper.

“This is great,” Charlie said when they were back in the iving room. “But you people are nuts.”

Allie flopped down on one of the overstuffed couches. “Why?

“I’m a complete stranger and you just invited me into your apartment and showed me everything you own.” Charlie hook his head at both of them. “You’re asking to be ripped off.”

“Nope. We know Bill.” Joe headed back to the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

“Iced tea, please,” Allie called after him, and Charlie sat down across from her.

“What does Bill have to do with it?”

Allie snuggled down into the couch cushions, and Charlie let his mind wander for a moment. Allie was as well-upholstered as the couch. A comfortable woman. The kind of woman without angles or sharp bones or-

“Bill owns the station,” Allie said. “And nothing or nobody gets in the station that Bill doesn’t know everything about. If he hired you, he’s seen your baby pictures.”

Since Bill was Charlie’s father’s college roommate, this was truer than Allie knew, but Charlie was still not convinced. “You’re telling me it’s impossible for Bill to have hired a creep? Then how did he get Mark?’

Allie grinned. “You’re biased. Mark’s not so bad. He’s a little insecure, and he’s ambitious for his show, but who wouldn’t be?”

“Me,” Charlie said.

Joe came back in the room bracketing three iced-tea glasses in his hands. “You’re not ambitious?” he asked as Charlie took one.

“Nope. I’m just here to have a good time.” Charlie leaned back and sipped his tea. It was full and rich, sun tea laced with just enough lemon and sugar. He settled more comfortably into the couch. “And it’s a good thing I’m not ambitious since I’m on from 10:00 to 2:00 a.m.”

Allie smiled at him brightly. It was a smile he was learning to associate with Positive Career Talk. “The time could be a lot better,” she told him. “But don’t worry. I’m going to make you a star.”

“No, you are not.” Charlie narrowed his eyes at her. The only thing that was going to save him was that he was on so late, nobody would notice how inept he was. All he needed was Allie drawing attention to him as he stuck a microphone in his eye or something, and then questions would be asked. “Don’t you even think about holding up a cue card for me. I told you. I don’t want to be a star.”

Joe snorted. “You don’t have any choice. If Allie wants you famous, you’re going to be famous.”

“Forget it,” Charlie told Allie. “Wipe the thought from your mind.”

“We can talk about it later,” Allie said smoothly. “Now, tomorrow night’s your first show and I thought-”

“Don’t.” Charlie scowled at her. “Thinking is bad for a woman. Tell me about the other people at the station. I already know about Mark and Lisa.”

Allie sat silent with her tea, obviously regrouping, so Joe chimed in. “Bill owns the station and theoretically runs it as general manager.”

“Theoretically?”

Joe exchanged a glance with Allie. “His wife, Beattie, decided about six months ago that she wanted a career. Bill gives Beattie anything she wants, so she’s pretty much running the place now.”

Charlie quirked an eyebrow at Joe. This was news Bill hadn’t shared. “Is that good?”

“I think so,” Joe said. “She fired Weird Waldo.”

“He thought Martians were invading the station through the consoles,” Allie said. “He kept announcing during his show that they were getting closer. It was actually kind of interesting if you suspended logical thought. Beattie wanted him gone, but Bill said he was just being colorful.”

“And then he shot the console,” Charlie remembered from the dinner conversation.

“Yep, just last week. Blew the whole thing away.” Allie sighed. “At least we gained a new console. And lost Waldo, thanks to Beattie.”

“Wouldn’t even Bill have fired him at that point?” Charlie asked, incredulous.

“Bill’s ability to ignore anything unpleasant is legendary,” Joe told him.

“Great.” Charlie drank more of his iced tea. If Bill could ignore somebody shooting up a broadcasting booth, the one anonymous letter that had made him call for help must have been a beauty. He brought his attention back to Joe. “What else should I know?”

They talked on into the night, Joe and Allie filling him in on the rest of the station personnel, like Albert the anal-retentive business manager who recited ad prices in his sleep, and Marda the ambitious afternoon DJ who was breathing down Mark’s neck for the prime-time slot, and Karen the receptionist who knew all the gossip not fit to print, and Harry the Howler who was on right before Charlie.

“Harry howls from six to ten,” Allie told Charlie. “He likes to think he’s wild and crazy, but he’s really sweet with the volume turned up. His real area of expertise is cars, so if you ever have problems with yours, ask Harry.”

“And then there’s me.”

Allie nodded. “Yep. Harry’s audience usually starts to fade about nine, nine-thirty, and then we had Weird Waldo.”

Charlie tried not to show his relief. “So, at the moment, my show has a listening audience of about…”

Allie grinned at him. “Oh, six or seven, tops. And they’re all listening because they’re concerned about the Martians, and they’re waiting for the update.”

Charlie started to laugh. “Oh, God. This is going to be awful.”

“Then at two o’clock, there’s Grady.”

“Tell me Grady’s normal.”

“Well…” Allie stopped, obviously searching for the words to describe Grady. “Grady is sweet. He talks about things like the life force and crystal power and personal auras, and then he plays classical guitar music and Gregorian chants and other…” She stopped. “I can’t describe Grady. His show is very soothing, and he has his own small but fanatically loyal following.” She shrugged. “I like him. Grady’s a good person.”

“If he has only a small following, why is he still on the air?”

“Because he’s Grady Bonner. Someday, all this will be his.”

“The son and heir? Then why is he on the graveyard shift?”

“Because his following is small. Bill gave Grady two to six to keep him off the streets.”

Charlie took a deep breath. “So I’m sandwiched in between Howling Harry and Grady ‘I Have lived In Other Times’ Bonner?”

“That’s about it.”

It couldn’t be better. No one would ever hear him. He started to grin. “I’m in big trouble.”

“No, you’re not.” Allie leaned forward. “Erom ten to two, you have a lot of freedom. All the really knee-jerk conservatives go to bed early so they can get up with the chickens, so your audience, once you build one, will be open to new things. As long as you don’t do anything that upsets Bill, you can say anything you want. We can do this, Charlie. We-”

“No, we can’t.” Charlie hated to ruin her plans, she looked so cute trying to sell them to him, but he was not going to be a success. “I don’t want to be famous. I just want a nice little radio show for a few weeks. That’s all.”