Love on the Air(15)

That wouldn't do. He collected his thoughts and dealt the final blow.

"Overnights? They're life support for the station," he answered flatly. "Radio is a twenty-four hour business, so we need a live body on the premises twentyfour hours a day. It's also a place where advertisers can buy commercial time at inexpensive rates. And, of course, if there's ever a fire or flood, we're the local Emergency Alert station."

"So I'm here in case of a disaster." Christie maintained eye contact, but her glassy look struck right at the center of Rick's conscience. He'd been way too blunt. There was a difference between being realistic and being sadistic.

Rick contemplated her steadily, and his voice softened. "No. It's also a place where talented newcomers can sharpen their craft. Make all those beginner's mistakes in front of a smaller audience. It's a starting point."

Christie thought she was beginning to read his expression, and it looked suspiciously like compassion. Just what she didn't want. She scraped up her remaining dignity and stood.

"Okay," she said. "Fair enough." She faked a smile. "It doesn't hurt to ask, right?"

Rick stood, too. Another display of gentlemanly manners. "No, it doesn't hurt to ask." He looked as if he were going to say something more. For no good reason, Christie flashed back to the way he'd steadied her after their crash in the break room. Yet for the most part, it seemed his mission in life was to cut her off at the knees.

He was talking again, something about not needing to set the world on fire her first month. She didn't want to hear it. All she wanted was to get out of there.

She didn't need anyone to feel sorry for her. She could do it herself, thank you very much. She hurried out to find a place where she could do just that, in private.

Rick returned to the production room to record the commercial he'd been too tongue-tied to finish after his collision with Christie. This time he did it in one take, but his mind was elsewhere.

He'd given his troublesome rookie her first disappointment. Well, at least she hadn't taken it out on him, although he could tell she'd been tempted. She'd put a good face on, the way professionals were supposed to do. And he'd given her the right answer, the same answer he would have given any other jock. He wasn't any harder on Christie than he was on anyone else.

Was he?

Hard to say. No one else had approached him about anything similar. Rob had his requests and dedications. Yvonne did a noon feature on Fridays, one hour that he let her have free rein with. Of course, Yvonne had more experience.

Okay, so Christie's idea, kept within limits, wouldn't have hurt anything. Major-market stations weren't as flexible as this one. He'd given her a realistic idea of what she could expect somewhere else.

He loaded the commercial into the computer and went back to his office for his jacket. Picking it up from the back of his chair, he looked up to see Christie framed in the doorway. If it was possible, she looked more crestfallen than she had a few minutes ago.

She said, "Do you have jumper cables?"





Rick almost laughed. He understood the look on Christie's face perfectly. It was such a clear-cut case of adding insult to injury.

"I tried Rob first," she added.

I'm sure you did, he thought. "Wouldn't have worked anyway. I don't think we have a song long enough for him to get clear over to the parking structure and jump a car." Rick picked up his keys. "It's okay, I've got cables. Let's go."

Christie led him out, and Rick noticed again how straight her posture was when her pride was wounded. "Thanks," the back of her head said to him. "I thought it was starting a little funny, but..." she trailed off.

"I've been there. Everyone has."

That did it for conversation until Rick drove them to Christie's car. Her Toyota had to be fifteen years old if it was a day. It was a bright shade of blue rarely seen on the road these days. A typical car for a disc jockey, but not for a loan processor. Rick suddenly felt something akin to embarrassment over his car, a three-year-old sedan he'd bought just last year. Up until he'd financially recovered from the divorce, he'd driven a car much like Christie's. But she didn't know that.

He'd barely stopped before she scrambled out of his car. Rick caught up with her as she was starting to open the hood of her old Toyota. "I can get it," he said.

"The latch is tricky," she said, groping underneath the hood. When she pulled it up, he was surprised at what he saw. He didn't know much about cars, but the parts inside lacked the look of age and grime he'd expected. "How old is this car?"

"It's an '85. I bought it used when I was seventeen."

"Looks like you've taken pretty good care of it."