Ten Years Later

by Lisa Marie Latino

  “The pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, smiling broadly.

  I wanted to throw my hands up and walk away; it was complete love at first site.

  “I’ll tell you what. Carla, come in the office so you can meet Tommy’s new co-host. Dante, wait here and I’ll be with you shortly. Cool man?”

  I cringed at Dan’s desperate attempt to be “hip.” I’ve been around Dan long enough to know when he was trying to impress someone, and he was laying it on thick for Dante.

  “Cool!” Dante exclaimed. In the corner of my eye, I watched him take a seat in the sterile waiting area.

  I walked in and waited for Dan to introduce me. Ruby didn’t even acknowledge that a new person had entered the room. She continued to stare into space, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

  “Ruby, this is your producer, Carla D’Agostino.”

  Ruby snapped to attention. Like a lioness eyeing her prey, she looked me up and down, one eyebrow cocked up.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” I lied, extending my hand.

  She continued to stare me down, not bothering to stand up to greet me and leaving my hand dangling in the air. When it became evident that she had no intention of returning the gesture, I slowly placed my right arm down at my side. What? They don’t do handshakes in LA? Should I have air kissed her instead?

  “Does she know what she’s doing?” Ruby questioned in a rich, deep voice that was better quality in person than through my MacBook speakers, and admittedly much nicer than my raspy vocals. So that was why she got the job. Dan thought she orated like a pre-Bobby Brown Whitney Houston while I sounded like a poor man’s version of Demi Moore.

  But wait a minute; did she actually just question my producer abilities? Say what you want about my on-air skills (and evidently, there’s not much to say), but I am confident that I am the best at what I get paid to actually do.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but she put her hand up to stop me. “I believe the question was directed to Mr. Durkin,” Ruby said sternly.

  My eyes widened in shock. Was this woman for real? I looked at Tommy, who hung his head a little lower than before.

  “Carla has been with the station for five years. She’s a very solid producer,” Dan explained.

  Okay, so I was not “the best,” I was just solid. Duly noted.

  “That’s reassuring because I’ve worked with some SHIT producers in my day,” she declared. “I’m going to assume that, since this is the station’s most important show, Karen knows what she’s doing.”

  I pointedly cleared my throat. “It’s Carla.”

  Ruby turned her attention to me. Judging by her facial expression, you would have thought I had just lit her closet full of Louboutin’s on fire. “I thought I told you I was addressing Mr. Durkin.”

  “I understand that,” I replied slowly. “But you got my name wrong. I’m not Karen, I’m Carla.”

  Ruby rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  I shook my head in amazement. Thirty seconds into our initial meeting I could tell that this working relationship was going to be a disaster of epic proportions. I had prepared myself for a lot of different circumstances and emotions leading into today, but I had not seen this coming. As I mentioned earlier, this “solid producer” had done her homework on Ruby, and it went beyond studying her vast modeling portfolio. I read her glowing biography, listened to her hard-hitting interviews and watched fan-made tributes on YouTube, all while scarfing down my large cookies n’ cream frozen yogurt (hey, it was better than ice cream!) and not feeling the least bit jealous. So while I had thought Google gave me everything on Ruby short of her social security number, it missed any mention of her deplorable personality. (I guess someone forgot to meta tag Ruby Smith Major Bitch.)

  “Okay then, so I think we’re all set,” Dan said happily, clapping his hands together, pretending to be oblivious to the shit storm brewing in front of him. “Carla and Tommy, why don’t you take Ruby and show her around the studio and newsroom, and you can chat about today’s upcoming show.” He opened the door to rush us out.

  Ruby grabbed her briefcase, adjusted the cream blazer that fit over her very slender frame, and walked out ahead of us. Tommy and I raced to catch up with her, but someone pulled me back.

  “Who is that woman, and who the hell does she think she is?” Dante whispered, his face full of concern. “I watched her walk out of the office and-”

  “I can’t talk about that now!” I hissed, cutting him off. “Let go of me!”

  Dante released my arm, and I sprinted down the long hallway. “So Ruby, this is the newsroom,” I heard Tommy say. I appeared next to him, nodding with a big, fake smile plastered across my face. We watched as she eyeballed the messy row of worn-out desks, beaten chairs, and archaic computers.

  “This place is a pigsty. You would think one of most lucrative radio stations in the country could afford to have a nicer work environment,” Ruby scoffed.

  You would also think a person so beautiful on the outside would have a soul to match, I wanted to shoot back.

  “Let me show you the studio real quick before the morning show goes back on air,” Tommy said, without missing a beat. As she slithered into our run down studio, I shuddered at what her reaction was going to be. If she was turned off by our newsroom…

  “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SMELL?” Ruby exclaimed, running out of the small room as if it were on fire. Her face was contorted, as if in extreme pain, and she pinched her nose for added dramatic effect.

  “You will get used to it,” Tommy replied nervously.

  “Vanilla candles will become your best friend,” I joked.

  “It smells like mothballs and death!” Ruby shrieked, waving the air in front of her face.

  “You will get used to it,” Tommy meekly repeated.

  Ruby sighed. “I cannot believe I am in a studio in New York City. Los Angeles was top-of-the-line everything. I am not impressed.”

  I bit my lip to prevent me from saying: “Then go back to Los Angeles!”

  “But did you see the view? It’s stupendous; you see almost all of Manhattan!” Tommy exclaimed.

  “How could I pay attention to such details? I couldn’t breathe!” Ruby wailed.

  “But the Empire State Building is, like, right in your face,” Tommy weakly protested. “You’re from California. That’s supposed to impress you.”

  “Do you think I have time to think about stupid buildings while I’m putting on a daily five-hour performance?”

  “Performance? This isn’t Broadway. What are we going to do, tap dance through our program?” Tommy shot back.

  As I watched the two hosts ping-pong back and forth, all I could think about was how to get Ruby to the top of the “stupid building” and push her off without getting caught. After a couple more minutes of further inspection, Ruby did a sharp pirouette in our direction. “Thomas and Karen, tell me; is today some sort of dress down day?”

  I didn’t even bother to correct her. “No, why?”

  “So explain to me why you two are in jeans. Don’t you know that is not proper work attire?”

  “As long as you are not looking like a complete slob, casual attire is allowed, including jeans,” Tommy responded defensively.

  “You have to dress for the part. Jeans don’t scream ‘I’m successful’, they say ‘Mailing it in,’” she stated, smoothing out her cream skirt.

  “Jeans also say ‘I’m here to focus on my job and move around comfortably.’ The newsroom is not a runway,” I replied.

  “Are you talking back to me, Karen? Do we have a problem?” Ruby snapped.

  I looked her dead in the eye. “Nope.” That was no lie; this situation had more going on than just “a” single problem.

  “Good. Besides, I’ve worked as a model, and it’s a good thing you don’t pretend to be anything of the sort. Someone of your height and build would never make it in the fashion world.”

  My mouth dropped in horror as I watched her sashay away
. I had made no mention of wanting to be “anything of the sort,” yet she just basically called me short and fat!

  “Don’t listen to her. Look at Kim Kardashian. If she could make it, so could you,” Tommy lightheartedly remarked.

  ■ ■ ■

  Not only was she a spineless, vulgar wench in real life, but on the air, Ruby sucked. In the clips I had heard from LA, that wasn’t the case. She was charming, bright and relatable. (She was also hosting by herself…gee, I wonder why.)

  Her animosity towards the whole WSPS situation carried over to the show. She was rude to callers, had no chemistry with Tommy, and shared her disdain for her new home studio more than once. Another thing that was evident was that she had not done her homework on the New York sports scene. I couldn’t even begin to count the times Tommy and I had to bail her out by feeding her player statistics and names. (Ironically, I got more airtime with Ruby there than ever before!) This fact was not lost on Ruby; every time I spoke, her head practically did a 360-degree rotation. Oh well!

  In short, our first show was an utter disgrace. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take, and judging by the listeners writing into the show via Twitter, they couldn’t take much more either.

  “In this business, it’s not who you know, it’s who you blow, hee-hee-hee,” Laney cackled as she popped her head into the control room during a commercial break. “Start opening wide, Carla!”

  After the show, I packed up my belongings as quickly as possible so I could run out without talking to anyone. However, the sight of Ruby standing menacingly in the control room doorway thwarted my plan.

  “Uh, Karen, I have a very important question to ask.”

  “It’s Carla, but yes?”

  “When I was in Los Angeles my producer NEVER participated on-air with me.”

  How did I know this was coming? “Okay…”

  “So my question is: Why did you feel compelled to intrude on the show this afternoon?”

  I knew I had to choose my words carefully here. This ego maniac would fly through the roof if I told her the real reason, which was that I had to bail out her dumb ass in order to save the show. (Or that other real reason, which was that I should have been in her chair and she should have been in California getting a colonic.) “If you recall, Ruby, I never just freely cut in on you guys,” I replied in the nicest way possible. “Tommy would ask me a question, and I would answer. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Well, we are going to change that right now. Wait one second,” she ordered, holding up her palm to me. She leaned out into the hallway. “Thomas, can you come into the control room please?”

  I started to get dizzy from my rocketing blood pressure and leaned on the desk for support.

  Tommy walked in, looking as tired as I’ve ever seen him. His usual jovial mood had taken a beating from today’s brutal broadcast. “What’s up, ladies?”

  “There seems to have been a misunderstanding here,” Ruby stated. “Our producer seems to be caught in between wanting to be on-air versus actually doing her job.”

  “What do you mean?” Tommy questioned.

  Ruby threw her hand on her hip. “This show is not a trio; she is not to interject her thoughts, and you are not to invite her to do so.”

  “But I like doing that. She adds another dimension to the show,” Tommy argued.

  “She’s a producer. She’s to be out of sight, out of mind,” Ruby shot back.

  Tommy looked at me, startled.

  “Do we all have an understanding?” Ruby asked.

  “Of course, Ruby,” I replied sweetly, bailing both of us out. Tommy’s jaw dropped.

  “That’s good, Karen because I would hate to go to Dan with this matter,” Ruby threatened. Tommy and I watched her march out.

  After a few more moments, Tommy turned to me. “Carla, I’m really sorry about how all this went down.”

  I snickered. “Our advertisers and listeners are too. Marconi must be spinning in his grave.”

  “I’m not talking about today, I’m talking about this whole situation,” Tommy replied quietly.

  “What is there to be sorry about? You and Dan both got what you wanted.”

  “You’re wrong, Carla. I didn’t want Ruby. I made it very clear that if I was being forced into having a co-host after all these years doing the show solo, that I only wanted you. But Dan had his sights on Ruby, and thought you were too inexperienced to take on such a huge role.”

  “INEXPERIENCED?” I shouted, my eyes welling up with tears. How was that for confirmation that he listened to my portion of the demo? “I know you, this show, this station and this city like the back of my hand, yet he still thinks I’m clueless?!”

  “Shhhh, compose yourself, I don’t want anyone to hear you,” Tommy whispered, hugging me tightly. I buried my face into his shoulder and took a few deep breaths to regain my composure.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this before?” I sobbed.

  “I called you all weekend, you knucklehead,” Tommy replied playfully, breaking our embrace. “Ask my wife, I was a wreck the entire weekend over this.”

  “This is just so hard,” I sniffled.

  Tommy grabbed both of my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Look, Carla, you are so young. In this industry, it takes years to make it happen for most people. I’m in my fifties and reached a level of success only fairly recently. You have to be willing to tread water for a long, long time, and unfortunately, there is no promise that it will work out. Nothing good comes easy.”

  “That’s reassuring,” I deadpanned.

  “You have to have faith that down the road, your hard work will pay off.”

  I let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “I don’t have time for down the road; my ten-year high school reunion is nine months away, and I need it to happen now!” I immediately felt ridiculous confiding to Tommy about my reunion insecurities. I was sure a 50-something man could care less about a girl’s quarter-life crisis.

  Tommy’s boisterous laughter confirmed my assumption. “Are you serious? In today’s world, you think anybody your age has achieved much of anything?”

  “Without getting into the numbers of it, yes they have,” I replied wryly.

  “Relax, please?” Tommy pleaded. “You are more than fine. You have everything going for you, and you are going to sit there and worry about high school?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to extend the conversation any further by painstakingly explaining to Tommy how my life resembled a hamster wheel, and I was too tired to put up with any jokes or positive reinforcements.

  “So…are we friends again?” Tommy asked.

  “Friends,” I smiled, and we hugged again. “For the record, what are your thoughts on Ruby?” I asked as we broke apart.

  “The same as yours, and more,” Tommy laughed.

  “Fair enough. Let’s get out of here.” As we walked out of the control room, the singing of a very familiar male voice floated down the hallway. Tommy and I stopped in our tracks.

  “Wow, is Stevie Wonder in the building?” Tommy quipped. “Who the heck is that?”

  I had a pretty good idea. “Tommy, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I barreled down the hallway towards Dan’s office. I noticed that the door was cracked open, and I peeked in. There was my best friend, eight hours after his scheduled interview, standing in the middle of the room singing The Beatles classic Yesterday while my boss, sitting on the edge of his couch, followed along on his acoustic guitar. Dan’s face was filled with admiration as he watched Dante soulfully belt out the lyrics.

  The day’s events faded away as I was drawn into Dante’s rendition. I had listened to him croon an infinite amount of times, but each performance captivated me as if I were hearing him for the first time, and I was not the only one. No matter what venue he was at—coffee shops, bars or catering halls—people of all ages dropped what they are doing to listen to him sing. Not a lot of performers could take hold of a room the way Dante did so effortless
ly. He was such a huge talent and the world didn’t know what it was missing.

  I shook my head to break my thoughts. This was not the time to wax poetic on Dante’s many gifts; I needed to get to the bottom of why he was still there.

  On one hand, maybe the interview never happened. Dan and Dante could have simply agreed that sports talk radio wasn’t his thing and bonded over their love for music. Dan might have asked Dante to stay so he could try him out before handing his demo over to his record executive friends. On the other hand, this could have been a celebratory jam-out session with WSPS’s newest talent.

  Which scenario do you think I was pulling for?

  I waited until after the song was over to make my grand entrance. I pulled on the doorknob. “Hey, guys.”

  “Hi, Carla!” Dante exclaimed.

  Dan smiled as laid the guitar on his lap.

  “Dante, what are you still doing here? You’ve been here forever,” I asked innocently.

  “Dan and I got into this big music discussion and we kind of just got lost rocking out. He plays an amazing guitar.”

  “This kid could sing the pants off anything,” Dan added. “He’s unreal.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I see. But onto more important matters…Dan, what did you think of the show?”

  “Um, I caught a few minutes of it,” he responded distractedly as he started to fiddle with the guitar strings. “It sounded great! Good job.”

  I was irate. He hadn’t listened to a second of the train wreck! What kind of radio boss blew off his paying job to play music with a stranger all day instead of listening to the first of a brand new show, a show that he (foolishly) put together? Dan was a little bit left of center, but he was so anal about the WSPS brand. If he had actually worked instead of playing, he would have known that his sports empire was in serious jeopardy. But instead, he ditched work to play with his crush, much like a love-struck high school freshman girl who skips classes to go make out with the hot senior boy behind the football field bleachers.

  “Well Dante, I’m getting out of here,” I said through gritted teeth. “Do you want a ride, or are you guys having a slumber party?”