Shrinking Violet

by Danielle Joseph

  When I get home, I plop down on my bed and delve right back into Helen's story. She talks about her soul's sudden awakening at the age of seven. How she would walk around all day discovering

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  new things--flowers, animals, the river. And through all of this she learned how things grew and thrived. Anne Sullivan, her teacher, was amazing. I try to think of the things that Mom had taught me at seven. At the time she was boyfriend-less and on the prowl.

  She encouraged me to play with her makeup. I would drape her jewels around my neck, slide on her heels, and prance around her room. She would remind me to stand up straight and flip my hair and smile. Thinking back, that was probably a lesson on how to snag a guy. I'm afraid I wasn't a very good pupil because not long after that I retreated to the living room instead to watch TV while she spent hours primping.

  ***

  Hola, Miami. This is Sweet T on 92. 7 WEMD The SLAM. FM. It's Sunday evening, and the first thing I want you to do is turn up the. volume. Let the sweet tunes take you through the night. The eleven o'clock lineup will soothe your soul and put your mind at ease. I'm starting off the set with Powdered Sugar and their top ten hit "Carefree, Baby." This one's for you, Miami... 117

  chapter THIRTEEN

  Derek's back to the regular music format today. I hope Gavin's listening. Actually, I kind of wish I didn't know he listened to the station because now I'm even more nervous to speak on-air if Derek ever asks me to. But I know I'll have to sometime if I want to be a real DJ.

  Thank God this is the last day of spring break. I've been in Gavin withdrawal all week.

  Why did Kayla have to go on a church retreat? Forget planting trees in Kentucky, we could've been rehearsing for our presentation. I tried to think up a couple of excuses to go back to his house, like maybe I left my favorite pen there or we should really get a head start on this project before Kayla gets back. But everything sounded lame, 118

  and for even more torture we had an extra day tacked onto the vacation for teacher planning. We start back on Tuesday. I just pictured Gavin on the other side of the radio all week.

  I'm trying to stay away from Derek as best as I can. He wears really strong cologne, like that will attract the ladies. I know he receives tons of calls from listeners that are totally infatuated with his voice, but spend a few hours with him and he'll turn you off the male species altogether.

  "Hey, T, baby, can you pick up a couple of the lines and see what the people want to hear today?" Derek elbows me in the gut.

  Ugh, that would involve me talking.

  "What do I say?" I whisper to Jason.

  "Just give the station ID and let them do the talking. If they ask to hear a specific song, the answer is yes."

  I grab a notebook and a pen out of my bag and shuffle over to the phone. I have to pretend that it's just Audrey calling or I'll faint. I hold on to the console for support. It could be anyone on the other line. Even Gavin.

  At first I stare at the flashing lights. I know the interns down the hall are answering most of the calls. I've seen them with their big spreadsheets, tracking which songs are the most popular. I used to have Audrey call in requests for me and then we'd listen forever for them to be played. When we didn't hear one Thwart tune for over three hours, Audrey called back and whined to the DJ until he put it on. She made up a whole sob story about wanting to

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  cheer up her sick sister. She even put me on the phone, but I totally clammed up and could only let out a whimper. I think I sounded like a dying seagull. The DJ cued up the song right after that.

  My palms are all sweaty so I wipe them on my jeans. I turn around to make sure no one is breathing over my shoulder, but Derek has "gone to take a leak" and Jason is cueing up the music. I pick up the phone and hit line three. "SLAM 92.7."

  "Hello, is this SLAM?" a guy with a light Spanish accent asks.

  "Yeah."

  "I can hardly hear you. Probably my cell. Let me turn up the volume."

  I clear my throat.

  "Can I make a request?" the man asks. "Shoot."

  "Can you play Maddie Miracle?"

  "Sure." Excuse me while I go hurl.

  I hang up the phone and go immediately to the next line. "SLAM 92.7."

  "Hey, I thought the DJ would answer." You wish. "Nope," I say.

  "Okay, honey. I'm hanging around with the guys, kicking back a few, and we want to hear some Gracie May."

  "Sure."

  Answering phones isn't as bad as I thought. If you agree to the listener's request, you can keep your wordage at a minimum

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  of two and a maximum of four. Not bad for a phone conversation.

  "Thirty seconds." Jason sticks his head outside the studio door.

  I hang up the phone. Derek rushes in. "Sorry, caught up in the john."

  Way too much info.

  "92.7 The SLAM. Derek's in the house. Got an announcement here, PJ Squid will be playing on South Beach at Mack's, Sunday night at nine. We'll be giving tickets away within the hour. Be caller number ninety-two when you hear 'Squid Stylin.' And where are all the females? Give me a call, ladies . ." He switches off the mike and pulls up a Ravers track.

  He turns to Jason. "Every once in a while you have to give a shout-out to the broads.

  Know what I mean?"

  "Oh, yeah." Jason leans back in his chair. Then when Derek has his back to us, he whispers to me, "I'm sure my boyfriend would love to hear that."

  Boyfriend?

  Right, he's cute, sweet, meticulous, and thoughtful. Of course, he's taken. I wish I could say my boyfriend would love that, too. Instead, I just nod my head.

  Derek blows on his hands. "Watch the master." He picks up the phone and gives the station ID. He quickly hangs up and goes to the next line. "I don't want to talk to no dude. Ladies only."

  Puhleese. I roll my eyes. I've got to stop doing that. Ever since 121

  Gavin's house last week, it's become habit forming. Mom would not approve.

  "That's better," Derek says into the phone. "What can I do for you, baby? You sound like a kitty cat." He purrs. Whoever told him that was a turn-on? "Are you hot? Come by Mack's on Sunday night so I can see the goods."

  I don't get it. She could be Bigfoot's sister. How does he know?

  They should really equip these studios with barf bags because I'm truly queasy. Fresh air would be good. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

  On my way back, I pass Rob in the hall chatting with Derek. "Can you stay for Garrison's shift?" Rob asks. "He's got the flu."

  "Man, normally I'd do it, but my mother's seventy-fifth birthday party is tonight."

  Something about Derek at a seventy-fifth birthday party makes me crack up.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do. Juan G. is on vacation. And since that show hasn't had a producer since Lambert crossed over to AM, there's no one." Rob plays with his cell phone case. "Hey, what about Jason? You think he can handle the show?"

  "Oh, yeah. He doesn't miss a beat." Derek moves his hands in and out of his pants pockets, fidgets with his money clip. At least, I hope that's what it is.

  I walk up from behind them and speak directly to the beige 122

  wall with a picture of Rob and Prince in a shiny purple frame. "I can stay. To help."

  Rob nods. "Okay, Tere. I'm sure Jason could use a hand."

  Yes, hanging with Jason is going to be fun! No Dynamite Derek leaving his sleaze all over the studio.

  Derek and I go inside and he fills Jason in. You can tell Jason's psyched. Not only is it a chance to break free of Derek, but this opportunity is his on-air audition.

  A couple of minutes later Simone from the production office brings in Garrison's playlist.

  Jason has to do The Love Shack show, so there are a whole bunch of gushy songs on the rotation. I don't know about him, but it makes me happy.

  Rob calls Jason to his office to talk. I'm sure he'll give him the big I know you'll do great--don't mess
up speech. And that leaves me alone with Derek the Cat Tamer.

  Derek strokes his coffee cup and smirks. "So T, I bet this love show is your thing?"

  "Yeah, a lot of people my age listen to it." I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

  "Where do you go to school?"

  "Ridgeland."

  "Your cheerleaders are smoking!" I pull at a ragged hangnail. "Wouldn't know."

  "Where's the prom this year?" Derek plays a little pocket pool and adjusts himself. Gross.

  Does he think I didn't see that? "Downtown Marriott."

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  "Sweet. Mine was at a Holiday Inn." Like a hundred years ago. "Oh."

  "So who are you going with?"

  I bite the inside of my cheek and look to the floor. Derek's wearing brown cowboy boots similar to Rob's. Did they score them at a two for one sale? "Not going."

  "What?" He slaps the console. "When is it?"

  "About a month from now. May fifteenth."

  "No, you have to go. You have time to find a date. The guys are relying on you. It's the best night to get laid."

  I hope he's not expecting a response to that. I turn my gaze toward the door.

  "There's got to be someone you can ask," he continues.

  I wish. I already looked at Speed Bump's tour schedule and found out they're playing Miami the same night as prom. Even Gavin's not an option now. I guess he'd rather do a stage dive than throw on a tux. "Nope."

  There's twenty seconds left on the "Spill Proof" track. Derek slowly fades down the song and says, "We'll find somebody for you."

  "Please don't," I whisper. He might as well form a pity party with my mom. Their catchphrase can be we'll pay you to date this poor helpless girl. Insert photo of me, moping on the couch in my sweats.

  We make it through the last half hour of Derek's shift without mentioning the prom.

  Good, I hope he forgot. Jason's back. He

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  smells like early morning rain, and his hair is slightly wet with gel. He makes me feel like I have to prep for the love show, too. Maybe if I at least throw some water on my face, it'll help calm my nerves. I grab my stuff and excuse myself to the bathroom again.

  As I'm walking out, Jason says, "Loosen your vocal cords-- you're going on-air tonight."

  He might as well call the ambulance now. My heart's beating like crazy. I don't know if I'm ready. Maybe I need a few more days or years to let everything sink in.

  I swing open the bathroom door and dump my bag on the counter. I scrounge around and come up with a stick of Big Red and an ancient tube of ChapStick, encrusted with sand. Who am I kidding? I don't even have a brush with me. I turn on the faucet and wet the top of my head.

  The bathroom door swings open. It's Pop-Tart. "Hello!" she shouts.

  I'm standing here like a wet dog. "Hi," I mumble. "You okay?" She frowns. She actually looks concerned. "Yeah."

  She doesn't move. A few squiggly lines appear on her forehead. She parts her lips, but no sound comes out.

  It's weird to be stared at. I quickly check the mirror to make sure I don't have any boogers hanging out of my nose. "What?"

  "There's nothing wrong with your hearing, is there?"

  "Nope." '

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  Pop-Tart scratches her head. "But you said--"

  "I never said anything."

  "Oh." She cocks her head to the side. "Well, what is going on?"

  "Just freshening up." I tousle my thick hair like I know what I'm doing.

  "I can help." She dumps out the contents of her shiny gold kitchen-sink bag.

  She could definitely give Pamela Oberlong a run for her money. She pulls out a compact and dabs powder on my face.

  "Not too much," I say, feeling myself panic.

  "Let me tell you a little secret about being on the radio. When you look good, you feel good."

  "Huh?"

  "I heard you're doing the show with Jason tonight."

  "Yeah." I gulp.

  "Hold still." She grabs my chin and runs a tube of glittery pink lipstick on my lips. "Don't worry, I know you're a natural girl, but a little makeup never hurt anyone."

  I didn't know there was a name for it, but Natural Girl sounds much better than Dork Girl.

  Pop-Tart makes me look up to the sky and coats my lashes with mascara. We wait a minute for it to dry, then she has me bend my head down and flip back my hair. She grabs a can of hair spray and sprays like she's competing at the Raid championships.

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  I cough.

  "Sorry." She steps back. "I can get carried away. But you have great, thick hair."

  "Really?"

  "People pay money for volume. I blow mine out every day or I look like crap."

  That's hard to believe.

  I'm afraid to look up, so I peel open one eye at a time. I glance into the mirror. Wow, not bad. Pamela might really have some competition. "Thanks, ahhh . ."

  "Kelly."

  "Tere."

  "I know." She smiles, then shoves her emergency makeup kit back into her bag.

  Whoa, one point for Pop-Tart and zero for me. She remembered my name and I had no clue she even came with one.

  I look at my watch. Damn, we've been in here for almost twenty minutes. I don't want Jason to think I flaked out on him. I toss my crusty ChapStick into the garbage, mouth thank you to Pop-Tart, and head back to the studio.

  Thankfully, Derek's gone and most of the staff has left for the day, too. Jason's at the console with one hand on the mike and the other scanning songs on the computer.

  Hopefully he won't notice my over-do.

  He swings around a second later. "So this show is going to be fun." He does a double take. "Wow, you look different."

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  My face heats up like a cracked egg on a Florida sidewalk. "I know. I ran into Kelly in the bathroom."

  "No, it's a good thing." Jason smiles.

  "Thanks." I smile back. Too bad he's taken. There really could've been something. Ha.

  I rub my hands up and down my jeans. "Okay, what do you need me to do?"

  "I already checked the commercials, so slide a chair up here and relax."

  I can do that. I think. We sit there for the first fifteen minutes, chilling to the tunes.

  Jason's the kind of person you can just sit next to and enjoy your own space. Not like with Derek. I feel like he's always watching everyone, like dead air is a sin. I imagine the sign in his house reads, Idle time is wasted time. I imagine how my needlepoint saying would read: Woman of few words or A day without blushing is a good day.

  At seven-fifteen, like clockwork, the song "Love Stinks" (don't ask me how that actually qualifies as a love song) fades down.

  "Wish me luck." Jason reaches for the on-air button.

  "You'll do great," I say. I shove my hands under my legs. I'm shaking, and I'm not even the one who's going on-air. This is crazy.

  "Good evening, South Florida. This is Jason Stevens, and you're listening to The Lope Shack on 92.7 The SLAM. I'm filling in tonight, so I hope you'll give me a call and tell me what you're

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  dying to hear. I have my friend T in the studio helping me out--" I elbow him and whisper, "Sweet."

  He continues, "Sorry, Sweet T, and believe me, she lives up to her name. We're just kicking back and letting the tunes roll. Here's Maltese with 'All Over You I'm in full blush now. So what if Jason's gay and is in a committed relationship? He called me sweet.

  Sweet T.

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  chapter FOURTEEN

  The phones are lighting up, and I'm jotting down the love requests like a waiter taking orders at IHOP on a Sunday morning. Most interns leave at seven, so it's all me. It's pretty much an even amount of girls and guys calling. One guy kind of sounded like Gavin. Okay, maybe two guys, but one said his name was Randy and the other Kevin.

  Jason pulls as many of the requests as he can, and people are loving it. A couple even call back and thank us for
throwing their jams on the air.

  "I can't believe Garrison didn't have any help." I tally up my requests so far. Forty-five.

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  "And he is still doing his own show, too. Angie from sales helped him out some nights, but otherwise he runs solo," Jason says.

  You'd never know he does all this work himself. He is so smooth.

  Jason swivels his chair around to face me. "So, Sweet T, are you ready to make an appearance?"

  "What do you mean?" I flip my hair back in my best imitation of a clueless girl.

  "Just a live station ID. Something small to get you revved up."

  "I don't know . . um . ." I've only been dreaming about this day for the past six years, but what if I croak? Or worse, what if I blurt out something so moronic that I send the whole of Miami bursting into hysterics? I already feel the peanut butter lining the inside of my throat.

  He gently grabs my shoulder. "You have a great voice. It'll be fine. I'll do my thing, then point to you."

  Easy for you to say, you didn't just swallow half ajar of peanut butter. But I nod anyway.

  There's something soothing about Jason. Something about him I can really trust, like he'd never let me fall.

  I reach for my water bottle and chug. Forty seconds left to find my voice. I have a whole show prerecorded in my head. All I have to deliver is one line. This is Sweet T and you're listening to The Love Shack on 92. 7 The SLAM.

  I move closer to Jason and close my eyes. I can do this. Small 131

  breaths. One at a time. I hear my ninth grade English teacher, Mrs. Pine, in the back of my head. "Smile when you deliver your speech, and your voice will come across as happy. Frown, and no one will want to listen to you."

  "Give it up for Trena Bay with back to back love songs. "Jason draws out the word love, letting each letter linger in his mouth. I can picture the girls swooning over him, cuddled up in their beds or driving along the expressway blasting the volume. "We want to thank you for sharing the love tonight with all your calls. Keep them coming . ." He points to me.