by Lucy Kevin
“Oh,” I murmured, more than a little shocked by her disclosure. Fumbling to keep the conversation going, I said, “So what I’m hearing you say is that you had to be someone else for every single guy you went out with or they wouldn’t have wanted to be with you, right?”
“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “And I’m sick of it.”
“No kidding,” I said, wanting to kick myself for being such a lame talk show host. Couldn’t I come up with something better than ‘No kidding’?
Thank god my caller was more on it than I was. “You know what I’d like from a guy?” she said.
“Tell me,” I said, leaning into the microphone as if we were best friends talking about love over coffee.
“Quiet dinners. Holding hands.”
Finally stepping up to the plate, I asked her, “So what have you been doing with all of these sickos then, huh?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding miserable.
Wanting to boost her confidence, I said, “You sound really nice.”
“I do?”
I laughed and said, “Heck, if I were a lesbian I’d ask you out on a date.”
“Really? You mean that?”
I smiled. “Sure do.” And then as I saw another line light up I wrapped up our call. “Thanks for calling. And thanks for listening. And on to our next caller. You’re on the air with Georgia Fulton.”
“You chicks are full of shit,” a male voice growled into the phone.
“Excuse me?”
I was shocked and yet pleased that I had managed to start up such a fiery debate so early in the morning of my first day on air. Unfortunately, the ‘shit’ had slipped by me, so I laid my index finger on the bleep-out button and prepared to employ it without hesitation at the next sign of foul language.
It was unlikely that the FCC was listening in on my little show, anyway. At least that’s what I was hoping for. Otherwise, I was toast, and only fifteen minutes into my first day as a DJ.
“You tease us by wearing little thongs to make it seem like you’re into us, but then whenever we want to get a little action, you act like we’re the bad guy.”
I sat back in my chair and fiddled with the cord on my headphones. This guy was a real charmer. Not! And I was so glad he called my show I wanted to kiss him all over.
“Sounds like you’ve got some issues, buddy.”
“No. It’s you chicks that have the issues. Always worried about whether you’re too fat, or if your makeup looks okay, or something stupid like that. Guys don’t care about any of that stuff.”
Surprised, I said, “You don’t?”
He grunted. “We’ll sleep with a chick who looks like Jaba the Hut if she’s got a tight, wet hole and doesn’t talk our ears off afterward.”
I couldn’t keep from laughing. “Hey, stay on the line with me here. I want to pick your brain, ‘cause I think you might be on to something.”
“Yeah, sure,” the guy said, and I could tell he was pleased by the invitation.
“So, what I’m hearing you say is that guys really aren’t that picky after all?”
“You got it.”
I was confused. “So then why am I single, and why is my best friend who looks like a supermodel single, and why did the woman who just called in have so much trouble with the guys she’s dated?”
“Easy,” he said and I held my breath waiting for his answer.
“You’re all fucked-in-the-head nut jobs,” and then he hung up.
This time I caught the non-sanctioned F-word with the bleep-button, thank god. But the oddest thing was, even though I tried to pass off his words as misogynistic male-speak, I had the sinking feeling that he was right.
*
To my great delight, the rest of the morning my show rolled along nicely. There was only one small lull at about 6:30 am where I had to babble to fill dead air, but apart from that a steady stream of people called in with stories and theories. It was definitely a good start, and that night after my first successful show I actually slept again, thank god.
Unfortunately, even in the after-glow, Kyle’s rejection still ate at me. I couldn’t let it go. I had debated the issue endlessly with strangers, but I still wanted to know why he didn’t want me? Was I really that much of a messed-in-the-head nut job? Was I not pretty enough?
I needed self-worth reinforcements and I needed them fast. So I called in Seth for an emergency symposium at CC.
Still embarrassed by the whole thing with Kyle, I told him my pathetic tale.
“Honey, I just can’t believe what you’re saying really happened.” Seth shook his head in dismay. “I’m telling you, girl, straight men have no taste.”
He pointed across the room to a blonde with huge, fake tits. “See that?”
I nodded.
His lip curled in disdain. “I’ve watched how straight guys operate. They see a set of fake tits and suddenly they’re blinded by silicone. Skanks, that’s what they go for. If they had any sense, they would be all over you. Look at you sitting there all brunette and cute and fine.”
I laughed. “I love how you build me up to be a sexy-beast.”
“Georgia.” He grabbed my hand across the table and pulled me out of my humiliating reverie. “If things were different, you know I would have definitely hopped into bed with you when we were freshmen, right?”
I squeezed his hand and sighed. “Yeah, I know. Too bad all the guys who think I’m hot are gay, huh?”
“Speaking of being gay…sometimes I really, really, really wish I was straight. My life would be so much easier.”
Seth’s face had a hollow, pale look to it that I hadn’t noticed at first and I had a really bad feeling about what he was about to say.
“Did you finally tell your parents? Oh god, was it totally awful?”
“I tried. I really did.”
I grabbed his hand, suddenly feeling incredibly selfish for thinking that my quasi-romantic foibles with some random guitar playing guy even mattered. “What happened?”
“You know how I had planned on taking them out to lunch so that they wouldn’t make a scene?”
I nodded. “The whole do-it-in-public strategy. Sounded smart to me.”
“My brother showed up unexpectedly.”
“Oh crap.”
Seth’s older brother Jim was a hot-shot neurosurgeon in Beverly Hills. All his life Seth had felt like he didn’t measure up to Jim. Coming out of the closet was just another way that Seth felt like he was letting his parents down.
“I just couldn’t do it, not with Jim there. I had really psyched myself up to come out and now I just feel like there’s never going to be a time when I’ll be able to do it. Who was I kidding?”
Scooting my chair close, I rubbed his back. “You just need to give yourself some more time. They’re still going to love you, you know,” I added quietly, hoping that I was right about his parents being open minded.
“My dad’s a judge, for fuck’s sake. He’s going to lose it.”
I bit my lip. I didn’t know what to say to that irrefutable logic. So the two of us sat in silence, while I thought about how damn hard it was to grow up.
Gay, straight, gorgeous, or plain, I didn’t know anyone who was having an easy time.
*
Unfortunately, my father’s birthday dinner was that night. I love my dad, and all, but I was really not in the mood to deal with another wacky family night around the dinner table with the Fulton’s.
I walked into the kitchen and my brother handed me a beer. Looking over my shoulder to see if there was anyone with me, he said, “Still single, huh?”
“Nice to see you too,” I said.
My mother walked into the room and grabbed the beer out of my hand. “Too many calories,” she said as she handed me a Diet Coke.
“Mom, diet soda tastes like mouse piss,” I complained, but I popped the tab anyway and drank.
Sighing at my language, she said, “How do you expect to catch a man if you talk like a
bus driver and eat and drink whatever you want, whenever you want it? We never had sugary soda in this house. I don’t know where you learned to drink it.”
My brother swigged his beer and tuned us out like he had my whole life.
His wife, Susan, walked into the room. “Hi Georgia!” she said, and came over to give me a hug, but right then two toddlers ran by, screaming at the top of their lungs and she turned to chase after them. “Ellen! Joe! Keep your voices down and come back here,” she screamed at least as loud as them. Suddenly I knew where they got their lung power from.
My brother looked utterly undisturbed by the whole thing—I guess growing up in our house with my parents nagging and yelling all the time had helped to inure him against this sort of thing—while my mom had a blissful smile playing across her lips as she watched Susan try to corral her hyper kids.
But when she turned back to me, her lips were pinched and prune like. “See what you’re missing out on!” Shaking her finger at me she admonished, “Mark my words, a loudmouth girl like you is heading straight towards being a spinster. Don’t you ever want children?”
“I’m only twenty-one for God’s sake!” I said in my defense, but all I could think was that if my caller was right about women being, as he so cleverly put it, fucked-in-the-head-nut jobs, it could hardly be our faults when our own mothers played such a wonderful role in nurturing the nuttiness.
I wanted to say something to my mother just then, something intelligent and serious and accurate like, “Why do you always have to put me down just because I don’t have a boyfriend? What is it about having a man that will suddenly make me a better, more worthwhile person?”
But, of course, I would never say any of this to her because she would just look at me as if I were speaking French and then tell me to get something done with my hair so that it didn’t look like a rat’s nest all the time.
God, how I wished I could skip all of this family togetherness time. Why hadn’t I gone to school on the East Coast, if for no other reason than to get away from the rain…and my family?
Stupid, stupid me.
And then my dad walked in the room and his face lit up when he saw me. “Georgia! My favorite daughter!” He hugged me and kissed the top of my head and suddenly it didn’t feel so bad to be home.
*
For several weeks after The Incident at the exotic erotic party, I took an extra long time getting dressed in the morning, even going so far as to borrow some of Diane’s clothes to up my sexiness quotient. I could hear my mom’s voice in the back of my head telling me to “put my hair back with a clip” and to “always paint your toenails if you’re going to wear open toed shoes.”
If you can believe it, I actually did paint my toenails red. I told myself I was doing it to make Kyle regret kicking me out of his room if he ever saw me on campus. Like I thought he’d take one look at my bright and shiny toes and fall head over heels in love with me.
I was being a complete and utter idiot.
More than anything I wanted to rock his world. Here was a guy I knew less than nothing about, and I was putting all of my energy into impressing him.
Hell, I probably would have even started drinking diet soda’s if that’s what it took.
Pretty stupid, huh?
I probably don’t have to tell you this, but none of my brilliant little tactics made a whit of difference. Go figure.
Kyle and I ran into each other at Café Café one day, but it was as if he didn’t even recognize me. What scum, huh?
Every time I thought about how naïve and stupid I had been in his bedroom that night at the party, I wanted to scream. Trust me, Diane and Seth were even madder about it than I was. I even overheard them discussing castration-tactics late one night when they thought I was asleep on the couch.
I had to face facts. When it came to men, I clearly had no idea how to operate.
Fortunately, I was countering all of my bad relationship energy with good radio karma.
*
Bill asked me to meet him for coffee and I was really looking forward to it. Even though Bill didn’t count as a guy, it was nice to have made another friend. Particularly one who understood my ever-growing passion for talk radio. I wasn’t mad at Diane and Seth for getting all glossy eyed when I talked too much about my show, but their disinterest was frustrating nonetheless.
I had been so focused on Mr. Fire-Eyes and then doing my show, with the odd bit of class work thrown in, that I hadn’t seen Bill for several weeks. He was already waiting for me at a table on the sidewalk when I got there and my first impression was that he had gotten a haircut since I’d last seen him. My second impression was that it looked really good.
Weird.
He stood up and said, “Hi Georgia,” with a goofy grin.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else about him was different. And he seemed a little on the nervous side. Maybe he’d already pounded a couple of espressos, or something.
Also, I could tell that he didn’t know if he should hug me or shake my hand or do nothing. It was really geeky of him, but also kind of endearing.
“Hey Bill,” I said, quickly hugging him before sitting down.
“I, uh, got you that,” he said, pointing to the to-go cup in front of me. “You said you liked mocha’s, right?”
I grinned, somewhat taken aback by both his chivalry and his memory for a little detail that I couldn’t even remember having told him about. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”
Now I was feeling uncomfortable too, so I took a sip of coffee and wondered what to say next. Thankfully, Bill beat me to it, asking, “So, how’s the show going?”
Well, if that wasn’t the perfect icebreaker, I don’t know what was. “Great!” I said, feeling a full-on gush on its way. “Really amazing, actually!”
Bill nodded, his smile as cute as ever. “I’ve listened a few times.” He stopped and flushed a little. “Okay, I’ve listened to most of your shows and-”
“Wait a minute,” I said, holding up my drink midway to my lips. “You actually wake up early to listen to my show?”
Sheepishly, he nodded.
“I swear to god, Bill, I love you right now,” I said, utterly pleased, inside and out, that someone actually made it a point to listen to me on a daily basis.
The flush spread down his neck into the collar of his t-shirt and I realized I had just thoroughly embarrassed him.
He swallowed hard. “I was just going to say that I think people are really responding to you. On the air, I mean.”
I quirked my head slightly at his odd “on the air” addendum. “I was really nervous at first about the show,” I admitted.
“You were?”
“Oh my god, yes. I couldn’t think of anything interesting to say for like three weeks!”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. Right from your first show you seemed really in control.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling my head get bigger and bigger, but not wanting it to ever stop growing. “I finally feel like I’m starting to get a handle on the whole talk radio thing. I’ve even figured out some important stuff already.”
Bill slipped off his sunglasses and stared intently at me. “Like what?” he said, and I could tell he was really interested.
I jumped onto my soap-box. “Well, if I’m really wound up about something, like how unreasonable my parents are-”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been getting that this week.”
“—or how men and women just can’t seem to relate, at all-”
“War of the sexes. Another excellent topic.”
“-or how I was almost killed crossing the street by a psycho bicyclist—“
“Righteous indignation always gets people going.”
“-I can usually get my listeners wound up about it too.” Bill nodded in agreement and I continued. “But if I’m trying to discuss a topic because I think it’s something I should be talking about, like world peace-”
&nbs
p; “So boring.”
“-or politics-”
This time Bill finished my sentence for me. “You’d bomb every time, right?”
I grinned, incredibly pleased that Bill so perfectly got what I was saying. “Exactly.”
“But you know what the very best thing is?” I said.
“Tell me.”
“Every morning when I lean into the microphone to lay down another diatribe on the world as I see it, more and more daring people are lighting up the phones. It’s awesome.”
“And it doesn’t matter if they agree with you, does it?”
“Not at all. Even if they’re calling to tell me that I’m a moron, at least I know that they cared enough to call and talk to me.”
“The best feeling in the world,” Bill echoed.
For a moment we both sat back in our chairs, sipping our drinks, finally comfortable in our silence together. Feeling like I could share anything with Bill, I confessed, “To be honest, I feel more solidarity with other people on these mornings in the studio than I ever have at any other point in my life. Even when callers say I’m a know-nothing bitch, I still feel good. And I finally have proof that there are a big bunch of cantankerous, opinionated folks out there. Just like me. That maybe I’m not such an oddball after all.”
“You’re not an oddball,” Bill said.
“You know what I mean.”
He nodded, looking incredibly serious, more serious than I’d seen him look before. “I know what you mean. Georgia.”
And the nicest part of all was that I felt like he really did.
*
My enthusiasm for my show was genuine, but that’s not to say it was easy in the beginning. My guess is I was talking to approximately four people, max, each of whom had accidentally turned to KUW by accidentally bumping into their stereo tuner. And you know what? I worked my ass off to get those four people coming back, every day. This meant that I got to know my regular callers incredibly well.
Too well in some cases.
Right off the bat, a guy named Jerry took an obsessive liking to me. The first time he called into my show, we were having a discussion about parking tickets on campus, which I’ll admit was turning out to be sort of lackluster. As soon as I put him on the air he said, “My sweet pumpkin, Jerry had to call to tell you something extremely important.”
