Hot Mic!

by Jamie Collins

  Marney was ecstatic and knew just what to do. She now had a use for the other Lennar sister that was about to more than pay off.

  Marney contacted Jaden in Ohio, where she lived with her father and younger brother, and invited the girl to the mall under the guise that she was conducting demographic research for the teen market in the Midwest. She had reminded Jaden that she had worked with her sister in the past, and that there would be two concert tickets in it for her if they could simply chat. Why her sister’s New York-based former agent wanted to talk with her in particular was curious to Jaden, but she welcomed the free tickets and the uncommon attention just the same. After the appropriate amount of time browsing the chain stores, “hanging out” and fostering of trust, Marney went in for the kill once they sat down in the food court. “Your sister tells me that you babysit for the radio show host Dr. Hannah’s toddler from time to time.”

  “Uh-huh” Jaden nodded, about to tear into a messy mall burrito. “I started watching Olivia after school back when Mrs. Murphy was seeing patients at her house. Now it’s mostly just on weekends. Her little girl is so cute. You should see her!”

  “Really?” Marney slurped the grape-flavored icy drink through a straw that matched her violet eyeliner.

  “Yeah, she’s really nice, you know—Mrs. Murphy. For a celebrity, I guess.” Jaden, attempting to sound unfazed by the fact, meant to sound casual about it all. “Her show is called ‘Ask Dr. Hannah,’ or something like that. Anyway, everyone’s sure that she’s going to be famous—like Oprah. She’s really awesome.”

  “Is that so? Has Mrs. Murphy said that she’s going to be on another radio station?”

  “Not exactly. She just sort of told me about how pleased her boss was with the number of listeners she has that last time she drove me home. Hey, maybe you should talk to her about becoming her agent. I don’t think she even has one yet.”

  Music to Marney’s ears! Jaden was proving to be quite helpful after all. She pressed the teenager further. “Where does Mrs. Murphy like to hang out? The gym? Supermarket? Any private clubs?”

  “Well, she sometimes volunteers at the women’s shelter downtown before her show. Sometimes she goes to yoga. I take Olivia to her tumbling class on Saturdays. I stay and watch her, then we walk back to the house. Hannah calls it her ‘trampoline time’—whatever that means. She says it’s when she catches up on her reading and stuff. Oh, and she has lunch at Victor’s Deli every Wednesday before a client session at the clinic. I watch Olivia then, if the nanny is not available.”

  “I see. Thanks for the information. Maybe I’ll give Mrs. Murphy a call and see if she is in need of an agent. I’ve enjoyed spending the afternoon talking. Have you ever given any thought to doing some headshots yourself?” Marney said, trying to sound complimentary. “I’ve got a great guy who’s a wizard with the teen market. He took your sister’s first composite photos, I believe, back when.”

  Jaden smiled and shook her head. She was all teeth and gums, a gawky bean pole with straight brown hair and a bashful smile, forced to live in the shadow of her fairy-tale princess sister, Lindsey, who held court with modeling agents, star photographers, and designers in her spare time.

  “No, thanks. But that is not what you came all this way to ask me, was it?” Jaden opined.

  Marney nervously smiled and then produced two tickets to Prince’s show at the Grand Arena and handed them to Jaden.

  “Wow! Thank you. This is so amazing.” Then she paused. “Are you gonna go get her, then? Mrs. Murphy, I mean,” Jaden asked shoving the tickets into her jeans pocket.

  “You bet your little red corvette, I am. They don’t call me the ‘Deal Maker’ for nothing!”

  “They call you that?” Jaden smiled through her braces.

  “Just finish your smoothie” Marney chuckled.

  Chapter 26

  2005

  Marney scanned the restaurant, most likely looking for a prima donna radio host with horn-rimmed glasses and a tightly wound chignon. Instead, she found Hannah, a beautiful cherub-faced honey-blonde with sunglasses perched on top of her head, pulling her pageboy neatly behind her ears, revealing tiny diamond stud earrings. She was wearing a Talbot’s cashmere sweater top and matching cardigan in periwinkle, a gold wedding band, and a brown leather-band Cartier watch. She was tucked away in a quiet corner booth with her designer pumps off, bending intently over a children’s book. It was Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hatches the Egg. It was research, and one of her guilty pleasures. Every other Friday, Hannah volunteered to lead story time at Olivia’s kinder care.

  Marney smiled to herself when she approached the table, and Hannah instantly mistook her for the waitress. Without even lifting her gaze from the book, Hannah asked for another cup of tea. “More lemon, too, please.”

  “Uh, sorry, Doc, I don’t wait tables—anymore. Those days are well behind me, I do hope.”

  Startled, Hannah looked up, regarding the bizarre creature in a lavender mohair coat standing beside the table. Her hair was the color of cherry Kool-Aid.

  “Pleased to meet you. My name is Marney Valentine, and I am your new personal agent.” Marney peered at her soon-to-be client over the rims of her rhinestone designer shades. “And, yes, you can have all the lemons that you want. I am hell bent and determined to assist in making you a very rich woman!”

  She cracked her pink chewing gum and offered Hannah a fuchsia-gloved handshake over the deli sandwich on her plate. “It’s really, really good to meet you. I’ve never represented a woman shrink before, but then, there’s a first time for everything, right? Great book. I simply adore Dr. Seuss.”

  It was all Hannah could do to smile while her mind was reeling. Who was this nutcase? Did she know her from somewhere? Could she be a crazed fan, or just someone who had her confused with somebody else?

  “My what? I don’t recall hiring you, Miss. Or anyone else, for that matter, as my personal anything.”

  “Yet,” Marney corrected her, blowing a messy pink bubble that exploded onto her Kewpie Doll lips.

  Hannah intoned calmly. “I do not need a personal agent, but thank you anyway.”

  Marney was unfazed by the brush-off. “I thought you might say that, so I came prepared. Who’s representing you?”

  Hannah knew not why, but she played along, “William Morris. I’m happy with them. Very happy.” Who was this woman? Hannah wondered, beginning to grow bothered by the intrusion. It was the fifth such incident in the past month, where somebody wanted to talk to her about representation. Peter said it was a good sign, but she just felt annoyed by the intrusions. Still, in spite of this, the strange woman intrigued her. She was relentless, yet impressively confident, and there was something vaguely familiar about her East Coast accent.

  Suddenly, Hannah remembered a string of phone calls over the past few weeks that had dogged her—at the reception desk at the station, on her voice mail, on her private line at home. She had meant to return her calls and say “no, thanks,” but she had just been too busy.

  “I brought my portfolio,” Marney said plopping a large lizard-print leather binder on the table. “May I—?”

  Hannah bit her lip and shrugged. As if she could even hope to stop her.

  Marney slid into the chair across from the small table and was now officially “at lunch” with the Dr. Hannah. Together, they walked through the contents of the binder. Company names on letterhead that meant little or nothing to Hannah. She smiled politely as Marney expounded on her professional prowess in landing such “prestigious” and fortunate clients as these with her stunning representation.

  In a fatal, mood-altering moment of flailing disinterest, Marney jumped in for the save.

  “But you’re not interested in what I’ve done for all my other clients, am I right? Of course not. You’re interested in what I can do for you.”

  Hannah smiled placidly. She was trapped.
A Cyndi Lauper lookalike was trying to sell her a bill of goods. Twenty more minutes before she would be due back at the clinic for her three o’clock standing session. She read her watch. “Do hurry, then. I have an appointment to get to.”

  Marney impressed Hannah with her knowledge and love for the business in sixty seconds flat. She emphasized the market’s need for a magnetic personality who spoke to the masses with solid advice and moral contention. This got Hannah’s interest, and she piped in. “Then you get what I’m trying to do? You see, ninety-five percent of the population is aware of the right thing to do when they’re stuck between a hard place and their wavering egos. Frankly, I believe that we humans know the difference and know the solutions. It’s elementary. It’s just that—”

  “Sometimes we all just need a good swift kick in the ass?” Marney said.

  Hannah slammed the table, just missing her fork. “Yes! Yes, yes, and quadruple—yes!”

  Marney leaned in on her elbows. “I say that there’s a bigger market for the wisdom and insights of the great Dr. Hannah Courtland-Murphy, and I don’t mean a second-rate radio station in Ohio. The choice is really yours, Hannah. Is William Morris going to give you the kind of attention and promote you with the kind of effort it takes to cultivate a sensation? Because I see sensation, Hannah. Isn’t that what we’re talking about here? Moving mountains? Changing people, fixing lives—right? One caller at a time.”

  Hannah smiled, seeing the possibilities.

  “I’m good at what I do. It’s as simple as that,” Marney professed. “You won’t get a lot of bullshit from me. I’m a straight shooter with a head for business, a heart for fairness, and a gut for knowing what to do. I’ll go to the mat for you; do whatever it takes to maximize your potential. I believe in transparency. True partnership and trust.”

  Hannah wondered to herself. Would she ever be able to trust someone with her future? Should she even do so? What about her family? She had trusted Peter to always know what to do, and he was failing her—failing all of them.

  Marney held out a peacock blue business card with her name scripted in luxurious swirls on the front in the kitschiest shade of orange paprika. “Take it. I’m certain that I could help you get to where ever it is you’re heading. It’s up to you, of course.” Then, craftily quoting the master himself, she tapped the children’s book that Hannah had been reading and said, “I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant’s faithful, one hundred per cent!”

  She placed the garish card on the table, leaving Hannah sitting there just as she had found her. Then she turned on her heel and clicked off, not looking back, her voice trailing, “Call me!”

  Bewildered, Hannah studied the business card, wondering, much to her chagrin, if a character like Marney could possibly get her to her dreams, her goals, to the place where she was heading. Who knew? She, for one, did not.

  Chapter 27

  Hannah tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter, along with two parcels from the local grocery in tow. She fixed herself, the sitter, and the kids a healthy dinner of lemon chicken breast and vegetables, leaving Peter’s on the counter wrapped in foil. She paid a few utility bills, checked in with the nursing home, listened to the phone calls blinking on the archaic office answering machine, read Olivia a story, and then put her to bed. She took a quick shower and got ready to turn in herself.

  That night, she dreamt of a job that paid more. A four-hour show taped in two; freedom to see only choice clients, more book sales, a promotional tour. She envisioned a whir of contracts, syndication, royalties; the rest of the kids’ colleges paid in full; a summer home, the Safe Haven Shelter project realized, more time with Peter to fix their marriage—and early retirement. Marney’s words resounded in her head as she finally drifted off to sleep. “I’m certain that I could help you get to where ever it is you’re heading. It’s up to you.”

  She knew first-hand how difficult it had been to try and self-promote herself along with all of her other responsibilities in hope of reaching a larger audience—and thus playing in a bigger market. Breaking through on talent alone was not enough. She lamented the times when she would practically have to beg someone to listen to her sound reel, or read her poorly produced press packet that she had put together with her word processing program. More often than not, at age fifty, she was not even given a fair chance. One stodgy executive from a Canadian-based broadcasting company even went so far as to insult her when she shook hands with him at a charity event and offered to send him a media kit. He was not a fan of her take-no-prisoner’s tactics and straight-from-the-hip advice, brushing her off briskly. He even went so far as to mock her in esteemed company, saying, “Who is really going to want to take advice from a nagging housewife?” What she needed was credibility, and that could only come from taking the leap to the next level and securing exclusive representation.

  By the time she awoke to greet the day, she had already decided to give Marney a try. She would let her see if she could negotiate a solid deal with the radio station on her terms, or find something better. The alarm on the bureau sprang on full tilt at seven a.m., blaring the peppy WCLK wake-up morning jingle—right on cue. There were Kip and Sidney broadcasting their same tired shtick to the same tired audience. That would be her fate if she just settled for the status quo and allowed the station to keep her held down when there was a bigger world out there to reach.

  Hannah smiled. It was a sign. She grabbed the cordless phone from the nightstand and dialed the number Marney had given her. “Congratulations, Ms. Valentine. You’ve got yourself a new client. Let’s do this!”

  Chapter 28

  “So this is it,” Hannah said, pulling the Mercedes into the narrow parking spot located next to two dumpsters at the Cuyahoga Falls Community Center near the back entrance. “You said that you wanted to see where I learned how to do what I do.”

  Marney paused to take it all in. The exterior looked like any other public city building with a weathered brick façade and postage-stamp-size windows with security bars and a chain gate that had left scrapes across the asphalt from years of use.

  “This is where the volunteers go in. It’s closest to the back offices. I’ll show you.” Hannah grabbed her Prada handbag and shoved it beneath the leather seat. Marney took notice and did the same. “No need to put on airs,” Hannah said. It was one of the many things that Marney admired most about her new client. Hannah was her best self when she was just an ordinary citizen, not a celebrity, reaching out to others in need. This was a great opportunity for Hannah to show Marney where she had come from; to revisit her early days as a volunteer therapist at the clinic where she’d honed her craft and made lasting connections. It was paramount that she got to know Hannah—everything about her—and as quickly as possible.

  The two walked around to the double steel doors just as an older man was leaving. They slipped into the quiet hall, Marney close on Hannah’s heels as they walked past several small rooms, where therapists were conducting sessions. “We’ll go to the main lobby first, and then I’ll show you around.” Hannah’s calming presence was evident in the hesitant glances from the solemn faces that approached and passed them in the halls. Hannah greeted each person with eye contact and a wide smile. “Good morning!” and “How are you today?” was offered to each and every passerby. There was a sullen teen girl with skeletal arms poking through a tank top and piercings along her earlobes, nose, and lip whose eyes averted when they passed.

  “This way” Hannah pulled to the right, and, together, they rounded a corner of a small waiting area comprised of one well-worn couch and several tattered chairs. “This is where the clients would wait for their session with a counselor.” Marney nodded, taking in the gravity of it all and feeling the pulse of the room, which was strangely silent, even though every chair was filled with a waiting occupant. One man had brought a paper sack that he kept checking and folding on his lap as an ancient, gray-whis
kered mutt curled contented at his feet.

  “Hi, Betty!” Hannah said, addressing the middle-aged woman seated behind the reception desk. “This is my friend Marney. We’re here for a little tour today.”

  The woman smiled and stood to give Hannah a hug. “Haven’t seen you in such a long while, but”—she lowered her voice to a nicotine-infused whisper—“I listen to your show every afternoon on my way home.”

  Hannah smiled. She had definitely come a long way, and returning to the place of her early days working with the community really hit a chord with her as well. “I’m delighted to be back here. Nothing has changed.”

  The woman threw a knowing glance toward Hannah’s colorful companion, who was eyeing a jar of tiny lollipops. “Oh, I wouldn’t exactly say that” She snickered. And then, to Marney: “Help yourself, dear.”

  “Thank you” Marney smiled. “I had to come see Hannah’s old stomping grounds. You do good work here.”

  Together, they walked through a series of several more carpeted halls and finally stopped at a door with a sign dangling from the doorknob that read: Session in Progress. “This was my office,” Hannah said wistfully. “At least, it was mostly where I saw clients when I volunteered here on and off through the years. I even brought Olivia here in her bouncy chair. There is a nursery just down the hall. Let me show you.”