Page 51 of You Spin Me

Would she have broken up with me eventually anyway? Did I save us both more heartache? Was the interest I heard in her voice a figment of my own imagination?

I can chase my tail about this all I want, but if I’m honest with myself, I lost her because I didn’t want to see the look on her face when she saw mine. And believe me, the irony of the fact that I lost her because I was afraid of losing her is not lost on me.

It’s driving me nuts. And I need my focus these days since now both Talia and Jones are on me. They quickly dropped the idea of me talking to girls about their problems during my shift when legal pointed out the liability issues, but now they have a new idea. They’re determined to get me interviewing bands with the same “emotional intensity” that I brought to my conversation with Jess.

When I step into the library to do my prep on Monday, Talia’s waiting for me.

“Hey, Blondie.” She’s got a nice head scratch for my dog, but all I get is a piece of paper. “Jones and me put together this list of local bands that you’ve actively supported over the past couple of years by playing their shit way before anybody else did. I know any one of them would be happy to do an interview with you.”

“Have you already forgotten the crash and burn of my interview with Why Not Happiness?”

Wincing at my choice of words, she shakes her head. “No, but I also haven’t forgotten how often you screwed up your first week on the air. Or how many mistakes I made when I first started this job.”

“That wasn’t a mistake, Tal. That was a humiliation.”

“Jesus, I feel like I’m talking to my kid here,” Talia says to the ceiling. “People make mistakes, you lug. Now are you gonna just quit? Or are you going to learn from the experience and do it a little better the next time?” Slapping the list of bands with the palm of her hand, she says, “Pick one, do the research, and I’ll set it up.”

“In person or on the phone?”

“Either way. You can take it in baby steps. Whatever you have to do to keep this job because I don’t want to have to break in a new DJ.”

She pauses on the way out the door. “Same could be said about that girl, you know.”

Either figure out how to fix what I broke or move on.

If only it were that easy.

After spending somany hours on the phone with Jess, losing her is actually painful. Like, my heart actually hurts. I thought I knew all the kinds of pain a body could suffer, but this is a new one to me. Not the throbbing, insistent pain of healing donor sites. Not the searing, screeching pain of bandage changes. This is a black hole of ache in the center of my chest.

Maybe something can come from this new brand of misery. I am a good listener, but I have to figure out a way to get over the fear of saying the wrong thing and being bullied by the cool kids.

I can’t lose my job and the woman who feels like the best thing that’s ever happened to me all in one week.

So I go back to basics. The reason I have this job is that I love music. I have contacts all over the world that share that love.

I spend every free moment the next week writing letters and even making phone calls to other DJs, from college stations out west to small cities in Europe, telling them about up-and-coming Boston bands like Del Fuegos and the Lemonheads and asking what’s new out in their worlds. I spend hours poring over my collection of music magazines as well as the press bibles in the library—notebooks full of PR releases and articles put together by station volunteers. Reading interviews of other bands and cataloguing every bit of background on the bands on Talia’s list helps me put together a decent list of not-too-boring questions.

People like to talk about themselves, Jess said. I don’t, but maybe that’s because my story is only interesting if you’re a sadomasochist. But the people who make music, they have stories I want to hear. It’s likely my audience does too. If I do enough research, I’ll have enough questions to get the ball rolling. If there are some awkward moments, they can get edited out as long as there’s more than enough good stuff to balance them out.

I just have to remember that it’s aboutthem, not me. I’m just the vehicle that gets not just the music, but what’s behind it, out to the world.

JESS

Tuesday I somehow manage to get to the casting office earlier than early, so I have plenty of time to learn the copy. When my name is called, I’m surprised that it’s Marnie herself who not only ushers me into the tiny recording booth but also adjusts the mic and hands me headphones. She smiles when I put them on backward, explaining that the cable is always attached to the left can. Feeling like a total rookie is no fun, but once we get going, her clear direction in my ears has me too busy playing to worry.

The best part? For once in my life, nobody cares what I look like. I’m not too dark, too ethnic, too pretty, not pretty enough, too short, too chesty, too old, not old enough. All that matters is the story I tell with my voice. I could be anyone in here.

Thankfully, Marnie seems to like what she hears. I guess all those college voice classes were good for something besides Shakespeare.

After she decides she has enough options to send to the ad agency, she meets me outside the booth. “You really need a demo to showcase the range of characters you can play, Jess. I’ll keep bringing you in to audition, but sometimes a client wants to listen to demos first. Just don’t lose that freshness.”

Like I’m going to go stale? I’m not sure exactly what she means, but I do know that I had so much fun in that dim little booth all by myself that I can’t wait to do it again. Having someone pay me to do it? That’d just be a bonus.

On my way out, Marnie’s assistant gives me a list of people she recommends for demo production, which includes prices. It’s expensive, almost as much as a month’s rent. But when I get home and look up voice-over rates in my union handbook, they’re really good. I’d only have to book a day of work to cover the cost.

My heart pounding, I call demo producers, thinking maybe I can figure out some sort of barter. Not sure what, since I doubt sound engineers have much need for a choreographer or dance classes.

I guess I could ask one of my siblings for a loan. Not my parents, though. I need them to believe I’m surviving on my own, or law school brochures will magically show up in my mailbox. Or worse, they’ll fix me up with nice Jewish boys fresh out of law school themselves.

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