Page 7 of You Spin Me

A few weeks before Christmas,station general manager Richard Jones pokes his head into the music library while I’m prepping. “Evening, Cal. Can I talk to you before you go on?”

It’s unusual for him to be here this late, but I can guess what he wants. “Don’t worry, I’ll take on any extra shifts over the holidays. Except Christmas Eve.” I’m not married or anything, so I often work holidays. But I like to hang with my nieces and nephews on the night before Christmas.

“That’d be great, but I need to talk to you about something else.”

“What’s up?”

Jones sighs heavily as he parks his butt in a chair. Since they moved him up from program manager to general manager three months ago, I swear he’s aged five years.

He cranes his neck to look down the hall before kicking the library door shut. “So, here’s the thing. We have the enviable problem of having too much success. Corporate went on a buying spree all over the country, and now we have to bring in more ad revenue while they turn around all the new stations they picked up.”

“Smart,” I grunt. “Kill the one successful station to save the others.”

He continues without acknowledging my comment. “Which means I have to get our numbers up in every slot so we can raise airtime prices in every slot. That includes the sleepy ones—yours especially because WBST is stealing males eighteen to thirty from you.”

“But I own women eighteen to ninety. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“You want to run tampon ads?”

“Sure, I don’t care.”

“I was kidding. Owning women doesn’t count. Young men is the demographic corporate wants, so we have to get them. In every slot.”

“So what do you want me to do? A publicity stunt? How about I invite some young assholes in and see what they have to say when they see my face?”

I swear there’s a light in his eyes for about two seconds, but he shuts it down quick. “Of course not. But you can’t be completely invisible anymore. If you’re out there promoting the station like the other jocks do, it’ll get your on-air numbers up.”

“Jones, you do not want me out in the world. I fucking scare people.”

“I think you over—”

“Jones.” Interrupting him, I pull my hood down. “You’re used to me. Think back to the first time you saw me. What was your first reaction?”

Jones should never play poker.

“You know I’m right,” I say.

He rubs his newly lined forehead. “All right. I wouldn’t put you through that kind of thing, but we have to dosomething. Like, maybe we can play up your invisibility, the mystery of who you are. The Invisible Man or something. You could wear a mask.”

“And then what? You can’t build that kind of thing up without a reveal at some point.”

“Maybe by then the pressure will be off and you can go dark again.”

I push my creaky body out of the chair and finish loading the albums I pulled onto the wheeled rack. “I gotta get in there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gets up to open the door. “Think about it okay?” As I push out the door, he adds, “Unless you want to move to the slot after yours, the two to six a.m.?”

Wheeling to face him, I don’t even try to hold back my temper. “I like my slot. I earned it. People are used to me being there for them. They like the music I introduce them to. I mean, isn’t that what we do here?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, his head dropping heavily. “You’re right. Go rock their worlds. But we’ll talk later, right?”

I shoot him the bird as I roll the rack down the hall.

He knows I don’t mean it.

Not really.

Chapter3

---