Page 10 of Out of the Storm

“What’s your real name, then?”

“Jeff.”

“Do you have a last name too?”

“Russo.”

“Well, Jeff Russo, when can you come in for an interview?”

“Live?”

“Whatever you want. I have to warn you, though, that my time is pretty limited. I try to stay busy. Except for a couple of hours on the weekends.”

Running a hand over his face, Jeff took a pause to consider the options. Recording was probably the better of the two. He’d benervous enough to speak to Gary without the whole city of Niles listening in. Or however many people listened to Gary’s bullshit station.

“Recording, I think. I nearly said shit earlier.”

“Oh boy.”

“Isn’t it . . . risky to take live calls?”

“Well, yeah, but I think you’re the first person under the age of fifty to call in for, like, a year. I’m not too worried that Annabelle Craig will slip up and say ‘fuck’ on the air.”

“You think Annabelle Craig fucks?”

Gary sputtered a laugh, one so boisterous that it had Jeff smiling a bit too.

“You know, with her husband passing last year, I want to say no, but I’ve seen that fellow who owns the pharmacy—Tom Mitchell?—in her shopwaytoo many times over the last month. He cannot possibly be purchasing that much yarn.”

Jeff huffed a laugh. “Areyou?”

“Am I purchasing that much yarn? Uh, no, but if I stop by once or twice a week, Annabelle will kick in a couple of bucks for advertisements. She’ll call in sometimes too, which makes me feel less silly when I say something like ‘who here in Niles prefers potato salad with mayonnaise instead of vinegar?’ because I’m always atadworried that no one will call in, especially at ten.”

“Who makes potato salad with vinegar?”

“Uhm, me.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It’s perfection.”

“It’spotato salad.”

“Well, when we meet for our interview, I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

Unnervingly enough, the thought of seeing Gary in person was making Jeff’s stomach flip-flop strangely.

Fighting to keep the excitement from his voice, Jeff said, “Sure you will.”

“Well, if you want me to cook for you, that means I won’t be able to meet earlier than one o’clock next Saturday. I’ll need time to make the potatoes.”

Gary really wanted to cook for him. Dear God.

Nervous excitement still swirling inside him, Jeff shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and one of his hands began to play with the phone cord, wrapping it around and around his index finger.

“Uh, yeah, one thirty’d work.”

“Great!” Gary said, his voice filled with such energy and optimism that Jeff’s palms were starting to sweat, some irritating physical manifestation of his unease. He wiped his free hand on his pants as Gary continued. “Say, thanks for calling in earlier to correct my nonsense. And for calling now too.”

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