Page 79 of My Infatuation with Isabella

Brock:But she’s history now. I’m ready to move awn...wichu. You said I could take you out sumtym. I’ma pick you up at twelve, a’right? Meet me outside.

Sydney:Wait. Is he serious?

Me:Brock, I was kidding.

Brock:I wasn’t. I’m picking you up at twelve. And I wasn’t kidding when I said I could listen to your voice awl day neither. I wake up...and that’s the only thing I wanna hear. You’re, uh, you’re the best part of my morning. My day doesn’t start the same without you.

Stilted silence.

Me:Who is this?

Brock:You know who it is (long pause). It’s Brock from Lawng Island. I’ll see you at twelve, sweetheart.

I’m glad we go straight from that call into the song because I’m very perplexed. Who the heck was that? A part of me thinks that may have been Dylan because some of the stuff he said was too familiar, too coincidental. The One Direction song and the thing he said about being the best part of his morning...that’s Dylan. But all that stuff he said about this ex – the throw pillows and pickles with peanut butter – that’s not me. Or maybe he was talking about Francesca. Or maybe he just made all of it up because Dylan has an active imagination and can talk a lot of shit.

Listening to that song brings back all kinds of memories and I’m a tad flustered when we go on air again. I push it aside and get through the rest of the show, but that call bothers me even when we wrap up and head to the boardroom to brainstorm and plan for Monday.

“Okay, so we’ve got a guest, Barbara Mc Intyre, coming in at seven-fifteen,” Damon says. “She’s a relationship columnist, so I think we could make that a lot of fun.”

I look at the draft script he’s given us on my laptop. “This is only a twenty-minute interview, though. I’m telling you we’re gonna need longer.”

Tommy nods in agreement. “Let’s move this whole fifteen-minute chunk before the eight o’clock news to eight-ten, which gives us more time to play with because Izzy’s right. A twenty-minute slot is not enough.We’llprobably end up talking to her for twenty minutes, which leaves no room for calls.”

“Alright, let’s do that,” Damon says.

As usual, we work through lunch, only having a light snack. We rework the draft script as a team, adding in questions or points of discussion which will allow the conversation to flow. Damon is very flexible. Placement of paid commercials, promos and competitions are non-negotiable, but other than that, he allows us the freedom to lead the discussion in the direction we want.

The script he provides is generally not overly detailed. Script is maybe not the right word. Perhaps framework more aptly describes it. Damon merely jots down bullet points or possible topics, then allows Syd, Tommy, and I to add our own flare. Timing is important and we have to make sure we’re prepared. We can’t stutter too much. We can’t waffle without a point. And we absolutely cannot have dead air. Improvisation and playing off each other are a big part of the show too, so the framework has to be loose enough to allow for that and the opinions of our callers. Catering for all that while also ensuring that we don’t run out of things to say before a break or a song takes a great deal of planning and time. If we want to play two songs back-to-back, even the three-second interval in between to introduce the next song needs to be noted.

Tom goes through social media reports to make sure we include anything that’s trending. We do a table read and finalize the plan for Monday’s show and make a few minor changes to the playlist. While I’m writing my daily blog for the station’s webpage, the phone in the boardroom rings.

Syd answers, then looks at me. “It’s for you.”

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Darlene. She says someone is waiting for you at reception.”

“I’m not expecting anyone. Ask her who it is?”

She asks, then starts laughing. “You’ll never believe this. It’s Brock from Long Island. And he’s right on time. It’s twelve o’clock.”

“No way,” Tommy says. “I thought he was joking around.”

I got so caught up in work that I completely forgot about that call because just like Tommy; I didn’t take it seriously. A part of me wants to tell her to blow him off, but I’m so curious to see who it is.

“Damon, is it alright if I go?”

“He already asked if you could get the afternoon off while he was on the call earlier...”

“He did?”

“...and you usually leave early on a Friday to go for therapy anyway, so I told him it was fine.”

“You did?”

Damon shrugs. “I thought if it goes well, you can do a follow-up for the listeners. They love cute little stories like that.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to leverage off my love life.”

---