* * *

“This is great,” Allie said at two-thirty as they split a double order of garlic chicken, eating from the carton with two forks this time. “The show was really good tonight, right up to the end. I knew you were going to be a hit, but I had no idea it would be this fast. And I haven’t even started on the publicity yet. This is wonderful.”

Charlie stabbed his fork into the chicken. “No, it’s not. I told you, I don’t want to be famous, so just knock it off.”

Allie gave an exasperated sigh. He really was impossible. It didn’t matter, because she was going to make him famous anyway, but he was still impossible. “What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you want to be a success?”

Charlie ignored her. “Dump some rice in here, the garlic’s really heavy.”

“I bet I know what’s wrong.” Allie tipped the rice carton into the chicken.

“I do, too. There’s not enough rice.”

“No, you’re afraid of success.” Allie patted his hand, suddenly sympathetic. After all, he had hit the big time pretty quickly. “It’s very common, you’ll get used to it. Trust me.”

Charlie moved the carton away from her, holding it behind him. “No, I won’t. Look at me.”

Allie obediently looked up at him, her fork poised in case he moved the carton back.

“I do not want to be successful,” he said, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Successful screws with people’s heads and makes them think they’re above the law and can get away with anything. I’m not like that. I am not going to promote the show. I am not going to have my picture taken. And I am not going to ask any more questions that will get me in trouble. I just want a nice, quiet show. I’m a nice, quiet guy, and I want a nice, quiet show. Is that too much to ask?” He glared at Allie and she glared back at him, annoyed that he could be so wimpy.

“No,” she snapped. “Certainly not. Anything I can do to help you on the road to obscurity?”

“Yes.” Charlie moved the carton back within her reach. ‘Give me something nonexplosive to talk about tomorrow. Something nice and innocuous.”

Allie stabbed her fork into the chicken. “Stewart drinks coffee from the break-room urn and doesn’t pay for it and then he blames the money shortage on the technicians.” She chomped down on her forkful of chicken and gazed balefully at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, that is fascinating, but I don’t think Greater Tuttle will be interested. Come on, cooperate. You’re my producer, produce. And move over. You’re hogging the bed.” Charlie shoved her over with his hip and looked into the carton. “Oh, there’s rice on the bottom. Maybe we should dump this stuff out on plates.”

“Whatever you want, Oh Great One.”

“I want another topic for tomorrow’s show,” Charlie said.

“Okay, how about…” Allie leaned over his shoulder and scooped up some more chicken, trying to think of something stupid for him. “Sometimes Grady does his show stoned.”

Charlie visibly corraled his patience. “I noticed. But I don’t think Tuttle will think that’s news, either. I need a real topic here. Stop sulking and give me some help.”

Allie shrugged. “Okay. The streetlights in Eastown are still out.”

“Allie…”

She waved her fork at him. “You said, innocuous.”

“Innocuous, not brain-dead.” Charlie took the carton back. “I will let you have more of this when you come up with something good. Something people will talk to me about, so I won’t get fired, but that does not involve newspaper headlines.”

Allie looked at the carton with longing. “It’s mean to keep moving the carton away. You know how I feel about food.”

“Then think fast.” He took a huge forkful of chicken and savored it while she watched.

“Food.” She moved closer to him with her fork. “You were all mopey about the little grocery stores going out of business when we took you on that tour the other night.”

Charlie moved the carton farther out of her way as he ate. “That’s the best you can do?”

Allie nodded. “You wanted boring. Do a nostalgia thing. All we have now all over town are those damn FoodStops. Fluorescent lighting and house brands that taste like dog food.” She eyed the carton. “I wonder if Samson would like Chinese? He was eating like a trooper when I left. Do you suppose anybody’s noticed we’re playing Billy Joel every hour?”

Charlie ignored her, lost in thought, and Allie grabbed the carton while he was distracted. “It doesn’t sound very exciting,” he said. “Maybe I’d do it.”

Allie shook her head and scooped up some more chicken. “You’re worthless. I could make you the biggest thing on midnight radio, but no, you want things quiet.” She passed the carton over to him in disgust.

Charlie took another huge forkful and handed the carton back. “Old-time grocery stores.” He chewed and then nodded. “All right. I’ll do it. You can have the rest of that.”

Allie poked her fork in the carton. “All that’s left is rice.”

“Too bad.” He took the carton out of her hands and put it on the floor with their forks. Then he sat back and put his arm around her. “Now what are we going to do?”

Allie folded her arms. “You know, we’re getting into a rut lere.”

“I know.” Charlie leaned over her. She slid down into the bed away from him, and he followed her down, pinning her to her pillow. “A little take-out Chinese, a little interesting conversation, a little great sex.” He slipped her nightgown off ler shoulder and kissed her neck. “My kind of rut.”

She savored his arm around her and his lips on her shoulder, but she kept her voice cool. “I have to get up and brush my teeth now. And then I think we should just sleep for once. We need some variety. This is getting boring.”

“Variety.” He moved his hand up her side, and she shivered. “Variety,” he went on. “Fine. Tomorrow, I’ll bring in a goat. But for tonight, I think we…”

Allie pulled away a little. “A goat?”

He blinked at her, surprised. “You’ve never done the goat trick?”

“The goat trick?” Allie blinked back at him. “Of course. I’ve done the goat trick. Thousands of times.”

Charlie sat up. “What? I didn’t think you were the kind of woman who’d do the goat trick thousands of times. I’m shocked.”

“You’ll get over it,” Allie said.

“I’m over it now.” Charlie moved back on top of her and kissed her, deep and long.

“Grocery stores are a dumb topic,” Allie said when she came up for air.

“Quiet, woman,” Charlie said and kissed her speechless.


* * *

Charlie’s next evening began well. As far as he could tell in his poking around the station during the day, there was absolutely nothing illegal going on. The closest thing he had to a clue was that the college kids collected “Turn Us On” stickers. As a lead to an in-station drug ring, it was pretty flimsy, about as likely as a lead to an in-station prostitution ring. Still, he’d checked out the bandstand Joe had talked about before and all he’d found were mosquitoes and mud. No drugs.

He was beginning to suspect that the letter had been a hoax. He was also beginning to suspect that Bill thought it was a hoax, too. At least, he didn’t seem to be particularly interested in how things were going. Beattie caught Charlie in the hall and grilled him on his living arrangements, his eating habits and his plans for his show, but Bill didn’t even ask him what he was doing about the letter.

It was all highly suspicious, and Charlie intended to pursue it, but first he had to get his radio act together so he didn’t make a fool of himself on the air. He shouldn’t have cared about that, but he did. He also found himself caring about the people at the station, with the exception of Mark, and feeling relieved as he became surer that he wasn’t going to have to bust anybody there. Joe combined the virtues of real friendship and great cooking, Karen was cheerful and extremely grateful, Grady was quiet and kind, Beattie looked at him with approval since she liked the city building and was now doing daily editorials on saving it, and even Bill seemed to be warming to him. At least he hadn’t called Charlie a moron again, even after the front-page story on the city building showed up in the Tuttle Tribune. Charlie particularly liked Harry, who, when not howling, was intelligent and, on this particular Thursday night, in a great mood.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Harry told him as soon as Charlie was in the booth. “Some woman called in and said she was having an argument with her boyfriend over leaving the car parked in neutral or in first, and asked my opinion.”

“That’s great,” Charlie said, confused.

“No, it was.” Harry’s face was lit with excitement. “I explained it to her, and then about five minutes later some guy called in to talk about it, and then a little later some other woman called in with a carburetor problem, and then a couple of other people, and it was great.” He leaned back in his chair, suffused with happiness. “I can’t believe it. People called my show.”

“Hey, if I had a car problem, I’d call you,” Charlie offered. “You know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, but now Tuttle knows. This has been great.” Harry got up and clapped Charlie on the back. “Really glad you’re here, man.”

“Oh.” Charlie blinked. “Well, I am, too.”

“Five people,” Harry stood up and stretched. “Great show.”

Charlie sat down in the vacated seat. The memory of the bumper stickers came back. Dumb idea, but… “Harry?”

Harry turned in the doorway.

“If you were going to buy drugs in Tuttle, where would you go?”

Harry’s face sobered instantly. “I don’t know. I hear the handstand’s the place to score.”

Charlie nodded. “I’d heard that, too, but it’s deserted most of the time.”

“Drugs’ll kill you in radio.” Harry said. “Bad for your voice. Hard to concentrate.”

“Right.” Charlie gave up and turned to the console.

“Charlie.”

He looked back over his shoulder at Harry.

“Don’t ask anybody else about the drug thing,” Harry told him seriously. “This isn’t that kind of place. People wouldn’t understand.”

Charlie nodded. “Right. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry hesitated and then left the booth.

Great. Now Harry thought he was a druggie. The things he did for his father and his father’s friends. Oh, well. At least he had the show. It was a weird thought, but after only two nights, he was beginning to look forward to the show. It was fun, but it was more than that. It made him feel good. He didn’t want to think about it too much because then he’d start cooperating with Allie, and he’d end up a star, after all.

That would be bad.

Of course, tonight’s show about old grocery stores should pretty much kill that possibility.

Charlie put on the headphones, made sure “River of Dreams” was in one of the CD slots for Sam’s dinner later, and watched the digital readout so he could slide in when the news was over.

Tonight was going to be one dull night on radio.


* * *

Four and a half hours later, Allie sat propped up against her headboard and watched as Charlie sat down on the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands. He really was upset, and she really did sympathize, but she really was ecstatic. Two scandals in three days. His ratings were going to go through the roof.

“Price-fixing,” Charlie said, his voice muffled by his hands.

“I didn’t know,” Allie said. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

6

“Price-fixing drove the mom and pops out of business.” Charlie repeated, and Allie tried to distract him.

“Maybe if we had some food-”

“It’s illegal.” He fell back onto the bed so that his head landed in her lap.

Allie loved the weight of his head on her thighs, so she began to stroke his hair so he’d stay there. What a wonderful night it had turned out to be. The callers alone had been spectacular.

Charlie kept his eyes closed, obsessing over the show. “That one old guy said they didn’t do anything about it five years ago because they couldn’t get enough evidence. Did you hear him say that?”

“Yes, Charlie.” Allie said. “I can’t believe all those people called in. Who would have thought so many of those little-grocery owners would have been listening at midnight like that?”

“Who would have thought?” Charlie turned his head to glare up at her. “Did you have anything to do with that?”