The Ex Talk(12)

Finally, Kent lifts one hand, indicating for us to calm down.

“A lot of food for thought,” he says, and then with two words, makes me lose all hope. “Other ideas?”



* * *



—

After another twenty minutes, Kent calls the meeting to a close, doing his best to reassure us about the future of the station.

“This is early stages,” he says. “We’re not making any programming changes quite yet.”

Still, it’s hard to ignore the subtle sheen of worry on my coworkers’ faces as they leave with their mugs of cold coffee. I linger until I’m the last one out of the room, hoping to avoid Dominic. Unfortunately, he’s waiting in the hall, ready to pounce.

“Jesus Christ,” I say when he startles me, holding my notepad over my skittering heart. “What, you didn’t finish educating me on the job I’ve had for ten years?”

That wrinkle reappears between his brows, and he looks softer than he did in the meeting. “Shay, I’m—”

“Dom! Shay!” Kent interrupts, and I’m a little annoyed because for a second, it seemed like Dominic was actually about to apologize.

But that would be about as likely as Terry Gross stepping down from hosting Fresh Air.

“Kent,” I say, ready with an apology of my own. “I’m so sorry about what happened in there. It got out of hand.”

All he says is, “I have a few meetings to get to, but I want to talk to both of you at the end of the day. Can you meet me in my office at five thirty? Great.” With that, he turns and heads down the hall, leaving me with Dominic.

“And I’ve got an interview to record.” He half smiles before he morphs back into his demonic self and adds: “Booth A. In case you were wondering.”





4




Kent’s office is a veritable public radio shrine. There are photos of him shaking hands with every major NPR personality, rows of framed awards, and a shelf filled with antique audio recording equipment.

I’ve been distracted all day. Ruthie eventually pulled me into a sound booth before lunch, desperate for gossip after hearing murmurs all morning. I told her about the morning’s emergency meeting and, with some reluctance after my argument with Dominic, my idea.

Her eyes grew wide behind her clear-framed glasses. “A show like that is just begging for a catchy name. Something like . . . The Ex Cast, or The Ex Talk.”

I snorted, but I kind of immediately loved it. “Like sex talk?”

“Exactly. Too risqué for NPR?”

“Maybe,” I said, but truthfully, I didn’t know. And it’s only an idea I threw out in a brainstorming meeting, unlikely to become more than that. Public radio can be slow to innovate.

Once we’re seated in the chairs in front of Kent’s desk, he excuses himself to brew another pot of tea. Dominic gets to his feet and begins pacing.

“You’re making me dizzy,” I tell him.

“You don’t have to watch.” Still, he stops beneath the photo of a very young Kent sandwiched between Tom and Ray Magliozzi, the Car Talk guys. He settles into a lean—of course. We get it, you’re tall. “Nervous?”

I shrug, not wanting to let on how uneasy this meeting makes me. I have no idea what to expect when it comes to Kent. He used to intimidate me, and while we’re far from friends, we’ve always gotten along. Or at least I’ve always done exactly what he’s asked of me, and we’ve never had a reason for prolonged interactions. I picked up extra pledge drive production shifts at his request, and back when I was still eligible, I never bothered him about overtime pay even when I worked late into the night. Now those late hours have become a habit I can’t break.

“I’ve been here for almost ten years. I don’t get nervous anymore.”

“Ten years, and you’re still doing the same thing,” he says. “You don’t get bored?”

“Fortunately, you’re here to shake things up. It’s not boring to have to reschedule a guest at the last minute who we booked months in advance and who missed out on business of her own as a result.”

“Oh,” he says, as though this thought truly never occurred to him. “I didn’t realize. Shit. I’m sorry about that. Is she upset?”

“I was able to smooth things over,” I say, thrown by his response. Was he about to apologize earlier, too? “We’re going to do a whole show dedicated to animal behavior next month to make up for it. And before you can say anything about it, yes, I know it’s not news, but those shows are really popular. Especially during pledge drives.”

He holds up his hands. “I wasn’t going to say anything. We had a class in grad school about how to grovel if you pissed off a source.”

I pause. “Wait, are you serious?”

Then his armor cracks, and he lets out a laugh. A sharp, breathy ha that would sound distorted if he did it into a microphone. Number of times I’ve heard Dominic laugh in the past four months: fewer than ten. News is never funny, apparently.

“No, but you definitely believed me for a second.”

Huh. It’s an odd moment of self-awareness. Does he know that he brings up grad school every chance he can?

Kent reenters with a steaming mug of tea. “Shay, Dom,” he says, nodding to each of us.