The Ex Talk(87)

No—I’m done spinning it.

“At the beginning, we were just two coworkers who didn’t really like each other, and it seemed like a great premise for a show. Two exes giving out relationship advice.” I break off to half laugh for a moment, remembering the meeting where I first pitched it. “We weren’t thrilled about the lying component. But what we saw was an opportunity to do something different on public radio, and to help save our station.”

Maybe, maybe, I’m getting them back. Some of the people who were halfway to the door have paused, returned to their seats.

“And then, as we started working together, well . . .” I’m sweating in about a hundred different places, but I’m buoyed by a few whoops and whistles in the crowd. “We realized we liked each other. It was a difficult situation, but after a couple months of tiptoeing around it, we’re together now. Officially.”

Now there’s more applause. It’s scattered, but it’s there. A few people on our side—that feels like enough.

Dominic was so sure our listeners would be happy for us. I’m not ready for the alternative: that this is over.

“Is that true, Dominic?” someone asks at the mic, and it’s at this point I realize he still hasn’t said anything. I wanted to fix this for us, but I can’t do it alone. The story doesn’t work if I’m the only one telling it.

I gesture for him to join me where I’m standing downstage. “Dominic?” I say, forcing more warmth into my voice than I feel. Anxiety is brutal, but I’m suffering up here, too. We are supposed to be a team. He has to realize how important this is. After all, he was the one who suggested going public because he couldn’t bear keeping it a secret any longer.

Say something, I beg.

“She’s—we—” he tries. He shakes his head, as though trying to calm himself. “I—” An attempt at a deep breath, a hand pressed to his chest. “The show—”

The crowd erupts into more shouting, more accusations. We’ve lost them.

Finally, Dominic gets to his feet. Without a microphone, he utters two words to me, so quietly that only I can hear him: “I’m sorry.”

And then he rushes offstage.





32




In public radio, thirty seconds is a lifetime. Thirty seconds is long enough for someone to get bored, change the station, switch over to a different podcast. To unsubscribe. Thirty seconds can end a career.

It took less than thirty seconds for The Ex Talk to collapse.

Ruthie is the one who finds Kent up in his hotel room. To our shock, he welcomes us in.

Welcomes us.

I’m not entirely sure how I made it off the stage. I think Ruthie helped me into a Lyft. I think she directed it to the hotel. Despite knowing that we sucked her into this, Ruthie is still here.

Dominic is not.

I shouldn’t be on social media, but I can’t help it. I needed to see how all of this started. It took less than thirty seconds to pull up The Ex Talk’s Twitter feed and find the thread posted before we went live.


IMPORTANT LISTENER ANNOUNCEMENT

We’re very sorry to say this, but now that the show has taken off, we feel compelled to tell the truth.

Shay Goldstein and Dominic Yun were never a real couple. They were coworkers who always had a bit of a friendly rivalry, and we thought it would be easy to pass them off as exes to enhance the premise of this new show. Everything about their past relationship was a complete fabrication.

Once again, our apologies, and we hope to still see you at our live #PodCon taping.



Months ago, I convinced myself lying was okay. It was storytelling, wasn’t it? And now the truth’s caught up with us. I’m not sure what’s worse: that everyone knows we’re frauds or that it’s wrecked Dominic so much that he couldn’t even be part of the conversation.

He and I had a plan. We were cohosts, partners, allies.

Onstage, we weren’t.

I’m sitting on one of the hotel room’s queen beds while Kent leans against the desk in the corner, Twitter frantically updating on the computer screen behind him.

“Look,” Kent says, finally closing the lid of his laptop. “I just need a moment to explain.”

I wave my arm. “The floor is yours. Start talking.”

As though weighing exactly how to explain his betrayal, he tugs on his tie, which today is patterned with tiny microphones, each of them mocking me. Ruthie is cross-legged on the other bed, holding tight to her messenger bag.

“The show’s been doing well,” Kent says. “You and Dominic are great, and listeners clearly love you.”

I don’t bother telling him all of that should be in the past tense.

“The board has had some concerns for a while. It took some sweet-talking to get them interested in the show at first, but I was able to manage it. They were finally excited about getting something new on our airwaves, especially something that had appeal beyond our own little station.” He sighs, pulling at his tie again. “But lately, the board has started to feel as though the show verges on a bit . . . suggestive for the station, for public radio in general. That it’s much better suited as a podcast. We can’t risk an FCC violation.”

“Then fine,” I say. “Why not just cut the live show and make us podcast only?” I have a hard time believing the board isn’t made up of primarily old cishet white men.