Bryce Wilson a.k.a. Robert Finkelstein enters the side door of the WLUV radio station, flips on the bank of lights that illuminate the broadcast console, and spots the flashing light on the phone set that indicates a message is waiting.
“Bryce, it’s Linda,” says the frantic voice on the phone. “Daddy went to see the Chief. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. I told him I walked into a door, but he didn’t believe me. But, don’t worry, I promise I won’t tell anybody the truth. Please don’t be angry with me, please, Bryce?” Then, in a hushed voice she adds, “I love you, Bryce…Bye.”
Bryce chuckles to himself, and then mimics Linda. “I love you, Bryce,” he says. Dumb hick. You wouldn’t know anything about love if it jumped up and bit you in the ass! Love. Ha! His mind shifts gears, and he pictures Chief Davis. Mr. Big Shot Chief. It’s always the same, he thinks. Push a broad around a little, have some fun, and next thing you know some cop is sticking his nose in your affairs. It’d be wise to cool it with this one though; for some reason this cop seems to mean business. He’d better tell Linda to get lost. Besides, the high school is full of little tarts that would just love to be his main squeeze.
The big industrial clock on the wall tells Bryce that he has ten minutes before he has to be on the air. He wishes Linda was there now. Shit! Can’t live with ‘em; can’t live without ‘em. Well, maybe she’d show up for a little “good-bye lovin’.” Then, he’d get rid of her.