The moment the LIVE light goes dark above us, I can still feel my heart in my throat. Jason Dallas takes off his headphones and pushes his mic away. He looks at me with those flickering black eyes and then lowers them to the interview sheet.
“My treat,” he says, winking, “for not asking the questions everyone wanted.”
“But you . . . but it . . . ,” I blunder as he slides back his roller chair and leaves the room. His publicity agent rushes to his side, grabs him by the shoulders, and shakes him one good time. She’s furious, I can tell, but then her face crumbles and she hugs him like friends do, and he brings his arms up briefly to return the hug, burrowing his face into her shoulder.
He’s gay. There were always rumors, but I didn’t think he’d ever say it. His entertainment agency tried to squash those rumors over and over again.
But he just gave his agency a middle finger, didn’t he?
LD squeezes past Jason and his publicity agent, and hurries into the studio. “That was amazing!” she cries. “You were amazing! You were everything. Everything and more.”
“Yeah,” I reply, still stunned. “An all-expenses paid trip for Dark.”
“Yeah—you might actually get to meet him after all!”
“But . . . what if he . . . if he doesn’t . . .”
“Hey, he could call in two hours.”
“He could,” I reply, but I’m not sure he will. My stomach is rolling with all the nerves and sickness. I might meet Dark and I just got an interview no one else could. I just got an answer.
I just—
“You were supposed to stick to the interview!” Rooney Quills barks, marching into the studio behind LD. I scramble to my feet. I’m not going to die sitting down. “You had them right there! In front of you! And you go off script! I don’t know what they teach you in Nebraska but . . .”
He stops in front of me and puts his hands on his hips, glaring at me with gray eyes that remind me of cold cuts left in the freezer too long. “I . . . um. . .” I swallow the knot in my throat. “I didn’t like those questions. They were lowballs.”
“Of course they were!”
“I couldn’t ask them. They were terrible.”
He tilts his head. “You run a radio show, you said?”
“Yeah, a midnight call-in.”
“Going to college?”
“No.”
“Shame.” He looks down at his shoes, and then back at me. “You need a job?”
My mouth falls open. “What?”
“I got an internship spot open, didn’t know if you heard. I’m looking to fill it. What do you say? You wouldn’t be pulling that shit again”—he nods to the mic, and the interview questions flipped down—“but you got a good head on your shoulders, and you got a good eye for content. I can see that. And I like it. So, what do you say?”
“I . . . ah . . .” I purse my lips, remembering the interview. “Can I think on it?”
“Think on it!” He seems floored. I’m sure people haven’t said no to him in a long, long time. His gray eyebrows scrunch together like caterpillars kissing, and then he breaks out into a laugh. “All right! All right. Think on it. You have until tomorrow—then it’s going to the guy with the beard,” he adds, not waiting for me to come to a decision, then leaves the sound booth. When he’s gone, LD and I exchange a silent look before we both clamp onto each other’s hands and scream for bloody, unconditional, blessed-be joy.
I got the internship. I got it!
By being me.