Commitment Issues (26 page)

An engineer had come in when I was a disc jockey a billion years ago. We had CD players for the music, and the on-off switch was a rocker switch. The CD was open to the air for disc jockeys that could do party mixes on the fly. I can't do that kind of thing, but it was the kind of CD decks that we had. So this engineer came in and started tearing into one of my two decks. Without any warning, he just took half of my music gear offline. Yikes! You have to love live radio.

"Excuse me?” I said. “What are you doing?"

"I have to replace the light bulb,” he said.

"Why?"

"So you can tell me when the CD is on."

"Looking at the CD to see if it's spinning.... I guess that is completely out of the question."

He took at least a half an hour to replace the bulb, mainly because it wasn't a bulb. It was an LED, and it didn't light up because one of the wires was broken. Equipment in a radio station has to be industrial strength to last more than a month, and these CD decks were several years old.

So I got to run a half an hour with one deck, and we were supposed to do back-to-back music for twenty minutes of that half-hour. It wasn't going to happen, and I didn't care how pissy the program director got with me. I was hoping he heard me break format. I was really hoping the hotline phone would ring. I could explain all about the rocker switch on the CD deck, and how having the light work was more important than his carefully hewn format. I did song-commercial-song-promo-song-PSA-song. I couldn't throw in a weather forecast because I needed my eyes and both hands. I know DJs who could have loaded up a CD while reciting the Declaration of Independence in French, but I'm not one of them. Give me a mic, and I'll make good sounds. Give me buttons to push, and I'm a complete idiot. Nowadays I'm an idiot who is out of practice because I've been spoiled by having a good engineer back home.

That was back home. Not in... where was I? Wisconsin somewhere.

I tried the headphones and looked at the numbers on the VU meter. The soundboard was all electronic. It wasn't big or fancy, but it would certainly do. They really had spent more coins on the microphone than the rest of the equipment combined. The ribbon mic made me sound deep and smooth. I tried to make the mic pop without trying to smash the ribbon, but the foam inside the shaft was good enough. I didn't need the headphones, so I just took them off.

I put the script up on the stand—wait. I put my headphones back on and turned the page in the script. I couldn't hear any paper noise in my ear. Perfect. I scanned the script once more, mainly to see if there were any changes that I needed to make. I checked the page numbers.

Oh, thought of something
.

"Be right back, kids,” I said as I left the production room. There was an ON THE AIR light, so that must be the main studio. The light went off in just a second, so I pulled the door open.

"Did I forget something?” he said.

"No, you're great, and the equipment is better than I'm used to. I just wanted to see if there was any huge news today."

"Not really,” he said. “Typical Sunday, and I don't see anything on the horizon. You're safe."

"Thanks,” I said as I walked back to the production room.

"Mic taste, tasting one, two, and three,” I said with a big slurping sound that made Mason giggle a little. I was looking at the LED-volume thingy wiggling to each syllable. I held my hand up, fingers out. I found the clock on the far wall. It was one with a second hand.
It doesn't get better than this.
I scribbled the added minutes to the current time and found the time I should be finished. I wrote it on the last page of the script. Twenty seconds until the start of a new minute. Ten seconds. I held my palm up again and counted five... four fingers... three fingers... two... and I pointed to myself. I saw Mason laughing out of the corner of my eye.

... Hello, America. This is Sean Roberts, reporting today from Baraboo, Wisconsin. Gorgeous countryside here. We're outside of Madison. Baraboo is the home of the Ringling Brothers Circus, and I think you are more likely to find a carnie there than here in the stunning beauty of Wisconsin....

I went on to read Janie's script. It is always full of politics, and it makes no pretense of being hard news. My gig is a lighthearted, left-of-center commentary. I think it is the only national show that isn't way off on the lunatic right. My comments about Baraboo weren't in the script. I do that sometimes. Janie had the chance to edit me if she wanted. My check cashed either way, so I didn't officially care.

... So the Vatican says ordaining women to the priesthood is no better than pedophilia. Women no better than pedophilia. Some say they're glad the Pope is finally talking about something he knows about. Yes, your Potiness—

And that was the sound of the announcer's telephone.

"Sorry, Ronny,” I said into the microphone as I hit the red button to stop the ringing. “Sorry, I guess there's an extra edit. I'm just going to pick back up at a clean break, in five, four, three, two...."

... Yes, your Potiness, I can confirm that the kettle is truly black. Thanks again to Rob and all the folks here in Baraboo, Wisconsin. I'm up here to attend a funeral, you know, but the last-minute and sad trip showed me what a great job I have. Working in radio is like working in a big family, and it lets me meet such nice people. Rob and everyone at the station in Baraboo opened their doors for us. They welcomed us like we were a cousin they hadn't seen for a few years. Call me sappy, but it's great when this newscaster gets to report on something that doesn't involve crooked politicians and greedy corporations and terrorists. I want you and Rob and everybody to know that I noticed their warmth and kindness. Thanks to everybody here. Yeah, Boss, this is a shout-out, and I'm not supposed to do shout-outs. This one's a big deal. I want you and everybody to know how grateful I am to be part of this big radio family in Baraboo and all around the country. That's Perspective America from Wisconsin. I'm Sean Roberts....

I let the recording continue for a few seconds, then stopped the recording, and went to get Rob. He was into a Little League baseball game, so he had to keep one ear to the speaker to catch any station breaks. Kids playing baseball on a radio station! Small towns must really be a trip. The announcer said they were past due on a ninety-second break. He came and checked the first few seconds of the recording.

"Sounds awesome,” he bubbled.

"Thanks, it's mainly your equipment. I love the ribbon mic."

"I wish I could make it dance like you,” he said. “Okay, I will get it back to your engineer before I leave."

"Thanks."

I started to say we would let ourselves out, but he heard the beginning of his network cue and took off running. I guess when you are in a small radio station, it's almost as good as a cardio session at a gym. Run here, run there, run, run, run.

Debbie woke up her littlest girl. Mason and the middle girl were up and ready to go. The crumb-crusher didn't want to wake up. She stretched and rubbed her eyes.

"Come on, monsters,” Debbie told them. “We got grandmothers to go terrorize."

"Cool,” Mason said. “I'll get my lizard, unless you think I should use the frog instead. Frogs cause warts, don't they?"

"Are you really going to get in trouble for that whatever-it-was at the end?"

"Shout-out,” I said. “Naw, it'll be okay. Adds to the ambiance. If anybody has issues with anything, they can edit it out before it goes out."

"I thought it was beautiful,” Debbie said.

"Thanks."

"You made Rob's day, you know,” Debbie said.

"I know,” I winked. “Yeah, I know."

We were halfway back to the city in Debbie's minivan when my phone rang again. I had forgotten to check my voicemail.

"Hey, Agent Iacocca,” I said. My caller ID told me it was the FBI agent from back home.

"What's going on up there?"

"Recorded my show just now, but that's about—"

"You don't know, then?” he said.

"Know what?"

"Another bomb,” he said.

"Where?"

"I think it was thrown into the home of Wyatt's father, but I'm not sure. Where are you?"

"Oh my God,” I screamed. “Was anybody hurt?"

"Where are you, Sean?” he said calmly.

"Minivan on a road back into Madison,” I said. The conversation had Debbie's undivided attention at this point. She was pulling over to exit the freeway at the first opportunity.

"Officer was reported down,” Iacocca said. “Officer missing was another report. Okay, I need you to go somewhere, but not back to the house."

"What about Wyatt?"

"No news, so that's good. An elderly woman was taken to the hospital, but that's the only injury I know."

"Toomas?"

"Not on any report."

"That's Wyatt's brother, but you think you'd know if he was hurt?"

"I don't know anything, Sean,” he said. “I'm headed to the airport right now. The Bureau is flying me up there. I will see you in a few hours, and we'll get everything fixed that can be fixed. Okay?"

"No, not okay,” I cried into the phone. “What am I supposed to do right now?"

That wasn't exactly what I wanted to say, but I had things together enough to remember that there were kids in earshot of my conversation.

"Elderly woman was hurt in the explosion, and one officer was reported down. Either the same officer is missing or another one is missing. I got nothing else, but you can't go anywhere close to the house, Sean."

"I—"

"Sean, I mean it,” he said.

"Okay, but I want to hear about Wyatt and Toomas. Can you find out before your jet leaves? If you tell me they're okay, I'll go somewhere. I have Toomas's wife and kids with me. Tell me my husband is safe, Mario. I can't... I mean...."

"I'll do what I can, Sean,” he said firmly. He didn't raise his voice, but I knew he was serious.

Debbie had the minivan off the freeway and in the parking lot of a grocery store.

"Can I talk?” I asked, nodding toward the back of the van.

"Yeah, you just tell me what's going on,” she said. I looked back and saw Mason looking scared.

"I don't have any news about your dad,” I told him. “That was the FBI on the phone, and they say that no news means he's okay."

"What happened?” Mason asked with a look that told me he was afraid.

"Bomb,” I said. “Somebody threw a bomb into your grandmother's house. I know your grandmother is hurt, and she was taken to a hospital. You know that FBI agent who has been hanging around?"

Debbie nodded.

"She was hurt, and there are reports of an officer being missing. My FBI contact doesn't know if the agent who was hurt is now missing. He's finding out details and is going to call back. He says it isn't safe to go there, and we probably shouldn't go to your house either."

"I wanna go home, Mommy,” the middle girl said.

"So do I, Cathy,” Debbie said. That meant the smallest girl was Anna, by the process of elimination.

"Did you test your blood?” Mason asked, apparently used to being the older brother.

"I didn't bring my stuff,” Cathy said.

"Cathy, we can't go buy you another insulin meter every time you forget yours. Do you have anything?"

"No, Mommy,” she said as she started crying. “I don't like ‘beeteez. I hate it. Why did you let me get it?"

"Nobody's fault, Cathy,” Mason said quietly. “It just happens. You got diabetes. I'm gay. Mommy is left-handed. We're all different."

"I don't wanna be different,” Cathy cried. “I wanna be gay and left-handed."

"If any girls want to kiss me,” Mason said, “I'll send them to you. ‘Kay?"

"Gross,” Cathy said.

Debbie drove the minivan to the grocery store. It had a sign that said Pharmacy in bright letters.

"I guess we restock the Nelson pharmacy,” she said, shaking her head. Everyone was tense from the news of the bombing at Mrs. Nelson's home. Debbie was worried about her husband, and I was worried about Wyatt.

"Does she forget her supplies often?"

She nodded.

"Can't we turn around and go back to get everything?” Mason said. “Can't we do that?"

"Not this time, Mason,” I said as Debbie parked the minivan.

"Some birthday,” Mason said.

"I know, dear,” Debbie said. “Nobody counted on a bombing. We'll celebrate properly later."

I could tell Mason wasn't really happy. Debbie left the engine running as she went inside to shop. I would have volunteered, but I had no clue what the girl needed. I guessed that I was going to get a quick lesson in diabetes.

"Birthday?” I said to Mason.

"Yup, that's what they tell me. I don't remember being born, so I have to take their word for it.” He sounded almost bitter, but he knew it wasn't his parents’ fault. I guess it was hard for a teenager to let somebody else be the center of attention on a day that was supposed to be his special day. The kid wanted to lash out but knew he couldn't. It's tough being a kid. I don't miss it.

"How many years?” I asked.

"Sixteen,” he said. “Still below the age of consent in Wisconsin."

"Sex isn't everything, Mason,” I said. “Do I need to give you Uncle Sean's lecture about condoms and disease?"

"No, I'm good,” Mason said with a pout.

"Dating anyone?"

"Nosy,” he said, and his pout was back.

"Sorry,” I laughed, “but I think it's neat that you can date. I had to sneak around and hide when I was a kid."

"Twenty-first century, Uncle Sean,” Mason said. “But if I date somebody who's eighteen, they can be sent to jail. You can boink whoever you want to boink."

"I only boink your uncle."

"I thought he boinked you,” he said. Did the kid have hidden cameras? They don't make sixteen-year-old boys the way they made them when I was that age, and it wasn't that long ago.

"There's plenty of time for you,” I laughed, ignoring his prodding.

"Tell that to my hormones,” Mason said, and it made me laugh that a kid would be so smart about that kind of thing.

"Play safe, Mason,” I said.

"Of course, Auntie Sean,” Mason said as he batted his eyes at me. “It isn't like I get much chance to play, safe or otherwise. Dad won't let me do sleepovers with nobody."