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Mr. Saturday Night

Plowing through emails on a Saturday night during the 8-12 shift. Fan mail, fan mail, hmm...story, office missive, another office missive (delete first and last 2, read story when, ahem, hands are free).

*Shit, show's back. Banter, banter, Lakers beat Mavs 105-86, whoosh, applause sound, hit button for commercial. 15 minutes to go. And in walks...with the sound engineer.*

He's showing her the sound board. She looks interested, but way too hot for radio. She's putting on the headphones. And staring at me. I meet her stare. She's pointing at me. I point back, goofily, smiling.

*Dead air! Close up the show, ASAP!" And...done. I looked back, and I'm alone in the studio. But her purse is lying near the board. Time to go down to the bar.

"Hey!" She was waving me over. This woman was hot. A red torrent of curls, curves from here to San Antonio, in a teeny white dress & heels.

"Hey." She was half-way into some colorful drink. I made sure she had a refill about 10 minutes later.

...

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