I raise an eyebrow.
“On-air tension is the lifeblood of talk radio,” I say.
As she hears Dr. Harris’s words, Nova’s smile is sweet. When we’re on the air, Nova and I communicate through hand signals and our talkback microphone. Unless Nova chooses to open the talkback for the guest, I’m the only one who can hear her. Tonight she’s decided not to share with Dr. Harris. Nova’s voice on the talkback is amused.
“FYI, Charlie, Dr. Harris tells me that people from an unnamed network are listening to our show tonight. Dr. Harris is on the short list for a call-in show of her own. My guess is she doesn’t want Gabriel Ireland getting through because he might put her off her game.”
“O-kay,” I say.
“There’s an introduction on your computer screen,” Nova says. She holds up five fingers and counts down. “And you’re on the air.”
Our theme music, “Ants Marching” by the Dave Matthews Band, comes up. When the music fades, it’s my turn. Like everyone in my business, I’ve created a voice that works for my audience. My radio voice is soothing, deep and intimate, but tonight I take it down a few notches and open with the sepulchral tones of the villain in a horror movie.
“Good evening. I’m Charlie Dowhanuik and you are listening to ‘The World According to Charlie D.’ It’s October thirty-first, the Day of the Dead, and our topic is-DEATH! How do you see it? A bony guy carrying a scythe rasping out your name, or a heavenly choir robed in white calling you home? Do you fear it? Do you welcome it? What do you think about the way we, as a society, handle death? Where do you stand on funerals- do you want to be torched and scattered to the four winds, or do you want the full meal deal with incense, prayers and all the bells and whistles. Our lines are open. Give me a call at 1-800-555-2333 or email me at charlie d at nation tv dot com.
“I’m joined tonight by Dr. Robin Harris, medical doctor, sociologist and expert in the arts of dying and grieving. Welcome, Dr. Harris.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Charlie D.” The warmth and fullness of her voice are extraordinary. The network guys for whom she’s auditioning must be creaming their jeans. She adjusts her notes. “The questions you raise are complex, and as a thanatologist, I believe I can contribute specialized knowledge that will be helpful to your listeners.”
“We’re in your debt,” I say. “Now tell me, in words that make sense to us all, what exactly does a thanatologist do?”
“In words that make sense to your audience, I study how people in varying cultures at varying times have dealt with death. I believe there are lessons there that can help people on the most vulnerable days of their lives.”
“And those days would be…?”
“The day when they themselves are about to die or when they learn that someone significant in their life has died.”
I remember the exact moment when I heard that my golden, glowing Ariel had died. She was twenty-eight years old. When she was thirteen, she made a tablecloth out of midnight blue velvet and appliquéd it with gold and silver satin cut-outs of suns, moons, stars, buds, blossoms, fruits, birds, fish and animals. Ariel’s world encompassed everything, and then she was gone. We used the cloth she sewed to cover the box that held her ashes. Suddenly I can’t speak. Through the glass that separates us, I see Nova’s worried eyes and the quarter smile that she offers when I need encouragement.
CHAPTER THREE
On talk radio, dead air is the enemy. Spotting her chance, Doctor Harris leans in to her microphone. People from the unnamed network are listening, assessing how Dr. Harris can handle situations on air. But people for whom I am a lifeline are also listening. I failed them once before. I’m not going to let it happen again. I dig deep for my cool and commanding voice, and it’s there.
“So you deal with people who are about to die or people who’ve just lost someone they love,” I say. “Heavy stuff.”
Dr. Har ris’s laugh is warm and self-deprecating.
“Heavy stuff indeed, but I teach people how to do the heavy lifting.”
“You make it sound so easy-like doing push-ups.”
“Handling death is like doing push-ups,” she says smoothly. “At first you think you can’t get past your weakness, but if you persist, every day you get stronger. You simply have to show your grief that you’re its master.”
Everything about Robin Harris is without flaw. Her profile is classic; the lines of her neck are graceful; the deep plum polish on the perfect ovals of her fingernails matches the gloss on her lips. As she utters her insights, her voice is certain. I think of my listeners, broken and vulnerable, and of me, broken and vulnerable too.
“Where were you when I needed you?” I say.
Her green eyes meet mine.
“You lost someone?”
“Yup.”
“And…?”
“And…I’ll never touch her body again, or smell the fragrance of her skin or hear her voice. I’m like Eurydice in the underworld when she stretches out her arms to Orpheus, struggling to be grasped and to grasp him…” My voice breaks.
Nova’s voice comes through the talkback.
“Want me to go to music?”
I shake my head.
“And catches fleeting air,” Dr. Harris says. “I’m familiar with the story. Incidentally, Orpheus didn’t have to lose Eurydice. He could have carried her back from the underworld if he’d honored his promise not to look at her.”
“His fault,” I say.
“Most of our suffering is self-induced,” Dr. Harris says coolly. “We have to be strong enough to face that. And move on.”
“That would be a trick,” I say. “I’m sure Orpheus would have benef ited from your counsel, Dr. Harris-I’m sure you would have saved the day.”
Nova runs a finger across her throat, indicating that I should stick a sock in it.
“I’m going to music,” she says through the talkback. “Info’s on your computer screen. Then we’ll take a caller.” She pauses. “Don’t let her draw you in, Charlie. We’ll get through this. Lunch tomorrow is on me.”
I read Nova’s notes announcing “Manhã de Carnaval” from Black Orpheus. The music comes up and I meet Dr. Harris’s eyes. “This is certainly going well,” I say.
“I don’t like your tone,” she says.
“Neither do I,” I say. “Unfortunately, it’s the only tone I have.”
I open the talkback, so I’m certain Nova hears the conversation. “Dr. Harris, why don’t you and I park our egos and get on with this? When you have your own show-and I’m sure you will-the spotlight will be on you. ‘The World According to Charlie D’ focuses on our callers. You and I got off to a bad start tonight. Let’s just chill and listen to the music. When it’s over, we’ll start taking calls. Any questions?”
“None that you could answer,” she says. The melody has gone from her voice.
Until the music ends, Dr. Harris shuffles through her notes, and I watch her shuffle. We’re like two people on the world’s worst blind date. Nova peers at us over her wire-rimmed reading glasses and bites her nails. She’s a committed nail-chewer and, lovely as she is, her hands look like a nervous six-year-old’s. “And we’re back,” she says finally.
I turn on my microphone. “That was ‘Manhã de Carnaval’ from the original sound track for the film Black Orpheus. I’m Charlie Dowhanuik, and you are listening to ‘The World According to Charlie D.’ Our topic on this Halloween night is the big D. Death. So how do you see ‘being defunct’? One of these days all of us will head for the last roundup. Yippee ai oh kay ay. Are you ready to saddle up? Made your will? Filled out your donor card? Made peace with your enemies? Made peace with yourself? Give us a call at 1-800-555-2333. Let us know what you’ve done to prepare for the moment when you shake hands with Mr. Death.