His laughter carried him out the door, leaving her to her final prep. She needed to stop being a drama queen. She’d flown solo plenty of times in the past when Dave was sick or when she filled in for vacationing deejays. She knew how to work a board, and she knew how to fill the hours on air.
“You’ll be fine,” she muttered. “You can do this.” God, was talking to herself round-the-clock her new solo-show persona?
With three minutes until airtime, she nervously clenched and released her fists a few times and reached for her headset. Before she settled it around her neck though, the greenroom door burst open and Dave marched into the studio, wordlessly pulled her out of the chair and into a tight hug, then spun around and left.
That’swhat she needed to slow down her heartbeat and boost her confidence. She was alone, but she wasn’talone, and the thought wrapped its soft, fuzzy arms around her as she queued up her opening song—“All by Myself,” natch.
She flipped on the mic, shuffled her notes, and was hit by a bolt of inspiration so stupid, so ridiculous, so oh-my-God-Brandon-will-hate-this, that every part of her recoiled. She couldn’t dothat, obviously.
But when she opened her mouth, it rolled out, unbidden. “Good afternoon, Beaucoeur! It’s Mae Bell here to take you through your commute home. As always, I’m joined by my partner, Dave.”
She let dead air sit for six seconds, about the length of time Dave would take to introduce himself and throw it back to her.
She picked up as if he had. “That’s right, Dave, itisweird to be on the air this late in the afternoon. What’s that big glowing yellow ball hovering over the horizon?”
Silence.
“Wait, Ishouldn’tlook directly at it? Well, I wish you’d warned me earlier.”
More silence.
“Hospital? I don’t think so. I’m sure this blindness is just temporary.”
And then she really committed to the bit, intentionally knocking over a stack of CDs on the desk to her left. They tumbled to the floor with an audible clatter.
“Ummm, Dave? Tell me I didn’t just knock over one of the fancy pieces of equipment that our new station owners bought us.”
Siiiiileeeence.
“Uh-oh. Guess I’d better play some Soundgarden in honor of this strange and confusing time of day.”
Mabel hit Play on “Black Hole Sun,” then leaned back in her chair, smiled, and waited for the next break.
After twenty more minutes of talking to imaginary Dave, she ducked beneath the counter, stretching the cord on her headset to the limit to rummage in her purse for some ChapStick. When she righted herself, she shrieked and grabbed her chest.
“Jesus! What if I’d been on the air?”
Brandon leaned against the doorway. “Yes, what a shame to ruin such an entertaining show.”
She yanked the cans off her head. “What the hell do you— Um, what can I do for you?” She’d been expecting him at some point, but his appearance still had her heart thundering.
He pushed off the doorframe and strolled into the small room, stopping at the cluttered counter along the far wall to poke at the big magnet that erased the now-obsolete carts the station had used for commercials once upon a time. He straightened a tottering pile of fast-food napkins on the counter, then turned to face her.
“Knock it off,” he said.
She widened her eyes.Who, me?But he just looked steadily at her as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs played in the background, warning them that heads will roll. Man, he was good at the silent rebuke thing.
She broke first, muttering like a sullen teenager, “Fine. Whatever.”
“I don’t want to hear the name Dave even one more time on your show. Clear?”
Her lips twitched as a new idea hatched in her brain. He narrowed his eyes, obviously seeing something on her face he didn’t like, but she pasted on an innocent smile and said, “I’ll stop referring to my former cohost. Promise.” She traced a dramaticXover her heart, and after one last glare, he left the booth with a scowl. Well, he should be frowning. He’d just handed her her next move.
When the song ended, Mabel was back on, this time talking in standard deejay patter, no invisible cohost this time. But she spent the next hour introducing every song she could think of with Dave in the name. The Dave Matthews Band was low-hanging fruit. Then Joan Baez’s “A Song for David,” and her personal favorite, “David Duchovny” by Bree Sharp. She had to do a deep dive into the station’s archives to come up with “Dave” by the Boomtown Rats and “David Watts” by the Kinks, but it was worth it.
It took longer than she expected, but an hour into her all-Dave rock block, Brandon appeared outside the studio window, legs planted and arms crossed.
She flashed him a delighted smile as she flipped on the mic and said, “After the break, I’ve got David Bowie’s ‘Heroes.’ Hey, do you think David Bowie ever went by Dave?”
