Cammie

I swiped my employee badge at the building entrance before hearing the lock unclick. It tended to be chilly at this time of the morning, even in LA, and I didn’t like standing out in the dark all alone for too long so I hurried inside, taking a quick glance behind me to make sure no one else tried to sneak in. Taking a sip from my gas station coffee—even Starbucks wasn’t open at this ungodly hour—I walked toward the bank of elevators. Sliding my badge again, I was greeted by the sound of the motor whirring to life before a set of doors opened with a loud ding that echoed in the otherwise empty lobby.

Once upstairs on the eighth floor, I pulled out an actual key and slipped it into the back door lock. The hallway lights turned on as I neared, creating a lighted pathway in front of me. Once I reached my desk, I tossed my belongings inside one of the filing cabinet drawers and heard my name being shouted from an office down the hall. We had one hour before the guys were scheduled to start their morning radio show, and this was when we always went over the material and made sure we had everything we needed for the day’s guests, if we had any coming in.

I was usually tasked with researching the latest celebrity gossip to find interesting headlines from around the world for the DJs to report on, chat about, and/or engage the listeners by making a contest out of it. Grabbing my notepad and a pen, I walked down the hall, peeking into various offices until I found them.

I first started working at the radio station right after college, interning for a full year before getting a paid position in the promotions department. Since then, I’d spent the last six years working my way through different divisions until I was finally hired on with the morning show after a coveted opening became available. My goal had always been to produce either a morning or an evening radio show, since those were the two most popular time slots at any station.

I’d been the assistant producer for the last eight months, and aside from waking up at freaking dawn, an hour no one in their right mind should ever be awake for, I loved pretty much everything about this job. John and Tom were the DJs, both in their midforties, married with kids, and had been waking up Los Angeles since I was in junior high school. A fact I enjoyed reminding them of because it made them feel old, and it was one of the few things I could actually tease them about and get away with. While John was the one who tended to push the envelope and asked the tough questions, Tom tended to wait cautiously in the background, either laughing or jumping in to smooth over any wrinkles John created.

“Morning, Cammie,” the guys said in unison as I entered John’s office. Tom, John, and my direct boss, Scott, all looked up at me as I walked in.

“Hi. So, what have we got today?” I sat down and jumped right in, readying my pen over my notepad.

“We have Bronson coming in for the commute.” Scott stared down at a printed checklist as he asked, “Cammie, did you order the fruit plate, the special juices, and the bagels?”

Bronson was an up-and-coming singer, and teenage girls who sneaked out of school would be lining up around the building just to catch a glimpse of him.

“I did. Everything should arrive by seven thirty, and I’ll set it up in the green room.”

We called our holding room the green room because it was literally painted green and looked like something out of The Jungle Book, with more plants than any one room should ever hold. It was furnished simply with a sage-green L-shaped couch, an oversized table, and a bookshelf overflowing with compact discs, something we didn’t even use anymore. All the compact disc players were kept in storage since everything was converted electronically and run via computers. We couldn’t even give them away to listeners because they didn’t have a way to play the damn things.

Scott nodded. “Sounds great. Make sure the camera’s working in the main booth so we can upload pictures to social media while we’re interviewing him. And we’ll be having a contest to win front-row seats to his concert next Friday, so be prepared for the phones to blow up.” He looked down and scribbled notes on the checklist he held.

“Got it,” I said with a smile.

“I heard that Crineene got kicked out of a club last night after getting into a fistfight with her boyfriend. A fistfight,” Tom said with a grin. “Make sure you find that story.”

“Awesome.” I smirked as I shook my head.

The meeting ended and I headed back to my computer, reading and printing up stories about celebrities that had happened overnight, including Crineene’s incident. On the one hand, I was thankful that there was enough drama to fill the three entertainment segments during the show, but on the other I wondered how the hell all that had happened in the span of twenty-four hours.

This was exactly why I had no interest in dating a musician or someone in the business. That entire scene didn’t interest me outside of this radio station. I loved my job and it was fun to meet the people whose music I enjoyed, but that was as far as I took it.

In college I dated a drummer for a local band that ended up getting a record deal. The experience pretty much cured me of any future crushes I might have on boys who sang or played instruments. It didn’t take me long to catch on that most of those guys had a problem staying faithful, expecting their girlfriends to overlook any indiscretions because girls were constantly throwing themselves at their feet.

“You can’t expect me to resist that kind of temptation every night, babe. It’s not like I like them the way I like you. I mean, you understand, right?”

No, I didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to.

Realizing that I’d had more than enough craziness in my life, I found myself craving normalcy when it came to the opposite sex. Problem was, I had no idea where to find said normalcy since celebrities and people in the radio business were the only people I tended to associate with during my waking hours.

To be fair, the majority of those guys weren’t interested in dating me either. Most of them wanted girls who liked to go out all the time—the kind of eye candy who enjoyed being seen, causing a scene, and doing bad things. I wasn’t that kind of girl, and as soon as they found out that I’d rather be at home in my pajamas than at a party in the Hollywood Hills, they seemed to lose any interest they might have had.

The truth was that being required to attend VIP parties, concerts, private events at clubs and bars for work made me not want to hang out at any of those places outside of work. I wanted to spend my days off binge-watching my favorite TV shows on my DVR and catching up on sleep. And when my best friend, Kristy, called every Saturday afternoon and begged me to go out with her that night so she could blow off steam, I usually compromised by agreeing to have dinner with her somewhere fun. It was the best I could do.

During the show, I sat outside in the control room and listened in on the guys as they sat in front of the mics in the on-air booth and talked effortlessly to the general Los Angeles area. They had moved on to a segment about worst first dates, and I was manning the phones.

“Tom and John in the Morning,” I said automatically as I answered the phone.

“Oh, hi!” The female voice responded slowly, almost stuttering, as if caught off guard. She sounded nervous, which was pretty standard in my experience.

“Hi.” I hesitated, wondering how much I would need to probe her about why she called in the first place.

“I was calling about the worst-first-date stories they were talking about.” She giggled into the phone, and I found myself smiling too.

“Awesome. Okay, give me the quick version,” I said.

Working for the number-one rated radio morning show meant that one of my jobs was to screen the callers before we put them on the air. Someone needed to make sure the listener wasn’t going to screw up the show, be vulgar, or say things that had nothing to do with what the guys were currently talking about.

I also needed to make sure the story didn’t suck. If the caller couldn’t get through their own words without stumbling, I would politely thank them for their call before telling them we had moved on from that segment. It was usually a lie, but it was my job to keep the show flowing and ensure the callers were contributing something relatable, or at the least, entertaining.

The woman, who identified herself as Monica, told me all about her horrible first date back in college where the guy was only using her to get to her roommate, and couldn’t even fake being interested in her for more than twenty minutes. It was perfect. Poor thing.

“Okay, Monica, I’m going to put you on hold. The guys will be with you in a minute. Try not to cuss, and make sure you turn your radio all the way down while you’re on the phone with them, okay?”

Most of the callers didn’t follow my instructions about turning the radio down on their end. They ended up live and on the air with an echo that reverberated through their car speakers and everyone else’s. Hearing their own voice talk to them over the radio seconds after they had already said the words caused most people to stutter and become confused. The DJs would normally yell at that point for them to turn their volume down before giving me a glare, like I didn’t do my job.

“Okay. Turn it down? How will I hear?” she asked, confused.

“You’ll hear the station through your phone. There’s a five-second delay, so if you keep your radio on there will be all sorts of feedback, and it usually messes people up.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense.”

“All right, I’m going to place you on hold.”

I quickly typed Monica’s information into the computer that transmitted the info to the DJs in the other room. Anything I typed would show up on the screen in front of them.

“Monica, age 22—first date with a guy who was using her just to get to her roommate! asshole!”

Peering through the window that divided the on-air booth from the control room where I sat most mornings, I was excited to watch the guys talk to her. This kind of call was right up their alley. Tom read the screen first before glancing out at me, and made a funny face. I threw my hands up in the air in response and made a disgusted face, signaling that Monica’s date was a complete tool.

“Cammie! Cammie, get in here.”

Hearing my name, I snapped my gaze from the notepad I was currently doodling on. I looked through the window and into the booth where Tom and John sat staring at me. They did this to me on most mornings, included me in the show. The guys constantly needed material and I usually took the bait, volunteering to do crazy stunts, taking embarrassing photos for blog fodder, talking about the fact that I was still single, which was something they loved to bring up every chance they got. They tried to marry me off to practically every guest that stopped by. It never helped that the majority of them were musicians and singers, which meant we tended to be mutually not interested in each other.

“She’s not moving,” John said into the microphone, and his voice echoed in the speakers that surrounded me.

“I think she hates us,” Tom added with a smirk.

“She definitely hates us. Cammie, why do you hate us? Get in here!” John yelled again, and I begrudgingly pushed away from the desk and walked into the messy room.

Empty cans of soda and coffee cups were scattered over the tables and desks. A whiteboard was covered with scribbled notes of daily contests and upcoming guests that each DJ was to promote during their show, surrounded by opened bags of cookies and half-eaten doughnuts. It was a disaster area, to say the least, a place clearly run by men. Or not enough women.

Reaching for the spare pair of headphones, I slipped them over my ears and sat down at the lone microphone across from the guys that was usually reserved for guests. I found myself sitting there far too often.

“Hi, Cammie,” John said, trying to sound sweet, as if he hadn’t brought me in here to humiliate me.

“Hi, John.” I rolled my eyes and wondered exactly what they had been talking about before calling me in. I suddenly wished I’d been paying better attention.

“We were just wondering if you had a horrible first date story?”

It was all I could do not to sigh with relief that they were still on this topic. Not that I had a story, but this topic was a lot tamer than most conversations they included me in. I only had one hard-and-fast rule for the show: my family was off limits. The guys weren’t allowed to talk about my mom or my dad unless I offered, which I never planned to. Everything else in my life and my past was up for radio fodder if they wanted.

“Actually, I don’t,” I said, hoping they wouldn’t be upset with me later for being so boring. “I think all my first dates were pretty normal.”

To be honest, this was the only part of my job that made me uncomfortable. I didn’t mind being put on the spot occasionally, but I hated when I honestly had nothing to contribute and they expected me to make something up. Tom and John often encouraged me to lie, to wing it for the sake of the show, but I had always been a terrible liar, and we quickly found out that I couldn’t do it when they tried to force me. I would stumble and forget what I had just said. Basically, I was a disaster, and it didn’t make for good radio.

“Fine,” John said with an evil smile. “If you won’t tell us about a bad first date, then we’ll talk about high school.”

I almost choked on my own spit. “High school? What about it?” Heat filled my entire body as I attempted to fight back the rush of pure adrenaline that always came from speaking live to the hundreds of thousands of people who listened each morning.

Tom nodded, his eyes gleaming. “A little birdie told us that your ten-year reunion is happening this weekend. Are you going?”

Damn it. How’d they find out about that?

My mind instantly flashed to the two guys I associated with my high school days, my father and Dalton, and my stomach turned at the thought of them both but for different reasons. As I silently wondered which of my coworkers had ratted me out, John cleared his throat impatiently, forcing me to answer.

“Yeah, I’m going. Of course,” I said, as if there was any other choice in the matter.

They both oohed and aahed like immature teenage boys. “Hoping to see a special someone, Cammie?” Tom asked, his over-whitened teeth practically blinding me as he smiled.

My cheeks warmed and I knew I was blushing. I wished I could stop it because the moment they saw that happening, they’d attack me like sharks circling their prey. Anything for a good show, especially if it meant embarrassing me.

“Oh, she’s blushing! Look at her cheeks!” Tom yelled as John jumped in. “Okay, Cammie, no one turns that shade of red if there isn’t a story to tell. Tell us! Who is he?”

“Am I red? I’m not red, am I?” I sputtered, attempting to bullshit my way out of this uncomfortable topic. “I’m just excited to see everyone! I swear,” I lied, and prayed they wouldn’t call me on it.

“There isn’t one guy that you’re hoping will be there?”

“You didn’t have a crush on anyone back in high school?”

I averted my eyes, trying to keep what little secrets I still had to myself. “Nope. I didn’t even really date in high school.” That statement was the truth, and I found myself growing more nervous with each second that passed.

“I think you’re lying, Cammie,” Tom teased.

John nodded. “She’s definitely lying, Tom.”

“I swear! I was more hung up on boys in bands than I was on boys I actually went to school with.” That wasn’t an entire lie. I did have a crush on one guy from a boy band for most of my teenage years. Who didn’t?

“Maybe someone from Cammie’s high school can call in and tell us who you think she’s excited to see,” Tom suggested. “’Cause there’s definitely something she’s not telling us!”

I sucked in a quick breath, but then remembered that no one from high school knew about me and Dalton. Except my best friend, Kristy, and she’d never throw me under the bus by calling in to the show.

“No one’s going to call because there’s nothing to tell.”

I said the words, praying they’d be true as I stared at the phone line buttons, watching all of them flashing simultaneously. Glancing out the divider window, I noted an intern sitting at my seat, fielding the phone calls in my absence. He didn’t look particularly enthused, so I figured none of the calls coming in were about me.

The guys bantered back and forth, the conversation flowing effortlessly between them due to years of working together. They quickly moved from “worst first dates” to “high school crushes.”

“What about you, John? Did you have a crush on someone in high school?” Tom asked, as if he didn’t know the answer.

“Uh, yeah. I married her, dummy,” John said sarcastically, because anyone who was a regular listener already knew that he was married to his high school sweetheart.

“Lucky bastard,” Tom whispered into the mic. “Enough about John, we want to hear all about your high school love, or obsession, or reveal your crush with us on the air. Call us or text us with your stories.”

“But let’s get back to Cammie.” John looked up at the computer screen and his eyes lit up. “Uh-oh, hold on a second. We have a caller from your high school on the line. Hello, Debbie, are you there?”

Crap.

“I’m here,” a girl said with a giggle, and I narrowed my eyes, trying to place the name with a face from my high school years.

“Okay, Debbie, did you go to school with Cammie?”

More giggling. “Uh-huh.”

“All right.” John lifted his eyebrows and mouthed wow at me, but I was too busy freaking out. “So, are you going to the reunion this weekend?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything! I can’t wait!” she practically screamed into the phone.

“Sounds like you’re excited to see a special someone too. But, Debbie, let me ask you this. Who do you think Cammie is dying to see there?”

“I think she’s excited to see David Lampson. I know I am,” she said breathily, and I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped.

“Ooh, is that him? Are you excited to see David Lampson?” All eyes turned to stare at me.

“No! I mean, no offense, David, if you’re listening, but not really. He wasn’t my type.”

David was definitely all looks and no brains, which had always been a turnoff to me. I liked good-looking guys as much as the next girl, but I needed more than just a pretty face. Call me crazy.

“Any other guesses, Debbie?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I don’t remember Cammie dating anyone, but she did hang out with the baseball team and stuff, so maybe it’s one of them?”

“Thanks for the call, Debbie.” John pressed a button, disconnecting her. “Have fun tomorrow,” he continued, speaking as if she were still on the line. “So, Cammie. The baseball team?”

“I hung out with the guys on the team because I played softball. All the girls did. It was like a sports bonding thing.”

“Oh, I bet you bonded, all right,” Tom added.

“Seriously?” I shot back, feeling ridiculous.

“Just tell us who it is,” he insisted, and I knew they weren’t going to give up anytime soon. “Or at least admit that there’s someone you want to see.”

I glared across the desk at them. “Fine.”

“I knew it! There is someone you can’t wait to see!” Tom shouted, his hands waving in the air.

I shrugged and said noncommittally, “There might be someone.”

“Does he know?” John asked.

“Does he know what?” I smirked, wanting to make the guys work for any information I would be forced to reveal.

John gave me a frustrated glare, urging me to play along. “Does he know that you can’t wait to see him. And that you love him?”

“I do not love him.” I breathed into the microphone, already exasperated with this conversation. “And no, he probably has no idea. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about me,” I admitted, the small truth escaping from my betraying mouth.

Tom shook his head wildly. “No way! Any guy who could forget about you is an idiot, Cammie.”

“Yeah,” John chimed in. “I’d be counting down the days until I could see you again.”

“Ten years is a lot of days to count,” I said with a smile.

“I don’t know about you, John, but I want to hear about this guy. What’s he doing now?”

My heart raced as beads of sweat formed on unmentionable parts of my body. “I don’t know what he’s doing now. I don’t even know if he’ll be there or not.”

“You didn’t keep in touch over the years?” John prodded.

“Nope.”

“You’re hopeless, girl.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Let’s look him up online. What’s his name?” Tom winked, and I felt my face completely drop as I stayed silent.

John’s face brightened. “Cammie, let’s try to find him. It will be fun!”

“Fun for who, exactly?” I choked out as I secretly plotted their deaths.

“For everyone listening, obviously.”

“Are we done yet?” I whined, wanting this to end.

All this talk about high school, about who I liked and who I hung out with, was starting to bring me down. Tom and John had no idea how much it hurt to mentally go back to a time that wasn’t filled with only pretty memories. It was a time when I experienced the most painful loss of my life, and even after all these years, just thinking about it broke my heart all over again. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Cammie, we’re just worried about you,” Tom said with a giant smirk that didn’t match his concerned tone at all. He was good at his job, which was essentially acting.

Sucking in a quick breath, I attempted to play along. “Why are you worried about me?”

“First of all, Los Angeles, Cammie is a really pretty girl. And for as long as we’ve known her, she’s been single. So we used to think there was something wrong with her, but so far, we can’t figure it out. We think she’s pretty normal.”

I felt my cheeks flush with warmth again and wished I could hide behind something, but there was nowhere to go. “Because I’m single, there has to be something wrong with me?” I rolled my eyes before glaring at Tom.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” John added.

“Maybe I just haven’t met the right guy yet? It’s not that easy to find your match in LA, you know,” I admitted as the honest truth spilled from my lips.

“You’re getting old, girl,” Tom said with a chortle.

“I’m not old!” I shouted. “Oh my gosh, I’m twenty-seven! And we’re in Los Angeles, not Kansas! Twenty-seven is not old!”

“It’s kinda old.” Tom looked at John.

“She is almost thirty,” John said before making a shuddering sound.

“I hate you both,” I spat out. “So much.”

“We knew it!” they shouted in unison.

I stood up from the desk and removed my headphones, placing them down gently under the microphone, signaling to them that I was done being picked on for one morning.

“One more thing, Cammie,” Tom said, and I turned to face him. “Are you bringing a date to the reunion?”

I leaned back toward the microphone. “Yeah.” I paused before adding, “My best friend, Kristy.”

“All right, Los Angeles, keep those calls and texts coming!” John called out before pushing the button that started the next ninety seconds of commercials.

Tom pulled off his headphones and sent me a knowing look. “I should send an intern to follow you around with a recorder for the show on Monday.”

“Don’t you dare!” I shot back. “I love this job, but I can’t have someone recording me at my freaking ten-year reunion.” I glared at him, knowing that these two would do pretty much anything for their listeners.

“So, who’s the guy?” John said as he took a bite out of a jelly doughnut, the powdered sugar sticking on his chin.

I decided to level with them. “I haven’t seen him since graduation, okay?”

“Really? Like since the day of graduation?”

“Yeah. And talking about him is killing me. You have to stop. Please.”

I hoped that little bit of information and my honest feelings would be enough to get them to lay off of me for now. If they somehow found out about Dalton and mentioned his name for all of LA to hear, I’d shrivel up into a ball and die right there on the radio station floor.

Then they’d really have something to talk about.