"Damn those Jones brothers!" bellowed Nell McCabe, known throughout Chicago as the calm, imperturbable host of the radio show Tell It to Nell , as she crumpled up the intercom, threw it to the floor, and then stomped on it twice.
Amy, her producer, stopped dead in the doorway.
Is this a bad time?
It's always been a bad time since they bought the station. And it's getting worse.
Amy bent down in dismay to pick up the paper Nell had under her foot.
"Oh, no! Don't tell me we're getting fired too," she said, holding out the paper so she could read it as Nell started pacing across the room.
"They'd be better off just taking the axe to the fire," she muttered. "Bugger me about my show's ratings. I liked the way they were... but no, I went along with their stupid ideas." Her voice was rising. "They said I was too boring, and I let them take my picture. What's the point? Who cares what I look like? I'm in radio!" But they said they were a great promotion, and I said to myself, "Be a good girl, Nell. Listen to them, Nell. Give them a chance, Nell." Of course, all that was before I knew they were going to set me up with that horrible hairdo and makeup, oh, and that dress. I looked ridiculous.
Nell, the idea of the flirty photos and the press release is the brainchild of petty Drake Witley, the new marketing director. I don't see what any of this has to do with the Jones brothers. Besides, all it says is that you have to attend a meeting. What's wrong with that?
"But the Joneses were the ones who hired Drake the Snake, weren't they? And I got the memo at 2:25, when the meeting was supposed to start at 2," Nell said, pointing at her clock. "I'm already half an hour late without even getting it! I know a trap when I see one. They'll wait for me to arrive to show me some last-minute schematic, and I'll be so disoriented I won't know how to respond. It's the kind of maneuver the Joneses are famous for."
Nell, you're starting to sound paranoid.
Nell shook her head. On her show, she gave advice to people in love and struggling with relationships. She offered her understanding and a shoulder to cry on, never becoming rude or hysterical. The ad for her show read: "Tell Nell everything. Together we'll navigate the hard road to love."
But in the last few weeks, she'd lost every shred of calm and understanding she'd had left. What she really wanted was to punch someone, preferably one of the philandering pirate adventurers who'd bought her radio show: The Jones Brothers.
"As far as we know," Amy said more sensibly, "the Joneses aren't even in town. I've never seen them, have you? Today in Paris, tomorrow in Rio. Do you really think they have time to come to Chicago to dismantle this little station lost on the dial?"
"Well, someone certainly has been. Weather with Marvin out," Nell wailed. "And for what? To replace it with an hour of gossip on The Pink Hour . The Celtic World with Paddy O'Herlihy, out too, and in its place, The Most Horrid Urban Legends ," Nell complained, throwing up her hands in despair. "And now they've summoned me to a meeting with marketing to..." She closed her eyes slightly, straining to recall the exact words of the statement, "...to discuss ways of making my show more appealing and hotter." It's madness.
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