Charlie All Night

7

Allie moved behind the scenes at the University of Riverbend campus the next day, making sure there were plenty of bumper stickers and station programs to hand out, that nobody hot-wired the sound system while Stewart slept in the back of the station van, and that none of the cassettes disappeared or were mysteriously wiped clean of music. If somebody was out to get them, she wanted to be there first.

The entire time she kept an eye on Charlie, studying him to make optimum use of future public appearances. She wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive him, but she’d been relieved the night before when an hour after he’d stormed out of her bedroom, he’d come back, tossed his pillow on the bed and threw the quilt over her. “I figured you were cold without the quilt,” he’d said and climbed in beside her. “Ha,” she’d said, but she’d snuggled her back up next to his just the same.

Now, she watched him charm the crowd and felt her anger fade completely. Natural charisma, she decided, watching him lean over the portable broadcast counter to smile at a coed who was waving a bumper sticker for him to sign. Most of these kids didn’t know who he was, since Tuttle graft was not uppermost in their minds as entertainment value. They’d just wandered by to pick up those dumb bumper stickers and stopped to listen to him as he sat slumped in his chair with his feet on the table. Charlie’s patter was completely off the cuff and off the wall. It took a really focused person to ignore him, and not many college kids were focused on a Saturday afternoon.

Charlie was building an audience. Yes, Allie thought and forgave him completely, but she kept her mouth shut so as not to distract him. She had no idea why Charlie had agreed to two hours of college broadcasting, but she wasn’t about to question her luck or, God forbid, point out to Charlie how well he was doing. Then Charlie called back good-naturedly to a heckler, and the crowd laughed, and Allie heard it as the sound of rising ratings.

After two hours in the early-October afternoon sun, Charlie was ready to pack it in. He’d listened for any clue about crime or drugs in all the comments the kids had made as they’d drifted past, and he’d started animated conversations with everyone who came up to him, trying to leave openings for any clue they’d like to drop. After two hours, he’d found out exactly nothing. He had a bunch of drunk freshman fraternity guys hassling him off and on, and while they were easy to deflect, it wasn’t his choice of the way to spend a great autumn afternoon. He’d also deflected more than enough young women who’d asked him what he was doing that night. “Sleeping with my producer” didn’t seem to be a good answer, especially since, after last night, Allie might still be feeling hostile. Then he looked out over the crowd and grinned. Nope. He’d been a public-relations dream all afternoon. Given Allie’s lust for success, there was a good chance she’d jump him in the van from gratitude. The thought led him to other thoughts of Allie in the windowless van with the doors closed and locked. He hadn’t seen Allie naked for almost thirty-six hours. That was bad for him. Usually he wasn’t this obsessive about sex, but Allie was different. It was easy to be obsessive about Allie. In fact, it was a pleasure to be obsessive about Allie. And the van had a bench seat in back, not wide but padded enough for Stewart to sleep on. Maybe he could get rid of Stewart…

“Quite a crowd,” Mark said behind him and he sat up in surprise.

“What?” Charlie squinted at him in the sun. “Oh. Yeah. They’re a great crowd. You up now?”

“Yes. Lisa’s taking over from Allie.” Mark surveyed the situation and frowned at him. “There are a lot of people here.”

Charlie stood up. “Well, that was the idea. It’s all yours.” He clapped Mark on the shoulder. “Have a great time.”

Mark ignored him and took over the mike as the last song ended. “Hello, UR,” he said into the mike. “This is Mark King, live from the University of Riverbend.”

People started to drift away, and for a moment, Charlie felt sorry for Mark. Then he remembered who Mark was and his pity evaporated. This was the jerk who’d dumped Allie. This was the jerk who had probably sabotaged his show the night before. Even more important, this was the jerk who sooner or later was going to try to get Allie back to save his show. Annoyed, Charlie went down the steps to look for her, stopping twice along the way to tell groups of female students who’d asked that he was busy that night. Then he headed for the van, and someone hooted at him.

The bunch of drunk freshmen were back, hanging around the end of the platform. “Still givin it away free?” one of them said.

Charlie stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Giving what away free? Bumper stickers?”

They all laughed and somebody said, “Bumper stickers. Yeah, right.” Then one of them raised his fingers to his mouth and made a sucking sound. “You’ll never get rich giving it away, man,” one of them said.

“Forget it,” the tallest one said. “He’s stupid.”

“Wait a minute.” Charlie went toward them, but they faded into the crowd, laughing over their shoulders at him.

Giving it away free. The kid had mimed smoking, but giving pot away made no sense at all. Not even for Grady, their resident pot head. Charlie leaned against the van and thought about it. If he was looking for crime, he had to find a profit, “That only made sense. So maybe somebody was giving away free samples, trying to hook paying buyers later? That ruled out Grady completely, since he thought capitalism was a crime.

Unless he was faking it. Unless under all Grady’s New Age babble beat a heart just like Charlie’s dad’s.

It was possible, but not probable. Grady’s good nature was legendary. Someone would have noticed if he’d been leading double life. Tuttle wasn’t that big.

“Hey, we’re through.” Allie came up and leaned on the van next to him. “We are completely through until Monday night, that’s more than forty-eight hours free. Can you believe it?”

“No.” Her face was turned up to his, and he grinned at her and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with his finger. “What do you want to do for forty-eight hours?”

Allie grinned back at him. “Watch videos. Eat Chinese, feed Sam. Make love.”

“Let’s take those in reverse order.” Charlie bent his head close to hers and watched her blush and smile. “It was very cold in that bed last night, and you’re very cute today. Is the van empty or is Stewart still sleeping in there?”

“I don’t make love in vans,” Allie said primly.

“Of course not,” Charlie said. “So is it empty or not?”

It was empty.

“That’s a very narrow bench,” Allie pointed out as Charlie sat down and pulled her onto his lap.

“I have a great sense of balance.” He slid his hand under her T-shirt to cup her breast and listened to her soft gasp with great deal of heated pleasure. “You don’t really want to wait until we get home, do you? Think of the traffic.”

He kissed her neck and she murmured, “Traffic would be bad,” and then he tipped her gently down onto the seat as she wrapped herself around him. “Remind me to do these college things more often,” he said as he unzipped her jeans. “I love doing remotes.”

As far as Allie was concerned, the weekend just got better after that. They rented videos Saturday night and stayed home with Joe and his date, critiquing the mistakes in The African Queen and Casablanca.

“Bad ending,” Allie said when Ingrid Bergman left on the plane.

“A woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do,” Charlie told her.

“I think she’s right,” Joe’s date, David, said. “I wouldn’t have left Humphrey Bogart.”

“You’re a guy,” Charlie said. “Women sacrifice. It’s their job in life.”

He complained loudly when Allie threw popcorn at him, and then attacked her that night when they went to bed, tickling her until she giggled helplessly and then making love to her until she lost her mind. The next day they had a picnic in the park, and that night Charlie dragged Allie off to see Arnold Schwarzenegger’s newest exploding-head picture.

Allie had never been happier in her life. “You are one good time,” she told Charlie.

Charlie grinned at her. “Let’s take some Chinese food home to Joe and David.”

But Joe was alone when they got home.

“Chinese,” Charlie called out when they came through the door and then stopped. Joe was standing in the middle of the living room, and he didn’t look happy. “What’s wrong?” Allie said.

“David and I were spending a nice quiet evening at home,” Joe said, “when somebody knocked on the door.”

Charlie put the take-out bag down on the coffee table. “What happened?”

Allie sank down on the sofa across from Joe. “Where’s David.”

“He went home. Things got weird.” Joe looked at Charlie. “Did you annoy anyone lately?”

“Just about everybody.” Charlie sat down on the arm of the couch. “I’m not going to like this story, am I?”

Joe shook his head. “When I opened the door, this blonde was standing there, and she shrieked, ‘Charlie!’ and flung her arms around me.”

At least nobody had tried to gun Joe down. There were worse things than being hugged by a blonde. Charlie grinned at Allie. “Happens to me all the time.”

“Then she dropped her coat,” Joe said. “She was naked.”

Charlie stopped grinning. “That doesn’t happen nearly as often.”

“Then she grabbed me again and somebody took a picture. With a flash.”

“That never happens to me.” Charlie frowned at him. “What the hell?”

“I don’t know,” Joe said. “But it’s not good.”

Charlie glanced at Allie. She was glaring at him. “What?” he asked her.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Allie said.

“Something blond? No.” Charlie looked at her with disgust. The last thing he needed was Allie getting jealous while he tried to figure out this newest wrinkle. “Come on, I spend every waking moment with you. Every sleeping moment, too, for that matter. When would I be dating blondes?”

“Well, something’s going on with you,” Allie said, getting up. “And I don’t like it.” She went in her room and shut the door.

Charlie looked at Joe. “Is this my fault?”

“I don’t think so.” Joe said. “But if it is, knock it off. “you’re screwing up my social life.”

The picture of Joe and the hooker was on the front page of Monday’s Tuttle Tribune.

“I can’t believe they printed that,” Allie said as she stared at it over breakfast, trying to figure the public-relations angles. “Local DJ Patronizes Call Girl? How much of the paper does the mayor own?”

“God, I look like hell,” Joe said over her shoulder. “In fact, I almost look like Charlie.”

“Very funny.” Charlie came into the kitchen and took the paper away from them to read the caption. “This is weird. They’re setting themselves up for a lawsuit here. Somebody with clout must have got this in. Who have we annoyed that has clout?”

“Well, the mayor owns a chunk of the paper, and there’s Roger Preston and all his friends.” Joe took the paper back. “Good thing I warned David about this. He’s not the jealous type, but this looks bad.”

“Actually,” Allie said, trying to look on the bright side. “It might help the ratings. It should definitely get us some callers.”

“Great,” Charlie said. “The Moral Majority calling in to tell me I’m the spawn of Satan. Yeah, I’m looking forward to that.”

Allie tried not to laugh. It would be great talk radio if they did.

“Forget the Moral Majority,” Joe said. “How about Bill?” The phone rang, and he got up to answer it. “Even as I speak. Do you want to talk to him?”

“No.” Allie stood up and carried her plate to the sink. “We’re already on the carpet for the 2 Live Crew mess. Tell him we’ll see him this afternoon.” She smiled at Charlie to reassure him. “It’s all right. Bill’s going to know that’s Joe, not you, and that it has to be a setup. Really. It’s all right.”

Allie wasn’t as sure later that afternoon.

Bill sat in his desk chair and swiveled back and forth, glaring at both of them. “I don’t know what it is with you two,” he began on a deceptively quiet note. “I don’t know whether you’re dumb or crazy or out to get me or what.” He glared at Charlie. “I’m particularly glad I hired you, you dumb-ass.”

Allie winced at the injustice. “Wait a minute. The Friday broadcast was all my fault. I know the rule is never to say anything in the booth that can’t be broadcast. I broke it. It’s my fault.”

Charlie sighed. “No, it isn’t. It’s mine. I was the one who sat on the mike slide and moved it up so everyone heard us. She had every right to assume we were off the air. It was my fault.”

Allie shook her head, trying to warn him off. Her job was safe, but his might be in jeopardy. “I’m the producer. I should have checked. It was my fault…”

“No, it wasn’t…”

“When you two are finished,” Bill said, “I’d like to say a few words.”

They both shut up.

“We logged a lot of calls Friday night.” He stood up and began to pace. Allie found herself moving her head back and forth with him. “Even more calls over the weekend. A lot more than we ever have before. And now there’s this mess with the hooker.” He wheeled around suddenly and put his hands on the desk, looming over them. “The press would like to talk to you both.”

Charlie shifted in his seat. “About the hooker-”

“I know about the hooker,” Bill said. “Somebody’s out to get you, son, but it’s hard to tell who since you’ve pissed off so many people.” He glared at Charlie. “Had to make waves, didn’t you?”

“I don’t think that was what I had in mind,” Charlie began and Bill cut him off.

“You don’t think at all, son. That’s why we’re in this mess. Just look at you on Friday. Playing songs about raping women.” He snorted. “Making fun of Barry Manilow.”

Charlie looked at Allie, and she closed her eyes in defeat. Bill was on her side. She must be wrong.

“And you,” Bill said to her. “You and your women’s movements. I’ve told you to keep that stuff off the air. The only good thing this fool said Friday night was when he made fun of you for that. And even that was dirty.” He glared at Charlie again.

“Oh, hell, Bill.” Charlie leaned back in his chair. “Fire us and get it over with.”

Allie felt her heart rise in her throat, but then Bill saved her.

“I’m not gonna fire you.” He slapped the desk. “I need you. And besides, you’re starting to make me money. Albert raised the ad rate on your show and it’s still sold out. Damn it.”

“You can fire me,” Allie offered, not too worried he’d take her up on it. “Nobody knows I exist.”

“The hell they don’t.” Bill glared at her, too. “You’re famous now. I told you, the press wants to talk to you. Some fool woman wants to do a human-interest story on you two.”

“Well, we don’t want to talk to her.” Allie stood up. “I’m not talking to anybody ever again.”

“Sit down,” Bill said and she sat down. “You’re gonna have to go on again tonight.”

“No,” Allie and Charlie said together.

“And you’re gonna talk nice to each other, and answer questions nice for the rest of the week, and then when everybody’s really bored, you, Charlie, are gonna go back to being a solo DJ and you, Alice, are gonna go back to being a producer, and that’s gonna be the end of it. Understand? Find something boring to talk about that you both agree on and talk about it for a week. There must be something that you both agree on.”

Sex, Allie thought, but she kept her mouth shut. She looked over at Charlie who was fighting back a grin. He was turning into one hellacious one-night stand.

“Either of you got anything else to say?”

“No, sir,” Allie said, and then she and Charlie escaped into the hall before he could start again. “I think Bill has slipped around the bend this time,” she said when they were out of earshot.

“Well, he owns the bend,” Charlie said. “Let’s make this thing short and sweet. Think of something we talk about.”

“The show,” Allie said. “Chinese food. Sex.”

“I don’t think any of those are going to make a program,” Charlie said. “What else do we talk about?”

Allie stopped, struck by the thought. “That’s pretty much it. We don’t talk much.” She looked at him, appalled. “We don’t really talk at all.”

Charlie ignored her. “Maybe we can talk about music. You don’t know anything about music, but I could talk about it, and you could say, ‘Gee, Charlie, you’re wonderful.’ I like it.” He looked at her without seeing her. “But this time, I’m double-checking the tapes. We’re going to have music or I’m going to know why.”

Allie left him in the tape library, carefully checking his tapes for the night. He might not want to be a star, but Charlie sure didn’t want dead air, either. Whether he realized it or not, Charlie was getting sucked into radio.

And whether she’d realized it before or not, she was getting sucked into Charlie. She should have been delighted that all they talked about was the show and sex. That’s what she wanted. A nice, uncomplicated, unemotional affair. Except that wasn’t enough anymore. She’d gotten exactly what she’d asked for, and it wasn’t enough, and she wasn’t going to be able to get more because he didn’t want more: he was leaving in November.

There it was, the thought she’d been ignoring all week. November. He was leaving in November. And no matter how hopeful she was, she knew how stubborn he was. Come November, unless she did something amazing, she was going to be left with an empty broadcast booth and an empty bed.

She wasn’t sure she didn’t have an empty bed already. If all they were was great sex, it was definitely an empty bed.

She tried to push the whole thing from her mind and went to get coffee. Her thoughts were depressing, and they got worse when Mark followed her into the break room.

“Allie!” The delight in his voice was mirrored on his face. He must want something, she told herself. He was never that happy to see anybody unless they could do something for him.

She steeled herself for the come-on. “What do you want?”

Mark spread his hands out, the picture of innocence. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Allie frowned at him. “Why?”

Mark put his hand on her arm. “I just miss you so much.”

“Why? Did Lisa leave you?” She turned away from him and went over to the coffee urn, trying not to think about Charlie leaving her.

Mark followed her. “Allie, it’s not the same. She’s not you.”

Allie laughed shortly. “No, she’s ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter. And it’s only taken you two months to notice.” Allie turned back to him, her coffee in hand. “I talked to her Saturday at the remote. She’s looking pretty frazzled, Mark. Cut her a break. She’s still learning the job. Charlie’s in the same spot.” She stopped, realizing that while Charlie might be in the same spot, he was doing brilliantly. Not a good comparison for Lisa.

Mark moved closer. “Forget about Charlie. Let’s go have dinner somewhere and talk.”

Allie ducked around him and headed for the door. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

Mark caught her arm, and she turned to see him with a soulful look on his face. “Let’s have dinner. A long dinner.”

Allie pulled her hand away, trying to compute what she’d just heard. “What?”

“I think we should see more of each other. A lot more, if you know what I mean.” Mark moved closer, backing her against the wall. “We were good together, Allie.”

Allie looked at him in amazement. “Are you kidding? We were lousy together. Are you propositioning me? I can’t believe it.” She shook her head. “You’re propositioning me. No.” She turned and opened the door and came face-to-face with Charlie.

“I was looking for you,” he said to her. He glared at Mark. “What are you doing flirting with other disc jockeys?”

Mark smiled smoothly. “Allie and I go back a long way.”

“As long as you stay back, I don’t care.” Charlie held the door for Allie. “If you’re finished here, we need to talk about this damn program.”

“Fine,” Allie said, annoyed with them both. Mark had dumped her and Charlie was leaving in November, but in the meantime they both thought they owned a part of her. And she knew which parts, too. Mark wanted her brain to save his show, and Charlie wanted her butt.

Well, the hell with both of them.

“What difference does the program make?” she said to Charlie, and he looked so stunned she felt vindicated. “You want to be a flop, remember?”

She took off down the hall and heard him follow her. “Are you all right?” he called after her. “This isn’t like you.”

“You’re making me mad,” she said. “You and Mark, both.”

He followed her into her office. “Don’t put me in the same sentence with Mark. What did I do?”

“All he thinks about is what I can do for him in radio,” Allie said, slamming her coffee cup down on her desk and sloshing coffee on her papers. “And all you care about is what I can do for you in bed. The hell with both of you. I don’t need you.” She sat down and crossed her arms.

Charlie sat down across from her and watched her warily. “Uh, I don’t know what brought this on, but I want you for more than sex. We’re friends. You know that. Is Mark trying to get you back for his show?”

“I have friends,” Allie told him. “Joe, and Harry, and Karen, and a lot more. They don’t jump my body every chance they get.”

Charlie’s eyebrows rose. “Sorry. I’ll stop.”

“No, you won’t,” Allie said gloomily. “That’s how you communicate. Men. The weaker sex. If you were a woman, you’d have the guts to talk to me, but since you’re a guy you just want sex.”

“Well, then say no,” Charlie said, the exasperation plain in his voice. “You always seem pretty enthusiastic when I suggest it.”

“I am enthusiastic,” Allie said. “I love going to bed with you. But that’s all we do.”

“So what do you want?”

“I want to talk sometimes.” She hated sounding wimpy, but there it was. “You know, really talk.”

“Good.” Charlie put a stack of disks on her desk. “We’ll talk tonight on the show. You’ll love it. Conversation and your career, a two-for-one deal.”

Allie gazed at him for a moment, looking at the monster she’d created. She wanted to work on their relationship, he wanted to work on her career. Just what she needed in her already bleak life: irony. “Great,” she said. “Tell me all about it.”

Four hours later, Charlie leaned into the mike and said, “Well, here we are again, all phones working. And for those of you who were wondering, the guy being hugged by the blonde on the front page of the paper is not me. That’s my roommate, Joe, and the reason he looks so surprised is that he’s gay. Yes, folks, somebody’s up to something here in old Tuttle. I don’t mind, but Joe would appreciate it if whoever it is would quit sending hookers over to our apartment with cameras. They’re ruining his reputation.”

“Oh, he’ll love that,” Allie said softly as she petted Sam, careful not to speak into the mike.

“And now, back by popular request, is my producer, the poster girl for irrationality, Alice McGuffey.”

“Hey,” Allie said. “Let’s try this introduction again.”

Charlie shook his head. “You are the person who stood in your office today and announced to me that men were the weaker sex, right?”

Allie snorted. “That’s not irrational. That’s the truth.”

Charlie laughed. “I can beat you at arm wrestling anytime, honey.”

Allie’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Life is not about arm wrestling.”

“What’s life got to do with this?”

“What I said in the office was that women are stronger because they talk to each other, and men are weaker and concentrate on sex and ignore other more important things, like establishing warm human relationships.”

Charlie groaned. “Why do women always bring every discussion back to relationships?”

“Because relationships are the basis for life, you dweeb.”

Charlie’s voice sounded wary. “Tell me you’re not talking about marriage.”

“I’m not talking about marriage,” Allie said reasonably. “I’m talking about establishing warm connections with other people. Men don’t do it.”

“Hey. I have a warm connection with another person.” Charlie wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“That’s sex.” Allie wiggled her eyebrows back and stuck out her tongue. “That’s what men use as a substitute for relationships. But it’s not the real thing.”

“It feels real.” Charlie scowled at her.

“Yeah, but can you keep the relationship going without it?”

Charlie looked at her, surprised. “My relationship with this woman is more than sex and she knows it.”

“That’s not the point.” Allie leaned forward. “The point is that women can survive without all the physical stuff that men need because they know what’s important is the human relationship. So they talk to each other. They don’t get all the warmth in their lives from sex.”

“Sex isn’t important to you?” Charlie asked, disbelief heavy in his voice.

“Of course, it’s important to me. But I wouldn’t come unglued without it like you would.”

“You wouldn’t?” Charlie sat back. “Ha.”

“No,” Allie said primly. “As long as a woman is getting her emotional needs met by the ones she loves, she can handle sexual deprivation. But a man doesn’t know how to get his emotional needs satisfied except through sex, so he’ll get depressed and become irrational. Not that anyone would notice since men are pretty irrational most of the time, anyway-”

Charlie interrupted her. “I don’t believe this. Let me get this straight-you’re saying that if we stop sleeping together, I’ll crack before you will because I don’t have any friends and you do?”

Allie froze in her chair.

“Well?”

“Sort of,” she said faintly. “Although I certainly wouldn’t have put it that way on the air.”

“What? Oh.” Charlie winced as he realized what he’d done. “Well, the cat’s out, so you might as well finish what you’ve started here. I can’t believe you’d make such a sexist argument.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out who’s right.” Allie stuck her chin out, daring him. “Today’s October second, and is you know we were fighting last night, so we can count from there. Let’s see which one of us is the most irrational by November first.”

“What?” Charlie said, startled.

“You said it would be no problem.” Allie shrugged. “Put your money where your… mouth is.”

“Allie, that isn’t funny.”

Allie smiled at him, triumphant. “I rest my case. I knew you wouldn’t even try it.”

“Did you?” Charlie leaned back. “All right. Fine. We’re celibate until November first. No problem.”

“Really?” Allie said.

“Really,” Charlie said.

The phone began to ring.

Allie laughed nervously and stood up, putting Sam back in his basket as she rose. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat with callers, but I’ve got to be a producer now. You started this, you talk about it.”

He watched Allie leave the booth and then turned back to the mike. “She would pick a month with thirty-one days. Okay, folks, while Allie’s hooking up the caller…” Somebody tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see Stewart. “What?”

Stewart handed him a tape.

“Our engineer has just shown up with a tape in hand. Special request, Stewart? This isn’t like you…” Charlie’s voice trailed off as he read the label. “Oh, very funny. Okay, here’s Stewart the comedian’s request.”

Charlie shoved in the cassette, and the Rolling Stones blared out “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.” He flipped off the sound and swung around to face Stewart.

“So now how much trouble are we in with this one?”

“I’m not in any.” Stewart grinned. “You’re the one that’s not going to get laid for a month in front of the whole city.”

“Oh, big deal.” Charlie stood up and stretched. “Lots of people go without for months, years, a lifetime. Priests do it.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a priest.” Stewart turned to go. “Listen, if you need anybody to meet your emotional needs, don’t come to me. I don’t do that wimpy stuff.”

“Thanks, Stewart,” Charlie said. “I knew you’d be there for me.”

Allie had his sheets and pillowcases on the couch for him when he got home.

“Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten us into, Ollie,” she said, and he said, “Me? Wait a minute,” but she’d already slammed her bedroom door behind her.

He sighed and stripped down to his shorts, too tired to argue. At least from now on he’d be getting some sleep. There was an improvement. Of course, if he had to choose between cataclysmic, head-banging sex and sleep, he’d choose the sex, but since the choice was now moot, he could see the bright side.

An hour later, he couldn’t see the bright side.

He was so tired, he was punch-drunk, but he couldn’t get to sleep. He tossed on the couch, tried sleeping sitting up, stretched out and took deep breaths, counted sheep, goats and German shepherds, and finally, as the numbers on the digital clock rolled around to 3:30, he gave up.

He picked up his pillow and went in to Allie.

She stirred when he threw his pillow on the bed, mumbled something and then fell back asleep.

“Glad to see you missed me,” he told her body and then climbed in beside her, rolling so his back was to her and his rear end was warmly against hers.

He was asleep in less than a minute.

Beside him, Allie listened to him snore and gave herself the luxury of one wriggle against him. It was stupid to have missed just the weight of him in her bed, but she had. She smiled to herself and fell asleep for the first time that night.

When he woke up the next morning, Charlie found he’d rolled over in the night and had wrapped himself around Allie, his leg slung over hers and his hand over her breast. It was definitely one of his favorite positions, and the temptation to throw the bet was overwhelming, especially when she stirred against him stretching so that his lips were against her neck and her back slid against his front, and he went dizzy for a moment at the powdery, sleepy scent of her.

And then she woke up enough to mumble, “I knew you couldn’t do it,” and her voice was fat with sleep and satisfaction, and he remembered he’d have to concede in front of thousands of people, letting down not only his fans but his entire gender.

“Ha.” He rolled out of bed. “No problem.”

“Twenty-nine more days,” Allie murmured to his retreating back. “And you’re already groping me in the morning.”

The morning paper had a small notice at the bottom that due to misinformation, the picture in the previous day’s paper was not of Charlie Tenniel, but was instead Charlie Tenniel’s homosexual roommate.

“Now, this sort of makes me mad,” Charlie said to Joe. “Using you to trash me. Is this their idea of a slur, to imply I’m gay? It’s too subtle to tell.”

“It’s subtle enough to screw things up with David,” Joe said. “He’s already noticed that you and I are good friends. He just dealt with it because he thought you were sleeping with Allie.”

“I am sleeping with Allie.” Charlie put the paper down. “Which, by the way, I announced to Tuttle last night. You have no problems with David. Who’s doing this newspaper stuff?”

“My guess? The mayor.” Joe picked up his coffee cup. “The word is that the new city building is dead. You cost that man a lot of money. And then there’s Roger Preston, who is pretty sure to be indicted on price-fixing.” He frowned. “You really did tell the world you were sleeping with Allie? That’s not like you.”

“It slipped.” Charlie stared down at the paper. The mayor and Roger Preston were good guesses, but there were also these drug rumors about the station he kept tripping over. Anyone who wanted him fired would figure that bad publicity would make Bill get rid of him. Maybe he had another enemy. “Suppose it wasn’t the mayor or Preston. Suppose it was somebody else who was mad at me. Who else would have this kind of clout?”

“I don’t know.” Joe stood up and carried his coffee cup to the sink. “I should think the mayor and Preston would be enough for anybody. Why did you tell the world about Allie?”

Charlie groaned, remembering. “We have a bet. We’re going to be celibate for a month and see who gives in first.”

Joe snorted with laughter. “That should be a close call. Whatever possessed you to do something like that?”

“Allie,” Charlie said gloomily. “Ever since I met her, I’ve been doing one dumb thing after another.”

“A smart man would leave her alone,” Joe pointed out.

“Well, that’s what I’m going to be doing for the next month,” Charlie said.

Then Allie shuffled out, her hair all tousled. “You know, it took me forever to fall asleep last night. This is all your fault.”

Charlie winced. “Thanks, I needed that.” He tossed the paper to her and stood up to go. “Here. Read this. Things just keep getting better and better for us.”

Charlie was slightly more cheerful when he went on the air that night. “And a great big thank-you to all of you folks who called in last night to say that my significant other has rocks in her head and that men are much stronger than women. And for the other half of you who supported Allie, hey, just wait.

“I’d also like to thank Allie for wearing the most disgusting bathrobe she could find this morning and for not combing her hair before breakfast. Say what you will about the little lady, she plays fair. And now, just for Allie, here’s the Pointer Sisters.”

He shoved the slide up and “Slow Hand” began.

Harry ambled in on his way home. “You might want to keep your joviality level down a little,” he said, passing over Charlie’s coffee. “That way, when you get crazy later in the month, the change won’t be so noticeable.”

“So, you’re on Allie’s side.” Charlie said. “I’m hurt.”

“In general, no,” Harry said. “In this case, yes. You’ll never make it.”

“Hey,” Charlie said. “Look at me. Do I look tense?”

“It’s only been twenty-four hours,” Harry said. “Give it some time. I got a lot of money on Allie, but I’m not worried.”

Charlie jerked his head up. “Money? They’re making book on this in the station?”

“The hell with the station. They’re making book on it on the street.”

“Oh, great.” Charlie slumped back into his chair. “So how am I doing?”

Harry shook his head. “You’re a very long shot, my friend. If she gives in first, there are going to be some very rich gamblers in this city.”

“What if we both make it to the thirty-first?”

“Practically no one’s taking that one.”

“A month is not that long,” Charlie said.

Harry turned to go, grinning. “Tell me that on the thirtieth.” He stopped at the door. “I probably shouldn’t do this, since it might screw up my bet, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to crack. So, if it gets bad, living with her, you can come stay at my place. I’ve got lots of room.”

“This is going to be no problem,” Charlie assured him.

“Yeah, well, the offer stands,” Harry said.

Charlie watched Harry stop to talk to Allie on the way out. She grinned up at Harry and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, and Charlie felt the old warmth that he always felt when she was around. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t going to see her. It was just sex. He had things to investigate, anyway. He really didn’t have time for her. No problem. “No problem at all,” Charlie said to the empty booth.

After the show, Charlie went home and tried the couch again, lasting until four-thirty this time before he climbed into bed with Allie again, closing his eyes as he felt her body warm and soft next to his. And waking up with her was doubly painful the next morning when she stirred next to him, and he felt dizzy even though he was lying down.

You’ve got to get out of here, he told himself as he headed to the shower. Dieters did not live at the Sara Lee factory. He picked up the phone and dialed Harry.

Harry lived in a split-level in a housing development full of tricycles and swing sets. Charlie dropped his duffel in the living room and looked around at the chintz furniture and flower paintings.

“You know,” he told Harry. “This is not how I pictured you living. Flowered couches?”

“Sheila picked them out,” Harry said. “Want a beer?”

“Always.” Charlie followed him out to the kitchen. “Who’s Sheila?”

“My wife.”

Harry opened the refrigerator, and Charlie saw a twelve-pack, cheese spread and a piece of pizza. He spared one longing thought for the glory of Joe’s refrigerator, and then took the beer Harry handed him. “You have a wife?”

“Well, I used to. I came home one day and found a note that she’d gone to her mother’s.”

“Oh.” Charlie followed him back into the spotless living room. “Well, she must stop by to clean. The place looks great.”

Harry stretched out in the recliner. “That’s Mrs. Squibb. Comes by twice a week. Don’t leave anything lying around. She throws it out.”

“Oh,” Charlie said again. “So your wife is… uh…”

“Gone,” Harry said. “I waited a couple of weeks and called her, and she said, ‘See, Harry, this is just what I meant. You don’t even notice me.’ And I told her I noticed her. I was just busy. The divorce papers came the next week.” Harry shook his head. “I still think it was a mistake. And who knows, she might be back.”

“Well, sure,” Charlie said, still lost. “How long has she been gone?”

Harry frowned, counting back. “Uh, thirteen years.”

Charlie stared at him for a minute, trying to decide if he was kidding or not. With Harry, it was hard to tell. “No offense, Harry, but if I were you, I’d make a contingency plan.”

“I’m thinking about it.” Harry stretched out in his chair, obviously a happy man. “What about you and Allie?”

“What about us?’ Charlie said guardedly.

“You still leaving in November?”

“Yep.” Charlie drank his beer. “What do you do for dinner around here?”

“Order out,” Harry said. “You want pizza, burgers, or Chinese?”

“Not Chinese,” Charlie said. “Anything but Chinese.”

Charlie decided that the only way to stay sane was to stay away from Allie. The bet was an excellent idea since he was leaving in November, anyway, so all he had to do was avoid her for the rest of the month, kiss her goodbye on November first, and leave her with great memories. At least he hoped her memories were great.

His were phenomenal.

But that way lay madness, so he deliberately shut her out of his mind and avoided her for the rest of the week, waving to her from the booth and making sure any conferences they had were in public. In his free time, he tried to track down the drug rumor and find out who’d sabotaged his tapes. The favorite for the last one was Mark, and Charlie would have loved to pin the drug charge on him, too-those were awfully expensive suits he was wearing on a DJ’s salary-but he couldn’t see Mark as the brains of a drug ring. Actually, he couldn’t see Mark as the brains of a Jell-O ring.

When Saturday came, he took a day off from detecting and went fishing with Harry at Grady’s.

It was really too late in the year to fish, but as Harry pointed out, catching fish wasn’t that important, anyway. Grady’s was just a good place to unwind. They had to take their own beer because Grady’s place was nonalcoholic, but other than that, it was a bachelor’s paradise.

Grady lived outside Tuttle on several acres of deliberate wilderness in a geodesic dome he’d built himself. “My father thought I was nuts,” Grady told Charlie as he showed him around. “Now I think he kind of likes it. My mom thinks it’s great.” The interior was all natural wood and windows, and aside from a disquieting lack of corners, it was a very comfortable place, full of old, mismatched furniture and state-of-the-art computer and stereo equipment.

“Great setup,” Charlie said, looking it over.

“My mom bought that stuff for me,” Grady said. “She says I’m tough to buy for, so if I want something, she goes all out.” He gazed around his dome lovingly. “It’s a great place.” Then he smiled at Charlie. “Come out anytime. Don’t wait for Harry to bring you.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said, but then he stopped, distracted by what he saw out the window. Hidden from the driveway by the dome and a stand of trees but in clear view from Grady’s back windows, was the biggest field of marijuana Charlie had ever seen. “Nice crop,” he told Grady.

Grady shrugged. “Personal use.”

You must have a habit the size of Texas, Charlie thought. If somebody was dealing drugs at the station, Grady had just moved up to the number-one suspect. But if he was doing it, what was he doing with the money? Aside from his stereo and computer, his place was furnished with hand-me-downs and Grady himself dressed like a bag lady. Charlie knew he was going to have to investigate it, but he hated the idea that it might be Grady. Grady was a truly nice guy.

But nice guy or not, if he was the problem, he was going down for it. That was what Charlie had come for. He spared a thought for Bill, who would not be happy if his only son was busted, and then shoved the thought aside. He really didn’t believe Grady was building a drug empire in Tuttle. Grady didn’t believe in capitalism. He wasn’t even sure Grady believed in money.

Harry came in the back door with two poles. “You ready?”

“Yep,” Charlie said “Lead me to them.”

“Too bad Allie couldn’t be here,” Grady said. “She loves to fish.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, shoving her firmly from his mind. “Too bad.”

After a week at Harry’s, Charlie was ready to crawl back to Allie on his hands and knees. And he’d have done it, too, if it had only been his honor at stake.

But the honor of all mankind?

Still, watching her sit outside the booth was torture. She had her hair yanked back in a pony tail, which made her face more moonlike than usual, and there were bags under her eyes as if she hadn’t been sleeping, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup for some reason, and he’d never wanted a woman more in his life. If he could have, he’d have taken her there on the production desk.

He closed his eyes at the thought of Allie round and warm, moving under him, his mouth on hers capturing her moans. Or Allie on top of him, her tongue caught between her teeth as she bore down on him, and his hand on the back of her neck bringing her mouth down to his. Or Allie sitting on the edge of the desk, her legs wrapped around him, her back arching her hips into him. Or-

The silence in his ears brought him back with a start, and he said something inane into the mike and punched in the next three songs. Then he took off his headphones and went out to see her.

“You look tired.” He sat on the edge of the desk next to her chair, using every ounce of self-control he had not to touch her.”You okay?”

“Yeah.” She leaned back in her chair and stretched as if her muscles ached, and he watched her breasts move under her sweater and restrained himself from leaping on her, but not from imagining leaping on her. “I miss you,” she said, and he snapped back to attention. “I miss you in my bed.”

“I miss you, too,” he told her when he had his breath back. “But I can’t climb in your bed and just sleep with you. It drives me crazy standing up fully clothed in public with you.”

“Really?” Her face folded into a smile, and he watched the lines there and reminded himself not to trace them with his finger. “That’s nice,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The line of her cheek was so smooth. His hand went out, independent of his brain, and cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his palm, and he found himself moving toward her mouth, the lust to taste her as inescapable as gravity.

And then his lips were on hers, and her mouth was warm and hot and sweet, and her lower lip slid against his tongue, and his entire being was in his mouth, finding her, at last.

Allie sat stunned as he kissed her, her head heavy on her neck, falling helplessly into him as his mouth moved on hers. His hand was gentle on her cheek, and he breathed into her mouth and she lived in his heat, moving her lips against his, letting the dizziness take her like a drug. And then he touched her lips with his tongue, and the air left her lungs as she sighed with surrender, only to gasp when he licked farther into her mouth, tangling with her tongue. She felt his kiss everywhere, in her breasts and her stomach and hotly between her legs, and she pressed her mouth back against his, spurred by the moan he made as she invaded his mouth.

Then he pulled back, his breath coming heavily, and said, “I can’t stand this.” He kissed her hard once, quickly, and moved away from her, back into the booth, while she leaned on the desk and tried to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he said over the mike when the door was closed behind him. “I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t-”

“I’m not sorry,” she told him. “But, oh, God, Charlie-”

“Go home,” he said, and here was an edge in his voice. “Go home. The rest is just music. I can’t talk to you anymore tonight. I can’t talk to anybody. Go home.”

After a week and a half of sleeping without Charlie, Allie was ready to surrender. It wasn’t the sex she missed so much, although she missed that so much she ached with it, it was Charlie. Charlie warm and laughing and safe and just there. She couldn’t even face Chinese food anymore without getting turned on and feeling lonely.

They’d fought amiably over the end of Casablanca for that night’s program, and then Allie left the booth, and Charlie put “River of Dreams” on and she watched as he cuddled Sam to his chest and began to feed him. Sam was growing like a horse, getting into everything, and she’d caught Charlie lecturing him earlier about chewing on electrical cords. They’d looked so funny, the tiny puppy looking up earnestly from Charlie’s big hand, and Charlie scowling down at Sam, reasoning with him about electrocution, that she had to laugh. Charlie had looked up and grinned at her, and his grin hit her like a punch to the stomach.

She missed him.

This was a bad emotion, so she squelched it and went back to work, looking up again only when Charlie introduced a play for insomniacs. She could see Sam scampering over the console and Charlie reaching for him, tucking the squirming puppy under his chin while he punched up the next song. Then the Disney lullaby “Baby Mine” came up and he began to rock and pat Sam until the puppy curled up on his chest and went to sleep.

Watching a man pat a puppy was no reason to fall in love.

But she did, anyway, much against her better judgment and her will and her common sense. Not this, she thought. Not him. But there it was.

The phone rang and she grabbed it, grateful for anything that distracted her from this new disaster. She didn’t want to be in love with anybody, especially not with Charlie I’m-Leaving-In-November Tenniel, especially not like this.

“Charlie All Night,” she said into the receiver, and the caller said, “Yeah, let me talk to Charlie. I’m Doug.”

The song ended and Allie said, “You have a caller. It’s Doug, on one,” and punched it in.

Charlie shifted Sam to his shoulder and spoke into the microphone. “Hey, Doug, what’s up?”

“Well, that’s what I was going to ask you. We were kind of wondering here why you keep playing ‘River of Dreams’ so much, and now a lullaby? We’d heard your station was wired, but this is weird.”

She saw Charlie sit up. “Wired?”

“Well, you know. What gives? You a Billy Joel freak?”

Charlie relaxed a little. “Not me. We’ve got a puppy here at the station who wasn’t doing too well at eating until we put on ‘River of Dreams.’ He really likes the rhythm. He’s doing pretty good now, but we still play it once a night so he feels at home.”

“You’re kidding. You got a dog there?”

Allie watched Charlie look down at Samson and grin. “Well, you could stretch it and call Sam a dog, I guess. He’s more like a Twinkie with paws and an appetite. And he was tearing up the booth a minute ago, so I put the lullaby on. Knocked him right out.”

“Try ‘Sweet Baby James’ man,” Doug said. “My kid goes right to sleep when we play that.”

“Great idea.” Charlie moved Sam farther up on his shoulder and patted him as he stirred. “Maybe we should play a lullaby every night about this time. Put any kid who’s fighting it to sleep.”

Charlie talked on with Doug about rock lullabies, and Allie watched him, hopeless with love, until a nasty thought intruded.

He’d just announced the station had a dog to the listening public.

Bill didn’t know the station had a dog. Beattie didn’t even know.

They were in for another meeting.

And she couldn’t even go home and crawl into bed with Charlie and talk about it.

Charlie punched up a song and continued to talk to Doug off the air, and Allie took her glasses off and put her head down on her desk and tried to figure out how her life had gotten so screwed up when she’d been doing all the right things.

Bill tried to throw his usual fit about Sam, but Charlie knocked him off-balance by bringing the puppy to the meeting.

“Good little dog,” Bill said gruffly when he met Sam. “Probably good publicity. What the hell, let him stay.”

“How did you know he’d say that?” Allie asked him when they’d escaped unscathed.

“Grady tipped me off,” he told her. “Evidently, Bill’s a sucker for dogs. Grady told me as long as Sam was in the room, Bill would fold.”

“Well, good for Grady,” Allie said.

Charlie lifted Sam up in front of his face and said, “You’re in, kid, don’t screw up,” and when Sam licked Charlie’s nose, he laughed. He laughed a lot more when Sam became the new Flavor of the Week after his picture showed up in the paper, and the local animal shelter called and asked to begin a This-Dog-Needs-A-Home segment the next week on Charlie’s show.

They did still have a few problems. Somebody was still sabotaging the show, one night making crank calls that tied up the phone lines, the next swiping the ad tapes for the night. Charlie coped with all of it and avoided Allie like the plague, missing her so much that he couldn’t sleep at night, telling himself that once November came and he was out of town, she’d just be a pleasant memory.

He kept telling himself that, but he didn’t believe it. And it was getting harder and harder to stay away from her.

Charlie walked into the booth on Friday night, two days ifter he’d blown Sam’s cover, grouchy because he was in a booth and Allie was ten feet away on the other side of a glass wall wearing a pink sweater that made him crazy.

Once inside the booth, though, he stopped in his tracks. “What is that god-awful smell?”

“Well.” Harry leaned back in his chair. “It seems Mark got a dog.”

“What?”

“A dog,” Harry said. “At the pound. A Doberman-mix puppy. A man’s dog. Called him King.”

Charlie sat down on the edge of the console. “I don’t believe this.”

“And he brought King into the booth with him this morning so he could broadcast with him. Like we do with Samson. And after four hours, King scratched at the door to be let out.”

Charlie snorted. “King obviously has a lot of stamina. I’d have been clawing at the door a lot sooner if I was trapped in a booth with Mark.”

“But Mark ignored him, so King… uh, pooped.”

Charlie grinned. “And then?”

“Mark yelled at him and scared him.” Harry fought back a grin. “So King pooped again.”

Charlie’s grin widened. “Mark is an idiot.”

“So then Mark waved the script at him, and King-”

“Pooped again.” Charlie started to laugh.

“Then Marcia came in and threw a fit because of all the poop in the booth and because Mark was mistreating a puppy. She gave him ten minutes to get the booth clean, and she took the dog away from him.”

Charlie looked alarmed. “Not back to the pound?”

Harry shook his head. “Nah. She said she needed a watchdog. She took the dog outside and calmed it down, and then brought it back inside with her until her show was done.”

“Good for Marcia. Although I can’t picture her with a dog named King.”

“Dorothy,” Harry said. “The dog’s name is now Dorothy. Mark missed a few details, as usual.”

“You’re kidding.” Charlie closed his eyes. “What a dweeb. So then he cleaned up the booth-”

Harry snorted. “Fat chance. He made Lisa do it.”

“Oh, great.” Charlie shook his head. “Wait’ll I tell Allie. She’s not going to believe this.”

“And then Lisa sprayed the place with that stinking pine disinfectant…”

Charlie nodded. “Which explains why this place smells like-”

“-somebody pooped a pine tree” Harry finished.

“Sounds like a good time to do a remote,” Charlie said.

“I’ve been spending a lot of time out of here,” Harry said. “Thank God I don’t have a date tonight. This would not be in easy smell to explain.”

“Pooped Fine, the cologne of Kings,” Charlie said and they both started to laugh.

Allie came into the booth, and they stopped. “What’s so funny?” she asked them. “And what is that horrible smell?”

Harry and Charlie looked at each other for a moment and then they both broke up again.

The only problem was that since the booth reeked, Charlie had to spend most of his time out of it. With Allie. He was supposed to be talking about the ads for the rest of the show, but Allie was wearing a silky pink sweater, and her curves were right there in front of him. She was saying something, but he couldn’t hear because of the rushing in his ears.

He had to touch her. Touching was not sex. Touching was just touching. “What we need here is a definition of sex,” Charlie said. “The bet said no sex. It didn’t say no kissing.” He took a deep breath. “I want to touch you.”

Allie flushed pink and Charlie felt dizzy. Usually when she flushed like that, it was because he was moving his hands on her. He thought of the nights he’d had with her the week before and thrown away, not memorizing every second of what it was like to touch her. How he hadn’t concentrated on the feel of his tongue against her skin, the slide of her body against his as she arched against him, the heat and the wet and the-“Oh, God,” he said. “I really need to touch you.”