Satan's Breath

Chapter 1-2

Savannah, GA

“Well, that’s loyalty for you,” Greg growled as he argued with his late night deejay. “Why in hell did you accept the offer before talking to me? Maybe I could have wrangled you a raise.”

“Hey, man, it ain’t about money, okay? It’s Chicago. It’s the big time, for God’s sake. I’d be stupid to let this chance pass me by.”

“You could have given me more notice, at least. A week! What the hell kind of notice is that? I don’t have any idea who I’m going to get to replace you.”

The angry deejay stood up and grabbed the doorknob, then looked back at Greg. “Hey, Greg, you been good to me, and I don’t want to sound cold, but it ain’t my problem see. I’ve done something about my problem, now you can do something about yours.” He jerked the door open and walked out.

Greg turned abruptly and crossed to the window while running his fingers impatiently through his dark hair. This was one hell of a time to be left without a nighttime deejay. He’d been manager of WSCX Radio Station for three years now and still felt he had to prove himself to the boss. Old man Farewell never asked questions, he just looked at ratings. If they were up, he was happy. If not, someone paid, and it was always him.

Greg did everything he could to keep those ratings up, but this situation was impossible. How the hell was he supposed to get someone in that chair in five friggin’ days? All at once, he heard a loud noise behind him, looked around, and saw the janitor reaching for his wastebasket.

“Hey, Erik, can’t you do that later? I’m in kind of a crisis here and the noise you’re making isn’t helping any.”

The slightly stooping man with long, stringy-blond hair didn’t respond with words, just turned and shuffled out.

While staring out the window, Greg mentally clicked off all his other deejays, but couldn’t get a good feeling about any of them. They were okay where they were, but none were late night material. He needed someone new, someone different. Someone who would wake this town up out of its heavy, late night sleep and keep them awake. He turned when he heard a rap at his door and motioned for Wade Perry to come in.

Wade, thirty-one, blond, and even-tempered was a direct contrast to Greg, who was dark, bitter, and snapping. The two were known around the station as the Dynamic Duo. They hung together, talked about women, and Wade, through the years, had become Greg’s sympathetic ear.

“What’s up, man?” Wade said. “Looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”

“Yeah?” Greg dropped down into his chair. “How can you tell?”

“Anytime you start combing your hair with your fingers, I know something’s up. What is it?”

“My late night deejay is skipping. He just gave me his notice.” He was restless, couldn’t stay still, so he jumped back up. “A week, can you believe it? A freakin’ week. Who in hell am I going to get to replace him?” He paced for a while, then turned and looked over at Wade with curious eyes. He stared at him thoughtfully for a minute. “Say something, Wade. Let me hear your voice.”

“Me?” Wade chuckled. “You are desperate.”

“Desperate? You don’t know the half of it. By the tenth, I’ve got to have a warm body in that booth, and I don’t give a friggin’ damn if they sound like Donald Duck. Hell, at this point, I’d be willing to take somebody off the street, that’s how desperate I am.”

The noise Erik made outside Greg’s office caught Wade’s attention. He glanced around quickly, then thumbed toward him. “What about Einstein there?”

“Hey, don’t tempt me. If I thought he had enough sense to operate the console, I just might consider it.”

“Who knows? Maybe under all that blond hair and stupidity is late night material.”

Greg narrowed his eyes at Erik curiously. “You know, now that you mention it, there is something real odd about that character. I mean, look at his body. Not bad at all. He’s lean, and muscled, yet he doesn’t have sense enough to work out. How does he do it?”

“You’ve got me.” Wade looked out at the stumbling janitor. “But if you think about it, he’s got some pretty strenuous jobs around the station. He doesn’t have time to get flabby.”

“Yeah, I guess so, but what about his name? Erik Grant. It sounds rich and sophisticated. Someone like him shouldn’t have a name like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it should be…” He hesitated. “All right, here’s a for instance. It’s like an ugly girl should be called Bertha, or Bessie, and a nerdy, or stupid guy should be called Irving.”

Wade leaned back comfortably, stretched his legs out, and crossed his feet. “Yeah, but you can’t always go by that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a blind date with a girl named Reba once and because of the name thing, I stood her up. I found out later what a knockout she was. Talk about feelin’ stupid.”

“Yeah, well,” Greg began as he plopped back down in his chair and put his feet up on his desk, “that doesn’t solve my problem, does it?”

The two sat deep in thought when suddenly Wade spoke up. “Anybody, huh?”

Greg looked over at him. “What?”

“You said you’d take anybody, right?”

Greg suddenly came alive, swung his feet around, and leaned forward in his chair. “What is it, Wade? Do you know someone?”

“Maybe. While I was in L.A. I heard an incredible late night show. The deejay wasn’t like anybody I had ever heard before.”

“Incredible’s okay, but how about good?”

Wade snickered, his fair complexion turning three shades of pink. “Hell yes, she was good!”

“She?”

“Yeah, she.”

Greg frowned. “What’s her name?”

“Blaze Alexander,” he answered, then saw Greg shaking his head. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. It’s just…well, we’ve never had a woman on late night before.”

“And you’re not going to have one now.” Wade looked at his friend with an expression of amazement. “Greg, you’re not seriously thinking of making her an offer, are you?”

“Why not?” He pushed the phone toward him. “Call her.”

“Me? Are you kidding? That’s not my job. I’m just the sound engineer around here, not a talent scout. Besides, compared to L.A., Savannah is just a cow pasture. Think about it, for God’s sake. Why in hell would a successful L.A. deejay leave the big city and big bucks for a smelly, old cow pasture in the Deep South?”

“Smelly old cow pasture?” Greg repeated, giving Wade an amused look. “I think we can do a little better than that, my friend.”

“Seriously, Greg, I don’t think so.”

“Why? Isn’t she any good?”

“Hell yes. She’s a pistol. A real sensation.”

“What does she look like?”

Wade shrugged. “Redhead…”

“There.” Greg’s face lit up with a smile.

“What?”

“The name thing. Her name is Blaze, and she’s a redhead.” Wade’s mouth opened, but Greg went on. “And what about Alexander? Have you ever had a Brandy Alexander? Hot, and intoxicating.”

“Greg, you’re reaching.”

“So what? It fits, right? Maybe I can talk her into changing her name to Brandy.”

“Hell, man, would you get off this name thing?”

“I’m just saying it’s a good sign. I just hope she can handle it.”

“Are you kidding? One broadcast and she’ll burn this city right down to the ground!” Then realizing how ridiculous the whole thing was, Wade said, “Man, what are we even talkin’ about? She’ll never accept an offer to come down here in a million years.”

Not listening, Greg picked up a pad. “What are the station’s call letters?”

“You’re wastin’ your time, Greg.”

“What the hell are the call letters?” Greg growled, becoming angry. “Besides it’s my time to waste.”

“Damn! I wish I had just half your nerve.”

“It’s not nerve, Wade. It’s desperation. Now what are the f*****g call letters?”

He looked up thoughtfully. “Let’s see…K…hell, what is it,” he mumbled. “KL…no, KC…KCBS…I think. Ninety three point…one. Yeah, that’s it, ninety three point one.”

After making a few scratches on a pad, Greg looked up and smiled. “Don’t you worry, buddy boy, I’ll get her down here if I have to pick her up and carry her piggy back.”

Thinking about Blaze Alexander and her racy late night show, Wade couldn’t help but grin as he pulled himself up from the couch and walked over to the door. Just before he passed through, he hesitated, then turned around. “I hope you know what you’re doing. She’s a live wire. If I were you, I’d get an audition tape before you hire her.”

“I don’t have time for the formalities, Wade. My ass is in the fire here. Besides, your recommendation is good enough for me. Now get out of here before I decide to strap your ass in that booth come the tenth.”

* * * *

Los Angeles, CA

One, two, three, four. That’s good, a deeper knee bend girls. That’s right. Two, three, four…

Blaze was jumping, bending, swaying, and sweating while working out in front of her TV when her phone rang. She stopped, pressed the remote control, and toweled off her face. Grabbing it up, she breathed heavily into the mouthpiece, “Yeah, Blaze Alexander, here.”

“Hi, sweetie, it’s Scott.” A thick silence followed while Blaze took a drink from her sports jug. “Hey, you okay? You sound like you’re out of breath, is anything wrong?”

“No, I’m just working out.” Blaze upended her sports jug again and poured the water over her face, neck, and shoulders.

“Well, don’t overdo. I want to keep you nice and healthy.”

“Gee, Scott, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Sure, I care. Anytime a client brings in the kind of bucks you do, believe me, I care!”

“And I thought it was my smile. I should’ve known.”

“Well, you know us agents, dollar signs for hearts.”

“You can stop worrying. Me and Debbie Austin have got it all under control.”

“Say, I’ve got news.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“I got a call from a guy by the name of—” He looked down and around, and then said, “Damn, I lost my note. Just hold on. It should be right here.” When he saw it, he snatched it up, and then continued. “Greg Brannigan from a Savannah station. He tells me he’s real anxious to have you as part of his team. Made a pretty good offer, too. How do you feel about that?”

“Savannah? Go back to the dirt roads and jumping jive joints I left behind? No way in hell! Why did you even ask, for God’s sake? You knew what my answer would be.” She took another swig from her jug.

“Sure, I knew, but I had to ask. That’s the way we big city agents do business.”

“Okay, big city agent, gotta go. Debbie’s waiting.”

“Okay. Hell, I hate breakin’ this guy’s heart…say maybe you…”

“Real funny. Goodbye.”

* * * *

Savannah

The phone rang and Greg grabbed the receiver. “Hello!” he yelled anxiously into the mouthpiece, then pulled back, speaking in a normal tone, “Greg Brannigan speaking.”

“Scott Sanders, Mr. Brannigan.” The caller then lowered his tone as if he had bad news. “No dice, I’m afraid. She’s happy where she is, and doesn’t want to make a move at this time. Sorry.”

“What about money?” Greg persisted. “What if we offered her substantially more than she’s getting there? Do you think there’s a chance she might reconsider?”

“Mr. Brannigan, it’s not the money. She’s got more money now than she knows what to do with. The truth is, she comes from Georgia, and her life there wasn’t too easy. I won’t go into detail, but she’s had a lot of bad memories connected with that part of the country. Anyway, I’m sure you understand how going back might prove to be painful for her. This is her home now. No offense, but why would she even consider Savannah when she could go anywhere? She’s had offers from Chicago, New York, Philadelphia. Even New Orleans.”

“New Orleans, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. They really want her. Practically offered her the moon, but she likes L.A. and just won’t budge.”

“Yeah, well, if she won’t go to New Orleans, I guess it’s stupid to think she would come to Savannah. Okay, well, thanks for your time.” He hesitated before he hung up, then took a chance. “If she changes her mind…”

Scott tried to suppress a chuckle. “Yeah, sure.”

Greg replaced the receiver, then lowered his head and raked through his hair with his fingers, wondering what he was going to do. Suddenly, an idea came to him, and he smiled as he lifted his head. Maybe there was some kid in broadcasting school he could call. “Nah,” he muttered sarcastically, “it would be past their bedtime.”