Night Whispers - Leslie Kelly [9]
She took a deep breath, purposely exhaling across the microphone, knowing that, in apartments or cars around Baltimore, her audience was doing the same thing. She let the tension build, let them fantasize a little, then continued.
“Gentlemen, you know what I’m talking about. A perfect model type might catch your eye, but be truthful…she’s easily forgotten. So what kind of woman gets under your skin, like an itch you can’t quite reach? Is it the brunette sitting at a nearby table who eats a piece of fruit like she’s making love to it? Is it the woman in the tailored suit, the one with the glasses and businesslike hairstyle, who’s got a curve in her hips and a long, slow stride that makes your mouth water?
“Sexiness…not just good looks. Is it the walk, the sigh, the mouth, or the steady stare? It’s all in the eye of the beholder. So, tell me what you see as sexy. Call me. This is Lady Love on WAJO and I want to hear from you.”
Kelsey Logan leaned back in her seat and spun a George Michael CD that fit tonight’s topic perfectly. Leaning back in her chair, she listened to the music and allowed the lyrics to enhance her mood. She studied the fluorescent tube light above her head and thought about her own definition of sexy. One male image came to mind—strong, confident, intelligent, with lips that made her weak just thinking about them. Lady Love’s definition of sexy lived right downstairs from her. She smiled. By the time the song ended, Kelsey was well prepared for tonight’s Night Whispers.
FOUR HOURS LATER, when the show was over, Kelsey wearily slipped out of the booth, nodding to the late-night deejay who would run the graveyard two-to-six shift. He barely looked at her. She sighed in resignation. The guy still hadn’t gotten over the fact that the station manager, Jack McKenzie, had given her the ten-to-two slot for Night Whispers, even though she was a rookie intern with only small-town radio experience.
Kelsey still couldn’t quite believe it herself. She’d figured, when she came to Baltimore, fresh off a two-year stint as the morning personality at a tiny little country-western station in Virginia, that she’d have to work hard to eventually achieve big-city success. She’d been as stunned as everyone else when she’d received instant rave reviews after filling in for a vacationing deejay a few months before.
And it had all started with Mick Jagger’s lips.
She still laughed when she thought about it. She’d been trying so hard to be good—trying to stay within the boundaries the regular night guy had left in his notes. Just spin the CDs, he’d said, no cutesy stuff, no stupid voices, no jokes.
Why she suddenly had the urge to invite callers to vote on Mick Jagger’s lips, she’d never know.
It had been just one remark, one question. She’d just air-guitared her way through “Satisfaction” and, when it was over, had leaned into her mike and said, “What is it with this guy’s lips? I can’t decide…are they sexy as sin or repulsive as hell?”
Dozens of callers had flooded the phone lines, debating her question. Inspired by their comments, Kelsey had gone on to propose other provocative topics. And Night Whispers had been born. The show had begun airing in its regular slot two weeks later and she’d never looked back, never even paused to take a deep breath.
Every night, listeners clogged the phone lines, anxious to get on the air to talk about the sexy subjects Lady Love introduced. Brian, her producer, said it was because the city was full of closet exhibitionists who liked the anonymity of the radio. Of course, Brian would know about those things. He freely admitted that once he’d firmly slipped out of his own closet, he’d met plenty of flamboyant people.
Leaning against the doorjamb, she watched as Brian tidied his workstation, then tugged an expensive khaki raincoat over his immaculate silk dress shirt. The man’s taste in clothes was remarkable. She’d never seen anyone, male