Page 10 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“And mean, too. You shoulda heard some of the things they said about you.”

Matt teetered between anger and amusement. On the one hand, he didn’t particularly relish being likened to a cartoon character like Peter Pan. On the other, what the hell had gotten into prim and proper, play-by-the-rules Olivia Moore? He could hardly wait to listen to the aircheck of her show. There was nothing like a worthy adversary to make the game more interesting.

???

A week later the score was tied and bets were being placed on the winner. Though few at the station thought she’d topped her Peter Pan program, it was generally acknowledged that Olivia had shed her white gloves and had a good shot at the title.

Matt had gotten in a few licks of his own, including a show devoted to the kinds of hang-ups that drove people into the counseling profession. Far from scientific, it had digressed into a comedic free-for-all that left callers stacked up waiting to go on the air.

Today’s joint meeting of the staffs ofLiv LiveandGuy Talkwas the first of its kind, and those already seated around the conference table seemed distinctly wary. Sauntering in with only moments to spare, Matt chose an empty seat directly next to Olivia and made a show of making himself comfortable.

When all eyes were on them, he nodded amiably, scooted his chair closer to hers, and stuck his hand out as if meeting her for the first time. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. The name is Peter. But you can call me Pan. And you would be… Wendy?... Tinker Bell?” He flashed a smile that managed to be both brazen and boyish.

Ignoring his outstretched hand, Olivia matched his cocky smile with one of her own. “Nope, just a concerned mental health professional trying to help the lost boys find their way home.”

Still grinning, Matt nodded towards her hands. “Not Captain Hook, I see, though I do detect a few claws.” And then leaning towards her, his lips almost brushing her ear he whispered so only she could hear, “Are you offering to take me home, Livvy?”

His breath on her neck gave her the shivers but she shook it off, hoping no one had noticed. Ignoring Matt, she turned her attention to the Operations Manager, who looked surprisingly happy for someone experiencing a budget crisis.

“Okay,” T.J. said, “Now that we have exchanged pleasantries or whateverthatwas, we can get started.” He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “As you all know, we’ve had the company consultant down from Detroit looking at audience reaction to both of your shows.”

Everyone groaned. But as T.J. continued, the reason for his good humor became evident. In radio, as in television, the larger the audience, the more the station could charge for both commercial time and the right for other stations to air their programs. “We won’t have the total picture until we get the final numbers at the end of the ratings period, but from what we can determine, your little ‘squabble’ is already having a measurable impact.”

T.J. smoothed a hand over his bald head. “Every time you talk about each other on the air, your approval ratings shoot up.”

“Oh, great,” Olivia said. “Why don’t I just examine one of Matt’s psychological issues on every show? He’s bound to have enough of them to fill a couple years’ worth of programming.”

"Look who’s talking.” Matt’s snort of laughter was less than flattering. “Listening to my audience rant about you hasn’t been any picnic, either. For somebody who’s supposed to help others, you’ve got quite a few peculiarities of your own. Not,” he added hastily, “that I have any interest in taking up any more time talking about them on my show.”

“Children, children, save it for on air.” T.J. sat back in his chair and studied Matt and Olivia. “I mean that literally.”

Matt shook his head in disgust. “Oh, right. What are you going to do, put us on the air and let us duke it out? We’re not trained animals, T.J. I, for one, am not willing to

spar with Olivia on cue.”

"No?” T.J. continued to study them carefully. “That’s too bad because our promotions department has come up with a way to capitalize on your little ‘feud’ and do some good for the community at the same time.”

Matt lounged in the chair beside her, his negligent pose at odds with the waves of energy rolling off him. For once they were in accord. She, too, had a bad feeling about the direction of this conversation. T.J. turned to the Promotions Director, newly acquired from a sister station in Boston. “Charles, why don’t you fill everyone in.”

Charles Crankower ran his elegant fingers through his perfectly styled blond hair. In an environment known for its informality, he was painfully pressed and stiffly correct. Those who didn’t care for him—and their number was growing—expended considerable energy trying to spot the stick they claimed must be stuck up his ass. So far, no one had managed to locate or extract it.

“Actually, the idea is stunningly simple, yet complex.” Charles crossed one knife-edged trouser leg over the other and steepled manicured fingers on the table in front of him. His voice was a rich baritone, the accent cultured. “As you probably know, the Muscular Dystrophy Association conducts a ‘jail and bail’ fund-raiser each year.”

They all nodded warily, trying to figure out where Charles was headed. “Well, the Third Harvest Food Bank approached us about attempting something similar, though the bail would be paid in food rather than monetary donations. They can always use help replenishing their pantries.”

“So they want to pretend to lock us up somewhere and have our listeners donate food to get us out?" Matt’s tone was clearly skeptical. “I don’t see how this ties in to what’s happening with Olivia and me.”

“Yes, well, we’ve come up with a slightly different twist.” He unsteepled his fingers, rested his elbows on the conference table, and smiled. It was the most animated Olivia had ever seen him, and she didn’t care for it one bit. “We want to lock you up together in a kind ofBig Brother/Survivorsituation. For a week.” If Crankower noticed their shocked expressions, he chose not to acknowledge them. “The idea is to set it up so that you can both do your shows all week from the site. And we’ll have cameras all over the place livestreaming so your listeners can watch you 24/7. During the week they can vote for their favorite host and pledge food at the same time. As far as the public is concerned, whoever raises the most food and votes wins.”

“Wins what?” Matt’s tone was dry as the Sahara.

Charles shifted carefully in his seat, but he didn’t falter. “T.J. will address that in just a moment, but the ultimate prize, of course, is increased exposure and enhanced ratings.”

There was a long silence before Charles pressed on. “Given your audiences, we assume donations will mostly fall along gender lines. In essence, we expect a bit of a battle of the sexes.” Charles smiled and bowed his head slightly as if expecting applause.

“You’re kidding, right?” Matt shifted his gaze from Charles to T.J., barely sparing a glance for Olivia.

“No, I’m not.”

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