Page 46 of My Infatuation with Isabella

“Well, then, allow me to edumacate you.” Tom says that with a thick Southern accent, sounding a little like Dolly Parton. “So, apparently, Theodore went on a huntin’ trip, and he just could not find it in his li’l heart to shoot this tiny bear cub. Word got out, and a toy-maker found this story so touching that he made a stuffed bear just for him and called it...theTeddybear.”

I smile because he held that accent like a champ. “That’s such a nice story, but honestly, if that’s the case, don’t you think it would’ve been better if they named the boy ones Teddy bears and the girl ones Rosy bears? I think it has a nice ring to it.”

“I think so, too.” Tommy turns his attention back to Mr. Louw and drops the accent. “Now, if that wasn’t enough information on teddy bears for you, sir, I have one more fun fact up my sleeve.”

“Let’s hope it’s a fun one this time,” I add.

Tom ignores me and continues speaking to Mr. Louw. “A person who collects teddy bears is called an arctophile.”

“I hate when the English language does that,” I say with a small groan. “If you just heard the word arctophile, you’d never say it has anything to do with teddy bears. Like, arachnophobia – that word makes sense. Arachnid. Phobia. Put it together. Boom. That word makes sense. If you sayarcto, I’m thinking cold. Then you mix it with the wordphile, and I think someone wants to have sex with something cold. Pedophile. Necrophile. Dendrophile. All of those are disturbing sexual fetishes, so that’s where my head’s at. I hate it when words are so misleading.”

“You’re right!” Tommy agrees. “Like narcoleptic. I thought that had something to do with drugs. And color me surprised when I found out that a meteorologist wasnotsomeone who works at NASA and looks out for meteors all day.”

“What about taxidermy? I thought that was the worker’s union for taxi drivers.”

“Babe, don’t play! I thought that was, like, the study of taxes. I dated this girl once, and she told me she was really into taxidermy, and I was, like, fuck, is she working for the IRS? Am I gonna get audited?”

I giggle. “There was no need to worry about that. We’re so broke, our contribution to the economy is basically zero.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking that at the time. And, man, was I relieved when I walked into her apartment and found a crap ton of dead animals.”

I’m killing it now. “It’s like a stuffed mountain lion freaked you out less than a calculator and an IRS handbook. Shit, we’re so dumb!”

“Exactly!”

Mr. Louw looks over at the other two gentlemen. “Have you seen enough? I’ve seen enough.”

The way he says it reinstates the seriousness of the situation. I don’t know if he just baited us into implicating ourselves or something. Speaking about teddy bears doesn’t seem like a serious crime, but right now, itfeelslike one.

The casually dressed one, Damon, studies us for a long time. “I want them. Both of them.”

Tom may talk a lot of shit, but he’s not willing to perform any form of sexual acts to get out of this, and he would never expect me to, either. That statement puts him on edge, and he goes into protective mode, shifting his chair closer to mine as he turns to look over at the other men. “Look, I don’t know what you guys want from us. I don’t know why you’re asking us these weird things, but it seems like you’re dangling carrots in front of us. It’s like you’re trying to make us squirm to get out of this situation when we’ve already apologized.” His attention zones in on Jacob again. “Your honor, as a witness to the proceedings, you can attest that we have shown remorse and tried to make amends.”

Confusion plays with the expression on Jacob’s face. “Why do you keep calling me your honor? I’m an attorney.”

Tommy is too deflated to even correct himself and looks between Damon and Eric instead. “Can you please stop toying with us and tell us what you want? Can’t we just sign an NDA and disappear into the night? You’ll never hear from us again.”

“We’re not toying with you,” Eric says, and his calmness is a sharp contrast to the mild panic attacks Tom and I are having. “Damon found your conversation that Thursday night hilarious and entertaining.”

“Oh, wow,” I say sarcastically. “He found my pain and heartbreak hilarious and entertaining. So glad that?”

“I also found it raw and real,” Damon interrupts. “And I happen to like your sassy sarcasm as well. Your voice is almost...I don’t know how to describe it...gravelly but still very nice to listen to. Tommy, on the other hand, is dramatic and a little over-the-top, which is complemented by your calmness and don’t care attitude. The two of you have a very engaging dynamic.” He sits forward and rests his elbows on his thighs. “I’m not the only person who noticed this. While we had a few complaints about the language, it’s a college station, so many of the listeners weren’t offended. The overall response was amazing. People have been calling in, asking to hear more from the two of you. And the way both of you handled those calls was commendable.”

“We were freaking the hell out,” Tommy says.

“It was not apparent. If you were panicking, your voices gave nothing away. I could guess that after unintentionally airing your dirty laundry out to complete strangers, both of you would’ve felt uncomfortable, yet you handled every caller calmly with a flare of humor. Thomas, the way you talked to the mother who called in was heartfelt and enlightening despite whatever you were feeling at the time. That told me volumes about your character and how you would react to pressure and unforeseen circumstances.”

Eric nods. “Damon was so impressed he told me to call both of you in. He asked me to give you a random topic to talk about to see if you could make it entertaining, and you did, which means that on top of reacting well to pressure, you’re also able to generate a conversation out of absolutely nothing and make it insightful and funny. Those are great traits to have on radio because we can never have stilted silences.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Louw,” I say sheepishly. “You’re both talking, but I still don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“We’d like to offer both of you a short-term contract. Damon is the producer of the lunchtime show on one of our satellite radio stations, KRXM. He wants both of you for that show.”

“Six months,” Damon says. “We’ll try it out. If the listeners love you, and I’m sure they will, we’ll extend the contract.”

Tommy stares at him, trying to wrap his head around this. “You want us to read the news?”

“Or the traffic report?” I add.

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