7 Days and 7 Nights (4 page)

Big time. “Gee, JoBeth, I guess it does.”

“I just don't understand it. Dawg and I have so much in common. I thought we wanted the same things. But when I told him I wanted to get married, he looked at me like I'd just told him I had the plague or something. Why would he react that way, Dr. O?”

She was going to have to put this woman on the payroll. “Well, JoBeth, according to Kiley, it's all about fear. These men feel inadequate”—she enunciated the word carefully—“and they are deathly afraid of little old us and having to grow up. I'm going to take a few more calls, and then we'll discuss how to deal with these Peters.”

“Is it going to require bashing and throwing them back? I'm not sure I could do that to Dawg.”

“Don't you worry about Dawg, JoBeth. We're going to try a little tough love on that boy. But first let's see what some of our other callers have to say.”

The morning flew. Not surprisingly, everyone knew or had been involved with a man who belonged in Never Land. And Matt Ransom's name came up a gratifying number of times. As Atlanta's reigning Bachelor of the Year and host of the ultra-macho
Guy Talk
, he was a highly visible example. Olivia continued to feign surprise whenever his name came up, and she refrained from male bashing herself, but she felt vindicated just the same.

In conclusion, she offered some additional insight into the syndrome and invited anyone with serious concerns to log on to her website to see Kiley's original questionnaire.

To be fair, she doubted Matt, with the level of success he'd achieved, would fit Kiley's profile, but she didn't feel compelled to share that opinion with her listeners.

As promised, during the last few minutes of the show, Diane got JoBeth back on the line. Olivia imagined both Dawg and his hero would take exception to the advice she offered.

“JoBeth, not knowing the reasons behind your boyfriend's unwillingness to commit, I can only make suggestions based on his behavior. If you love Dawg and want to marry him, then you need to make him understand that his refusal to marry you could cause him to lose you. It's not a threat or an ultimatum, though I imagine he'll call it that. It's exercising your rights and standing up for yourself. If you want a committed relationship and he doesn't, then you owe it to yourself to get back out there where you can meet someone who does. If he refuses to set a date, move out.”

“Move out?”

“Yes, and for God's sake stop having sex with him.”

“No sex?”

“The truth is that even today the old adage holds true: Most men will not buy the cow if the milk is free.”

Olivia caught the startled expression on Diane's face and winked. “We're talking no more free milk, JoBeth. Not a drop.”

Olivia glanced up at the digital clock, amazed at how quickly the morning had gone. She felt incredibly good, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Thanks to everyone who shared their Peter Pan stories. It's time to ask for and receive what you want, ladies; making yourself happy is no fairy tale. JoBeth, let me know what happens with Dawg. I'll be looking forward to hearing from you.”

The theme music sounded especially sweet in her ears today. As it built and flared, she smiled once again and bid her audience farewell.

“Thanks for being with me today. I'm Dr. Olivia Moore, reminding you to live your life . . .
live
.”

4

Matt signed on Tuesday night determined to avoid advice-giving at all costs. He planned to do what he did best—rouse the guys, shock a little bit, encourage spirited discussion. He'd already wasted more time than he'd meant to thinking about Olivia Moore. He wasn't going to let her infringe on his show, too. At least that's what he believed until he took his first call.

“Hello, Peter.” The caller was male, his voice unfamiliar.

“I'm sorry?”

“Is this the unable-to-commit-or-grow-up Peter Pan? The one currently residing in Never Land?”

Shit. Maybe his listeners did need counseling. “This is Matt. And you're on
Guy Talk
. What's all this about Peter Pan?”

“You're going to have to start listening to morning radio. You were a big hit on
Liv Live
this morning.”

“Me? On
Liv Live
?”

“You betcha.”

Matt peered through the glass at Ben, who held up a cassette tape as if it were a time bomb. His producer typed him a message: “It's addressed to Peter P. It was in your office mailbox.”

The next few calls went much the same, but no one really offered answers until Dawg called in. “Hi, Matt. Rough day, huh?”

“Not until recently. What's going on, Dawg? I seem to be the last to know.”

“Well, they had a field day with you on
Liv Live
this morning. Dr. O talked about something called the Peter Pan Syndrome, and then she asked people to describe Peter Pans they knew. A whole bunch of women described you—I think some of them were old girlfriends who weren't as comfortable with your up-front warning as you thought.” Apparently even Dawg couldn't resist getting in a dig tonight.

“JoBeth described me. She used my name and everything—I heard part of it on my run to Montgomery— and then she left a message on my cell phone saying that if I wanted any more milk I was going to have to buy the cow. Danged if I know what she meant by that.”

“Women can be downright mysterious, all right.”

“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 in the world had gotten into prim and proper, play-by-the-rules Olivia Moore? He could hardly wait to listen to the tape 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 of
Liv Live
and
Guy
Talk
was 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 even closer, and took her hand in his. “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.

Embarrassed, Olivia tried to pull her hand free. When that didn't work, she forced an equally cocky smile to her lips. “Nope, just a concerned mental health professional trying to help the lost boys find their way home.”

He smiled appreciatively and turned her hand over, examining it closely. “No hook, I see, though I detect a few claws.” He bent down to kiss her palm like a courtier of old, and whispered so only she could hear, “You can take me home anytime.”

His lips were warm and intimate against her skin. Olivia gave up on subtlety and set about retrieving her hand one digit at a time. Once free, 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 all have our hands to ourselves, 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 book 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, but his negligent pose was 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 Promotion 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 butt. 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 need 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 of
Big
Brother/Survivor
situation. 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 a Webcam feeding live to the Internet so your listeners can actually watch you anytime they choose. 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 fall along gender lines. In essence, we expect a true battle between 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.”

“Let me see if I've got this right. You want to lock us up for a week and see who's still standing at the end?” Matt's tone still smacked of disbelief, but as Olivia watched, a glint of mischief stole into his dark eyes, lightening them considerably. “I assume we can't vote each other out?”

T.J. laughed. “No, no voting out. No eating of rats. The apartment will be completely equipped with all the creature comforts. In fact, your sponsors are already vying with each other to stock the place with their products. It's an incredible promotional opportunity.”

Olivia finally found her voice. “You spoke to sponsors before you talked to us?”

Charles swallowed, but held his ground. “We wanted to see whether the idea would fly before we bothered you with the details.” He smiled again. By Crankower standards, the man was positively glowing. “Virtually everyone's on board. They absolutely love this idea.”

“That's because no one is suggesting they spend a week with this character.” She shoved a thumb in Matt's direction. “I'm not going to do this, T.J. I'm not going to be stuck in a confined space with a maniac for a week while a national audience watches through a—a peep-hole. Torture is illegal in this country.”

Matt grinned. “You're hurting my feelings, Olivia. Just think how much quality time we'd have together. Why, we could really get to know each other.”

“I don't want to know you better. I'm sorry I know you as well as I do.”

“You just keep slinging those arrows, don't you? I hate to sound immodest, Olivia, but there are women who would kill for the opportunity you're being offered. Unless, of course, you're afraid to be alone with me?”

“Afraid of you?” She was terrified, but not of him. “Don't flatter yourself. I just think it's stupid.” Olivia turned to Diane for support, but her producer shrugged apologetically.

“I hate to say this, Olivia, but it really is a great idea. You saw what happened with the Peter Pan thing. We're looking at a huge ratings kiss here, and major press coverage.”

Matt's producer agreed. “It's a win-win situation. The food bank gets food and publicity, you both get big numbers—everybody wins. All you have to do is put on a bit of a show. Tangle with each other a little.” Ben grinned. “That shouldn't be a problem for you two.”

Diane scribbled a few notes and then addressed Charles. “There will be some private areas not covered by the camera, right?”

“Yes.” Charles pulled out a floor plan of one of the smallest apartments Olivia had ever seen. “The two bedrooms and the bathroom are unwired, though the hall between them will be visible. So, if either one of them feels the urge to kill, there's a place to retreat and cool down. Obviously, though, we're counting on a certain amount of hostility.”

“Hostility is not a problem. But I'd rather donate the money than go through this ridiculous charade.” There was too much history here, and too much old heartache. Olivia shuddered at the idea of being trapped for a week with a man she couldn't stand . . . and wasn't sure she could resist. The fact that she'd turn thirty during the week they'd earmarked for the promotion smacked of cruel and unusual punishment.

She studied Matt's profile, strong and sure, and thought about how easily he unnerved her. Her gaze settled on his cocky grin, and every synapse in her brain screamed out a warning. “I'm sorry, T.J., but I just can't see myself doing this.”

T.J. looked Olivia straight in the eye, his gaze never wavering. “You're perfectly free to say no to this, Olivia. I wouldn't dream of forcing you to be a part of the promotion.”

Olivia's sigh of relief died on her lips as T.J. continued. “Of course, if you don't participate, Matt will end up with his own weeklong remote.”

Olivia silently weighed her options. Letting Matt gain a promotional advantage seemed a lot smarter than spending a week alone with him in a sardine-sized apartment. But then, almost anything would be smarter than that. Unfortunately, T.J. didn't seem to be finished with her yet. He said, “And of course I'm planning to use this remote to help me make my decision between your shows. The favorite-host vote and food donations will be the most visible popularity indicators, but corporate's a lot more interested in audience attitudes.”

The pause that followed was so pregnant Olivia feared it might be carrying twins.

“The consultant's coming back during the remote to conduct a series of focus groups and a targeted phone survey to get a better handle on how our listeners really feel about the two of you. First he'll measure P1 response—the listeners who already consider WTLK their preferred station. But then, and this is key, he'll be taking a thorough measurement of P2's—the listeners who consider us their secondary choice. Converting them to P1's is a very big deal.”