Disclaimer: Remember WENN and its characters are the property of Rupert Holmes, Meltzer Productions, American Movie Classics, etc. No copyright infringement intended.
A large, strong hand pulled at the brim of the tan fedora hat, casting the veil of a shadow over his angular features. He shrugged his square shoulders and fixed his trenchcoat collar so that it stood upright, framing his face. He summoned a stern, no-nonsense look. Glancing out of the corner of his eyes, Jeff Singer could see the delighted beam on the face of the sponsor, who sat on the other side of the control booth window. Jeff smiled to himself. He liked to dress in character as much as the sponsor liked to see him in costume.
"The name’s Dane. Sam Dane," he said in his tough-guy voice. He looked around at the rest of the cast. Mackie appeared gentlemanly in his gray suit, but was prepared with his usual arsenal of voices. Maple chewed her gum thoughtfully as she waited for her cue. Scott had flipped ahead a few pages as he silently practiced his villainous role, complete with semi-menacing facial expressions. Finally, there was the ever-divine Miss Booth. Hilary was exquisite in her blue gown, which clung to every curve on her slender body. She tapped her cheek with a solitary finger as she pondered how to make her big entrance.
Their relationship had never been the happily-ever-after kind. Rather, it was of the incessant quibbling variety. He knew that as long as she argued with him that she held some sort of affection for him. Better that than icy indifference. She was still less than civil and was always dragging their well-worn blanket of problems into the studio, where it kept her sense of insultry nicely insulated.
"There’s some girl here to see ya, Sam," Maple said in character.
Hilary was playing that particular part. Jeff oft wondered what business a woman like Hilary Booth had in a small-time radio station doing roles meant for some inexperienced, wide-eyed ingenue like Celia Mellon. Yet Celia was now doing films in Hollywood, and here was Hilary throwing heart-and-soul into a thankless job. The irony was dreadfully obvious.
"I’m afraid someone’s been following me. I’m terribly frightened," Hilary whimpered in a feigned innocent voice.
Jeff looked at his ex-wife as he recited his lines. She was so incredibly complex, a multi-layered individual. He had known her for years, yet had only begun to expose the Hilary lying beneath the superficial shroud of grandeur and arrogance. He was perpetually fascinated by this woman. All the women before her had been drab and childish, like pig-tailed little girls in comparison.
"How could you be so foolish? Really, Mr. Dane," Scott croaked in a despicably thick, foreign accent. He laughed an overexaggerated belly laugh that quickly permeated through the airwaves. Maple grimaced and covered her ears to save them. Scott frowned at her but continued. "Of course, I knew you had a weakness for beautiful women."
Hilary wasn’t just beautiful. She was everything. She had been his life from the day he had met her. When he had been in London, he had kept a photograph of her in his breast pocket, to have her close to his heart. When he had been in the hospital after the bombing, he’d dreamed of her. Even when he had married Pavla Nemkova, he had imagined Hilary in her place to keep from vomiting. Now that he was almost free from that woman, all he could think of was to be with Hilary again. To have his ring on her finger and to be able to refer to her as his wife.
"I meant everything I said, Sam. Through it all, I always loved you." Hilary rushed through that final sentence, as if it were some sort of bacteria and she was spitting it out of her system.
"C’mon, sister," Mackie said in his policeman’s voice. "You’re gonna get at least twenty years - fifteen if you’re good."
"Be good, sweetheart," Jeff read in a tender tone. "I’ll be here when you get out."
"That was Sam Dane, Private Detective. You’re listening to WENN, Pittsburgh," Scott chimed in abruptly in his smooth announcer’s voice.
Jeff smiled, removed his coat and hat, and exited the studio. He had paused at the water cooler to get a drink when Hilary emerged from the double doors. She hesitated when she saw him, as if to say something, then started towards the ladies’ room.
"Hilary..." Jeff called after her. She stopped and slowly craned her head to look at him.
"Yes, Jeffrey?" she said, trying her hardest to sound apathetic.
"I...you...I mean..." Jeff faltered, unsure what to say. Everything he had planned to say to her had mysteriously been deleted from his memory.
"Really, Jeffrey, you should do something about that speech impediment," Hilary teased. "It’s not very attractive."
Jeff sighed in resignation, but he flashed her a split-second smile. Hilary was fast enough to catch it. She poised herself before she could let down her guard to the dangerous adorability of Jeffery Singer. She missed him more than she allowed herself to admit. There were moments when she wanted to discard her vengeous, prideful skin and forgive him for everything he had done, even the things she had cried herself to sleep over.
"Did you want something, or is this another botched attempt at begging for mercy?" she asked sharply, quickly snapping out of her thoughts. They had been standing there, stupidly staring at each other.
Jeff’s jaw dropped and he held out his arms in a protestive gesture.
"If you haven’t noticed, Hilary," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I have been apologizing for the last several months! It’s nice of you not to have noticed it."
"Oh, is that what all the whining was?" Hilary pretended to consider a deep thought. "I thought you were griping about your suffering love life. I’m so sorry, I must not have listened very carefully."
"I’m suffering just listening to you!" Jeff yelled.
She quickly turned her back to him so that he couldn’t see the hurt look on her face. Why did she always have to ruin everything with a sardonic remark? Why did he always retort with a childish shout? Why couldn’t she ever keep her temper?
Refusing to face him, she said angrily, "There’s an easy remedy for that. Don’t listen to me. Or you can cut your ears off. And cut that tie off while you’re at it because it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen!" and marched off to the ladies’ lounge with a harumph.
Jeff remained by the water cooler. He crumpled the paper cup he had been holding and threw it forcefully into the wastebasket. His fury quickly died as she disappeared from view. He groaned softly. He always acted so juvenile in their fights. Perhaps it was because Hilary could take on such a reprimanding manner that reminded him of his old schoolteachers. He knew no other way to truly communicate with her than through fighting.
Scott appeared from the studio and noticed his unnerved colleague. Slapping him on the back, he quipped, "What’s the matter? Someone die?"
"No, but I might as well have," Jeff mumbled.
"You know, Jeff, at times like this my father had a saying."
"What was that?"
"There’s always blondes." Scott beamed at his own joke.
Jeff allowed himself a chuckle. "Your father was a wise man," he remarked.
Scott nodded in nostalgic agreement. "Yeah, but only when he wasn’t drunk." A thoughtful statement washed over Scott’s animated face. "How ‘bout it, Jeff? Wanna hit the bar circuit after we’re off? You look like you need it."
Jeff smiled knowingly. "Don’t you have a trolley date tonight?" he reminded his friend.
Scott paused. "After that."
Jeff sighed. Smoke, liquor, and other companionless men seemed like good company.
"Why not?"
*****************
It had been another long workday for Gertrude Reece. Releasing a long, tired sigh, she reached for her purse which sat under her desk. Standing up, she stretched a little and walked towards the coat rack to retrieve her jacket. As she did so, she heard the front door squeak open.
"Can I help you?" she said monotonously, slinging her coat over one arm and turning around to greet the visitor. A friendly smile immediately crept up to her face as she took in the sight. It was a tall, lean man, perhaps in his late thirties. As he politely removed his hat with one hand, Gertie saw a mass of well-groomed, sandy hair. A pair of kind, blue eyes peered back at her.
"Uh, hi. I was wondering if you could help me out," he replied. "I’m looking for someone."
"Look no further," Gertie joked, posing in a grandiose manner.
The man offered a congenial smile, but seemed not in the mood for games. He was not a Pittsburghian. On the contrary, he had dropped by from New York City to visit his sister and father. When he had accidentally tuned into WENN on their radio and heard her voice, he had rushed over to the station as quickly as possible. He hadn’t seen her in what could have been ages.
"Woody?" a voice called.
Gertie and the stranger turned in its direction. The latter’s face lighted up like Fourth of July fireworks as he recognized the woman standing in the hall. He approached her cautiously, as if she were a figment of his wild imagination. Finally, pausing just a few feet shy from her, William Underwood’s eyes devoured the sight of the figure before him as if it were chocolate cake.
"Hilary Winslow Booth," he said.
Gertie’s eyes widened as the two locked in a tight embrace. She sincerely hoped Jeff wouldn’t make an entrance any time soon. He would have self-destructed, perhaps taking the building and its inhabitants down with him. She quietly snuck out of the station, unwilling to be a victim when the time came, as exciting as the scene might have been.
"God, Hilary! Look at you! Let me guess. You’re still twenty-five," Underwood said with a twinkle in his eye.
Hilary laughed delightedly.
"No, no, no. I’m twenty-nine," she answered. "I haven’t been twenty-five in years."
He chuckled appreciatively. She hadn’t been twenty-nine in years, either, but that mattered little. She was still as refined and elegant as she’d ever been. He remembered the last time he had seen her, when they were both struggling artists - he as a writer, she as an actress.
"Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you again, in Pittsburgh of all places," he said. "I thought for sure you’d be in the movies by now."
Hilary felt a pang of hurt surge throughout her. She understood that she wasn’t as successful as she dreamed she would be twenty years ago. Not that she ever expected or wanted to be a Hollywood icon, but she had at least hoped for her name in lights, a staple of New York theater.
"Well, what about you?" she inquired, changing the subject. For once, she had no desire to talk about herself. "Are you still a starving playwright?"
Underwood grinned as he shook his head.
"Nah. Do you think I’d be able to afford clothes like these?" He brushed his suit consciously. "No, I went back to school. I’m an M.D. now."
"A doctor?" Hilary sputtered.
"I haven’t been for very long. It’s crazy how long they make you stay in school." He rolled his eyes. "What do you think, though, eh? Not bad for a guy like me, huh?"
"Dr. Woody," Hilary said, rolling the words thoughtfully in her mouth as if to taste them. "Has a certain ring to it."
Jeff and Scott appeared from the Green Room and stopped at the sight of Hilary and her visitor. While Jeff screeched to a furious halt, Scott hesitated with interest. A million thoughts ran through Jeff’s mind, but his conscience begged him to remain calm. He did, with much effort.
"Jeffrey! I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine. Oh, but not too old!" Hilary burst out in a peal of laughter and slapped Underwood playfully on the arm. He laughed amiably. Scott grinned and frowned simultaneously, while Jeff allowed himself a very small har-har. He was too busy noticing that the old friend had his arm casually around his ex-wife’s waist.
"Woody, this is Jeff Singer and Scott Worm - Sherwood," Hilary said, catching herself.
Scott cocked an eyebrow at her, but offered a handshake to the doctor. "Sherwood the Worm, they call me. But you can call me Scott," he said.
Jeff stood rigidly, and forced his hand and arm to protrude in Underwood’s direction. He shook the doctor’s hand rather mechanically, or so the latter noticed. He winced a little at the overly-strong grip that Jeff used.
"Nice to meet you," Jeff mumbled through gritted teeth.
Crossing her arms coolly, trying to mask her unnerving anxiety, Hilary noticed that Jeff was quite less than congenial towards her friend. She was known to be jealous whenever her philandering ex pursued another woman, but Jeff was just as vulnerable to jealousy whenever Hilary made herself available to other men. She could sense it heating up at that moment. Something evil overcame her and she slipped her arm around Underwood’s.
"Actually, we were just discussing a late dinner," Hilary said, casting the look of a hint towards Underwood. "Weren’t we?"
Before Underwood could catch Hilary’s gist, Jeff cut in, speaking in a more civilized yet haughty tone. He told himself that he couldn’t care less. He had his own plans that evening, though catching a few drinks with Scott was on another level than a dinner between two members of opposite sexes.
"That’s great. It’ll do you good to get out for once." Jeff nudged Underwood confidentially and whispered, loud enough so that Hilary could hear, "She hasn’t had a date in months."
Her eyes burnt with a murderous fire. Scott remained silent and watched amusedly. If marriage and divorce lent for such entertainment, maybe he’d give it a try himself. Of course, if he ever won the one woman he dreamt of walking down the aisle to holy matrimony with, he’d never let her go. Scott was flooded with reminders of the sanctity and solemnity of marital bliss and suddenly felt the urge to save them.
"You know, Jeff," he said quickly, "We’d better get going. Drinks wait for no man."
"Drinks?" Hilary demanded.
"Don’t get too worked up, Hildy. Just a little hop around the bar circuit. I’ll be careful with him," Scott promised with a grin. Patting Jeff on the back, the two men retreated to the exit. Jeff was careful to avoid eye contact with Hilary as he followed Scott out the door.
Underwood looked down at his friend. She watched Scott and Jeff intently until the door closed, her eyes hazy with a sort of melancholy mist. He was immensely confused as to what had just taken place, but he knew that Hilary was a little disturbed. Though she wasn’t one to share her feelings outright, perhaps that nice dinner she had spontaneously proposed would loosen her tongue.
"We still on for dinner?" he asked gently.
Hilary shook her head slightly, as if escaping from a daze. She glanced at Underwood. He looked concerned, and rather attractively at that. She smiled and reached up to tousle his dirty blonde hair.
"Absolutely," she replied.
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