Songbird Read Free Page B

the door slammed once more. She should never have commented on the news release. And she certainly shouldn’t have talked so long on the air with Kyle Harrison. Whatever had possessed her? She was lucky Sam hadn’t fired her. One false move and a deejay was usually out the door. It’s going to take a lot more than one rave newspaper review to keep me on the afternoon drive now, she thought with a frown.
    Dejectedly, she studied the rotation chart taped to the window above the console. A hit tune—or type “A” song—was next. Reaching aside to the revolving music rack, she pulled the next cartridge in sequence from the row marked “A” and slipped it into the deck. It was a new Anne Murray hit—a real heartbreaker, and one of her favorites.
    Suddenly the lyrics of the song on the air caught her attention. The tone was tender, with an underlying melancholy.
    Desiree’s eyes crinkled with a familiar pang of sadness. She felt an affinity with the singer, as if the words about long and lonely nights were being sung solely to her, about her. She heaved a little sigh. Her career demanded that she be self-sufficient and independent, and over the past five years she’d come to terms with that. In fact, she now preferred being on her own. So why was she partial to these tear-jerking love songs? Why did they always bring a lump to her throat?
    She grabbed a pencil and scratch pad to jot down the titles of the songs coming up, so she could list them later on the air. But for some reason her pencil stood poised and motionless as a smooth, deeply masculine voice drifted into her consciousness. A voice that set her spine tingling. A voice that a prince would be proud of. Too bad he’d turned out to be such a toad.
    Several minutes later, a tall brunette in a gaily striped sundress hurried into the studio, waving a candy bar. “Sugar break. I know you like peanut butter cups, but the machine was out.” Her nose was slightly crooked, her accent unmistakably Brooklyn. “Hey, what’s the frown for? Did Sam read you the riot act?”
    Desiree shrugged as she slid off her stool, grabbed the candy bar, and tore off its wrapper. “Yeah. But apparently I’m still employed. For today, anyway.” She knew she shouldn’t be eating this, but after what had just happened on the air, she needed something to cheer her up. She took a bite of the chocolaty goodness and smiled with pleasure. “Mmmm. Hits the spot. Thanks, Barb. I’ve been eating celery all week. Another piece and I’d probably turn green.”
    Barbara pursed her lips in mock irritation. “As if you need to watch what you eat, you skinny thing.”
    “ I do. Constantly. It’s a cross all short people must bear. You Amazons don’t know how lucky you are.”
    Barbara laughed and handed her a phone message. “Listen, I just got a call from a lady at Barney’s, a new restaurant in Orange. They want to know if you’ll host their opening-night party next month.”
    As she stared at the note, Desiree felt a stab of disappointment like a knife between the ribs. She couldn’t do it, of course. It was impossible. “You gave her the usual polite refusal, I hope?”
    Barbara shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I told her you’d think about it.”
    “ What’s there to think about?” She handed back the note. “Just thank her and tell her I’m busy.”
    “ You’ve got to stop hiding from your fans, Des. The lady raved about your voice. It’d be great publicity for you.”
    “ Some great publicity. They’re expecting Candice Bergen and instead they get Shirley Temple.”
    “ Would you come off it? You might be short, but with your hair up, in the right kind of dress, you’d look glamorous as hell.” She gestured emphatically with both hands. “And besides, you’re gorgeous. I’d give a million bucks for a face like yours.”
    “ For this face?” Desiree thrust out her front teeth and wiggled her jaw in chipmunk fashion. “Well, I’d give a million bucks to be