The DJ Ch. 01

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon when Hillary parked the modest Toyota next to the glittering Porsche in space marked Station Manager. She sighed, up until a few months ago her life had been on track, she had been part of one of the most successful morning teams in Cincinnati radio history. "Sinrise in Cincinnati" had meteorically risen in four years to be Cincinnati's number one morning show. The show was more than a trifle risqué, taking a decided sexual outlook on mornings, where double-entendres were the norm, listeners appreciated the 'just within the bounds of decency' comments and the quick repartee and the sexual tension between the hosts. Now she was parking a utility rental car in front of her own radio station, nine hundred miles from home.

The music and format for "Sinrise in Cincinnati" had been chosen to appeal to a 'middle of the road' audience. Her partner and Co-host, Chris Roberts was charming, good looking with a gravelly voice, thanks to two packs of smokes a day, that men envied and women found attractive. Hillary's radio voice was husky and slightly breathless. While she did not consider herself beautiful, others did, she was certainly attractive with an earthy sensuality. The first thing you noticed, if she wasn't speaking, was her face and hair. Her face could grace the cover of any fashion magazine. Her brows were thick and sensual, she had high cheekbones, and gray-flecked serene green eyes; her nose was straight and slender. Her mouth was wide and mobile with slightly fleshy lips, her teeth pearly white and perfectly straight. Her features were framed with long lustrous slightly wavy auburn hair, that when worn straight back, reached the base of her spine. Listeners had voted her's the sexiest voice in Cincinnati. The show had been cited for numerous radio and broadcasting awards, and the resurgence in popularity of the name Hillary, among the citizens of Cincinnati, for their baby daughters.

The pair did 'guest appearances' on Breakfast TV from their studio, Hillary was often invited to be a guest on Regis & Kelly. Billboards with their faces, advertised 'Sinrise in Cincinnati' were plastered throughout the city. There were posters on walls, huge outdoor signs as well as on taxicabs, municipal busses and park benches. Their show drew a larger audience than the corresponding Morning TV broadcast; they were Sinrise in Cincinnati.

Her world was a fishbowl, as a local celebrity, every bit of her life became news, Wives, lovers and significant others wore and colored their hair to match her's. Women mimicked her slightly breathless and sensual tone, cute giggles, and her special coy and sexually charged unscripted comments. If she was seen at a nightclub or restaurant, its reputation was made. Then ever so slowly, rumors surfaced, first, being seen in the company with, then, whispers she was the companion of a well-known lesbian lawyer. At first the station was understated in their denial, then vehemently denied the reports, their PR department worked overtime trying to undo the damage. She and Chris were seen eating together in intimate restaurants, dancing at various clubs, coming to work together in the same car, much to his rather dowdy wife's embarrassment, but the gossip refused to abate that Cincinnati's sexiest voice was in fact a lesbian.

The station Director pulled Hillary into his office and tried to wring the truth out of her. She remained stoic in her denial. Then the ratings started dropping, although the Gay Lesbian Community put their considerable weight behind her, in fact, it did the opposite, they did her case no good. She was given a month's leave, after that, first a paid, then finally an unpaid suspension, "until these rumors die down". It became obvious, during the enforced sabbatical that she was being replaced by a Californian bleached blonde called Christie, and the show was being reformatted as Chris & Christie in Cincinnati.

Urbane and amiable, with all the loyalty of a rodent jumping from a sinking ship, Chris made it blatantly obvious that he was distancing himself from his previous co-host. Overnight new posters that appeared on walls, busses and park benches as well as the billboards were advertising Chris & Christie's faces. The final straw was when her lawyer friend refused to take her calls.

She moped in her apartment, and rarely went out. Her friends at first were supportive but eventually they too left her to brood alone. Her worried parents finally traveled from her hometown to see her. They showed her an advertisement they had found for a small radio station near Alton NH that they listened to occasionally. Her attention was roused; she used the few connections she had left within the industry to gather more information. Recent surveys had put its daily listener-ship at under 10000, but even if she liquidated every asset she could, she would not have enough to buy it. She sold her hi-rise apartment. She was paid out a paltry ten percent of her contract by the station and network, and ended the lease on her ridiculously expensive Jaguar and sold off every possession that was not necessary for everyday living.

She set about bargaining and haggling for the station, at first only trying to buy the transmitter and broadcasting license, the owner was adamant and refused to sell her just the parts that would allow Hillary to broadcast from any premises. The intricate haggling began. The price of the complete bundle was lowered again and again, in order to meet her counter offers, but it was still more than she could raise, finally her parents stepped in with an unsolicited loan, enabling their desperate daughter to buy the small town radio station from the owner who was going through a mid-life crisis and wanting to relocate to the Caymans with a woman half his age. The negotiations were done telephonically and through her father's broker and lawyers. She ended up buying the station, the furnishings and the building and land it was situated on, and gaining a substantial mortgage.

The station was situated in a converted firehouse set high up on top of a hill on the outskirts and above the town and overlooking Lake Winnipesaukee. Although the license stated Alton New Hampshire, because of the station's overly powerful transmitter and the topography, it also reached the Concorde and Manchester areas as well and the coast. Highways 11 and 28 are always busy, local motorists and long-distance truckers; use WLBN for weather and traffic reports. Her accountant father had gone over the station's books and even though the owner had lost some of his advertising accounts and the listener-ship was down, mainly due to a dated and unimaginative format. It became obvious that the station had been sold for less, because the station had been operating at less than its full potential.

She opened the door to the station. The papers had been signed, the title was hers, and all that was needed was the transfer of the broadcasting certificate into her name, it was now her radio station. The entrance hall had been kept like it was a firehouse still. All that was missing was a fire truck. Instead, behind a huge almost bar-like counter a receptionist sat with a mural and the logo of WLBN behind her. Hillary nodded at a big-breasted pretty young blonde. "Hi, I'm Hillary Wilson. I'm here to see Jimmy Chadwick, I think he's expecting me." She said.

The woman's fixed smile was as false as her boobs, hair color, and probably her teeth. She picked up the phone and hit a few digits and whispered into the receiver. "She's here Sugar."

Jimmy Chadwick breezed through the door. "Hey, Hillary, nice to meet you!" He said, pumping her hand. "Welcome to your new domain." He was about forty, very tall man with broad shoulders, and thickening slightly in the middle, and his hair was dark, untouched by gray or expertly camouflaged. He was green eyed and good looking with a sincere expression. "You've met Adel." He said pointing to the imitation blonde at reception. "Let me introduce you to the rest of the staff, they are all so excited." He said, drawing her into the corridor.

The corridor led into a large square room. Three double-layered glass-fronted anechoic studios faced into the room. A longhaired man wearing tattered jeans and a black 'Grateful Dead' tee shirt was occupying one of the studios. He sported Raybans and headphones and was smoking a cigarette while leaning back in his chair; scuffed cowboy boots were propped up on the mixing table in front of him. A naked red light bulb blazed, and an illuminated sign, 'ON AIR' warned the others that he was, in fact, broadcasting. Ozzy Osborn was ranting out to Crazy Train through a pair of huge barroom speakers, the jock beneath the headphones nodded in time to the music and played an air guitar. The room was further furnished with a pair of sofa's and occasional tables, a fridge and scarred desk. A closed door was stenciled 'RECORD LIBRARY', and another marked 'TOILET' between the two doors a staircase led upwards and was labeled 'MANAGER'. Four faces stared at her from the sofas and the chair at the desk, with expressions that ranged from fear, to disdain. No one except Jimmy looked excited.

Jimmy tried hard to ease the situation as he introduced his staff. "Meet Codi Brentwood." He said pointing to a woman sitting on the edge of the sofa. "She does the Morning Drive, and is our weather report specialist." Codi, fair, fat and forty smiled bravely, and held her hand out, they shook hands. "I do the morning show." She said, as an introduction. Her voice belied her age and looks. Jimmy continued. "Here is Mike Rockwell, our brave newsman, roving reporter and general fill in." He said, pointing to an untidy man in his thirties in jeans and wearing an earnest expression. Mike rose to his feet when they shook hands; his were cold and clammy. "Pleased to meet you, Hillary. " He said; his speaking voice was crisp, clear and even. Jimmy continued. "This is Morgan Bronson." He said introducing middle aged man sitting at the desk. "Our shock-jock and man-about-town," he does evenings, until we run the station on automatic. Morgan was short and although thin, had a bulging belly." We've all heard so much about you Hillary." He drawled condescendingly. Jimmy blanched, before continuing. "Hillary this is Kylie Titus, our continuity girl and archivist. Kylie sat, her smile was trite and her eyes showed fear, she was short, with lank dark hair, and looked nine months pregnant in a maternity dress. Their hand shaking was brief.

They all sat and just looked at her, she felt almost compelled to say something. "Its nice to meet you all, I'm sure we'll get on just fine, I wont be doing anything radical, Jimmy has a great operation here, and I don't want to mess with success. But I've only just got here, so carry on guys, I'll be settling in over the next few days, Jimmy will still be in charge until the broadcasting certificate is transferred into my name." She said.

Jimmy almost glowed. "I'll introduce you to Jerry. " He said pointing to the laid-back disk jockey, lolling back in his chair, nodding to Deep Purple's 'Smoke on the water' that was blasting through the speakers. "Jerry Taylor does the midday show."

"And what to you do, Jimmy?" Hillary asked lightheartedly.

"I do everything else, sell advertising, produce the shows, tape the ads, voice overs, and run the station, with Adel's help, occasionally I do a show when no one else is available, I don't get much time behind the mike anymore." He said almost shyly. "Now I think I could easily hand over the reigns right now. Lets have a week's transition until the end of the month, you need to file the new broadcasting license in your name. Adel and I'll begin moving out this week end, you should be able to move in by Monday where are you staying?" He asked.

"I'm booked into, I think, the Wagon Wheels Motel, just out of town, take all the time you need."

They walked up the stairs marked 'Manager" into a pleasantly furnished sitting room. The hardwood floor shone and was partially covered with a Southwestern rug. The room was furnished with relatively new comfortable looking burgundy leather sofas, and matching lazyboy chairs, one wall was dominated by an enormous big screen television set. A large oak desk and high backed executive chair, that matched the sofa and lazyboy chairs was pushed against one wall. The wall opposite consisted entirely of smoked glass; and the view beyond, of the town and lake was breath taking. Jimmy pointed to a closed door. That leads to the rest of our apartment, I'm leaving the furnishings, drapes and kitchen appliances, either keep them or throw them out, the sitting room suite I got a few years ago and we don't use it much, neither Adel or myself are into TV much." He said. He pulled a piece of paper from a drawer and said. "Sign here!" Pointing to the foot of the page.

Hillary scrawled her signature onto the application to transfer the broadcasting license into her name.

"Well how does it feel to own a radio station?" Jimmy asked as he folded the document and placed it into an already addressed envelope, which he sealed and placed in the out- tray, for mailing.

"It feels like, like I'm just about to run the Boston Marathon and I'm feeling weak and out of breath." She answered.

"It will get easier, you have a great crew, I hand picked them, I believe if you give them some new direction, and shake the station out of its doldrums, you can be very successful. That's the reason I sold it to you, I've had you checked out, I know all about you, I believe in you, I did have other offers, offering way more, but I want to see WLBN operate as an independent, not be swallowed up by some corporate network and disappear into oblivion. I know you are the person this radio station needs."

The rest of the day was a blur, She finally met Alton's own version of Dr Johnny Fever, who turned out to be just as flaky as Howard Hesseman's character in WKRP.

She drove towards the motel, the air was clear and as the afternoon sun began to sink over the horizon, her hunger made her stop at the restaurant attached to the motel before going to her room. The interior of the diner was very "New Hampshire" and she was the only customer. She found herself being seated at a small table and served by a dark haired waitress dressed in a drab dark gray blouse and matching skirt. Her shiny hair was pulled and tied into a pair of braids beginning symmetrically above each ear. A nametag announced she was 'MARISKA'. She was deathly pale with over accentuated black eye shadow and nightshade lipstick giving her a slightly haunting quality that was counterbalanced by a quirky grin. The waitress took her order for Clam Chowder with a glass of white house wine and returned with a basket filled with fresh buns and a small pot of real butter, and the glass of wine, before hurrying over to a laptop computer discreetly tucked away behind the counter, and began typing away.

Hillary watched as the Goth girl typed and stared at the screen and giggled occasionally, then typed away madly again, but sprang up and placed the bowl of steamy aromatic chowder in front of her as soon as it arrived from the kitchen. "Enjoy." She said. "Give me a shout if you need anything, this time of the year its quiet, we don't get many customers while its still day light, it gets busier when its dark, though." She said as she returned to her computer.

Hillary watched as Mariska typed on her computer, the girl was blushed, "I'm just chatting to a friend in Canada, I don't usually chat at work but my favorite DJ is scheduled this evening, and I have a dedication I want her to play." She said.

Hillary was puzzled. "There's a DJ on the internet?" She asked.

"Oh yeah, there must be hundreds, the one I listen to is DJ dreamy, hang on a second, I'll crank up the volume you can listen to her, she's going to play my request." She said happily.

Mariska fiddled with her laptop, and although the sound coming out of it was slightly muted and 'tinny', Hillary had shivers. " This is DJ dreamy, I have a request and dedication from angel, to her Mistress, Guitargirl; Vampire heart by HIM and she loves you, Guitargirl." The DJ's voice was throaty, loaded with sensuality; with a wispy quality, hinting she was just coming down from an orgasm. The song with its heavy metal beat rumbled, tinkled and wailed with passion through the tiny speakers of the laptop, Hillary was enthralled.

The song ended, the DJ's dulcet tones brought the all but empty diner alive, " Okay, that was Vampire Heart for Miss Guitargirl, from angel, in 'seeking subbies', coming up next is Evil ways by Santana and we'll have Evanescence's Lithium, and oh, wait, like it wasn't going to happen! I have a dedication from Guitargirl to her lil subbie, angel, Sarah Mclachlan and Angel, She loves ya babe!"

Sarah Mclachlan's moving song filled the restaurant with its unique sadness. "How do I tune into that?" She asked Mariska, pointing at the computer.

"It's a little complicated, what media player do you use?" Mariska asked.

"Hell I don't know, whatever came with the computer, if I fetch it from the car, can you set it up for me?" She asked hopefully.

"Sure, that'll be easier and faster, do you have IRC so you can make requests?" Mariska asked.

"I don't think so, I don't think its got anything other than a word processor and whatever came with it when I bought it." Hillary answered.

Hillary left her soup and fetched her laptop from the trunk of her car, setting it on the table, and switching it on. Mariska stood waiting until it had booted and came to life.

She tapped on some keys, flicked the mouse a few times, and then said. "No, you'll need to download IRC." She wrote the instructions on a paper napkin. " You can download it here." She said handing Hillary the napkin. I've set your Media Player to log into the radio. Here! Let me set your Internet up to the motel's wifi network, you are staying at the motel, right? I'll download it for you, it's a quick download."

She tapped on keyboard, soon Hillary's laptop was on the Internet and she watched as files began to download. Mariska's eyes were alive as she set up the program. "You need a chat name." She said. "The server is a BDSM site, I hope that's okay? So are you a Domme or subbie?" She asked.

"What's the difference?" Hillary asked in ignorance.

"Do you give or take orders?" Mariska asked.

"I think I give orders now." She replied.

"All right, so think of a strong name, and I'll set you up as a Domme." She said as her laptop tuned in to the radio station and music pulsed from its minuscule speakers.

Hillary peered at the computer screen as Mariska went about setting the program up. "At University I was known as Sassy, if that helps?" She said while trying to comprehend what Mariska was doing.

Mariska's response was slow, as she type. "Okay, its not taken, so, welcome to the Bondage server Mistress Sassy," She said.

Hillary looked as words whipped across her screen, Mariska, turned and left to go to her own computer, and started typing:

angel{G}} "Hello Miss Sassy"

Hillary chuckled and typed back

"Hello Angel....

Hillary called to Mariska. "How do I make or type the rest of your chat name?"

"You can type the first few letters then hit the TAB key." She replied.

Hillary hit the TAB

Sassy}"Hello angel{G} appeared on the screen.

Sassy}"Thank you for helping me."

DJ dreamy announced some more requests over the air and seduced her audience while Mariska grinned at her from over her open computer. "Dommies use capital letters when they speak about Themselves, so the me should be, Me." She chuckled.

angel{G}}"You are welcome Miss"

gunfighter}"Hello Ms Sassy."

MsMarlo}"Welcome Sassy."

cyberslut}*kneels at MsSassy's feet.