Chapter 5

“Son of a bitch, son of a bitch, son of a bitch,” Pam cursed, looking at the dismal lunch slot again.

“Something wrong, ma’am?” Terri said.

“God damned lunch slot. We’re barely getting twelve percent,” Pam spat, gulping her drink.

“Yeah, I’ve listened to them,” Terri agreed. “‘Bout put you to sleep.”

“Huh? We’re playing…” Pam asked.

“Oh no, it’s not the music. The music’s fine,” Terri said. “It’s the announcer. Could he possibly sound more bored?”

“Yeah, David’s like that,” Pam had to concede.

“I was thinking, my mom’s Uncle Phil? He had some records, them old radio shows? They’d keep your attention, they’d really get you going, and then, and then, and then, commercial. You sat and listened to the commercial, afraid get up, might miss what was happening next,” Terri said.

“What evil lurks in the hearts of men,” Pam intoned.

“The Shadow knows,” Terri said. “Anyway…”

She sat down next to Pam on the long couch. Their thighs gently touched.

“Other day, was watching think it was Food Network or something like that, where I got that macaroni salad recipe, and the woman? Would give you most of the ingredients? And then commercial. Then she’d tell you what to do, and the really important step? Commercial. Almost peed on myself waiting for her to come back so I could learn how keep the sour cream from curdling when adding it to the hot noodles.”

“Well, how do you?” Pam asked, drink and report forgotten.

“Hmm? Oh, commercial,” Terri said, getting to her feet.

“Terri! Don’t you dare,” Pam yelled.

Terri giggled. Pam also giggled.

“You don’t. You run cool water over the noodles, see, you cook them until they’re al dente and then run cool water over them. Isn’t that smart?” Terri said. “But you could do something like that. Give your listeners a recipe, something they can fix that night when they get home. They’ll want listen and they won’t fall asleep when David’s talking and then you put the recipe on the web site but don’t put it on until after the show’s over.”

Sunday morning, Pam fixed her cold cereal and thought. At lunch, Terri informed her that she’d made chicken salad for sandwiches if Pam would like one.

“Think you could do that?” Pam asked.

“Chicken salad? Nothing to it,” Terri said.

“No, no, that lunch thing,” Pam said.

“Sure,” Terri shrugged. “Remember? I was in the drama club. And I was the head cheerleader, used to being in front of people.”

Monday morning, David Straughter made Pam’s decision easier when he marched uninvited into Pam’s office, flopped down in a chair across from her and demanded a raise. Pam pointed out his dismal numbers and the man shrugged.

“Still in second,” he replied.

“Barely,” Pam countered.

“Contract’s up next week,” David reminded her.

“Wasn’t planning on renewing it,” Pam said. “Again, David, your numbers? They’re terrible. And I can’t help but think our afternoon slots are dying mostly because of your deplorable lead-in.”

“Starting Monday the nineteenth, the Lunch Box, from ten ’til two,” Pam recorded, voice excited, lively.

“Don’t miss the Lunch Box, starting on the nineteenth,” Pam announced.

These little blurbs began playing throughout the broadcasts. David Straughter also began his own campaign. He implored his listeners to call the station, email the station manager, demand that his contract be renewed.

“David,” Pam said on Friday just as David was about to go on the air.

“Yes, Ms. White?” David smiled, thinking he’d won.

“Five calls. Pam smiled. “You’ve had five calls. Five. We did get almost a hundred emails, though.”

“Oh yeah?” David said, still smiling.

“Uh huh, and nearly every single one of them asked what took us so long get rid of you,” Pam laughed.

Monday morning, Pam’s stomach was in knots and it had nothing to do with Terri’s Denver omelet at breakfast. Terri had assured her she could do it, do the show, but supposed she flopped? They had two interns, both of whom had campaigned to be on the air, but the two interns had personalities that made David Straughter look lively, energetic.

“Hi, I’m Honey Bee,” Terri’s happy, bubbly voice chimed over the speaker in Pam’s office. “My girlfriend and I went on this picnic the other day; the weather was just beautiful and we had fried chicken. We also had potato salad and macaroni salad; I made that with a little bit of sour cream. So tangy. That sour cream really wakes up that salad. Anyway, after we hear Highly Suspect’s song, I’ll tell y’all how to make the perfect fried chicken, okay?”

“Okay, I bought a fryer. Now, usually, I buy a bag of leg quarters; they’re less expensive, but I really wanted my girlfriend to have the perfect day; she works so hard. So, this day was all about her, so I bought a fryer and cut it up, but again, you can use whatever chicken pieces you want. The night before? I put a heaping tablespoon of salt, a teaspoon of freshly cracked black pepper and a teaspoon of garlic powder into a gallon sized plastic bag. I then added a pint of cold water, sealed the bag and kind of shook it all up, then opened it up and put the chicken into the bag. Then I lay the bag flat inside of a baking dish and put that into the refrigerator. You’re going want put it into a baking dish in case the bag leaks. This next song? We’re going old, old school. This is ‘Sacred Love’ by Bad Brains,” Terri said.

Pam walked rapidly to the employee’s bathroom. She sighed contentedly as her stomach unknotted and she was able to relax her sphincter. The speaker in the bathroom continued to broadcast Terri’s Lunch Box show. Pam smiled at herself in the large mirror as she washed her hands. Then she gave her reflection a ‘thumbs-up’ and left the bathroom.

“Where did you get her?” Bobby, the station’s engineer asked Pam. “I hate cooking shit and she’s got me thinking I’m going buy a chicken on the way home.”

“Do us all a favor, go to Popeye’s instead, huh?” Pam smiled.

“You can dice up the green pepper is big or as small as you want. When I was a little girl? I’d sit there and throw a fit; I wasn’t eating no green peppers. And my momma would say ‘oh, okay, I won’t put none in yours.’ Wasn’t until I was about nine or ten, figured it out. She was putting them in my food; she was putting it in all our food. When I told her I figured it out, I was on to her game? She just said, ‘see? And it ain’t killed you eat it, huh?’ The green peppers are incorporated in with the sour cream then you squeeze a little lemon in with it. After his commercial break, I’ll finish up telling y’all how do the perfect picnic, okay?”

Pam looked at the clock. It was seven minutes before two pm.

“And I knew I’d made the perfect picnic because afterward? We had our first kiss, this has been our first episode of ‘The Lunch Box.’ I’m Honey Bee, and thank you for listening to ninety two nine, K.I.T.N, the kitten that roars,” Terri said, then slumped in her chair.

“She’s gay?” Bobby whined. “I mean, when she said ‘girlfriend’ I thought she just meant…”

“She’s gay?” Pam asked, staring at the speaker to the left of her desk.

“She’s gay?” the receptionist asked, rubbing her thighs together.

At five o’clock, Pam walked briskly to her car. She listened to the station’s broadcast as she drove home. Sven and Jerry, the Rush Hour crew answered a listener’s question on-air.

“Yes, the recipe was posted to our web site, no, no, if it doesn’t come in a bag or a box, I don’t eat it,” Sven said.

“That’s true. Sven ever goes on a diet? KFC will go out of business,” Jerry said.

“And Papa John’s, and Taco Bell and…” Sven agreed.

“Speaking of that, time for a commercial break, but thank you for listening to ninety two nine, K.I.T.N, the kitten that roars,” Jerry said.

Pam smirked; Sven and Jerry had done a perfect segue into a Taco Bell commercial. But Terri’s show had ended three hours ago, and apparently people were calling in and talking about it.

“Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes, Ms. White,” Terri said when Pam entered the house.

“You, you’re cooking?” Pam asked.

Terri looked at her, puzzled. She wiped her hands on her apron.

“I uh, yes ma’am,” Terri said. “Why? Are you, you’re not unhappy with what I’ve been cooking, are you?”

“No, it’s just, I mean, you worked today,” Pam stuttered.

“And? Women everywhere get up, go to work, come home, clean house, cook dinner,” Terri said. “It’s not unheard of.”

Pam changed out of her work outfit, then sat down at the dinner table. A glass of iced tea was already on the table. A moment later, Terri brought in a Caesar’s salad.

“I uh, I listened to your show,” Pam said.

Terri’s cheeks colored slightly. She waited. When Pam said nothing, Terri again left the room.

Just as Pam was finishing the salad, Terri came in, plate of lasagna in hand. She put the lasagna down, then placed a smaller plate of garlic bread in front of Pam.

Pam ate quickly and used the heel of bread to wipe the last bit of sauce from the plate. Terri appeared, carrying a bowl of blackberry cobbler, with a melting scoop of ice cream on top. She put the bowl down, along with the customary mug of decaffeinated coffee.

“You uh, kind of broke Bobby’s heart when you talked about uh, kissing your uh your…” Pam said, staring hard at her bowl of blackberry cobbler.

Terri again waited. Pam said nothing, just picked up the spoon. Terri left the room.

“Get back here!” Pam suddenly exploded. “Get your ass back here right now!”

“Yes ma’am?” Terri asked, confused.

“I’m the one in charge here!” Pam yelled, getting to her feet. “I don’t get embarrassed! I don’t get tongue tied. I’m gay and I’m God damned proud of it.”

Yes ma’am?” Terri asked, shrinking back from Pam.

Pam grabbed Terri’s upper arms and pulled the girl to her. She kissed Terri, quite forcefully on her lips.

“Now! Why did you talk about our kiss? On the air?” Pam snarled, pulling Terri’s long blonde hair.

Terri gasped, head bent back. She stumbled slightly but Pam kept the grip on Terri’s hair.

“Because, because it was beautiful!” Terri cried out, tears beginning to form in her eyes. “It was so soft and sweet and it was just beautiful and I love you!”

“You, you’re a God damned liar,” Pam snarled, using Terri’s hair to pull Terri to her knees.

“No ma’am, it’s true,” Terri sobbed, kneeling in front of Pam.

“Jesus, I want to beat you so God damned bad you bleed, you hear?” Pam screamed, jerking Terri’s hair forward now.

Pam hurled blackberry cobbler and coffee to the floor and stomped from the room.

“Clean that shit up,” Pam screamed.

“Yes ma’am,” Terri sobbed.

The next morning, breakfast was a silent meal. Pam stomped to the door, briefcase in hand and did not respond to Terri’s statement of ‘have a nice day.’

“Hi, I’m Honey Bee and this is the Lunch Box. As always, thank you for listening to ninety two nine, K.I.T.N, the kitten that roars. You know how some days are just perfect for soup and sandwiches? I mean, it’s raining outside, don’t look like it’s ever going let up? That’s a soup and sandwich day. Today? We’re going talk about my girlfriend’s favorite homemade bacon and bean soup and a nice BLT to go with that. Now, that BLT comes with a garlic mayonnaise and that’s the first thing we’ll talk about right after ‘Bad Company’ by Five Finger Death Punch,” Terri’s cheerful voice bubbled. “You know that’s a

Remake of ‘Bad Company’ by Bad Company? They’re both so awesome, I swear.”

Terri’s voice was a happy, bubbly voice. Throughout the four hour long broadcast, she kept up a lively chatter, peppered with their customary songs.

“…and that’s how to put the finishing touches on that sugar cookie with strawberry icing that is sure to put a smile on my girlfriend’s face. I’m Honey Bee, and this has been the Lunch Box. And as always, thanks for listening to ninety two nine, the kitten that roars,” Terri signed off.

Pam stormed into the house. She flung her briefcase on her couch and stomped into the kitchen.

“Quit calling me your girlfriend!” she screamed at Terri. “I am your fucking boss; do you understand?”

Terri grabbed Pam in a hug and softly kissed Pam’s lips. When Pam opened her mouth to scream, Terri thrust her tongue into Pam’s mouth.

Terri combed her fingers through Pam’s curly blonde hair. Her right hand rubbed Pam’s back. Her tongue coaxed Pam’s tongue out and she gently sucked on Pam’s tongue for a moment.

Then Terri released Pam. Terri turned to the stove and turned the burner to low.

“Dinner’s ready; go get changed,” Terri said.

“Did you hear me?” Pam hissed.

“Yes ma’am, I heard you,” Terri said. “Did you hear me? Dinner’s ready, go get changed.”

“This is my house. Don’t tell me ‘go get changed,'” Pam shrilled.

“Fine, don’t go get changed. Eat in your jacket; I don’t care,” Terri said.

“This is my house. My house,” Pam snapped as she walked to her room.

Terri smiled as she heard Pam muttering, stomping around in her room. She ladled the hot and sour soup into a bowl and brought the bowl to the dining room.