times-’
‘ Shit’ s not allowed,’ Troy cut in. ‘ But you’ re right, it sneaks through once in a while. And June, feel free to talk all you want about how incredibly good-looking I am. There’ s no ban on words like stud& sexy& godlike& ‘
‘ Egomaniac,’ Dickie added, passing his bag of doughnuts back to us. ‘ It kills him that he’ s stuck in radio and the ladies don’ t get to see that pretty face of his.’
We dove into the doughnuts until Troy gave us a one-minute warning; then we got ourselves ready. When he kicked the helicopter into gear, the sound of whirling blades was deafening, even to us inside with the doors closed. ‘ I always thought that was fake!’ I shouted. ‘ That you sat in a studio and played a tape!’
Dickie answered by pointing to his ears and mouthing, ‘ Headphones.’
‘ Oh, right.’ Deedee and I scrambled to pull on our headphones, and I adjusted my microphone.
Troy asked, ‘ Can you hear me?’
Deedee nodded. I gave a thumbs-up.
‘ Here we go,’ he said, and the helicopter lifted. It hovered for a moment and then flew up and forward. My insides did a dip, and Deedee gave an excited whoop.
‘ Everybody okay back there?’ Troy asked.
Deedee nodded again. I gave another thumbs-up.
I could hear Troy chuckle in my headphones. ‘ You guys can talk,’ he said. ‘ I’ ll give you plenty of warning when we switch over to on air. And Deedee, you don’ t need to worry. Only June’ s mike goes live.’
Did he have to say the word live? Arrrgh, as I’ d have said in my eye patch days. The doughnut danced in my stomach.
There’ s nothing to be scared about, I told myself. It wasn’ t as if Troy would ask me tough, probing questions. I could handle this, especially after living through the gas giveaway debacle. My brain seemed to be buying the pep talk. My digestive system remained doubtful.
I forced myself to concentrate on the view while I listened to the radio station, which was playing that Black Eyed Peas song that, now that I’ d heard it, would be stuck in my head all day. The night sky was taking on a grayer hue, and it looked as if the sun were considering making an appearance. (And I didn’ t for a second forget this was a twofer for the list: both #10, Ride in a helicopter, and #18, Watch a sunrise.)
Our flight had started in the Valley, and within minutes we were making our way over the hill. I’ d flown in planes over Los Angeles plenty of times, but this was close enough that I could make out the sights. Dodger Stadium& the Getty Museum& the mansions along Mullholland Drive. Even the 405 Freeway seemed lovely, winding as it did up the hill, dotted with the headlights of early morning commuters.
Troy turned to us. ‘ What do you think?’
‘ Who’ d have thought traffic could be so pretty?’ I said.
‘ Well, if you find this traffic pretty,’ Dickie remarked, ‘ wait until rush hour hits. It’ s a freakin’ work of art.’
Deedee pressed her face against the window. ‘ This is so awesome. Nobody’ s gonna believe me when I tell them.’
Troy did the first few traffic reports, and as he’ d warned me, the radio feed shut off in my headphones. I could hear Troy’ s voice, but Fat Boy’ s responses were dead air. Troy put on his ‘ radio guy’ voice-huskier and more enthusiastic than how he usually sounded. So far, traffic was moving smoothly, and it sounded odd to hear only one side of their banter. At one point, Troy said, ‘ I don’ t know, Fat Boy, it’ s been a while since I’ ve looked that closely at a monkey,’ leaving me to wonder what could have prompted that sort of response.
We buzzed past the Hollywood sign as the sky changed from gray to orange. The letters looked every bit their forty-feet height from this vantage point. ‘ Thought this might be a nice view for the sunrise,’ Troy said to me, the only acknowledgment he’ d made of the list.
Then the helicopter veered left, and Troy said, ‘ I’ m heading to check on the 101-I’ m getting word of a crash there. June, I’ ll probably bring you in on the next go-round.’
‘ Sounds good!’ I chirped.
Barf.
I tried to quell my nerves, restricting myself to happy, ridesharing thoughts. Plug the 800 number& plug the 800 number&
Whatever you do, don’ t swear& and definitely don’ t say fuck. Fuck, now I have it in my head& it’ s like that Black Eyed Peas song, and I won’ t be able to get it out! Oh, shit& I mean, fuck& Oh no, I’ ll be spewing cusswords as if I have Tourette’ s and-
‘ All right, we’ re good to go,’ Troy said. ‘ I’ ll start with the traffic news. From there, June, I’ ll intro you and then toss you a question or two.’
‘ Make them easy,’ I said queasily.
He turned his head briefly. ‘ Nothing but softballs, baby.’ Looking back at his control panel, he said, ‘ Now, it’ ll be the same as before. You’ ll hear my voice in your headset. You’ ll hear yourself, too. And I’ ll be able to hear Fat Boy, but you won’ t. Don’ t worry-he knows to only let me cue you. Got it?’
‘ Got it.’
The radio sounds disappeared, and I again heard Troy’ s voice describing a traffic tie-up on the 101, the 405 at the Sepulveda Pass, and the sluggish 90 past Riverside. Then he continued, ‘ If you’ re getting tired of traffic, I’ ve got with me here in the K-JAM JetCopter a lady who can tell us about how to avoid the mess& June Parker with Los Angeles Rideshare.’
Here it came. My heart thumped. My stomach growled from nerves so loudly that I was afraid it could be heard over the helicopter blades.
He continued, ‘ So, June, what would you say to somebody who’ s sitting alone in their car right now, wishing they were anywhere but on the freeway?’
