attack.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
“It was,” Robin agrees. “But my grandmother always told me that whatever didn’t kill me would make me stronger. I realize now she was just repeating a truism, but I clung to those words. I was determined not to let my grandmother’s death kill me, and so I began to think seriously about what death meant. Even as a child, I knew that death was a natural phenomenon. I’d seen dead birds. I’d had pets that died. The principal of my school fell down a flight of stairs and broke her neck. Death was all around, so I made a decision to understand what it meant.”
“That was pretty gutsy,” I say.
Glowing with the sheen of self-love, Robin continues her autobiography.
“It was necessary,” she says. “I was a logical child, so I set out to find answers. After my grandmother died, I went to live with my mother’s brother and his wife. As fate would have it, my uncle owned a funeral home, and I spent hours with him, listening to his stories about how people reacted to death.”
“And you were seven years old,” I say.
“I wasn’t afraid,” she says. “My uncle recognized a kindred spirit in me. He told me that I’d been given a great gift. I was able to observe grief without being affected.”
“That’s quite a trick.”
“There’s no trick to it. Knowledge is power.”
“So your knowledge of death gives you power over it?”
“Yes.”
“And the fact that you’re not afraid of death gives you power over people who are.”
“That’s a little simplistic, but yes.”
I shake my head.
“Whoa! Lady Death, you are a trip. Time to talk to a caller. Here’s one that should interest you. It’s from a friend of your daughter.”
Robin laughs.
“My daughter is six years old. Her friends are all in bed by now.”
Gabriel Ireland’s pleasant tenor voice is ironic and resigned. I recognize the tone. This is a man who has nothing more to lose.
“Not all your daughter’s friends are six years old, Robin. Kali tells me I’m her best friend, and as you well know, my dark star, today is my fortieth birthday. Since you’ve sucked the light out of every moment of my last year, it seems only fitting that I spend these last dark minutes with you.”
Robin shakes her head in disgust, but I jump in.
“Gabe, our show is pretty loose, but we have two rules: no straying from the topic and no hitting below the belt. So far you’re two for two.”
“I apologize,” Gabriel Ireland says, and he sounds genuinely contrite. “I’m a hollow man.”
“You’re a bore,” Robin Harris says sharply. “Gabe, hang up and let someone with real problems call in. I’m not here to deal with your adolescent angst.”
“I’m aware of that, my dark star. I’ve been listening. As always, you established the boundaries brilliantly. You said your job is to help people deal with the day in their lives when they are most vulnerable-the day when they’re about to die or when someone they love is about to die. I qualify on both counts.”
Robin flicks off her microphone. Her creamy skin is blotched with anger. “I told your producer this would happen if she put his call through. Gabe is hijacking your show, and he’s making me look bad.” Her eyes meet mine. “It’s either Gabe or me,” she says. “Cut him off or I leave.”
Nova’s voice on the talkback is tight. “Stay with Gabe, Charlie. I know voices, and Gabriel Ireland is in real trouble. We have a caller named Boomer on line two. He thinks he can help. At the very least, he’ll give everybody a chance to take a deep breath.”
I shrug. What the hell? It’s Halloween- the night for trick or treat. I switch my mike on.
“Gabe, why don’t we chill awhile and listen to what another caller has to say.”
Gabe laughs.
“I’m not going anywhere, Charlie.”
Robin takes off her headphones and starts jamming her notes into her briefcase. I give her an apologetic smile, open line two and glance at my computer screen.
“Good evening, Boomer.” I say. “I see that you identify your hometown as wherever your Harley will take you. So are you on the road now?”
“Nope, getting too old to drive in the dark.”
Boomer’s rumbling bass makes me reach for the volume control.
“My pattern now,” he says, “is to ride the Hog until sundown, pull into a motel, crack open a cool one and wait until you come on the air.”
“Proud to be part of your day,” I say.
“Thanks, Charlie D. Anyway, I just wanted to let Gabe know that I had a dark star of my own. I was with this lady for two years, and it was stellar-especially in the dark. This lady and I were cut from the same cloth. We both loved to ride our Harleys. We both loved the band Pantera and the Meatlovers Pan-Scrambler at Humpty’s. Most of all, we loved taking long showers together. There was a little place on my lady’s back that she couldn’t reach, and she liked me to soap the spot with Zest. She and I had a lot of fine moments, but there was something about the smell of Zest on that woman that was so good it made me cry.”
Robin has put on her coat and is knotting her scarf. It appears that my apologetic smile has lost its charm.
I keep my focus on Boomer.
“I know the feeling,” I say.
“I kind of figured you did,” Boomer says. “Anyway, long story short, my lady found a biker with a bigger Hog, and she moved along. For a long time, I was kind of where Gabe is now. After my lady left, I soaped a lot of backs, but none of them passed the Zest test. I was beginning to think I’d lost something I would never find again, then along came a lady with a bar of Dove.”
“And soaping your new lady with Dove was good?”
“Transcendent,” Boomer booms.
I wouldn’t have figured Boomer as a guy who’d describe his love life as “transcendent,” but life is full of surprises.
“So your message to Gabe is that somewhere there’s a lady with a bar of Dove that has his name on it?”
“You got it, Charlie D.” Boomer’s laughter is as generous and enveloping as a bear hug.
“Thanks for calling,” I say, and I mean it. The light on line two goes out, and I’m back to line one.
“So, Gabe, think you can hang on until your Cinderella appears?”
“I’ve pretty much given up on happily-ever-afters,” Gabe says. “When my radio came on this morning and I heard the announcer say that Robin was going to be your guest, I saw the shape of my day. I’d drive to the hospital, listen to jokes from my colleagues about turning forty, open a couple of gag gifts and pretend to be surprised when someone brought a cafeteria cake into the staff lounge. And that would be my birthday. At the end of my shift, I’d go back to an empty condo and life without Robin and Kali. I couldn’t face it.”
