By: H.G. Miller

Book Two : Chapter 1 "If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a fuckin’ funeral.” Zap stubbed out a cigarette on the tombstone of Mrs. Mary Collinsworth, beloved wife and mother, and pulled at the tie around his neck. He’d borrowed the suit from Andy and it was two sizes two small and cramped his style, his rib cage and his armpits. “Jesus, Jack,” Andy wiped away some of the burnt ash from the tombstone. “Have a little respect.” “Don’t call me that,” Zap replied and walked away, lighting up another smoke. Forrest Lawn Cemetery had three funerals scheduled on Saturday. Two were relatively modest arrangements, with most of the big fuss coming from the West Lawn, where Jack Watley’s casket procession had attracted a good number of local and national celebrities (the fact being many local celebrities in Los Angeles were national celebrities). As the two most well known DJs from The Rock, Zap and Andy were asked to give eulogies by upper management at the station. Andy made some jokes about the trouble he and Zap would get into with their former station manager and ended with some somber comments about the guidance the old man had given them. Zap read from a statement that Andy wrote for him earlier that morning. Something about how fragile life was and how the fleeting time in the limelight should be used for greater causes, or something like that. Zap wasn’t paying much attention to the words crawling out of his mouth today. Andy had begged him to be sober for the proceedings, and he had done pretty good, only swallowing one of the little blue pills that made him happy, but the small dose left him fidgety, so he sucked down cigarettes end to end. Those who didn’t know him well – most everybody – assumed the chain smoking had to do with grief. A few other local radio personalities gave speeches in Watley’s honor and his only daughter, Alice, unveiled an engraved stone microphone that would adorn his headrest. She was a fair-skinned brunette still figuring out a degree in college. She smiled to the polite applause from the crowd. Then she bit at her lower lip. It was a thing she did. Dale stood to the back of the crowd, trying to stay anonymous. In the past few months, he’d gotten to know the old guy pretty well, and he was sad at his passing. That said he also never really bought into the propaganda that Jack was pitching about radio being an art form. Radio was a job that paid the bills. Barely. Dale just wanted to survive long enough to move to the afternoons, so he could sleep in, and earn a decent paycheck. Have some gag time with a traffic reporter and be home in time to catch the prime time TV shows. Getting to know Watley’s daughter wouldn’t hurt, either, but he certainly couldn’t think about that at a time like this. So, everybody expected him to be distraught over Watley’s passing. Sure, he was sad about Jack’s death, but he had lived a long life and probably wouldn’t have been too happy away from the radio station, anyway. Maybe his time had come. It could have been poetic. “You’re awfully quiet today,” Zap came up to Dale and leaned against a tree. “Not much to say,” Dale said. “How come they didn’t dog and pony your ass up there?” “I’m not that famous yet.” “Keep waiting. You going on air tonight?” “Nah. Bradford gave me the night off.” “And, you took it?” Zap ashed up his latest victim and reached into his pocket for another. “It’s paid for,” Dale told him. That made Zap smile. “You figured that out quick.” “I’ll take ‘em when I can,” Dale said. Zap lit his cigarette and blew some smoke into the wind. “Andy and I get a month off each year, plus the three trips to Vegas and the week in New York for the music awards.” “Sounds like a good gig.” “It is,” Zap said. “Just remember: the hours suck. I’m in at 4 a.m. every morning.” “That’s not what I hear.” Another smile from Zap. “Watch it, kid. You aren’t that famous yet.” He looked up to see Nick Bradford, the station CEO, walking toward them. “Time to mingle.” “Boys, how are you?” Bradford came off as a pretty nice guy, but all of the DJs were wary of him. He was the boss above all the other bosses. He signed the paychecks, and you could never fully trust a man who gave you money that he wasn’t getting back to have your best interests at heart. “Doin’ great, Nicky B,” Zap winked at Nick. He thought the suit might like having a cool radio nickname. Nick, of course, didn’t. He liked being called Mr. Bradford. He liked wearing a suit to work everyday. His wife picked out the tie, and it made him feel like he was living the dream in a world created in his head by fifties television shows he’d watched as re-runs in the eighties. Though he didn’t know him well, Nick knew that Zap wasn’t in mourning, but decided to let it slide anyway. “Dale, how are you?” “Doing fine, Mr. Bradford.” Dale forced a polite smile. “I know that Jack was a friend of yours.” Nick tried his best to sound comfortable and sincere. “If there’s anything the station—I can do to help. Please, let me know.” “Thanks, sir.” Nobody talked for a few moments. Nick cleared his throat. Dale put his hands in his pockets. Having lost his chance to fuck with little Dale’s mind any more, Zap walked away in search of more interesting prey. “He’s really sucking them down today,” Nick noted. “I think they’re on sale,” Dale said. “Do you smoke, Dale?” “No, sir.” “Hmm…” Dale wanted to say just pot, but joking around with senior management was a tricky proposition. Awkward banter could lead to lost paychecks, and all in all, this was a pretty easy gig. He’d play it straight with this one. “I’ve tried it off and on. You know, out at bars and parties. But, it never stuck,” he told Nick. “How about you?” “Not anymore.” Nick kicked at some loose gravel. “My wife won’t let me. I went through a pack a day back in college.” “Really?” “Lotta late nights.” Nick smiled with memories. “Drank too much coffee, too. But, she still lets me do that.” -x-x-x- Andy stood by the casket with Diane Watley, Jack’s widow. He’d only met her once before at the station Christmas party three years earlier, but he felt obligated to represent the DJ staff by her side. He’d given up on the small talk after a few minutes and just stood solemnly by as the procession of well-wishers walked by and nodded to the widow, shook her hand and gave her hugs if friendly enough. Most acknowledged Andy with a hand shake, and he received a few hugs as well from those who were unsure of his relationship with Jack. Andy wasn’t really sure of his relationship with Jack. In terms of management/employee relations, they had always been cordial, but never overly-friendly. He had no relationship with Jack’s wife, and he certainly had no good reason to stand by the casket as if he were connected on some deeper level with the deceased. He just felt obligated. Nobody else from the staff had stepped up. The kid that Jack seemed to like so much had virtually disappeared after Jack left the station. Zap certainly couldn’t be relied on, and all of the other DJs were such transients that they most likely came to the funeral because of a station memo. So, Andy stood there. Bored to tears and doubting his own best intentions. He’d occasionally turn to Diane and smile what he hoped was warmly. She politely smiled back and kept at her blank widow’s stare. The younger one kept her distance. Alice distrusted radio people. They never looked like they were supposed to. Always older, fatter, balder. Even her dad sounded different the last few months. Not so much like the stoic father-figure who always seemed too awkward when he tried to communicate with her. When she was a kid, her friends used to ask her what it was like having a Dad on the radio. She always talked up the free CDs and kick-ass concert tickets, but honestly had no idea who it was on the radio when she would tune it. He father had always been free and easy on the air, but he was a worrier at home. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. She was old enough to realize he pried into her private life because he cared, and she had plenty of warm memories from growing up. It was just that she knew his radio show was an act. She saw him when he was human. Fixing the sink, walking the dog, flirting with her mother. She missed him, and she wanted to go home. The parade of well-wishers and hangers-on was slowing to a trickle and now it was just embarrassing. She hated funerals.