“I appreciate you coming in today,” the host began, settling into the plush chair behind his desk and gesturing for her to do the same in the chair across from him. The studio wasn’t overly spacious but had a cozy, inviting feel. Soft yellow lighting filled the room, accompanied by scattered candles. A small desk and chair, presumably for his future assistant, were tucked into the corner, making room for the infinite records neatly organized in boxes. Every spare inch of space was taken up by them. While she couldn’t divine any obvious system, she had a feeling he knew exactly where each record was.
“I’ve had the ad posted in the papers for quite some time now. It seems there aren’t many who are interested in becoming a radio host’s assistant in a studio as small as my own.” He smiled at her, his face open and inviting. “Tell me, what drove you to respond to my job posting?”
“It was luck, really,” she responded, returning his smile. “Kismet, perhaps. I listen to your broadcasts almost every night. Your taste in jazz is impeccable, and your voice…” She trailed off as a blush crept up her neck, threatening to turn her face an unflattering shade of red. Clearing her throat, she hid her face briefly, hoping the color would fade. “Your voice was just made for radio. I don’t often read the papers, but I just happened to sit down for coffee at my favorite diner and the previous customer had left their paper there, folded to the page with your ad.”
She had been sneaking looks around the room as she spoke, but as she re-focused on the man across from her, she found him watching her intently. A small smile remained on his face, but he didn’t seem very aware of it. It was his eyes that made her breath catch — his honey-colored gaze was sharp, calculating. Shrewd. This was a different man entirely from the one who had greeted her so warmly just minutes before.
Before she could react, she blinked, and it was gone. A slight frown tugged at her lips — had she imagined it?
A low chuckle interrupted her anxious thoughts. “Ah, you’re a fan. I should have expected that, but alas, I did not.” He almost seemed… bored, now. A heavy sigh, and he continued. “Unfortunately I’m not interested in a fan. I need a dedicated, capable assistant. What I do not need is an infatuated girl using this job as an excuse to insert themselves into my personal life.” Without waiting for her reply, he turned his back to her, his fingers sliding records from one pile to another with mechanical precision. The click of each record landing into place filled the silence, colder than the winter air outside. “Thank you for your time, but I don’t believe this will be a good fit for either of us. You may show yourself out.”
A shocked silence filled the room as she stared at him blankly, waiting to see if he would speak to her again. When he didn’t, her hands balled into fists in her lap and heat once again crawled up her neck, but this time it was anger that fueled it. An unmarried woman in the 1930’s had little ability to make her own way in the world, but she had made it this far. However, life had been far from easy for her, and she’d let herself be pushed around by men one too many times.
She’d be damned if she let this man dismiss her like that.
“You know,” she began, barely keeping her voice even, “I’d expected that a man willing to give a woman an interview might actually be different. A breath of fresh air. But you’re no different than every other entitled, egotistical blowhard whose greatest accomplishment in life was being born a man.”
His head snapped up, a mixture of surprise, rage, and something else she couldn’t identify in his expression. His voice was dangerously calm as he replied, “Excuse me?”
Too angry to sense the threat in his tone, she continued. “I’m sure you believe that a woman is incapable of doing anything besides letting her emotions and fancies lead her through the world. That a woman can’t be an admirer and have the restraint needed to maintain a respectful working relationship.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Can you really afford to turn anyone away, even an ‘infatuated girl’?” The words were dripping with disdain. She pulled the folded newspaper page from her purse, bridging the space between them to shove it in his face. “You posted this two months ago, but that desk is still gathering dust in the corner. I wonder how many other people you’ve so callously dismissed.”
As the righteous anger began to fade, panic slowly taking its place, she brought her attention back to her host. Had she really just said all that? To him? His head was cocked to the side as he regarded her. The rage in his expression had melted away, but she was still unable to identify the emotion that remained. It almost looked like… amusement, maybe? Surely not.
He broke the silence, leaning back as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you believe you can maintain a respectful working relationship with an ‘entitled, egotistical blowhard’ such as myself?” he asked. Despite the deadpan delivery of his question, a twitch of his lips betrayed the smile he was attempting to suppress.
Her face went beet red; there was no hiding it this time. “I apologize, Mr. Hawthorne —”
“Alastor,” he corrected. “And I didn’t ask for an apology, I asked you a question.”
“Alastor,” she said tentatively. “I… yes, I can.”
“Good,” he responded with a sly smile. “I expect you here no later than nine tomorrow morning. If you show up after the clock’s final chime, don’t bother coming at all.”
“I— what?” she stammered.