Free Seattle Girl by Lucy Kevin Page B

four people, max, each of whom had accidentally turned to KUW by accidentally bumping into their stereo tuner. And you know what?   I worked my ass off to get those four people coming back, every day. This meant that I got to know my regular callers incredibly well.
    Too well in some cases.
    Right off the bat, a guy named Jerry took an obsessive liking to me. The first time he called into my show, we were having a discussion about parking tickets on campus, which I’ll admit was turning out to be sort of lack-luster. As soon as I put him on the air he said, “My sweet pumpkin, Jerry had to call to tell you something extremely important.”
    My ears picked up right away, of course. I mean, who calls someone they’ve never met sweet pumpkin?   Who even calls someone they do know sweet pumpkin? Plus, he referred to himself by his own name, and it definitely took someone with a whole lot of nerve to pull that off.
    “Hey Jerry. Thanks for calling the Georgia Fulton show. What have you got to tell me?”
    I was still thinking it was sort of cute that he obviously liked me so much he had given me a pet name, until he said, “My little grape-leaf, all women are whores.”
    He definitely got my attention with that. It was the most random statement anyone had ever made to me, on or off the radio. Besides, hadn’t I been a sweet pumpkin just a second ago? Evidently I had already transmogrified into a grape-leaf.
    “You know, Jerry, we’re talking about parking tickets, so I can’t help but wonder what the heck you’re talking about!”
    “Georgia.” He drawled out my name in his pervert-o voice. “You, of all people should know about whores.”
    I was momentarily shocked. Not because I had any whoring in my past, of course, apart from that one weird little lap dance with Kyle, which I was sure no one but Diane and Seth could possible know about.
    No, I was shocked because it sounded like I might actually have my first stalker.
    I know this may sound strange, but I was thrilled. It was so exciting to think that I, Georgia Fulton, new radiostress extraordinaire had a potential stalker.
    I mean, someone who sucked at talk radio couldn’t have a stalker could she? Stalkers were always reserved for stars.
    Even so, I was torn. I wondered if I should I egg him on for the pleasure of my listeners or if I should be an Intelligent Young Woman (say it three times fast in my mother’s voice and you’ll get my exact drift) and shut him down before he got too scary.
    After the barest amount of deliberation, in the name of good radio, I chose to encourage him. What else could I do?
    “How can you say such a thing Jerry?” I injected my voice with just the right amount of playfulness. “We’ve never even met.”
    He laughed sadistically. “Sugar-apple, I can tell by the way you smack your lips together. Everyone can tell that you are a whore.”
    I played along. “And here I thought it was my little secret.”
    He ignored my humor. “Whores have no secrets, do they, peach-press?”
    I was dying there in the studio, trying so hard not to laugh at all of the weird names he was calling me. I didn’t want him to hang up yet–after all, this was the stuff that hit talk shows were made of-and I thought he might if I didn’t act like I was taking him seriously. Plus, I was immensely curious to see how many more fruit-inspired names he could come up with.
    As I had expected, some of my listener’s ears had perked up during our freaky banter. All of the previously blank call-lights went red.
    “Jerry, can you hold on the line here? I think we have some people who want to talk you.” I pressed line two and conferenced the second caller in.
    “Hi. You’re on the air with Georgia Fulton. I take it you’ve got something to say to Jerry?”
    “I sure do!” spit out a very angry female. “That guy who called in is one sick bastard!” she exclaimed fervently.
    “Thank you.” Jerry sounded quite pleased.
    I could just about hear