Note and Disclaimer: Obviously, we all don't own WKRP in Cincinnati and the music that's been played on the show (even though it's not played on the Seasons 1 and 2 DVDs, which kinda sucked). However, the character of Kitty Evans Johnson (and others not on the show) is mine, so don't use them without permission. Thank you and enjoy!
Old-time generic music filled my ears, making my eyes droop down in drowsiness once more. I was tired enough as it was from my hectic life, so the music that I played for the rich and nose-in-the-air people was a bit too much for me, the former Kitty of the Atlantic Coasts. I tried my damnest to not tip back in my chair and snooze, but it was next to impossible as the soft cushions called me to face the ceiling. This position to make ends meet after such an illustrious career was horrible and it was all my fault.
I could tell that this job was making me more and more sleepy as the days passed and my former day job became a dream. I needed something…well, I don't know, different…before I went home to madness, so this was just another day in Heaven's Harpland. Even my personal problems were paled in comparison to this.
I mean, it was the same routine, the similar day-to-day activities that were making my head spin with confusion and shame. On the weekdays (and sometimes the weekends when there wasn't anybody to cover the shifts), as the most infamous DJ for the lucrative (and snobby) Boston station WUPS, I played this crappy, boring elevator music. From five AM to one-thirty (or sometimes two) PM, I steadied the needle on the turntable and set each song, willing myself to be stronger.
Alas, it is never to be. Each and every time, I fall asleep around ten o'clock, my snores always arousing the attention of my fellow female DJ, Gayle Simon. She would slowly sneak into the booth while I was sleeping (for sure catching the attention of the sales person, that little snitch Fiona Jay) and would gently shake my shoulder. I woke up in an instant and always awarded with a cup of her famed military brand coffee.
Gayle was not supposed to be in the booth with me. Hell, I mean, she and I were supposed to be separated, seeing as how we caused too much trouble as it was at WUPS, enough that new guidelines had to be posted in the office. And her breaking the new rule like that was risky and could have cost her this job.
Remembering this (as well as the time), I yawned, knowing that it had already been past that time when I saw Gayle and her God saving coffee. I was glad that the chair did not claim my dreams. This time, behind her was Fiona and her stack of folders in her arms. Surely, the station manager, Danny Craig, was onto something and required Fiona to investigate. It won't be a happy scene in his office with the both of us probably getting fired, but I knew that it was perhaps time that I left Boston with my nephew and started anew someplace else anyway.
Yawning again, I looked up at the clock at the corner ticking the seconds away, knowing I had almost four hours left until I was allowed to leave and all without that lovely coffee. If Danny did not catch me and Gayle before the end of the day, Fiona will. I was not looking forward to Fiona bitchin' me out. She hated me leaving as early as I did (contracts were my savior, if I had to place blame somewhere) and made it a habit to push my buttons. Snide comments always followed in my wake, all the way to my car and even when I drove away.
Already, my routine, all thanks to Fiona, had been ruined, so I schemed away at revenge. I was thinking about ending early today since Gayle was begging to take my place for a few hours before her shift. I had a laundry list of things to do before I picked up my nephew from daycare. I didn't need Fiona to remind of how lucky I usually am, even with that great responsibility on my shoulders.
However, it was when Sentimental Journey was still playing (and me wishing that I was actually playing Journey) that there was a soft knock on my booth door. I looked at the wooden structure and then to the clock again, knowing that it wasn't time for Gayle to do the afternoon and evening show. She had passed by with Fiona two minutes before. Somebody else was there.
What the bloody hell is going on here?
The new program director of the month, Lyle Christy, popped his head into the booth and smiled at me, waving to ask permission to enter my domain since it was my usual naptime. He knew that I hated the music format at this station, so he was usually making a crack at me about how the wild cat of both Atlantic coasts ended up with this boring gig. I put up with enough of the cracks and always threatened to blow his lights out. This did not seem any different.
Well, I should correct myself. Lyle is a sweetie. It had been a month since he had arrived (surviving longer than most program directors do here), but he and I were already the best of friends, although I suspected more from him. He was constantly trying to get me back into my former act and get my career back on the road…and put WUPS on the way to some rock n roll music. It was the late seventies, for God's sake, and he was intent on making everyone remember what was popular.
I waved him in. "Is it teatime yet, Lyle?"
It was easy to see that Lyle was in no joking mood when he entered. "Boss wants you in his office pronto," he only said, crossing his arms in a stubborn stance.
"What does he want?" I only asked back as I swung my chair around to face him, keeping my eyes open just for him. Danny never usually ordered me to his office (except in cases where Gayle and I were fooling around), so it was unusual to see Lyle so clearly upset about me leaving my post and the crappy music. "I didn't get any memo."
"I was just the messenger. Danny doesn't tell me anything. All I know is that this has nothing to do with you and Gayle." Lyle almost pouted with that big lower lip of his.
I knew better to keep that huge quivering lug quiet and thought quickly. "But I thought that Danny only confines in Fiona about office business and his personal body, if his wife isn't coming around." I only had to say the name of our common enemy and the muscles tensed up immediately, my shot hitting the target dead-on.
"Fiona hasn't been privy to this information, Kitty. And it involves you and your career."
"Me?" I played innocent too well.
"Yeah, the Boss wants you in his office to discuss moving you to Cincinnati, Ohio."
"Ohio? What in bloody hell is in Cincinnati, Ohio, wherever that is?"
Lyle simply had to tell me to get my butt moving from this lethargic little station, but I couldn't tell if he was lying to cheer me up. "Only one of the best rock stations in the country, Kitty. You're most likely heading there to be the DJ, my friend!"
Suddenly, dreams of my career coming back up were soon doused in flames. Who the hell was I kidding? Me, Kitty Evans (the former Catherine Johnson of Leicester, England, but nobody needed to know that), back to being the talk of the Atlantic coasts was stupid as fuck. England kicked me out for being lewd and immoral after a loyal following made me famous. America loved me for a while and then pushed me to the quiet corners of the country after my last rock station fired me for saying "ass" on the air.
Jumping from radio station to radio station and supporting probably the only child I'll ever raise had been difficult, if you know what being a parent is all about. To hear Lyle talk about returning me to rock and notorious acts was amazing, to say the least, but it also seemed like another scheme to get me prominent with failure in sight. I didn't want to try to revive my scandalous reputation, only to be disappointed by promises left unfulfilled.
It also got me thinking too, perhaps wishful thinking on my part. Could this be the chance that I've been dreaming of for a couple of years now? Will Ohio bring me back to the fame that I've loved and then lost? What is over there that's not in Boston?
"Me, a DJ in some city named Cincinnati, Ohio? Give me a break, Lyle." I sighed, pretending to show him the negative turmoil. I wasn't going to give him that spark yet. "You've said this before and nothing has come of it. Why should this time be any different?"
"This time, it's real, Kitty. You'll see." Lyle smile again. "Andy Travers, the program director from WKRP, is here to see you about an opening for a DJ position. Apparently, their two head DJs there can't take long shifts anymore and need somebody in-between their programs, for a different kind of show other than a gospel spell, gongs and fevers. You've been chosen to be theirs, Kitty. How does that strike you?"
"Well, it smells like a phony little plan Danny has got going cookin'," I admitted honestly, watching the old record of Sentimental Journey slowly hit its climax and then die down. I set up the next record. "However, if this is actually true this time, then I'll head to Danny's office and check it out. It might be something that I've been looking for since being shipped here to Boston. I don't know though."
"Something's gotta give sometime, Kitty, and you've been the cat with nine lives. You have been satisfied with each new job you've been perfected for, but each life dies with it. You've been able to get back on your feet again afterward, but it's tougher with each new cycle. This'll be your sixth gig. Maybe three isn't the charm, but has to double."
"For how long though?" I laughed bitterly, pushing myself to get to Danny's office. "Listen, you take my place here and I'll head off to see Danny and this…Andy Travers guy from Cincinnati, Ohio. I'll tell you the punch line later. Got it?"
Lyle put his hands up in defeat quickly as I jumped out of my chair too enthusiastically and started my engines. "You've got me, kiddo. Now, go knock off some big shot guys in the office. I'm sure you'll get the job you've always wanted."
"I sure as hell hope so," I only replied back, running out the door as fast as I could.