But this may be more … how do I put this? Psychological rather than supernatural.” I tried to find a way to soften how this sounded. “Has your husband ever been diagnosed with depression? Have you considered that he may need help? I mean, more help than a late-night radio talk show can offer.”
“Wait a minute—you think he may just be depressed?”
I winced. “I don’t think there’s any just about it. I tell you what—either way, this is a medical issue. You should really call a doctor.” I didn’t wait for her response, because I wasn’t qualified to diagnose a case of depression over the radio or anywhere else, and I didn’t want her trying to argue with me about whether or not he needed real help. I hoped she listened to me. Really, though, all I could do was switch to a different line. “Next caller, you’re on the air.”
Ozzie, station manager and producer of the show, sat in a corner of the studio beaming at me. He was an aging hippy, complete with thin gray ponytail and a lot of attitude. I tried to ignore him, forcing the frown off my face. He’d decided to sit in on the show tonight, to “observe” as he’d put it. He’d done that a lot over the last few months, in an effort to keep me in line. Making sure I didn’t climb on any conspiracy soapbox regarding vampires taking over the world. I’d tried that, and had lost some credibility—and market share. Ozzie wanted that market share back. Stick to what I knew, he insisted: human interest, fluffy features, sensationalist advice. “That’s always been the meat of your show. Your bread and butter,” he’d say. I’d tell him to stop mixing metaphors because it was giving me a headache.
But he was right. My ratings stopped falling when I stopped talking about vampire conspiracies. So much for getting the word out.
“Hi, Kitty. Thanks for taking my call. I have a really serious question.” He was male, soft-spoken, grim.
“They’re all serious, as far as I’m concerned.” You wouldn’t necessarily know that by listening to me.
“Yes, but, this is really serious.”
“Okay, lay it on me.”
“Do you believe in interspecies dating?”
I’d even gotten this one before, though maybe not in such blunt terms. “What, you mean dogs and cats, living together?”
“I mean do you think a relationship between, oh, like a vampire and a werewolf, or a were-lion and a normal human could ever work?”
“You call that interspecies dating, do you?”
“Well, yeah.”
I double-checked the name on the monitor. “Well, Ted, I believe we’re all human beings. A relationship between any of them has about as much chance of working out as a relationship between any other combination of people. Nothing interspecies about it.”
“You know what I mean.”
I decided to be difficult. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Care to explain it to me?”
“They may have started out human, but they’re nothing alike. How are they supposed to have relationships when they have nothing in common?”
“Except that they’re all human, at the core,” I said, insistent.
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Did you call in to argue with me about it?”
“No, I just wanted to ask, and I think you’re wrong. It’s been proven over and over again.”
This was where I was supposed to say, Some of my best friends are vampires … “Proven by whom?” I said instead, and didn’t give him a chance to answer. “While I do think it’s difficult for an uninfected human being or mortal lycanthrope and a vampire to carry on a relationship, because they age and the vampire doesn’t, I know it can work because I’ve seen it happen. As cliché as it sounds there really are cases where love conquers … if not all, then a lot.”
“You still believe that? After how many years of people calling you with all their problems? If you were right, you wouldn’t have a show.”
“The very fact that people call in with their problems gives me hope that those problems can be solved, and that people want to succeed. I mean, sticking two people who are human together doesn’t guarantee a successful relationship, does it?”
“Well, no…”
“Word of advice—never attribute to supernatural malice what just may be human nature. Next caller, lay it on me.” I hit the line.
“Um, hi. Yeah. Um, thanks for taking my call. I think.”
Okay, this guy was more nervous than even my more anxiety-prone callers. He sounded hushed, like he had laryngitis. Or like he was trying