So why am I so full of nervous anticipation? Because tonight at midnight, I, Millie Hanson, the unassuming introvert virgin, will be a featured first-time caller on everyone’s favorite live romance advice show: The Doctor Dave Show.
Doctor Dave is a bit of a legend in my city, and I’ve been listening to him for years. That cocky bad boy voice oozes out of my little radio speakers every night at work while I sit at my desk, overseeing all the security monitors deep in the bowels of the mall offices.
A few months ago, I emailed the show’s producer to tell her my story in hopes of speaking to Doctor Dave on the show. And what do you know? They picked me. Turns out live radio is more orchestrated than I realized, and they scheduled me to call in tonight.
I only hope my mother and brothers don’t listen because this is potentially very embarrassing.
At five minutes to midnight, I make the call. My fingers shake as I punch in the number on the desk phone. I would use my personal cell phone to call in, but the producer said a landline, if available, is preferred for sound quality and reliability. So, if corporate spies are listening in on the mall’s phone lines, they are in for an earful tonight. But they probably aren’t listening. Hell, they can’t be bothered to fix a couple of cameras, so why would they be listening to phone conversations?
I take a sip of my tea to fight off dry mouth, and then set my knitting down in my lap. I’m not even going to attempt to continue knitting while I speak to the dashing hunk of manhood who will soon pick up on the other end of the line, but I feel the need to keep the soft yarn handy. Always good to have something soft and cozy to hang on to.
Once connected, Reagan, the show’s producer, instructs me to turn down my radio, and adds, “Don’t ask the doctor any personal questions. And don’t try to ask him out or give him your personal number.” She sounds a bit territorial, but I shake it off, realizing that with his bad boy reputation and his amazing voice, women probably throw themselves at him all the time. I’ve heard stories about female listeners sending him their panties in the mail. Hell, even on the show he and Reagan have joked about women actually showing up to the studio like groupies, trying to get alone time with him.
As I wait to be connected live on the air with Doctor Dave, I try to steady my breathing, but it’s a losing battle.
I text my best friend Jenny: Oh god, am I really doing this?
Her answer is an immediate: YES.
I type: Is he going to be able to tell I have the world’s most massive crush on him? I inhale deeply and exhale slowly to calm my galloping heart rate. I don’t imagine a caller having a cardiac episode on the air would be great for his ratings.
Jenny replies: Every caller has a crush on him. That’s kind of the deal. Just go with it.
When Jenny and I went out for drinks and de
cided to make a list of surmountable things that scare us, I should have said I wanted to learn how to ride a horse or surf.
When Jenny told me to do one thing every day that scares me, did she mean this? My memory is fuzzy from too much tequila that night. Did she mean a little scary? Or something that fills me with abject terror? Because that’s what I feel right now as I wait for Doctor Dave to come on the line.
I hear the click on the phone, and feel as though I’ve inhaled all the air out of the room.
“Millie. You’re on the air. Talk to me, baby.” Doctor Dave’s voice nuzzles my ear. I feel tingles everywhere.
My heart no longer gallops. I think it actually stops for a second.
I can’t breathe, I can’t speak.
Fuck. I’m going to fuck this up, live on the radio.
“Millie, sweetheart, are you there?”
Oh my god, did he just…? Get a hold of yourself, Millie. He calls every female caller sweetheart. He gives everyone pet names, irrespective of gender. That’s his shtick. He makes everyone feel special in order to put them at ease before delivering the advice that some people sometimes don’t want to hear.
I open my mouth but no words come out. I’m going to blow it. I expect him to give up and stop wasting precious airtime on me, and maybe that’s exactly what should happen. I’ve lost my nerve, I’ve lost my chance, and maybe I’ve dodged a bullet. Maybe my sudden muteness is a blessing from the universe, preventing me from suffering humiliation on a live radio show broadcast out to the entire city.
But then something magical happens in my ear. Doctor Dave drops his voice lower, softer, like he’s right there, murmuring into my ear. He presses me. “Millie, honey. I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there.” The sound of his gentle chuckle produces a delicious clenching between my thighs. He continues. “Is this an obscene phone call? Because I gotta be honest. It’s working for me, baby.”
The naughty doctor’s words bust through some barrier inside me and I laugh in both amusement and relief.
“I’m…I’m here. Hi. Hello.” The words all come out more breathy than intended but I’m elated that I’m at least no longer voiceless.
“Thank god, because the next caller’s yet another sad sack dude just waiting for me to tell him what he doesn’t want to hear.”
“You mean ‘man up’?” I say, assuming his producer will add everyone’s favorite “man up” sound drop, and I have to roll my eyes. The sound drops and the catchphrases are the only thing I can’t stand about the show, and I’ve always sensed that Doctor Dave himself loathes them, too.
“That’s probably the long and short of it, no pun intended. You, on the other hand, have an incredibly sexy voice and I happen to really, really like that name. Millie. I’d much rather start the show with a bang. Pun intended.”
I giggle like an idiot, but this only eggs him on.