I gasp and laugh out loud.
“Apologies for the language. Reagan. You’re not sleeping on the seven-second-delay button, are ya?”
I continue to giggle. Oh my god, I haven’t laughed this much in so long. I feel like something inside me is unclenching. Relaxing. His voice is even more rough and sexy over the phone than it is on the radio and my body—which doesn’t understand that it’s all just innocent flirting—responds to it. My heart races; my nipples feel tight and every nerve ending between my thighs crackles. Beyond that, my emotions are becoming unruly. If I’m not careful, I’m going to develop more than a crush on this voice on the other end of the line. Real feelings could start to elbow their way in.
“I’m going to stop you right there, though. What’s your cup size?”
This question does not shock me. While Dr. Dave is a professional, he doesn’t shy away from his playboy persona on the air. He peppers his advice with plenty of mild flirting. It’s that combination of professional advice giver and shock jock that makes me enjoy listening to him so much.
And now that I’m actually on the phone with him? Maybe my enjoyment is crossing the line into a serious yet unrequited infatuation.
“I’m not sure,” I say, embarrassed. “All I know is nothing fits. The witches at the lingerie store here at the mall—you know the one—have made it perfectly clear that they don’t carry anything that fits me.”
“First thing you need to do is be properly fitted. I have a cloth measuring tape. I’ll do it myself if you come down to the studio,” he offers. It’s true. He’s done this kind of stunt on the radio before. I remember one time, he had a bit where he guessed listeners’ cup sizes and then had them measured by a staff member to see if he was correct.
I reply, “I would but I can’t leave the mall.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “You have department stores at that mall?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you have a key? Go down there right now and get a tape measure; I’m sure they have some in the lingerie department.”
“I’m definitely not going to do that.”
“OK. Sorry. Did I come off too strong?”
I sigh. What is he playing at? Do I care? My quickly dampening undies right now do not care. “I don’t feel objectified; I just can’t go rifling through their things. I’ll get caught on camera and be fired by morning.”
Dr. Dave tries again. “You know what? Forget about getting fitted for now. Send me a picture of yourself and I’ll tell you your cup size. And I promise it’s not too big by anybody’s reasonable standards.”
“You want me to send a photo of myself?”
“When we go to commercial, I’ll give you the email address where you can send it right to my desk here in the booth.”
I bite my lip. This is strange but…well…he is a doctor.
“OK, I’m working on the photo right now,” I say.
I put the desk phone on speaker so I can keep listening to Dr. Dave while I unbutton my uniform shirt.
“Working on it? OK, do what you gotta do, angel,” he says, sounding a little bit confused.
“Almost ready,” I say.
He moves on to the subject of my abysmal dating life. “While I’m waiting on that photo, Millie, let’s forget about all those wrong guys you’ve dated. The only thing you need to boost your confidence is you. I’m pretty good at reading people and I already know you are smart, kind, thoughtful, funny, beautiful. You just have to believe that about yourself.”
The sound of his voice, and his words, makes my skin react with goosebumps as I bare my flesh. I remove my bra and quickly take the photo. It’s dim, but you can still see everything in the light coming from the security monitors in front of me. That should be enough to get his opinion.
I hear him say, “And that’s a commercial break. You still there, Millie?”
“I’m here.”
His voice is slightly different. More earnest. “I’m dead serious. I think the only thing wrong with you is that you’ve been picking the wrong guys. Thank your lucky stars you’re still a virgin.”
I pick the phone back up and take him off speaker, even though I’m still not finished buttoning myself back up.
“If you say so, I guess.”