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the fan on the wooden floor of the office part of the studio. Hilton had deduced that Shannon found the control room too confined and noisy for her nap hour. She put her head down and closed her eyes. Inside Studio C she set up the Web cam and ran all the software so she could check the system before Anne went on the air. She double-checked the position of the camera. She walked by Studio B and waved at the new jock spinning tunes on the local FM station. It was his second day but he appeared to be doing just fine. Hilton liked him already because he was into social satire. Satisfied with her work she went to get a coffee. On the way out, Veronica, the show’s producer, stopped her.
    “Hilton, may I have a word with you?”
    “Sure,” Hilton said, thinking Veronica’s requests were never that; they were standing orders. Hilton was doing her best but Veronica was not easy.
    “It’s about your wardrobe.”
    Just then Anne came around the corner. “What’s wrong with her outfit?”
    “I just think it should be more professional. I mean, a white men’s undershirt in dire need of bleaching and camouflage cargo pants are hardly suitable business attire.”
    Hilton looked down at herself as if seeing her outfit for the first time. “No one sees me. It’s radio.”
    “I just think when you get your first check you should go out and get yourself some nice clothes. I could figure in an advance if you’d like,” Veronica offered. She ran her hand over her well-coiffed brunette bun.
    “You’re serious?” Anne said.
    Hilton could see absolute mirth dancing in Anne’s eyes because Hilton’s secret of being an heiress was not information Veronica had been privy to as of yet.
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    “Have you known me to be anything else?” Veronica said.
    “Uh, no.” Anne took off her black blazer and put it around Hilton’s shoulders. Hilton slipped her arms into it and then stood there feeling distinctly uncomfortable. The blazer smelled of Anne’s perfume and it was still warm.
    “Veronica, I think Hilton’s basic philosophy on clothes is to pick something off the floor, give it a good sniff, determine whether it’s inhabitable and then get dressed. Am I correct?”
    Hilton nodded.
    “But she has such nice lines,” Veronica said, running her hand along Hilton’s chin and checking her out.
    Hilton shuddered.
    “I think we’re making her uncomfortable. Let’s go,” Anne said.
    She put her arm around Hilton’s blazer-clad shoulders and led her to the control room. “Do you think Veronica’s a lesbian? I can’t quite figure her out.”
    “I hope not,” Hilton said, horrified by the thought.
    Anne laughed. “For your sake, me too. I think she might have the hots for you. She’s already trying to cast you in her own image.”
    “If I ever show up in a bun and a tight black shirt with a her-ringbone blazer, shoot me because I’ve completely lost my mind.”
    “I promise. She is a great producer.”
    “She scares me.”
    Dave was sitting at the board doing show prep. He looked up.
    “Nice outfit.”
    “It’s highbrow grunge,” Anne said.
    “Is there a dress code?” Hilton asked, genuinely concerned. No one had mentioned one and how did Anne know about her house-keeping methods? Were they that apparent?
    “Hell, no!” Dave said. “Has Veronica been at you? She does that to all the new people. She has yet to make a convert. Just think of her as the Jehovah’s Witness of fashion. She’s always knocking but no one answers.”
    Anne laughed hysterically. Hilton was still puzzled. “My only 29
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    stipulation is that you wear clothes. You look just like Dave except for the underwear.”
    Hilton blushed.
    “Dare I ask? Let me venture … boxers?” Anne inquired, raising an eyebrow.
    Hilton nodded. “They’re much more comfortable.”
    “Really? I can’t say I’ve tried them. You know, that would make a great show