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potion, sprout hair on his face and hands, and go on a rampage. Henry did sort of remind her of a mad scientist. And Lacy was a ringer for the Bride of Frankenstein.
    â€œI’d be happy to do anything I can to help,” she said.
    â€œThe problem is,” Lacy began, “that Henry doesn’t know what the calls are going to be about before he hears them. In such situations, he can easily misunderstand, or he has to just say any old thing until you’re able to find an answer for him.”
    â€œIt really doesn’t take that long,” Angie said. “And with the commercial breaks and all—”
    â€œIt doesn’t sound good,”—Lacy took Henry’s hand—“for my Henry not to have the answer right on the tip of his cute little tongue.”
    His cute little green tongue.
    Henry cleared his throat. “I agree. Chef Henri must be able to respond tout de suite .”
    Lacy glanced at him. “Henry, dear, you don’t need to speak French around us. Right, Angie? My big Pooh Bear is such a show off!”
    He harrumphed and leaned back against the sofa, his lips pursed indignantly.
    â€œPooh Bear?” Angie regretted it the moment the words passed her lips. Some explanations were better left unspoken.
    â€œThat’s what I call him. And it’ll explain the new theme music we just picked out. Every show should have something distinctive.”
    Angie refused the temptation of asking any more about it. “So, about finding the answers for Chef Henri, what does this mean?” she asked.
    â€œWhat it means is, we want you to screen the calls before Henry takes them. You can find out what the callers’ names are and what they want to ask about; then you find the answer and give it to Henry before he ever even says hello to them.”
    Angie stared at her. Some shows, on bigger radiostations, went to the expense of paying screeners to answer every call off the air—to make sure it wasn’t a wrong number or a crank or whatever. But not KYME. The radio hosts took their own calls, for better or worse. “I really don’t understand why I would need to—”
    â€œIt’s just not right that poor Henry has to take these questions cold, with nothing but that silly time delay to bleep them off if anyone starts to say obscenities. I mean, really, how many people swear at cooks?” Lacy formed her mouth into a pout, her eyes darting from Angie to Henry and back again.
    â€œWell…” Angie decided it’d be best not to reply, but from all she’d heard about the cook at Henry’s restaurant, she suspected plenty of people wanted to swear at him just about every day, especially after being presented with the bill. “The problem is,” she said, “I’ve got to listen carefully to Henry’s calls while they’re happening. Many people start out with one question, but before you know it they’ve asked about something altogether different.”
    Lacy jumped to her feet. “But that’s not what’s important!”
    Her voice was shrill yet quivering.
    Angie leaned back in her chair, looking up at the woman in surprise. “Not important? It seems to me that’s the main part of what I do.”
    â€œNow, dear.” Henry jerked on Lacy’s arm, trying to get her to sit back down. “Let’s not upset Angelina about this. Good help is so hard to find these days.”
    Good help! He made her sound like a cleaning lady. Angie was ready to fly out of there, but she forced herself to be patient with them. She wanted this job, she could be good at this job, and if Henry wouldever let her say even one word on the radio she could prove it. It was more than a little ironic, she thought, that any Tom, Dick, or Harry from the greater Bay Area could call and be on the radio, but if she said anything and ruined the illusion that Henry’s answers were popping full-blown from his