Chapter Text
“Iiiiit’s 1pm, I hope everyone is enjoying their lunch break. And if you’re not, if you’re too busy nursing a broken heart, or eating a plain salad, alone, wondering why you can’t find love, don’t worry! It’s time for the Bay’s favorite love doctor, mender of broken hearts, cupid in a suit, Aphrodite lookin’ mighty, our very own Coop Orsino, in everyone’s favorite segment, Calling Cupid. Coop, how ya feeling today?”
“Pretty good, Mark, pretty good.”
“Love to hear it. Alright, people, you know the drill: dial in at (415) 555-0163 to get the Bay Area’s premiere love advice. Caller number three, you are on the air.”
“Hi Coop!”
“Hi!”
“My name is Olivia, and I have a bit of a situation.”
“That’s why I’m here, hit me with your best shot.”
“Okay, so, basically, this really cute guy started working at the floor above mine, and he’s, well, he’s perfect. He’s tall, handsome, caring, he’s gentle. And most of the other people he works with, they’re — can I say this on the air? — they’re dicks.”
Coop laughs. “You can say it.”
“Good. Because they are. They’re very bullheaded, always picking fights, and it’s always about throwing your weight around to get what you want. But he’s not like that. He treats people with kindness. And we kind of have… a connection. We’ve kissed, once, we were trapped in the elevator it’s kind of a long story-”
“Oh?”
“Haha, yeah, but, uh…”
“Well, you’re calling in, I assume there’s a hitch in this cute Romeo and Juliet office romance.”
“My sister’s already called dibs.”
“Dibs?”
“Yeah.”
“Dibs.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Olivia, I’m going to need you to walk me through this process.”
“Well, he’s new, right, and she saw him first, and she immediately set her sights on him, and she told me that she was going to go for him, and when she goes for someone, she always gets them.”
“I see. And, just to build a timeline here, at what point was your kiss?”
“…a couple weeks after that.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, I’m not one to disrespect the sanctity of dibs, but when it comes to love, it’s not as simple as “who gets shotgun” or “which one picks the movie your watching that night.” Love, it doesn’t play by rules. It goes where it wants to go; there’s the phrase: “the heart wants what it wants,” and, right now, it’s sounding like-”
“Ugh, will you turn that crap off?” Phoebe groaned, face burying itself into blue crocheted fishnet gloves.
Sophie quickly moved to snap off the tiny radio. “Sorry.”
“Sorry, sorry, that sounded snippy,” Phoebe winced, prying of her reading glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Maybe her hair was pulled back too tight, because, good grief, was that stupid show giving her a headache. “It’s not you,” she continued, “it’s… him .” She said that with so much force you would thing she was referring to a puppy serial killer or something. “Ugh, Bay Area’s premiere love advice, my ass. He’s about to completely wreck that girl’s relationship with her sister. But does he care? No! Because that’s his issue, okay, he views love as this- this- this- this all powerful cosmic force, or whatever, like it can conquer anything, but that’s not how it works, okay?” Phoebe was starting to get worked up, building speed. She peeled herself out from behind her desk, really ramping up her soliloquy. “It’s not this one track thing, it doesn’t matter how much you love one man, okay, love is this multifaceted thing, and- and it- it does not travel one direction, and it’s just stupid for this… ‘Coop’ to act like romantic love is the only thing there. What about familial love, huh? And what about-”
Elsie poked her head into the bullpen. “Sophie, turn that back on.”
The assistant, looking like she’s much rather leave than get caught up in the middle of this crossfire, cautiously turned the radio back on.
“Oh, good,” Elise said, acknowledging Phoebe already lingering in the doorway, “you’re here. I want you to listen to this.”
“Why? So I can scout out the competition? Because believe me, Piper and Paige love this drivel, and let me say, from what I’ve heard, he’s got nothing on-”
“Shh.”
Phoebe blinked, affronted at Elise’s tone. Elise pointed her attention back to the radio. Coop’s cheery, dreamy voice piped up through the little box.
“…but there is just a matter I want to circle back to: your sister. Because love isn’t just romantic love; there’s familial love too.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. Oh, of course, now he’s going to bring up the sister. Sure.
“I’m going to go grab some coffee, anyone want anything?” Sophie squeaked, desperately trying to leave this situation.
“Large, three sugars, one cream,” Elise said.
“I can just come with you!” Phoebe ducked back into her office to grab her purse. Or, at least, she tried to.
“Aht!” Elise held up a finger, stopping her. “Get her a latte, soy milk,” she ordered Sophie. “You, you’re staying here.”
“Why?”
Elise never had a daughter. Phoebe never really had a mother. And yet, in spite of that, both were given spot on impressions of the stern mother and the rebellious teenage daughter in a stand off as one tries to get out the the house for the night.
“Because,” Elise began, “his radio show is climbing in the rankings-”
“My column is still the most popular advice column in the Bay.”
“-and this could be an excellent way to reach a new audience and help pull them to your column; drag them from the radio to the paper. I was just on the phone with Mark Rammstein, they’re bumping Calling Cupid up to the morning commute, expanding it from a 30 minute piece to a full hour.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“Geez, Phoebe, if you let me finish, you just might find out!”
“Sorry.” Still, the little pout didn’t leave Phoebe’s face as she settled against her doorway.
“You’re lucky you’re a good advice columnist, kiddo.”
Phoebe huffed.
Elise paused, letting that line sink in. It was true. Elise probably would have fired anyone else who brought Phoebe’s attitude into her bullpen. She was always talking back, always blowing off meetings (what with “family emergencies” and the like; please, how many emergencies can one family have?), she seemed to actively fight against any and every idea Elise had to expand her column — really, in all honesty, Elise should fire her. But she wouldn’t. What she said was true, Phoebe was a good advice columnist. A great one, actually. Thoughtful, proactive, caring, creative. Her writing didn’t have a high-and-mighty, inaccessible air to it, it felt warm, personal, like she was your best friend curled up on the couch next to you, listening carefully to what you had to say and thoughtfully mulling it over before offering heartfelt advice. It wasn’t exaggeration it say her column had easily increased the Mirror’s readership. But even then, that wasn’t what kept Phoebe around. It was her fighting spirit, her drive, her cutting passion and burning fire, and her habit of telling her boss no, I won’t back down. Irritating, seeing as Elise was her boss, but still. She couldn’t help but be reminded of herself when she was a young, up and coming reporter. Not many people have what it takes to truly thrive in this business. Phoebe had the skills. Still, she needed to shut up and listen to what Elise was about to say, because this current scheme could easily lead itself to doubling, maybe even tripling, the readership.
“Here’s to hoping you’re an even better radio host. You’ll be co-hosting Calling Cupid for the next two weeks.”
“Excuse me?”