Delores woke with the sunrise, a pale glow cast over her room. When she normally woke this early she’d pull her eye mask down tight over her eyes and try to catch another hour or so. But this morning, once her eyes snapped open, she stretched, pulled her arms above her head, reached her toes as far away from herself as she could, then threw back the covers and bounced out of bed.
 
She’d gotten home from her strange encounter the night before and made a pasta salad and had a glass of wine on the patio to unwind. But shortly after, she found she was still ravenous, so she’d ordered and eaten a whole large meat-eater’s pizza. She then went to bed, completely ignoring her normal bedtime routine of cleanse, tone, moisturize, and passed out immediately, instead of lingering slowly at the edge of sleep for forty minutes, telling herself not to worry about things, which is what she did most nights.
 
When she woke this morning, she noticed that she’d slept roughly. The sheets had been all dragged up from the edges and tousled, which was very unlike her normal sleeping position, which she’d been told was more like a dead lady pose.
 
She padded to the bathroom, noticing that in the early, pale morning light, the room seemed smaller than normal. As if the walls had been pulled in a bit, like it had been shrunk overnight.
 
Delores turned the shower on, waiting as usual for a few minutes for the water to turn from ice cold into a tolerable temperature. As she waited, she brushed her hair, noting how wildly tousled it was, and that it was unusually thick and incredibly shiny.
 
Clean and scrubbed for the day, Delores flicked the shower off, resisting the sudden and strange urge to shake herself dry. There was a new energy running through her, a buzzing, a need to be on the move to make things happen, to get things done. When she thought about it, she realized she felt different all over, even her nails felt funny, her skin too.
 
She brushed her teeth, spit, then smiled at herself as she always did–a habit she’d cultivated as a way to pep herself up for the day, and to check her teeth. But in her reflection she noticed that something was off. She smiled again, leaning in to check her teeth more closely, then snapped her mouth shut. Then, she looked closely again.
 
Her canine teeth were sharper, more pronounced. That’s strange, she thought as she ran her tongue over them.
 
“Hmmm,” she said aloud, noting that her voice sounded funny–perhaps she was just groggy?
 
She said it again, “Hmmm”. And again, there it was, her voice was definitely deeper.
 
“One more time,” she said to herself checking her voice for the third time. And, it was clear, her voice was strong, deep, like a growl now.
 
How odd. She checked her teeth once more. As she did, she recalled the events of the night before: The walk home, the flyer, the small room, the woman, the potion. She’d wondered at the time if it had been anything at all, if the mixture could really work, and though her memory of the event was fizzy around the edges, it seemed like something had taken hold, something was at work within her, but at the same time it wasn’t clear what or how. And now this; her gravelly voice, her teeth!
 
But, she wiggled her shoulders and stepped back from the mirror. She felt great. Really, really great. And she hadn’t felt much more than worn out and weary in ages.
 
Her stomach grumbling, Delores stepped into the kitchen and scanned the small space for something to eat. She was hungry, really hungry. She cracked the remaining five eggs into a bowl and scrambled them up. These eggs were to last her the rest of the week, normally having only one egg per morning. She mixed them in her largest pan, toasted four slices of bread and slathered them with butter and jam. She was craving bacon like the Dickens and miffed she didn’t have any.
 
She made a full French press of coffee and instead of pouring some into a mug and saving the rest to take to work in a thermos, as she normally would, she added cream and sugar into a small jug and gulped the coffee down along with her massive morning meal.
 
Breakfast done, Delores padded around her apartment wondering what to do–she had plenty of time before she had to be at the office, though she just couldn’t wait. She’d planned on speaking to Godfrey first thing about her idea, and she wondered if maybe a bit of prep might help. She had years worth of ideas and notes and slogans in her old notebooks, and though she could see the idea she’d thought of last night, The Hour of Power, in her mind’s eye with perfect clarity, she pulled the old box from beneath her bed, and dumped the dozens of journals and notes onto her unmade sheets.
 
Delores considered these journals her trove. All of it was valuable in her eyes, years and years of listening to shows and developing her own programs. She could still remember in what journals she’d written certain ideas. But as she scanned the lists and bullet points, she noted that The Hour of Power wasn’t among them. Had that idea just come fresh into her mind last evening, at the bar while she sipped and imagined herself a DJ, her face splashed all over billboards and buses across the city? Hadn’t she thought of this before? Did the idea come from the drink, from the potion, or did it come from her, maybe an idea so big and powerful she hadn’t let herself see it.
 
She sat on the edge of the bed and flipped through more of her notes.
 
And why hadn’t she done this before? Put herself out there, marched into work and demanded Godfrey listen to her. She had sat back waiting, for what? She should have claimed her stake, been clear about her goals. Her ideas were good, they weren’t all gold for sure, but there were so many of them, and so many great ones. What was it that had held her back all those years? She couldn’t see the way she saw things yesterday or the day before, in her vibrating energy she couldn’t for the life of her understand how small she’d made herself when she had so much power and creativity inside her.
 
Finally, the clock edging closer to eight, it was time to get dressed. She yanked open her closet doors and reached for another freshly pressed outfit, but her normal pantsuit and blouse combo felt so dreadful. Beige trousers, a pale yellow blouse with a bow at the neck. It was bland. Plain. No wonder she felt invisible at work. She dressed like office furniture.
 
She rummaged through her closet, digging deep into the back, and began to pull out all the things she was keeping for a special occasion, or had worn on a special occasion: a shiny purple bridesmaid’s dress, a pink mesh skirt, a gold lamé tube top, a pair of too-tight jeans that were almost brand new. There were stacks of old party clothes and costumes. Then, reaching far into the back, she pulled out a shiny black catsuit from a Halloween party years ago. This outfit was fun!
 
As she spun around to pull it on, she caught a glance of a shoebox under her dresser. An indulgence she’d regretted for months now. She slid out the box and propped it open to reveal a pair of shiny black stiletto heels she’d bought on a whim but had later felt were too showy for work, too sexy, the pointed toes shameless and arrogant in their sharp angle.
 
Delores shimmied into the catsuit. It had a scoop neck and tight stretchy pants, a sheen that made it look almost like latex. She stepped back from the mirror and sized herself up.
 
“Boy, I look amazing!” She said, pawing at herself. “Rawr!”
 
It crossed her mind that it possibly wasn’t work attire, that it might not be appropriate and there was a possibility she’d be sent home to change, but the thought was far away, distant, and she didn’t have to ignore it so much as it just faded from her mind.
 
She grabbed her purse and keys from the shelf by the door and with excitement in her heart, she flew out the door ready to conquer the day.
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Instead of walking, Delores splurged on taking the streetcar, noticing she was minus the pang of guilt that usually accompanied using one of her precious transit tokens. A few blocks from work, Delores pulled the bell and leapt off the steps, then strutted into the posh patisserie she always walked past. She’d eyed it almost every day since it opened, eyeing up the fancy French croissants she could see lined up in rows behind the glass counter.
 
Today was the day. She had a lot to accomplish, and she wanted it, so why not?
 
Inside, she stood in line, nearly drooling over the offerings on view. When it was her turn, she ordered two cream-filled croissants and an extra large cappuccino . “The biggest one you’ve got!” She said.
 
“That’s 4 shots of espresso, ma’am.” The barista warned.
 
A big smile stretched across her face. “Great, line em up!” She said and threw her head back and laughed. “And make it with whole milk. And don’t call me Ma’am–I’m Delores!” She roared.
 
This kind behaviour Delores would normally find embarrassing to just witness, let alone be the perpetrator of. But instead, she was unfazed and threw her hair back and shook it off.
 
When her drink was ready she thanked the barista loudly and glugged down her coffee. She’d eaten one whole croissant while she waited, then started on the second as she headed out the door into the blazing sunshine.
 
On the short walk to work Delores was thrilled. Today was going to be her day, she knew it. She had ideas and she was smart, and qualified and ready, and there was no way they were going to say no to her. She would make them see what she could see. She could feel her own power raging inside herself. She just needed to make the men in charge see it too.
 
And, she thought, why couldn’t her show be the next big show? She’d been at the station for nine years, she’d seen shows come and go, seen the competition’s ratings rise while OKAY’s only held steady. She’d seen shows get cancelled for low ratings only for a new even more boring or dumb or insignificant show to come along. They had nothing that had pizzaz or a wow factor. And those two boneheads, Kent and Noble, and their stupid, terrible, morning show, well she’d love to crack their dumb noggins together like a couple of coconuts. They were trouble and they’d just gotten into it, and they were bound to get into more, piss off more advertisers, more clients, the ones that paid the bills.
 
OKAY radio needed a banger show and she was going to pitch it today.
 
—
 
Delores was early to arrive at the office building and alone in the lobby. As she waited for the dreadful time warp elevator, she considered her ‘elevator pitch’, the short sentence she’d read was necessary to get through to a CEO or higher up. The line that should be able to land your idea in the time it takes to take an elevator ride with your target buyer. She considered what she was going to say, and if she should refine it.
No. she thought, this idea is in me, it’s part of me, I will be able to explain it fully. There’s no desperation here for anyone to get a whiff of.
 
She clambered into the rickety old elevator and it jolted, then vaulted her up. Finally the doors fired open and spit her out onto the familiar landscape of the office that usually sent waves of dread up and down her spine. But today she felt nothing of the sort, just the feeling of forward momentum, a feeling of taking care of business. She wanted to accomplish the day.
 
Standing over her own desk just outside Godfrey’s office Delores looked down on it. What a drab little cubby of a place to spend so much time, she thought as her eyes passed over the worn chair, the plastic covering on her keyboard, the saddest collection of not-very-motivating sticky notes: Today is a good day to be positive! Just say yes! Smile! Underlined three times. Gah! She ripped them all down and dramatically tore them into bits with her teeth.
 
The office was quiet, only a few of the staff were in already, and Godfrey wasn’t one of them. She strolled into his office, peering out the window behind his desk at the tiny bodies running around below.
Delores pulled back Godfrey’s big leather chair and sat down, putting her feet up on the corner of his desk, legs crossed. She could see her tiny desk and windowless space perfectly from her perch. Now this is more like it, she thought. She stretched her arms out behind her head and closed her eyes.
 
She woke to the sounds of the office in full force, phones ringing, the photocopier in the middle of a big print job, the tapping of keys from computers and typewriters.
 
“De-lor-es!” She heard the familiar boom of Godfrey’s voice coming down the hall. “Is she not here yet?!” He demanded of someone.
 
“In here boss!” Delores yelled. She needed him to hear her idea now. First thing.
 
Godfrey rounded the corner to his office, huffing as usual, then stopped abruptly.
 
Delores stood, arms crossed, in front of him. Without saying a word he took in the sight before him: Her wide power-stance, her slick, tight, bodysuit. Her shiny heels so pointy he felt a chill go up his spine.
Delores gave him a moment, could feel him sizing her up, and rolled her eyes.
 
“Okay,” she snapped. “We gotta talk.”
 
“Well, Delores,” he stammered, looking around as if someone else might be in there.
 
“So,” she cut him off. “I’ve been thinking. And I have a solution.”
 
Delores had never spoken to Godfrey, to anyone, like this before. She’d get nervous and sweaty even when booking her vacation time, the time she was entitled to, that she worked for.
 
“Delores, this isn’t the time…” Godfrey began, ogling her.
 
But she didn’t have time for him to waver, to catch up with the program. She was different now, she’d changed, and she had an idea that could change everything for him and for the station.
 
She snapped her fingers under his nose. “Hey! My eyes are up here! I’m talking, now listen to me.”
 
Godfrey opened his mouth to protest, but Delores continued on. “Both you and I know the numbers. I’ve been paying attention. I’ve read all those memos and letters, and as you know, I write them for you. And, the fact is, we need a show. We don’t need to worry about replacing those meatheads and their morning nonsense. We need a show that will steal their attention, their advertisers. A show that everyone will want to be associated with, one that’ll have them running from the morning jackoffs straight into our pockets.”
 
Godfrey stared at her.
 
Delores was in a power-stance, how she knew to take this pose she didn’t know, it was as if her body knew to do it. She was sure that she had the good idea, the solution that would solve the rating and advertising problems and would get Godfrey’s mind off the hooligans loose on the morning airwaves.
 
She realized she was the alpha in this situation, bringing him a steak on a plate, and all he had to do was say thank you.
 
She continued, her eyes smouldering, alert and alive. “It’s a show everyone will be talking about, men and women. People at work, at homes in the gym, in the supermarket, driving the kids around, old and young. It’s a show with real appeal.”
 
“Another woman’s show?” Godfrey muttered mindlessly.
 
Delores resisted the urge to growl at him. Instead, she shushed him.
“It’s not a woman’s show, it’s a show for everyone–hosted by a woman. And it’s called, The Hour of Power.”
 
She went on, not pausing for him to interrupt. “And I’m the host. DJ Delores. It’ll be sixty minutes to get you feeling like the best you that you can be! I’ll have power-focused playlists featuring the best, most powerful songs, power ballads, diva mixes. I’ll share stories I’ve read about powerful people making it against all odds. I’ll invite listeners to share their power moments, guests to share their stories of powerful change, and we’ll end each episode with one of our many powerful motivating slogans.”
 
Godfrey had moved around to behind his desk and was pulling at his tie, his face pink and sweaty.
 
“I’ve come up with three catchy taglines to use across various markets and a list of sponsors I think will be interested in being associated with power. They include Downton’s dealership, The Buzz Electronics, I know they’ve been pushing their high-powered microwaves lately, and Cinco’s Powerwashing Services.” She was really on a roll.
 
“I put forth that the show air just before lunch, around 11am when the office workers get that pre-lunch slump and the out-of-office workers need a boost to make it to lunchtime. An hour to get people fired up and energized. There’s nothing like it out there, and undeniably, it is the show that will bring people back to OKAY Radio.”
 
Her words were flowing as she’d known they would. She felt stronger and more in love with her idea the more she talked about it.
 
“I know this business and I know this station and if we don’t get our big accounts back on board after yesterday’s fiasco, we’re toast. There’s a competition for ears out there and I think *The Hour of Power* can win it.”
 
Godfrey looked speechless. Delores waited, knowing she’d done her pitch, done a hell of a job of it, and that any more talking might make her sound like she was asking, not demanding.
 
“It’s just…” Godfrey began.
 
“Just what?” Delores asked when he didn’t finish.
 
“Well, it is a good idea,” he said slowly. “A great idea.” He looked complexed. “I mean, it’s a pitch all right,” he eyed her up and down again, “but you’re my…”
 
She knew what he was going to say before he said it and resisted the urge to slap the words out of his mouth.
 
“…Secretary.” She finished for him.
 
“Well, yes.” He said, rubbing his hands over his nearly bald head.
 
“So what?”
 
“Well, you have no training to be a host, no media training, no voice work, and who will bring me my coffee and do all the things you like to do?” Godfrey tried for a smile.
 
Delores was floored. Like to do? What planet did he live on that he thought she, any woman, liked being a secretary?
 
“First of all,” she stated, “I hate my job. Second of all, you started in the mail room and pulled yourself up the ladder to this position, but because I’m a woman I don’t get to move up? Is that right?”
 
Godfrey adjusted his tie once more, his smile faltering.
 
Delores leaned in over his desk, her hair falling all around her face, her hands on the desk, shoulders hunched. “Does that sound fair to you?”
 
Godfrey backed his chair up, “Well no, but that’s…”
 
She’s stared at him.
 
“Delores this is a side of you I’ve never seen are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Godfrey asked suddenly.
 
Delores stood and took a deep breath. Ugh this was so patronizing.
 
“Feeling alright?” She asked, the question coming out like a growl. “Am I feeling alright?” She scowled. “Why, I’m so glad you finally asked because I have to say I am feeling gr-eat!” She hadn’t meant for it to come out like a roar, but she was telling the truth. “I feel amazing, wonderful, strong and powerful!”
 
She took a moment and stepped back, surveying Godfrey, sweaty and unsure, popping an antacid into his mouth, and felt a pang of guilt. She had accosted him first thing. The man hadn’t even had coffee yet.
 
“How do you feel?” She asked.
 
He said nothing, just chewed his tablet, but to Delores, she thought Godfrey looked like he was about to shit a brick.
 
After still no response, she cut to the chase, “Now, Godfrey, let me ask you, what do you think of my show?”
 
“Delores,” he cleared his throat. “It is a good idea, I mean power sells, power is a hot topic at the moment and the whole girl power thing is on the rise…but…”
 
“But what?”
 
“I don’t know if the top brass will go for it? The execs are a choosy bunch there’s a whole process to this, to pitching a new show.”
 
Delores glowered for a moment. Ah blame the big boys, she thought. Well, this wasn’t a problem, she’d anticipated having to go up the chain of command.
 
“Alright then,” she said. “Off we go to see the C-Suite.”
 
—
 
Godfrey protested the whole way down the hall to the elevator bank. He ran behind her whisper-shouting her name as she strutted through the office as if she owned the place.
 
Her co-workers stopped what they were doing and stared. They’d never seen Delores look so…so…in charge. And, had she gotten taller? The woman strutting in front of them was not the mild-mannered Delores that sat just metres away. The quiet, kind and diligent worker. She was the one usually trailing after Godfrey, smiling in embarrassment as she followed with stacks of paper, sloshing his coffee as she tried to keep up.
 
Delores could feel there was a difference in her, she was surprising herself, but even that felt muted to her. The Delores she was before had no bearing on who she was today. She was filled with a sense of urgency to get things done, and that was all that mattered. Anyone standing in her way would just have to move.
 
At the elevators, Delores hit the up button and waited, her hands on her hips.
 
“Delores, we can’t just march up there!” Godfrey shrieked. “There’s protocol, there’s meetings to schedule.”
 
“I know,” Delores sighed with irritation, “I’m the one that schedules those meetings for you.”
 
“Then, what are we doing?!” In a moment of desperate control, Godfrey stood straight to match her pose and attempted to order her back to her desk. “Delores, I don’t know what’s gotten into you but we have work to attend to, now kindly back to your desk. Let’s get a coffee and get to work.”
 
Godfrey hadn’t had his cup of black with three sugars yet, and he was probably feeling the inching on of a headache. Leave it to corporate men to crave their creature comforts when the best idea they’ll ever get stands on a silver platter right in front of them ready to change everything.
 
Delores laughed. “What are you afraid of? We go up there, we tell them my idea, tell them why they need to green light it immediately and we come back down here and get to work on it.”
 
“This is not how things are done.” He stood firm.
 
“Oh no? Well, they should be.” She said, “This company is riddled with inefficiency, and it’s about time someone made some moves that matter.”
 
“And that would be you, would it?” He snapped.
 
“Seems like no one else is up for the task.” She snapped back, eyeing him up and down.
 
Godfrey scanned her, realizing he would be no match for whatever had possessed her at the moment. Better let her get it out of her system. And, he had to admit, it was a great idea.
 
The elevator dinged and they stepped in, Godfrey surprisingly silent.
 
Delores checked her teeth in the mirrored tile and ran her tongue over her pointed canines. They were definitely sharper, pointier. She smiled at herself, baring her teeth just as the doors closed and the quirky vintage elevator rocketed them up to the top floor.
 
—
 
The executive offices were much nicer than the ones on the floors below, with rich red mahogany and overstuffed leather chairs. There were big wide windows in all the offices. It’s what Delores imagined a record label would look like. Silver discs lined the wall behind the front desk, awards, she knew looked impressive but were now dated. They gave the air of an award-winning station but OKAY Radio hadn’t won anything in over a decade.
 
Delores approached the front desk. “Hi, I’d like to speak to Peter, head of programming.” She said to the young, perky brunette. “And can you see if Daxis is available too?”
 
“Daxis?!” Godfrey whispered, “you’re not dragging the chief of accounts into this?!”
 
Delores spun her head around, a smile plastered on her face. She looked ferocious and Godfrey stepped back.
 
“Of course, he’ll need to sign off on the expense of a new show.” She shrugged.
 
She sensed that Godfrey was nervous because Daxis was his boss. His top boss.
 
“Do you have an appointment?” The brunette asked.
 
“No, and you know, it’s fine, I’ll just go collect them myself. Their names are on the doors, can’t be that hard to find.” She said and winked, taking off before the brunette had the chance to tell her no, Godfrey keeping step behind her.
 
She first spotted Peter’s door, wide open. Peter sat at his desk on the phone and raised a finger to Delores as she approached, signalling for her to wait. Annoyed, she did the same gesture back to him, then spun on her heel down the hall, Godfrey again tagging along behind her.
She found Daxis in his office, slurping a cup of coffee, papers piled high on his desk. “Daxis!” She exclaimed as if they were old friends. “I was hoping to find you here.”
 
“Where else would I be?” He replied gruffly.
 
“The world is a big place,” she laughed, “Now this will just take a minute, but we’ve got Pete in his office waiting, could you join us for a moment?”
 
“Pete? You mean Peter? I don’t have any meetings this morning.” Daxis complained.
 
“It’s an impromptu thing.” Delores said, “You don’t want to miss it. Come on!”
 
Daxis looked at Godfrey to protest, but Godfrey, surprisingly, urged him out of his chair.
 
“Just a very quick thing,” Godfrey said.
 
The trio headed back to Peter’s office, where he’d just hung up the phone. They stepped in and Delores closed the door behind them.
 
Peter protested. “This isn’t on my schedule, I have calls to make…”
 
Delores held up a finger, waiting for his silence. When the room was quiet she began, walking the men through her vision. She explained the show in more detail, the power-focused playlists, the quotes and motivations, the fast facts segments she’d come up with for guests that had gone above their perceived capabilities and had reached big success. She told them about her ideas for the branding, the big energy that would captivate people everywhere, people that were craving a major boost, a show that would push them and make them feel strong.
When she was done, the men all looked at each other.
 
“Well,” Peter said, “I have to admit that’s one of the best show ideas I’ve heard all year. Longer, probably.”
 
Daxis agreed. “And the spend at first would be minimal. A small promotional budget, host salary.”
 
“My salary.” Delores cut in, reminding them. “And a new admin assistant for Godfrey and me.”
 
The men all looked at each other again.
 
Oh sneaky boys, she thought, about to take the dinner I brought them right out of my mouth.
 
“It’s my idea, that I came up with on my own time. I’m the host and I come with the show or I walk and take it over to CMRK. It’s a winner and you know it.” She said.
 
“But your experience…” one of them countered.
 
“I’ve been at this station for nearly a decade, I know the ins and outs and the importance of keeping listeners and advertisers happy. It’s a delicate balance that somehow is not working at the moment. I know the books, the schedules, the planning that goes into a successful show, and I’ve been listening to the radio my whole life. Not as a passive listener, as an active one, as a listener that cares about what works what sounds good what makes people want to flip the channel. You’re not going to find a more qualified or more ready host than me.” Delores stood tall, holding firm on her strengths.
 
“There’s the whole issue, you don’t have representation we go through agents for this kind of thing.” Peter furrowed his brow.
 
He’s stalling, Delores thought looking at the men, and she wasn’t having it.
 
“So get me an agent!” She looked at Godfrey. “Call Fred, he’s probably looking for new talent as we speak, afraid those morning numb-nuts are going to cost him his career.” She roared with laughter and continued on. “These are petty issues. What we need right now is a time slot and a start date and I need an office. That’ll get the ball rolling. We can be live on air in a week.”
 
“A week! That’s not enough time for promo.” Peter put his hands on his desk.
 
“Sure it is.” She said, “Get the meatheads to announce it at the end of every morning show, when the listeners are tuning back in. Once we get going, word will spread and we’ll be the hottest show–everyone will be talking about us.”
 
The men were all looking at each other, avoiding looking at her.
Standing in her skin tight catsuit, her pointy high heels and big shiny hair, She stared at them. She knew she looked indomitable. She was unstoppable.
 
Delores smiled, her canine teeth visibly pointy, “So boys,” she asked, “What have you got to lose?”