Thursday, April 4, 1996 | 11:59 a.m.
Single guys throughout the city were burning up the Edge lines on a recent night for a chance with Selena, and when the wheat separated from the chaff, it came down to Billy, a waiter, and Mark, a runner.
Or, as they're now known, slim and none.
Those were the odds, Selena would say, off the air, of either one getting a date.
Veronica, Selena's hot Asian companion with a fondness for studded tongues, was equally blunt about their chances: "Next to nothing."
Robert, Veronica and Selena's cool escort with a fondness for Veronica and Selena, slammed home the point: "You," he said, "have more of a chance of going out with her."
Uh ... thanks?
Selena officially broke the bad news a few minutes later, sending Billy and Mark back to their lonely, loveless lives in radioland, bolstered only by the knowledge that they can call again for companionship, as long as it's between 9 and 10 p.m. Monday through Friday.
After all, making a match is the object of "The Edge Connection," the nightly call-in dating show on KEDG 103.5-FM that asks, "Can we watch?"
Actually, the show's resident "fashion consultant," the heavy-on-the-lisp, light-in-the-loafers Lance, can take the credit for that one. But if you wanted to get technical, you could argue that it was Selena's innocent response ("Because I'm busy with myself") to host John Griffin's deft question ("Why are you single?") that set up Lance's lascivious line.
Not that it matters. When your show is the highest-rated hour on the Las Vegas airwaves, who gets the laugh is of no consequence.
"We never know what the hell we're gonna do until we go on the air," Lance says. "We play off each other. John makes me laugh and I make him laugh. This show is planned improvisation."
And, he adds, "PG-13. This show is probably the definition of what the name of our station is -- 'The Edge.' We push the envelope."
"Sometimes the show gets somewhat blue," Griffin says, "and we do a disclaimer: 'Mom and Dad, if your kids are listening, turn off your radio.' It's not too often a radio station will say, 'Turn off your radio.'"
Then again, it isn't often that a radio station tends to the care and feeding of its listeners' love lives -- and with some success. In its year and a half on the air, the show has introduced three couples who eventually married.
"The first 'Edge Connection' baby is due this summer," Griffin says, proud-papa like.
Aug. 28 to be exact, says Christi Demuth, who met her husband, Jeff, on the show Aug. 21. He proposed -- on the air -- Oct. 16.
"Basically, we hit it off on the phone. We talked on the phone for almost a week before we ever went out," she says.
Their first date was the personification of romance: Jeff took Christi to retrieve her son's truck, which had broken down at the California-Nevada state line.
"Then we went to lunch," she says.
The second date, a Lake Mead dinner cruise, "was the best date I ever had. He was more romantic than anyone I've ever dated before."
Jeff, 28, an Air Force staff sergeant, had all the qualities Christi was looking for: gentility, stability, generosity.
"I actually almost didn't pick the guy I ended up marrying," says Demuth, who went out with two other men (one loud and boisterous, the other "a total nerd") through "The Edge Connection."
"He was real quiet on the radio, real shy. He said he was from Minnesota and grew up on a farm, and I grew up in the city. I didn't think we'd hit it off."
Then he spoke the magic words: "I like cars."
That cinched it.
"I'm into race cars," Demuth says, "so I said, 'OK, I'll go out with him.'"
Now they're one big happy: Jeff and Christi, Jeff's 8-year-old and Christi's two sons, 15 and 16.
"No way" did Demuth think her radio date would lead to marriage. "I thought I was gonna go out on a couple of dates to see what it was like. Basically, I just went down to the station one night, to get a date, I guess. A friend of mine talked me into it. She said, 'C'mon, it'll be fun. The worst you can get is dinner.'"
Good ideas borrowed
"The Edge Connection" is essentially the Las Vegas version of two radio dating programs in Los Angeles. The show appropriated the concepts of each (love advice on KISS FM, matchmaking on KROC FM) and put on its own twist.
"Believe it or not, it got a bigger response than we ever dreamed it would," Griffin says. "Sometimes I just don't get it. What makes the listeners out there not calling so interested?"
Maybe it's the guests. Listeners must take comfort in the knowledge that there are people out there worse off. Sara, the pre-op transsexual, for example.
As you can imagine, Sara, born a hermaphrodite, has difficulty maintaining relationships. She was on the program to meet that special someone -- male or female -- who would respect her wishes to be one or the other. In her case, female.
"The biggest problem I have is they don't want me to change my sex," the 29-year-old says. "To them, I'm perfect." Those without a sexual preference get the best of both with her, she adds, dark blond hair caressing the back and shoulders of her blue print dress.
Unfortunately, Sara had the bad luck of sharing Thursday evening with a wildly popular female -- presumably with one set of genitalia -- and had no takers. (Interested parties can contact him/her at P.O. Box 81685, Las Vegas, NV, 89180.)
The night belonged to Somerset, a manic 22-year-old blonde with a bowl cut, a tongue ring, a list of things to remember if you're a stalker ("beware poisonous shrubbery") and the ability to recite verbatim just about any line from "Pulp Fiction."
She listed straight teeth among her attributes and shortness (5 feet 2 inches) among her shortcomings. She likes to snowboard, shop in New York City and "rub one out" (she didn't elaborate).
Eager boy-men, charmed by her overt wackiness, flooded the phone lines for a chance with Somerset, whose only real interest in them seemed to be shoes (what kind do they wear?) and Spam (do they eat it?). Ultimately, Henry, a bank manager, and John, a mechanical engineer, won out. She arranged to go out with both.
Girls equal calls
Julie, the show's producer, who declined to give her last name, says a female in the studio guarantees phone calls.
"The lines light up right away," she says. Julie guesses it has to do with the sexes reverting to their traditional roles -- men pursuing, women running. "Men are more willing to walk up to a girl in a bar and introduce themselves. Every now and then we have a night where calls from girls will pour in, but not often."
Julie is amazed by the fact that some people will hold up to 20 minutes on the line for the opportunity to get a date. She answers the calls in a room down the hall from the studio, obtaining basic information (age, height, weight, occupation) and weeding out poor candidates, and sends them on to Griffin.
"A 28-year-old female generally doesn't want a 20-year-old male," she says. "Sometimes we have nights when no one has a personality."
"And that's when you'll hear our sarcasm," says Griffin, adding that despite instances to the contrary, it isn't the show's intention to bash people. But sometimes it can't be helped.
Mostly it's men who take a beating.
"They'll say, 'I don't have a job, I don't have a car. ...' Why would a girl want to go out with you? You sit at home and play Sega all day."
Adds Julie, who also sits in on the show: "But they're the one for them."
Callers must be at least 18 to participate, and the show gets a cross section of ages and professions, blue collar and white. The bulk of the people are in their late teens and 20s, a reflection of the station's dominant demographic, but Griffin says they've had a man as old as 60 on the program.
According to the fall Arbitron ratings, "The Edge Connection" had the highest-rated hour of any Las Vegas radio program in the 18-34 demographic (men and women), scoring a 21 share. Second-place KLUC 98.5-FM scored a 9.9.
"We get approximately 14,000 listeners each night," Griffin says.
And a good many of them are as dumbfounded by Lance as they are desperate for love, which is understandable. There's just something undeniably appealing about a grown man saying, in a moment of excitement, "I think I'm gonna tinkle."
"People are fascinated with him," Griffin says. "They don't know if he's gay or straight."
"Male or female," says Julie.
"I'm beyond gay," is all Lance will say on the subject. "I'm enchanted."
Whatever he is, he gives "The Edge Connection" a balance.
"Every night we get a male-female perspective," Julie says. "John and me or John and Lance."
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