I were on the same page on cheating, especially after she caught her boyfriend of two years with another woman. Rhonda’s face was blank, serene even. I shouldn’t be surprised—the woman only cared about advertising dollars. Damn, I wish I had my whiteboard.
“She was just an indiscretion.”
“Daniel,” I interrupted, gentling my tone. “Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me. If you want to win your family back, try apologizing. Own up to your mistakes.”
And keep your dick in your pants! I refrained from saying the latter. The FCC would so not approve.
“That’s what I was getting to, Raina.” His voice sounded clipped.
“My apologies, Daniel. Please continue.”
“Right. So, here goes. Baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for cheating on you. I never should’ve touched our HOA president.”
“Good,” I managed to choke out.
“Whew. That felt good, Raina.”
“I’m glad. Thank you for calling and good luck with—”
“I have some more confessions.”
“Well, I can’t absolve you from anything, so maybe you should speak to your wife—directly.”
“No, no. I’m sure she’s listening. If not, I’m recording us. Baby,” he deepened his voice, sounding like the B-version of Mike from Boyz II Men during the begging bridge break. “I’m sorry for screwing that girl from my trip. I’m sorry that I messed around with your old college roommate, but most of all, baby—I’m sorry for giving you herpes.”
“What!” I yelled. “You gave your wife herpes? There is no cure for herpes, Daniel.”
Rhonda was waving her hands in the air. Jamie’s blue eyes widened. I had no fucks to give. None. There would be no gentle raindrops, but a thunderstorm.
“I know. I know. I mean, we both have it now, so we might as well stay together, right? So, anyway, if you could play ‘Please Come Home for Christmas,’ the R-and-B version because I need to put a little soul into it.” He chuckled.
The asshole chuckled. My temperature spiked, which was a feat, given the cold radio station. He was talking, but I wasn’t listening.
All I remembered was the countless nights my mother cried herself to sleep when she thought I’d dozed off. Or when we scrimped and struggled while my father had another family. Cold nights when all we had were blankets and each other. We were so poor, my mom had to move us in with Grandma Jean, and they did not get along. My mother and I were in the same position as Daniel’s family.
I hoped that motherfucker was lonely for the rest of his life.
“Sure, Daniel from Midtown. I’ll put in your request to play ‘Please Come Home for Christmas,’ even though you gave your wife and mother of your kids an STD. Herpes, after all, is the gift that keeps on giving.”
Rhonda waved her hands and mouthed Go to commercial.
I couldn’t. I was on a roll, and this raindrop was gonna learn today. “Oh, and Daniel’s wife, if you’re listening: Please don’t come home for Christmas, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Halloween—”
“Wait a minute, now,” he yelled.
“No, Daniel. You are the worst of the worst. And you have the audacity to call my show, like I’m some sort of Catholic priest, to confess your dirty-ass deeds and give a shitty apology to your wife? Nuh-uh, partner. You need to own the fact that you’ve forever altered your family’s life. You—”
A commercial blared from the headset. Rhonda had cut me off.
Damn. I rocked back in my seat. I cussed on the air.
“I mean, what were you thinking, Raina?” Rhonda ran her fingers through her platinum blond hair as she paced the floor.
I was seated on a lumpy paisley couch, half shocked and half proud of what I’d said. “He called in and asked for my opinion and I—”
“No. Oh, no, no, no. You do not get to turn this around. He didn’t want your opinion, he wanted you to listen. To say a soothing word or two and play a darn song! That’s your job, and you’ve done it beautifully, well . . . up until now.” She waved her hands. “Now we’re going to have the owners and the FCC up our behinds.”
“We?”
Rhonda tilted her head as if I were on something. Something real strong, by the looks of her deep frown.
“Yes, we. I’m the producer. And my job, along with Jamie’s, is tied to yours. But you didn’t think about us, did you? It’s one thing to play your immature judgmental games silently, it’s a whole ’nother thing to say what