God's Gift to Women (10 page)

“I can see you still haven’t learned how to knock.”

“What are you talking about? Your office in Chicago didn’t even have a door.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” I laughed. “So, what do you want?”

“I want
you
! It’s show time in five minutes. Are you ready?”

“Like Freddy!” I said confidently.

Mitch had the studio set up just the way I liked it. The music carts were stacked in alphabetical order on top of the console, the volume on my headphones was just right, and my jasmine-scented candles were lit in every corner. As I sat down in my high-back leather chair looking out at the Houston skyline, I got a chill.

Mitch was next door in the control room. We could see one another through the large soundproof window. But unlike the raggedy equipment at WTLK, we had a computer system with a monitor. Mitch typed in the callers’ names along with their comments. There were ten lines instead of five. I was praying all of them would stay lit throughout the night.

“I hope those billboards and commercials worked.”

“To hell with commercials—word of mouth is the best advertising in the world,” I told him. “Just get me two frustrated women on the line and I’ll turn this motha out!”

“Well, if there’s anybody who can piss women off, it’s you,” Mitch said. “Now get set—you’re on in ten seconds.”

I put on my headset and took a deep breath. “As Marvin Gaye would say,
let’s get it on!
”

Mitch began counting down, “Five-four-three-two-one.” When the on-air light came on, I felt a burst of energy.

“Good evening, H-Town, and welcome to the premiere of
Love, Lust, and Lies,
” I said in a deep, smooth tone. “I’m your host, Julian Payne, and I’ll be with you until two A.M. talking about relationships and the drama they cause. The topic tonight is especially for the ladies. It deals with the lack of satisfaction. That’s right, we’re talking about women who get maintenance
when their man comes up short, inside and outside the bedroom. So, if you’re one of those ladies who’s neglected and unappreciated, call me up and let’s talk about it.”

The second I gave out the toll-free number the lines exploded. Mitch couldn’t type fast enough to keep up with all the comments, so he started abbreviating. I was laughing my ass off as I watched all the misspelled names coming across the screen. The first three lines were the worst.

Line 1—Karen Smthi—Is there a difference between getting maintenance and getting a tune-up?

Line 2—Lyndah Wilums—Is the size of the tool important?

Line 3—Juanita Johnsin—I’m fifty years old and horny as hell. Where can I find a maintenance man?

Mitch couldn’t type worth shit, but he managed to spell the names well enough for me to figure them out. I was anxious to hear their comments, but I had personal business to attend to first.

“Now, before we take your calls, I’d like to kick things off with an old-school dedication. This one goes out to a very sexy doctor. And believe me, fellahs, she’s the kinda doctor you can’t wait to bend over for. I hope you’re listening, Doc, because this one’s especially for you. It’s a classic by one of the funkiest bands of all time, the Ohio Players. It’s called ‘Skin Tight.’” When the funky beat kicked in, I could practically feel the entire city snapping fingers and bobbing heads. Then the lyrics set it off:

“
You’re a bad-bad miss-sass
In those skin-tight britches…. ”

I damn near fell on the floor when I saw Mitch in the control room doing the robot. I joined right in by doing a dance called the Errol Flynn. It was a popular dance back in the seventies. Halfway through the song, we faded the music out and began taking callers. It was obvious by the excitement in their voices that they couldn’t wait to vent.

By midnight we were on a roll. Every phone line stayed lit. During the breaks Mitch and I stared at one another and grinned. We knew the show was a hit.

Success is a funny thing. You dream about it all your life, then before you realize it’s happening, you’re there. Suddenly your thoughts shift from how you’re going to make it to how to hold on to what you’ve worked so hard to obtain. I had come a long way in fifteen years and there was no way in hell I was going back. I didn’t uproot my daughter and move all the way down to hot-ass Houston, Texas, only to fail.

I learned a valuable lesson from watching others in my profession: beware of the trappings of success—the money, the fame, and especially the women. All it takes is getting involved with the wrong one, and your reputation and career could be over.

That’s what I was thinking as I stared nervously at my monitor. Ever since the opening of the show I had avoided answering line ten. I was hoping she would get disconnected or hang up. But she stayed on the line for two straight hours. The information on my screen read:

Line 10—Olivia—How do I tell my maintenance man it ain’t over?

Was I being paranoid? Was it Olivia Brown? I didn’t know for sure. But I wasn’t about to pick up the phone to find out.

“SAMANTHA, BREAKFAST IS ready!” I yelled. “And don’t take all day—the school bus will be here in five minutes!”

When she came downstairs I could tell she wasn’t her usual bubbly self. Instead of giving me a hug and kiss, she sat down at the kitchen table and started pouting.

“Good morning, Princess! Why the long face this morning? You look like somebody stole your lunch money.”

“I hate school! I wish we’d never moved to this crappy place.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady!”

“I’m sorry, Dad, it’s just that my music teacher, Mrs. Adams, is getting on my nerves. I’ve only been in her class a week and she’s already picking on me. Then there’s this white girl named Melissa who keeps kicking the back of my seat. When I turn around to tell her to stop, I’m the one who gets in trouble. I hate school!”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this last week?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I know how busy you are with your new job.”

“I’m never too busy for my baby, you know that.” I put my arms around her. “Now, let me put some clothes on so we can get this mess straightened out, once and for all!”

“Don’t do that, Dad, please!” She grabbed my pajama sleeve as I was headed upstairs. “I don’t want to look like a crybaby in front of the other kids.”

“Okay, but if things don’t get better in the next couple of weeks, let me know. I might have to come up there and pimp slap Mrs. Adams.” I laughed.

“Speaking of slapping, is it okay if I beat up Melissa if she keeps kicking my chair?”

“Absolutely—just make sure nobody sees you.”

We laughed and gave each other a high five. Just then the school bus pulled up to the corner. Sam kissed me on the cheek and ran off with her backpack swinging off her shoulder.

“Melissa’s gonna get pimp slapped! Melissa’s gonna get pimp slapped!” she sang.

As I watched her board the bus, I felt proud of the child I was raising. “Yep, she’s a chip off the old block.”

While I washed the dishes, I turned on the Weather Channel to check the forecast. The heat was suffocating and I was praying for a cloudy day. But just as I expected, the forecast was for sunny skies and ninety-eight degrees. “No wonder the crime rate is lower in the South; it’s too damn hot for the crooks to come out to rob you!” I said to myself. Just then, the phone rang. When I saw the 312 area code I knew who it was.

“Whassup, playa?”

“Whassup, Julian! How’s everything in Houston, Texas?” He tried to sound southern. “Are those thick country girls knockin’ down your door yet?”

“Eddie, I’ve only been on the air for a week.”

“I figured a big-city boy like you would have a harem by now. I heard all about those Texas and Louisiana girls. They’ll put a mojo on you and have you doin’ all kinds of outrageous shit!”

“I don’t spread myself thin like you. But I did meet a fine
sistah in the parking garage last week. She seems to have it all together—nice body, pleasant personality, real hair, and she’s a psychologist.”

“Those intellectual types make the biggest freaks,” Eddie said. “They listen to perverted sexual fantasies all day. By the time they get home they’re ready to break out the whips and handcuffs.”

“There you go again with your freak theory. Can you get your mind out the gutter for a second? I really like this woman. I even bought her some roses.”

“Roses? Wait a second—is this the same man who, only a week ago, said he wasn’t interested in a serious relationship?”

“Who said anything about a serious relationship? I just sent her roses, for God’s sake. It doesn’t mean we’re walking down the aisle.”

“Julian, you haven’t bought roses for a woman since—”

“I know when, okay? You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it,” I told him. “Besides, she doesn’t seem to be interested. I haven’t heard from her since I sent the flowers to her office last week, not even so much as a thank-you. That’s why I haven’t bothered to mention her until now.”

“Have you tried calling her? She could be dead.”

“I left two messages at her office the day after I sent the flowers. And I’ve called the answering service at her foundation twice.”

“Lord, help this poor soul. He’s lost all of his playa etiquette,” Eddie said. “Don’t you know a woman can detect a desperate man a mile away?”

“And your point is?”

“Stop callin’! If she’s interested, she’ll pursue you.”

While we were talking, I got another call. “Hold on, Eddie, my other line is ringing.”

“Take your call, Julian. I’ve got to get down to the studio. I just called to let you know I made reservations to fly in next Saturday.”

“That’s perfect timing! The radio station is throwing an old-school party at the Hilton next week!”

“Cool! I’ve been looking forward to checking out some of those thick southern girls,” Eddie said. “Oh, and don’t forget you promised to throw down on some barbecue.”

“I’ll have the coals in the grill, hot and ready to go.”

“If you play your cards right, that doctor friend of yours will be hot and ready, too. Take it from me, partner—women are all about playing games. Peace!”

I didn’t want to accept that Terri was playing games. That would have also meant accepting that she was common, typical, not special. I wasn’t ready to admit that possibility. When I clicked over I expected it to be either Carmen’s parents or Mitch. I didn’t bother to check the caller ID.

“Hello, Payne residence.”

“Julian?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Terri Ross, how are you doin’?”

She caught me completely off guard. Although I was happy to hear her voice, my pride wouldn’t allow me to show it.

“I’m doin’ fine.” I tried to sound cool. “And you?”

“I’m fine, too.”

There was a pause. I knew she could sense my nonchalant attitude.

“If you’re busy I can call you back later.”

“Did I say I was busy?”

“No, but you sound like you don’t want to be bothered.”

“If I didn’t want to be bothered, I would’ve told you. I always say what’s on my mind.”

“Are you implying something?”

“I’m not implying anything, I’m simply saying that if I felt a certain way about an issue or a person, I would just come right out and say it.”

“Look, Julian, I can tell you’re in a funky mood. Maybe I should call you another time.”

“Call me another time? For what, Terri?” I asked angrily. “You call my home acting as if you haven’t received my phone calls or my flowers. You know I’ve been trying to reach you for over a week. You could’ve at least extended me the courtesy of a return phone call.”

“Now, wait just a minute, Julian. You don’t know me well enough to be telling me off, and by the way, I never asked for the stupid flowers!”

“You’re right, Terri, we don’t know each other that well, in fact, we don’t know each other at all. But I assumed, as a gentleman, that an appropriate way of getting acquainted was to send you flowers. But I guess I was wrong.” I paused to collect myself. “You know, Terri, I don’t know what you’ve gone through to make you so angry and distrustful toward men, but I’m not to blame. Furthermore, I’m not going to pay for it. Good-bye,
Doctor
Ross. I hope you find what you’re searching for.”

As I hung up the phone I thought about what Mitch said to me at WTLK in Chicago. He told me to start taking my own advice. In that situation my advice would have been to let it go. If Terri couldn’t appreciate a gentleman sending her flowers, if she couldn’t give me the courtesy of a phone call, then what the hell did I need her for? Unlike most people who suffer from emotional dependency and low self-esteem, I accept when a person is not for me.

I took a deep breath and headed upstairs to put on my swim trunks. I decided to do a few laps in the pool before hitting the weights. “I didn’t like her that much anyway,” I said out loud. I was trying to convince myself I didn’t care. “Her head was too big and her legs were too skinny. And besides, who wants to date a psychologist? All they do is analyze every damn thing.”

Suddenly the phone rang. This time I checked the caller ID. It read
ROSS COUNSELING SERVICES
.

“Hello?”

“Julian, it’s me, Terri. Please don’t say anything. I have
something I need to say to you. First of all, I apologize for not calling to thank you for the flowers. It was a wonderful gesture and I truly appreciated it. No one has sent me flowers in over ten years. I also want to tell you how much I loved the poem you wrote. It showed me a tender side of you. Not many men are willing to communicate their emotions in such a romantic way. They’re afraid of appearing too soft or weak. Also, you were right about me being hurt in the past. Sometimes it’s hard for a woman to move on, even a woman who advises people about their relationships for a living. I guess I have a lot to learn about myself and about how to treat people.”