“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 you think.”
Clasping my hands together in prayer, I gritted my teeth. Say what I think. That’s been the issue. I’d always censured myself. Always said what people wanted to hear, but not the right thing. I was tired of giving piss-poor advice. Tired of pretending people weren’t awful. Tired of excusing bad behavior. I had a bullshit meter and, apparently, it had a low threshold. “Look, Rhonda. You’re right—”
“I know I am.”
“I’m not finished.” I raised a finger for silence. “You’re right about me not being thoughtful regarding you and Jamie. It wasn’t fair, and I didn’t think about you two. Honestly, all I could think about was that an immoral man wanted me to excuse his behavior. I know my brand is to be sweet and kind and nurturing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not that person.”
Rhonda’s lips twitched. “Never occurred to me.” She sat on the couch beside me. “Look, I know you aren’t the Raina we’ve marketed you to be, but no one forced you to do this, and there’s nothing wrong with the job. Do you know why people love you?”
“Because I kiss their asses?”
“Because you listen. Some people don’t have a friend or a listening ear. Or someone who won’t judge them for their choices, however bad they may be. Your voice and your words give them hope.” She exhaled, a long, frustrated, worried exhale and leaned back, head cradled on the top of the sofa. “Maybe I’m being Pollyanna, but your work, our work, is important.”
I grabbed her hand. She looked up in surprise, her blue eyes bright with emotion.
“I’m sorry, Rhonda.” I twisted the bangles around my wrist. “I don’t want you or Jamie to feel like I don’t value you.”
I tried to move my hand away, but she held tight. “So, what’s the next move? Should I pack my bags and prepare to never work in a top market again? I’d make a cute hobo.”
Rhonda shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. Best case scenario, you’ll have to apologize to Daniel and the listeners. Suspension is pretty much guaranteed.”
Damn, that sucked. I’d just bought a house with Cam, another thing I hadn’t considered during my rant. He was a pilot, a captain at that, and could afford taking care of the mortgage by himself. My savings had been wiped from the down payment. I really should’ve let Daniel, the herpes wielder, go.
“Worst case is that I get my ass fired, right?”
“Right.”
“Right,” I repeated, my voice weak and unsure. Suddenly, I appreciated the job I never wanted.
“If I get suspended or fired, let Jamie step in. She’s sharp and has a great sense of humor. Just let her be herself and not the old Southern grandma shtick I had going.”
Rhonda nodded.
“Okay, I’m gonna go. I’m sure they’ll make their decision by tomorrow, but I plan to get knockout drunk, so call me if I need to stay sober.”
“Roger that,” she said in a voice that belied her jealousy of my plans.
* * *
“If it makes you feel any better, I’d never give you herpes.” Cameron wrapped his arms around me after he slid into bed.
I lifted my head to look at the time: eleven a.m. Right after I left the studio, I’d called him, but he was still in the air. He must’ve heard my rambling voicemail, chock full of tears, curse words, and lamentations about my soon-to-be-jobless status.