Chapter One
BEN
“I’m attracted to my mother-in-law.”
I stifled a laugh, wondering what planet this guy was calling from, and why he wanted to admit that on a radio advice show about relationships.
Freud would have a field day with this caller.
I glanced around the on-air studio of the radio station, the walls adorned with prestigious awards from national news competitions, outstanding achievements in broadcast journalism, and excellence in broadcasting.
And I had a guy on the phone who had the hots for his wife’s mom.
“Well, Dennis, I guess that’s good news, right?” I said.
“Why is that?”
I chuckled. “Well, they say that if you want to know what your wife will look like in twenty or twenty-five years, just take a good look at her mom. Count yourself lucky, if you like what you see.”
Dennis’s name blinked at the top of my computer monitor, mocking me for thinking I could make this call entertaining or informative. But my instincts were usually correct and there was typically more to the story, something Dennis wasn’t telling me.
In some cases it was my job to find out what it was, dish out the appropriate advice, and continue on to someone else before the listeners got bored. I’ve been giving relationship advice on my morning radio show for five years and was pretty good at knowing when to cut my losses and move on to the next caller.
“But it’s my mother-in-law,” Dennis said.
“Hey—you’re not the first person in the world to have a sexy mother-in-law, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. And there’s nothing wrong with thinking she’s good-looking. In fact, almost fifty percent of all men find their mother-in-laws attractive. But it sounds like you didn’t call to brag about how hot she is.”
“No—I didn’t.”
“What’s on your mind?” I asked.
“The problem is . . . I’m really attracted to her, like, I can’t stop thinking about her. I even fantasize about her. And I know that our feelings are mutual.”
Now, you’re talking. Here we go.
I inched closer to the microphone. “She told you that?”
“Well, no. Not exactly.”
“So you think your mother-in-law fantasizes about you.”
“I’m sure of it. She’s constantly flirting with me.”
I nodded, ready to dig deeper. “Do tell . . . Give me an example of her flirtatious ways.”
“Well, you know, she tells me I’m good-looking all the time. Tells me how smart I am, and that nobody barbecues chicken teriyaki like me.”
Directly across from me in the other studio, my producer, Jim, was watching me through the glass, laughing. His main job was to screen all my callers before I put them on the air, just to make sure they weren’t nut jobs. He got a kick out of challenging me and watching me turn water into wine. I was always up for the challenge.
I adjusted the microphone. “That’s not flirting, Dennis. Those are simple compliments. She’s just being nice to her son-in-law.”
“I’m telling you she’s flirting with me!” Dennis demanded. “When she eats the chicken, her eyes are on me the entire time instead of on the food. You should see the way she licks her fingers and lips with her eyes fixed on me. Oh! And she moans while she’s chewing.”
This time I couldn’t help snorting into the microphone. “Most people moan if the food is tasty, Dennis, so put it back in your pants and take a bow for your culinary skills.”
“I’m serious. She’s got the hots for me.”
“Okay then . . . let’s say you’re not delusional and you do get her hot and bothered, and that it’s blatantly obvious. Then tell me this . . . what is your wife doing while this so-called flirting and smoking hot sexual chemistry is going on between you and her mom? Because if you notice something, anything at all, I guarantee you that your wife would notice as well.”
“My wife?”
I sighed, thinking how clueless this caller was. “Yes! Women are smart as hell, so she would obviously see what’s going on between you and her mom. What does your better half say about the situation?”
“She doesn’t say anything.”
“Describe her body language for me. Does she have a furrowed brow or pursed lips? Are her nostrils flared?”
This call would have been better suited for a reality TV show. I could actually see it playing out. Wife against mother, staring each other down, ready to go ballistic. Who would throw the first punch?
“I haven’t seen my wife in six months,” Dennis said.
Okay—I admit that I didn’t see that one coming.
I blinked. “Pardon me?”
“We’re divorced.”
I nodded, thinking about it. “Ahhhh . . . okay. Now, I understand. You’ve been getting together with her behind your ex-wife’s back, and now you want me to tell you there’s nothing wrong with that. Am I close on this one, Dennis, or am I right on the money?”
“You nailed it, as usual.”
“And you don’t think your ex-wife will have a problem with you nailing her mom?”
“Well . . .”
I sighed and shook my head. “Have you thought about how this would affect the relationship between your ex and her mom?”
“They were not that close to begin with.”
“And what is this supposed to do? Bring them closer together? Tea parties, Sunday brunches, and wine tasting with mom and daughter where the two of them celebrate your unexpected, newfound love and how much they didn’t realize they had in common? Maybe they could discuss how big or small Dennis Junior is and your performance in the sack.”
“I—”
“And another thing . . . where is the father-in-law during all of this?”
“Oh, I don’t have to worry about him. He’s dead.”
I shook my head in disgust. “You’re a class act, Dennis. The question is, are you going to continue to exhibit a lack of intelligence and tact, or will you realize that having a relationship with her mom is completely wrong and borderline disgusting?”
“It’s not like that at all. She’s a special lady and I think—”
“You’re not thinking! You’re still trying to convince me that there’s nothing inappropriate about your behavior. You will be an idiot for the rest of your life, obviously. Stay on the phone so I can have my producer get your mailing address.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to send you a free self-castration kit.” I disconnected the call. “You’re listening to Dr. Tough Love and we’ll be back right after this.”
I tapped the button to start the commercial, turned off the microphone, and removed my headphones, setting them down on the console.
The studio door swung open.
Kyle Jacobs, the new program director of the radio station, entered. He must have been half my age, with an IQ to rival Einstein. He knew a lot about the radio business for someone so young and had risen up through the radio industry ranks rather quickly because of his ability to analyze data and ratings.
What ticked me off was the way he nitpicked my show to death, even though I had decent ratings. I had gotten to where I was without the help of someone who wore Harry Potter T-shirts and flip-flops to work, thank you very much.