Morning Man

by Barbara Kellyn

  “You’re forgetting that Dub Birmingham is already a name in this town. You’ve got a built-in following.”

  “Who are you kidding? You’re the star and I’m the sidekick. I’m the Tonto to your Lone Ranger. I’m the Robin to your Batman. And no one ever wanted Robin to show up and save them if Batman got hung up somewhere.”

  “Jeez, that’s quite the inferiority complex you’ve got going there, pal.”

  “I’m the Barney to your Fred.”

  “I get it,” Tack said, screwing down his cap.

  “I’m the Tubbs to your Crockett.”

  “All right, knock it off already.”

  Dayna suddenly appeared in the doorway, dressed in a pair of tight white jeans and a purple top with a zip-up front that made Tack to do a double take. “Don’t forget the Donkey to his Shrek,” she said with a sassy grin. “Personally, I’ve always been partial to the ass.”

  “Definitely one of my favorites too, sugar.” He leaned back and propped his feet up on the desk, pretending not to stare as she walked into the room.

  “Morning, gents.” She shrugged off her purse and shoulder bag, dropping them on the desk with a heavy thud-thud. “So, what are we up to?”

  “Actually, I’m just leaving to put on the coffee,” Dub said, scrambling to his feet. He stood behind his chair and held it out for Dayna. “Here, by all means, take my spot. It’s not like I’ll have it much longer anyway.”

  Her lips puckered at his acrid tone. “Uh, thanks,” she mumbled, hesitating a moment before parking herself. She waited a beat after Dub left the room before asking, “What was that?”

  Tack shrugged. “Aw, he’s pissed.”

  “At me?”

  “At you, at me, at Bonnie, at the whole damn world. He’s mad he got bumped from the morning show. Says I didn’t fight hard enough to keep him.”

  “But those orders came from the top. That’s not your fault.”

  “Try telling that to him.” He slid the Dispatch across the desk. “So, how do you want to do the show? You want to take entertainment news?”

  “Oh,” she said, staring down at a photo of the latest drunken starlet to take a perp walk in handcuffs. “I kind of assumed I’d hang back and do the weather. That way, Dub could still handle the news, traffic and sports plus all your usual banter.”

  “No, you do traffic, weather and the showbiz stuff and then join us for the prize questions, okay?”

  “I just don’t want to tread on anybody’s toes.”

  “You’re not, so stop worrying about Dub. I don’t know why he’s being such a tool.”

  “I do. I busted up your bromance.”

  “He’s a big boy, he’ll deal.” It was strange to be at odds with Dub when they’d always had each other’s back. But the show must go on. “You doing anything later?”

  “Later?”

  “After the show, Dub and I usually head over to the Roadhouse for breakfast.”

  She tilted her head. “Isn’t the Roadhouse a dive bar?”

  “At night, yeah it is. But it’s also a decent little greasy spoon during the day. Liz Taylor’s chef whips up a mean breakfast skillet.”

  “Sorry? Liz Taylor?”

  “She’s not the Liz Taylor, but she’s our Liz Taylor, and legendary in her own right,” he explained. “She owns the Roadhouse.”

  “Sure,” she said with a shrug. “We really need to plan what we’re doing next week. Bonnie’s expecting a lot from us, so we shouldn’t try to wing it.”

  “I completely agree. So let’s get on that later.”

  She nodded. “Good.”

  “Great.”

  “Great,” she echoed with a twinkle.

  He leaned forward on the desk, their eyes locked. “Absolutely.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She planted her hand on her hip and smiled. “Is this the way it’s going to be? You always have to get in the last word?”

  He grinned. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

  A shocking crash came from down the hall. “Fuck!” Dub screeched.

  “You okay in there?” Tack called out.

  “The damn coffee pot slipped,” he yelled. “There’s glass and water everywhere.”

  They both rushed to the staff kitchen. Dub swabbed at the sopping countertop with a wad of paper towels. His shirt and the front of his pants were soaked.

  “Are you okay?” Dayna asked. “Did you cut yourself?”

  “No,” Dub grumbled, picking a curved shard of glass out of the sink and throwing it into the waste basket under the counter.

  She reached for the paper towels. “Here, I can do that while you clean up.”

  “I’ll do it,” he barked, snatching the roll from her hand. “You’ve done plenty around here already.”

  * * * *

  Dub’s sudden outburst made for a tense first half of the show. Dayna gave him a wide berth by staying out of the control room, making her on-air contributions from behind the pane of three-quarter inch Plexiglass in the soundproof news booth.

  “Be listening for your next chance to see Ohio hometown boys Rascal Flatts in concert by playing Would You Rather with The Rise Guys at seven forty-five,” Tack said with his signature smooth delivery. “After the break, Zac Brown Band and Dayna’s back with your traffic and weather.”

  Dub quickly exited the studio as he had whenever she was about to come on with a segment. She felt her eyelid begin to flutter.

  “Sixty seconds, sugar,” Tack said through her headphones as she scanned the traffic report on her screen. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Huh?” She glanced up to see him looking past the console.

  “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Are we having fun yet?”

  “Don’t worry about him. Once the calls start coming in, he’ll stop being such a douche waffle.” He redirected his eyes to the board before turning his attention back to her. “If not, we only have to get through the next two and a half hours, then do it all over again tomorrow morning.”

  “Right,” she laughed. The melodious Hot Country 103 splitter played and the red light flickered overhead. “Hot Country One-oh-three traffic and weather together brought to you by Value City Furniture, offering factory direct savings to you every day.” She paused. “That earlier fender-bender on Eastside Two-seventy at Groveport has been cleared away, but traffic’s still a little backed up in the area. A reminder that Front Street is down to one lane in each direction because of the construction barricades but so far, your Thursday commute looks to be shaping up to be a smooth one.” She smiled to brighten her voice and took a breath. “Keep those shades on, because we’ll be reaching a sunny high of seventy-nine with a low of sixty-two overnight. Tomorrow, partly clear with a high of eighty-one but then clouds roll in for the weekend with a forty percent chance of sprinkles on Saturday. Right now, wind is light from the west at thirteen, humidity at thirty percent and we’re sitting at a comfortable sixty-three degrees. I’m Dayna Cook. Now back to more continuous country hits with The Rise Guys on Hot Country One-oh-three.”

  The twang of the next song filled her ears as Tack spoke over the intro. “Gimme a call now to play Would You Rather for your chance to win Rascal Flatts tickets after some Chicken Fried goodness courtesy of Zac Brown on Hot Country One-oh-three.”

  Dub re-entered the control room and slid back into his chair opposite Tack, busy on the phone with listeners. Dayna left the stuffy cubicle and refilled her stainless steel water bottle in the kitchen, where the only trace of the coffee pot incident was the sizable damp spot on the carpet in front of the sink. She leaned over the water cooler, fitting her bottle beneath the spigot. Her eye still bugged her and she blinked hard as if commanding every nerve ending to remain still.

  “Hey,” Dub suddenly spoke, standing in the doorway behind her. “I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

  She straightened up, wondering if Tack h
ad put him up to this. “No worries.”

  “Nah, I want to apologize. Seeing that it’s your first day here and all, I’ve done a shitty job of making you feel welcome. Sorry.”

  “You’ve been put in an uncomfortable position and I’m sorry about that. It was never my intention to come between The Rise Guys.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, we should get back in there. Why don’t you bring your headphones into control and plug into the board? It’ll be more fun that way.”

  “Thanks, Dub.” She smiled, touched by his sudden transformation from brusque to civil. “I’ll do that.”

  The three of them sat inside the studio, and Tack put the first player on the air. “Hot Country One-oh-three. What’s your name, caller?”

  “Uh, hi. This is Phil.”

  “Hey, Phil. Dub’s going to ask you a Would You Rather question and then you’ve got to give us one back, okay? Our favorite Q&A gets a pair of Rascal Flatts tickets.”

  Dub leaned closer to his mike. “Okay, Phil, tell us: would you rather get first dibs or the last laugh?”

  The caller paused a moment. “I guess it depends on what the dibs were. If it’s sex, then yeah, definitely I’d wanna get in there first, ’cause I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

  Dayna let out a squeal. “Ugh, that’s nasty, Phil.”

  “Unless it was for you, Dayna, baby. Then I’d gladly wait my turn.”

  “Hey, hey,” Tack interrupted, “let’s keep it gentlemanly, Phil. What’s your answer?”

  “I’d rather have the last laugh. That way you always come out on top.”

  Dub shrugged. “Okay. And your question for us?”

  “If you were stuck on a deserted island with nothing but a crate of one hundred-proof whiskey, would you rather die of alcohol poisoning or die of thirst?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. I’d drink myself into a stupor to numb the pain of a slow, agonizing death,” Tack said.

  “While you crapped yourself senseless,” Dayna added. “Don’t make alcohol poisoning out to be so romantic.”

  “It’d be a heck of a lot better to go that way. And besides, I’m a fun drunk.”

  “Whee! Lookie me!” Dub jumped in. “I’ve got the dry heaves and I’m covered in butt mud.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. Yeah, it was low brow comedy, but damn, that was funny.

  “Okay, Phil, we kinda liked your question, so stay on the line and let’s go to another caller. You’re on with The Rise Guys and Dayna.”

  “Hi, Tack,” purred the female caller. “This is Naughty Noelle.”

  “Hey, Noelle,” he said, lowering his voice into a provocative growl. “Haven’t heard from you in a while, sweet thing. How’ve you been?”

  “Up to no good, as always.” Noelle giggled.

  Dayna rolled her eyes. Blech.

  “Okay, darlin’, here comes your question from the lovely Dayna Cook.”

  “I have a feeling this is gonna be right up your alley, Noelle,” she said. “Would you rather your parents watch a porno you had starred in or watch a porno that starred your parents?”

  “Meow,” Dub snarled, curling his fingers like a claw.

  “That’s a real toughie,” Noelle said. “I mean, neither would be something I’d ever want to happen.”

  “I think that’s the whole point,” Dayna said. “Choosing the lesser of two evils.”

  Tack’s hand shot in the air. “I know which video I’d rather watch.”

  She scowled. “Zip it, cowboy. This one isn’t for you.”

  “Uh, I’m going to have to go with the first choice because when I was little, I walked into my parents’ room while they were doing it. Trust me, I never, ever want to witness that again.”

  Dayna winced. “Ooh, there’s a childhood memory that should stay repressed. Did you realize what they were up to?”

  “No. My dad said they were playing Hide the Salami, so for the longest time, I really believed they were eating sausages in bed.”

  The control room exploded into gut-busting laughter. Dayna wiped the tear from the corner of her eye. “Okay, Noelle, you got us there. What’s your question?”

  “This one’s for Tack.”

  Dub sneered. “Gee, there’s a shocker.”

  “Would you rather get freaky at dusk or get busy at dawn?”

  “Darlin’, there isn’t a red-blooded male who wouldn’t sacrifice his right walnut to never give up either of those carnal delights.”

  Dayna shook her head. “Get on with it already.”

  “Then I definitely pick dawn,” he said, meeting her eyes across the console. “Call it a hazard of the job, but I get up long before the rooster crows.”

  Yeah, I’ll bet. Her cheeks flamed as she pictured his big, red rooster. “Safe to say you’re a morning man in more ways than one?”

  “Definitely.” He held her gaze unflinchingly. “Two warm bodies entangled under the covers while the world outside is still dark and cold? I can’t think of anything sexier than a little rise and grind.”

  Right now, I can’t think of anything, period. She rallied, remembering she was live on the air. “Well, well, well,” she said, “talk about your breakfast sausages.”

  Tack roared with laughter, smacking a button that sounded a bell effect. “Bingo! We’ve got ourselves a winner.”

  “Congratulations,” Dub said. “You’ve just won two tickets to see Rascal Flatts at the Nationwide Arena this August, plus you’re entered to win the grand prize of dinner for four and seats in the Hot Country One-oh-three Hot Zone to watch the show.”

  “Oh my goodness, thanks so much.”

  “Stay on the line and we’ll give you details on how to pick up your prize.” Tack started up a new tune. “Your next chance to win Rascal Flatts tickets comes up tomorrow morning at eight-fifteen, so keep it here on Hot Country One-oh-three.” He turned off the microphones and slid his headphones around his neck, still smiling as he nodded in Dayna’s direction. “That was great, sugar. You killed it.”

  “I’ll second that.” Bonnie said as she pushed open the control room door. “Funny stuff, guys.”

  “Sorry, things got a little racy,” Dayna said, slightly embarrassed.

  “Racy is good. Listeners enjoy a little titillation as long as it doesn’t get too raunchy. We don’t need the FCC breathing down our necks.”

  “Excuse me.” Dub stood up. “Tack, just patch me in from the booth, okay? I can do the news in there.”

  Dub breezed past Bonnie without saying a word. She waited until the door closed behind him before speaking again. “I wanted to let you know that we’re working on the weekend promo for your new show. I also want to make sure both your schedules are clear on Saturday.”

  Dayna shrugged. “I’m free.”

  “I have a remote from eleven ’til two at Arch City Ford,” he said. “Why? What’s up?”

  “I have a studio booked at three for your billboard photo shoot. I’ll memo you the particulars, but just come as you are because I’ve already taken care of everything.” She turned toward the door and took a few steps before stopping. “Out of curiosity, how’s Dub been this morning?”

  Tack cradled his headphones between his neck and shoulder, listening to the playback as he mixed one song over the end of the other. “We’ll work it out,” he said.

  “His ego’s taken more of a bruising than I’d expected. Give it time, he’ll come around,” Bonnie sighed, reaching for the door. “I like what I’m hearing this morning, you two. Keep it up.”

  Dayna nodded. “Tack and I are starting show prep as soon as we wrap today.”

  “Happy to hear it.” The boss’s telling smile seemed to say she already knew something neither one of them had caught on to yet.

  Dayna shuffled the contest sheets as she slid from her seat. “I’d better be going too. I’ll pull a few wire stories for the entertainment spot.”

  “By the way, I like you in here with me,” he said without looking up.


  She blinked. “You do?”

  “Yeah, it’s much better when we can play off each other’s reactions.” He keyed a command into the computer and the next hour’s music log popped up on the screen. “Besides, if you’re hiding in the booth, I can’t see how cute you are when you blush.”

  “I-I don’t blush,” she said, feeling the heat prickle up the back of her neck and rise to her face again.

  “You go all red like a sexy little tomato.”

  “I do not.”

  “Oh yeah.” He flashed a knee-buckling grin. “You sure do.”

  Her cheeks were burning. “Well, now I am. Thanks a lot.” Wanting to deflect his attention, she pointed to the blinking light on the phone. “Don’t forget, your girlfriend Noelle’s still on hold.”

  “Right,” he said, punching up the phone on speaker. “Hey, darlin’, thanks for waiting. We’re just going into the news, so hold on two shakes and then I’ll tell you about the great big prize package I’ve got for you.”

  “Ooh, Tack,” she gushed. “I can’t wait to hear all about your big package.”

  “Open mouth. Insert finger. Gag,” Dayna muttered under her breath, pointing straight at her tonsils.

  * * * *

  Tack slid into the back booth at the Roadhouse. His “office,” as he called it. The saloon, still reeking of last night’s stale cigarettes and beer, was usually deserted at this time of day so Liz Taylor generously gave him and Dub plenty of room and bottomless cups of coffee. Only today, Dub wouldn’t be sitting in on their usual breakfast meeting.

  Liz came over carrying a big smile, a fresh pot of brew and a tray of mugs. A black velvet ribbon tied her silver hair back and she wore a choker of cheap paste diamonds, which might have been an odd fashion choice given her faded jeans and t-shirt prominently displaying the Rolling Stones’ tongue logo. Then again, she was one of a kind. “Hey there, TC. ’Bout time you showed up.”

  “Morning, darlin’. How are you today?”

  “Surviving.” Liz put a menu in front of him, pretending he hadn’t memorized every item ages ago. She took the pair of mugs from the tray, the long, black tips of her press-on nails clicking on the ceramic as she placed them on the table.