Morning Man

by Barbara Kellyn

  Tack immediately wrapped his hands around one, still hot from the dishwasher.

  “Where’s Dub?”

  “Not coming,” he said. “Starting Monday, I’m doing the show without him.”

  Liz raised her eyebrows as she proceeded to pour. “Without Dub? How come?”

  “The boss wants to shake things up a bit.”

  “Aw man, you know I love listening to you guys. You always make me laugh.”

  “He’ll still be around, but you gotta try something new sometimes, right?”

  As if on cue, Dayna walked through the door and immediately, the room got a little brighter. She did a visual sweep of the pool tables and the neon beer signs above the bar before making eye contact. “Here’s my new co-host,” he said, waving her over.

  Liz turned her head in time to see Dayna wave back, her blonde curls and generous curves bouncing as she approached them. “But she’s a woman.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve noticed.” He grinned appreciatively.

  “Hi, sorry I’m late. I was talking to Willie.”

  “Dayna Cook, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Elizabeth Taylor.”

  “Call me Liz. Everyone does.” The older woman smiled as they shook hands. “Hey, you were on with The Rise Guys this morning, weren’t you?”

  “That was me,” she said. “Glad to hear someone tuned in.”

  “Take a load off, sugar.” Tack nudged his bearded chin toward the wooden bench seat across the table.

  She unloaded her bags and slid in as Liz filled a second mug with coffee.

  “I’ll give you two a minute to decide and then come back for your order,” Liz said, giving him a sly wink.

  “What was all that about?” Dayna asked, reaching for the old-fashioned cream dispenser.

  “She likes you,” he said.

  She smirked. “She’s known me all of five seconds.”

  “Trust me. Liz is one of these people who instantly make up their mind whether or not you’re going to be in her good books for life. She says it’s instinctive.”

  “And what if I’d been blacklisted?”

  “Then you don’t want to know.” He brought his mug up to his lips and watched Dayna tear open the ends of twin sugar packets. She dumped them both into her coffee, then stirred. “I see I’m going to have to teach you how to drink it black like a grown up.”

  “Cut me some slack. My alarm went off at three-thirty for the first time in my life today.” She closed her eyes and savored the initial sip. “Ohhh, yeah. That’s good stuff.”

  “Better than the sludge at the station, that’s for damn sure.”

  She put down her mug and folded her arms on the table. “You know where Bonnie’s moving Willie?”

  “Weekend shift, I heard.”

  “Six a.m. to noon on Saturdays and Sundays. That’s it. He gets only twelve hours a week on the air, three of them spent playing old-timey gospel music.”

  “It sucks, but what can you do? I’m sure he’ll get some remotes thrown his way.”

  “But it’s so degrading,” she said, her eyes turned down. “He’s not even sixty yet. Did you know that he’s been working at Country One-oh-three since 1985?”

  “Yep.” Tack actually didn’t know the exact year, but he suspected Willie Williams had been at the station since reel to reel was state-of-the-art technology.

  “And did you know that his very first day on air was August 16, 1977?”

  “The day Elvis died.”

  She nodded. “He worked at his uncle’s station in Pittsburgh. You know, just sweeping the floors and erasing tapes and keeping the record collection in alphabetical order. But the day Elvis died, one of the DJs got so busted up that he couldn’t go on the air. Willie got to sit in the chair for his shift, and the rest is history.”

  He was mesmerized by the way her face lit up as she recounted the story. “Wow,” he said. “That’s really something.”

  “He’s been in radio for thirty-five years. Don’t you think that’s amazing?”

  “It’s quite an accomplishment, sugar. But you need to remember that this business can be a cruel one, whether you’ve devoted a few days or entire decades to it. There ain’t no job security on the airwaves.”

  Liz returned with her order pad and pen poised to write. “What can I get you?”

  Tack slid his unopened menu across the table. “The usual. The Roadhouse skillet and a side of brown toast.”

  “Alrighty. And what about you, Dayna?”

  “The skillet sounds good. What’s in it?”

  “It’s a big ol’ heap of scrambled eggs, mixed with homestyle potatoes, fried sausage and peppers smothered in melted cheese. Breakfast of champions.”

  She slammed her menu shut. “Oh, what the hell? I’ll have that too,” she said, eyeing up Liz’s sparkly necklace. “So, you’re actually Elizabeth Taylor?”

  “Elizabeth Penelope Jeanne Taylor,” she said proudly. “Being born with a handle like that affords a girl certain privileges.”

  “I imagine that it would. So other than your obviously fine taste in jewelry, do you have anything in common with your famous namesake?”

  Liz laughed as she poured a steamy refill into each mug. “Honey, I may have only been married twice, but I do expect a man to pamper me like Cleopatra.”

  “Get to the best part,” he said. “About who’s working back in the kitchen.”

  Dayna pressed a finger against her lips. “Don’t tell me. Richard Burton?”

  “My chef’s name is Mickey Brunie.”

  “Oh man, that’s priceless.” Dayna laughed.

  “I’ll get Mickey on this and swing by with more coffee,” Liz said.

  Tack smiled as she walked away. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she’s a real character. And so are you, from what I hear.”

  That took him by surprise. “Oh? What have you been hearing about me?”

  “You’ve got quite the reputation as a smooth-talking ladies’ man.”

  “I’ve worked pretty damn hard to earn that reputation, I’ll have you know,” he said, watching as a little smirk snuck up on the corner of her mouth. “What?”

  She shrugged. “Remember, I’ve worked around guys like you a long time so I’ve already seen what’s behind the curtain,” she said. “This is showbiz. Who Tack Collins is on the air is very likely not the same guy sitting here with me right now.”

  “I can assure you, there’s only one Tack Collins.”

  “Oh yeah? I’ve already been here several minutes and you haven’t come on to me once yet.”

  “Maybe that’s because I’m still working up to it.”

  “Maybe you are,” she said. “But I’ve been around enough radio guys to know where the seams are separating the person from the persona. You like people believing you’re a big player but in reality, you probably lead a very normal, quiet existence.”

  He gulped down his coffee. “Any other insights you care to share about my life?”

  “Only that you’re itching to get out of Columbus. Apparently, this is the last stop before you get called up to a major market station.”

  “Who are you, Encyclopedia Brown?”

  “I heard you’ve sent your tape to every top-thirty station out there. Is that true?”

  “There might be a few floating around,” he said unapologetically. “Look, I know I’ve got an expiration date so I’ve got to take another shot at the big leagues while my batting average is still decent. The last thing I want is to stay in one place for too long and end up playing church lady music on Sunday mornings.”

  “So, if you’ve already got one foot out the door, there’s really no point in us even planning next week’s shows.”

  “I never said I didn’t care about doing a good job. Besides, a high profile show will only boost my personal stock,” he said. “I made a commitment to Bonnie and I intend to stand by it until she gets the ratings she wants. I just hope that happens before I’m needed
elsewhere.”

  “And I just hope it’s nice and cozy down here at the bottom of your priority list.” She rolled her eyes. “I love the way you radio guys are only in it for yourselves. You’re nothing but modern-day gypsies.”

  He chuckled at the irony. “Seems to me that you’re the one still unpacking suitcases from your last radio gig.”

  “My circumstances are totally different. I thought I was moving here for love.”

  An unfamiliar surge of jealousy made a knot in his stomach. “Love?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  “Sure, I do. For all intents and purposes, we’re partners for the foreseeable future so I need to know as much about you as possible.”

  She tapped a fingernail against her mug. “Back in Buffalo, I dated a guy I worked with who got a job out here last fall. Maybe you know him, CJ Maroni? He does the drive home at Mix Ninety-six.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ve heard of him.”

  “After CJ got settled, the plan was that I’d find a job and move to Columbus too. Problem is, I stuck to the plan and CJ…not so much,” she said, taking a sip. “Last week, I showed up with my life in tow and he informed me that we’d already broken up, only he hadn’t gotten around to telling me yet.”

  “Oh, man, that sucks.”

  “Just wait, it gets even more pathetic.” She laughed to herself. “I drained my bank account to buy a car so I could move here, so now I’m flat broke. I can’t afford to live anywhere else but with CJ for the time being.”

  “You live with your ex?”

  “Sounds like paradise, huh? Fortunately, by being part of the morning show, it cuts down on the waking hours I actually have to see his stupid clown face,” she said. “The second bonus is that it really grates on him that I got a primo timeslot long before he ever will. It proves once and for all that I’m not riding his coattails.”

  “That’s what he thinks?”

  “His exact words were I owe him big time for riding his coattails to the top.”

  “What a sonofabitch.” He shook his head. “At least now you can see he did you a huge favor by breaking it off.”

  “Oh, I know. It’s too bad I wasted two years of my prime before finding that out.”

  “Never fall for anybody who treats you ordinary,” he said. “I think I read that on a bumper sticker once.”

  She smirked. “How about ‘Never fall for anybody who works in radio.’ That’s my motto from now on.”

  Chapter 3

  The stylist rotated a round brush through Dayna’s hair as intense heat from the dryer softened her kinks into smooth, silky submission. “You ever use a flat iron?”

  “Yeah, but it’s so much work, I save it only for really special occasions,” she said. “Mostly, I just wash and go.”

  “I’d die for natural curls like yours. It’s a crime we’re straightening them out.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Tack said, shrugging off his jacket in the doorway of the photo studio. “So why are you doing it?”

  “Bonnie’s orders,” Dayna replied, staring at his reflection. With his back turned to her, she stole a moment to admire his broad build, from those sprawling shoulders down to a nice, tight butt that did proper justice to well-fitted jeans.

  The stylist switched off the dryer. “We’ll set you in rollers, so that will still give you plenty of body.”

  He crossed the room and stood beside Dayna’s chair. “I say that body’s got plenty good going for it already.”

  She laughed. “Meet my charming and oh-so-subtle co-host, Tack Collins.”

  “Hi.” He nodded.

  “So, how did your remote go?”

  “Ah, all right. A few people came by to kick tires and one guy bought a fully-loaded F-150,” he said. “A couple of the sales guys tried to persuade me to trade in my Silverado, but I told them nooo way. I’ll be a Chevy man ’til I die.”

  She smirked. “I hope that wasn’t while you were on the air.”

  “Nope, I stayed on script and talked only about Ford’s superior standards. Yeah, it hurts, but I know which side my bread’s buttered on,” he said with a laugh. “So, what am I getting done today?”

  “Shave and a hair cut,” the stylist answered without lifting her eyes from the tray of rollers.

  He protectively stroked his man fur. “Sorry, but I’m not shaving.”

  “Just a trim to clean you up a bit,” she said. “If your face is going to be ten feet high and twenty feet wide, you’d better make sure it looks its best.”

  Dayna shrugged. “She’s got a point, cowboy.”

  “Have a seat over there at the sink.” The stylist pointed toward the shampoo bowl and chair against the brick wall, and he conceded with a sigh.

  Dayna smiled reassuringly. “Don’t look so glum. Girls’ day at the salon is supposed to be fun. Maybe we can get matching mani-pedis afterwards.”

  “Real funny.” Before dutifully going to the sink, he went to the coat rack and dug something out of his pocket. He then returned to Dayna’s side. “Brought you something.”

  “Oh yeah?” She smiled and fished her hand out from beneath the vinyl bib draped over her. “What is it?”

  “Your schoolin’.” He handed her a plastic bag, tightly wound around a small box and then walked away.

  Baffled, she quickly unrolled the plastic and reached inside. It was a new MP3 player. “Tack? What is this?”

  “What’s it look like?” He called out from across the room.

  “Well, it looks to be a shiny new MP3 player.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, sugar. It’s a one-of-a-kind player pre-loaded with over a thousand country tunes from my personal music collection. If you’re going to be riding with me, then you better know your Kenny Chesney from Kenny Rogers. I can’t afford to have you blurting out some bullshit on the air now, can I?”

  She smiled to herself. “No, sir. Of course not.”

  “You start listening to that night and day, and I promise, you’ll be buying your first pair of shit-kicking cowboy boots in no time at all.”

  “Thanks so much, Tack. Really. This is incredibly generous of you.”

  “Just promise you’ll listen and that you won’t go around embarrassing me.”

  “I will.” She grinned. “And I won’t. Promise.”

  * * * *

  While the stylist snipped the tips of his dampened hair, Tack sat enthralled by the makeup artist dusting pink blush along Dayna’s cheekbones.

  “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” she said to her neighboring reflection.

  “I can’t help it. It’s fascinating to watch how you women do it.”

  “I only wish I had my cosmetics professionally applied every day.” She leaned closer to the bulb-framed mirror and batted her long lashes. “God, I’d love to look like this in real life.”

  He chuckled. “You know damn well you’re cute as a button. Stop fishing for compliments.”

  “I’m not aiming for cute. I’m going straight for vixen,” she said with a low, sexy growl that he hadn’t heard before. Wow.

  “Well, right now you’re wearing a head full of curlers the size of oil filters. Get back to me later and I’ll let you know if you hit the target.”

  The makeup artist opened another compact, revealing a spectrum of lipstick colors. He picked up a spaghetti-thin brush and instructed Dayna to purse her lips.

  Tack shifted in his seat. “Oh, this is my favorite part.”

  “Dnt mk me lff,” she muttered without moving her mouth. The artist dipped the tiny tip of the brush into the palette and delicately painted her gorgeous lips candy-apple red. Tack’s mind wandered to all sorts of places where she was more than welcome to leave her mark on him. His eyes followed the brush as it filled in the curvy outline of her mouth, softly caressing her bottom lip until it shone. The artist stepped aside and Dayna admired his work in the mirror, pressing her lips together once, then puckering them into a kiss fo
r no one. “The color’s great. Nice choice,” she said, nodding to her reflection before she noticed Tack’s glazed stare. “Drool much?”

  He closed his mouth. “Sorry.”

  There was a knock at the studio door. Jared, the squeaky-voiced station intern, stood in the entrance with two black garment bags slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Mr. Collins.” He waved with his free hand. “Mrs. McMulland sent over your wardrobe.”

  “Great timing, kid,” Tack said. “Just hang them up anywhere.”

  Jared suspended both bags from a hook on the coat rack and then walked toward them. “Wow, Miss Cook. You’re a knockout.”

  She smiled. “Even wearing curlers the size of oil filters?”

  The kid gave her a goofy grin. “Gee, for a moment there, I didn’t even notice you had curlers on.”

  She swiveled her chair and gave Tack a dirty look. “See? That’s how you compliment a lady.”

  He grimaced. “Thanks, kid. Thought you had my back.”

  “Sorry about that, sir.” Jared shrugged with a sheepish smile.

  She beckoned for him to lean down and planted a smooch on the kid’s cheek that left a perfect impression of her lips. “That’s for being so sweet.”

  “Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” Tack protested with envy. “I gave you an MP3 player.”

  She smiled. “And I said thank you, didn’t I?”

  “Uh, Miss Cook, before I forget,” Jared said, digging into the breast pocket of his jacket, “I have something for you.”

  “Jeez, you’re not going to propose to her now, are you?” Tack said with the same petty inflection in his voice. Just shut up, asshole.

  “Mrs. M wanted me to give you this.” Jared handed a CD to Dayna. “It’s your new show promo. She also wanted me to make sure that you and Mr. Collins got these.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and produced a dozen minibar-sized liquor bottles. “She said you should have a drink or two to help you relax before the photo shoot.”

  “Oh, she did, did she?” Dayna laughed as the bottles tumbled, tinkled and rolled onto the cosmetics tray. “Well, we certainly appreciate that, don’t we, Tack?”