Morning Man

by Barbara Kellyn

  “So, you never sent anything to me the station?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, all right. There was one thing, but I hoped you’d never find out about it.”

  She folded her arms and waited for the truth.

  “I sent flowers on your first day of the morning show.”

  “Yeah, I did get flowers that day. Those were from you?”

  “I didn’t sign the card because I didn’t want you to know. I just wanted…bah. Never mind.”

  “Wanted what?”

  “I wanted you to know someone was listening and thought you did a half-decent job. That’s all.”

  Her lips curled into a smile. “You know, I was happy until you came along. You made me fall for you and drag my sorry ass all the way to Ohio just so you could dump me. And then, then, after that you have the nerve to send me flowers? Gawd.”

  CJ started to smile too. “I really am a prick, aren’t I?”

  “But you also gave me a place to stay,” she said in a begrudgingly appreciative tone. “A lumpy, musty place to stay, but a place to stay nonetheless. Thank you.”

  “Well, you’re welcome,” he said. “So, all this time you thought I was doing these shitty things behind your back?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Maybe one of Collins’ throwaways went all psycho-stalker on you.”

  She pressed down on the suitcase lid and fought with the stubborn zipper until it finally closed. “Yeah, maybe. It doesn’t really matter anyway.”

  “So, what happened? Lovers’ quarrel?”

  “No.”

  “Catch him in the act with some ho?” His eyebrows shifted. “With two hos?”

  “I just need time to figure some stuff out and while I put some space between us, I thought it might be good for me to try something new.” She lugged her bulky suitcase off the couch and the load plunged to the floor with a heavy thud. “And God help me, there better not be any attractive, smooth-talking radio jocks up in Calgary. I only want to work with disgusting, repulsive boors from now on.”

  CJ put on a pair of shorts and helped Dayna lug her things out to the curb. “You gonna drive all the way up to Canada?” he asked, watching as she packed the Beetle’s compact trunk full.

  “No, I’ll leave my car at the airport and figure out what to do with everything in a couple of weeks. If I get the job in Calgary, I’ll come back and get my things. If I don’t, then I’ll fill up the tank, buy a road map and head someplace else.”

  She slammed the trunk shut and smiled. “Well, this is it.”

  “Yeah,” he said, looking a little sadder than she’d imagined he’d be watching her go. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way we originally planned.”

  “Me too,” she said, fingering her key ring. She wriggled off the brass house key and put it in CJ’s hand before giving him a goodbye hug. “Just so you know, I still hate your guts. Probably always will.”

  “I hate you more,” he said, still holding her tight. “But, hey, the offer’s still good if you wanna, you know, scratch that itch one last time before you go…”

  Laughing, she climbed into the car, started the engine and drove away, spotting CJ waving goodbye in her rear view mirror.

  * * * *

  Shell-shocked, Tack sat in the back booth at the Roadhouse, recounting the sudden turn of events to Liz.

  “What a difference a day makes,” she said, looking as crestfallen as he felt.

  “The thing is, last night I told her I loved her. I thought that was supposed to make people happy and bring them together, not tear them apart,” he said. “But just hours later, everything changed.”

  Liz reached across the table and patted his hand. “She’s gonna be back, you’ve got to believe that.”

  “That’s what our boss said, too. She expects me to continue doing our show without Dayna and just pretend she’s on vacation. But she doesn’t know her the way I do,” he said, looking into his half-empty coffee mug and seeing the image of her butterfly with its wings spread freely. “Once she gets something in her head, she’s going to do it come hell or high water.”

  “She’s a feisty one, I’ll give you that. But from my experience, the best thing you can do when you love someone like that is just to let them go.”

  “Experience?”

  “Sure. Charlie Schultz, my first husband, was exactly that way.”

  “Wait a sec. You were married to a guy named Charles Schultz?” He smirked. “What is it with you and famous-sounding names?”

  “I guess I’m just a collector of sorts,” she said, refilling his cup before setting the carafe down on the table again. “My second husband was Myron Hirshelbaum. Could be why I ended up throwing him back after nine months.”

  “So, what happened to ol’ Charlie?”

  “He bought a used Winnebago in ’82 because he wanted to see America. Begged me to leave with him, but I knew I couldn’t just suddenly pick up and go. It was his dream to drive cross-country, not mine.”

  “And, what happened? Did he come back?”

  “Pulled over about eighty miles outside of town to take a leak and died of a massive coronary. Never even made it to Illinois.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.” She laughed along with him. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that sometimes, you gotta just let ’em do what they’re gonna do. If you don’t, they’ll only resent you for it. Me lettin’ Charlie go had nothing with him kicking the bucket. His ticker would’ve crapped out whether he was in a truck stop or at home on the john.”

  “Lizzie!” barked Mickey from the kitchen. “We’re out of oil for the deep fryer.”

  “No, we’re not!” she shouted back. “Check the storage room. There’s got to be at least twenty more gallons.”

  “I looked in there already. There ain’t no more!”

  “Hold your gitch. I’ll be right there.” She shook her head. “Ever since Mickey’s helper quit, he’s been like a chicken without a head. Always in a bloody flap.”

  Tack suddenly looked up. “You’re short staffed?”

  She nodded. “Why? You know someone looking for a job?”

  “You’re not going to believe this, but yeah, I do. He’s been out of work for some time, but he used to be a baker out at the old McTavish plant.”

  “Think he can hack working in a restaurant?”

  “I don’t see why not, but I’ll ask,” he said, taking a deep breath as he chose the best way to preface things gently. “He’s a little rough around the edges. He’s homeless and I’m trying to help him get back on his feet.”

  “Is he a drinker or a druggie?”

  Tack shook his head. “He’s a good, honest man and a hard worker, he just needs someone willing to give him a break.”

  “Lizzieee!” Mickey hollered, even more frantically than the time before.

  She refilled his coffee mug one more time before sliding out of the booth to stand up. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, TC. If you think he can learn the ropes quick and put up with Mickey, then he’s okay in my books.”

  “That’d be great. I’ll bring him by to meet you soon.”

  “Sure thing.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, her tangerine press-on nails gently digging in for an affectionate squeeze. “One way or another, everything’s gonna work out the way it should, honey. You’ll see.”

  * * * *

  After three and a half hours of pining for Tack at thirty-two thousand feet, the first place Dayna headed was the hotel bar. Big Country Q-Ninety-two had set her up with a spacious hotel suite, and Bucky had offered to meet her for a getting-acquainted drink.

  Before hitting the lounge, she’d changed out of her hastily-chosen outfit of double-layered tank tops and shorts, better suited for long flights and campsites than to impress an employer, choosing to slip into a cornflower-blue sundress that said I’m smart. I’m sassy. I’m here. Hire me.

  She scouted the posh lounge before choosing an empty table be
tween two high-back armchairs. She walked past a few suits at the bar and sat facing the entrance in order to keep an eye on the door, and ordered a…hmm. It didn’t seem right for a lady to order a longneck in a place like this, not even poured into a glass, so she settled for a classic glass of white wine instead.

  Her second sip hadn’t yet gone down before she felt the uncomfortable stare of someone’s eyes on her. Peering up slowly, she caught a fellow with dark hair and a devastatingly chiseled square jaw smiling her way at the far end of the bar. She quickly averted her attention, but he persisted, meeting her gaze when she glanced up to see if he was still looking. Yep. He got off the stool and started walking toward her. Oh God, if that’s Bucky, I might as well just stab my chest with a fork to avoid the heartache later.

  “Excuse me,” said the fine-looking man in black, holding a glass of amber-colored liquor in one hand, a black felt cowboy hat in the other. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re here by yourself. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a really shitty day and drinking alone always makes things a little worse. May I join you?”

  “I…uh, I’m sorry, but I’m waiting for someone,” she said, silently gauging whether he was tall with disproportionately long legs or if they, in fact, struck a perfectly symmetrical balance with a solidly-built torso. From the position of his western-style belt buckle, it looked to be the latter.

  “And here I was, hoping it might be me,” he said with a disarming smile. His teeth were as white and shining as his eyes were black and beguiling.

  “Actually, he’s quite possibly my future boss,” she said. “You’re not by any chance Bucky, are you?”

  He put his drink on the table, quickly wiped his hand dry on his jeans and offered it to her. “I’m Brad. And you are?”

  Susan. Jill. Margaret. Fucked. “I’m Dayna. Hi.”

  “Mind if I keep you company until your possibly-future boss arrives?” he asked, waiting for her nod before taking the other seat. He put his hat down on the table and picked up his drink again. “You staying here?”

  “Just checked in,” she said. “You?”

  “I’m here for meetings with the oil company. Easier to get a room in the city than have to drive the two hundred kilometres from Lethbridge every morning.”

  “Er, how far is that in miles?”

  He chuckled. “About a hundred and thirty, give or take. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No. I just flew in from Ohio.”

  “The Buckeye State.” He grinned and she suddenly needed more wine.

  “Right,” she said after swallowing. “So, you’re an oil man?”

  “Not quite. My family owns a ranch just outside of Lethbridge and the oil companies have been after our land for decades. We leased out some surface rights, but times are tight in the cattle industry so we figured since the price of oil is at an all-time high, the time’s come to negotiate the sale of the mineral rights. I’ve been stuck in a boardroom with geologists and accountants and lawyers since nine this morning.”

  She laughed softly. “Yeah, I’d say being locked up with a bunch of lawyers sounds like the makings of a shitty day.”

  “Lucky for me, things are looking up,” he said, tipping his glass in her direction before taking another drink. “So, what kind of job brings you to Calgary?”

  “Radio. I’m applying for a position at Big Country Q-Ninety-two.”

  His eyes widened. “No kidding, really? It’s the only station I ever listen to.”

  “I hear it’s one of the best,” she said. “I’m here to meet the program director and then I’ll be trying out with the morning team over the next couple of weeks.”

  “Well, good luck.” He smiled and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks, quickly averting her eyes to his hat on the table. A real-life cowboy was seated right in front of her, and he was a tall, dark, handsome and soon, a Jed Clampett-rich one at that. “You eat meat, Dayna?”

  Startled, she looked up. “Sorry?”

  “You’re not one of those prissy types who only eat salad, are you? Because there’s a really great steakhouse just down the street, but it’s only meant for those who can appreciate the beauty of a medium-rare ribeye.”

  “I love steak,” she piped up in a bright, enthusiastic tone that surprised her. Whoa girl, pull in the reins a bit.

  “I’d love if you would join me for dinner later. After your meeting.”

  “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea here, Brad. You seem like a really nice guy, but you see, I already have–”

  “Dinner plans?”

  “No, but–”

  “Well, you have to eat sometime. Can’t be having your first meal in Calgary alone, right? Come on, say you will.”

  She was about to turn his invitation down when in walked a paunchy fellow with a receding hairline and a golf shirt embroidered with a Big Country 92 crest. She waved him over. “That must be Bucky.”

  Brad stood up with his glass in hand, lifting his hat off the table. “I’ll be back here around seven-thirty.” He looked down at her in a way that turned her insides mushy. “If you’re interested in sampling some Canadian Triple-A beef tonight, I’ll see you then.”

  Oh holy shit.

  “You must be Dayna,” said her new tablemate as the former walked away. “Bucky Dawson.”

  They ordered two new drinks before delving into small talk and then, directly into business. “So, this is how I see it working,” Bucky said, cupping his hands around an invisible sphere and twisting them to demonstrate mechanical intricacies. For a radio man, he was oddly keen on expressing himself with his hands as he hadn’t stopped waving them around since planting himself in the armchair. “You’ll be on with Gord Johnson mornings at five-thirty starting tomorrow through until the first Friday of September. Then we’ll take the weekend to evaluate and unveil our new morning team after Labor Day.”

  She nodded. “Will I get a chance to meet Gord before the show?”

  “He’d prefer not to do too much chatting ahead of time. It may seem like he’s a little standoffish at first, but he likes to minimize the banter and save genuine interaction for when he’s on the air.”

  “Gotcha. When Tack and I do our show, we just do preliminary prep before going on, because he likes the spontaneous stuff that comes with going off script.”

  “Right,” he said, pouring his micro-brewed beer into a glass. “So, what do you think of our city so far?”

  “Well, the airport’s lovely and this hotel is beautiful. Other than that, I haven’t seen too much, but I hope to change that with some sightseeing,” she said. “So what else can you tell me about Gord? I’d appreciate any insights before meeting him tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Gordo’s a great guy. Been in the business a long time and he’s highly respected. A professional through and through.”

  “Is he, uh…married?” She cleared her throat. “A family man?”

  “Yeah. He’s been married well over twenty years. His wife Laurie moved out here from Vancouver with him and they have two kids in university.”

  “Great,” she said with a huge smile of relief.

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just good to know he’s a man of, you know…” she stopped, punching the air, “stable, upstanding character.”

  “I think you’ll really like him. And I’m hoping you two hit it off because Gordo needs a younger, female counterpart to play off of him. Sort of like what you do with Collins, just tone down the innuendo. Be funny without being lewd.” As soon as he said it, he started backpedaling. “I’m not saying you’re lewd, it’s just that we’re probably a little more of a family-friendly show than you’re used to doing.”

  “You’d be surprised, Bucky. We’ve had everyone from truckers to grandmothers telling us how much they like Wake Up with Tack and Dayna.”

  “Like I said on the phone, I was impressed by what I’ve heard. I wouldn’t have called if I hadn’t been,” he said. “But we’re going in
a different direction. Needless to say, we won’t be doing billboards of you joyriding on Gordo’s lap.”

  Back in her room, Dayna flopped across her bed and stared up at the spackled ceiling before closing her eyes, exhausted by the long, emotional day. She was still running on the fumes of the few hours’ sleep she’d managed to get with Tack. Tack. With a heavy sigh, she rolled over and reached for her cellphone, feeling a tug of obligation to let him know that she’d arrived safely.

  It rang. And rang. Strange that he wasn’t home when it was almost ten at night in Columbus. She then speed-dialed his cellphone and he picked up on the second ring.

  “Dayna?” he shouted, working hard to hear over the thumping music in the background. “Is that you?”

  She smiled wide. “Yeah, hi, it’s me. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the arena. At the Rascal Flatts show.”

  “Right, right,” she said, nodding. “I forgot, we were supposed to host the suite tonight.”

  “Dub’s filling in,” he said, letting out a hearty laugh as someone with a distinctly female voice spoke in the background. “You made it to Calgary okay?”

  “Yeah. I just met with the Big Country program director. Seems like a nice guy.”

  “Sorry, I can barely hear you. What was that?”

  “I said, the PD seems like a nice guy. I’ll be on the air starting tomorrow morning right through the first week of September. They’ll make a decision by Labor Day.”

  Dayna waited for him to say something, but the lengthy pause seemed to be more distraction than long distance. She listened closely and besides the pounding music, there was an awful lot of laughing, singing and glasses clinking in the background. Nice to know you’re missing me. “Tack?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m still here,” he said. “They’re making a decision by Labor Day.”

  “Come onnn, Tack! I wanna dance!” squealed a girl. Immediately, Dayna recognized the type sight unseen, from the skin-tight stretchy dress to the fuck-me heels.

  “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” she said, not trying to disguise her jealousy. With a mental kick in the ass, she reminded herself that she did tell him not to wait for her. Of course, she’d imagined that would eventually come after some semblance of a mourning period lasting longer than six hours.