by Kilby Blades
Dalton barked out a laugh. “What’s wrong with that?”
“She works with animals, Dalton. She’s vegan, right? She couldn’t believe she let me do…well, that to her when I eat meat. I might have led her to believe I was vegan, too. Now, can you send someone or what?”
Oh, this is priceless. “Not unless you tell me where you are!”
“I don’t know where I am!”
Dalton sighed. “Do you see any signs? Any…landmarks?”
“I see a bunch of fucking trees, Dalton.”
“Wait. Is this the same phone I bought you last year? When yours got broken?”
“Yeah.”
Dalton clicked over to the Find My iPhone app and proceeded to scroll through all of his devices and the ones he’d bought for his family members, until he found “Terrence 7th iPhone.” He’d been through a few of them. Sure enough, it pulled up his location.
“Looks like you’re at Garin Park in Hayward. I’ll have it there in fifteen minutes.”
Terrence mumbled a thank you.
“Don’t thank me. Consider it long overdue payback,” Dalton said and hung up. He walked back into the restaurant as Orrie was paying the bill, shaking his head and laughing out loud.
“Everything okay?”
Dalton kissed him on the cheek. “Oh yeah.”
Orrie frowned again. “What the hell was that all about?”
Dalton tugged on his fingers. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
Orrie kissed his hair as they walked out. “I can hardly wait.”
They hugged the boys and Olive, who thanked them profusely, and then wrangled the beasts into their car seats in the back of Olive’s SUV.
“Patrick and I had such a great night. You guys are my heroes.”
Dalton almost told her she could reciprocate, but instead, he traded a knowing look with Orrie. They said their goodbyes and climbed back into the Tesla.
“Terrence get himself in a bind?”
Dalton chuckled. “Oh yeah. Let’s just say Tasha didn’t appreciate hooking up with a carnivore and she left him to nature’s mercy.”
Orrie shook his head. “Sounds like Terrence. That guy…”
“We’ve got time before your flight. Shall we head back home, or did you want to go look at rings?”
Orrie’s eyes glazed over with lust. “Goddamn but you are the most delicious man I have ever laid eyes, hands or tongue on.”
Dalton shifted in his seat. “I can’t wait to have those things on me once again.”
“Let’s go home.” Orrie leaned over and kissed Dalton with slow, drugging sweeps of his tongue. He dropped a hand to Dalton’s fly and began to tug on the buttons. “I’m still hungry.”
“I’m all yours, baby.”
Laughter outside the car reminded Dalton they were still in the parking lot and diners had to walk past them to go inside.
“Maybe we should get on the road before we give the Baldie’s patrons a show?”
Orrie pulled back and smiled, the stress lines gone from around his eyes.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”
Dalton grinned. “Best ever.”
“Cupid’s Revenge” by Preslaysa Williams
Rosalind Aquino scrunched her nose at the latest report showing the television ratings for her talk show, Chat with Roz. Her stomach twisted into a ball of tangled knots at the sight of those declining digits. Despite the sunshine blazing through the windows of her Manhattan office, Rosalind was feeling cloudy. If she didn’t have this show, this fame, this attention, and this huge salary to go with it, she wouldn’t have anything.
The muscles in her neck tensed, and she tilted her head to the right in the hopes of erasing the pain. Didn’t work.
“Four straight weeks of low ratings,” she whispered. “How am I gonna dig myself out of this one?”
Her cell phone buzzed, indicating a text. She picked it up and read the message from Kira, her best friend.
I landed a Valentine’s date for you.
Rosalind rolled her eyes and replied to the text. Not interested.
Aww, come on. He’s a model, Roz. Stop working so much. Have more fun.
Kira didn’t understand. Every time Cupid shot an arrow Rosalind’s way, the arrow ended up poking her in the eye. And being a talk show host demanded twelve-hour days. Minimum. It’d probably demand more.
Not probably. It would definitely demand more. Her egomaniacal boss, Greg, was probably freaking out.
Rosalind’s phone buzzed with another notification.
If you don’t get your patootie out of the stifling television studio for this Valentine’s day date, I’m gonna kidnap you from your job.
She stared at the text from Kira. “Ain’t happening, girlfriend,” Rosalind said to the phone. “I’m single for life.” Instead of typing her response, Rosalind sent a smiling emoji and turned off her cell. She had bigger things to deal with today.
Rosalind had spent countless days and months and therapy sessions trying to find her way. She’d eventually found her way—and her life’s mission—when she landed this job. She would help women to live their best lives, with or without a man. This talk show was her vehicle to live out her purpose.
She had dreams of becoming an Afro-Asian Oprah, but those dreams might not happen now. Who had time to worry about Valentine’s Day dates?
Rosalind plunked her head against the desk. If she didn’t get her show back on track, this was gonna be a big ol’ mess, the kind of mess that would jeopardize her chances of signing a contract for another television season. The media was a brutal hamster wheel. If she wasn’t at the foreground of the people’s interest, then someone else could come along and steal her spot. She’d lose everything she’d spent these past three years working to find.
Her desk phone rang so loud it startled her. That phone never rang unless it was her boss. And sure enough, the caller ID read Greg Philips. Great. She wasn’t ready for this call.
“Good morning.” Rosalind put on her neutral newscaster voice.
“What the hell is going on with the ratings, Rosalind?”
The nerve. He always made every failure her fault, and every success his credit. “Oh, that?”
“Yes. That. We can’t afford these drops. We’ll lose advertising dollars and network support. Let’s discuss a new strategy over lunch.”
Lunch? Rosalind was planning to review script revisions with the show runner. “You could ask me respectfully, Greg, instead of making a demand.”
“Respectful requests don’t pay the bills. Meet me at Charlie’s Grill on 53rd at noon. Bring some ideas for your Valentine’s show. I have a few in mind too.”
Annoyance shot through her. This man was a walking ego bomb. Being the executive producer didn’t mean Rosalind had to drop everything to meet him. “I was planning to go over the script with the production team today.” Now there was a little less newscaster in her tone and a lot more irritation.
“And I sign all your checks. Reschedule your meetings. See you at noon.”
The phone clicked, and a dial tone buzzed in her ear. Rosalind’s heart gave one huge whap against her rib cage.
Was Greg an overbearing boss? Yes.
Was she out of her mind for staying in this job? No.
Not only did this place give her a sense of purpose, her career made her feel like there was life after Kevon, the man who broke her heart three years ago. On Valentine’s Day.
Rosalind was ravenous by the time the waitress from Charlie’s Grill arrived at the table with one plate piled high with french fries and another plate piled high with mozzarella sticks. Stress made her hungry. The waitress slid the plates before her, and Rosalind scooped up four fries and shoved them in her mouth. Greg wasn’t here yet, which was typical. He always arrived late to meetings. It was his way of putting the staff in their place. They waited on him, not the other way around.
The entrance to the grill swung open and, in the doorway stood Greg Philips, creator
of Chat with Roz. As he unfastened his blazer and placed it over his forearm, the drafty late January air seeped into Charlie’s Grill, leaving Rosalind cold.
Greg made eye contact, and a furrow grew around his thin mouth. A deeper thread of anxiety wove through her, but Rosalind mustered up the last of her resolve and smiled.
“Hello, Greg.”
He glanced at the appetizers in front of her. “Looks like you didn’t wait to get started on eating.”
Jerk. “TV personalities need fuel to keep going.”
“They also need to stay slim.” He adjusted the half-spectacles on the bumpy ridge of his nose and ran his fingers through his thinning brown hair. “A ratings drop is bad enough.”
What an ass. “I never took you for the chauvinist type, Greg.”
“You can take me now…oh wait. I don’t need a lawsuit on my hands.” He laughed sarcastically. “Seems women like to fling around lawsuits at the first hint of impropriety these days. So let’s get down to business.”
Her entire body tightened. This was a stepping stone on her career path. A stepping stone. Rosalind wouldn’t be under his thumb forever. “Yes. Let’s.”
“What are your ideas for the Valentine’s show?” Greg asked, his tone conciliatory, almost too conciliatory.
Over the last three years, Rosalind had received hundreds of emails from her viewers, women who’d been down and out but were inspired by her talk show. She’d reread some of those emails before this meeting to build her confidence.
At first, the emails seemed like a fluke. There was no way Rosalind could impact America, not with the way she’d messed up her life with Kevon. But the affirming messages kept pouring in. The emails revealed Rosalind’s loyal audience, her people, her purpose. “I was thinking of having a few couples appear on the show and tell their stories of how they met. Something feel-good and hopeful.”
A humorless smiled crossed his lips. “No one wants feel-good and hopeful, Rosalind. This is the age of internet dragging. People always want drama and gossip. Our ratings will go up.”
“I’m not a tabloid host.”
“If tabloid gets the ratings up, you will be a tabloid host. This is my creation. Not yours.”
A stifling and stuck feeling handcuffed her again. He was right. This was his show, but she was gonna stand up for herself. She averted her eyes to the plates of fries and mozzarella sticks.
“This is what you think? I’m going to have to sacrifice my brand image for ratings?”
“I made your brand image too, Rosalind. If we need something dramatic, we’ll go dramatic. It’ll give us a boost. Then you can return to your feel-good, empowering stories.”
“Obviously you have something in mind,” she said. “What is it?”
Greg didn’t answer right away. Instead, he flipped through the menu and Rosalind felt the full reach of the distance between them: television executive versus television star. The public thought Rosalind called the shots on the talk show, but the opposite was true. Greg was in charge.
After Greg placed his order, he perused her with hooded eyes which turned her into a ball of ick. His gaze held an edge. “I want you to become a matchmaker for a single guy on this year’s Valentine’s episode.”
No way. “Not my thing. I’ll be happy to feature folks and their love stories, but I am not the person to help someone create their story. I’m all about helping people make their own decisions, not forcing my choices onto their lives.” She’d done the forcing thing before, and it hadn’t ended well.
“You’ll be a great fit for this idea. You’re the least likely person. You’re always so Girl Boss.” His voice sounded mocking. “If you played a matchmaker, it’d be borderline comical.”
So now she was gonna be his clown? Hell no.
“Especially after what happened to you in your prior life,” he added.
What did this man know about Rosalind? She made it a cardinal rule to never let her personal life go public. She had guarded everything about herself, all in the name of maintaining the friendly Black-girl-next-door image viewers loved. She’d never aired or showed her grievances publicly. Never.
Rosalind didn’t dig further, however. She was already teetering with the lower ratings. No need to push it.
“My assistant searched through potential actors for the gig, but no one quite fit,” Greg said. “So we decided she’d make a casting call for everyday people instead.”
“Wait a second.” Rosalind raised her hand and her voice shrieked. “You did what?”
“My assistant searched potential hopefuls for the upcoming episode.” He shrugged. “What’s the matter?”
She could barely comprehend his words. This man pretended to ask for ideas in order to…to what? To play on her emotions when he already had a plan of his own? Who did he think he was? “My production team and I have weekly meetings where we decide these matters. You never consulted us.”
“Your ratings are dipping. It was time to take matters into my own hands.” Greg straightened as he removed his glasses, setting them on the speckled granite table.
Rosalind couldn’t believe she hadn’t anticipated this latest move from Greg, a man whose veil of rigidity hadn’t softened, a man who couldn’t possibly empathize. She’d first applied for this gig shortly after she’d broken up with Kevon. She’d given up her TV journalism career for Kevon and moved in with him, in the hopes of eventually getting married and living the suburban housewife life.
Didn’t happen.
She’d put her life on hold for the loser. Until he’d sent her Valentine’s Day flowers with a sweet message in his own handwriting … but addressed to his secret side chick. Distraught, she’d broken up with him, then applied to every potential news outlet she could find. Anything to get her career back on track.
The only person who’d taken her seriously was Greg, and she’d jumped at the opportunity. Now, she second-guessed how much Greg respected her, because the more popular she became, the more ornery Greg became.
“Here’s my pick. Help this man find the perfect Valentine’s match.” He placed a photo in front of her.
Her skin tightened, and her legs turned to lead. Kevon. No. Hell no. Rosalind swallowed, then gulped down a glass of soda.
“How’d you find this person?” Her tone remained matter of fact.
“This person?” A dull shade of delight eased onto his face. “You know him. He said you did.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” Her words fell off.
“Not a joke. It’s television. He said he’s looking for someone to help him find a special someone for Valentine’s Day.” Greg tugged on his ear, looked down for a moment. “After a brief interview, he was chosen for the episode.”
This man was lying. “Not doing this. I’ll work with anyone but him. It’s too much.”
“Having our ratings drop four weeks in a row is too much. This is one episode. I’m not asking you to share your personal history with this person on television.”
“Because you know the camera will pick up on the tension.”
“Exactly.” He winked. “He’s coming to the studio on Monday for a walk-through rehearsal. Sound good?”
Oh, now Greg wanted Rosalind’s buy in. Greg expected her to do a run through and tape the actual show with Kevon. She’d have to see her ex. Twice. Nope.
And why was Kevon doing this? He hadn’t cared about her journalism career when they were dating, and when she’d been a nobody. Did he want to hook up with her now she was successful, despite the fact he’d once convinced her to let go of her career aspirations? Nope. Nope. Not happening.
“Sound good?” Greg repeated.
She didn’t answer.
“Good. I’ll get a to-go plate for my lunch. Finish it up in the office. I have a ton of calls and emails to return.” He got up from the table and lightly tapped her shoulder. “Thanks for being a trooper. Knew I could count on you.”
After he left, Rosalind pressed the pad of her thumb a
gainst the sharp edges of her fork, pressing until the tips of her fingers whitened. No way could Rosalind see Kevon again. She exhaled and focused on the bumper-to-bumper midtown traffic outside.
Why had Rosalind assumed getting this job would get her mind off Kevon? Greg didn’t care about her well-being—he wanted a successful show. For Greg, her utter and complete awkwardness and embarrassment was a nonissue.
Rosalind needed to talk to Kira. Kira would know what to do.
As Rosalind gathered her things to leave, the mozzarella sticks turned rancid in her stomach. Ugh. Her lunch frowned upon this turn of events. Rosalind tried to hold the feeling down with an invisible flimsy piece of tape, but it proved useless.
And so I must face my menace. Somehow.
“You’re gonna do what?” Kira closed the screened patio of her New Jersey ranch home.
“Set up Kevon with his dream date on live television.”
The scent of vanilla candles and coffee provided a comforting mix of hearth and home. Rosalind had been working a lot, so hadn’t had many Saturdays off. With everything Greg had thrown at her, she’d decided to spend this Saturday with her friend in Jersey.
“How hilarious!”
“The hell it ain’t,” Rosalind said. “I’m gonna make Kevon’s life a living hell, humiliate him as much as he humiliated me.”
“You should be happy you found out. In a way. He could’ve been cheating on you for longer, and you would’ve been ignorant of the entire thing.”
Rosalind reached for the metal TV tray next to her Adirondack chair and poured three packets of sugar in her black coffee, then a fourth. How else would she calm her nerves? “My plan is to kill him on live television, but I wanted to check in with you first. See what your thoughts were.”
“Murder is a reasonable reaction.” Kira combed her dark curls away from her freckled, brown face. “And I’m here for it. But don’t you want to keep your job?”
Rosalind considered all the times Greg had tried to overpower her during business meetings, and this last move was her tipping point. “I’ve considered it, and I say screw being America’s Girl Boss. If it means I have to face the likes of Kevon to get a ratings increase, then I don’t need it. I have to live out my ideals in public and in private. I can’t say I’m empowering women if I’m getting bulldozed behind the camera.”
