Authors: Barbara Kellyn
“Oh really?” A guffaw punctuated his doubt. “Well, then I’ll just shut my trap.”
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“Fine,” he grunted. Women, fuck.
Tack got his change back from the window and then nestled the tray of coffees and the bag of food down on the seat between them. He pulled up to the end of the driveway, made a sharp right turn, then picked up speed toward the station. “Last night was great. I loved being so close to you and I thought you wanted that too.”
She propped her arm up on the window ledge. “Last night was wonderful and exactly what I wanted.”
“Well, then?”
“What?”
He glanced over to see if she was being for real. “What do you expect me to think? Last night, I told you I loved you and this morning, you’ve shut down on me.”
“I haven’t shut down. I’m just thinking.”
“Ohhh-kay. Anything you can share with the rest of the class?”
She went quiet. “What do you suppose is going to happen to us after Labor Day?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But I have a hunch you’re going to be a lot less tense and in a much better mood.”
Dayna folded her arms. “I’m serious, Tack.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Dayna.”
“I just don’t want to pin my hopes to any false expectations. Do you really think this thing has a chance in hell of going somewhere, or am I just going to be another good-time fuck like the rest of your groupies?”
He slammed on the brakes and swerved onto the paved shoulder, bringing the truck to a violent, jerking halt.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she screamed, one hand clutching the dashboard, the other preventing the searing hot coffees from sliding onto her lap.
“Are you?” He yelled back. “God, Dayna, where the hell is all this bullshit coming from?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “You should have never told me you loved me.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I do love you.”
“Fuck you, you love me. You’ll love me for two more weeks until you get what you want or it’s no longer fun for you or it’s no longer convenient. Then it’s all over.”
He sucked in a breath. “Is that really what you think?”
“That’s what I know because it’s what always happens. Guys like you wait until I’m ripe for the picking, then you swoop in, take what you want and then you’re gone.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, softening his tone.
“Don’t lie to me. You’re going to leave just like the rest of them.”
Suddenly, he was standing under a ledge looking up at a frightened little girl too scared to jump. He saw the first of her tears begin to fall, and the stabbing pain in his chest damn near killed him. “Dayna,” he whispered, reaching over to stroke her hair. “Please, baby, don’t cry.”
The back of her hand swept across her cheeks, wiping them as she sniffed. “Let’s just go. We have a show to prep.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “Please talk to me. I hate seeing you like this.”
“Lucky for you, that won’t be a problem much longer.”
His heart dropped. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She shook her head. “Please, just go.”
He was certain that he loved her and wanted to be with her, but if Dayna needed some kind of guarantee or promise, he wasn’t ready to dole any out. If he’d learned anything, it was that life didn’t come with warranties, and the future was just too big and lofty a balloon for Tack to tether for the both of them. The only thing he knew how to do was just be there for her, even if that meant silently holding her hand while she dried her tears and worked through whatever she needed to work through.
So he did.
* * * *
The show seemed more subdued than usual, but Dayna did her best to smile and get a few on-air laughs out of Tack. When the mikes were off, neither brought up what had happened earlier, but it still weighed heavily on her mind. Every time she looked across the console, she was torn between loving him so much it hurt and hurting so much because she knew he’d soon be gone. One thing she knew for sure, she wasn’t going to be standing around like Tack Collins’ weeping widow the day that announcement came.
“It’s nine-nineteen and just ahead of Reba and eight more in a row, Dayna’s got one more look at your forecast.”
After the last note of the musical splitter, she turned to her mike. “Hot Country One-oh-three weather is brought to you by The Sports Stop, with a reminder to come down soon and get your balls customized with your team’s logo.”
Tack smirked. “Ouch.”
“It’s going to be a great day to get your balls out to the park, with a gorgeous high of eighty-eight but a sticky low of eighty overnight. Tomorrow, expect another sunny one with a high of eighty-two and a comfortable low of seventy-three. Right now, wind is gusting from the south at thirty, humidity at thirty-nine percent and we’re already sitting at a balmy seventy-nine,” she took a breath. “That’s your weather, now back to more continuous hits on Hot Country One-oh-three.”
As soon as the on-air sign went dark, Tack uncovered one ear and took a call. “Hello, One-oh-three,” he answered, followed three beats later by an angry, “What?”
She stopped shuffling the morning’s road reports. “What is it?” she mouthed, growing concerned.
Just then, Jared charged into the studio. “Have you been online this morning?”
She pushed her headphones all the way down to her neck. “What’s going on?”
“
The Rumormill
,” he said, stumbling sheepishly. “They’ve got a new story up about you and Mr. Collins. I thought someone oughta tell you.”
“Hell no, we don’t want to comment!” Tack furiously slammed the phone down.
“I think someone just did.” She gulped. “Who was that?”
“A reporter at the
Dispatch
,” he grumbled, already typing into the computer. “They’ve picked up some story about us from that fucking gossip blog.” His eyes quickly scanned the screen as his expression went from seething to livid. “CJ, that little fucker!”
Dayna jumped up and ran to the other side of the board. She leaned on Tack’s shoulder and read the headline:
Hot Country Babe’s Price of Love: $12,000
. She gripped the edge of the console, preparing to support her weight in case her legs gave out.
If you’ve been pondering who’s been keeping Hot Country 103’s Dayna Cook up at night, we’ll start by telling you who isn’t.
A reliable source tells The Rumormill that station boss Bonnie McMulland offered Cook a hefty wad for not succumbing to the seductive charms of co-host Tack Collins, the notorious lothario who’s racked up more belt notches than Wild Bill Hickok. Seems that it’s chaste or be chased for 103’s hayseed honey, who reportedly agreed to keep Collins at bay and safeguard the sexual tension driving their ratings–for a whopping 12Gs.
“Call it incentive, call it insurance, but for Godssake, let’s just call it for what it is–a mean-spirited cockblocking tactic,” said our source, speaking on condition of anonymity. “Going along with this perverse treaty makes Dayna Cook a tease of the worst kind. After all, isn’t snubbing sex for money just reverse prostitution?”
The station boss’s imposed duty on gettin’ booty has not only put a crimp in Collins’ wolfen ways but is likely also pinching Cook, whose own sexcapades with radio jocks are said to long precede her current stint in Columbus. The source revealed that among Cook’s “numerous” broadcast bedfellows is CJ Maroni, drive-home announcer at Mix 96, with whom she shares a home in Holly Hill.
“Oh God,” she said, fighting to breathe in the spinning room. Her limbs felt like they were encased in concrete and then suddenly, everything went very blurry.
Tack leaped up. “Sit down, sit down,” he said, helping her fall into his high-back chair. “Kid, go get her some water. Quick!”
“I’m never going to be able to show my face in public. I’m never going to be able to speak on the air again,” she muttered.
This is like that dream where you walk down the street and everyone stares because you’re buck naked. Only this time, it’s not a dream.
“I’m ruined. My career, my reputation. Everything. I’m toast.”
Tack queued up a song to prevent dead air, then crouched down to console her. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s nothing but a stupid blog, no one even reads that damn thing.”
She slumped forward. “That reporter obviously reads it. Now it’s going to be in tomorrow’s paper and then everyone in the whole city is going to know.”
Jared charged through the door with a glass of water and Bonnie in tow. “I just heard the news. What can I do?” she asked.
“Do we have any legal recourse?” Tack asked. “Can we get a lawyer to make them pull the story right away?”
Dayna buried her face in her hands. “On what grounds? It’s all true.”
Bonnie gave her the water and an empathetic pat on the shoulder. “I feel terribly responsible,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how this ever got out.”
“I do,” Tack croaked. “A couple of weeks ago, CJ overheard a private conversation between me and Liz. I swear, I didn’t realize he was right behind me.”
“I knew he found out because he’s already thrown it in my face. I just never thought…” Dayna stopped to release a shudder. “I never thought that he’d actually stoop to something this cruel.”
Jared coughed. “Um, I don’t mean to upset anyone more than they already are, but I also heard a rumor about your deal with Mrs. M. It’s all over the station.”
Red-faced with rage, Tack glared at Bonnie. “Get the story taken down and pull some strings at the
Dispatch
to kill this thing before it snowballs any bigger.”
“Yes, I’ll do that right away,” she said. “And Dayna, dear, in the meantime, why don’t you take a couple days off until this all blows over?”
“It’s going to take a lot longer than a couple of days to make this blow over,” she sniffled, her eye fiercely twitching. “My name is now linked with the word ‘prostitution’ in the minds of everyone reading that blog. Even you won’t be able to erase that.”
Bonnie turned to Jared. “You know how to work this board?”
He nodded.
“Can you finish the music set until Dub arrives?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.
“Okay, you two,” she said calmly. “Come with me and we’ll get this sorted out.”
* * * *
Bonnie sat in her office chair. “Listen, I can admit when I’ve made a mistake and I know I’ve made a big one here,” she said. “In principle, it may have been a prudent idea to keep things hot and spicy on the air these past weeks but I didn’t factor in any kind of fallout there might be.”
Dayna blinked. “You got your ratings, didn’t you?”
“In spades,” she said. “But I’m talking about the toll this has taken on you.”
“You had to know this would be difficult for us.”
“And I commend you for seeing things through as promised. Uh, you two have seen things through?”
“What more do you want, Bonnie? You want me to climb into your gynecologist’s stirrups right now to prove we haven’t done it?”
Her face fell. “Watch your tone, please.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m upset.”
“I understand that.”
“I should’ve never agreed to this deal.” Dayna looked over at Tack. “We should have never let this taint what we had together. But it did and I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I haven’t been making things easy.”
Bonnie cleared her throat. “For all intents and purposes, let’s just call the whole thing off, okay?”
“No, we can’t do that either,” she said. “Tack and I have made it this far and we need to see this through. That money you promised is going to an important cause.”
“Well, that’s very noble. But I was going to suggest paying you out for your trouble right now, if…”
“If?”
Bonnie opened up her desk drawer and pulled out a legal document. “If you’ll both sign a contract stipulating that you’ll agree to continue
Wake Up with Tack and Dayna
for three more years.”
Great. First bribery, now extortion.
He shook his head. “Sorry, boss, no can do. You know I don’t work with contracts.”
Dayna smirked. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Because that would force you to stay in one place longer than absolutely necessary.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I wish I knew what’s gotten into you today. What’s up?”
“Oh, you know what’s up. You just don’t have the stones to tell me to my face.”
Bonnie stood up behind the desk. “I’m going to call the publisher of the
Dispatch
and give you two a few moments to work this out,” she said, excusing herself.
Neither Tack nor Dayna breathed a word until the door shut securely.
He leaned over the chair’s arm. “Would you mind telling me what this is about?”
“I know your little secret.”
“Secret?”
“You know, the one you weren’t planning to reveal until after we had sex?”
“Which one do you mean? The one about my wife and eleven kids or the one about my secret S and M dungeon?”