On the Line (16 page)

“That's just it. I—”

“…am saying goodbye!”

Cue the toilet flush.

Nobody hangs up on me.

“Uh-huh,” I say to my listeners. The ones who stuck around for this foolishness. “I'll bet you were yukking it up. Thought I let old Maggie get me, huh? If so, then you really don't know Lady Joy Newhouse. Recognize. I ain't the one to play with.”

Macy smiles.

“Well, folks, another night of reality radio at its best. For those who don't know tomorrow, all I can offer you is the best of
On The Line
as me and the crew will be attending the broadcasting banquet. I'm up for another award, so keep your fingers crossed. And on that note, fam, until next time, always remember life is what you make it. This is Joy Newhouse, lata!”

I leave my show on an emotional high, my swagger returned. Just in time to claim my award tomorrow night.

 

The ballroom is packed, the gents in their penguin suits and the ladies sparkling from head to toe. As usual I'm doing the solo thing, better to sample the pickings. I spot Macy at the table reserved for our station and I wind my way around the adulation and adoration, the red dress I'd sprung for showcasing the negative fifteen pounds. All the whispers and the surreptitious looks in my direction assure me that I will be taking home the plaque once again.

Well, me and the show's production staff. Couldn't do it without them. And if I keep repeating it, I won't forget when I'm accepting my award.

I'm rehearsing when I bump into a man I've never met at these gatherings of our parent company. He turns around, interrupted from his conversation with other dark suits. Tall, confident and younger than me by about ten years.

Scratch that.

Five years.

I ain't that old.

“Pardon me,” he says. Soft-spoken and articulate. Must be one of the front-office types milling about for attention. Aquiline nose accentuated by his deep brown skin. Black curly hair and uncharacteristically thin lips. Maybe some Indian or Caribbean roots in his family by the look of things. Negative fifteen pounds is a positive in this situation.

“No harm, no foul,” I throw out. “I think it was my fault anyway.”

“That's rather surprising coming from you, Miss Newhouse.” He smiles, relishing my surprise. I shouldn't be. Everybody knows me.

“Don't confuse the on-air persona with the real woman. I'm really quite nice once you get to know me.”

“I can see that,” he remarks. Noncommittal. I'm unsure if he's interested or simply making small talk. “K.C. Armstrong.”

I see his wedding ring on the other hand.

Small talk, indeed.

“Charmed,” I reply, sparing the wit. I'll save that energy (and this dress) for someone else.

“Good luck with your nomination. My wife's a big fan.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

He returns to conversing with his circle of executive losers. I saunter off in search of another flute of Krug.

They are honoring performance within the entire company. Most of my station is in attendance as well as sister stations/affiliates from around the Tri-State area. This is the time when the pecking order is established. The evening crawls horribly slowly. Empire Broadcasting recaps their corporate history and philosophy as I smile, feigning interest. Just get on with it.

I'm almost in tears when I see someone familiar accept an award.

“Hey,” I mutter aloud as recognition overtakes me. No more drinks for me tonight.

The presenter speaks as the recipient approaches the podium. “K.C. Armstrong, you have exemplified a strong work ethic and outstanding sales results during your short time with WIDD…”

WIDD? Wait. Isn't that the…

“…the Country Giant. So on behalf of the station manager and the Empire Broadcasting board of directors, we'd like to honor you with the award for sales executive of the year.”

Well, surprise and aw shucks on me.

Everyone stands. Apparently he is known by many in the room. And held in high regard. As I'm already on my feet, I continue. I even bother applauding. Go 'head on, brother.

He wipes his hand on his pant leg before shaking with the presenter. His lip quivers, genuinely touched by this moment—a rarity at these sorts of things. It reminds me to step up my game when my name's called.

K.C. clears his throat then adjusts the microphone. Feedback then a final adjustment before he speaks. Curiously, I'm listening like the rest.

“Well. Um…” He smiles as he admires the plaque. Then he shakes his head. “I apologize for being at a loss for words, but…”

Go on, boy. It's for sales, for a country music station at that. They're not going to give you the whole night.

“There have just been a lot of positive things happening lately in my life. My beautiful wife…”

He motions toward a table out of view. I'm curious for a look-see, but rein it in.

“…as well as the rest of my family that I haven't been very close with as of late. You know, it's funny. This…this tonight, I'm taking as a sign. A sign that things are looking up in all aspects. My grandmother, who took me in as a kid and raised me on love and grits, is here with me. I'm just glad she's able to meet the woman I've pledged my devotion to.”

His grandmother stands at her table. The silver-haired matron poses and waves as if waiting for someone to snap her picture.

“In addition to being photogenic, she's also a big country music fan.”

A chorus—part applause, part laughter, part yee-haw—reverberates.

“I know I need to wrap this up. Well. What I'm trying to say is this award means more than an individual accomplishment. It represents reconciliation and healing as I bring two sides of my life together. I thank you and my family thanks you.”

Toward night's end, Macy and I get what we came here for when
On the Line
is called out by the presenter. After a mini-celebration and quick prayer at our table, we wind our way through the applause. Just another year. Upon the stage, I let Macy speak first. The whole world gets to hear me on the regular. She eloquently expresses our appreciation while I ponder what I'm going to say.

When she's finished, she steps aside, passing the plaque. I begin by giving them the Joy Newhouse they've come to love…and hate.

“Another award? How many years has it been anyway? Oh. That's right. My show won last year. How do you like the dress this time?” I tease. “You know me. I joke around and say wild, crazy things. But watching a young man earlier tonight accept his award with some humility and a quiet pride made me rethink how I was going to handle this. This…this is something that I took for granted. I'm just thinking that maybe I shouldn't.”

I wink at K.C.

“Sincerely, I'm grateful for my fans, Macy, and my station that allows my antics. All I can promise is that I will continue to deliver the unpredictable. Thank you, all.”

As we leave the stage, Macy mumbles under her breath, “Girl, what has gotten into you? You had me thinking I need my eyeglass prescription updated.”

“I'm all about shock. And didn't I do just that?”

“Yes,” she admits. “But did you mean what you were saying?”

“Maybe,” I reply coyly for her to think about. “But I'll never tell.”

As we pose for more pictures before the trade industry, K.C. comes over. I grin while reminding myself he's married.

“Would you mind if we took a picture together…with our awards?” he asks sheepishly.

“Why would I mind? I may as well get the most out of this dress,” I gush.

The photographer directs us to get closer. I feel his arm as he brings me into him. “You're very photogenic, Miss Newhouse.”

“Please, sweetie. Call me ‘Joy.'” No, I am not flirting with this man. No more Krug.

As the final flash fades, he turns to me. “Wow. Thank you, Joy.” He's aw-shucks like a true Southern gentleman. No wonder he's king of sales over there. “Um…since we're more cordial now, may I make a request of you?”

“The evening's almost over, so you better make it quick.”

“Okay. Come with me.”

“What?”

He takes me by the hand, jerking me along. I've never done anything like this before. Well…at least not at an awards banquet.

“Where are we going?” I'm ready to break out the schoolgirl outfit.

“I want you to meet my wife.”

Scratch the outfit. No. Burn it.

“What?” I say, putting on the brakes. I almost snap a heel as I dig into the carpet.

He doesn't relent. My heels do as I continue behind him.

“She claims she just began listening to your show, but I think she's fibbing some.”

Having no choice, I accept the swap of lust for adulation. It will suffice tonight. “I have a bunch of closet fans,” I reply. “She won't be the first to lie.”

There are six seated at the covered table. I notice granny first, snapping her fingers to the music. He introduces me to her. I react favorably to the wet kiss deposited upon my cheek and the blessings bestowed upon my soul. Those mother types.

Seated beside her is a thin woman with large eyes. She ogles me as if beset by royalty. Her hair is brushed back into a ponytail. The dress is straight off the markdown rack, I swear. More homey than homely. K.C. will be seeing some raises soon and will take care of that.

“Is this your gorgeous wife?” I ask. “Joy Newhouse. Charmed,” I purr.

He taps me on the shoulder then prods me toward a different warm body at the table. When he keeps nudging, I become annoyed. He's lucky I'm indulging him.

“That's not my wife. That's my cousin.”

Oops.

He takes my hand and deposits it in the hand of another.

Another color.

“This is my wife. Marjorie,” he states as the hand gently encases mine. Nice nails on her. Red. Like the hair atop the woman's head.

I'm situated just over her right shoulder. Rather than lean in, I wait for her to swivel to see me. She doesn't. Stuck-up bitch. I refuse to acquiesce though. Make her get up.

As her face turns slightly, K.C. urges me to move closer. I'm about to tell him what's on my mind for real.

“Is this
the
Joy Newhouse?” she asks.

“It sure is, honey,” he gushes. “She's right there.”

Stupid,
I think.
Can't you see it's me?

“Nice hands. Nails, too.”

Oh no, she didn't.

“Thanks,” I reply facetiously, thinking I know her but can't recall how.

She turns to the sound of my voice.

Oh my God.

She's…

“Hello, Dr. Newhouse. I apologize for not getting up.” K.C. tries to correct her. Inform her that I'm not a doctor. But I get it.

I get it.

“Oh,” is all I can say. I'm stunned. Totally stunned and embarrassed. I turn enough shades of red to match my Dolce & Gabbana.

“Maggie…”

She giggles. From behind the dark sunglasses, she giggles.

“I really wish I could see the look on your face right now. Of course, I can't…. this whole ‘blindness' thing and all. No matter though. I don't judge people on looks anyway…although from the trembling of your hand, it might be pretty funny to witness.”

“Is something wrong?” K.C. asks his wife.

“Not at all, Kendall. Things are totally fine. I'm just letting Miss Newhouse know that I'm her biggest fan.”

If we were on the air…at this point in the show, I would say,
We'll be right back after this word from our sponsor.

After mumbling something unintelligible, I know I need to get some air quick before I lose my very expensive dinner all over my hot red dress. I dart toward the terrace and run smack into…

Randy!

H
e grabs me by the shoulders to keep me from tumbling backward both from shock and from the chest-to-breasts impact.

“You okay?” He looks into my eyes and something funny starts happening in my stomach.

“Uh, yes. Fine. Should have been watching where I was going.” I'm sure my expression is a mass of squishy lines of confusion.

“Congratulations on your award.”

“Thank you.” Now we're back on familiar turf. “Speaking of awards, what are you doing here?”

He grins all sexy, and my stomach does that thing again. “We didn't get to talk much when we were last together. I'm the editorial director over at Universal Books. I get tickets to all these things.”

My eyes widen of their own accord. “Get out.”

“Yep.”

“I had no idea.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“A difference about what?”

“About the morning after.”

I'm sure if I were about two shades lighter, I would be blushing crimson. I clear my throat. “Sorry about that. I can be a little bitchy in the morning. Oh, and thanks for the flowers. You really didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“I wanted you to know that the night meant something to me and so did you.”

Did I mention that Babe aka Randy has one of those midnight voices that you love to hear after hours? I try to look away from him, but it's like I'm hypnotized. All of a sudden I'm not freaked out by his interest in me anymore. I'm kinda interested myself. All dressed up and smelling good, he was more edible than before.

“Where were you rushing off to, by the way?”

I snap out of my trance. “Just to get some air, but I really need to go home. It's been a long day.”

“I'll walk you out if you're ready.”

“Thanks.”

We head for the exit and I stop at my table to retrieve my award but not without taking a quick look around for Maggie, the reason that sent me flying into Randy's arms in the first place. Hmm, ironic that something that rattled my chains could actually turn into something special. I look up at Randy and smile as we head out.

Once outside, the night air is what they call balmy. Late spring edging into summer. The streets of Manhattan are teeming with folks as if it were still rush hour and not nearly midnight.

“Did you drive, were you driven, or can I give you a lift?”

I laugh. “Actually, I took a cab over. I figured if I had one too many, I wouldn't have the worry about driving while under the influence.”

“Good move. I drove. Come on, I'll take you home.”

Just as we make a move, I hear Macy yelling for me like we're on the football field back at Boys and Girls High School.

She hustles up to us, totally ignoring me. Her focus is locked on Randy. She's all grins and I'd swear she pushed up those 38 Ds a little closer to his face. I would smack her for being rude, but she is my girl.

“I was just leaving. I should have let you know.”

“I wondered where you went. I asked around and someone said they saw you walk out.”

Mind you, Macy has yet to make eye contact with me. “Uh, Macy, I'm sure you're wondering who this is.”

Her grin grows wider.

“Macy, this is Randy Temple.” It takes her a New York minute, but it sinks in and just as quickly that damned “I'm available” grin disappears. “Randy, Macy is my dear friend and producer for my show.”

He sticks out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you. You do a fabulous job.”

“Thanks.” She blows out a breath of disappointment then finally turns to me. “See you tomorrow.”

“Do you need a lift?” Randy asks.

Macy shakes her head no and I send up a silent prayer of thanks. “I'll call you around midday,” I tell her, giving her the finger wave and a smile.

“If you're up.” She gives me that “I know you” look and sashays away. “Nice to meet you, Randy,” she tosses over her shoulder.

“My car is in the garage on the next block.”

I walk beside him. My hip bumps against his. Hmm, nice.

“I've been coming to this shindig for at least ten years. I don't ever remember seeing you here before.”

“That's because I never saw a reason to use my ticket until today.”

“Why is that?”

“To see you.” He turns and looks at me and damn it if I don't trip and nearly fall on my face.

This time Randy grabs me around the waist. When I look up, his face is so close to mine I can smell the peppermint on his breath, just like in the movies.

“We
must
keep meeting like this.” He helps me to my feet.

Now mind you, I've never been considered clumsy. I can't remember the last time I accidentally knocked something over or ran into someone, or fell down. Yet, twice, in less than a half hour, I've lost all sense of balance and find myself falling into and all over this man. Hey, folks, something ain't quite right.

“Maybe I should hold your hand.”

Now waaaait a minute! But the words don't come out and the next thing I know my hand is tucked snugly in his. Damn it, it feels good.

We get to his car and Randy helps me inside. I press myself as close as possible to the passenger door.

“Contrary to anything you may have heard, I don't bite.” He throws a look in my direction.

I giggle stupidly and peel my shoulder off the door. “So…” And I can't think of what is supposed to come next. Strange as this may sound, this is all new terrain for me. I'm usually the one who goes after the guy. I'm the one who sends them packing. I'm the one who doesn't let feelings enter into the game. I have my reasons and they've served me well over the years. But for reasons that escape me, I don't want to play the game with Randy and I don't like it one damned bit.

“Mind if I turn on the radio?” he asks.

“It's your ride,” I say, trying to sound indifferent. “Help yourself.”

He reaches over and his arm brushes mine, accidentally on purpose…who the hell knows, but it sends a shockwave right up my arm to the left side of my head and when it snap, crackle and pops, I jump like I've been struck with a stun gun.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” I snap and wiggle around in the seat, then adjust my purse on my lap. Jeez, is it hot in here or is it just me?

Robin Thicke's new CD fills the space between us. I bob my head to the music, thankful for the distraction. Gotta admit, Robin is a baaad white boy.

“So besides doing your show and winning awards, what do you do for fun?” Randy asks.

“Oh, you mean besides picking up strange men in clubs and bringing them home?” I turn to him and cock a perfectly arched brow.

He chuckles. “Oh, so now I'm strange.”

“You know what I mean,” I respond half apologetically.

“No offense taken. But yes, besides all that.”

Hmm, I really have to think about that for a minute. Truthfully speaking, that
is
my life: work and faceless sex. Living that way keeps me safe. I can hide behind other people's problems and relieve myself with someone I have no feelings for and who doesn't give a damn about me, either. The only one who understands that is Macy. And I'm not about to try to explain it to Randy.

“Work keeps me pretty busy.”

“Do you like plays, movies, comedy clubs?”

I shrug. “I suppose. Why?”

“Exploring the options.”

I choose not to respond.

“Ever been married?”

I snap my head in his direction. “Trust me, I'm not the one.”

“Why?”

“What's with the interrogation?”

“I want get to know you, Joy. Is that so awful?”

I fold my arms and poke out my polished lips. “Why?”

“Because you remind me of an unread manuscript. The opening page is so well put together that it entreats you to read more, delve deeper. The more you read the more you want to know. Right now I want to know if the intriguing opening pages are all that they present themselves to be.”

Now I've been called a lot of things in my day, but a freaking manuscript tops the list! Though I must admit that I'm blushing. “Oh,” is all I can manage. I clear my throat. “Uh, what about you? What do you do besides work and go home with strange women?”

He tosses his head back and laughs from deep in his gut and the sound makes me feel warm inside.

“Touché,” he says, then grows serious. “When I'm not reading rather lousy manuscript submissions, praying to find a diamond in the rough, I mentor a young men's group on Saturday mornings, go to the gym a couple of times a week, clubs every now and then, hang out with friends…pick up strange women in my spare time.”

It's my turn to laugh. “You're a very busy man. Tell me about the kids you work with.”

Randy begins to tell me about the Future Foundation, an organization that visits urban high schools and, through guidance counselor recommendations, partners with young men at risk for failing in school or worse.

“Most of them have no male figures in their lives and the ones who do would probably be better off without them. So we go in there, talk with them, take them on trips, college tours, places out of the city, make sure they keep their grades up and just be there when they need someone to talk to.”

I'm impressed. I stare at him the whole time he's speaking, and the more I look at him the more he seems to change right in front of my eyes. There really is something to that saying about seeing someone differently. Randy Temple is more than a fine brotha who knows his way around a bedroom—he's intelligent and caring, and he has a purpose in life.

“Next year we want to start working in the lower grades and hopefully get to some of these young brothers before too much damage is done.”

I nod my head. Listening to Randy makes me question myself. Sure, I provide entertainment, but what else do I contribute to the world?
Nada.
Hmm, oh well, everyone can't be a Randy Temple.

“Well, here we are.”

He pulls the car to a stop in front of my building. Oh, did I mention that he has a Benz, black on black and smelling like he just drove it off the showroom floor.

“That was quick.” All of a sudden I'm nervous. But at least I can't fall down since I'm still sitting.

He turns in his seat to face me and drapes his arm across the back of my seat. Uh-oh.

“I'd like to see you again.”

Gulp.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. How about dinner next Saturday?”

This is where I'm supposed to say,
Thanks but I'm busy.
“Saturday? What time?”

“How's eight?”

Gulp. “Sure.”

He grins and my stomach does that funny thing again.

“Can I call you?”

“Uh…sure.” I give him my number, which he promptly programs into his cell phone.

“I'll give you a call Friday to confirm.”

I bob my head like one of those dumb toys that sit on car dashboards. And then all of a sudden he's so close to me that his image becomes blurred and his lips are on mine and mine are on his…dayum! Then, just as quick, he's back in his rightful place behind the wheel and my heart is racing like I'd been running from a potential mugger.

“See you Saturday,” he says. And his voice has that Barry White thing going on.

My panties are wet and I know I gotta go. Now. I clutch my purse and my award and just about leap out of the car. By the time I set my Ferragamos on the ground, Randy has his hand out helping me to my feet. He was so fast it was damn near supernatural. He pulls me right up to him. I hold my breath. He kisses the top of my head.

“Have a good night.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

We stand there facing each other until I finally break eye contact. “Good night,” I mutter. “Thanks for the ride.” I want to run inside my building, but instead I give him my best side and saunter away.

Once upstairs, rattling around in my lonely apartment, I wish that I would have asked him to come up. Instead, I look for a place to put my award, take a shower and spend the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling and wondering what it was like to actually be in a relationship with someone. Hey, if Margot could find someone, maybe I could, too.