God's Gift to Women (18 page)

“I appreciate the compliment, Denise, but I’m not perfect. I make mistakes, too.”

“Like what, not paying your taxes on time?” she joked while trying to hold back the tears.

“No, my mistake was having sex with Olivia the first night we met in Chicago. I didn’t want a serious relationship, but I slept with her anyway. That’s not how a good man should behave. Now I have to deal with the consequences. Like I always tell Eddie, if you wanna play, you have to pay.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Denise, your friend Olivia turned out to be a real psycho! She used my cell phone to steal my number, and a few days later she shows up in Houston claiming to be in town on business. Then last week I found out that she bought a house and moved to Houston, expecting us to be together.”

“Julian, I’m so sorry. She seemed like such a nice person.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m sure she manipulated you to get to me,” I said. “Hopefully it’s all over with.”

“I’m just surprised that Eddie never mentioned it.”

There was a short pause. “Eddie
does
know about what’s going on with her, doesn’t he?” Denise asked.

“We’ve all got skeletons—even me. Like I told you, I’m not perfect. I’ve tried to set a good example for Eddie, being older and all. If he knew about what happened between me and Olivia, I’d never be able to check him when he steps out of line. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this strictly between us.”

“If you can keep my little secret, I’ll keep yours.”

“Thanks, Li’l Sis, and I do wish you the best no matter what decision you make. Just remember, it’s okay to be a woman in love, but it’s more important to be a woman who loves herself. Don’t ever forget that!”

“I promise you, I won’t,” she said. “And you promise me that you won’t beat yourself up over this situation with Olivia. Sometimes even a good man makes bad choices.”

“I’ll do my best, Li’l Sis. You take care.”

“You too, Julian, and thanks for being a true friend. Bye.”

A second later my sky pager went off. I ran into the bedroom to read the text message. It was from Mitch.

I tried to reach you at home and on your cell phone but there was no answer. Meet me at the studio at noon. I’ve got a big surprise for you!

I looked at the message and shook my head. “I don’t think I can handle any more surprises!”

SAMANTHA WAS SITTING at her desk in music class waiting for Mrs. Adams to arrive. While looking over her homework assignment she felt a bump to the back of her chair.

“Stop it, Melissa,” Samantha whispered as she turned around.

“Stop what?” Melissa replied.

“Don’t play dumb; you know what I’m talking about!”

“And if I don’t, what are you gonna do about it, you African booty scratcher?”

Samantha jumped out of her chair with her hands balled into fists. The entire class gathered around to watch the fight. Just as Samantha was about to pop Melissa in the mouth, the principal, Ms. Bell, walked in. Everyone quickly ran back to their seats.

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Ms. Bell,” they responded in unison.

“I’m here because I have some bad news to tell you. Mrs. Adams will not be here today.”

“Why not?” Melissa asked.

“Mrs. Adams had an accident yesterday while shopping for new instruments. A piano top fell on her wrist and broke it.”

The class gasped.

“When will she be back?” Melissa asked.

“Probably not for a while,” Ms. Bell explained. “In the meantime, I want to introduce your substitute teacher. Her name is Ms. Randall and I want you to be on your best behavior, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, please give her a warm welcome.”

When the children began to applaud, an attractive black woman entered the classroom. She had brown eyes, caramel brown skin, and long black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. Most of the class was happy to see her, especially the boys. They were blushing so hard their faces turned bright red. But Melissa was wearing a frown. She didn’t want to lose her position as the teacher’s pet.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Ms. Randall and I’m looking forward to teaching you the art of music,” she said. “Now that you know my name, let’s find out who you are, starting with the front row.”

Samantha was in the middle of the second row, directly in front of Melissa. She wasn’t hard to miss, being the only black child in the class. When it was her turn to introduce herself, Ms. Randall smiled at her. Melissa noticed and kicked the back of Samantha’s chair again.

“Stop it, Melissa!”

“Is there a problem?” Ms. Bell asked.

“Why don’t you let me handle this?” Ms. Randall whispered to Ms. Bell.

“Okay, but if you need me, I’ll be in my office.” Then she walked out of the classroom.

Once the door was shut, Ms. Randall walked over to where Samantha and Melissa were sitting and stood over them.

“So, what seems to be the problem, young ladies?”

“Melissa keeps kicking the back of my chair.”

“Is that true, Melissa?”

“No, ma’am, she’s a liar!” Melissa shouted.

“I’m telling the truth, Ms. Randall. She even called me an African booty scratcher.”

All of the kids laughed.

“So, you don’t like black people, huh, Melissa?”

“I like some black people, like Halle Berry, Michael Jordan, and Will Smith.”

“What about the black people you see every day, like the garbage man, the janitor, or your black neighbors?”

“I don’t have any black neighbors.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” she said to her. “You need to be exposed to black people who aren’t dribbling basketballs or dancing in videos.”

“She said white people are better than black people,” Samantha said.

“Did you say that, Melissa?”

“No, I just said that white people are smarter than black people.”

“Is that right?” Ms. Randall walked back to the front of the class. “Well, since you’re so smart, tell me who invented the traffic signal and the telephone transmitter.”

Melissa’s eyebrows raised as if she was contemplating an answer.

“Or maybe you can tell the class who the first self-made female millionaire was?” Ms. Randall continued.

When Melissa didn’t answer, Samantha raised her hand high into the air.

“I know the answer, Ms. Randall!”

“Okay, Samantha, what is it?”

“Garrett A. Morgan invented the traffic light, Granville T. Woods invented the telephone transmitter, and Madam C. J. Walker was the first self-made female millionaire.”

“And what do all these people have in common?”

“They’re all black!” Samantha said proudly.

“So I guess you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Ms. Randall said while grabbing a piece of chalk. “Now come up to the front of the class and write one hundred times on the blackboard ‘All people are created equal.’ Come on, let’s go!”

Melissa pouted as she stood up from her desk. As she started toward the front of the class, Samantha covered her mouth and whispered, “Welcome to Africa.”

IT WAS ELEVEN THIRTY when I arrived at the office building. The lobby was buzzing with activity as the men rushed to eat lunch and the women hurried down to the Galleria mall to go shopping. As I approached the security desk, I saw a familiar face. It was Joe, the security guard. He was looking sharp in his spit-shined shoes and pressed uniform.

“Good afternoon, Joe.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Payne. I see you’re here for the big meeting.”

“Big meeting? I didn’t know about any big meeting.”

“Well, I just assumed it was important, since all the bigwigs were in town from New York and Los Angeles. That only happens two times a year, usually after the Arbitron ratings books come out for the fall and summer.”

“Joe, you really know what’s going on around this place, don’t you?”

“Don’t let this tough exterior fool you, young fella,” he said while sticking out his skinny chest. “I’m not just a well-trained fighting machine, I’m a customer service rep.”

“Well, at ease, soldier,” I said, trying not to burst out laughing.
“I’ll rest a lot easier knowing you’re on the job.” Then I started walking toward the elevators.

“Wait a minute, Mr. Payne. Do you mind signing this picture for me? It’s for my daughter-in-law. She listens to your show every night.”

He pulled out a picture of a middle-aged white woman in a hospital gown holding a newborn infant. There were two younger children standing in the picture beside her.

“I took this picture two weeks ago in the hospital after she gave birth to my third grandchild. Isn’t she adorable?”

“She’s sure is, Joe. Congratulations,” I said while signing the picture.

“By the way, Mr. Payne, I’ll be seeing you on the midnight shift starting next week. My daughter needs help with the kids during the daytime until my son returns from his tour of duty overseas.” He whipped out a photo of a man wearing an army uniform. He looked exactly like Joe, only younger.

“I can see G.I. Joe runs in the family,” I said while rushing toward the elevators. “See you on the graveyard shift.”

“Good luck with the meeting, Mr. Payne!” he yelled to me. “And by the way, I hope your neck is okay.”

While riding up to the studio, I remembered that I still had the bandage on my neck to cover up the hickey. “I hope Terri doesn’t find out I’m here.” I peeled back the bandage and looked at the hickey in the elevator mirror. Most of it had faded, but there was still a small spot on the right side of my neck. “Just two more days,” I said to myself. I had been avoiding her all week to give the bruise a chance to heal. As the elevator doors opened onto the twenty-fifth floor, I pressed the bandage back on and prayed that she wouldn’t show up.

The moment I entered the studio lobby, I could feel the tension in the air. The employees were rushing around the office trying to look busy. Even Janet Jackson was at her desk answering calls during her lunch break. I knew something major had to be going down if that sistah wasn’t eating.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Payne.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said—good afternoon.” She was whispering and gritting her teeth. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Oh, now I get it. You’re on your best behavior today. Now I know there’s something major going on,” I said, teasing her. “How about a cup of coffee, Ms. Jackson?”

“Don’t press your luck, Julian,” she said under her breath in an evil tone. “The bigwigs will be gone tomorrow and you’ll be all mine!”

Just then Mitch came running out from the back office with a frantic expression on his face.

“Come on, man, everybody’s waiting for you!” He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me toward the door.

“Who’s everybody?”

Mitch dragged me into the conference room where Mr. Harris and several men and women were engaged in deep conversation. They were all conservatively dressed with leather business planners placed neatly in front of them at the long oak table.

“Whassup with the power meeting, boss?” I asked.

“Glad you could make it on such short notice, Julian,” Mr. Harris said as he stood and shook my hand. “Have a seat. We were just talking about you.”

Suddenly all the attention was directed at me. The eleven men and women in the room, mostly male
and
white, were staring at me as if they were expecting a speech. I felt uncomfortable because I was wearing dingy blue jeans and I had a huge bandage on my neck.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Julian Payne, the man responsible for us being here today,” Mr. Harris announced. “Julian, these men and women are the program directors for our top ten urban markets. The gentleman at the head of the table is Mr. Ron Stevens, president and CEO. I’ll let him take it from here.”

Mr. Stevens was the poster child for white corporate America. He was in his mid fifties, with dark brown hair that was graying around the edges. He appeared to be in fairly good shape and had a very distinguished face, sort of like Robert Redford.

“Mr. Payne, have you checked your e-mail on the station web site?”

“To be honest with you, sir, I didn’t know I had an e-mail address or that the station even had a web site.”

“Well, take a look at this and tell me what you think.” Mitch passed a folder over to me. It contained several pieces of paper with dates and numbers.

“What’s this?”

“On the left side of the page is a list of e-mail addresses from every listener who logs on to the station site. On the right are those who e-mail you directly.”

“I’m sorry, I still don’t get it.”

“Look at the number on the bottom right side of page one.”

“Wow, seventy-five thousand addresses. Not bad for a month, huh?”

“Mr. Payne, that information is processed weekly.”

I slowly turned the pages while checking the total numbers at the bottom. It read:

Week One ..................75,000

Week Two..................81,889

Week Three ...............99,563

Week Four ...............120,901

“We estimate that over half a million listeners will log on to the web site by the end of October to get advice or to curse you out. Either way, they’re listening. And that’s all that matters to the advertisers.”

“So now what?”

“‘Now what,’ is why we’re all here. We want to take
Love,
Lust, and Lies
national. We’ll start with Chicago and Atlanta,” he continued. “If the ratings show the same trend by the end of November, we’ll be on coast to coast by the new year.”

“This is all so sudden. I’ll need a couple of days to talk this over with my lawyer before I make a decision.”

“We figured you might want to do that, so we took the liberty of flying her in from Chicago. She should be here within the hour,” Mr. Harris said while staring at his watch. “Why don’t you think it over. Let’s meet again at three o’clock. That’ll give you time to look over the contract.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

He handed me a brown folder and patted me on the back. I walked out of the room in a daze, Mitch trailing closely behind me, clapping and laughing like we had just hit the lottery. Once we were inside my office I sat down at the desk and stared off into space.