Love After All (6 page)

Jessie quietly opened the glass door and tiptoed into the inner studio, taking a seat across from her brother and adjusting the large microphone away from her face. She listened as Terrence signed off and several devoted fans expressed deep sorrow at DJ Love's leaving. This was tearfully echoed by numerous others as Jackson gave listeners an open mike to express their appreciation.

Jackson was talking with a listener who vowed her unwavering support and promised to continue listening and waiting for him to return. As he cut to a commercial, Jessie began applauding.

“Hey, Jess,” Jackson said, removing the headphones and moving the microphone from in front of his mouth. “How are you? What's up?”

“What's up! I'll tell you what's up. This break of yours can't come soon enough. You look horrible,” she said, seeing the threat of dark circles under his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, knowing the loving sibling bond they'd shared all their lives.

“No, seriously, I mean it, you look like you're completely exhausted, like you haven't had a good night's sleep in months, let alone gotten out and just relaxed and had some fun.”

“I haven't,” he said truthfully.

“It shows,” she said as Jackson shook his head, knowing his sister's penchant for complete honesty. “Jackson, taking over mother's responsibilities when she got sick and then keeping it after she died, plus doing your own job and the nightly talk show, is just too much. You must be completely wiped out. I'm worried about you.”

“I'll be fine,” he assured her nonchalantly.

“No, really, I'm seriously worried about you,” she reiterated more firmly.

“I'm fine,” he said again, this time more convincingly.

“You don't look fine.”

“So what are you doing here this late?” he asked, dropping the subject. “Shouldn't you be out partying or whatever it is that PR people do at midnight?”

“I thought I'd spend some time with my big brother and attend his farewell show.” She paused. “They're really gonna miss you, you know,” she said as the phone lines continued to light up on the computerized phone console.

“Yeah, for the next three days at least. You know how fickle this business is.”

“Yeah, I know, but as PR director I can tell you mail has been flooding in for weeks and the phones have been ringing off the hook. There are thousands of calls coming in every day. Most have questions about when or if you're coming back and if not where you will be going. I actually had to add additional lines just to handle it.”

“I'm sure you handled it.”

“As I always do,” she said, lacking modesty. “Are you ready for this next move?”

Jackson thought for a moment, then smiled. “Yeah, I am. It's time.”

Jessie nodded, agreeing. “I think so, too. So what are you gonna do until the official announcement next week?”

“Take some time off, rest, maybe travel a bit, take the plane out and head up the shoreline or take the boat and do a little fishing down the coast,” he said, speculating.

“You, fishing, that's new. And as for traveling a bit, your plane is probably completely rusted over and that boat of yours surely has termites since it hasn't been in the water for at least two years.” She paused a moment and considered. “Okay, give, so what's the big secret? What are you really doing, what do you have planned?”

“Nothing, actually, just what I said, take care of a little business, then rest and relax.”

“What kind of business?”

“Personal business,” he said.

“Such as?” she prompted with no intention of letting the conversation go that easily.

“Such as personal business,” Jackson repeated, not wanting to tell his sister about their mother's last request of him to find another man for her or about the package he'd received.

Jessie smiled, knowing that there was no getting around him at times. “Anything I can help with?” she asked with sisterly concern.

“No, not this time. Don't worry, I got this.”

“By that sly look on your face I'd say that there was a woman involved, but you haven't exactly been burning up the social scene lately. To tell you the truth, I have no idea how you give such great advice to your listeners when you haven't been out on a date in almost a year.”

“Dating is tricky,” he confessed.

“You're preaching to the choir on that one,” Jessie said. “But I remember hearing your show last night. I think it was called, ‘The Making of a Fantasy.' I was stunned. The advice you gave was seriously on target. You actually made me want to get out there and find my soul mate.”

Jackson smiled proudly.

“Don't look so smug,” she added. “You should take your own advice and get out there yourself.”

“I'm too busy at the moment,” he confessed.

“Too busy for a fantasy, for love. Mom would have hated hearing you say something like that.”

“She would have understood.”

Jessie nodded. “Yeah, she probably would have, up to a point. But she would never have agreed with work precluding having a life and you know that.”

They smiled, each remembering their mother fondly. Then for no particular reason they started chuckling. “Did she ever talk to you about things?” Jackson asked.

“What kind of things?” she asked.

“Personal things,” he said.

“For instance…” she prompted.

“For instance, she lived on the East Coast, right?” Jessie nodded. “Her family, did she ever mention anything about them?”

“Are you getting sentimental?”

“No, just curious. Did she?”

“Yeah, we talked about family sometimes.”

“She never talked to me about them.”

“You were busy.”

“Doing what?” he asked, seriously not knowing.

“Jackson, you've worked steadily since you were fourteen years old. Then after college you did everything to avoid this business, even being a cop for a while. But it's in your blood. Now you live and breathe this business. I'm surprised you even remember me. I guess it's no wonder you don't have a life now, you never had one before.”

“There's nothing wrong with wanting to succeed.”

“Of course not, but there is a balance. You spout remedies for the single life after midnight and never take your own advice. I'll tell you what, after last night's show, ‘The Making of a Fantasy,' go out this weekend, find a fantasy. Better yet, I have an idea, why don't I fix you up with—”

“Don't even think about finishing that statement,” Jackson warned firmly. Then seeing Carla raise her hand to get his attention that the commercial was almost finished, he replaced the mic and headphones.

“Are you sure?” she asked playfully. Jackson gave her a firmer look. Jessie chuckled. “Okay, okay, I get it. No fix-ups.”

“Thank you.”

Jessie nodded with assured trust as Jackson looked up at the clock. It was almost time to end the show. The commercial and promo ended and Jackson returned to the air, said his final goodbye, then motioned to Carla to cue up the promo for the replacing segment.

At one o'clock, the show ended.

Jackson looked up at his producer. She nodded. Seconds later the On-Air light on his panel went out. He removed the headset and pushed back from the counter. It was over. He stood, stretched and gathered his half-filled water bottle. As he turned, a parade of coworkers came into the booth carrying a cake, glasses and several bottles of champagne. Jackson looked over to his sister. She smiled, having apparently known all about the celebration.

Singing two tone-deaf verses of “For He's a Jolly Good Fellow,” his coworkers made him sit, listen and enjoy. Jackson turned away, embarrassed by the torturous performance. His hope to slip out quietly had evidently gone up in smoke. So, for the next forty minutes he listened to wisecracks, jabs and jokes about everything from his once bad-boy image to his DJ Love persona to his wealthy family.

Three bottles of champagne and half a cake later, he said his final farewells. He gathered his briefcase and slipped out the side door, leaving virtually unnoticed. As soon as he walked to the front lobby he spotted his father and the two night security men standing at the main receptionist's desk. No one spoke as Jackson walked toward them.

Both guards, senior in the position, recognized the moment and nodded to each other. They grabbed their computerized security checklists and glanced at their watches. Though it was clearly too early to make rounds they still made themselves scarce, nodding respectfully to Marcus as they left.

As Jackson approached, the guards shook his hand. Then after a brief conversation he told them to stop by the booth for cake, and they readily accepted. As the two guards walked away, Jackson turned to his father who had turned to watch the friendly interaction.

“You really understand them, don't you?”

“Who?” Jackson asked.

“Them, the employees. They work for us.”

“They work
with
us and we work
with
them.”

“Yeah,” Marcus said, obviously not contemplating the subtle difference.

“Were you waiting for me?” Jackson asked, his voice echoing in the large space.

“I have an appointment coming in,” Marcus said.

“This late? Who's the appointment with?” Jackson asked.

“You still leaving, huh?” Marcus responded, not bothering to answer the question. Jackson walked over to the receptionist's counter and placed his briefcase on the floor and the envelope on the counter.

“Yes,” Jackson said, now standing beside his father.

Marcus snorted and sucked his teeth, something he did whenever he found himself head-to-head with his son, which was often. Since taking over as division head, Jackson had battled his father on every front. Old ideas versus new ideas. They didn't agree on anything, the latest dispute being the proposed partnership between Daley Communications and Cooperman Enterprises. Jackson slid the manila envelope across the counter to his father.

“What's this?” Marcus asked.

“Open it.”

Marcus opened the envelope and quickly read through the eight pages. His eyes grew wide in shock as he flipped through each. “What is this?” he asked again.

“You tell me.”

“Are these the originals?”

“I doubt it. Do you recognize them?”

“Where did you get this?” He looked up at his son for the first time since they'd stood at the counter.

“Is it true?” Jackson stared at his father as if seeing him for the first time. Marcus turned to him, and their eyes met. Marcus quickly looked away, averting his son's accusatory stare. Usually a man of many words, he fell uncharacteristically silent. “It is true, isn't it?” Jackson surmised.

“Where did you get this?” Marcus repeated in nearly a whisper.

“It was a gift. Someone left it upstairs at the executive suite reception desk earlier this evening.”

“Who?”

“He didn't stick around, obviously.”

“And you didn't say anything earlier.”

“Like what?”

Marcus didn't answer. He looked at the eight pages again and began flipping through and shaking his head steadily. “So this time you're taking off, this personal time—”

“Had nothing to do with this at the time,” Jackson said.

“And now?” Marcus asked.

“Now it does? I need to take care of this, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Marcus repeated.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Jackson asked.

“I, we…” he began, then paused and looked over to his son. “If any of this ever got out, we'd be ruined,” he said, quietly pulling out a crisp white handkerchief and dabbing his brow. Breathlessly, he continued, his voice monotone, subdued. “Everything we ever worked for, everything we have, it'll all be gone.”

“I realize that,” Jackson said.

“Look, I know that you and I have had our differences and maybe some of that is my fault. You don't agree with my vision of the future of this company, and that's fine. But if this gets out…” He paused again. “Do what you have to do, get this finished.”

“I intend to,” Jackson said firmly.

“Do you need any help?” Marcus asked as he awkwardly stuffed the papers into the envelope then slid the package back to his son.

“No, I'll handle it. The fewer that know about this, the better,” he said as he pressed the button on his key chain. Both men turned on seeing headlights outside. Then almost instantly a car pulled up. After a few minutes a man, got out and approached the building. “Your appointment?” Jackson asked.