Love After All (5 page)

“I need to take care of some personal business,” Jackson said, turning to face his father again.

“Personal business, what the devil does that mean?” Marcus said tightly, obviously still furious about Jackson's decision to end one of the most popular and profitable radio talk shows in the lineup.

“It means that I have to take care of some personal business and that as of tonight I will no longer handle both on-air and management responsibilities. Next week I'll be refocusing and redirecting all my time and energy solely to the business side of Daley Communications.”

“And you're taking time off for that?” Marcus asked. Jackson didn't even bother nodding. “Well, how long is this
personal business
going to take? We have a real business to run, not to mention that I have this cable network deal working, and you need to prepare for the FCC renewal contract next week,” Marcus said tensely. The pitch in his voice was that of worry and concern, not for his son but for the business deal.

“I should be back in plenty of time,” Jackson said, feeling his anger rise to equal that of his father's.

“Should?”

“Yes, should.”

“You're doing this out of spite, aren't you?” Marcus said, finally leaning back from the desk and relaxing in the padded chair.

Jackson saw the fierce anger in his father's eyes as Marcus threw his fountain pen on the desk beside the magazine he'd tossed earlier. Suddenly, the man he hoped to reconcile with one day disappeared. “You realize of course the midnight drive time is gonna plummet to nothing. And what about your segment,
Love After Midnight,
have you even considered that?”

“Of course I have. Everything's already taken care of.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I've made other arrangements.”

Marcus snorted and sucked his teeth. “You've made other arrangements,” he repeated. “You don't own this company yet, boy, you answer to me. I'm still the CEO and majority shareholder. This is my tenure. I don't give a damn what your mother put in her will, this is my company and it always will be. My father started it, but it was my dream, my idea from the beginning until he took it over.” The angry tone in his usually smooth voice bellowed throughout the room.

Feared by most of his employees and despised by the others, Marcus raged as Jackson's calm demeanor never wavered. He was used to his father's dictatorial tirades. A bully and tyrant, he did his best to intimidate those around him. In most respects it was either his way or no way. And if you didn't do what he suggested, there'd be hell to pay.

“And while we're on the subject,” Marcus continued as he slammed his reading glasses down, sending them spinning across the glossy surface of his desk, “about this lawsuit…” he began as Jackson turned and walked away “…come back here, I'm talking to you…”

When the discussion got around to the lawsuit, Jackson always walked out. He went back to his office and closed the door soundly. The strained relationship with his father still took its toll on him. He stood at the window as the music continued to play softly in the background.

His vision was to revitalize Daley Communications, but to do that he needed complete control, and his father would never relinquish control easily.

Rationalizing their differences only made their similarities more distinct. They were too much alike, both strong willed, determined and obstinate. After a few minutes, Jackson walked over to his desk and sat down, seeing that a manila envelope was now sitting on top of his keyboard. Knowing that it hadn't been there before, he picked it up and opened it.

Moments later he stood looking down at the eight duplicate papers on his desk, fanned and spread out like an accordion. He glanced from paper to paper, examining each in detail as if to rearrange the words to give them a more acceptable meaning. But facts were facts, and although unstated, the message was loud and clear. Threats, extortion, blackmail, call it what you will. He didn't like it, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. He stuffed the papers back inside the envelope.

Fury drove him as he stormed to the receptionist's desk. “Where did this come from?” he bellowed, startling her to physically jump from her seat.

An office temp, the mealymouthed woman with thick glasses and a modernized version of a beehive hairstyle, nearly fainted. She looked up at Jackson, seeing the rage on his face, and gasped for air. She held her hand to her chest while her eyes weakened and watered.

Jackson instantly regretted his impulsive action. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly, seeing the woman's obvious distress. He offered her a glass of water and suggested that she take a few minutes in the ladies' room to gather herself. When she returned, still on shaky legs, Jackson calmly asked her where the package had come from.

“I d-don't know,” she barely stammered out. “It was here when I returned from the ladies' room earlier. I was just about to leave for the night when I saw it sitting there on the counter. Since it apparently arrived so late and there was no return address, I assumed it was an interoffice package or something you'd been expecting, so I took it right into your office.”

Jackson nodded and thanked her for her assistance. He said good-night and again apologized for his outburst. As soon as he got back to his office he closed the door and opened the package again. Everything was there just as he'd seen it earlier, his entire family business on the verge of collapse. If this was true and it ever got out, there was no telling what damage it could do.

He spilled the contents of the package out onto his desk again and shuffled through them, methodically separating items in an order of degree of damage, eight items total, all potentially detrimental. Of course, there had been other attempts to extort money, but none of them even came close to the specifically noted allegations on the eight pages lying on his desk.

He picked up and read the enclosed letter again. It was detailed and poignant and offered him a single option—one small favor in exchange for the original documents or read about them in the newspapers.

He picked up the first-class plane ticket and read the date, time and destination. He looked at the calendar on his desk. According to the note, he was scheduled to leave that night, giving him no time to initiate damage control.

He looked at his watch, then at the spread of documents. Did he have a choice? Secrets clung to his family like static in a dryer. His grandfather founded the business on the backs of others as speculation of fraud and deception swirled around him constantly.

Cleaning up behind his family had become a recurring theme in his life. Scandal after scandal had kept them on the front pages of the newspapers for years. His grandfather's shady past, his father's numerous and not-so-secret affairs, and now his mother's secret to have him search for a man from her past.

It was her last request to find a man named Robert Taylor. But he had refused. She asked him again, and he refused again. Then two days later she died and the guilt of his refusal had eaten at him ever since.

For some reason completely obscure to him, she needed to find this man, and now he felt obligated to fulfill her last wish. He had no idea who Taylor was or what his relationship to his mother was, but he intended to find out. But first he needed to continue with what he'd been doing for what seemed years, plugging holes like a cheap plumber.

In hindsight, he always knew that there was something more going on. He should have followed his instincts. His grandfather knew, his mother knew. She had to. Why else would she have done what she did? Knowing of course that it would infuriate his father, she'd had the last laugh. And all his affairs and secret rendezvous came down to this.

He placed the papers back in the envelope and sealed it securely. He turned back to the night sky. So much for a few days of rest and relaxation. Somewhere out there, someone knew secrets that could ruin his family and his future. His phone rang. He turned quickly, then picked it up cautiously. “Yeah.”

“Hey, Jackson, get a move on. It's your last show, you don't want to be late, do you?” Carla, his producer, said jokingly. “It would be kind of hard to
Love After Midnight
if you're not here.”

Hearing his producer's voice centered his wayward thoughts. He had a job to complete, and after that he intended to take care of this other problem. “I'm on my way,” he said. He placed the envelope in his briefcase, gathering a few other documents, then walked out of the office and took the elevator down twenty-four stories to the studio. It was almost seven o'clock and his radio show,
Love After Midnight
, was about to begin.

This was the one part of his job that he truly enjoyed. He'd fallen into the position by accident a few years ago when he was forced to go on air to replace a drunken disc jockey. He'd received such rave reviews that he took over the spot permanently. Having grown up in the business and having been a DJ in his teens and an on-air personality in college, he comfortably knew his way around a studio. The ratings went through the roof. And he'd found himself leading the nighttime slot ever since.

So, even after a full day's work in the upstairs offices, he would walk into the dark closed studio and don his on-air persona, DJ Love, and forget his troubles by doing the number-one-rated show in its drive time.

Jackson's degrees in journalism and psychology prepared him, but even so, the resounding onslaught of popularity was staggering. As DJ Love he invited noted guest psychologists and psychoanalysts to call in to give more professional responses, but it was his informal dispensing of commonsense reasoning that sent the ratings soaring.

Jackson, under his DJ Love persona, never conceded to personal appearances. He preferred to remain anonymous. Once rumor spread that he would be at a particular function, the women came out in droves. Hundreds, thousands came, drawn like moths to a burning flame by that voice on the radio. His absence only increased his popularity.

Unfortunately, Jackson had to give it up. Tonight, he sat down in the solitary booth, adjusted his earphones and maneuvered the microphone. Carla waved from the side booth, nodding to her countdown. Moments later the On-Air light went on and at seven o'clock that night DJ Love began his last show.

As he played soft jazz with topical conversation and phone-in conversations and requests, DJ Love's sensuous voice flowed through the radio airwaves like liquid lava. Hot, steamy and burning, he scorched everything and everyone in his path as he melted the wires the way he melted the hearts of millions of listeners syndicated all over the country.

His considerable talent and skills had been honed a long time ago. Mixing sensuality and playful provocative banter was his specialty. Joking, teasing and toying, he took his listeners along on a wondrous journey that led to somewhere north of ecstasy and south of rapture to a place after midnight called Nirvana's paradise.

Perfectly positioned in a drive time from seven to just after midnight, he was every woman's nightly fantasy and every erotic dreamer's star.

His dedicated listeners' demographics ranged from sixteen to sixty. And personal Web sites and blogs popped up weekly, praising his skills. When he did phone interviews, which was seldom, lines were jammed as even popular musicians and celebrities waited to come on his show.

Tonight was no different. The phones were lit up like the NYC Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. And since early that morning, listeners had been recording messages to say a personal thanks and goodbye to DJ Love.

Like a poet and statesman, DJ Love had always spoken the truth, touting advice and wisdom about finding and keeping a good relationship, being true to yourself, and seeking self-respect. His show centered on dating and the single life with such topics as the ideal date, how to impress the opposite sex, the morning after and finding perfection in an ordinary world. For women he was a godsend, for men he was the ultimate answer. But tonight it would all come to an end.

As Jackson took another call, he looked up and waved, seeing his sister, Jessie, enter the production room. She returned his wave as the caller asked questions about the new show he was producing. He promised someone just as insightful and entertaining. The board lit up all over again.

Getting the nod from Carla, he switched a small lever on the control panel in front of him and welcomed Dr. Terrence Russell to the show. Terrence was DJ Love's replacement. The two men talked briefly about Terrence's background and his vision for the show, then joked as Terrence answered a few listener calls from his location in New York.

Jackson motioned for Jessie to come into the main taping booth. Four years his junior and always stern and formidable, she recently had begun acting more like his mother than usual.

Jessica Daley, the public relations director, stood at the plate-glass window and watched the last few minutes of Jackson's farewell show. The tearful goodbyes of the call-in listeners had the phone lines tied up for days, even though she'd added an additional ten phones with twenty lines each. It didn't matter. In syndication heaven, the pleas for him to stay had flowed from coast to coast in nonstop mode since the minute word got out that he was leaving his talk show.