Morning Man (21 page)

“Wait, wait, I’ve still got more,” she said. “Testing the batteries. Punching the clown. Straining the cabbage.”

Tack hit a button that sounded a loud
ahoooga
horn sound effect. “Oh God, these are great,” he cackled, falling back into his seat.

“Shucking corn? Spending your Christmas bonus?”

“Now who’s the pervert? You’re trying to corrupt me.” He wagged his finger.

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s see what the listeners think.”

He put a random caller on the air. “Hot Country One-oh-three. Who’s on the line with us?”

“Hi, this is Cory.”

Dayna leaned in to the mike. “Hi Cory. Do you have a phrase I can add to the list? And remember, it’s gotta be squeaky clean. Make Tack’s mind do all the dirty work.”

“Yeah, how about liquidating the inventory?”

“That’s a great one,” she said with a giggle. “And it’s happening in a variety of reputable retail outlets across Ohio as we speak.”

“I’d also like to throw in making chowder with Sailor Ned.”

Tack stomped his feet on the floor in a riot of laughter, while Dayna nearly fell off her chair. “Okay, Cory,” he said, red-faced and out of breath. “Stay on the line. You and Sailor Ned just got yourself a t-shirt.” He selected another caller. “Hi. You’re on with Twisted Tack and Dirty Dayna.”

“Hey guys, this is Artie.”

“Artie!” He grinned. “I knew I could count on you to come to my rescue. Surely, I’m not the only one who’s being led astray here, am I?”

“I hate to do this to you buddy, but I’ve got to side with Dayna. There’s nothing at all wrong with applying the hand brake or investing in pork bellies.”

Tack doubled over, taking several seconds to collect himself before coming back up to the mike. “You guys are killing me,” he said, edging up the slider on a new song. “I need to make a cash withdrawal myself, but Dayna’s back with the celebrity birthday roundup after Blake Shelton on Hot Country One-oh-three.”

He pushed down his headphones and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Jesus, that was fucking hilarious. You had me at toothpaste.”

“Wank you very much.” She bowed her head.

When the song finished four minutes later, Dayna spoke into the mike. “It’s nine-fifteen with
Wake Up with Tack and Dayna
on Hot Country One-oh-three. Today, we have quite an impressive list of famous people who share a birthday, including Robert ‘You talkin’ to me?’ DeNiro and his buddy, actor and sometimes activist, Sean Penn,” she said. “Say, Tack, you know who I found out is turning forty-one today?”

His head whipped around.
Oh no, don’t you dare
. “Who’s that?”

“Donnie Wahlberg from New Kids on the Block,” she said. “I’m guessing you probably have a few NKOTB albums hidden in your collection?”

He chuckled to disguise his relief. “Yeah,
Hangin’ Tough
is my all-time fave.”

“It takes a real big man to admit that.” She snickered. “And speaking of big man, I understand that it also happens to be someone else’s birthday…”

Shit.

“Yep, it says right here that despite trying to hide the fact, our very own Tack Collins is turning forty-one years old today.”

The studio door suddenly swung open and station staff began pouring in. As they sang, Myrna carried in a birthday cake ablaze with candles. “Oh, sh–” He stopped himself from spilling an expletive live on the air. “How did you guys find out?”

“Just blow out the candles before you set the sprinklers off,” Bonnie shouted.

Tack leaned over and with one gust, extinguished them and triggered raucous applause.

He was still shaking his head when he looked at Dayna. “Were you behind this?”

“Encyclopedia Brown at your service.” She winked at Jared, who slipped out of the room. “We got you a little something, too.”

Jared returned with a life-sized blow up of a very young, very dumb kid dressed as an oversized frankfurter. It had been signed with birthday greetings from the entire staff.

He laughed, pounding his fist next to the console. “I’m going to kill you guys!”

Dayna adjusted her mike lower. “For those of you who aren’t one of the nineteen lucky people crammed into our studio right now, Tack is staring at a huge photo of himself circa 1989 or ’90 when he worked at a small Nebraska radio station. Um, how would you describe what you’re wearing in the photo, Tack?”

“A giant hotdog.”

“Yes, you heard right, folks. It’s a picture of Tack dressed in a giant hotdog costume. And what was it they called you back in those days?”

“Wiener Boy.” He sighed. “Where in the world did you dig that up?”

“I called the station and asked if they had archived any old promotional photos. As soon as I name-dropped Wiener Boy, they knew precisely what I wanted.”

He knew she was clever, but this was a whole new level of shrewdness. “Ever considered a gig with the FBI?”

Dayna grinned, looking extremely pleased with herself.

Tack positioned himself in front of the mike and turned to the staff. “Well, everyone, from the bottom of my heart, thanks for absolutely nothing. Just remember, I know where you all work and I’ll get each one of you back,” he said. “Now, taking you to the top of the hour with Dub Birmingham, here’s eight continuous country hits in a row, kicking off with the most appropriate song I can think of. Here’s Toby Keith with
Ain’t As Good As I Once Was
.”

While the staff began filing out, Dub came around the console and patted Tack on the back. “Go enjoy the party. I’ll finish up in here for you guys.”

He looked up. “You sure?”

“Definitely. Happy birthday, buddy.”

He stood and locked hands with Dub, pulling his pal in for a one-armed homie hug. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Just save me a piece of cake, okay?” He traded places with Tack in the master control seat and slid up close to the board.

Tack slung his arm around Dayna’s neck as they left the studio. “And as for you outing me on the air like that? Why I oughta…” He jokingly wound his slugging fist in the air like a cartoon character.

“I got you real good, didn’t I?” She gleefully skipped ahead.

“Do I even want to know how you pulled this off?”

“You told me you were a Leo, so I knew your birthday had to be this summer. I just confirmed the date with Myrna.” She shrugged. “Jared helped me get the photo done, I made the cake last night, and there you go. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Wait a minute. You made that cake?”

“Yep. Although I probably shouldn’t have admitted that until you actually tried some first. So, if you like it, I baked it myself. If not, I bought it.”

“I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

“Oh, and before I forget, there’s one more thing.” She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a wallet-sized gift box. “I hope you like it. I found it a while ago and thought to myself, ‘Oh man, I just have to get it for Tack.’”

“Yeah?” Smiling curiously, he quickly peeled back the blue foil wrap with one hand and wriggled the lid free. Inside the box was a shined-up silver belt buckle featuring a fat rooster and elevated letters spelling out
Cocky
. He threw back his head and barked out a loud laugh.

She rocked on the balls of her feet. “I thought it’d look hot when you’re strutting around the Roadhouse on Friday nights. It’s going to drive all the girls wild.”

“I love it,” he said, stunned by her thoughtfulness. “Thank you.” He put his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her quickly. “And you know that you’re the only girl who’s got my eye on Fridays or any other day of the week.”

She hooked her thumbs into his belt loops, resting both hands on his hips as she gazed up at him. “You always know just what to say, cowboy.”

“Then how ’bout I say you should slip into something real sexy tonight and the two of us will go out for a fancy birthday dinner?”

“Oh, I wish.” She heaved a sigh. “But we’ve got a ballgame, remember?”

“Damn it. And we’re playing Shits Ninety-six, aren’t we?”

“But just think, we’re gonna whip CJ’s ass,” she said brightly before walking her fingers up his chest to his chin. “And maybe afterwards, you and me, I mean, since it is your birthday and all…”

His heart pounded faster. “Yeah?”

“I really want us to spend tonight in that big bed of yours…” Her voice trailed off, her gaze focused on his chest as she toyed with one of his shirt buttons. “All night.”

He swallowed to clear the lump rising in his throat. That one was easier to get rid of fast. “We’ve only got two lousy weeks to go.”

“I’m just talking sleep. No monkey business.”

“If I recall correctly, saying the words ‘no monkey business’ rarely guarantees that, in fact, there will be no monkey business.”

“I’ll be good. I just want to be close to you, that’s all.” She looked up with those big, honey brown eyes and his heart lurched. “I’ll bring my own toothbrush and PJs?”

His mind zoomed back to how luscious she looked wearing nothing but a short pajama top and a smile. “Dayna, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

She slid a hand up his forearm to his bicep, melting away his resolve. “Every night before I fall asleep, I close my eyes and imagine you’re there holding me,” she said with a little faraway sigh. “I thought maybe, just for tonight–”

Oh, you sweet thing. Twist me around your little finger, why doncha?
“Okay, just for tonight.” He gave in, pressing his forehead to hers as he smiled. “But I swear to God, if there’s any monkey business to be had in that bed, young lady, I’m gonna turn you over my knee and give you a good paddling.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I promise, I’ll be on my best behavior. It’ll be just like two old pals having a slumber party.”

Tack smirked. “Somehow, sugar, I really, really doubt that.”

* * * *

With a large wedge of red velvet cake and a plastic fork in hand, Dayna followed Tack behind the building to the alley. Although she practically knew Abel like her own friend, butterflies danced nervously in her stomach as the time came for them to finally meet. When they rounded the corner, he was sitting with his back against the station wall, his eyes closed and his short legs outstretched in front of him. At first glance, he looked just the way she had pictured him: a small, black man with graying whiskers, green army jacket, jeans and a black cap pulled tight over his head despite the August heat.

“Abel?” Tack called out gently to wake him.

His eyes suddenly opened. “Hey, my friend. You’re here.”

“I told you I’d be back,” he said, crouching down low before looking up at her. “Remember I said I was going to bring my friend with me? Well, this is Dayna.”

She smiled. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Abel,” she said, holding out the plate and fork to him. “I thought you might like a piece of birthday cake.”

“Dayna made it and trust me, it’s fantastic,” Tack said. “I already ate two pieces and I’m thinking of going back for another one yet.”

Abel politely took it from her with a smile and a nod. “Thank you.”

Tack silently motioned for her to sit down, so she did, taking a deep breath. “So, I don’t know if Tack told you, but I work here at the station with him.”

“My friend told me all about you, pretty lady,” he said, slowly taking a bite of cake. “You have a good heart. And angel hair.”

She curled a ringlet around the tip of her finger. “No one’s ever put it quite that way before. I like that.”

Tack winked. “Abel’s got a way with the ladies. He’s been teaching me his moves.”

“Oh, is that so?” She laughed softly. “Well, Tack needs all the help you can give him. Being big, strong and handsome really gives him problems with girls.”

Abel laughed. “Your girlfriend’s funny, man.”

He nodded in agreement without chasing away the surprising girlfriend comment. “Yes, she’s very funny. At least she likes to think so.”

“This cake is real good,” Abel said. “But you shoulda used beet juice. That’ll give a richer red color.”

Dayna was taken aback and stole a glance up at Tack. “Oh really?”

“Boiled grated beets,” Abel said. “That’s the old style red velvet.”

Tack shook his head. “Abel, how do you know so much about making cake?”

He scooped up another forkful. “Once ’pon a time, I knew all the recipes.”

“Did you work in a bakery?” she asked.

“A real big one,” he said, still chewing. “McTavish.”

Tack scratched his beard. “You mean the old McTavish plant in the north industrial park?”

“Used to make cakes and breads and all kinds of good stuff for restaurants,” Abel told her. “Got up at three AM and made ’em fresh every day.”

She smiled at Tack. “Well, whaddya know? Another morning man.”

Abel put the empty foam plate down on the ground and rested the fork on top of it. “That was a real treat, ma’am, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said, taking a breath. “Would you ever consider doing that kind of work again? I’m sure there’s a few bakeries around town that would love to hire a hard worker with your skills.”