by Wynn Wagner
"I wish you could have met Daddy,” he said softly. “He was the opposite of Mother in so many ways."
When he started crying again, I just moved as close to him as I could. “I love you,” I whispered. “I'm here for you, whatever you need."
"Thanks. I love you too. And I'm here for you too. I wish that I'd said all that to Daddy while he was alive."
"Parents are smarter than we think,” I said. “He probably knew."
"You think so?"
"I think he knew that your mother was hard to be around, and that he understood why you were out of state. Even if he didn't love you, he would have known that. Everybody says he loved you, so I just know that he understood. He probably agreed with you."
Wyatt nodded and cried. I held him against my chest until I went to sleep.
The next morning I awoke to Wyatt's mouth around my dick. It was hard, and he was working me gently. I started to stop him, but he was doing what he wanted to be doing. In just a few minutes I was able to give him what he wanted. He swallowed and wiped his lips.
"Thanks,” he said. “I love you."
I pulled him back up to me, and we held each other.
There was some tapping at the bedroom door. It had to be the protection.
"Thirty minutes,” came a voice. “We gotta leave in thirty."
"We'll be there,” I hollered. “Thanks."
"I got my tests back,” Wyatt said. “Things have been so crazy that I didn't say anything."
"Tests, like algebra and history?"
"No HIV or anything else,” he said. “I got myself tested to make sure, and we know you're clear from all the lab work they did at the hospital."
"Wow."
"I want you,” he whispered.
"You know you have me, regardless."
"No,” he said. “I want us to be monogamous. I want us to be able to make love without latex."
I had never thought of that as something I'd ever do again. If we didn't have any diseases, and we were monogamous, then why not?
"You sure?” I asked. He answered by crawling on top of me and letting his weight part my legs. The only lube he used on me was some spit and pre-cum, and it was enough because he was uncut. Most of his movement was inside his foreskin, like God had planned.
And we made love. Glorious love. Two men together and completely in love with each other. I felt his warmth, and I felt him cum inside me. It was something that I never thought I would ever feel again. Wyatt gave himself to me, and I was completely his.
Our union was complete. Our love was consummated in a way that left an indelible record on both our souls.
Wyatt was all mine and nobody else's, and I was certainly his.
It was my time to cry.
* * * *
The script from Janie Marroquin was waiting for me at the front desk of the hotel. It was a tad longer than her customary work, and she had written a note to record the entire thing without worrying about the clock. She and Ronny wanted extra material, and they planned to slice and dice the recording. Maybe they could even do a couple of days from the one script.
It was a script without any hard news. Human interest stories and commentary took up all the space. There was a little bit about a congressional vote, but most of it had nothing to date it. They could run the script on Monday or three months from now. Maybe we ought to plan ahead and get several of these scripts recorded for future use.
Debbie picked me up, and I kissed Wyatt goodbye. She and the kids were taking me to the suburbs.
The radio station was in a dinky little building, freestanding. There was a short AM transmission tower in a field behind the building, but the neon sign on the front said they had both AM and FM. I didn't see any FM transmission element on the AM stick. One short AM antenna told me that it was probably a daytime station. Some stations out in the country can only broadcast when the sun is up. They sign off at night to protect the signal of a larger station somewhere else. The larger station is called a clear-channel station.
The AM stick was so short that the frequency was up high on the dial, not the prestigious end of the AM spectrum. AM antennae are sized by frequency, not power. A tall stick is for stations on the far left of the band. This one was short, so I knew they broadcast somewhere near the police band or ham radio or microwave ovens.
The antenna was in a field because AM antennas often have additional wiring buried in the ground. I didn't know why because I'm just a voice, but it was what some engineers told me. There was one AM station along the Gulf Coast that put its antenna in a kind of bog. The ground system wiring was submerged into brackish or salty mush. I'm told that station's signal went out to every part of the gulf and the Caribbean. Naturally the station manager played dumb when the FCC came to investigate complaints from Mexico and Cuba. The guy who told me the story said the FCC never tested the ground around the antenna, or they would have found that the radio station had made the entire gulf part of its transmission hardware.
The man who answered the door was really pleasant, but he was in a huge hurry. He told us to wait in the front room. I think he was the only one in the station, and he was trying to get back to the studio to push a button or read the weather forecast or something like that.
They really have stations like this. I thought it looked like a fun way to do broadcasting. No money, but lots of fun.
After a few minutes, the man came back into the entrance room. He introduced himself and said the kids were more than welcome. He showed us to the production room.
I walked over and sat in the main chair.
"I'm Rob,” he said.
"Hey, Rob, I'm Sean. That's Debbie and Mason and Cathy and Anna."
"Mic is here,” he said, pointing to a switch and volume knob on the board. There were about a dozen sets of controls. I recognized the microphone: a Shure ribbon mic. They had plopped out several thousand dollars just for the microphone. They spent more on the mic than the control board.
"Awesome mic,” I said.
"You know it?"
"I know it's one of the best... ribbon, I think."
"Ribbon it is. I'll spare you the lecture about how fragile ribbons are."
"I understand,” I said. “Tell your boss that you gave me full instruction. Is there a pop-guard?"
"Nope, you're on the honor system, but Shure put lots of foam inside the casing. Sorry, I guess you know that. Start recording here,” he said, pointing to a red button. “Stop it there. Rewind and playback are here,” he said, pointing to other buttons.
"What about the upload?” I asked.
"No worries,” the man said. “Your engineer... um... Ronny or Johnny or something?"
I nodded.
"He called, and we got that all worked out. Do you edit?"
"No, Ronny will do that. They only trust my throat and nothing else."
"It's great having you here,” he said. “My wife told me to let you know she's a huge fan."
"Tell her thanks,” I said. “She has obvious great taste in announcers. Thanks again, Rob."
"Kids, you have to be quiet,” Debbie said as the man left us alone. “If you can't be still while Uncle Sean works, tell me now. We can all go sit in the reception area."
"I'm good here,” Mason said. The others nodded.
Rob. Rob. Rob. I wrote down his name in the script before I forgot it. Rob. Good.
There was a big red button that said DO NOT PRESS in big block letters. I had heard about a switch like that. An engineer had put it into a studio as a prank. It was hooked up to an electronic fart machine that went directly out on the air. I didn't plan on testing the button. Maybe it was hooked up to a big capacitor in the chair that would throw me up to the ceiling. You can't assume anything when it comes to an engineer.
An engineer had come in when I was a disc jockey a billion years ago. We had CD players for the music, and the on-off switch was a rocker switch. The CD was open to the air for disc jockeys that could do party mixes on the fl
y. I can't do that kind of thing, but it was the kind of CD decks that we had. So this engineer came in and started tearing into one of my two decks. Without any warning, he just took half of my music gear offline. Yikes! You have to love live radio.
"Excuse me?” I said. “What are you doing?"
"I have to replace the light bulb,” he said.
"Why?"
"So you can tell me when the CD is on."
"Looking at the CD to see if it's spinning.... I guess that is completely out of the question."
He took at least a half an hour to replace the bulb, mainly because it wasn't a bulb. It was an LED, and it didn't light up because one of the wires was broken. Equipment in a radio station has to be industrial strength to last more than a month, and these CD decks were several years old.
So I got to run a half an hour with one deck, and we were supposed to do back-to-back music for twenty minutes of that half-hour. It wasn't going to happen, and I didn't care how pissy the program director got with me. I was hoping he heard me break format. I was really hoping the hotline phone would ring. I could explain all about the rocker switch on the CD deck, and how having the light work was more important than his carefully hewn format. I did song-commercial-song-promo-song-PSA-song. I couldn't throw in a weather forecast because I needed my eyes and both hands. I know DJs who could have loaded up a CD while reciting the Declaration of Independence in French, but I'm not one of them. Give me a mic, and I'll make good sounds. Give me buttons to push, and I'm a complete idiot. Nowadays I'm an idiot who is out of practice because I've been spoiled by having a good engineer back home.
That was back home. Not in... where was I? Wisconsin somewhere.
I tried the headphones and looked at the numbers on the VU meter. The soundboard was all electronic. It wasn't big or fancy, but it would certainly do. They really had spent more coins on the microphone than the rest of the equipment combined. The ribbon mic made me sound deep and smooth. I tried to make the mic pop without trying to smash the ribbon, but the foam inside the shaft was good enough. I didn't need the headphones, so I just took them off.
I put the script up on the stand—wait. I put my headphones back on and turned the page in the script. I couldn't hear any paper noise in my ear. Perfect. I scanned the script once more, mainly to see if there were any changes that I needed to make. I checked the page numbers.
Oh, thought of something.
"Be right back, kids,” I said as I left the production room. There was an ON THE AIR light, so that must be the main studio. The light went off in just a second, so I pulled the door open.
"Did I forget something?” he said.
"No, you're great, and the equipment is better than I'm used to. I just wanted to see if there was any huge news today."
"Not really,” he said. “Typical Sunday, and I don't see anything on the horizon. You're safe."
"Thanks,” I said as I walked back to the production room.
"Mic taste, tasting one, two, and three,” I said with a big slurping sound that made Mason giggle a little. I was looking at the LED-volume thingy wiggling to each syllable. I held my hand up, fingers out. I found the clock on the far wall. It was one with a second hand. It doesn't get better than this. I scribbled the added minutes to the current time and found the time I should be finished. I wrote it on the last page of the script. Twenty seconds until the start of a new minute. Ten seconds. I held my palm up again and counted five... four fingers... three fingers... two... and I pointed to myself. I saw Mason laughing out of the corner of my eye.
... Hello, America. This is Sean Roberts, reporting today from Baraboo, Wisconsin. Gorgeous countryside here. We're outside of Madison. Baraboo is the home of the Ringling Brothers Circus, and I think you are more likely to find a carnie there than here in the stunning beauty of Wisconsin....
I went on to read Janie's script. It is always full of politics, and it makes no pretense of being hard news. My gig is a lighthearted, left-of-center commentary. I think it is the only national show that isn't way off on the lunatic right. My comments about Baraboo weren't in the script. I do that sometimes. Janie had the chance to edit me if she wanted. My check cashed either way, so I didn't officially care.
... So the Vatican says ordaining women to the priesthood is no better than pedophilia. Women no better than pedophilia. Some say they're glad the Pope is finally talking about something he knows about. Yes, your Potiness—
And that was the sound of the announcer's telephone.
"Sorry, Ronny,” I said into the microphone as I hit the red button to stop the ringing. “Sorry, I guess there's an extra edit. I'm just going to pick back up at a clean break, in five, four, three, two...."
... Yes, your Potiness, I can confirm that the kettle is truly black. Thanks again to Rob and all the folks here in Baraboo, Wisconsin. I'm up here to attend a funeral, you know, but the last-minute and sad trip showed me what a great job I have. Working in radio is like working in a big family, and it lets me meet such nice people. Rob and everyone at the station in Baraboo opened their doors for us. They welcomed us like we were a cousin they hadn't seen for a few years. Call me sappy, but it's great when this newscaster gets to report on something that doesn't involve crooked politicians and greedy corporations and terrorists. I want you and Rob and everybody to know that I noticed their warmth and kindness. Thanks to everybody here. Yeah, Boss, this is a shout-out, and I'm not supposed to do shout-outs. This one's a big deal. I want you and everybody to know how grateful I am to be part of this big radio family in Baraboo and all around the country. That's Perspective America from Wisconsin. I'm Sean Roberts....
I let the recording continue for a few seconds, then stopped the recording, and went to get Rob. He was into a Little League baseball game, so he had to keep one ear to the speaker to catch any station breaks. Kids playing baseball on a radio station! Small towns must really be a trip. The announcer said they were past due on a ninety-second break. He came and checked the first few seconds of the recording.
"Sounds awesome,” he bubbled.
"Thanks, it's mainly your equipment. I love the ribbon mic."
"I wish I could make it dance like you,” he said. “Okay, I will get it back to your engineer before I leave."
"Thanks."
I started to say we would let ourselves out, but he heard the beginning of his network cue and took off running. I guess when you are in a small radio station, it's almost as good as a cardio session at a gym. Run here, run there, run, run, run.
Debbie woke up her littlest girl. Mason and the middle girl were up and ready to go. The crumb-crusher didn't want to wake up. She stretched and rubbed her eyes.
"Come on, monsters,” Debbie told them. “We got grandmothers to go terrorize."
"Cool,” Mason said. “I'll get my lizard, unless you think I should use the frog instead. Frogs cause warts, don't they?"
"Are you really going to get in trouble for that whatever-it-was at the end?"
"Shout-out,” I said. “Naw, it'll be okay. Adds to the ambiance. If anybody has issues with anything, they can edit it out before it goes out."
"I thought it was beautiful,” Debbie said.
"Thanks."
"You made Rob's day, you know,” Debbie said.
"I know,” I winked. “Yeah, I know."
* * * *
We were halfway back to the city in Debbie's minivan when my phone rang again. I had forgotten to check my voicemail.
"Hey, Agent Iacocca,” I said. My caller ID told me it was the FBI agent from back home.
"What's going on up there?"
"Recorded my show just now, but that's about—"
"You don't know, then?” he said.
"Know what?"
"Another bomb,” he said.
"Where?"
"I think it was thrown into the home of Wyatt's father, but I'm not sure. Where are you?"
"Oh my God,” I screamed. “Was anybody hurt?"
"Where are you, Sean
?” he said calmly.
"Minivan on a road back into Madison,” I said. The conversation had Debbie's undivided attention at this point. She was pulling over to exit the freeway at the first opportunity.
"Officer was reported down,” Iacocca said. “Officer missing was another report. Okay, I need you to go somewhere, but not back to the house."
"What about Wyatt?"
"No news, so that's good. An elderly woman was taken to the hospital, but that's the only injury I know."
"Toomas?"
"Not on any report."
"That's Wyatt's brother, but you think you'd know if he was hurt?"
"I don't know anything, Sean,” he said. “I'm headed to the airport right now. The Bureau is flying me up there. I will see you in a few hours, and we'll get everything fixed that can be fixed. Okay?"
"No, not okay,” I cried into the phone. “What am I supposed to do right now?"
That wasn't exactly what I wanted to say, but I had things together enough to remember that there were kids in earshot of my conversation.
"Elderly woman was hurt in the explosion, and one officer was reported down. Either the same officer is missing or another one is missing. I got nothing else, but you can't go anywhere close to the house, Sean."
"I—"
"Sean, I mean it,” he said.
"Okay, but I want to hear about Wyatt and Toomas. Can you find out before your jet leaves? If you tell me they're okay, I'll go somewhere. I have Toomas's wife and kids with me. Tell me my husband is safe, Mario. I can't... I mean...."
"I'll do what I can, Sean,” he said firmly. He didn't raise his voice, but I knew he was serious.
Debbie had the minivan off the freeway and in the parking lot of a grocery store.
"Can I talk?” I asked, nodding toward the back of the van.
"Yeah, you just tell me what's going on,” she said. I looked back and saw Mason looking scared.
"I don't have any news about your dad,” I told him. “That was the FBI on the phone, and they say that no news means he's okay."
"What happened?” Mason asked with a look that told me he was afraid.