by M. C. Cerny
“Enough with the family history lessons, Elroy. Let’s get this meeting over with.” Casey looks ready to flee or fight, so I pull her firmly against me under my arm. I should let her loose, but it wouldn’t look good for either of us. Plus, I don’t want to feed into Elroy’s little game, whatever that might be.
“James.” Tucker nods, dressed in a suit and tie with his legal counsel present. Only then does it occur to me that I should have gotten someone for Casey.
“Tucker.” Our greeting is stilted and I can’t say I totally blame the guy. He’s sporting a nasty bruise around his neck that I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for.
“We’ll get this sorted out, Casey.” Tucker touches Casey’s arm in a friendly gesture and she smiles back, nodding. Tucker looks at me over her head shaking his no. I realize he has no idea who planted the tape any more than I do. Our formal meet-and-greet is interrupted by my legal team entering the room.
“Mr. Austin, I see you’re ready to use our retainer fee.” Conner Dolby draws the room’s attention back to the focus at hand. “Everyone, have a seat and let’s get started.” We’re joined by the senior partner, Charles Dunbar, and some intern from my PR/Marketing department, who I’m about to promote for not being a judgmental dick right now.
“Before we begin, Miss Cole should we be calling HR down here?”
“What for?” My temper flares.
“For sexual harassment.” Mr. Dolby states the obvious giving Casey a kinder glance and eyeing me with disapproval.
“No. James didn’t force me or coerce me if that’s what you’re implying.” I watch her eyes dart anywhere but at the people in the room looking down.
She murmurs heat coloring her face, “It was all consensual.” My lawyer nods reserving whatever thoughts he has on subject to himself.
As Conner Dolby tosses a file on the table, his secretary joins us to take notes and bring coffee, which we all refuse. “So… Would you like to explain to me how a ten second clip of a sex tape aired over the radio?” Silence meets the room and eyes dart back and forth, settling over Casey.
“I need to know what happened so I can protect the station’s assets. Miss Cole, can you elaborate on this.”
“Yes, please enlighten us all.” Elroy sneers and we lock eyes in a silent showdown.
“I, uh… I answered a call and the caller requested a song, which Tucker played. We didn’t… I didn’t know what it was until about five seconds in.” Casey is red-faced and I’m sick because I know Elroy is looking for any reason to oust me from my own company at the expense of her career.
“And you were unaware that this tape contained lewd and offensive material, during which my client, Mr. Austin, was performing certain… oral acts?”
“Enough, Dolby. We get the idea.” My fist is clenched so hard, I want to hit something, namely Elroy, who is sniggering inappropriately.
“I-I didn’t know,” she whispers.
“I didn’t know, either. I only followed the directions Casey gave me,” Tucker chimes in, adjusting his tie.
“I’ll get to you in a minute, Mr. Tillman.” Dolby flips through some papers. “The issue is this. When complaints are being made, the FCC can indiscriminately decide what to fine and how. Someone was nice enough to provide a recording of what was played and they are formulating their case as we speak.”
Casey leans forward. “What does that mean?”
“Who provided the recording?” I ask and Dolby nods acknowledging me but not answering our questions.
“It means they can fine the station anywhere from $350,000 dollars up to a three million dollar cap. Half of which, according to your contract, you are responsible for paying, Miss Cole.”
“It’s actually a two million dollar fine for ten seconds on air. The board was notified early this morning,” Elroy pipes up, smiling offensively.
Casey stands up, fingertips grazing the table with nervous taps. I try to take her hand and nudge her back down to her seat, but she deflects me. “Oh, my god… We didn’t… I didn’t…”
“Sit down, Miss Cole. That’s exactly why we are here today. So we can see what, if anything can be done to fight these sanctions.”
“What options do we have while this is being investigated?” I’m far from being done with this matter. Someone did this to Casey, and I was going to fucking find out who and why… if it was supposed to be a direct hit to me through her, god help the guilty party.
“For starters, the show will need to be pulled to appease the FCC.”
“The hell it will!” I shout.
“Fucking crazy!” Tucker yells from the other side of the table, and Dolby just holds his hands up. Casey flops back down in her seat, looking devastated.
“At the very least, Casey will be sanctioned to a time delay. Anything she records will have a five minute layover before airing on the radio to ensure such things are not broadcasted during her probationary period.”
“James, I am so sorry.” Casey is shaking her head, and I’m pissed. We may be culpable in having “relations”, as Dolby referred to them, at the workplace, but we sure as hell didn’t record it or play it on air.
“Don’t you dare apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell her, cupping her chin in my hand.
“Aww… Looks like your little screamer is about to go radio silent, dear cousin.” Elroy stands up, adjusting his cheap suit. Truthfully, I don’t think I need a reason to beat the shit out of him, but I don’t remember anything before lunging across the table and punching him in his disgusting mouth, blood spraying both our shirts in the fray.
“James! No!” Between Casey, Tucker, and Dolby, they manage to pull me off the offending rat, but not before I get a few good swings in.
“I’ll be sure to update the board on Monday,” Elroy tells the room, a handkerchief dabbing at his blood-covered face. He limps out the door, shutting it behind him, and chaos fills the room.
“What the fuck was that about?!” Casey yells, pushing at me.
“I’m trying to protect you!” I yell back. “Casey, the FCC is involved, advertisers have been threatening to back out of multimillion dollar deals and I’m trying to protect you through all of this shit. Cut me some slack and let me do what I know how to do.” Right then, she frustrates the ever-loving shit out of me.
“Well maybe you should stop. That’s kind of how we got into this mess, you being in charge, James.” I need her more than ever, but I’m sure seeing me fight twice in twenty-four hours isn’t making my case.
She’s gathering her purse, stuffing papers inside it, and nervously shuffling things around. “Don’t do this Casey. Don’t walk away.” Tucker stands behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder. I’d love to slice it from his wrist but, again, that wouldn’t win me any brownie points.
“When you get your violent streak under control, give me a call. I’ll be busy looking for a new job.”
“Aww, come on!” I throw my hands up in the air. Dolby gives me a disapproving shake of his head, and I hate that everyone in the room is right about my outburst. The FCC is eagerly trying to crawl up my ass; I’m doing a great job with my legal counsel, who probably wants to dump me as a client; my employees look ready to shit bricks; and my girlfriend is walking out the door, and I’m pretty sure I have to let her go or deal with a restraining order.
Casey takes a tentative step towards me, cupping my face in her hand. Her finger wipes something from my cheek and we both look down at her hand. Droplets of Elroy’s blood taint her skin. I let him goad me and now I was paying the consequence.
“Please don’t go.” I say leaning into her, our foreheads the only connection between us. Her eyes glaze over with hurt and unshed tears.
She licks her lip before speaking to me. “I’m sorry James, Tucker can drive me home. I’ll call you.” She turns and, head held high, walks on shaky legs out the door and maybe out of my life…
IV
Song Bird
Love is the phoenix
rising for a second chance…
25
Casey
James Austin is in serious need of anger management. My—I don’t even know what to call James right now. I’m so… just… ugh! Boyfriend? No. Lover? Eh. Guy I see parts of at night? Cheesy. The vortex of emotions cloud my head and hurt my heart.
I feel like that little boat alone and adrift in the storm. He’s cut me loose and yet still offering me a life raft to safety. I want to take it, but can I really trust him? Just because you sleep with a guy doesn’t mean he’s got your back or willing to take a bullet for you… does it? I’m shaky and completely unsure all over again.
What I do know is I can’t be with a guy who’s going to beat up every asshole we encounter. I just can’t. I may not be terribly close with my family, but violence like that is not something I’m used to or understand. My family is a cross between Home for the Holidays and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. It’s amazing I came out as stable as I did considering. They’re not bad people, I just never fit in and so I generally avoid them every chance I get. Picture me as the teenage daughter who opts out of family gatherings so she doesn’t have to deal with anything dysfunctional. Sure we put up a good front and my aunt and uncle visit every Christmas parking the RV in my parents’ driveway and typically stay until Valentine’s Day. Avoidance should have been my middle name instead of Amara. I never wanted any of this and I’m pretty close to opting out with James after this.
I’ve come up with several reasons why James needs anger management after everything that’s happened.
1) James got into it with my neighbor,
2) Tucker looks like someone tried to choke him, and
3) James lunged for his own cousin in a room full of legal sharks all in the span of twenty-four hours.
Behavior like that can only lead to bad things, and James hasn’t given me a single reason to believe any of it was even remotely justified. All of this reinforces how little we know about each other outside the workplace, playing shirts and skins. Chemistry like ours is combustible, and it definitely needs to simmer down for now. What if I piss him off enough that he does that to me? I don’t think he would, but what guarantee do I have?
Walking into that meeting with the station’s lawyers had been a total mistake. I didn’t think to hire anyone to protect my interests. I didn’t know a member of the board who—surprise, surprise—is related to James would be there. Add in Tucker, the nameless PR/Marketing intern, and a few secretaries and voilà, Operation Humiliation is complete.
Fast forward forty-eight hours to today—Monday—and here I sit in my dark apartment. Avoiding the outside world seems like the best choice. I should conserve on my energy bill because the whole “maybe not having a job” thing is ever present in my mind. I shut my lights off, casting the apartment in darkness; it’s just me and my brain, circling the hamster wheel.
My rear is snuggled deep in my lumpy IKEA couch, and I haven’t changed my clothes since I got home and showered Saturday afternoon. Sunday passed in dark seclusion, and ignoring my phone is easy to do since its face is cracked and it sits, broken, on my nightstand. I’m sure it’s filled with messages from James, but so far he hasn’t shown up at my apartment, instead leaving me to stew during our time apart. I guess we’re having a black out. Is that what all the cool kids call a break up these days? Feeling unsettled, I’m not sure, and I don’t have the energy to care.
No, I actually do care, but with everything else that’s happened, I don’t know what to think. I should be out getting a new phone and calling my lawyer to protect my ass and review my contract with Austin Communications. I should be updating my résumé because there’s not a big demand for blacklisted radio DJs. A lot of shoulds fill my plate, but no action makes for a potentially broke Casey.
I wander around the apartment, lingering in each room before heading for the kitchen. I probably sound crazy muttering to myself in the third person angry with myself for letting lust rule my brain. Looking around, the counter taunts me with memories from two days past. I grab a sponge and some cleaning supplies and scrub the surface back and forth in long, sweeping strokes. Sexual tension rears her beastly head, and all I can think about is James sliding his cock between my legs and bending me back on the hard surface. I extend my arm, cleaning the counter as I imagine James sliding in deep and smoothly. I lean back, pulling the sponge with me, and in my over-stimulated brain, I imagine he’s pulling out of me to roughly plunge back in. I flick my finger against the rough texture of the sponge as if James has touched my aching nipples under my top with his calloused fingertips. I wonder what dirty things he would say as he touches my body, making me moan and cry out for him as he keeps me on the edge. My clit throbs inside my damp panties, and I have to clutch the counter, doubled over from the shiver that racks my body and dropping the useless sponge to the floor.
It’s foreign to me, this hedonistic attraction that crumples you up and tosses you out, twisted and disorientated from want. Fuck James Austin. And, of course, those thoughts continue to sneer at me mercilessly. I want nothing more than to be fucking James right now.
A quick glance at the clock tells me I’m going to be late for my dog walking appointment if I don’t hurry. Charlie’s owner won’t tolerate tardiness, and I’ve got to keep all the employment I can. Rushing around, I grab fresh clothes and comfortable ankle boots to wear, hopping as I put them on. Breathless, I throw my hair up in a messy bun and snag my sunglasses.
Once I’m outside, I hurry down the street, passing various people and feeling some renewed strength. Not a single person has called out to me or accused me of being a dirty whore on the radio. Winded and somewhat thankful, I reach Charlie’s residence, eager to see my little Pekinese buddy who keeps me smiling on my worst days.
“Casey, didn’t you get my messages?” Branda Walsh looks me up and down suspiciously and then into the hallway before grabbing my arm. She pulls me inside her spacious apartment slamming the door. Branda makes me uneasy, but I look around, admiring the floor-to-ceiling windows and the view that costs her thousands in rent each month.
“Uh, no? My phone met with an unfortunate accident this weekend.” I follow her into the open living room. She’s wearing some sweeping housedress in bright crimson that looks like a bloody mess and probably costs more than I care to contemplate. Some things simply should not be fashionable.
“Casey, I don’t want to be… gauche here.” Branda seems nervous, tossing her hand up in the air dramatically. That’s when I realize I haven’t heard Charlie’s ferocious friendly bark the entire ninety seconds I’ve been here.
“Oh my God, Branda, is Charlie all right? Where is the little troublemaker?” I frantically scan the apartment, worried something might have happened to the little shit I honestly do adore.
“Casey, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
My heart drops, and the blood in my body seems to stop circulating for a moment as she continues. Feeling dizzy, I lean onto the wall to hold myself up, not caring if I scuff her custom foil wallpaper.
“I won’t be needing your services any longer. Charlie is with the new dog walker. It’s actually a professional service my girlfriend Tibby recommended. You know how hard it is to find dependable services in this city?” Branda smiles, but the muscles barely flinch on her Botox-filled face. I’m crushed. I bet her friend Tibby is another soulless pet owner who should move back to France.
I start to shake and walk to the door glancing at her smug face over my shoulder. “Can I ask why?” But I already suspect the reason. What she’s actually saying is that my reputation wasn’t sparkling perfection for someone stuck up like her.
“I can’t be associated with someone who… you know… airs her liaisons publicly.” Making air quotes, Branda whispers the last bit as if someone might hear the words coming from inside her apartment.
The bile rises in the back of my throat, and my only response is a forced nod of understanding. I mean really,
what else can be said that hasn’t already.
“Just tell me one thing…” Branda rushes over to grab my arm. I look at her peculiarly, wondering what she wants to know. “Is it true that it was James Austin… with you?” The way she says with you cuts me deeply, as if James couldn’t possibly be with someone like me. Branda titters with some sick joy over the gossip, and I wrench my arm away, disgusted.
“Tell Charlie I said good-bye.” Tears clog my throat—as if the poor little dog would understand why I wouldn’t be walking him regularly anymore. He had become my happy constant companion with his excited little wiggle making me feel wanted and important for a brief time.
Her smile leaves me feeling like I just escaped from a venomous snake ready to strike. I can’t stay here inside this apartment with this pretentious snob. Branda shoves a hefty amount of twenty dollar bills my way as if I had walked Charlie, and the practical side of me grabs those bills like they might be the last I see for a while until things blow over. Hey, a girl has to eat and pay rent.
The walk back home is even worse because this time I feel like all eyes are zeroed in on me like judgmental lasers cutting me up inside. I push the sunglasses up my nose and pull up the collar of my coat, feeling dirty. I want a long, hot shower when I get home and then the safety of my bed. Walking down the street, I bypass several cellular stores where I could get a new phone. The last thing I want is to talk to anyone, especially if they happen to be avid nighttime radio fans, reporters, or my estranged family. My radio job, as it were, is probably going to let me go, so there’s no need for them to call me. By the time I return home I’m exhausted, nothing seems to be going right, and I’m frustrated at the world with no outlet to rage at but myself.