1
Good Advice
Dr. Angeline Hemming pushed the headphones off of her head in agitation and threw them down with a clang. The damn things itched, they were heavy and terribly awkward. She felt like they were three sizes too big.
"Ugh," she groaned. She'd been doing the weekly radio show for six weeks already and sometimes questioned her decision. This wasn't her. She was a clinical psychologist, for God's sake. She spent her days getting paid $450 per hour to help people deal with real life problems, not make spectacles of themselves in a public forum.
She'd worked her ass off to get where she was, literally and figuratively. Growing up poor, she had few prospects and opportunities like Northwestern University didn't just happen for girls from Joplin, Missouri. Her father, Joseph, was the janitor at the high school and Angel's mother had run off when she was a baby, leaving a broken man without the skills needed to handle an infant. Angeline had her share of bumps since then, but with a lot of smarts and guts, she’d managed to make something of herself. Now, she was in a position to take care of her father financially and to use her education to help people. Really help people. This radio gig… this was fluff, but it served a purpose, and it helped take her mind off of the more dangerous characters she dealt with on a regular basis.
"Angel, what's the problem?" her producer, Darian Keith, asked. He was clearly impatient with her as she ran her hand through her long dark hair, scratching her scalp in reaction to the headphones. Darian was a great guy and professional, as far as she knew about him, which wasn’t much. A slender African American, he was dressed in jeans and a light blue T-shirt under his dark blue blazer. He had an easygoing demeanor that Angel instantly liked.
She smirked at his mocking tone, as she pushed the necessary buttons on the computer to play the commercials and cue up the next song. The phone lines in front of her began blinking red.
"It's just... Well, so many of these callers are so freaking naïve! Most of them are women, which I know is to be expected, but it burns my ass how they let men treat them the way they do! Gah!" She reached for a big sports bottle full of ice water that she kept on the desk at all times and took a long drink.
Darian chuckled softly, causing Angel to shoot him a caustic look.
"What?" she asked impatiently.
"As we promote it more, men will call, and you'll have perspective from both sides. Guys struggle with relationships, too."
Angel rolled her eyes. "I know, Darian. I do have a doctorate in clinical psychology. I get that men and women are equally screwed up; don't worry."
She was a slight young woman with delicate facial features, luminous skin, and thick, flowing chestnut locks that had a soft auburn sheen to them in certain light. She looked too young to be a high-powered force in Chicago’s child abuse network, yet her evaluations of suspects and victims could make or break a court case. Angel was proud of her work and had been somewhat hesitant when Darian proposed she host a late night radio show about relationships on his soft- rock formatted station. At first she’d scoffed, tapping her expensive high-heeled Prada's on the gleaming cherry wood floor and crossing her arms over her navy blue Givenchy suit, openly mocking the opportunity.
Darian smiled at the memory. It had taken some convincing, but eventually she’d given in, thinking it would be fun and much more lighthearted than her nine-to-five gig. Mostly, it was his promise to donate airtime to domestic and child abuse public service announcements that clinched her decision. It was a damn good thing she’d agreed to the trade. The station would go broke paying up, despite the advertising revenues increasing during her time slot, 10 PM to two AM every Friday night.
"Lighten up, Angel. This is all in good fun and to improve ratings." He smirked.
Christina Michaels, the rookie production intern, knocked on the window, and Angel glanced her way. She was blonde and spunky, a tomboy of sorts with short hair and a turned-up nose. Holding up two fingers, she indicated that they would go back on air in a couple of minutes. "Line three, Angel."
As Angel grabbed the offending headset and mashed them down over her ears, Darian admired the way her firm breasts pressed against the front of her white T-shirt as her arms lifted. She looked a million miles away from the polished, aloof woman he’d met five months earlier in her office downtown. He mentally shook himself. She was damn sexy. So confident and self-assured, yet her curves were soft and womanly.
Darian was slightly chagrined because Angel seemed untouchable and too good to be true. It didn't matter anyway; he was her boss, and there was no way he could date her, even if she allowed it. He consoled himself by considering that looking at her alone made missing his normal Friday boy’s night out worth it. After she and Chris got the hang of what he expected, he'd be able to skip being in the studio if he wanted. Somehow his buddies weren't as appealing as they once were. He sighed in regret.
He adjusted his own headphones. "Okay, counting down: five, four..." He held up his hands and used his fingers to communicate the rest. Three, two, one, he signaled for her to begin.
"Hello, it's 12:35 AM and this is Angel After Dark, taking your calls for advice and dedications, here with Christina Michaels, screening your calls and our producer, Darian Keith." Angel's sultry voice purred into the microphone as she pushed one lit-up button on the phone in front of her. "Hello, you're on the air. Do you have a question? Or, maybe a confession?"
Darian's ears perked up, and he began to write furiously on the legal pad next to him. Jesus, she was hot.
"Hello, is this Dr. Hemming?" a woman’s timid voice asked on the other end of the phone. "Am I on the air?"
"Yes. This is Angeline. What can I help you with tonight?" Dr. Hemming seemed so formal for this type of venue and somehow, being called Angeline or Angel made it more acceptable that she was using her education in a less professional way. She inwardly cringed at the thought.
The voice on the other end of the phone cracked as she sobbed softly into the phone. "My boyfriend... I just found out—he's married!"
Oh, hell! Angel thought and pointed to the headset, mouthing the word ‘See?’ to the man sitting opposite her. Darian smiled and plopped back in his chair with a sardonic look on his face as he carefully watched Angel's facial expressions change from disgust to calm acquiescence.
"What is your name, honey?" Angel's voice took on the reserved, placating tone she used on the air.
"Celeste. What should I do?"
She sounded very young. Angel was only 28, but hell, this girl sounded like she was barely out of high school. Angel’s heart ached for the young woman's plight, wondering how any woman would ever get involved with a man who wasn't available.
Oh, that's right. Men lie.
Her professional alter ego mentally bitch slapped her to reinforce she wasn't supposed to stereotype. This wasn't about her own experiences with men, it was about this poor girl on the phone. She swallowed before continuing.
"That's a very pretty name. I'm very sorry you’re going through that. I could ask you a lot of background about the situation, but it won't change the fact that he's married. He had no business messing with you under these circumstances. It wasn't fair to you or his wife."
"But... but, he said he loves me... I didn't mean..." she cried— "I didn't know!"
"Celeste, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but this is a self-destructive position you’re in. People say things in the heat of passion to get things they want, but deep down they may not mean them." Angel winced as the sobbing on the phone increased but she pressed on. "How did you find out?"
"His wife called me. She found my number in his cell phone. I thought it was him when I answered, and it was horrible." Angel sat back in her chair and sighed heavily. She wanted to rant at the girl for being so fucking stupid. "She called me a whore. But he said he was going to leave her."
"When did he tell you that?"
"Last month."
Angel's eyebrows raised in an expression of incredu
lity. Then she shook her head in disbelief. Oh, for Christ's sake, she thought.
"And you're still seeing him?" When met with silence, Angel pressed on. "Celeste, I'm here to help you. So, I want you to see that he is making a choice, just like you are. You have a choice here, too."
"Ye—yes," the caller stammered.
"He's still with his wife, isn't he?" It was more of a statement, which was confirmed when Celeste didn't answer. "Please stop listening to his words, and start looking at his actions. He's got it made. She's not leaving, you're not leaving, so what’s his motivation to change and give either of you what you need?" Angel tried to keep her voice even, but an angry flush was coming up under the skin of her face and neck. "It's both of the women in this situation that are being hurt. You have to step back and look at this objectively. How does he make you feel? And I don't mean during sex or when he's trying to convince you that you're the love of his life. I mean when you're sitting in the dark alone, and he's gone home to his wife."
"Horrible. Lonely. I’m heartbroken. It hurts." The girl snuffled.
"I know it hurts, and you deserve so much more. You deserve to be the only one, to be cherished and loved. Not used when it's convenient."
"You're right," Celeste admitted reluctantly.
"Good. So what are you going to do?"
After a pause, the woman answered. "End it."
"Good girl. You're doing this for yourself, Celeste. He'll probably beg and plead, that's how men like him manipulate women. But stay strong, and don’t give in to his bullshit. Go find someone who deserves you. Okay, honey?"
"Okay. Thank you, Dr. Hemming," she sniffed.
"You're welcome. Call me in a few weeks to let me know how you're doing. Be strong, Celeste."
Angel took a deep breath. The anger on her face was clear in the tight line of her mouth and the furrow between her neatly waxed brows. She shook her head, and Darian wondered if she was going to say something derogatory about that last caller's guy. He waved his hands and shook his head. One thing he'd learned in the short time he'd known Angeline Hemming: she took no prisoners and spoke her mind without thinking about it first.
No, Angel. Don't cuss out the bastard, his mind raced. Not on live air.
"Well, this is Dr. Angeline Hemming," Angel said as she took the next call, "What is your confession?"
Darian breathed a sigh of relief.
"I confess that I'm sick to death of my boyfriend's arrogant, offhanded manner and the way he treats me!"
"What's your name?"
"Whitney," the woman spat as if she hated her own name.
"Well, Whitney, you sound pretty sure of yourself, so I bet you already know the answer that you're seeking," she laughed into the microphone. "It's refreshing, actually," Angel said dryly, the corners of her mouth turning up in amusement.
"He’s turned into such a bastard! He totally takes me for granted. I mean, I give him everything, and he doesn't even know I exist! He works all the time, and we never go anywhere that isn't a company obligation or charity thing. He spends most of his free time with his damn friends, and when we do have sex, he leaves right after."
Ugh. I know the type, she thought and leaned her chin into her hand, elbow resting on the desk. The index finger on her other hand absentmindedly drew patterns across the smooth surface. "Do you live with him?"
"No. He, uh, well, I have my own place. Lately, I feel like we hardly see each other and when we do, it's because I've asked to see him. And, then he turns it around on me… saying I nag him."
"Um, yes, I can see why you'd be upset. So... I don’t get it. What's in it for you?" she asked flatly. Darian threaded his hands together behind his head as his face twisted in a weird way. Angel shot him a questioning look. He shook his head and pointed toward the phone.
"Exactly. He's out with his rat pack tonight, and I'm stuck in my apartment. He'll probably come back and expect me to service him."
Angel sat up in her chair. "Oh, boy's night out? Well, I think that's good for men on occasion—male bonding and all—but not if he disrespects you in the process. Except, why are you stuck? Why aren't you out yourself? Let him know that you're not sitting around waiting. You should show him you have your own life."
Whitney sighed heavily and her voice was flat. "He wouldn't care."
"Whitney, I don't understand. You seem to be a very smart woman. You clearly see the problem; so why aren't you doing something about it? Why would you want to be with a man who doesn't care about you? Take back your power."
"Are you kidding? He’s got the power in everything! It's just that... well, he's everything I want in a man!" the woman whined.
"That's not what it sounds like to me. You have to figure out what you need and what you're willing to accept. What's his first name?" She liked to have names to put with personas in her calls. It somehow made it more real, more personal.
"Alexander." The answer was detached, and Angel wondered if the man was the only one to blame.
Darian ran a hand over his mouth. "Fuck!" he said under his breath and sat up straighter.
"Well, have you told Alexander how you feel? What you need? I think as women, we tend to want men to anticipate our every need, but that's not always realistic. Sometimes they need to be told. They don't process things in the same way we do. You can't expect to get what you want if you don't ask for it."
"Ugh, that's so unromantic! I want him to know what I need and provide it for me. I want him to want to provide it."
"Whitney, you need to talk to him, but don't sound whiney or needy when you do it. Tell him what you need and then go from there."
"He's been so withdrawn from me. I hardly know him anymore," she said miserably. "He makes me feel... invisible. But I can't seem to leave him."
"What do you like about him?"
"He's gorgeous, successful, and wealthy. He's an executive of a huge company, and he takes care of me. He’s the type of guy I need to be with."
Angel's brow dropped and her eyes narrowed in understanding. This woman wasn’t all she pretended to be.
"Whitney, forgive me, but is this about love or status?" There was silence on the other end of the line, so Angel continued after a few seconds. "What would make you feel visible?" Angel asked while secretly cringing, waiting for the unwanted answer she knew was to follow.
"It is about love!" she retorted sharply, a little too sharply for someone supposedly heartbroken. Angel's eyebrows shot up in doubt, and Darian sat as still as a statue. "He just needs to pay attention to me, take me out, and come over more."
"Well, then try to work it out. Ask him what he needs from you as well. Chances are he's not getting all he needs either. Men stay with women who make them feel good about themselves."
"He's not leaving... he's just distant."
Darian was cranking his right hand in a circle, motioning for Angel to wrap it up before another commercial break.
"I have to go to commercial, Whitney, but if he's checked out of the relationship, maybe he has a reason. If you think he's insensitive or disinterested after you discuss this with him, then maybe you should consider your options. If you love each other, he'll want to talk to you and work it out, but you have to tell him the truth. Good luck." She ended the call. "I'll be right back with more calls and dedications."
As the commercials played, Darian sat in silence.
"What were those faces about?" Angel asked.
"Mmmm—I think I know her. And if that's who I think it is, she's not telling the whole story." His expression filled with disgust.
Angel smiled at him. "There usually are two sides to everything but I'm at a disadvantage here. I only get to hear one."
"In this case, that is too true. She's dating my best friend. He will be so pissed when he finds out she's calling and talking about him on air. I hope that not many people put two and two together, because he’s not exactly low key in this town. All she wants is the status, the material shit he represents, and his di
ck."
"Nice! Why does it always come down to someone's dick, huh?" she laughed. "Is she telling any part of the truth? Be honest."
He bristled. "Well, Alex doesn't get involved like that. He's very focused on his work, and he's successful because of it."
"Sounds like every woman's dream guy. Truly," she scoffed. "So she was telling the truth."
Darian rose in defense of the faceless Alex. "It works for him. He's very clear going in that it's not going to be a love affair, and if the woman enters into it thinking that she can change him, that's not his fault."
Angel stopped and shot him a warning look, her dark brown eyes flashing sharply.
"You didn't just say that did you, Darian?" She shook her head and huffed. "That's so typical! Nice attempt at justifying using someone. What do you and Mr. Perfect think happens to a woman who is with a man for any length of time, hmmm? I’ll tell you. She either falls in love or walks away. Clearly, your friend knows how this shit works; hence his carefully laid out escape clause. I mean, if he's as brilliant as both you and this Whitney woman would have me believe, he knows full well what he’s doing and what will happen eventually," Angel retorted with a sly smile.
Darian thought Angel was too damn smart for her own good, and pair that with her sexy little bod and business suit—watch out. She was like napalm.
"No. Whitney isn't in love. She's a greedy bitch, and I think Alex may pick them based on that particular feature, because he has the means to fulfill that need. His relationships are all about convenience. They're consenting adults that both get something they need from the other."
"Keep telling yourself that, Hans Christian Andersen. Maybe if you repeat it enough your little fairy tale will become reality. In anything beyond a fling, someone falls in love, and if the other doesn't feel the same way or acknowledge it, there’s a big pain-fest. It’s not some cataclysmic secret of the universe. It’s a big, ‘duh.’ Your friend wants someone who needs him financially, because it gives him all of the control."