What the Heart Thinks

Chapter 1-2

“So the next time you’re sitting around on a Saturday night, wondering why nobody is around on f*******: for you to brag to about beating Candy Crush, think about heading downtown so you can hear these guys play. Don’t let the fact that they look like they stepped out of an episode of Love Boat throw you off. These guys will bring the house down and then stick around afterward to help you build it back up again. Trust me.”

The commercial music began playing beneath his outro, cuing Joe to wrap it up for the top of the hour break. He rattled through his call sign tags, then collapsed back in his chair once the on-air sign went off. The night was not one of his best, though at least he’d been smart enough not to get drunk before coming in to the station. He was relying too much on the music to carry the hours through, because every time his mouth opened to work, memories of Fess and the damn bachelorette party kept getting in the way.

A tap on the glass forced him to open his eyes and squint at Carlos, the night manager, on the other side. “What?”

“Phone call.”

With a frown, Joe glanced at the line box, and sure enough, there was the red light blinking. “Who is it?”

“A listener.”

“And I’m a call-in show since when? Wait, survey says…” He made a buzzing noise. “Never.”

Carlos shrugged. “He says he knows you.”

“He could say he was the Pope and you’d believe him.”

“Hey, that could happen. He likes us now, remember?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “You know the drill. I’m not taking it.”

He refused to look at Carlos again as he got back on the phone, but fifteen seconds later, another tap came at the glass.

“Do I need to go sit on the toilet to get you to leave me alone until I go back on?” Joe complained.

“He asked me to give you his name.”

“I have one, thank you.”

“He said he’s Fess Kedley. The Davy Crockett guy you met tonight.”

Joe sat up. Too quickly as it turned out because the wheels on the chair slipped off the mat and tilted the entire chair sideways to drop him onto the floor. When he popped his head back up, Carlos had gone on his tiptoes to peer down at him, a concerned frown on his face.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Fess had called the show? It had to be him, even though Carlos had messed up the name. Why would Fess do that? If he listened half as much as he claimed to, he would know Joe didn’t take requests or banter with listeners. He didn’t care about the former and the idea of the latter gave him hives. “How long has he been waiting?”

“Just since you signed off. He called as soon as the break music cued up.”

So he’d chosen a time when he knew Joe wasn’t on the air. He wanted to talk to him, not be a part of the show. Joe didn’t know if that was better or worse, but somehow, he got the impression Fess wouldn’t give up until he’d actually gotten through.

“All right,” he said, pulling himself back up. “I’ve got it.”

His hand shook as he took Fess off hold. The only saving grace to this was at least he didn’t have to look the man in the perfect face as they talked.

“You are very persistent,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“And you didn’t stick around so we could talk after my act,” Fess said. “Why’d you skip out?”

“Because it was a room full of horny women who would have blowjobs on the brain. I wasn’t in the mood to give out advice on the best technique.”

“So you’re an expert on oral s*x, too? Good to know.”

Outside the window, Carlos snorted. Joe flipped him off before turning his back on the glass. This was his mistake for bringing up blowjobs, though why that had slipped out, he had no idea. “I don’t really have long to talk. I have to be back on the air soon.”

“Then how about we meet up after your show? You name the place. We can talk then.”

“I don’t get out until five.”

“Then it’ll be a breakfast date. Come on, you can’t say no. Breakfast’s the most important meal of the day.”

A date? Davy Cockett wanted a date? With Joe? Surely, Evil Captain Kirk was going to walk in any minute because Joe had obviously landed in some bizarro world where this kind of proposition could even be a possibility.

“Don’t you need to sleep?” he tried.

“Nope. No auditions tomorrow. I told you. I listen to your show as often I as can. Oh, s**t, that makes me sound like a stalker, doesn’t it? I’m not, honest. Let me prove it to you.”

The more Fess babbled, the more relaxed Joe got. It was nice to know even perfect male specimens were prone to looking idiotic every once in a while. “And yet, you called me at work.”

“Because you left before I could give you my number.”

“Before…what?”

“How else was I going to get another chance to see you?”

“But why?”

“I thought I made that clear. Big fan, remember?”

“But then you met me.” As far as Joe was concerned, seeing him in person would be the buzzkill for any idealistic fan.

“Which gave me a chance I never thought I’d get. So? Is it a date?”

Apparently, Fess didn’t fall into that category. Which edged him too close to the John Hinckley side for Joe’s comfort, baby blue eyes notwithstanding.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You have to eat.”

“I can do that at home.”

“That’s the third date.”

Joe chuckled in spite of his discomfort. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Fess sighed. “It was the stalker comment, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have played the self-awareness card.”

“No, it’s just—”

“You are not about to give me the it’s not you, it’s me excuse.”

Joe chewed on his lip. He had, and he hadn’t even caught onto it until Fess pointed it out. “I’ve got too much on my plate right now. That’s all. But I appreciate the offer. Really.”

“All right, I guess I can feel a brick wall when I hit one. But just so you know, I’m a really good date. You’re missing out.”

The whole idea that Joe was the one who thought he was too good for this date was too ludicrous not to laugh at. “Whatever you say.”

He hung up still chuckling at the idea, but as he settled back into his chair, ready to start the next track as soon as the news was over, he found Carlos staring at him through the glass.

“Is he a freak?” Carlos asked.

“Who, Fess? Nah. Just someone who recognized me at that bachelorette party I was telling you about.”

“What was he doing at a bachelorette party?”

“You didn’t ask me that when you heard I was going.”

Carlos lifted a single, heavy eyebrow.

“He was the stripper,” Joe said. “You should’ve seen his costume. He goes by the name Davy Cockett.”

“Let me get this straight. You just turned down a date with a stripper who thinks you’re the best thing to come along since bacon-flavored lube? Are you sick or something?”

“No, but I’m not dating somebody I don’t know. You heard him. He’s a fan. That’s just asking for trouble.”

“How exactly do you think people get to know each other, my friend? And Craigslist doesn’t count.”

Joe grimaced and made a gagging noise. “Give me credit for a little taste.”

With a shake of his head, Carlos waved him off. “You just turned down a date with a stripper who was practically begging for it. I’m not giving you credit for nothing.”

As they settled into the third hour of his shift, Joe decided to ignore everything Carlos and Fess had said. They had never walked a mile in his shoes. He couldn’t trust that this would turn out in his favor. He was a four. Five, tops. Fess was a nine who probably skated into ten as soon as the buckskin came off. And nowhere in the world did fours and nines ever add up to a happy ending.

Of any kind.