Jackie Reedly: Sex and the Boss Wife

"Come on, now, Honey!" he said. "Let's play fair, shall we? It gets awfully lonesome here all alone. The last thing a hot blooded young guy like me needs is some beautiful chick hanging up on him. Call back and let's us have a little visit. The number is 447-4730. While I'm hanging onto the receiver waiting for your call, I'll play something to get us in the mood." He flipped on a slow ballad by Joan Collins and waited.

The lines lit up, two of them at once. He grabbed the receiver. "Hi, there. This is Night Line."

"Hi," said a woman's voice. She was speaking low, trying to sound like the woman who had called before. Her voice was much younger, though, not even a good imitation of the passion promising tones of the first caller. "I'm calling you back, just like you asked me to do."

"Thanks," Scott said. "If you'll just hold on a minute, I'll be right back." He punched the hold button and then keyed the other line.

"Night Line, KSZX," he said. "You're on the air."

"Hi, there," whispered another female voice. "I'm calling back, like you wanted." It was still not the first woman, he was sure.

"Hold on a second, and I'll be with you," Scott said. He returned to the first caller.

"Now," he said, in his friendly, on the air voice, "What can I do for you?"

The caller chuckled, sounding even younger than before. "It's more what I can do for you," she said.

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"Anything you like. I'll suck you off or let you fuck my hot little cunt, or…"

Scott stabbed the button, putting the woman on hold. He made a grab for the tape, but it was too late. "Hi," the voice repeated, and his own voice responded. He stopped the tape.

"You're doing it, Folks!" he fairly shouted, switching on his mike. "You're calling in! I've got two callers on the line, late night people with something to say. Let's listen to another of the latest hits while I finish the conversations." He cued the record and pushed the button.

Glancing at the phone, he saw that both lines were still lighted. He picked up the first one again. Without giving the girl at the other end a chance to speak, he said, "Hey, what do you mean, kidding around like that? Don't you know you can get me in trouble? What if that went out over the air?"

"I wouldn't care. I meant it. I love your voice, and I want the chance to love you, any time and any place you say." She sounded as though she meant it.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Oh, it's all right. I'm eighteen, over eighteen."

Something told Scott the girl was lying. He did not care.

"Well," she went on, "What do you say? Do I interest you?"

"I… well, I don't know." This was crazy. He should not be stringing her along. He should hang up. He should, he should, but he did not.

"What's the matter? You queer?"

"No! What makes you think that?" He tried to imagine what she might look like, young, fresh, a succulent, lithe little body, just wriggling with life and sexuality and ready to give it all to him.

"Oh," she said, "I just thought you might be gay because a lot of guys are nowadays. It's a drag. Want to hear about how some guys from my school got a queer the other night?" She had tipped her hand. She was a high school student. Jail bait, particularly in Indiana.

"No. Frankly, I don't, little girl. I advise you not to call again, unless you have something to say that we can put on the air."

"Okay, Queer!" the girl shouted into the phone and hung up.

Shaking with anger, Scott checked to see that the record still had time to go. Then he punched the second line. "Hi, and thanks for holding so long. You're on the air."

"I don't want this broadcast," the voice said.

With a sigh, Scott stopped the recorder. He was sick of fighting it. "Okay," he said. "We're alone."

"Good," the woman answered. Her voice definitely did not have the sensuality of the first woman, the one who had started this mess, but she did not sound like a high school kid either.

"What can I do for you?" Scott asked.

"It's more what I can do for you," she replied.

Oh, no, Scott thought. This one may not be a high school kid, but she surely talked like one. "And what's that?" he asked.

"Suppose I pick you up after work, and we talk about it?"

"Gee, I don't know. I mean… " His heart was pounding again, and the loneliness was welling up within him so hard it almost choked him.

"Just tell me the time, and I'll be there. You're downtown, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Washington and Meridian." He glanced over. The record was nearly over.

"What time then?"

"Eight or a little after," he said hurriedly and hung up the receiver.

As he gave a commercial, his mind was racing. What had he done? Picking up on a caller's proposition like that was certainly unethical. Still, who was to know? Her call had not been recorded. He had made sure of that. God, he was lonely and horny and scared all at the same time. He had not realized it fully until now. He had made a date with a stranger over the phone. What if she turned out to be sixty and weigh three hundred pounds? What if the back seat of her car was full of muggers, just waiting tightly to rip him off? If they did, they would not get much, he thought ruefully. It had taken most everything he had in the bank to make the move here, and then he had had to take an apartment that rented for more than he wanted to pay. At least he could walk to work. That was something. The Roley Towers, a three unit high rise was just past the edge of downtown.

He would meet the woman-if she showed up. She was probably just some crank who called all the night disc jockeys, setting them up and then chickening out. If she did show up, he had no idea how he would know it. Washington and Meridian might be dead at night, but they were crawling with commerce during the daytime, and the rush started at about seven forty-five, just about the time he was making his way home to bed.

The night dragged on. No one else called in, and Scott ended his shift feeling gloomy.

"How you doing, Stud?" Barry Mann called out as he came into the control booth to relieve Scott.

"Okay, I guess. Quiet night."

"No callers, then?"

"A couple. Nothing I could put on the air." Scott gathered up his cigarettes and half empty coffee cup.

"That's a shame, Kid. Sorry to hear it. I know what you mean by nothing you can broadcast. I couldn't believe some of the calls I got when I worked nights, and I wasn't even inviting them to pick up the phone the way you do on Night Line. There are a lot of lonely women out there, a few men too. Boy, did I ever have some weird conversations." He slipped behind the console.

"You ever meet any of them? The women who called in, I mean."

"A couple." Barry was rummaging through the records.

"And?" Scott asked.

"And what?" Barry asked, glancing up at him.

"Never mind. Sorry I was nosing in where I don't belong." He put his hand on the door knob.

"Hey, just a second, Man. Look, I didn't mean to put you off. We'll have a drink real soon, and I'll tell you some stories. A couple of them will curl your hair."

"Thanks," Scott said, grinning at him.

"Oh, by the way, there's somebody waiting for you out in the reception area."

"There is? Who?"

"I don't know her name. She's a real looker, though. You're a foxy dude, Scotty Boy! Take care now. I gotta introduce my show."

Scott walked out to the reception area half afraid of what he might find. His idea of a looker and Barry's might be two different things. Station gossip had it that the daytime announcer was none too particular when it came to the opposite sex. He was more interested in ease of entry than he was in glamour or personality.

In the lobby sat a shapely blonde. She looked to be about twenty-one as she sat there reading a magazine, her long, slim legs crossed at the ankles.