My throat closes. When we’re at our desks, Nova and I communicate through hand signals and our talkback microphone. I don’t trust my voice, so I give Nova the thumbs-up.
She leans forward and switches on her talkback. “Don’t get emotional,” she says. “It was either you or medical student number seven.” Her tone is ironic, but her crooked grin would melt a heart harder than mine. She holds up five fingers and counts down. We’re on the air.
CHAPTER THREE
Our theme music, “Ants Marching” by the Dave Matthews Band, comes up. When the music fades, it’s my turn.
There’s an old joke: “He has a great face for radio.” In my case, it’s true. I started doing radio because it allowed me to be somebody I wasn’t. Like everyone in my business, I’ve developed a voice that works for my audience. Charlie D’s voice is deep, intimate and confiding-the voice of the man women want to go home with them after midnight. The voice of the man other men wish they could be.
It was a kick when the fan mail started. Reading that a woman found listening to my voice like being bathed in dark honey was an ego boost. But when people began to write that my voice was all that got them through the night, I knew that “The World According to Charlie D” wasn’t about me. That’s when I started taking the show seriously.
I glance at my computer screen. Most nights Nova sketches out an intro for me, but loser1121 has distracted her. Always professional, she’s left me some Internet quotes about fatherhood to riff on.
My eyes scan the page. Bill Cosby says, Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is soap-on-a-rope. The philosopher Friedrich Nietzche gives wise counseclass="underline" When one has not had a good father, one must create one. Spike Milligan is provocative: My father had a profound influence on me-he was a lunatic. There are other quotes, but until the second page, the pickings are slim.
Midway down page two, there’s a tasty morsel from Anonymous. A man’s desire for a son is nothing but the wish to duplicate in order that such a remarkable pattern may not be lost to the world. I read the quote again. Anonymous seems to have hit on yet another reason why I was such a disappointment to my father.
The final quote on the page is dynamite. Those who have never had a father never know the sweetness of losing one. To most men, the death of the father is a new lease on life… Samuel Butler.
I know nothing about Samuel Butler, but Google will. I type in his name. There are pages of information, but one fact leaps out at me: Sam was born on December 5, 1835. My birthday is December 5, 1978. Sam and I are birthday twins. And another coincidence: Sam and I both came up with snake-eyes when we rolled the dice in the great Daddy crapshoot.
The music of Dave and his band fades. Time for me to get to work. I lean into my mike and crank up the energy.
“It’s June 20th-Father’s Day weekend. Time to reward Dad for services rendered. And there’s the rub. When it comes to dads, it’s not one-size-fits-all. If your dad’s like Ward Cleaver on the old sitcom Leave It to Beaver, he deserves the full treatment-a snappy golf shirt, an industrial-sized bottle of Old Spice, a monogrammed tie and a chocolate cake with World’s Best Dad spelled out in Smarties on the icing. If your dad’s more along the lines of Homer Simpson or the Family Guy, he’ll welcome a six pack and something to incinerate on the barbecue.
“Of course, there are Dad-zillas who don’t deserve gifts. In the Greek myth, Kronos ate his own children. No soap-on-a-rope for Kronos. And no A &W Papa Burger for Abraham-who had the knife sharpened to kill his son Isaac, until a ram got his horns stuck in a bush and gave Abraham an option.
“We don’t choose our fathers. The biggest lottery any of us will ever be involved in is the one in which the sperm swims over and knocks on the door of the egg. The moment the egg decides to let Mr. Wiggles in, our life is decided.
“So how did you make out in the Daddy Derby? Did you get a thoroughbred? A plug? A skittish dad who never came out of the gate? Or did you get a dad who streaked out of the gate and never came back? Our lines are open. Give me a call at 1-800-555-2333 or email me at charlied@nationtv.com.”
I lower my voice to a level that is intimate and inviting. “Here’s a message for one special caller. You sign yourself loser1121, but you’re not a loser, and you’re not alone. Many or us have learned that Father doesn’t always know best. Give yourself a chance. Don’t do anything you can’t undo. We need to talk. On air or off, your choice-but talking will help.”
Time to move the show along. I pick up the energy. “And now here’s Harry Chapin with ‘Cat’s in the Cradle,’ a song about a man who discovers too late that fathers pay a price for being too busy for their sons.”
Harry Chapin’s voice is gentle and tuneful. I open up the talkback. “Anything from loser1121?”
Nova shakes her head. “Nope, but there is news. Which do you want first-the good or the bad?”
“Hit me with the good stuff.”
“Aldo just called-Ruby’s in hard labor. With luck, the baby will be born when we’re on the air.”
I feel a jolt of pure joy. I never used to think about the future, but since Nova gave birth to Lily, I think about it a lot. Aldo has been the technician on “The World According to Charlie D” since we started, so this baby will be family. “Everybody okay?” I say.
“So far, so good,” Nova replies. “I talked to Ruby. The contractions are three minutes apart. She and I agree that on the utterly unbearable pain scale, childbirth is right up there with a Brazilian bikini wax.”
“What’s a Brazilian bikini wax?”
Nova’s mouth twitches. “Tell you after the show.” The fun goes out of her face. “And while we’re on the subject of utterly unbearable pain, our first caller tonight is Evan Burgh. There were ten people ahead of him, but, as he reminded me, he does own the network.”
“And our show can be replaced,” I say.
Nova’s lips are tight. “I believe that possibility was mentioned.” Her eyes meet mine. “Charlie, don’t take on Evan Burgh. He’s a snake, and a lot of people count on you.”
I glance at my computer screen. “Loser1121 is getting closer to making the big move. Check your inbox, Nova.”
Nova lowers her eyes to her screen. Over the talkback, I hear her intake of breath.
“Time to call the cops again?” she asks.
“Yes, and this time we’ve got something for them.”
I look again at loser1121’s message: I’ve attached a picture of our family carving knife. My father says that the only one who’s allowed to use it is the man of the house. Tonight I will become the man of the house. I open the attachment, and my heart clenches. I’m not an expert, but even I can see that this knife is capable of carving everything the man of the house decides to carve.
CHAPTER FOUR
The ending of “Cat’s in the Cradle” is sweet and sour. The father’s wish to have his son grow into a man just like him comes true. The boy who once longed for his father’s love has become an adult whose busy life has no place for his father. Long ago, I sent my father a tape of Harry Chapin singing “Cat’s in the Cradle.” I wonder if he ever got it.
The newspaper I bought in the drugstore is on my desk. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. The photograph of Evan Burgh tells you everything you need to know about the man. His face is strained by the knowledge that what he wants will always be beyond his reach. No matter how much money or power or property he has, it will never be enough. His only pleasure comes from making the people around him feel small and scared. Evan’s a mean son of a bitch, and I would love to take him on, but tonight loser1121 and his carving knife take precedence.