Roni was not one for self analysis and introspection. It just wasn't part of her emotional make-up. It was one of those days though and she was happy to settle in for the evening by herself. She didn't expect to spend it thinking but she was all the same. She turned 48 years old tomorrow. She should feel older than she did. She was tired, admittedly, but she didn't feel old.
Her Friday was utter chaos. She was barely juggling all the things in her life as it was. Looking back on the last three years she was amazed she kept them all going at all. She had decided to spend tonight putting things in some kind of order but the way they flew through her mind she was beginning to think that was impossible.
First and foremost she had a decision to make. She had two invitations for Saturday. She had two invitations for every day. Even when she was younger she had never juggled two men at once. There were 6 weeks at the end of her marriage when she was sleeping with her physical trainer but that didn't count. Tomorrow she was faced with all day invitations from her boyfriend and her boy-toy. Fucka Ducka. She poured another glass of wine.
Three years ago tonight she had gone out to dinner with her husband. He was a dick, she knew it. Everyone knew it. No one was joining them to celebrate because no one could stand him. Repeatedly her friends had tried to talk her into girls' night out but he had stressed how important the night was. He had a special gift and they needed to talk. He pulled out an envelope. If she planned on staying with him she was going to get her fat ass in shape. He told her to enjoy her fatty Italian food because that crap was over or he was going to find someone younger and hotter.
She went to the gym the next day. She signed up with a trainer. It took her three sessions to blow him and five to finally sleep with him. She was divorced 5 months later. He was a dick about that too. He fought over everything including their nearly grown children and a coffee table. Good riddance. She toasted herself. She took a bite of dark chocolate and recalled the first night with her boy-toy.
Her first date after the divorce had been with a short, ugly, and almost entirely obnoxious little man. She was happy it was nothing but dinner and cringed when his number came up on the cell phone the next morning. He started by saying he couldn't stop thinking about her. She apologized but was blunt; she simply did not want to see him again. He answered in kind. He didn't call her to fuck her; he called her to hire her. Two weeks later she sold advertising for a radio conglomerate. Her focus, he said, was the Spanish language stations. She was tall, blonde, with great tits and spoke Spanish. There would be no stopping her. There wasn't.
There was also a sound engineer at the station. He was tall and delicious. He was impossibly young. He was unstoppable. She eventually gave in. Nathaniel drug her to concerts of bands she had never heard of. He took her to street fairs and bought her gyros. His kisses were desperate. His youthful exuberance a force she could not resist. She took up hot yoga and he ravaged her almost nightly. She finally broke down and told him she couldn't use him anymore. He replied simply, yes she could.
Her wine glass was dry, it was dark, she lit a candle rather than turn on a light. She lay in her bed contemplating the boy. She could call him and he would come over. She tired to fantasize about him storming in and taking her. There was nothing to stop her, rather, there shouldn't have been anything to stop her. It would be a fun way to kick off her birthday. She thought about keeping him all weekend. He had made the offer. In the front of her mind she thought it was too bad her daughter had come in for the weekend. In the back of the mind she knew that wasn't the reason he wasn't coming over that night. Fucking Ozzie, she thought. He had a way of disturbing her plans unexpectedly.
She first met him when she wanted to have him fired. Nathan had seduced her through text messages into meeting him in an empty studio after hours. She was embarrassed he could talk her into it so easily but had finally given in. He was working. He had 3 minutes and 37 seconds. She was waiting when he threw the door open. She pulled up her skirt as he dropped his pants. He took her like an animal crouched low behind the board. She took the pounding and made use of the sound proof booth. She came quickly, she came loudly, she came hard and he was gone.
She knew just enough about the control board to flip on the current broadcast. The first button triggered the alternative rock station; the second three she knew would fill the room with tejano guitars and drums. She pressed the last button, it glowed red and the booth filled with soothing 70's rock, a jazz fusion type piece by Steely Dan. It was remixed and she liked the addition of the deeper tones available to a modern broadcast. She was learning radio. She was still warm from the brisk but short fuck and she thought she heard a woman's moans blend in behind the synthesizers and keyboards of the old recording. She pressed her legs together at the thoughts it inspired.
She was listening to the song, and the woman, come to a crescendo simultaneously and was thinking about how badly she needed her young lover back again when it suddenly struck her what she was hearing. She sat on the floor in shock, her stupor interrupted only by the gravelly voice of the late night jock thanking his producer for slipping away from the board long enough for him to throw together the little mix he had just played. She flew from the room aggravated by her inability to slam the heavy glass door.
He sat in the last studio, a smug grin on his face. She tugged at the door to no avail, the magnetic lock secured from his board. He spun the turntable on the next track, he was the only one left that still spun vinyl, it was his thing and had gotten him syndicated on at least a dozen of the company's stations. He clicked a button and his voice came through the speakers above her. "Blame Nate!"
He winked at the boy. The boy shrugged at her. Turning on them both she stormed from the building. She had thought he was the janitor!
His come-on had been subtle, the very opposite of her boy toy. She continued to slip away every chance she got with young Nathaniel but the older man showed a certain flair. She would find CD's on her desk. She made a show of throwing them out in front of other people but would quietly retrieve them before she left. She would drive home with the familiar sounds of music she loved playing through the radio. Her daughter had stolen a couple and teased her about the boy making mix tapes for her. Over time the crotchety old bastard wore her down. She had to admit she was charmed by the quiet in his gray eyes and was desperate to meet Fleetwood Mac in person.
She went to the concert with him as "coworkers." He grinned and went along with it. She expected him to be working the show, she expected him to disappear to record the short canned interviews with the performers. When she turned to enter the station's temporary studio he took her hand and led her off another direction. He slipped into a large steel door as a bouncer grabbed her purse to inspect it. Finally free of the bouncer and cleared for entry she opened the door to see him in the open arms of Stevie Nicks. Fucking Ozzie, she thought.
He was supposed to drive her back to the station to get her car. A little stoned on rock-star quality weed, she suggested a night cap. He took her to a neighborhood dive bar where everyone seemed to know him. Sipping a beer she watched him as he was seduced onstage. He played a set while she drank too much and thought about attacking the tall, grizzly, gray bearded guitarist. She'd never done a musician.
He didn't wait for the next morning. He was gone maybe 10 minutes when her phone rang.
"You left your car at the studio."
"You called me about my car?"
"Not really."
"Wow. You played me like your fucking guitar."
"I play Sax too."
"You would."
"Breakfast?"
"No. I have an early meeting."
"Early breakfast then?"
"I have to sleep."
"You aren't ready to go to sleep. You're hungry and you want me again."
"I do?"
"Breakfast?"
"Fine." She pressed end before he could say anything else. She hadn't set the phone down even when the doorbell rang. He had coffee and gourmet fucking croissants. The coffee was cold before she got to it.
She found herself in a life of deception. Her friends teased her; with her cougar figure she needed a boy toy. She was embarrassed to admit hers was probably half her age. Her ex-husband, jealous of her newfound success as the Mexican radio sales goddess sneered insults about the geriatric sugar daddy she had to be keeping on the side. She snickered to herself that he was actually a degenerate old hippie.
She found herself juggling her social calendar like a master performer. A Tuesday spent beneath Nathaniel's perfect body, was followed by a Wednesday afternoon hidden away listening to jazz and falling victim to the skills of the old musicians fingers. She would find herself justifying herself. Nathaniel was mature for his age. Ozzie kept himself amazingly trim and fit for someone as old as he was. She spent a late night sorting through his apartment admiring the odd collection of memorabilia piled on shelves. She spent a hot afternoon in the park watching her boy scamper about playing an odd mixture of Frisbee and football admiring his bare chest and letting impure thoughts of what he would do to her after a shower. Or maybe no shower!
She sat with her friends in a dark old nightspot downtown watching his fingers and letting the sounds of Ozzie's guitar seduce her yet again. "I know him from work, he's a DJ," she told them, dismissing his charms when he came over to chat.
"No one can know I am seeing you." she would tell each of them as she slipped out of their bedrooms. She expected it all to come crashing down around her any day. She finished the bottle and checked her phone. No calls, a single Text from her daughter. She would be home soon. She finished the bottle and waited.
They had both asked her to the same Rock-a-Billy concert that night. She had wanted to go. She hated that she knew exactly who she wanted to go with and put it out of her mind. Her daughter arrived. She opened another bottle of wine and sat gossiping with the young woman her little girl had become. She was a dead ringer for what Roni looked like at her age. Tired from a plane flight and dinner with her father, Stephanie disappeared to the guest room.
Roni had learned something recently. Being drunk brought out honesty. She was just a little bit too drunk. She picked up her phone. She dialed.
Talking to voicemail, "Nathan, love. I'm so sorry. As much as I would love to spend the weekend with you I don't think I'm going to be able to. Call me Sunday."
She sat staring at the phone. He was at the concert still, she figured. She dialed again waiting for voicemail.
"Hey." His gravelly voice surprised her.
"Hey back at you."
"What's up?"
"You don't sound happy to hear from me."
"I don't know if I am or not yet."
