Confessions. Sasha Campbell

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СКАЧАТЬ at WJPC radio. I still don’t understand how I had been so lucky professionally.

      I was already working for the station as an intern when the general manager agreed to let me liven up the first half of the quiet storm. I had this crazy idea to serve the needs of the hundreds of lonely listeners who tuned in at night by giving them the opportunity to call in and express their feelings. Hell, all the show required was common sense and my own style of bold, in-your-face advice. The crazy idea earned me thousands of loyal listeners. Even though it’s part-time, I love the hell out of my job. Giving advice is something I’m good at. Instead of getting a degree in radio broadcasting, I should have majored in social work like my girl Trinette. Nevertheless, giving advice is what I do best. I don’t hold punches. But no matter what I say or, better yet, how I say it, the listeners love me, and the calls and letters keep pouring in. That’s why I was pulling out of the parking lot in a pretty-ass silver IS 350 convertible with butter soft leather interior. The proof is in the pudding. It’s a damn shame. I could give other people advice about their lives while my own was a damn mess.

      My husband and I are separated, or at least we have been since Donovan’s unit, 138th Engineering Battalion, was activated and sent to Iraq. Lord, please forgive me. But his being sent to war was actually a blessing. We’d been having problems for some time, and the night before Donovan left, the two of us decided that maybe time and distance would give us a chance to decide if we wanted to either stay together or file for divorce. I guess he decided on the latter, because despite all my letters and care packages, I haven’t received a single call or letter, nothing but a sorry postcard the first week he was there. I know his ass is all right, because my girl Tabitha’s husband is in the same unit and she makes it her business to come to the bookstore just so she can rub it in my face how often she talks to her fat-ass husband.

      After six months of nothing, I need to start facing the fact that my marriage is over and has been for quite some time. Yet a part of me still was not ready to let go. I don’t know if I am just being stubborn or plain stupid like half the women who call in to my show.

      Tristan made a right at the next corner, and I rolled my eyes when I realized where he was headed. I thought we were going to a bar close by and having one drink. Yeah, right. I should have known he was going to take me to his favorite hangout. Straight Shoot. A gay bar. Not that I mind. Hell, I sometimes have more fun with gay men than I do with straight mothafuckas, who are too busy trying to run game.

      I climbed out just as Tristan came over switching his skinny ass toward me in knee-high, red leather boots. I’m hating, because he’s got a walk that’s out of this world, like he’s related to Ms. J from America’s Next Top Model. He’s wearing black jeans, a white blouse and a red leather jacket with a wide belt cinched tight around his small waist. Tristan’s five foot ten with mile-long legs. I’m barely five six, so he definitely makes a statement walking beside me.

      I frowned with annoyance. “I thought you said one drink.”

      “We are!” Tristan batted his eyelashes, trying to look innocent. I know there is no way he’s leaving early. Thank goodness I drove my own car. “I hope you ain’t using me as an excuse to hook up with Brandon tonight.”

      Tristan pointed his long nail in the air. “Gurlfriend, puhleeze! He’s yesterday’s news.”

      “Since when?”

      He snapped his fingers. “Since I found out he was messing around. Don’t you know that sneaky bastard left a message for another bitch on my damn answering machine?”

      “What!” I tried not to laugh but couldn’t help myself.

      I could tell he didn’t see anything the least bit funny. “I guess he thought he was calling that bitch’s house.”

      I shrugged. “At least you found out early.”

      “You right, because I was ready to rock his mothafuckin’ world.” He winked and signaled for me to follow him inside.

      The club was real tasteful and clean with small intimate tables and chairs and low lighting. There was a big stage in the middle. Tristan moved to a long table in the back that was occupied by friends of his. Two of them I had met before. Coco and Mercedes. Both men were prettier than me.

      Mercedes glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “’Bout time you bitches got here.”

      “I know that’s right.” Coco gave Tristan a high five as he slid in the seat next to him.

      “Sorry I’m late, but if y’all weren’t listening, let me tell you, the show tonight was off the hook! Matter fact, let me introduce the rest of y’all to the hostess with the mostess, Ms. Nikki Truth.”

      I waved and took the chair at the far end.

      The other he/she I didn’t know started squirming in his seat. “Oooh! Girlfriend, your show is the bomb! I never miss it.”

      Mercedes gave a rude snort. “She ain’t lying. You’ve even answered her calls a few times.”

      I gave the one with the blond weave a long look. “Oh, yeah? When did you call?”

      She looked uncomfortable. “Last month.”

      Mercedes filled in the details. “Girlfriend, here was Oasis. She called telling you her man insisted on the cat sleeping in the bed with them.”

      Laughing, I nodded my head. “Oh, yeah, I remember. I told you to tell him to get rid of the cat or you were leaving his ass.”

      “Yeah, and the next day he packed his shit and left,” Oasis announced with disgust.

      “Damn. I’m sorry.”

      “Wasn’t your fault,” she said, and made an exaggerated show of fanning herself. “I think that cat was licking a lot more than just his paws under those covers.”

      The table roared with laughter. Tristan signaled for a waiter and we both ordered a martini. The deejay was rocking some old school. I had gotten my drink and was having fun with the others when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I looked up, and it was a young slender woman with her head shaved bald and jeans hanging low on her hips.

      “Yo, ma, you wanna dance?”

      I looked up into the most amazing brown eyes I’d seen in a long time. Her lashes were naturally long and incredibly thick. Mascara had nothing to do with it. I would give anything to have eyes like that. I don’t know how long I stared at her before I finally shook my head. “Nah, boo. I’m strictly dickly.”

      The look she gave me rang loud and clear. She could do anything a man could do, only better. “Yo, don’t knock it till you try it.”

      I smiled. “Not knocking it. I just prefer my dick to be attached, not strapped on.”

      “A’ight, ma. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” With a nod of her head, she turned on the soles of her Air Force Ones.

      I watched her walk away and had to admit she had a hell of a swagger that made my nipples tighten. Damn, had it been that long since I had some?

      I raised my hand and quickly ordered another drink. Yep, Tristan was right. I needed some dick—quick!

      2

      Trinette

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