Blame it on James Brown

"Tell you what," Bernie said, draining his drink. "Give me a call in a couple days. I have an idea, a place I used to work. The GM is a good man, I'll give him a call, see what he's up to. He helped me along, that's for sure. It's a small market back east, but it's only about thirty miles outside of D.C., and has a pretty strong signal, the tower is up on a mountain."

"Oh wow, you'll do that for me?"

"I'll make the call, no guarantees. Call me the day after tomorrow. And get that license."

--

Daniel went to the federal testing office the next morning. He told the lady behind the counter the reason he was there and she handed him a booklet and a sheet of paper with guidelines and relevant information. The booklet was a thin digest and glancing through it, looked like it contained pretty basic material. The woman told him they allowed an hour for the test, and they closed at four-thirty in the afternoon Monday through Friday, so show up before three-thirty. His plan was to study all day Thursday and Friday morning, and take the test Friday afternoon. He asked directions to a library, and was directed to the branch a few blocks away.

He studied all day and memorized all the key elements, band widths and frequencies and regulations and historical facts. He tested himself with the sample questions in the back of the booklet. He took the test Friday afternoon at two and was told he passed. The license would be mailed to his parents' house, still his address of record.

At six-thirty he called the station and after the phone was finally answered and he waited ten minutes on hold, Bernie finally came on the line.

"Good news, I hope," Bernie said. "I talked to my man, and he said to send you down. Said if you're willing to go that far, he'll talk to you."

"Oh, that's great Bernie, thank you so much."

"It's a black station in Virginia, but not too far from D.C., and has a strong signal. Plays soul and R&B, and Gospel and religion on Sundays. Reggie, he's the General Manager, he digs the blues and he used to let me do a blues show. He's toying with the idea of going twenty-four hours, they sign-off at midnight now, so they may need somebody for overnights. Now, you got a pen? Write this down."

Bernie gave him all of the pertinent information: The call letters, address, names, numbers.

"I didn't know your schedule so I told him you'd be there in a week-to-ten-days."

"Damn, Bernie. Thank you. How can I ever repay you?"

"Ah, don't worry about it. Someday a young listener will contact you the same way you did me. Help them out and we'll call it even. Look, I gotta go, I'm on the air in six minutes. Good luck and keep in touch."

--

It took a month and a half, but Daniel was hired. He sent Bernie a thank-you note.

He met with Reggie, and they hit it off immediately. Reggie was a huge black man with a big round face and a smile that could light up a room. The interview went well, but he was told it was a family-owned business, and decisions were made carefully, and slowly. Reggie liked the blues and thought a blues show would make a nice addition to their programming. Daniel called every other day for weeks, feeling like he was bugging the shit out of the man, before Reggie told him the plan.

The station was going to start staying on the air twenty-four hours around the clock from Fridays through Mondays. In other words, they would be adding a midnight-to-6 a.m. shift Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights, and that would be his blues show. It wouldn't pay much, and he'd have to sell enough ads to more than cover his salary, and in addition he'd be paid commission on his sales. Daniel trained with the different deejays for a couple weeks as he prepared, practiced in the production studio when it was open, and the station promoted the new show and hours constantly on the air and ordered new music. The record library was well-stocked, but not with new stuff. He also tagged along on some sales calls to learn the pitch.

Everyone who worked at the station was black, except the part-time engineer, the cleaning woman, and now Daniel. But everyone was friendly and seemed willing to accept him. Reggie set the tone and it trickled down. Most people he didn't see much because they worked different shifts or were out of the office much of the time, but one person he saw a lot of was Norma, the receptionist/secretary. Norma was a cute, thin dark-skinned girl with an Afro, nineteen or twenty years old. She'd gone to secretarial school and wasn't a great typist, so she kept the correction tape handy, but she was witty, had a good sense of humor and was sweet as a chocolate pie.

One morning Daniel was in the front office going over procedures with the sales manager when the door opened and a woman entered and had a brief conversation with Norma. He hadn't noticed her because he and the manager were busily occupied, but later he got an odd warning from Norma.

"Daniel," Norma said, "Did you see that woman that come in here a while ago?"

"No, who was it?"

"It was my aunt Dixie. She was asking about you."

"Asking about me? Why?"

"She likes white boys."

"She likes white boys?"

"Yup. And she was checking you out and she likes what she sees. Are you coming to the remote next weekend?"

She was referring to a live broadcast the next Saturday afternoon at one of their biggest advertisers, a car dealer. He was expected to be there to observe and learn.

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"She'll be there too. Were you ever a Boy Scout?"

"No, why?"

"Just be prepared."

--

The first weekend on the air was a little shaky as Daniel became comfortable and got over his nervousness, but he soon adjusted and took pride in planning his shows. He'd been told the audience would be small at first, but the station kept promoting it heavily throughout the week, and he passed out cards and fliers when he was out and about trying to sell radio ads.

On his second shift, at about 2:35 a.m. Sunday morning the phone light started flashing. So, somebody was out there listening. He had just put on a six-minute Buddy Guy track so he picked up.

"Play 'Three O'clock Blues'. Could you do that for me?" It was a breathy, sexy female voice, almost a whisper.

"Probably. Whose version?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter. I'll be listening. In bed. By myself."

He played the original by Lowell Fulson right at three o'clock after he did the station identification. "This next tune is a request," he said into the microphone. "It goes out to the lady with the sexy voice. Three O'clock Blues."

The next night he had a call in the first hour, some guy asking the name of a song he'd just played. Daniel felt good. Maybe his show was already catching on. Then she called again, the same sultry voice with the same request.

"Play 'Three O'clock Blues' for me."

"You must really like that song," he said.

"I do," she breathed. "I get off on it."

He played B. B. King this time. He made a mental note to spend some time in the music library and find other covers of the song.

--

Daniel got the thumbs-up from management. Reggie had tuned in for the first hour a couple nights and although it was a little rough around the edges, there were no gaffes. Not a bad start. The station kept promoting it. Daniel even closed his first sale the next week, a record store. He had decided to target businesses closer to the city rather in their backyard where the others had knocked on pretty much every door.

The next Saturday afternoon Daniel helped load the equipment into the company van to go to the car dealership and set up for the remote broadcast. It was an overcast, drizzly day, so there wasn't as much traffic on the lot at they'd hoped. A few of the station employees stopped by, including Norma, who had an attractive black woman with her. He watched them as they said Hi to a few people before they meandered his way.

"Hi Daniel," Norma said. "How you doin' today?"

"Fine. Just taking it all in and learning. How about you?"

"Good. Daniel, this is my Aunt Dixie. Dixie, meet Daniel. He's our new late night jock on the weekends."

This is her aunt? Daniel was amazed and impressed. Not what he'd envisioned, not by a long shot. She looked to be only a few years older, and although he'd never actually dated a black girl before, he thought Dixie was an ebony goddess. She was slim, toned and hot, perhaps five-six, with smooth dark skin a shade or two lighter than Norma's. Her long black hair was straight, and pulled back, accentuating her sheeny, taut face. She had a collection of bangles on both wrists, and was dressed in a flowery sleeveless top and tight, white jeans. She wore it with a casual confidence that made him look, but didn't try too hard.

He stuck out his hand. They shook, nice to meet you, all that jazz. Over the next hour the three of them talked. Norma, the go-between, came and went, giving space so her aunt and Daniel could talk, which they, after the initial uneasiness, had found easy to do. For example, Daniel mentioned to Dixie that she looked much too young to be Norma's aunt, and found out that her much-older brother was Norma's father, and he had become so at eighteen. She was only twenty-seven. She said she'd been married for a while but it hadn't worked out, no kids. He told her all about his brief college career and time on the pipeline.

"What kind of work do you do?" Daniel asked her.

"I'm a real Go-getter."

"Really? What does that mean?"

"I work at the hospital. If the doctors or nurses need something, I go get it," she said.

Daniel laughed. "An orderly?"

"Exactly. I get orders and I follow them."

When the remote was over, Daniel, Dixie and Norma went to a nearby watering hole for drinks. Daniel had two beers before switching to Coke because he had to go to work that night, and spent the whole time talking to Dixie. He found himself more and more attracted to her as they conversed. He'd expected Norma's aunt to be a motherly, frumpy, forty-something, not the slim black fox sitting across from him. As their get-together broke up, Daniel asked Dixie for her phone number and she handed him a slip of paper. She'd already written it down for him.

Daniel went home for a nap. He'd rented a room he'd found in the classified ads of the local weekly newspaper. It was a small room in a small house. The owner of the house, his new roommate, was an older guy named Phil. Phil's wife had left him and he was going through a divorce, and had rented out the room because he needed the extra money. Because of their schedules they didn't see much of each other. The house had a telephone, Daniel knew that because the number had been in the ad. He'd have to find the phone and give Dixie a call.

Daniel went on the air at midnight, and had just signed on and kicked off his first set when there was a phone call. It was a drunk-sounding guy with a request, said they were listening down at some lounge. A few minutes later another guy called with another request; he sounded coherent but the background noise was the same as the first call.

There was another call, but he didn't pick up because the set was about to end. He opened the mic, ran down the cuts he had played, and then did a commercial break. He had just kicked off the next set when the phone started blinking. He took the call. It was her again. That breathy, seductive voice.

"'Three O'clock Blues'," she murmured. "Will you play that for me?"

"You know I will."

"When?"

"Give me a half-hour."

"Thank you, I'll be ready. Play a long version, if you have one. I'm going to masturbate."

Click. She was gone. Daniel felt a tingle between his legs.

--

He called Dixie the next afternoon. He reached her and they talked for forty-five minutes before somebody picked up on an extension, said 'Oh', and hung up.

"That's my Momma," Dixie said. "I live out back in the carriage house, but it's the house phone, I have an extension."

They made a lunch date for Tuesday and got off the line.

Their schedules would make things interesting. Dixie alternated shifts from days to evenings, and worked every other weekend. Daniel worked nights on the weekends and scattered daytime hours during the week. A challenge, he thought, but who knows, maybe a blessing, too.

Daniel couldn't believe how enthused he was about having lunch with her. They'd talked so fluidly, opened up so much. She was so sharp and so natural. The more he thought about her, the more attracted he became. But doubts crept in.

They were so different. His father was an engineer, his mother a teacher, upper middle class city folk. Her deceased father had been a trackman for the railroad and her mother a factory worker, rural working class. And there was the color thing.

He'd played sports and music with black guys, and had appreciated their prowess and bonded with them as teammates. He respected them; in his experience they were usually the better players. But he had no experience with black women.

--

Lunch was great. They went to a barbecue joint, had pulled pork and sliced chicken slathered with sauce, fried potatoes, pickles and cold beer. They listened to the jukebox and talked a blue streak. Dixie had a slight buzz when Daniel dropped her off.

A couple nights later they had dinner at a restaurant with a nice view of the mountains. It was a steak and lobster joint, and that's what they had. They caught a few gawkers, as interracial couples were still a rarity in that neck of the woods, but they had fun, more lively conversation, and even held hands at times. After the meal the waitress asked if they would like coffee, and Dixie nodded. Then Daniel said, 'Yes, we would, thank you. And I take mine black, like my woman'. The waitress got a frightened look on her face and scooted away to get the pot, while they grinned at each other and Dixie slapped his wrist and called him a naughty boy. When they kissed goodnight, it got a little hot and heavy, and their hands wandered over their bodies a bit. Daniel's cock was hard when Dixie's fingertips brushed it. He didn't want to rush things, but he knew he had to figure out how to get this mahogany minx in the sack.

Their third date is when they bonded on a new, more comfortable level. They were relaxed together and enjoyed each other, they knew that already, so Dixie asked Daniel to go to a drive-in movie with her. She picked him up in her car, stocked with snacks and a cooler in the backseat filled with canned beers on ice. She drove them to the theater and they pulled into a great spot in the second row off to the side. They started drinking beer.

They sat through a couple cartoons, then a few previews, and a long commercial for the snack bar with juggling popcorn and dancing hot dogs. Then it was time for the feature: 'Abar, The First Black Superman'. The flick was low-budget and corny as hell and they laughed uproariously and drank beer through much of the movie before they started making out. They kissed at first but quickly intensified. Daniel unbuttoned her shirt and felt her firm breasts for the first time. Dixie rubbed his dick for the first time too, and fingered its hefty hardness. She felt his hand between her legs, fumbling for the zipper on her jeans. She was wet down there, but she wasn't ready yet. She pushed his hand away.

"Let's stop," she said, buttoning up.

"What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?" he asked.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong." She unhooked the speaker from the car window and replaced it on the pole. She turned to face him and added, "Look, Daniel. I want you too, I really do. But I don't want our first time to be in a Buick."

He laughed, then she laughed. He started to apologize but she shushed him.

"Kiss me," she said.

They kissed a long one, soft and hard at the same time, with aroused genitals and their tongues dancing in the dark. Then Dixie turned the key and after a few tries the car engine came to life.

They didn't say much as she drove them home. They shared another prolonged kiss when she dropped him off, but she didn't come inside.

--

By this time, everyone at the station knew Daniel and Dixie were seeing each other, Norma made sure of that. Daniel heard his share of wisecracks from her and others, but Norma was relentless, teasing him all the time, but all in good fun. Daniel likes the dark meat. Hey, Soul Brother. Danny's living on the dark end of the street. Hey, White Chocolate. What's up, Oreo.

One of the salesmen had gotten an order for a heavy schedule of commercials promoting a James Brown concert in D.C., and the spots had been running for a couple weeks. It had been half cash, and half trade for concert tickets. They were giving tickets away in contests on the air, but there were plenty to go around so Daniel scarfed a couple. He and Dixie were excited. Who wouldn't want to go see the Godfather of Soul?

The concert was on a Saturday night at eight o'clock. Daniel would have to go on air at midnight, but he thought the timing would work out okay. He parked his van on the street a few blocks from Constitution Hall and they walked to the venue; he didn't want to get stuck in some big garage or traffic jam in case he was hurrying on the way out.

The tickets weren't the best seats in the house because they were comps, but weren't the worst either. They were up on the side about halfway back with a clear view of the stage. There were plenty of white people in the audience, which pleasantly surprised Daniel; he thought he might be the only white face in the crowd, but there were many other whites and biracial couples in attendance.

The lights went down and The Hardest-Working Man in Show Business hit the stage like a hurricane. The energy was immense and immediate, and people were on their feet instantly, dancing, grinding, bumping, couples interacting with other couples, sharing partners, gyrating to the rhythms of pure joy. James and his supertight band played all the tunes the fans wanted to hear, the moaners and the funky stuff. He grunted, and sang to the crowd, I got you, loud and proud, and told them how Papa's got a mess and a brand new bag, and it's a man's world, and everyone in the auditorium broke out in a cold sweat as the superbad Minister of Funk sang please please please, I love you, yes I do.

It was a seventy-five minute booty-shaking jam, with the congregation moving in sync with smiles on their faces and their organs on high alert. Dixie and Daniel's bodies spent most of the concert in some form of direct contact. They were covered with sweat, and their clothes were soaked-through when they left, two hot, happy, horny prisoners of love. They left the arena arm-in-arm. The night air cooled their sweaty bodies as they walked to the van. Daniel could see the moisture on Dixie's neck where her hair was tied back in a pony, and adored the sight of her thin, red dress that was sweat-plastered to her body with her nipples perked up through the fabric.

For the first time since he'd gotten his new job, Daniel didn't want to go to work. He wanted to tear Dixie's clothes off, lay her down in the back of his van, eat her black pussy and fuck her right there, parked on the city street.

But he didn't, of course. They got in their seats in front and Daniel drove them homeward, and they talked about how incredible the show had been, and held hands when he wasn't shifting gears.

"I wish tonight didn't have to end so early, because I had a fantastic time, but I have to get into work," he said when he pulled up in front of the Dixie's house.

"Hey, how 'bout if I go to work with you? Watch you work for a little while, would that be okay?"

"There're no rules against it. But are you sure? It's not very interesting, watching a guy play records."

"That's not true," she said. "I can stare at your ass." She leaned over and kissed him.