Chapter 1

My name is Jay and I work in radio. That sounds like the introduction at an AA meeting, and many people who work in radio will tell you that it's an addiction also. I work at a small station in California's Central Valley. That rich agricultural area that stretches for hundreds of miles down the center of California, and is dotted with little farming communities.

I'm 35, my wife Jane is 25, we've been married for 5 years and in that time I've worked at 5 different radio stations in 5 different states. Most people in the industry will tell you that's not unusual. Jane will tell you that I'm a loser.

The station I work at is small and plays country music. There used to be a saying in radio that "if in doubt, play country." In California's Central Valley the saying is: "if in doubt, go Spanish." Since I don't speak Spanish, I'm glad we haven't. I work the 11 p.m. to 5 a.m. shift. There's really not much to do. Put on a CD, play commercials (the station still uses cassettes), run the tape of the news, weather, and sports, and read an occasional PSA (public service announcement). Our paying advertisers usually aren't happy to learn that their spot ran at 3:00 in the morning, so mostly we just run PSAs.

If you've ever heard that radio pays well let me put that notation to rest. Oh sure, it pays incredibly well at big stations in major markets. But here in Podunkville, it pays just above the poverty level.

I'm a pretty average guy, except that I have a good voice and a nasty addiction to trying to make a living using it. My wife, Jane, on the other hand, is gorgeous. Long dark, almost black hair, green eyes, she's about 5'6" tall. Wonderful body, fantastic breasts. When she's walking away from me, naked, I can see the bulge of her breasts on either side of her, if you know what I mean. She's a firm, beautiful D cup with pale pink nipples and areola. When she's naked, facing me, I can see daylight at the top of her thighs, where they meet just below her pussy.

Unfortunately, when she's naked in front of me, she usually has her hands on her hips and her mouth moving a mile a minute. And when she's naked walking away, she actually stomping and still letting me have it. I guess you could say that she's unhappy with our current situation. Living in a small crappy rented house, moving every year, scrapping to get by, I can see her point, but I love what I do.

I was asleep at 11:00 in the morning when I heard the telephone ring. Usually that doesn't bother me, but this morning for some reason I woke up. I could hear Jane talking on the phone, arguing with somebody, but trying to be quiet.

"You bastard," I heard her say.

She listened for a minute. "Damn it, all right you bastard. But only this once. Like you promised me."

More listening. "OK. Be here about 1:00 in the morning. And come to the backdoor. I don't want anybody to see. And don't try to be funny."

What the fuck was this? 1:00 in the morning, I'd be working. The backdoor? What the hell?

I tried to get back to sleep, but couldn't. Jane of course was her usual charming self until I left for work about 10:00 p.m. We hadn't had sex in several months, and I don't think she'd enjoyed it much when we did. But I missed it. I missed it a lot.

At the station I recorded that night's announcements and PSAs. I often do that in advance anyway. I don't like the idea of waking from a semi-slumber at 2:00 and fumbling for paper and sounding like I need to clear my throat.

Vern, the engineer was late, as usual. I don't really know why we had an engineer on anyway, he didn't do much, but Vern was an OK guy. He looks a little like Tommy Chong, and I think he was a hippie back in the 60's. He's been around radio forever, and he's pretty sure that music peaked with "The Grateful Dead."

Pretty much all we do at night is put on a CD, put on the news, weather, and sports tape at 5 minutes to the hour, stick in an occasional spot, and read a PSA now and then. Most of the time I don't even announce the music, I just let the CD play. Hell, both of our listeners already know the music much better than I do.

It was 12:30 when I told Vern that I had to go out for a while and asked him to cover. I'd done it dozens of time for him and he had no problem doing it for me. He asked what the next CD should be and I gave him one by a particular artist. Vern loves this guy; he doesn't like the singer at all, doesn't like any country music actually. But ever since he heard the rumor that this guy is gay, he thinks playing his music in this community is the funniest kind of joke there is.

It was 10 minutes to 1:00 when I parked the car. Our little rented house sits at the end of a run down block. Behind the house is a "green belt," which in this case means some trees and weeds, which extend to the next street. I parked on the other side of the "green belt" and made my way to our backyard.

Our house and backyard are small, cluttered, and overgrown with the weeds that the landlord refused to take care of. It was very dark, but I knew where everything was, and made my way close to the backdoor, diving for cover when the back porch light came on.

A few minutes late I heard footsteps coming around the house, and watched in amazement as a young guy moved under the light. He was perhaps in high school, maybe college. Tall, strong looking, good looking too, and very black. I immediately hated the bastard.

He knocked, and I saw Jane answer the door, she wasn't smiling.

"Well, come in," she said.

The best part of our crappy little house is the patio that has two sets of sliding glass doors that enter both the living room and the bedroom. The bad part was that the cheap vinyl curtains didn't do much to block the view inside. Tonight that was a good thing. It was May, but May in the Central Valley can be warm and Jane had left both doors open a little.

I moved as silently as I could to the patio and peeked in.

"Listen cunt, I've had enough of your attitude," I heard the guy say. Oh boy, that's the kind of talk Jane loves! She's going to have his nuts on the wall, I thought.

"I caught you, you know I caught you, and that I have a nice security tape of you trying to lift that clothing from the store," he continued.

"Oh shit," I thought.

"And," he continued. "I don't care if your husband's so pathetic that you don't have any money. If I want, I can send you to jail. Are we clear?"

The comment about her husband hurt, but the sudden look of fear on Jane's face was interesting. I couldn't believe it, seeing her look like that was getting me excited. I found myself breathing a little harder.