Page 70 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“And you’re wondering why your wife resents all the time you spend playing golf?”

“Well...”

Matt could almost see the guy squirming in his chair.

“Marvin. Grow up. Get with the program. You’re lucky you haven’t been murdered in your sleep or had your golf balls cut off.”

Matt grinned. Olivia looked like an avenging angel ready to swoop down and give old Marvin a head butt with her halo.

“Marvin. Your wife and children deserve more of you than what you’re squeezing in between golf games.”

"I’ve already traded the Porsche for a Suburban, and I’ve cut my golf trips down to two a year. A guy’s gotta have some fun.”

“Marvin. Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”

“Well, I...”

“Marvin. Fix it. Do better. Please. Or the next show you’ll be appearing on will be Divorce Court.”

And then she dumped the call. Impressed despite himself, Matt nonetheless wanted to rub his hands together in glee. After hearing Olivia maul Marvin that way, 90 percent of the waiting calls had probably hung up. He’d just sit here and watch her shoot off her own foot with all that feminist business. Guys didn’t want to hear that kind of stuff.

“Well, look at those phone lines light up,” Olivia crowed. “Hang on, fellas,” she said as she prepared to punch up a commercial. “I want to talk to each and every one of you.”

Olivia turned to Matt. “This is kind of fun. Maybe I’ve been preaching to the wrong half of the relationship all this time.” She stood and stretched, drawing his gaze up her long torso, over her gorgeous breasts, and up her long, sinewy arms. She threatened everything he cared about: his show, his equilibrium, and, at the moment, his ego, and still he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She brought a Diet Coke back to the audio board with her and sipped it thoughtfully, totally tuning him out as she prepared to take her next call. It galled him that she could do that when all he could think about was her. And it irritated him even more thathislisteners seemed to be falling all over themselves to talk to her. Traitors.

The next caller was young Jason of Fantasy Island fame. Matt perked up.

“Hi, Dr. O.” Jason’s voice broke on the “O,” turning it into a painful symphony of sounds.

“Hi, Jason. Are you sure you’re allowed to be up this late?”

“Sure.” His voice broke in the middle of the word, and Matt bit back a laugh. Olivia hastily disguised hers behind a cough.

“So, what are you calling about, Jason? No more raft fantasies, I hope.”

"No’m.” Jason evidently had a parent somewhere who believed in manners. “I’m real sorry about that. My mom says it’s this puberty thing. I... well, I’m always imagining everyone naked.”

“Gee.” Olivia’s tone was dry. “That is rough. Now, what can I do for you?”

“Well, actually.” He cleared his throat, and his voice broke, yet again. “That is my problem.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Every time I see a good-looking woman—even older ones like you—I...”

Olivia blinked, and once again Matt managed not to laugh.

“I get, um, well, you know. Sometimes I can barely walk. And I spend a lot of time hiding behind things until I can get the picture out of my mind, you know?”

“Well, Jason, I think that—”

“I mean, I even imagine my Sunday school teacher without her clothes on. Religion class is getting really rough.”

Unable to stop himself, Matt laughed out loud as memories of his own adolescent fantasies came rushing back to him. One of the steamiest had starred Victoria Ramsfeld, the local librarian.

Olivia shot him a murderous look but kept her tone calm as she addressed her caller. “Jason, I think that—”

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