Success did not come easy for this 37-year-old Chicago native. In 1993 he was driving trains for the Chicago Transit Authority and struggling to keep a small business from going under. In 1995 he released his first book,
Never Satisfied: How and Why Men Cheat, a controversial book of short stories about unfaithful men and the women who support their irresponsible behavior. The large New York publishing companies rejected his work, saying it wasn't marketable -- which basically meant, it wasn't good enough. Not willing to concede defeat, Michael decided to self-publish. He borrowed money from friends and family, charged his credit cards to the limit, and sold his automobile.
Within eight months, he sold more than 50,000 books and was on Essence and Emerge magazines best sellers' lists. He toured with black expos, sorority conventions, and book fairs. He even signed books at the local nightclubs, and hair salons.
"I was determined to make it!" he says. "I would sell books at a funeral if they let me."
Eventually, his popularity grew and so did the demand for his next book. This time, instead of writing another book on relationships, Michael took a gamble on a novel. "There was a void in African-American novels written by men," he explained. "I wanted to destroy the myth that men don't read."
In July of 1997 he released his second book, Men Cry in the Dark. Once again, the book was a big success, selling 30,000 hard cover editions during the first six months. This time the national media paid attention. Michael has been a guest on several local and national radio programs, including the syndicated Tom Joyner Morning Show. His electrifying personality has earned repeated appearances on talk shows such as Ricki Lake, Sally Jesse, Maury Povich, and The View. He has also been a guest host for Tavis Smiley on BET Tonight.
By the summer of 1997, demand for his appearances were overwhelming. Organizations, book clubs, and retail stores were frantically trying to book him. But Michael wasn't about to go back to doing business as usual. The local retail stores were too small to accommodate his large following and organizations refused to pay honorarium. He decided it was time to promote his own seminars. And he called it, The Love, Lust and Lies tour. Unlike traditional book signings, the events were held in auditoriums and lavish hotel ballrooms, usually on Saturday nights from 9-11 P.M. And best of all, he could charge admission, which was only $10.
Michael was careful not to turn-off his customers for the sake of a quick buck. "My goal was to make sure everyone took something positive away from the experience. If I broke even, I was happy," he said. The cost of promoting a successful event was beginning to add up. With the cost of radio advertisement averaging $5000, and rental fees for hotel ballrooms $2500, it was clear to Michael that he needed help. That help came in the form of radio stations cosponsoring the events. They ran additional commercials, gave away tickets, and in some cases, broadcasted live from the seminar. Other sponsors, such as banking institutions, credit card companies, and magazines soon came aboard with solid financial support. Michael could now concentrate on promoting bigger and more elaborate shows.
At the 1997 and the 1999 Expo in Cleveland, the seminar attracted over 3,000 women. "In 1997 it was so crowded the fire department closed off the floor," Michael recalls. In other markets such as Atlanta, Los Angeles, Charlotte, and Detroit the seminar has become a highly anticipated annual event. The interest was so great that Michael produced a video with excerpts from various shows and sold it through direct mail. The name of the video was, of course, Love, Lust, and Lies. During the first week of its release, the tape sold more than one thousand copies. Lastly, in 1999 he self published his most recent novel, The Maintenance Man. The main character, Malcolm, is a handsome gigolo looking to break out of the game. Michael says, "It was my way of letting the world know that not all men enjoy cheating and playing women. Eventually you have to grow up." As expected, it climbed quickly to the top of the best sellers' list and cemented Michael as one of the top authors in the country. No doubt he was already "The" most controversial and entertaining.
Michael is currently living in Houston, TX and is working on several projects for 2001. He is holding down his responsibilities as CEO of Legacy Publishing. Also, well-known Hollywood producer, Rueben Cannon, has optioned his latest novel, The Maintenance Man, for a movie. And most recently, Michael signed a deal with Tribune Broadcasting to host his long anticipated national talk show, "Talk or Walk" scheduled to air in the fall of 2001. Details of these events will be posted on his site and his monthly newsletter, so be sure to sign on!
Prologue: Consequences I was fighting to stay conscious as the paramedics rushed me down the corridor of my office building. In the distance I could hear gunfire and horns blowing.
"You chose one hellava way to bring in the New Year, Mr. Payne," the paramedic said.
"Where's my daughter?" I asked while trying to sit up. "And where's Terri?"
"Please lie still. You'll only make the bleeding worse."
The radio station was on the twenty fifth floor. I didn't feel strong enough to make it to the ambulance -- let alone the hospital. The bullet had penetrated my left side and exited through my back. It burned like hell.
"Am I gonna die?"
They both paused, then looked at one another as if to seek the other's opinion. That terrified me. Once we boarded the elevator, they began broadcasting my vital signs into the radio. I didn't know the significance of the blood pressure and heart rate numbers, but judging by the urgency in their voices, I was in trouble.
"Where's my daughter? And where's Terri?" I asked again.
"Relax, Mr. Payne, your daughter is -- "
He stopped in mid-sentence as the elevator doors opened on the lobby level. Suddenly, a wave of photographers and reporters rushed towards me. I was blinded by a barrage of flashing lights. Although my vision was blurred, I could see the outline of several husky policemen clearing a path.
"Julian, can you tell us what happened?" a reporter yelled out.
"Who shot the security guard?" another shouted while shoving a microphone in my face.
"Fuckin' vultures!"
I tried to lift my hand to shield my bloody face but my arms were strapped down. The yelling was deafening -- like a continuous roar. The paramedics tried to move faster, but it was no use. The lobby was packed with policemen, reporters, and nosy fans who had come to watch. The atmosphere was festive, like a circus.
"Get out of the way, please!" the paramedics yelled. "This man is in critical condition! Move, move, move!"
The paramedics fought through the main doors, but once we made it outside we came to an abrupt stop. The crowd was even larger. People were jumping up on the hoods of their cars trying to get a better look. As the brisk night air blew across my bloody face, their loud voices suddenly faded -- replaced by sirens and the humming of the helicopter blades. I could feel the blood soaking through the bandages. It was obvious from the paramedic's expression that we were running out of time. The ambulance was only a few yards away but the crowd was out of control. When they continued to push, the cops pushed back -- violently. People were knocked to the pavement and trampled.
"I love you, Julian!" a woman screamed as she struggled to get off the ground.
"I'm your number one fan!" another woman shouted as she lifted her blouse, exposing her breasts.
Suddenly a woman lunged towards me and ripped the sleeve off my blood soaked shirt.
"Aarrgh!" I screamed.
"Now I'll always have a piece of you," she said. Her hazel eyes and deranged stare were all too familar.
"Move back!" The cops yelled as they pulled her away. "Move back, dammit!"
The stretcher seemed to move towards the ambulance in slow motion. I was growing weaker. I fought hard to stay conscious -- to stay alive. I gazed up at the flashing lights from the squad cars as they danced across the dark sky and against the nearby glass buildings. It reminded me of the Fourth of July in Chicago.
I wish I had seen the fireworks on Lake Michigan this summer. I thought to myself. And I never did see the view from the top of Sears Tower. I wish I had gone to Sam's first basketball game when she was seven. I wish I could be with Terri when my baby is born. But most of all, I wish I had never met Olivia Brown. She was the reason I was bleeding to death in Houston, Texas on New Year's Eve.
How could she go this far? I wondered as they lifted me into the ambulance. And why did she choose me?
Copyright © 2002 by Michael Baisden
Chapter One
Jasmine scented candles illuminated the studio -- creating a spiritual ambiance. I reclined in my chair as I listened to the song "Is it a Crime" by Sade. The candles had become a ritual ever since I started at WTLK back in '89. The flickering light and smell of jasmine were relaxing and made me more introspective -- aromatherapy, they called it.
The faint candlelight also served as a camouflage for the dilapidated condition of the studio. The carpet was covered with decade old cigarette burns, the plaster was falling off the ceiling, and the exposed water pipe leaked into an old Folgers coffee can. "Sade, your song is right on time," I said as I glanced around the room. "This place is a crime."
Just before the song ended, I put on my headphones and adjusted the volume to the mic. The digital clock on the console read 11:55 PM. "Five more minutes and I'm outta this dump!" I said with contempt. My producer, Mitch, was in the control booth next door setting up the calls. I could see him through the large soundproof window. I switched on the intercom to get his attention.
"Well, Mitch, in a few minutes it'll all be over," I told him. "The final episode of The Green Hornet and Kato."
"Don't be so dramatic, Julian," he said in his usual smooth tone. "It's not the end of the world, just another phase in life."
"Listen to you, sounding all philosophical. That must be one of the benefits of old age."
"Who you callin' old?"
Mitch had smooth dark brown skin and short black hair with grey streaks. He looked very distinguished but he had recently turned fifty-five and was getting touchy about his age.
"Look, we can arm wrestle for your Viagra prescription later," I laughed. "Right now, let's get to work and try to wrap up the show on time."
There were five people on hold. Mitch printed their names in bold letters on a piece of paper and taped it to the window. That was our sophisticated communication system. "Five, four, three, two -- ," I heard Mitch count. Then he pointed at me to signal we were on the air.
"Welcome back to Love, Lust, and Lies on WTLK," I said in my deep radio voice. "We only have enough time for two calls, so let's go straight to the phones. Adam, you're on. What's your question or issue?"
"Hey, Julian! I just want to congratulate you on your new show," he said. "I hope you don't get big-headed and forget where you came from when you blow up."
"Negro, please! I've been struggling in this business for fifteen years. I've never been about money or fame," I told him. "I've never owned a new car, don't own a nice watch, I cut my own hair, and every night I go home to a ten-year-old girl who's goin' through puberty. Now, if that doesn't keep you grounded, nothing will. Thanks for calling." (Click)
Mitch was laughing his ass off because he knew I was telling the truth. I drove a beat up 1994 Toyota Camry, which I bought used in 1996. And my scratched up Gucci was ten years old. I laughed myself because when I looked down at it, it had stopped working -- again.
"Okay, Sharon. You're my last caller!" I said as I pushed the button to line two. "What's your question or issue?"
"My question is about love and commitment," she sounded depressed.
"We don't have much time, sweetheart, what's your point?"
"My point is, when you love someone you should stand by them no matter what, right?"
"I agree, if you truly love someone, nothing should come between you."
"Well, I thought my husband loved me, until --
She stopped in mid-sentence.
"Come on! It can't be that serious," I said jokingly trying to cheer her up. "What happened? Did you gain a little weight, loose your job, get a bad hair weave? What?"
"No, Julian, he left me because I was raped. The doctors said the damage was so severe I'll never be able to bear children," she said. Then she began to cry. "And after going through that hell, can you believe that no-good bastard had the nerve to tell me it was my fault that I got raped? How's that for love and commitment?"
I hit the mute button on my microphone and buried my head into my hands. When I looked up at Mitch, I knew he was thinking exactly what I was thinking. Why tonight -- of all nights? The clock on the console read, 11:56. We were almost out of time. But I was determined not to end my last show on a negative note.
"Are you all right Sharon?" I asked. "Do you want me to put you in touch with a therapist?"
"No, Julian, thank you. I'll be fine. It happened a long time ago." She quickly composed herself. "I'm just sick and tired of men using the word love at their convenience. The only thing they love is getting pus --
"Hold up," I cut her off, "I get the point! And you're right, love is a serious word -- men shouldn't say it if they don't mean it."
"Have you ever been in love, Julian?"
"Hold on a second, who's interviewing who?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. But I was just wondering if there's ever been a woman worthy of your love."
I paused for a second as I reminisced on my wife, Carmen. Her picture was right in front of me, the one we took in Vegas on our honeymoon. I never spoke about her on the air since that day -- it was too painful. But I decided to open up. Maybe I was caught up in the moment, or by the vulnerability in Sharon's voice.
"Yes, I've been in love -- once," I told her.
"Are you still with her?"
"No, she's gone -- cancer took her."
"I guess we have something in common, Julian," she said, then she hesitated. "We're both alone."
Mitch was nodding in agreement. We both knew why. But I wasn't about to go there on the air.
"Like you said, it happened a long time ago," I told her. "You've got to let go of the pain in order to move on. And speaking of moving on, it's time for me get out of here."
The phone lines were ringing off the hook, but there was no time left for calls. The management at WTLK was strict about ending segments on time, especially si...
