“What could it hurt after all these years?” George questioned.
“A promise is a promise, George. As I was saying, the young girl was dressed in what she called civvies — jeans and a T-shirt, wearing nothing to identify that she was in the Army, except her dog tags under her shirt and her military ID in her wallet.”
“We knew that she was one of many against the war,” the Baez fan said. “We heard her folk songs begin to take on a new sound and send out a different message. Came the day when we heard that Joan Baez was going to put on a protest concert right outside the main gate. The main entrance to the Presidio. As the news was being spread about the event, word came down from Headquarters to the Company Commanders.
“Inform your troops to avoid the Main Gate. There will be a protest taking place and it may be a very large group. Police will be on site to keep the peace and we don't want any of our soldiers to be confronted by the protesters. CID will also be present to observe the activities. If any soldier is seen to be taking part, disciplinary measures could result.
“As soon as I passed through the gate, I mixed with the crowd. I gave it some thought and decided that instead of getting right up front, it would be better if I stayed back not quite to the outer edge of the crowd. I could observe the people better and if anyone was watching me, I could step away and go on into town or something. Because of the space in front of the gate, the crowd couldn't get really big so I was close enough to have a good view of the platform where the performers were making music. And there she was! Joan Baez! She was beautiful. Her voice was beautiful. The music was wonderful. The crowd was happy and enjoying the bright sunny day with one of the favorites of San Franciscans. We listened to her music and sang along with some of her hits. A couple of hours later, it was over. Everyone had a good day. If the CID was there, they had nothing to report.”
“What a great story,” Charles stated.
“Yes, it was, but what about you, Norma? Did you sing with the living legend?” George teased.
“Oh, no, my dear. It was a peace march, and my voice would have caused a riot.”
Breakfast — Melinda Blackstone-Livingston, Chris Blackstone-Livingston, Norma Shelby, and George Kirk
We moved our lovemaking to the shower, where with the help of the handheld showerhead, I took my wife once again into orgasmic orbit. God, I love doing that. We finally made it down to the dining room, and found Norma and George already there, just starting their breakfast. Dang, did we get up that early?
“Are you up late, or are we up really early?” I asked, looking at my watch. It was eight a.m.
“I’d say we’re a little late and you’re a little early,” George joked.
“So, how was everyone’s weekend?” Chris asked, as she scooped up a spoonful of scrambled eggs.
“Well, let’s see, I got married, and had lots of kinky sex in the—”
“All right, you. I don’t think they need the details,” Chris laughed, stuffing a piece of egg into my mouth, her eyes sparkling. Beautiful.
“Hey, I can live vicariously,” George kidded.
“Who’s to say we weren’t all with someone having kinky sex, dear?” Norma asked.
“Did you sleep with my butler, Norma?” I asked animatedly.
“I assure you, Madame, I am a professional and would never—”
I stopped, almost dropping my plate full of food. “No! No, I’m sorry Charlotte. I was speaking about Charles, my parents’ butler.”
“Oh, yes, we exchange a few war stories,” Charlotte replied, pouring more coffee in Chris’ cup.
“War stories?” I huffed. Charlotte smiled and left the dining room. “If it was with Jeeves, Norma, I don’t want to hear about it.”
Charles was the stable male figure in my life, and though he never knew it, I looked up to him. To envision him having sex with Norma would be worse than when I walked in on my parents. Ew!
“Jeeves?” Norma asked. “Oh, you mean Charles. He told me about how you two have cute little nicknames for each other.”
“Cute?” I scoffed. Maybe when I was ten it was cute, but it was more of an endearment now.
“I should have said affectionate,” Norma stated.
“So, was it him?” Chris asked curiously.
“Yeah, do we need to plan a double wedding?” I laughed.
“No to both questions,” Norma said. “Charles is a wonderful, gentle man, who will make someone a wonderful husband, but he has this vision of me from fifty years ago, when I was an actress. I’m not that person anymore.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m too upset by that,” I said. “I kind of like you hanging with us.”
“I kind of like it, too, Melinda,” Norma replied.
Kate walked in carrying her always present portfolio and iPad. She set them down on the table and went to the buffet table. As she filled her plate, she asked, “So, how was everyone’s weekend?”
All four of us laughed at once.
She turned and looked at us. “All right, what did I miss?”
“People having sex, dear,” Norma quipped.
“Well, that lets me out,” Kate laughed. “So, Melinda, I took the liberty of reinstating your agenda from last week, and just talked with the manager of the radio station. He said he will make himself available all day today and looks forward to your visit.”
“Of course he does. That’s excellent work, Kate,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Happy to help,” she replied. She set her plate down on top of her portfolio and handed me a file folder marked KWOX FM 98.9, then she went back to the coffee maker. “And, Chris, I’m on my way to make some calls for your scholarship winner,” she added.
“That can wait until after you eat, Kate. Come, join us,” Chris insisted.
“Yes, my dear. You must keep your strength up for the baby.”
“That baby has enough strength for both of us,” Kate said without humor. She gathered up her things and left the room.
Norma and Chris exchanged a glance but said nothing.
“What the hell was that about?” I asked.
“Fear, dear,” Norma replied.
What’s Wrong? — Chris Blackstone-Livingston and Kate Stana
Kate was sitting at the small desk in the tiny office just to the left of the living room, entering something on her iPad. Her breakfast plate sat untouched on the corner of the desk.
“I thought I’d find you here,” I said cheerfully.
“Are you here to fire me?” she asked.
“What? No. Why would you think that?”
“Because I’m not a good mother,” she replied without inflection.
“Bullshit,” I barked. “I’ve seen you with that baby, remember?” She looked off at some invisible spot on the wall, and I wondered if she was hearing me. Maybe if I try a different approach. “Kate, what’s it like to have a baby?”
“Are you thinking about having one, Chris?”
“Yes, sometime in the future. But I do want to know what to expect, not only just being pregnant, but giving birth as well.”
“Being pregnant is wonderful and terrifying,” she explained. “It’s the hardest responsibility you’ll ever have.”
“Is that why you’re afraid, Kate?”
She looked at me with marble-sized eyes that quickly filled with tears. Norma had been right. Kate was afraid of being a mother. Will I feel the same way when I have a baby? That’s a joke, I’m terrified now just thinking about it.
Kate lowered her head again and nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid.”
“But why? Are you worried about your job? Because you needn’t be, you’re doing an excellent job and Melinda and I are very pleased with your performance.”
“Thank you, but it’s not my job. I love this job, and both of you have been so great to me. No, I’ve said too much already. It’s not something an employee talks about with her boss. I hope you’ll understand.”
I hadn’t come to her as her boss. In fact, I d
idn’t feel like anyone’s boss. It wasn’t that long ago that I said I didn’t want to have staff underfoot, but now I can see the necessity and yes, the luxury of having them around. I got used to that luxury very quickly. “Even if I assure you it will not affect your job?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, staring at me shyly.
“I understand. Perhaps you could talk with your mother about it when you get back?” I suggested.
“Oh, no. She wouldn’t understand. She’s still pretty mad at me for getting pregnant in the first place. Both my parents are.”
Her mother reminded me a lot of Melinda’s father, condescending and critical. I could see why Kate wouldn’t want to open herself up to that kind of scrutiny. Unlike Melinda, who didn’t seem to be worried about any repercussions from her father. I’ve come to understand that their arguing was the only way they could communicate, the only way they could connect. Perhaps, in some odd way, that was the only way they could show their love for one another. Still, when Melinda has a bad argument with her father, like Friday night, it hangs thick in the air for days afterward, though she wouldn’t admit to it. I admire the fact that she didn’t let it interfere with her need to make love to me. Does that make me self-centered? Maybe, but it also makes me horny.
“What?” Kate asked.
“What, what?” I asked confused.
“You’re smiling, and your face flushed,” she said.
“Oh, um, sorry. I was just… uh, never mind. Okay, I’ll leave you to it, but remember, you can always talk to any one of us.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it,” she replied.
I walked out of the office and back to the dining room, where I knew Melinda would be having seconds by now, and Norma would still be enjoying her coffee. I passed George on his way out, saying that he was going to the library to do some research.
“Well, did she say anything?” Melinda asked, scooping up a healthy helping of scrambled eggs.
“No, she won’t talk to me because I’m her boss,” I said, “and she won’t talk with her mother because she’s too stringent, like your father, Melinda.”
“Oh, that’s rough. Would it do any good if I talked with her?” Melinda ask.
“No, you’re her boss, too,” I answered.
“What she needs is a grandmother,” Norma offered.
Melinda and I looked at her and then at each other and laughed. “I think you are exactly right, Norma,” Melinda said. “And since you’re the only grandmother here, I nominate you.”
“Me too,” I chirped in. “I’d nominate you even if you weren’t a grandmother.”
“Thank you, dear, I think,” Norma said.
“Okay, I’m stuffed,” Melinda declared, pushing her empty plate back. “Wanna tag along with me to talk with the manager at the radio station, Chris?”
“Sure. Give me a minute to check my face and I’ll be right with you,” I said.
Chapter Seven
Music Man — Melinda Blackstone-Livingston, Chris Blackstone-Livingston, and Jarod Craddock
As I drove us across town, Chris read the report on KWOX 98.9 that Kate had given me. The station was an independent radio studio in the Haight-Ashbury district and was owned by Jarod Craddock, the general manager we were on our way to meet. The station had a limited listening area and played mostly sixties and seventies music, which would be consistent with the owners age, sixty-four. Craddock had been the sole owner, and the station was on the market because he was ready to retire. The price was undisclosed, but I was already thinking about buying it.
The station was tucked away on a back road behind the main drag. I pulled into a two-car parking lot, and parked in the only space available. The red brick building was small, a fourth of the size of one of my bathrooms, and had a dilapidated air conditioner hanging out of its window. Damn, how old is this place? Of course, I knew how old it was, because Kate’s report said that it was built in 1978.
We climbed out of the SUV and walked inside. The entrance was a small, drab hallway, with peeling wallpaper and tattered carpet that looked like it was the original shag carpeting from the seventies. In a word, the place was a dump. We could see the glass-covered control booth straight ahead of us and the man inside stood up and waved for us to enter. As we opened the door to the booth, he held up his finger to his lips, telling us to be quiet.
He pulled the microphone closer to him and said, “From 1973, here’s Marvin Gaye with Let’s Get it On.” He hit a button on the computer and the song began to play, then he pushed the mic back and turned to us. “Are you Blackie Blackstone?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, and this is my wife, Chris Livingston,” I replied.
“Christine Blackstone-Livingston,” Chris said, glancing at me.
As much as I loved the sound of that, I knew it would take me some time to remember to say it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you. My name is Jarod Craddock, and I am the owner and general manager that you asked to meet with. Your assistant wouldn’t give me any details, but I imagine you’re here to do business? Is that right?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I wanted to talk with you about a former deejay of yours, John Mooney, who you laid off a few months ago.”
Jarod’s face paled, and he averted his eyes. “Uh, what about him?”
I got the feeling he had a problem with John. “What can you tell me about him? You know, was he a hard worker, reliable, that kind of thing?”
“Are you thinking of hiring him, or something?” he asked.
“Yes, something like that,” I replied evasively.
“Well, he was a hard worker and reliable, and at one time I was thinking of promoting him to assistant manager, but he developed a drinking problem that was starting to interfere with his job,” he explained.
“How so?” Chris asked.
“He was on the night shift and passed out while on the air. For most of the night there was nothing but static on the airwaves.”
“Static? Don’t you program your music in advance?” I asked. My father owned several stations and I was with him when he bought his last one. They showed us how everything was automated and state-of-the-art. I guess I thought all radio stations were that way. Man, was I wrong.
“Yes, everything’s programmed on the computer, but the deejay is live. He has to give station identification, and time and temp after three plays, so it’s not like the program is on autopilot.”
“I’m sorry, I’m confused. How do you know the radio was off the air most of the night?” Chris asked.
“Because, the next song that was cued to play was scheduled for midnight, and when I arrived at five a.m., it was still cued up. My advertisers were not pleased.”
“I’ll bet. So is that when you fired him? Uh, I mean laid him off?” I asked. I’ve never been fired or laid off from a job, but they both sound the same to me. Either way, you’re out of a job. Of course, I’ve only had one job in my life, and that was for a few weeks working in a restaurant as a waitress. It was part of the test to prove to Chris that I could live on a waitress’ salary. I passed the test and was damn proud of myself, but deep down, I knew that my money was still there, waiting for me.
“I had no choice. If the FCC found out, they’d shut me down. I told him to get himself into a program before it was too late, but…” Jarod raked his hand across his chin, and took a deep breath. “He became irate, angry and out of control. I called the police and had him physically removed from the premises.”
“Man, that’s rough.”
“Jarod, some people turn to the bottle because of some tragedy, or because of something pressing down on them,” Chris said. “And some people drink just to drink. In your personal opinion, do you think he’s redeemable?”
“Yes, I do. If he gets help before it’s too late. He lost everything in the crash of ‘08, and never recovered from it, but I don’t know if that’s what drove him to drink or not. I just fear that my laying him off was the final str
aw for him.”
“That’s what I’m here to do, help him get back on his feet,” I said, wondering exactly how I would do that.
Music Man — Chris Blackstone-Livingston and Melinda Blackstone-Livingston
“Chris, what do you think about me buying the station and putting John in charge of it?” Melinda asked, as we pulled out of the station’s parking lot.
“How would that be any different from just handing money to him?” I asked.
“I’m not giving him the station, I’m giving him a job, and a reason to forgive me,” she rationalized.
“Your hearts in the right place,” I replied. “But I think you should wait until we know everything there is to know about him. Jarod said he was a violent drunk, and that makes him dangerous. Who knows what else he’s capable of? He could be an axe murderer for all we know.”
Melinda chuckled. “You watch too much television.”
“No, I drank too much on the streets, remember?” I stated. “People play games, say they’re your friend and then steal your liquor.”
“Damn, baby.”
“That’s one of the reasons it took me so long to trust you, sweetheart,” I confessed.
“Because you thought that I was just another drunk after your liquor, metaphorically speaking.”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry,” Melinda said. “If only I could have been there for you.”
“Oh, but you were, Melinda. I used to dream about you before I even knew you.”
“You did? Kinky,” she joked.
“No, silly. It wasn’t that kind of dream. Well, not at first, anyway. After we had words at the restaurant, and I lost my job, I was furious with you, of course.”
“Yeah, I was a pompous ass,” she admitted.
“Yes, you were, but that night, I dreamed you came and scooped me up, and carried me off to your grand palace. Don’t you see, honey? My dream came true.”
As mad as I was that day at her impertinence, I was even more in awe of her beauty. Melinda was tall, sleek, muscular, and sensual, and she knew it. But there was a hint of a heart buried underneath her cloak of self-importance. I pushed her away time after time, but she kept coming back, like a puppy dog wanting to be loved. I’m just so glad that I gave her a chance.
Separating Riches Page 8
