Separating Riches (8 page)

“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 didn’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 straw 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.

She picked up my hand and kissed it, sending butterflies fluttering around in my heart.

“I’m so glad your dream came true, because I had the same dream,” she said, holding out her arm.

I scooted over and nestled under her arm, enjoying the warmth of her body next to mine. It was all so new, being married, and yet it felt so completely right, as if we had always been together.

“Honey, let me talk with John alone, and see what I can find out,” I said. “If he’s still drinking, I don’t think there’s much we can do to help him other than encourage him to get help, like Jarod tried to do.”

“No, absolutely not!” she shouted. “Uh, I mean, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. If he’s drunk he could be dangerous and you could be hurt.”

“I’ve fought off drunks before,” I assured her. Granted, I didn’t tell her about the black eye I got when I did.

“I don’t care. I don’t want you anywhere near that man until we’re sure he’s sober.”

“I love the way you want to protect me,” I said, patting her thigh. “It feels so good to let someone else defend me for a while. But, honey, I really can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, Chris, but I can’t stand by and do nothing.”

“All right, then I’ll talk with his wife, Teresa, and try to find out if John is still drinking and if she’s being abused.”

Melinda nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like a good option.”

Grandmother for Hire — Norma Shelby
and
Kate Stana

“I’m so proud of you, and I love you too, honey,” I said, staring at my great-granddaughter through the computer monitor. Melinda had set up a computer in the corner of the family room, so that I could Skype with my grandson and great-grandchildren in Texas. I still marvel at how afraid of computers I used to be. Now, I just tap on the mouse and see my family 1500 miles away.

Just as I clicked off the computer, Kate walked in, carrying a bowl of grapes. “Taking a break, dear?” I asked, moving from the desk to the recliner.

“Yes, ma’am. I needed to get out of the office for a bit.”

I imagined that office could be stifling, it was so small. “Why don’t you use the computer over there for your work? It’s the same as the one in that tiny office you’re in, isn’t it? At least out here, you can breathe.”

“I’d like that, but Melinda said I could use the office, so I’d better do as she says,” Kate replied, and then popped a grape into her mouth.

I looked at her closely. She still had that young teenage aura about her, even though she was twenty years old. And where most young adults looked at things indifferently, she was very literal.

“I don’t think Melinda meant for you to stay confined to that office all day. I’m sure it was offered merely because it was an office, a quiet place for you to work. But I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t work out here when you wanted.”

“Really? You think it’d be all right?” she questioned.

“Of course, dear,” I assured her. “I would think that it doesn’t matter where you work, as long as you get the work done.”

“Thanks,” she said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Kate, do you like working for Melinda and Chris?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” she replied. “Very much so. They’ve been so wonderful to me, treating me with respect.”

Hearing the pride when she said respect, led me to believe that was something she yearned for. “And that’s something you don’t get much at home, is it, Kate?”

“No, ma’am,” she replied.

I knew there had to be more to the story, but I wasn’t going to pry. Well, not about that anyway. “Is it just you and your parents at home, Kate?”

“Yes, ma’am. I moved back in with my parents after everyone was evicted from my apartment building.”

“Oh, that’s right. Melinda told me you also lived in those apartments. I was in apartment 7C on the fifth floor.”

“You lived there, too?” she asked disbelievingly. “Wow, I didn’t know. I lived on the floor above you. But I don’t remember ever seeing you there.”

“You probably didn’t see me because I never came out of my apartment. Not until I met Chris and Melinda.”

“But you’re so outgoing and fun to be with,” she stated.

“Thank you, dear. I am also old and terribly afraid,” I divulged.

“Afraid? What are you afraid of, Norma?”

I leaned in and asked, “Can you keep it a secret?”

“Yes, ma’am. Better than anyone I know,” she replied sincerely.

“Everyone’s afraid of something, Kate, and I’m afraid of dying alone. But now, I live with two beautiful girls whom I care deeply for, and I have my family back. I can’t ask for anything more.”

“That’s so sweet, Norma,” she said.

“And what are you afraid of, Kate?”

She looked down at the bowl of grapes in her lap, and I believed that she was making the decision to trust me.

She looked back at me. “Norma, can you keep a secret?”

“Yes, better than anyone I know,” I said, winking at her.

She laughed. “Okay, well, my parents are probably going to get a divorce, and they’re fighting about me.”

“About you? I don’t understand, you’re an adult.”

“Yes, but they’re fighting over who gets stuck with me and the baby,” she said bitterly.

“Oh, my. I’m so sorry you feel that way,” I replied.

“I’ve felt that way since I was ten. You see, I’m adopted,” Kate explained. “My mother died when I was a baby. Then my step-mother adopted me after she married my father when I was nine. I think she only adopted me to please my father. Then he died when I was ten. She remarried a year later to a bastard of a man. Oh, excuse my language.”