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
“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
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