Read Breaking the Ties That Bind Online
Authors: Gwynne Forster
Breaking the Ties That Bind (4 page)
“Yes. I like classical music, easy listening pop, blues, and jazz. I liked the country music of the 1990s, but these days, most of it sounds like misguided rock. I like opera, but that sounds better on TV than on records.”
“What about hip-hop?”
“Well, I, uh . . . I hate it.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. Honesty is a good thing. What kind of hours can you work?” He strummed the fingers of his left hand on his desk for a few seconds. “For the hours nine to five, you get forty-five thousand yearly, but if you work from five to one, you get fifty. However, I don’t advise trying to work those night hours and going to school the next morning. That’s harrowing. If necessary, you could switch to part time. Which hours do you prefer?”
“Either schedule works for me, since I’m not in school right now—though nine to five would be wonderful for a change.” She couldn’t hide her eagerness and sat forward. “Are you going to offer me something? Maybe when school opens and I get my class schedule, we can work something out.”
“Would you work as a disc jockey? Not on open air, but playing the kind of music you hear in supermarkets, stores, and such places. I’m phasing it out and installing an automated system. But if you do well, I’ll put you in a spot on live radio.”
Her eyes widened. “I’d love to do that. Who would choose the music?”
“My program director. Incidentally, we don’t play rap and hip-hop.”
She let out a deep breath. “Thank the Lord for that.”
“All right. Will two weeks notice do for White?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Howell, but I’d like to give him at least that much. Now, we haven’t discussed benefits.”
“You get two weeks’ sick leave, two weeks’ vacation, full health coverage, and you can have a 401K account. I’ll give you a two-year contract, but it will specify thirty days notice for any change you need to make or if you want to leave. I’d like you to start two weeks from Monday. I think this is a fair deal.”
“I think so, too.” What she didn’t say was how impressed she was with a rich man who behaved with the utmost civility. Not even her own boss, a middle manager, seemed able to remain businesslike and completely impersonal with her.
“Then we’ll give you a contract. Wait out in the reception room for a short while, please. Oh yes, and if there’s anything I hate, it’s to hear no sound coming from that mike. Got it?”
“Absolutely.”
“This job ought to see you through college. So get moving.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I promise you won’t be sorry.”
“I’m sure of that, Miss Richards. I’m a good judge of people.”
Less than an hour later, she’d signed a contract that almost guaranteed she’d have an opportunity to complete her bachelor’s degree. She felt like splurging on something frivolous, thought better of it, and decided to treat herself to lunch at a Chinese restaurant. She sat at a table near the front and was reading the menu when a familiar voice got her attention. A glance upward brought her mother’s friend Angela into her line of vision. The woman seated herself without waiting for an invitation.
“Child, your mother took Violet and me to one spiffy lunch at the Willard a little while back. She said she was flush. I sure did enjoy that lobster. First I ever ate. Honey, when I have to eat out, and I’m paying, Chinese is my level. But not Ginny. Honey, your mother has style. She is
some
lady.”
some
lady.”
“Yes,” Kendra said, her appetite for food of any kind or price range suddenly gone. “If you don’t mind, I’d better run. This is my lunch hour.” She hadn’t lied. It would have been her lunch hour if Angela’s story hadn’t ruined it for her.
The idea of her mother taking her money—money she’d saved for college—and blowing it on her friends!
If she needed evidence that Ginny Hunter didn’t care about her, that alone would suffice. She hadn’t had her furniture reupholstered with the nearly four thousand dollars she’d borrowed, or used the twenty-seven hundred dollar loan to move to the apartment she said she had lined up. And she took the fifteen hundred dollars that she borrowed, ostensibly for a down payment on a Lexus, and treated her friends to an expensive meal at the Willard and to who knows what else.
The idea of her mother taking her money—money she’d saved for college—and blowing it on her friends!
If she needed evidence that Ginny Hunter didn’t care about her, that alone would suffice. She hadn’t had her furniture reupholstered with the nearly four thousand dollars she’d borrowed, or used the twenty-seven hundred dollar loan to move to the apartment she said she had lined up. And she took the fifteen hundred dollars that she borrowed, ostensibly for a down payment on a Lexus, and treated her friends to an expensive meal at the Willard and to who knows what else.
A ten-block walk took Kendra to her father’s shop. When he saw her walk in, he immediately washed his hands and removed his apron. “Now, this is a nice surprise. And you look so beautiful, too.” He took both of her hands. “Tell me how you are. I hope Ginny isn’t up to her tricks again.”
She hugged him. “I haven’t heard from her in two weeks, but I’m sure that as soon as she wants something, she’ll call. Papa, I’ve got great news. I just got a new job.”
“Really? Wait a minute and let me get us a cup of coffee.” He called to a man who was waiting on a customer. “Gates, I’m going back in the office with my daughter for a few minutes,” he called to Gates, his employee since he’d opened the store. He turned to Kendra. “Have you had lunch?”
“No, sir.” She told him why she hadn’t eaten lunch.
“Well . . . I don’t know, Kendra. For me, Ginny has one redeeming virtue: she gave me a wonderful daughter, and for that, I will forever be grateful to her.” He took a baked ham shank from the refrigerator, sliced it, and made some sandwiches. “Let’s have a bite.”
Kendra waited until he poured their coffee and then took a seat. “Papa, not long ago, Mama told me that when she was pregnant with me, she wanted to have an abortion, and you wouldn’t let her do it.”
He nearly choked on his sandwich. “She told you
that?
She had no right to tell you that. One of these days, she’s going to be sorry, and I hope I’m around to see it.”
that?
She had no right to tell you that. One of these days, she’s going to be sorry, and I hope I’m around to see it.”
“Oh, it’s okay, Papa. Ninety percent of the time, I feel as if I don’t have a mother, anyway. The other ten percent, I know I have one that I don’t like. I’ve tried so hard to have a mother–daughter relationship with her, but I know now that I never will. I think she’s incapable of love.”
“That’s true, but she’s damned good at pretending. I’m going to be one proud man when you finally wear that cap and gown. If I hadn’t borrowed so heavily to open this shop and have my own business, you’d have finished long ago.”
“And if Mama had been paying the mortgage on our house instead of spending the money on herself and her interests, you wouldn’t have lost the house.”
“I know,” he said, his voice seeming to come from a distance. “I knew then that if I stayed with her, she’d drag me to a bottomless pit.” He leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “It’s been killing me all these years, and I never discussed it with anyone, but talking with you about it, well, I guess I’m over it. You be sure you don’t ever let anybody, man or woman, knock the props out from under you. You hear?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t think you need to worry, Papa. I’ve learned my lesson. I’d better let you get back to work. I love you.”
A smile creased his face and brought sparkles to his eyes. “Of course you do. I’m your papa, and I love you, girl. You take care.” She kissed him good-bye and left, refreshed and feeling very good.
At work the next day, she told Ray of her plans, and because he seemed neither surprised nor inconvenienced, she gave him ten days’ notice, and took a one-week vacation.
With her feet dangling in the Atlantic Ocean at Cape May, the ringing of her cell phone disturbed her calm, and even more so when she saw her mother’s ID on the screen. She was tempted not to answer. But she did.
“This is Ginny.” She never referred to herself as Kendra’s mother.
Having heard that attack was the best defense, Kendra launched one. “If it’s money you want, Mama, I don’t have any. You’re fifty-two years old and healthy. I can’t support you and your habits, so you’ll have to work.”
“What?”
She screamed the word.
She screamed the word.
“That’s right, Mama. I can’t afford to pay for expensive meals for you and your girlfriends at the Willard Hotel. And I don’t appreciate your borrowing my next-to-last dollar under pretense of great need and then wining and dining your friends with it. I’m done. Finished. Period.”
“Don’t you even want to know that I hurt my back, and that I’ve been in and out of the doctor’s office?”
She didn’t believe it. “What’s the doctor’s name and phone number?”
“Are you saying you don’t believe me?”
“If a doctor treated you for back problems, I’ll pay him or her with a check, but I will not give you one dime.”
When the dial tone droned in her ear, she sagged in defeat. It was as if she didn’t have a mother. She put the cell phone away and walked back to her hotel. The only vacation she’d ever had, and Ginny’s call would forever mark Cape May as the place where she finally severed emotional ties with her mother. She’d be courteous to her, but she would not care what Ginny did or where she was. If Howard University wasn’t in Washington, she’d get a job in another city.
Three weeks after she found Clifton Howell’s iPhone, Kendra took a seat in the control room of Howell Enterprises’ Soft Music Studios, picked up a Buddy Guy CD, played “Early in the Morning,” and became a disc jockey.
“What I need,” she said to herself after the first hour, “is a job like this one and a mike on which I can chat with my listeners. If I get these controls right, and if I don’t give him any silence, as he put it, maybe he’ll transfer me to his FM radio station as one of his live disc jocks.”
At lunchtime, she programmed an hour of music and went to the staff cafeteria, although fear that she may have programmed the CDs incorrectly spoiled her appetite.
“No need to get so uptight, doll,” Tabor “Tab” Carter, her FM counterpart, said with a deep southern drawl she wasn’t sure she liked. “The boss is a great guy. He’ll give you at least a week to get used to the system. After that, he’ll chew you out if you make a bad boo-boo. And let’s hope he lives a long, healthy life. His wife is just as nasty as he is nice. He was born with money, but she married it, and she shows it.”
“I’ve got a lot to learn,” she said, careful not to say anything that she didn’t want to hear again. “How long have you worked here?” she asked him.
“Four years. Best job I ever had, but I’m hoping he’ll shift me over to TV. When Mr. Howell automates the canned music, you can move to live radio. I worked my ass off to lose forty-six pounds, and I hope he noticed that I look like a young George Clooney these days.” He stifled a grin and patted himself on the back.
Thank God he’s got a sense of humor
. She laughed along with him. “I hope you get that break,” she said.
. She laughed along with him. “I hope you get that break,” she said.
“Of course you do, doll. When I move on, you can, too. That’s the way it happened with me.”
“Really?” She slapped his hand. “Then put that chocolate mousse down. I’ve got an interest in your calorie intake.”
They enjoyed a good laugh, and as they walked back toward the studios, he said, “When I get off at three-thirty, I’ll drop by and give you some tips on keeping the music flowing smoothly.” She thanked him and hoped his offer didn’t spring from a personal interest, because blue eyes didn’t do a thing for her.
One morning, two weeks later, Kendra sat at her desk in the soft music studio staring at her first check. Seventeen hundred and fifty dollars for her first two weeks on the job. Ten days’ work. At the restaurant, she’d averaged five hundred a week; that meant she could save at least the additional seven hundred and fifty she’d make here. However, an attached yellow note stated that her future paychecks would be minus estimated taxes. She didn’t mind that, because she always got tax refunds.
Tab knocked and entered the studio. “How does your check look to you? He’ll raise you from that in about three months if you don’t make too many mistakes. See you later.” She’d welcome that, but she was happy with her current salary.
After work, she went by her father’s shop to get some of the sage rope sausage that he made on Fridays for his Saturday customers. She showed him her check.
Bert Richards wiped the tears that dropped from his eyes. “Thank God you’ve got a respectable job and a future. Would you go with me to church Sunday? I’ll drive by for you.”
She’d rather paint her bathroom, but if he hadn’t bought her that apartment, she wouldn’t have a bathroom with a sunken tub. “Okay. What time?” He told her. “Papa, can I have about a pound and a half of those sage sausages?” An idea occurred to her. Her father hadn’t been in her apartment since he helped her move. “Come at nine, and I’ll fix us some breakfast.”
“That’s wonderful, but in that case, I’d better give you even more of those sausages.”
As they left church that Sunday, it surprised her to see the man who always came to La Belle Époque alone for lunch on Wednesdays. She’d never seen him at the restaurant in the evenings. She wanted to ask her father if he knew the man, but several of the worshipers joined Bert and her, obviously to sate their curiosity about the young woman with him.
“This is my daughter, Kendra,” he said proudly. “She’s a disc jockey.”
“Really?” One woman of around sixty gushed. “You must be so proud of her. What are the call numbers, Kendra. I’ll keep my radio tuned in to your program.”
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