Almost Heaven (20 page)

“I don't serve my food with strings attached. It's a gift from the Lord. I swear, Billy, you act like you're all alone in this, and you're not. There's people out here who just care, and I don't see why you won't let them show it.”

“Can I talk now?” I said.

She crossed her arms again. “Go ahead.”

“I know you're telling me the truth. About the strings. And I don't want you to feel like I don't appreciate what you've done. The truth is, I've been so focused on my work that I haven't had much time to eat, let alone get to the store.”

“That's why it makes sense to let me help.”

“Can I finish?”

She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand, which made me chuckle because that's what my mother would do when we got into some argument.

“I accept your offer. And I'm grateful to God that you thought of me. I can't do this alone. But that's all I've known for a long time and it's comfortable for me. Me and that dog.”

She softened a little and nodded. “I can understand that.”

We stood there in the chill and she glanced at the back of the house. “There's enough in there to last you about five or six days. I'll be back with more on the weekend. Do you have another freezer?”

“No, Mama always talked about getting one but I never did.”

She bit her upper lip. “My mama bought one of those little ones at Sam's Club. I don't know why because it doesn't hold much. But it would be perfect for you. Only problem is it stopped working. They put it down in the basement and just stored it.”

“What was wrong with it?”

She told me.

“Maybe a condenser. I could take a look at it for them.”

“No, you'd be doing them a favor if you would just take it. The dump won't take it without charging because it's got that freezer juice in it.”

“Freezer juice,” I said, shaking my head and laughing.

“Freon or whatever goes through the coils. I don't know what you call it.”

She laughed at herself then and I knew we were going to be okay.

“See you on the weekend, then,” I said, reaching out a hand.

She shook it like a deacon at the start of an all-church supper. “I'll ask my daddy to bring that over to you. He'll be tickled pink to get rid of it.”

* * *

Two days later I was working on the transmitter when Mr. Reynolds pulled up in his old Ford truck that rattled and choked. He was a chunky man and I could see where his daughter got her nose. He'd been to church off and on in the past few years but not regularly. His wife and daughter were always there, though, as if joined at the hip in praying for him.

“Callie says you're building yourself a radio station,” he said as I helped him pull down the freezer. It was a lot bigger than what she had let on but light.

I told him what I had planned.

“Well, I don't go in much for religion, but that music is part of me. I expect I'll listen and give it a try once you get on the air.”

“I'd be pleased to dedicate a song to you.”

“You know, my son-in-law is a whiz at those computers. Callie's sister's husband. I don't understand it myself, but he says there's people who do radio stations right on the Internet. Be a lot cheaper. You ever thought of that?”

I held the kitchen door open with my foot until we got the freezer past it. “I've seen that myself, and it's probably good for some. But most of the folks up and down the hollow here can't afford a computer or the monthly charge for the ISP. If all you have to do is turn on the radio and listen, that's a lot easier than going through that Internet rigmarole.”

“You got a point, Billy. Can't take the computer in the truck with me.”

I took the back off the freezer while he was standing there and got my voltage meter from the workbench and started testing.

“Callie also tells me she's going to be cooking for you. Is that right?”

I nodded. “Made me an offer I couldn't refuse. She's a real good cook.”

“Takes after her mama.”

“It's a bad power supply,” I said. “These things can get a surge and burn out fast. I can fix it for you for next to nothing.”

“No, there's no fixing to it; it's yours.”

“Well, I'll get good use out of it. Thank you for going to the trouble to bring it over.”

I showed him what I was doing with the house and the spooled-up antenna wire. “You should have no problem hearing us on the farm.”

He lingered down at the shop, looking out the window at the road. “Just one thing, Billy.”

“Sir?”

“Don't hurt that girl. That's all I ask. She's as sweet as summer squash. Somebody beat her with an ugly stick, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that beauty is not just on the outside. People have it inside, too. I think that's probably in the Bible somewhere, isn't it?”

“Sure is—1 Samuel. Story of the prophet sorting through Jesse's sons to find the next king. Before the prophet went, God reminded him not to be swayed by how they looked—told him that man looks at the outward appearance but the Lord looks at the heart. That's the same thing you were saying.”

“I wish people would do that with Callie. Look at her heart instead of her face.”

I didn't say anything, just kind of stared at the floor, noticing a pill bug crawling along.

“She'd kill me if she knew I was talking with you, but I thought I'd mention it. She cares an awful lot for you, Billy.”

“And I wouldn't do a thing in the world to hurt her feelings, sir.”

“I know you wouldn't. You're a good man. Get that freezer fixed and use it.”

“I'll do it,” I said.

* * *

Sometimes I wonder if God looks down on us from some parapet in heaven, all us little beings doing everything we can to control our bit of the world. There are times when it feels like all the working and striving is only for us and not for him. All of the wishing and hoping and planning that gets washed away with a big rain or a gust of wind is just for our own comfort or feeling of accomplishment. But then I come back to the fact that he has placed us on earth for a purpose, and that is to fulfill whatever mission he has. And I remember that he walked among us, God in flesh and bone, working and sweating and eating and drinking and laughing. When I got down, I'd think of that and go back to building a radio station in my house.

I didn't have any idea what would happen. It was just like the fellow in that movie about building a baseball diamond in his cornfield. Or like Noah building his ark. Most people looked at it as some kooky guy with a pipe dream. I'm sure some of them thought I was a conspiracy nut who wanted attention.

It wasn't anything like that. It was a slow, methodical process to praise the God who loved me. I wanted to tell other people about that love. When I'd get finished with one project, one room, I'd get another part-time job and make enough money for the next phase. I was as happy as a coon in a cornfield putting it all together because I could see it in my head.

But it didn't become real to me until the day the license showed up. I just stood at the mailbox and stared at the envelope, half-afraid to open it. I was approved for a commercial FM license at 96.3 MHz with full power at 6,000 watts. Rogers and I ate like kings that night in celebration. I left the food Callie had brought in the freezer and drove through the nearest Hardee's for burgers. I was dangerously low on money and most of my freelance had dried up.

The next day I called that Charles Broughton fellow at the church in Charleston, thinking about his nice business card, and I asked if there was someplace that could do the same thing for me. He asked why I wanted them and I told him my dream. Then he asked more questions and we must have talked a half hour. I told him I needed cards so I could sell time to prospective advertisers.

He told me to hang on and not go to the local quick-print place until he had a chance to work on it. I knew I could just print it off myself, but there was so much other stuff to be done and I didn't want it to look cheap.

Two days later a car pulled up in front of the house real slow and a man got out with a paper bag under his arm. He walked up to the front door and knocked.

“Are you ready?” he said, his smile about as wide as the Cheshire cat.

“Ready for what?”

“Your business cards and stationery.”

He pulled a little box out of the bag and inside were five hundred white business cards with my name, address, and phone number. Over top of my name it had the call letters of the station and an antenna with a beacon in the shape of a cross. Underneath it said,
Good News Bluegrass: Music for the soul, a message for the heart.

I about jumped out of my skin. Then he pulled out the stationery that had the address and the same thing written at the top and bottom. Plus, he had printed up a rate card for spot announcements with the cost left blank so I could just write it in.

“How did you do this?” I said, my mouth still hanging open.

“I have a friend in radio sales. He gave it to me and I copied it. My wife and I worked on the logo, and the printer turned it around in a day. I think they did a pretty good job.”

“
Pretty good
doesn't even come close,” I said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Just put me down as the charter member of your fan club, Billy. My only regret is that I won't be able to hear you unless I'm passing through.”

I didn't have the words to thank him, but I did invite him to stay for supper. He wouldn't hear of it and said he was going to take me to the diner and I could order the biggest steak on the menu, which I did. Rogers wasn't too happy with me leaving, but I wasn't about to pass up a good meal.

We talked about my business plan, which I didn't have. He gave me tips from his own business and how I needed to approach the owners of places around town with the chance to get in on the ground floor.

“You'll be reaching people in this hollow that these businesses can't. Let's say you sell a spot for ten dollars to the local grocery. For a hundred dollars they can run ten spots each day. And you can tell them, if they get on board now, before you go on the air, you'll double their spot load for signing up early. For every spot they ran, you'd throw one in free. If they buy a week's worth, you'll throw in another week. If they advertise for a month, you'll throw in the second month. Six months' investment now could buy them a whole year.”

“I'd thought about running a special to begin.”

“Are you able to produce the commercials yourself?”

I nodded. “I can just use the audition channel of the board and I'm good.”

“So you can tell them the production won't cost them a penny because you'll be doing all of that free. Unless they already have something to play, and most of these places won't.”

I chewed on my rib eye and wiped my mouth. “I've been working on the music end of things off and on, but I hadn't really thought that far ahead about the commercials.”

“Well, you need to, Billy. I know you're not in it for the money, but you're also going to have extra bills. And there's the mortgage to think of. How much money do you have in the bank right now?”

I told him and he winced.

“All right. What do you need to make each month to keep yourself afloat?”

“I don't have any idea.”

He got out a piece of paper and wrote down the approximate amount of bills I had each month. Some of them were a month or two behind.

“Who are you going to hire to help you run the station and sell the time?”

“I'm going to do it myself. I can't afford to hire anybody. If things take off, maybe I can.”

He looked around the restaurant. Things had thinned out a bit. “Do you know the owner of this place?”

I nodded. “Of course. There's not many people in town I don't know.”

“Why don't you ask him to come over?”

I got the server's attention and asked her to tell Albert I needed to see him. They called him Fat Albert after the cartoon character, but he wasn't really that overweight; he was just short and stocky.

He smiled and shook my hand as he sat down and I introduced my friend from Charleston. “Everything all right with your food?”

“Our compliments to the cook,” I said.

Charlie took over. “Albert, it looks like you have a fine place here, but you could use an uptick in business, especially at dinner.”

“It gets slow about this time on weeknights but picks up on the weekend. Breakfast is our big draw.”

“Well, Billy here wants to offer you a chance to increase your business and visibility.”

“This have anything to do with that station you're building?” Albert said to me.

“I'm set to start in less than two weeks.”

“In order to make this thing take off, we need local sponsors who will advertise,” Charlie said. “You could track the response by having some kind of special you only talk about on the radio. See if it increases traffic. And since you're the first business Billy's approached, if you'll agree to sign up for a month of advertising, he'll match every spot you buy for another month. Plus, the production work is free. You don't pay anything extra for that.”

Albert listened intently and asked a couple of questions before he said, “Mr. Broughton, if I had an unlimited supply of money, I would advertise on the local country station and have a billboard by the interstate. The truth is, I'm struggling just to pay my servers.”

“And Billy can help you with that. A bump in business on the weeknights will more than compensate for anything you spend.”

“How much are they each?”

I handed him the sheet of paper where I had written in the amount. He looked at it and frowned. “I couldn't afford half of this, even if I wanted to.”