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Authors: Gwynne Forster

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“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Kendra said, “but the music I play doesn’t come over a radio station. You hear it in stores, on elevators, and in some restaurants. I’m hoping to work up to being a radio disc jockey.”
“Oh. I see,” the woman said in a tone that implied Kendra’s work deserved less admiration than that of a radio disc jockey. Her father must have detected the put-down, for he said to Kendra later, “You didn’t have to explain. Betty is a snob, and now she won’t be able to say she met Kendra Richards, the disc jockey who’s on station XYZ during such and such time on Mondays.”
“Papa, years of living with and dealing with Mama have taught me the importance of always telling the truth and of leaving no element of it varnished.” She looked around, but the mystery man had evidently left. She let out a long sigh. What would be, would be.
“It’s a lesson well learned,” he said. “Thank you for coming to church with me today. When I was young, one of my dreams was having my wife and children around me in the evenings when I came home from work, and walking into church with them on Sunday mornings.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t to be.”
“It’s not too late, Papa. You’re only fifty-four, and you’re still very handsome. What woman wouldn’t want a tall, handsome, unattached man who’s hardworking, intelligent, and decent?”
“Thanks,” he said with a strange gruffness in his voice.
“The one’s I’ve met want me to sell the shop and invest in something that more properly suits a gentleman, or maybe that suits
them.
I say the hell with them.”
“Me, too,” she echoed with a grin.
“Since when do you use such language?”
“I don’t, at least not to you. I just agreed with you.”
“Humph.” He parked in front of her door. “I’ll be happy when you finish school, find a nice man, settle down, and give me some grandchildren.”
She kissed his cheek. “You won’t be nearly as happy as I’ll be. Thanks for a really nice Sunday. Bye.”
At home, she walked into her bedroom and saw the red light flashing on her answering machine. “Hello?” She hated calls from people who blocked their caller ID.
“Hi, this is Kitten. Where were you?”
“I went to church with my father, and I almost didn’t answer your call. I told you what I think of people who block their caller ID. What’s up?”
“Whew! You on the warpath? Suzy and Flo are coming over. My dad’s grilling everything he can find. By the time you get here, I hope you’ll be starving.”
“I was planning to paint my bathroom.”
“Oh, come on, Kendra. Next Sunday, the four of us can paint it in less than an hour. I’ll bring all the shower caps I’ve collected from hotels so we won’t get paint in our hair. You coming over?”
“What time?” She wondered what life was like living in a house with a steamroller like Kitten.
“You can leave your place as soon as you change into a pair of jeans or something. I’ll drive you home.”
“Thanks. See you later.” She readily admitted that she’d planned to paint the bathroom because she didn’t have anything else to do. Seeing a movie or going to a museum alone only made her lonely, so she rarely did it.
When she arrived at Kitten’s home, she found Flo and Suzy, the remaining members of The Pace Setters, as they called themselves, sitting in white wooden chairs on a green spring lawn at the house on Queens Chapel Terrace just off Michigan Avenue.
Kitten greeted her with, “Mom’s gone to a concert, so my daddy braced these margaritas with his best rum. Come on, sit down.”
They raised their glasses to Kendra, congratulating her on her new job. “When she tells me she spent the night away from home, I’ll drink a whole bottle of Veuve Clicquot in her honor,” Suzy said.
“Don’t be too hasty,” Flo cautioned. She leaned back and sipped the drink with great relish. “Kendra could spend the night with a guy and make the poor fellow sleep on the floor while she hogged the bed. Girlfriend’s not ready yet.”
“This time last year, neither were you,” Kendra told her.
“Besides, every chicken here’s been plucked, so get off my case.”
“Yeah. But there’s plucking, and then there’s
plucking,
” Suzy, the eldest of the four, told them. Their laughter bespoke of the warm camaraderie among the four women.
“Well, I have some news, too,” Flo announced. “I just promised Ernest that I’d marry him, though I didn’t say when.” The other three women ran to Flo and hugged her.
“Are you going to move in with him in the meantime?” Kitten wanted to know.
Flo looked at Kitten as if she had just sprouted horns. “Do you think I’m some kind of nut? Why do you think he asked me to marry him? I’m not
that
accommodating.”
Kitten made a face. “Well ’scuse me.”
“It’s ready,” Kitten’s father said. “We’ve got roasted potatoes, club steak, hamburgers, country sausage, corn, carrots, asparagus, onions, and zucchini. Beer and sodas are in that tub. Serve yourselves.”
Kendra asked Kitten, “Your mom willingly goes off knowing your dad is putting on a spread like this?”
“Oh, she always does this. That’s how my dad learned to clean up after himself.”
When Kendra finally got in bed that night, she had concluded that, as much as she loved her friends, they were poor substitutes for a man with whom she could share her life.
But I can’t have everything I want all at once. I’m going to be grateful for my new job, do my best at it, and get my degree. That man, whoever he is, will have to wait.
 
Kendra was unaware that Ginny followed her one morning, evidently to discover where she worked. Shortly after she closed the door of the Soft Music Studios and began her day’s work, Ginny walked up to the desk of June, Howell Enterprises’ receptionist
“I’m Kendra Richards’s mother, and I have an extreme emergency. May I please speak with my daughter?”
“She shouldn’t be interrupted, madam. What is the emergency?”
“My little boy, my youngest child, has just had a serious accident, and I need Kendra’s help.”
The receptionist’s jaw dropped, and she gaped at Ginny. “How can you be so calm?”
Ginny didn’t bat an eyelash. “Years of dealing with problems and all kinds of trouble. You become inured to the pain.”
“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
However, Ginny did not sit down. Instead, she followed June, who, in her hurry to get to Kendra, didn’t look back. Ginny brushed past the receptionist and charged into the Soft Music Studios.
“I need some money, Kendra, and if you don’t give it to me, I’m going to kill myself right here.”
Stunned, Kendra jumped up. “What on earth are you doing here? Nobody comes in . . .” She saw the receptionist staring at Ginny. “Why’d you let her in here?” she screamed.
“But . . . but she said your little brother has had an accident.”
“My what? I don’t have a little brother. I’m her only child.”
“But she said—”
“This woman is a pathological liar. I don’t care what she said. Besides, she’s my mother only when she wants to borrow money, and she never repays it.”
“I’m only asking for a thousand,” Ginny said, as if she hadn’t disrupted the office.
“I don’t have a thousand, and if I did, you wouldn’t get it.”
“Then, I’ll kill myself.”
“Before you do that,” Kendra yelled, “stop by and see the priest.”
Tab ran into the room. “What’s going on? Mr. Howell is in a rage. There’s not a sound coming out of here, and the phones are jammed with calls. Are you all right, Kendra?”
“No, I’m not. Get a guard to escort this woman out of here.”
“But she said she’d kill herself,” the receptionist said.
Kendra looked at Ginny and shook her head. “If she does, this will be the first time in decades that she’s told the truth.”
The guard rushed in. “What’s the problem, Miss Richards?”
She pointed to Ginny. “Please escort this woman from the building and make sure she doesn’t come back. Not now. Not ever. I can’t stand it anymore.”
She turned back to her controls, but couldn’t make another move. Shaking uncontrollably and with tears streaming down her face, she felt as if she couldn’t cope. June, the receptionist, ran to the controls and tried to start the music but, instead, she pushed the wrong buttons with a result that several wires were crossed.
An irate Clifton Howell burst into the studio. “What the hell’s going on in here?”
Tab rushed to Howell. “I’ll fix it, Mr. Howell. It’s not Kendra’s fault.”
“You’ll fix it? And who will be covering your station? She’s responsible for this station, so why isn’t it her fault?”
“I put my channel on automatic,” Tab said.
June grabbed Howell’s arm. “She couldn’t help it, Mr. Howell. Honest. It was horrible.”
Howell took a deep breath and looked down at June. “What was horrible?”
“That woman! You should have—”
Through the drone of speech and excitement, Kendra turned toward the voice of Clifton Howell. She wiped her tear-streaked face as best she could, and forced herself to look at him. “If you want me to resign, Mr. Howell, I will. I’d rather not be fired, because I’ve never been asked to leave a job. It was my responsibility. I’m terribly sorry.”
Howell looked toward Tab, who was busy trying to regulate the controls. “Can you repair it, Tab?”
“Yes, sir. Stations two and five are already working, and I’ll have the others up in a few minutes.”
Howell stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Good. Come in my office, Kendra.” He had never called her by her first name, so she didn’t know what to expect. She followed him. “Have a seat. Tell me why it was not your fault, and start at the beginning.”
“That would take too long, Mr. Howell, because it started before I was born.”
He stared at her. “Whatever do you mean?”
“It began when my father wouldn’t let my mother abort me. That was my mother who created the fiasco.” His face reddened, his eyes widened, and his sharp whistle split the air. Kendra repeated Ginny’s transgressions ending with her threat of suicide in the studio. “Mr. Howell, I’m too upset to be embarrassed.”
He leaned forward. “Do you think she’ll commit suicide?”
“I don’t believe anything she says, so why should I believe that? I’m no longer going to allow her to manipulate me.”
“And you shouldn’t.” He flicked on the eight-by-ten screen on his desk and pushed several buttons. “I’m checking our security cameras. Lean over my shoulder and let me know when you recognize her.”
She stood behind him. “That’s Mama walking into the building.”
Howell pushed a button on the intercom. “Bob, check out this picture on eight. You see it? Good. If that woman ever puts one foot into this building again, I want her arrested and charged with trespassing, and no deal for leniency. Got it?”
Howell turned off the screen. “Sit down, Kendra. I don’t know how you made it this far in life, and I especially can’t understand why you’re such a principled person.”
“My late grandmother and my father have been the stabilizing forces in my life.”
“My hat’s off to them. I admire you. When I think of what you’ve lived through, I’m humbled. My parents are wonderful people.” A smile flashed across his face. “I’ve been a husband and father for two decades, and my mother still calls to tell me to dress warmly when it’s cold, to take my vitamins, and to eat a hearty breakfast. I’m going to stop complaining about her mothering a fifty-six-year-old man.” His phone rang.
“Yes, June.”
“Tab said to tell you that everything’s working.”
“Thanks.” He looked at Kendra. “Go back to work and forget what happened this morning, but be careful at home.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you so much, Mr. Howell.”
On the way back to her station, she met Tab walking out the door. “I don’t know how to thank you, Tab.”
“It’s okay, doll. You’d do the same for me. I just don’t see how you made it this far with that shrew for a mother.”
“My dad and my grandmother. Ginny will keep trying, but she’ll never stop me.”
Chapter Three
Half an hour after Kendra got home from work, the doorman of the building in which she lived buzzed her intercom. “Ms. Richards, there’s a lady down here to see you. She won’t give her name.”
“Thanks, John. Ask to see her identification, two pieces. If her name is Ginny Hunter, I’m not at home, and please don’t
ever
send her up here.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
“I have to check your ID,” she heard him say over the speaker phone, which he’d flipped on obviously for her benefit.
“Oh, come on,” she heard Ginny say. “I’m her mother. I’ll just go on up.”
“No you won’t. You don’t get on one of these elevators unless I say so. Show me your ID, something with your picture on it, or leave before I call the police.”
“Oh, the hell with you.”
“She refused to show me the ID and left, Miss Richards. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. That’s what ID is for, John. Thanks.”
Unhappy because of the measures she’d had to take against her mother that day, Kendra hung up the intercom receiver and telephoned her uncle, her mother’s brother. Ed Parks owned an accounting firm that supported himself and his family very well, and he kept his sister far from his business.
“Hello, Kendra. Good to hear from you. How are you?”
“I don’t know, Uncle Ed. I hope things are good with you.”
“They’ve been better, and they’ve been much worse. I can’t complain. What’s going on with you?”
She told him about her trials with Ginny over the previous months and added, “I’m at my wits’ end, Uncle Ed. I don’t want anything else to do with her. She’s trying to ruin my life. Imagine having a mother who has no feelings whatever for you. I can’t stand it, Uncle Ed.”
“I’m sorry, Kendra. When Ginny was little, three or four years old, she was as pretty as a human being could be, and everybody with whom she came in contact told her so. Daddy gave her whatever she wanted, and Mama dressed her like a fashion doll. Nobody said no to Ginny. By the time she was ten, she was a little monster, and as soon as she got a bosom, she began seducing men for the hell of it. I don’t see how Bert stood being married to her for five years.
“I’ll speak with her, and I’m going to tell her that if she doesn’t stop trying to trash your life, I’ll have her committed to a mental institution, because that’s where she belongs.”
“But Uncle Ed, she’s not crazy.”
“That depends on your definition of the word. Listen to me, Kendra, and listen carefully. A parent cannot abuse an adult child without that child’s consent and cooperation. You don’t owe Ginny anything, because she’s already squeezed from you all that was ever coming to her. I want you to take stock of your feelings about her. Ask yourself why you feel you need her affection and good will, which you’ve obviously been trying to buy . . . yes,
buy
. . . when you know she’s incapable of giving either one.”
“But, Uncle Ed, I thought I was trying to be a good daughter.”
“Then you were fooling yourself. The Lord tells us to honor our parents, but He did not tell us to be their doormat. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I didn’t know you’d gotten that job with Howell Enterprises. I’m glad for you. Let me know when you’ve registered at Howard. Dot and I will take you out for champagne and dinner.”
She thanked him, said good-bye, and hung up.
Did Ginny really think she was trying to buy her affection? Kendra thought about that for a long time, gave her uncle credit for being right, and felt a heavy weight slide off her.
 
Ginny was counting the number of days that had elapsed since her second visit with Dr. Elms. Nearly a week. She sat at her kitchen table and dialed the doctor’s office. If she was clean of HIV/AIDS, she could have a decent date. She wouldn’t have waited to appease her appetite, if she hadn’t read that a man could trace the infection back to the woman who gave it to him.
A voice said, “This is Dr. Elms’s office. How may I help you?”
“I’m Ginny Hunter, and Dr. Elms has a report for me.”
“What kind of a report, Ms. Hunter?”
“Well . . . uh . . . I’d like to speak with Dr. Elms, please.” Damned if she was going to give a receptionist personal information that could be used against her.
“And you may speak with her, but she won’t talk with you unless she has your complete file in front of her. I need to check whether a test for you came in today.”
Getting angrier by the moment, she took a deep, calming breath and asked, “Can’t you check by name?”
The silence lasted a bit longer before the woman said, “I don’t have time for coyness, Miss. Was this an STD or an HIV / AIDS test?”
“HIV / AIDS,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“Hold on. I’ll see if she’s busy.”
“You have the test?” Ginny asked the woman.
“Obviously.”
A click told Ginny that the woman had her on hold. “If this test is clean,” she vowed, “I’m going nowhere unless I have a couple of condoms in my pocketbook.”
After about five minutes, she heard, “Ms. Hunter, this is Dr. Elms. Your HIV test was negative, but you have chlamydia, which is easily treatable.” She told her the symptoms. “We treat that with antibiotics. It’s the most common STD. I suggest you be more careful. A good quality condom will keep you clean. The fact that you won’t get pregnant is not a reason to neglect use of protection. Come in tomorrow for a shot, and I’ll give you a prescription for pills. If you neglect this, it will become serious, and you will infect your partners.”
Ginny hung up.
Damned bastard. If she ever saw him again!
She sat back down, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
It needn’t have been him
.
Suppose she gave it to him!
Where was she going to get the money to pay that doctor? She had four hundred and sixty dollars, and she planned to put that on a gray Dior skirt that she saw at Saks. Oh well, at least she didn’t have AIDS.
“Now who is that?” she asked aloud when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Ginny, this is Ed. I hope you’re well.”
“Of course I’m well. I’m just broke, and I have a big doctor bill.”
“If you’re well, why do you have a big doctor bill?”
“Never mind. I have to come up with a lot of money by tomorrow.”
“You have my prayers for the best of luck. I called you to tell you to stop trashing Kendra’s life.”
“What? That dreadful child won’t even—”
She heard him pull air through his teeth, a sure sign that he was going for the jugular. “Cut the drama, Ginny. I’ve known you since you were born. If you ever behave again with Kendra as you did yesterday at that studio where she works, I’m going to court and petition to have you committed to a mental institution. And I have enough documented evidence to do it. Only an insane woman would do to her daughter what you’re doing to yours. You’re trying your best to ruin Kendra’s life, but I’m not going to let you succeed. That’s all I have to say to you.”
He had some nerve, Ginny thought. “I’m the one who was
forced
to have those horrible pains. I’m the one who had that agony for sixteen hours, not you. And for what? She makes plenty of money and won’t give me a few thousand when I need it.”
“She owes you nothing. You are not too good to work a steady, full-time job and take care of
yourself.
”
“Don’t make me laugh. Your halo gets brighter with the years.”
“If you won’t earn a living honestly, you’ll have to make it on your back, because I am not going to let you destroy that girl. Any other mother would be proud of her, but you’re doing your best to drag her down. People who don’t want children should either use protection or remain celibate. Remember what I said, Ginny. One more time, and I’ll have you committed.”
Ginny hung up and kicked the stove with all the energy she could muster. “Damn him! He’ll do it, too. He’s always been jealous of me.” She limped to the bathroom, poured some Epsom salts into the tub, and turned on the hot water. After half an hour of soaking, the toe still hurt, so she limped to her bed and crawled in. But her thoughts were soon focused on choosing the next bar where she could find a competent and willing sex partner, one likely to reward her with some money.
 
If Ginny had erased from her thoughts the probable consequences of her behavior in the studio at which her daughter worked, Kendra had not. She had discovered that she enjoyed working as a disc jockey, and she longed to have the pleasure of contact with her listeners. At lunch with June one day, she told the receptionist of her goal to attain a degree in communications and then to have contact with people.
“I’ve discovered that I like being a disc jockey,” she said to June, “but I would really love it if I had contact with my listeners.”
“Why don’t you join an organization of professional disc jockeys? You could probably learn a lot and make some connections, too. There ought to be one here or in nearby Virginia or Maryland. Tab might give you some tips.”
Kendra was certain that he could, but he might not want her to move so fast. She found SRDJ, Society of Radio Disc Jockeys, on the Internet and sent that organization an e-mail.
She attended the next meeting of the local club and, at once, she noticed the paucity of women. She already knew this was a field in which men ruled overwhelmingly, but she didn’t care. She’d make her listeners like her.
“You mean you work for Howell Enterprises?” a man asked her after she introduced herself during the Saturday afternoon meeting.
“Yes,” she replied, “but I’m in the canned music studio, and he’s phasing that out.”
“Yeah. It’s old hat. But that’s a beginning. He’ll eventually move you to live music. Start now to read all the information that comes with each CD. Listeners like to know everything past and present about the performers. If you tell ’em it was Carl Perkins and not Elvis Presley who wrote ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ or that Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn worked so closely together that they sometimes didn’t know which one of them wrote a piece, they’ll think you know something. That’s the way you get a following. If you get a note or an e-mail from one of your listeners, answer it when you’re on the air. That’s the way you get fans. But remember that you can’t fool ’em.”
“Thank you,” she said, “for being so kind. Most of these fellows are downright rude to me. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t come back.”
“Don’t let ’em get you down,” he told her. “These young Turks come and go. Every one of ’em thinks he’s the Latterday Messiah. Next year, half of ’em will be looking for a job. I’ve been in this business for almost forty years. Do your job, treat people with respect, be honest and friendly, and you can’t miss. You got a nice voice and a warm personality. That’s what you need. By the way, I’m Charley Brighton.”
She stared at him. “You? You’re the man who promises to brighten my day?” A smile creased her face. “You have indeed brightened my day. Many times. I’ve been listening to you for years. I’m Kendra Richards.”
“Glad to meet you, Kendra. Come with me. I see someone you’d like to meet.”
He walked over to a man who seemed too relaxed and laid-back to be one of the chest-banging disc jockeys that she disliked. “Jack, this is Kendra Richards. She’s a canned music DJ for Howell and working toward handling an open mike. Kendra, this is Jack Meriwether of WLLW. She may be just what you’re looking for, Jack. Be seeing you, Kendra.” The man shook hands with her and immediately began leveling a battery of questions at her.
“Mr. Meriwether,” she said, “would you please slow down? Answers to some of your questions require careful thought, and I don’t want to misrepresent myself by answering from the top of my head.”
Jack Meriwether nodded in the manner of one grasping a fact. “At least you’re honest. I’ve done that almost a dozen times today, well aware that I was moving too fast to be comprehensible. But you’re the only person to stop me. How’d you like to do the six to twelve slot at WLLW?”
“You’re offering me the—”
“If you didn’t pass muster, Brighton wouldn’t have introduced us. He knew I was here looking for a jock.”
“Thank you for your confidence. Do you mind if I think about this and call you Monday?”
“No, I don’t. But I can tell you it’s a more rewarding job than the job you’ve got, and it probably pays more.”
“I know. May I have your phone number, sir?”
He handed her his card. “I’ll be out from twelve till twothirty. I look forward to hearing from you Monday.”
There was her opportunity. But could she take it? And should she? It occurred to her suddenly that Meriwether hadn’t said whether she’d be working mornings or evenings and that he might not be amenable to her having flexible hours. Clifton Howell treated her and the other young people who worked for him almost as if they were members of his family. Yes, she’d have to give it a lot of thought, and she’d have to discuss it with Mr. Howell; he’d been kind and considerate, and she meant to be straight with him.

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