Ok.
Malerie: And maybe I'll go easy on them and not bring up the drummer. Bye.
Collin_RockMeister: Bye Mal.
C ollin has no idea how psyched I am about having Jelly Bean Queen on our show. Of all the bands we’ve interviewed, JBQ holds a more personal place in my soul. Their music quells my anxiety, soothes my pain, gives me focus. Some days would be unbearable without their lyrics, my personal glimpse into a world of love and passion. A world of living.
8
Ace
" I ’m hiding the truth like I always have. Underneath the layers of raw metal and primer. I’m a liar, liar, and a great pretender.” ~ Jelly Bean Queen
C hecking email is a necessary evil and painful chore spawned by a bunch of scientist types. I dream of the day my secretary will sift through messages that clutter the inbox. I don't fantasize for long because success isn't made by dreamers but by doers.
And if anything, I'm a doer.
Billy Vandol's message appears at the top of the queue. The subject line reads 'contract offer' and I'm surprised at the nervous vibe it gives me. I blow on the top of my steaming coffee and take a scalding sip. Prepare myself.
I click and groan. Vandol has written so much in the email that I'm tempted to skim. Get a grip, old man. Nobody wants to read an email epistle.
Somebody needs to explain brevity to the geezer.
"Let me begin with an apology. As you probably guessed, Malerie has been taking some medication that altered her behavior. Please do not allow the incident today to sway your decision about the position I am offering you."
I read the rest of the email, a real chore considering the length and detail about things that are none of my business. The morning light filters through the blinds and reveals too much: the cracks in the walls, the worn furniture circa the year somebody thought plaid furniture was a good idea and the stained pea-colored carpet. I've looked at worse places.
When times are good, I spend the money on expensive brew and hang out with my laptop at the local coffee shop. It's comforting to visualize what I want in my future when I look around and see people with agendas.
Vandol's email comes with an attachment—a contract where I assume he restates every single thing but in legal speak. I hook the printer up and know I'm in for some death-by-reading and I'm definitely on a suicide mission coded please-get-to-the-point.
The email ends with a paragraph where he asks me to call to discuss the contract.
I pick up my cell and roll it from palm to fingertips and back, a habit I've fallen into since I gave up smoking. I call him and we agree to meet.
I drive to the local Starbucks that he's suggested and wait inside. It's raining and customers are dashing in out of the weather with umbrellas and frowns. I don't mind the rain. There's something cleansing and calming about water washing down the coffee shop's windows.
I glance inside the only thing I've carried with me, a folder with the printed contract. Vandol shows up a couple of minutes later, sees me, and heads to the counter first. He returns to the table with a couple of coffees and sets one if front of me without asking if I want it.
"We would like for you to start immediately," he says.
"I have some questions about this," I point to the folder like he knows I'm carrying the contract. "I want to know the reasons I'll be doing some of it."
"The money's not enough?"
"The money is good." Did Vandol have any idea how long it usually takes me to make that much? I could pay off a lot of debt in a year. Pay off the student loan for the year I wasted.
"Then is there another problem?"
"I'm not a babysitter."
"Malerie has sitters. We currently have on staff a housekeeper who is only available during the day, a nurse who checks in on Malerie at noon, and myself."
"Then why the security with the specific notes on Malerie? Mr. Vandol—"
"Call me Billy, please."
"Billy, she's an adult. If you want me to watch the house, I understand that.
Malerie: And maybe I'll go easy on them and not bring up the drummer. Bye.
Collin_RockMeister: Bye Mal.
C ollin has no idea how psyched I am about having Jelly Bean Queen on our show. Of all the bands we’ve interviewed, JBQ holds a more personal place in my soul. Their music quells my anxiety, soothes my pain, gives me focus. Some days would be unbearable without their lyrics, my personal glimpse into a world of love and passion. A world of living.
8
Ace
" I ’m hiding the truth like I always have. Underneath the layers of raw metal and primer. I’m a liar, liar, and a great pretender.” ~ Jelly Bean Queen
C hecking email is a necessary evil and painful chore spawned by a bunch of scientist types. I dream of the day my secretary will sift through messages that clutter the inbox. I don't fantasize for long because success isn't made by dreamers but by doers.
And if anything, I'm a doer.
Billy Vandol's message appears at the top of the queue. The subject line reads 'contract offer' and I'm surprised at the nervous vibe it gives me. I blow on the top of my steaming coffee and take a scalding sip. Prepare myself.
I click and groan. Vandol has written so much in the email that I'm tempted to skim. Get a grip, old man. Nobody wants to read an email epistle.
Somebody needs to explain brevity to the geezer.
"Let me begin with an apology. As you probably guessed, Malerie has been taking some medication that altered her behavior. Please do not allow the incident today to sway your decision about the position I am offering you."
I read the rest of the email, a real chore considering the length and detail about things that are none of my business. The morning light filters through the blinds and reveals too much: the cracks in the walls, the worn furniture circa the year somebody thought plaid furniture was a good idea and the stained pea-colored carpet. I've looked at worse places.
When times are good, I spend the money on expensive brew and hang out with my laptop at the local coffee shop. It's comforting to visualize what I want in my future when I look around and see people with agendas.
Vandol's email comes with an attachment—a contract where I assume he restates every single thing but in legal speak. I hook the printer up and know I'm in for some death-by-reading and I'm definitely on a suicide mission coded please-get-to-the-point.
The email ends with a paragraph where he asks me to call to discuss the contract.
I pick up my cell and roll it from palm to fingertips and back, a habit I've fallen into since I gave up smoking. I call him and we agree to meet.
I drive to the local Starbucks that he's suggested and wait inside. It's raining and customers are dashing in out of the weather with umbrellas and frowns. I don't mind the rain. There's something cleansing and calming about water washing down the coffee shop's windows.
I glance inside the only thing I've carried with me, a folder with the printed contract. Vandol shows up a couple of minutes later, sees me, and heads to the counter first. He returns to the table with a couple of coffees and sets one if front of me without asking if I want it.
"We would like for you to start immediately," he says.
"I have some questions about this," I point to the folder like he knows I'm carrying the contract. "I want to know the reasons I'll be doing some of it."
"The money's not enough?"
"The money is good." Did Vandol have any idea how long it usually takes me to make that much? I could pay off a lot of debt in a year. Pay off the student loan for the year I wasted.
"Then is there another problem?"
"I'm not a babysitter."
"Malerie has sitters. We currently have on staff a housekeeper who is only available during the day, a nurse who checks in on Malerie at noon, and myself."
"Then why the security with the specific notes on Malerie? Mr. Vandol—"
"Call me Billy, please."
"Billy, she's an adult. If you want me to watch the house, I understand that.
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