names against the window like Martha Stewart.”
“Speaking of Martha Stewart, I can’t wait to decorate this place. I’m gonna put my Yolonda Adams poster over here. My Sade poster over here,” I said as I walked from wall to wall. “And my jasmine-scented candles there, there, and there!”
“I’m glad you’re so eager to get started, because I’ve got another surprise for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Instead of starting next week, the schedule’s been moved up. We start at ten o’clock tomorrow night.”
“Say what?”
“That’s right, we going on the air in exactly”—Mitch looked down at his watch—“thirty-five hours and twenty-six minutes.”
“Damn, that soon? I’ve got a thousand things to do. I’ve got to get my music together, come up with some relationship topics, find a baby-sitter for Sam, and I’ve got to—”
“What?” Mitch said.
I checked the console to make sure the power was on, then I shuffled through the cassette racks to see if I could find the song I wanted. When I found it, I tried to pull it out.
“Watch out!” Mitch yelled. He ran over and grabbed the rack as it was falling toward my head.
“I knew it, I knew! These white folks spent fifty million dollars to buy a station and couldn’t spend five lousy bucks to make sure the damn racks don’t fall down and kill a brotha.”
“I was gonna warn you, but you didn’t give me a chance.”
“You better get this fixed before somebody gets hurt and sues both our black asses,” I laughed. “Now, where was I?”
I put my headphones on and loaded the music into the console. I pushed a few of the wrong buttons at first, but I finally got it set up.
“What are you up to?” Mitch asked.
“Well, you’ve been nagging me about finding a nice girl, so I decided to take your advice.”
“I hope you’re not talkin’ about who I think you’re talkin’ about.”
“You saw her, too, huh?”
“You know I did. I met her two months ago when I was here to interview for the job. That woman is fine as wine!” We gave each other a high five. “Boy, if was a few years younger, um, um, um!”
“Well, you can live out your fantasy through me,” I told him. “Now, which one of these buttons will put me through to the receptionist?”
“This one.” He pointed.
While the phone rang, I cued the song. When Janet Jackson picked up, I turned the music down so she couldn’t hear it.
“WBMX, how may I direct your call?”
“Janet, this is Julian. I just called to let you know that I am a good man and I plan on pursuing Terri.”
“Mr. Payne, I told you, Terri doesn’t need any drama. Why don’t you just—”
Before she could finish her thought I turned up the lyrics on the song “Ms. Jackson” by the rap group OutKast.
“Sorry Ms. Jackson—I am for real!
Ne-ver meant to make your daughter cry …”
Then I hung up.
“Very creative,” Mitch said. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that if you expect to get with a lady with that much class and brains!”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,
my brotha
! Besides, I wouldn’t want a woman who falls in love at first sight or gives it up on the first date. I need a challenge!”
“Speaking of challenges, we’ve got a million things to do before tomorrow night.” Mitch walked toward the door. “Let’s go say hello to Mr. Harris, then we can get to work.”
“We’re gonna turn this mother out!” I yelled as the door closed behind us. “I hope H-Town is ready for the Green Hornet and Kato.”
“Just remember,” Mitch said. “I’m the Green Hornet— you’re Kato.”
Chapter 8
A COOL SUMMER breeze blew off Lake Michigan as Olivia sipped a glass of wine while pacing naked on her balcony. It was her ritual for creating lyrics for the songs she composed. But the inspiration wasn’t there that day. Her mind kept replaying what happened Saturday night, the conversation at the club, the elevator ride up to her condo, the
“Speaking of Martha Stewart, I can’t wait to decorate this place. I’m gonna put my Yolonda Adams poster over here. My Sade poster over here,” I said as I walked from wall to wall. “And my jasmine-scented candles there, there, and there!”
“I’m glad you’re so eager to get started, because I’ve got another surprise for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Instead of starting next week, the schedule’s been moved up. We start at ten o’clock tomorrow night.”
“Say what?”
“That’s right, we going on the air in exactly”—Mitch looked down at his watch—“thirty-five hours and twenty-six minutes.”
“Damn, that soon? I’ve got a thousand things to do. I’ve got to get my music together, come up with some relationship topics, find a baby-sitter for Sam, and I’ve got to—”
“What?” Mitch said.
I checked the console to make sure the power was on, then I shuffled through the cassette racks to see if I could find the song I wanted. When I found it, I tried to pull it out.
“Watch out!” Mitch yelled. He ran over and grabbed the rack as it was falling toward my head.
“I knew it, I knew! These white folks spent fifty million dollars to buy a station and couldn’t spend five lousy bucks to make sure the damn racks don’t fall down and kill a brotha.”
“I was gonna warn you, but you didn’t give me a chance.”
“You better get this fixed before somebody gets hurt and sues both our black asses,” I laughed. “Now, where was I?”
I put my headphones on and loaded the music into the console. I pushed a few of the wrong buttons at first, but I finally got it set up.
“What are you up to?” Mitch asked.
“Well, you’ve been nagging me about finding a nice girl, so I decided to take your advice.”
“I hope you’re not talkin’ about who I think you’re talkin’ about.”
“You saw her, too, huh?”
“You know I did. I met her two months ago when I was here to interview for the job. That woman is fine as wine!” We gave each other a high five. “Boy, if was a few years younger, um, um, um!”
“Well, you can live out your fantasy through me,” I told him. “Now, which one of these buttons will put me through to the receptionist?”
“This one.” He pointed.
While the phone rang, I cued the song. When Janet Jackson picked up, I turned the music down so she couldn’t hear it.
“WBMX, how may I direct your call?”
“Janet, this is Julian. I just called to let you know that I am a good man and I plan on pursuing Terri.”
“Mr. Payne, I told you, Terri doesn’t need any drama. Why don’t you just—”
Before she could finish her thought I turned up the lyrics on the song “Ms. Jackson” by the rap group OutKast.
“Sorry Ms. Jackson—I am for real!
Ne-ver meant to make your daughter cry …”
Then I hung up.
“Very creative,” Mitch said. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that if you expect to get with a lady with that much class and brains!”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,
my brotha
! Besides, I wouldn’t want a woman who falls in love at first sight or gives it up on the first date. I need a challenge!”
“Speaking of challenges, we’ve got a million things to do before tomorrow night.” Mitch walked toward the door. “Let’s go say hello to Mr. Harris, then we can get to work.”
“We’re gonna turn this mother out!” I yelled as the door closed behind us. “I hope H-Town is ready for the Green Hornet and Kato.”
“Just remember,” Mitch said. “I’m the Green Hornet— you’re Kato.”
Chapter 8
A COOL SUMMER breeze blew off Lake Michigan as Olivia sipped a glass of wine while pacing naked on her balcony. It was her ritual for creating lyrics for the songs she composed. But the inspiration wasn’t there that day. Her mind kept replaying what happened Saturday night, the conversation at the club, the elevator ride up to her condo, the
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