Page 113 of Hello, Summer
Conley looked up sharply. “Are you saying she’s broke?”
“Not broke, but she’s not exactly the dowager countess of Silver Bay these days,” Grayson said. “I really think we’re gonna have to sell one of the houses.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish. The house on Felicity Street is in okay shape, but the Dunes is in terrible shape, and the maintenance is killing us. The last hurricane did a number on the roof. I had it patched, but the whole thing needs to be replaced.”
“There’s something going on with the hot water heater too,” Conley said. “And the wiring.”
“That house is a firetrap,” Grayson said, her face gloomy. “I tried to tell you it wasn’t safe to have G’mama out there, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“No, you didn’t tell me it was unsafe,” Conley countered. “You just accused me of parachuting in and screwing everything up. What are we gonna do about all of this? It’ll break G’mama’s heart if we have to sell the Dunes.”
“For right now, we do nothing. It would take tens of thousands of dollars to get the house into shape to sell it. Money we don’t have.”
“I’m sorry, Gray. I wish you’d told me. About Tony. And the house.”
Grayson shrugged. “Shit happens. Let’s drop it for now, okay? I’m sorry I blew up at you about this stringing gig. I can’t blame you for wanting to make a living and for thinking about your career. It’s just that, this past week or so, I’d gotten my hopes up that maybe we can keep this place afloat. I know that’s not realistic, but what can I say? Maybe I’ve got printer’s ink in my blood after all.”
“Welcome to the club,” Conley told her.
41
After the commercial break, Buddy cued up his theme music and leaned into the microphone.
“Hello again, Silver Bay. It’s the ten o’clock hour, and if you’re just tuning in, this isUp All Night with Buddy Bright.The phone lines are open, and I’m waiting to hear from my favorite listeners.”
He tapped a button on the computer screen, and a woman’s voice with a deep Southern drawl filled the room.
“Hey, Buddy. Longtime listener, first-time caller Sonya. I watched that press conference on Channel 4 today, and I just about busted a gusset. I am a wife and a mama and a grandmama, but when I heard Charlie Robinette tell all those lies about his sweet mama, it really raised my hackles. I mean, I wanted to puke! Talk about an ungrateful little punk. I voted for Symmes Robinette every time he ever ran for anything, and I just know he is rolling in his grave right now at the way his son is disgracing the family name. You can bet that whenever they have that special election, I’ll be voting for Vanessa Robinette. In the meantime, the flag on my front porch will by flying at half-mast.”
Buddy leaned back in his chair and stared out the window at the now-darkened streets of downtown Silver Bay. After being called in early to work the hastily called Robinette press conference, he’d hadto stay on for the afternoon shift too, after the afternoon jock, Shanelle, called in sick. Drunk was more like it.
It made no difference to him. Extra shifts meant extra money in his pay envelope.
Another call was waiting.
“Hi, Buddy. It’s Pooh Bear from over here in Bronson County. I’ve been listening to you ever since we retired and my wife and I moved down here to Florida, and it finally dawned on me why I enjoy your program so much. I swear, I remember you, what, like, seven, eight years ago. Didn’t you used to work under another name at a radio station up in Detroit?”
Buddy froze. He cleared his throat. “Well, now, Pooh Bear, I’ve worked in lots of different places over the years. That’s the nature of the radio business. But the one place I haven’t worked is Detroit.” He chuckled. “Guess you’ve got me mixed up with some other devastatingly handsome and talented disc jockey.”
“No,” the caller insisted. “I was in town the other day, and I happened to walk by the station while you were on the air, and I saw you sitting right there on the other side of that big plate glass picture window. See, years ago, my wife and I went to the grand opening of a new shopping center in Bloomfield Hills, and that’s when we saw this deejay who looks and sounds exactly like you.”
Buddy felt the blood rush to his face. He had to get this guy off the air. “They say everybody’s got a twin somewhere, right, Pooh Bear? Okay, thanks for listening, and thanks for calling in tonight.”
He cut the caller off and cued in the next block of commercials with shaking hands. He needed a cigarette in the world’s worst way. God, how he missed the days before all the do-gooders and tobacco Nazis ruined the world.
Neal, the station owner, was a reformed smoker, and his kind were the worst tobacco Nazis of all. Every wall in the tiny station had aNO SMOKINGsign tacked up. But it was after ten now, and there was nobody else around.
He tapped a cigarette out of his pack, lit up, and inhaled deeply, flicking the ashes in the dregs of his coffee mug. It ended up taking two more cigarettes before his nerves settled back down.
He flipped the mic on again. “Okay,” he said finally. “Let’s see what everybody else in Silver Bay thinks about the state of the world.”
“Hey there, Buddy! It’s me, Alice. I can’t believe I finally got through to you. Feels like I’ve been trying for forever. Am I on the radio right now?”
He could hear her voice playing on her own radio at home.
“If you turn down the volume, Alice, I’ll be able to hear you a lot better.”
