Chapter 2

Morning light woke Jason. He slipped into a robe and stepped into his living room. Aja was up and dressed and straightening the covers on the sofa bed. “Good morning,” he said. “I’ll do that.”

“Good morning Jason.”

“How did you sleep?”

“I slept well, considering it was a strange bed. I mean, strange to me that is.”

“I understand.”

“I have text from Lorelei. They resolved the tactical situation about three in the morning, so it’s all clear for me to go home and get ready for work.

“When do you need to be at work?”

“Nine,” she replied. “Do you know what bus route goes past this corner?”

“I don’t. Do you want me to drive you somewhere?”

“Oh, God, no Jason. I’ve already imposed upon you way, way too much.” She picked up her handbag. “I can figure the bus routes out. Thank you so much for everything last night. I really need to be going.”

Jason unbolted his door. “Aja...”

“Yes, Jason?”

“Never mind. Have a good day.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

From his window he watched her waiting at the bus stop.

Jason walked into Control Room A at three that afternoon. “Hey, Jon,” he said.

“Hey, Jason.”

“Do we make air checks of the church remotes?”

“We sure do.”

“Are they filed in the air checks folder?”

“Yep. Why?”

“That service this past Sunday -- they really know how to put together a production. Did you listen to it?”

“I tune ‘em out,” Jon replied. “I don’t care for the God stuff. I can’t believe you’re into it.”

“I’m not buying what they’re selling,” Jason replied. “It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate how they package it. They have this soloist who’ll knock your socks off. I wanted to go back and hear some of her stuff. I think she deserves some airtime.”

“You should talk to Vincent.”

“Shit. I forgot about Vincent. I’ll talk to him next time I see him.”

“He’ll probably be in tonight recording his jazz show.”

Jacob Michaels stepped into the control room with a thumb drive. “These are the cutaways for the news.”

“Right.” He took a sheet from the news anchor and reviewed it. “I’ll get these ready along with the spots.”

Jake slapped Jason on the back. “Good man.”

He carried the USB drive and cue sheet into Control Room B and laid them out on the counter. With a computer panel he set up a playlist of the commercial spots. Donning headphones he sat and awaited.

Jake stepped into the announcer’s booth. Jason set up to record and they started running through the evening news.

Jason flipped a switch that put the station on its automated programming. He turned to his keyboard and began scanning through the air checks folder until he found the recording of the church service. A middle-aged, dark-skinned man with dreadlocks entered the control room. “Hey, Jason.”

“Vincent -- I got something for you to hear.” He located the recording of Aja singing Swing Low.

“Who’s that?” Vincent asked.

“Her name’s Aja Morgan. She’s the soloist at the Lucas Street AME church. You know them?”

“Yeah -- I know Derrick. He does a good job.”

“He has talented singers. I was wondering if you could use her on your show.”

“She’s good, Jason. Real good. Can’t use her. She’s singing gospel. I do a jazz show.”

“It’s jazzy gospel.”

“It’s still gospel.”

“Then, listen to this.” He began playing her rendition of Iko Iko.

“She’s singing a duet with herself? That’s tough ... How’d you get this?”

“She came in last night. It’s a long story -- she gave me a hand when my car broke down and we started talking. She said she wanted to see what it was like to record and I invited her to come in and lay down a few tracks. I learned later that she’s an ophthalmologist -- a singing eye doctor.”

“I wish I had known. I would’ve loved to meet her.”

“So can you use Iko Iko?”

Vincent shook his head. “I’d love to but we got rights issues.”

“Rights issues?”

“Yeah -- that song has a past, Jason. Sugarboy Crawford originally recorded it in the late fifties, under the title Jockomo. Then a few years later the Dixie Cups did a version called Iko Iko. They tried to claim authorship. Crawford sued but he hadn’t fully secured the rights and it was tied up in the courts. He finally settled for fifty-fifty -- said fifty percent of something, he said, is better than a hundred percent of nothin’. Then, twenty five years or so later, some other dude records a cover. The Dixie Cups sued him and took him to the cleaners.”

“You’re saying the Dixie Chicks...”

“Dixie Cups.”

“ ... the Dixie Cups stole it from Sugarboy and then got damages when someone stole it from them?”

“I’m not sayin’ that,” Vincent replied. “Like I said, the rights weren’t clear -- though if you listen to both versions you’ll be hard pressed to say they’re different. Since then a whole bunch of bands have covered it, and I’m sure with the rights nailed down tight.”

“How would someone obtain rights?” Jason asked.

“Beats me. What I am sayin’ is this particular tune has a history of legal issues regarding rights. I been in trouble over rights before, and I ain’t kickin’ that hornets’ nest again.”

“It’s too bad. I think Aja deserves some exposure.”

“Are you sweet on her, Jason?”

“No ... not really. She’s got talent.”

“That she does. Do you know who might be interested?”

“Who?”

“Richard in programming.”

“Rich Sprague?”

“He’s also in charge of our stage at Summer Blast. I hear he’s looking for a couple of acts. I heard the Teeters canceled out on him. She could probably sing Iko Iko there without any trouble.”

“Why there and not here?”

“‘Cuz -- it’s a live performance, not a recording. She’s not getting paid. In fact you could argue it’s a tribute -- fair use and all. Once the performance is done, it’s gone. Here we gotta log all the shit we play. I’m not a lawyer, Jason, but Rich will know what she can and can’t do.”

“I see. Thanks, Vincent. I can’t believe how much you know about this stuff.”

“Any time, Jason.” Vincent headed for Control Room B; then he turned to Jason. “Hey man -- thanks for thinking of me.”

Jason sat at his laptop. He punched in the name Aja Morgan. Back came a listing for Eye Associates. He picked up the phone and punched in the number.

Eye Associates.

“Good morning. I was wondering if I could make an appointment.”

What day and time?

“Uh ... I was hoping to see Doctor Morgan.”

She has an opening on Friday at eleven.

“That should work. The name is Jason brown.”

Do you have vision insurance?

“No ... it’ll be private pay.”

Very good. We’ll see you on Friday at eleven.

Jason located Eye Associates in a professional building located on the outskirts of the inner city in what was still a middle-class neighborhood. He found the suite and walked in. “Appointment for Brown,” he said to the receptionist. She handed him a clipboard with paperwork and he sat to fill it out.

“Here,” he said, turning in the clipboard. “Do we have to go with the dilation drops?”

“It is part of the exam,” she replied.

“I’ve never had that before.”

“The effect wears off fairly quickly.”

“Can I drive afterward?”

“It’s not recommended. Do you have another way home?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“I’ll make a note on your chart. If the doctor finds something she’d like to pursue with the drops then you’ll need to make other arrangements.” She jotted on a sheet on the clipboard. “Someone will be with you momentarily.”

A technician beckoned him back. She sat him before a machine. “Put your forehead here. We’re going to take images of your retinas. Steady...” A green flash filled his field of vision. “One more ... Good. Doctor will see you shortly.”

He returned to the waiting room and picked up a six-month old copy of Time magazine. The mailing label had been torn from the cover.

“Jason?” called the receptionist. He was led to an examining room.

Aja stepped in wearing a white lab coat that came below her knees over some maroon scrubs. “Jason? What are you doing here?”

“Getting my eyes checked,” he replied. “It’s been a while and my driver’s license is up for renewal. I don’t have a regular eye doctor so I thought I’d give you a try.”

“Okay ... Do you have the slip?”

“What slip?”

“For your renewal. It has a place for a doctor’s statement on the back.”

“Crap. I left it at home.”

“That’s no problem. I have a form I can fill out that you can take with you.” She brought up images on a display. “Your retinas look healthy. You do know they can check your vision at the MV for free.”

“Yeah, but I hate the thought. You never know who’s had their face against those machines.”

Aja ran through her examination and began writing on a clipboard. “You have good eyes, Jason. No pathology, everything looks normal.”

“Yeah -- I always had good vision.”

“You’re a little better than 20/20 in your left eye but a little worse in your right. Nothing that would make sense to correct. You also have a touch of astigmatism in your right eye -- also nothing worth correcting. I’ll venture that in a few years you’ll start wanting reading glasses. I’m just about at that point myself.” She handed him a form. “Take this to the MV when you re-up your license.”

“Thanks.”

“Debbie can finish with you out front.”

“Okay.”

She regarded him. “Is there anything else?”

“Well -- yes. Aja, I was playing the tracks we recorded for some of they guys at the station...”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because they’re good. You’re good. You’re better than good. You’re outstanding.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “I did that for my own sake,” she replied.

“You’re an artist. An artist deserves an audience.”

“And I have one.”

“What? Two hundred at your church?”

“It suits me, Jason. I wish you hadn’t...”

“I played them for Rich Sprague. He’s our head programmer -- and he’s in charge of the WNLX stage at Summer Blast. You’ve been to Summer Blast, haven’t you?”

“Of course. Who hasn’t?”

“He needs a couple of acts to fill in for one that canceled. He’d like you to consider.”

She regarded him for a long moment. “What kind of an act?”