Chapter 30

Back to Stoney:

Wasn't bad enough that I got T-boned by an illegal alien a couple of weeks ago, but now my beloved wife has thrown me under a bus.

Admittedly, it's a bus full of musicians.

Doctor Bob, the conductor/instructor of the university's chamber orchestra is complicit. Early in the relationship with Jo, she'd intimated to me the desire to play Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, an idea I'd mentioned to Bob. When Jo saw that I was somewhat adept at my banjo, she railroaded me into working on the harp part of that piece. At first, all I did was stay within the chord progression, but then I saw ways that I could take Mozart's scales and arpeggios and intervals and make a banjo work.

We were perfectly happy, playing, smiling at each other. Then she talked me into playing with her in front of some of the orchestra who got together to practice at Key's apartment.

Word got out. Word ALWAYS gets out.

I dodged as best I could, but between Bob and Johanna and the smiling faces of several others, I knew it was a losing battle. I succumbed. On the plus side, I actually thought I was doing pretty good. If others thought so, well...

"Consistency, Stoney," Jo would say softly in our practice sessions. "With consistency comes precision. And you can build, once you're consistent. And comfortable. But don't be afraid to stretch."

"You're contradicting yourself."

"Am not," she smiled. "I'm giving you information that appears to contradict, but you need to balance comfort and consistency with the willingness to stretch. Practice until you're comfortable, then have the discipline to force yourself out of your comfort zone."

Well, I can 'roll' on my banjo faster than she can arpeggio on her flute. Provides her with another 'teaching moment'.

"See?!? You're comfortable with that. You used it when we started on Mozart. And you have moved to..."

I broke from the rolls to arpeggios, playing up the neck on the banjo, hitting the peak of the instrument's range. She knew exactly where I was and the flute touched her lips, bringing angels down from heaven.

The next session was with the full orchestra. I should have known better than to think that this was a surprise to anybody, even when I clump-thumped my way into the rehearsal hall. Jefferson was unloading out of his car when he saw us pull up and he hurried over to help. "Always did wanna be the black dude with the banjo," he laughed.

"Banjos started out as black folks' instruments," I said.

"Oh, I know that, and you know 'zactly what I mean, too." He grinned. "I told you Doctor Bob thought you were good."

Jo was smiling.

They had other pieces to work on as well as our concerto, so I was quite happy to sit back and listen for a great portion of the session, a pleasant thing. And I had my FIRST ever run with a concert orchestra accompanying me (and Jo. Jo's what makes it possible) and surprisingly, it's horrible, but not as horrible as I'd imagined. This is a piece that Jo and I had done a hundred times, and for at least the last third of that, we'd pretty much settled on the cadence and the actual choice of score.

That was me. I moved from a place where I could do a bit more than rudimentary scales on my banjo to where I actually knew what I was doing and I had to fake a lot less, not having to trade as much Earl Scruggs for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Jo and I and the music bunch that met off campus had some pretty spirited discussions as we learned that there's a solid line between a bluegrass banjo roll and a Mozart arpeggio.

So we're on the path to what may be my first and only appearance on the stage in a concert hall as a performer.

Work's a bit different thing, though.

I got visits from a few co-workers after I was home and settled in. The first couple of visits, Jo was there. After asking permission, Bradley brought his wife.

Johanna makes a quite gracious and adept hostess. Brad and I caught up on the latest office events, internal politics, thing like that.

"You're still the biggest story," he said.

Heather, his wife, laughed, telling Jo, "See?!? And they say women gossip!"

"Oh, I knowww," Jo agreed.

The next day it was my boss, Bob Wilson.

"January," I said. "I should be back the first week of January. I could be back sooner, but I'll be on crutches."

"I wouldn't mind," Bob said, "but between HR and legal..."

"The same people who shot down me working from home," I said.

"Yeah ... It wasn't always like this, Stoney," he sighed. "We used to be able to act like adults and take responsibility and get things done. Now I can't fart without HR pointing to something in a policy manual that I've violated some new federal regulation."

"What about my Central America project?"

"We've had to contract a third-party engineering firm to pick it up."

"My project," I said. "I wanted the lights to be on in Tegucigalpa because of ME!"

Jo giggled. Bob cut his eyes at her, smirking. "You MARRIED this guy?"

"He's not the only prima donna in this family," she countered.

"Well, that may be true, but you're better-lookin'," Bob said to her. "But I don't need a deliverable from you. Stoney, I know you'll help us transition these people onto the project, won't you?"

"Sure," I said. "Give 'em my cell number and email and all that."

"Naturally," Bob said.

One day, Jo was in class and I had Key there studying, waiting for Hutch to get off work. Brad dropped by. Key answered the door.

"Stoney, some big ol' white boy's here! Wanna let 'im in?"

I could picture Key's face when I heard it.

"Yes, please do, Mammy," I said. "Then lay on the fine china..."

"Yassuh, Massa Jackson!"

Brad turned the corner to the living room. "WHO in the heck is THAT?"

"That is one of my minions..."

Key's laughter pealed. "Now I'm a minion?"

"Key, this is Brad. Brad ... Key. My second-favorite musician."

"Hello, Brad. Was I too harsh? I wasn't tryin' to be harsh?"

"No, you're just a surprise, is all."

"Oh, I come over to take care of my favorite white boy when Jo's got other things to do. Me an' Jo used to share an apartment."

"Ooo-oh," Brad said.

Key smirked. "I may be the only black oboist you'll ever meet, so savor the moment."

Fortunately Hutch knocked on the door before we had a fight. Oh, seriously, no fight. Key's got a quick wit and apparently reads character quite well, too, because she and I and Brad were talking and laughing. He met Hutch, they talked a little bit, then Hutch and Key left.

"She's something, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah," I said. "A real doll. Funny. Smart. Double major," I said. "Music and business, just like Jo."

"Girl like that could turn your head," he said.

"Uh-huh. Jo and she were colluding to bring me to meet Key's family, just to see who'd pass out," I said.

"Or get shot."

"Her dad is a senior management at that big insurance company, the one in that downtown building."

"Not your 'poor little ghetto child', then?"

"No, and she and Hutch play that for effect sometimes. 'Bout like me imitating an Old English accent."

Jo showed up a bit after Key and Hutch left, brought in a tray of sushi that she and I and Brad shared.

A couple of days later I was clumping around the house while Jo was on her way back from class. My iPhone rang. I looked. Work. "This is Stoney."

"Stoney, this is Bob. Can you put up with business talk right now?"

"Sure," I said. "For free, of course..."

"I'm sorry," Bob said. "Really. HR..."

"Bob, I'm jerking your chain," I said. "You oughtta know..."

"But I still feel bad."

"Don't. What is, is."

"Oh, anyway, I got this guy here who's going to pick up on the Central America job. I hate to do this all over the phone. Would you mind if he came over and y'all talk?"

"No, that's fine. Has anybody done any work since I left?"

"No."

"Then I have the latest files with me. Software?"

"He's got it," Bob said.

"What's is name?"

"Dan Richards. 3Sigma Engineering. And Stoney?"

"Yeah."

"Don't embarrass yourself. The redheaded girl with him is his wife, not his daughter."

I heard a giggle in the background.

"I'm putting you on speaker," Bob said.

"Okay. I can do PG-rated. Can you?"

I heard two male voices laugh. One was Bob's. The other one said, "Mister Jackson..."

"Stoney," I said. "You're Dan?"

"Yes. Wish we'd've met under better circumstances."

"Me too," I said.

"I've sort of skimmed this project with Bob. He says you're the guy. Can we come visit and talk about it?"

"Sure," I said. "Bob's got the address. We'll be lookin' for you."

"We'll see you in what ... twenty minutes?"

"Give or take," I said. "GPS should get you here. Park in a slot marked Apartment 'B'. Should be two of 'em. One'll have a red SUV in it." Jo was due back soon.

"We're on the way," Dan said.

"See you in a bit," I said. "Be careful."

"'Kay!" he said. The phone clicked, disconnecting. In two minutes it rang again.

"Stoney," said Bob, "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"Nah, work's gotta get done. 3Sigma? I never heard of 'em?"

"They're six months old. I know two of the engineers. You're gonna have trouble getting better ones."

"Ooooo-kay," I said. If Bob said 'good', and wasn't talking about a client, but rather another engineer, then I took his word for it. "He brought his wife?"

"Oh yeah. She's an engineering student at Auburn."

"She ... classes."

"In a class by herself, buddy. Asks questions with her husband. Seems to know. You're gonna be surprised. Just warning you. They got me. I thought it was 'Take your daughter to work' day. At least I didn't SAY that."

"I shall contain myself," I said. "Thanks for the heads up."

I heard a key in the lock. That would be Jo.

"What's up, love of my life?" she said, bouncing over to kiss me.

"Gonna have company. Work company."

"Oh. Bob's pushing it. You're on disability leave."

"And Bob knows that and so do I. We do what we have to do, baby."

She smirked. "If you say so."

"I say so."

Kiss. Dazzling smile. "Then it's so. Should I put coffee on?"

"Let's see what they want," I said.

"I shall be a gracious hostess," she smiled.

Our place is not untidy, but Jo made a quick pass touching things up. The doorbell rang. She peeked through the peephole, then opened it.

Male voice. "Is this where I can find Randall Jackson?"

"Yes it is," Jo chirped. "Please come in."

A six-something, fortyish guy came into the living room with what was apparently a refugee from a preserve for wayward pixies.

"I'm Dan Richards," he said, shaking my offered hand. "And this is my wife, Cindy."

"Hello," I said. "I'm Stoney and you've met Jo. Johanna. My wife."

"Hi, Cindy," Jo said. "Hi, Dan. Coffee? Coke?"

"Coffee would be great," Cindy said. "Can I help you fix it?"

"Sure," Jo said. "Stoney makes a production out of coffee, though."

"Really?" Cindy's voice sounds twelve.

"I see you have your computer out already," Dan said. "Mind if I crank mine up?"

"Certainly not. Do you need power?"

"Nah. Battery should hold up long enough." He extracted a high-end laptop and opened it.

"Boots fast," I said. "SSD?"

"Yep. Life's too short to wait on spinning disks."

Okay, points to Dan for geekitude. I heard happy chatter from the kitchen. Add some more points for sociability for Cindy.

We opened the files I had stored on a USB stick after he loaded them onto his computer. "You have wireless?"

"Sure," I said. I gave him a password.

"I'm sending these to our server, just in case," he said.

"The Nikki Server," came Cindy's voice.

"Nikki Server?"

"Yeah," Dan said. "Cindy and her adopted sister Nikki built our network and server. UPS. RAID. Linux. I may be talking Greek."