Chapter
9
Mother
Knows Best
August
1986
Only
halfheartedly looking for a new job, I was still collecting
unemployment checks. But as for Tina, she didn't remain unemployed
for very long. Just last week, Seattle's only four-star hotel - the
Rainier Plaza - took her on as a part-time front-desk clerk at higher
wages than what Hilton had paid her, and offered good prospects for
promotion. Therefore, I felt somewhat less guilty for having
indirectly caused her termination at the Hilton. After Tina lost her
job, I was too fearful of her hair-trigger temper to tell her about
my role in that. But now I was finally emboldened enough to broach
the subject with her.
The
first weekend after she got hired, the three of us celebrated the
happy occasion by attending Sunday brunch at Rainier Plaza, a
massive, 1920s-era hotel whose masonry exterior walls with their
decorative terra cotta “gingerbread” made the place
resemble a glorified county courthouse. But its huge lobby and other
public spaces were quite beautiful, with winding staircases of pink
marble and wrought iron, the glossy walnut furniture, vividly
colorful Tiffany stained-glass lamps and soaring, cathedral-like
vaulted ceilings.
I
sensed a happily expansive mood at our table as we partook of the
Rainier's first-class buffet. At least, I felt that way myself.
Between bites of eggs Benedict and a delectably seasoned fried salmon
cake, I said to Tina. “This place sure puts the Hilton to shame.
I guess things didn't workout too badly after all.”
Tina
cut into tender roast leg of lamb and replied, “Yeah, I should get
fired more often, huh.”
“I
was feeling sort of responsible for that, but now - “
She
glanced up, pretty brown eyes flashing at me. “Whaddya mean by
that, Herc?”
“You
know, for ratting-out A.J. - and not just for the drive-by. He
made this sleazy video tape with Marta, see, and - ”
“I
was wonderin' when you'd bring that up.” Undoubtedly she had
learned of the offending tape from Angie, who studiously avoided my
gaze and made a big show of enjoying her thick, pastry-like waffles
topped with fresh blueberries and whipped cream:
“Mmmm
- yummy!”
“The tape, you mean?” I asked rhetorically, stalling for time to
think. “I was going
to tell you about it, that day at your mom's place when those guys in
the car shot at us. But after that
happened, it didn't seem important anymore.”
Chewing
intently, Tina waved her silver fork and muttered, “Whatever. I
don't see what that had to do with me anyways.”
“The
thing is, A.J. made the tape at a room at the Hilton, on top
of whatever illegal crap he was doing there. I didn't know that at
the time, though.” The last sentence is basically true, although
glossing-over details which I considered extraneous.
Tina
slowly shook her head. “Sheeit, you were sooo
concerned about that little
bitch. Did'ja ever fuck her or git a blow job? Tell the truth,
now.”
“Oh,
hell no!” I hissed with honest indignation. “And would you please
tone it down?
People are looking at us.” Then I signed and continued. “Okay,
so I kissed her once or twice - but that's all. Actually, she
kissed me
once or twice.” I had left out only one extraneous detail: Marta,
while we were together in Tina's bathroom several months ago, had
rubbed my bulging fly while attempting to slide her tongue down my
throat.
Tina
turned to Angie and jerked her thumb in my direction. “That evil
temptress tried to molest this poor innocent boy - HA! Whaddya think,
Ange? Do ya believe that bool-shit?
“Sure
I believe him - Denny's always been such a lousy liar,” Angie
replied with a wry expression on her face.
“Yer
damn lucky, smart guy - this time,” Tina said portentously.
*
* *
Sept.
1986
Servercomp,
the dial-up online service I had invested in, had now been in
business for three months. Our very first users were computer
hobbyists who operated online forums and bulletin boards . In
exchange for letting us host their members' activities on our
servers, we paid these hobbyists - called “sysops” in online
lingo - a nominal fee and gave them toll-free access to our servers
from anywhere in the US (thanks to a ruling by the Federal
Communications Commission in 1985, long-distance rates for
sending/receiving computer data were much lower than for voice
communication). The recent advent of certain internet protocols
allowed Servercomp's servers easy access to the large number of
independent servers connected to USENET, a loosely-knit nationwide
network of computer enthusiasts who ran newgroups, bulletin boards
and online forums. Those features, in turn, attracted a flood of new
users from the Seattle area (and some from out-of-state) who wanted
access to the free online games, primitive email services and file
exchange services that our affiliates provided. As an added
attraction, we also offered chatting in real-time, which was
something relatively new in the small online world.
Having
plenty of time on my hands, I spent every weekend and many weeknights
on-call, connecting to the servers on my new IBM-PC from home to
ensure that everything was functioning properly. The clunky PC and
mind-numbingly slow dial-up modem had set me back $2,000. In order
to stop the alarming drain on my bank accounts, I had recently
accepted a deadly dull temp job as a data entry specialist.
After
three months in business, Servercomp had thousands of frequent users
but no revenue was coming in. So far, the only one making any money
was our accountant. Fortunately that was soon to change, since our
advertising campaign appearing in various computer magazines had just
hit the newsstands. Within a few weeks, hundreds of people were
paying us $25 per month to gain online access. The initial ad
campaign generated just enough cash-flow to cover the lease payments
on the building and the high monthly phone bill, much to the relief
of all the investors.
*
* *
Dec. 1986
Angie,
Tina, and I celebrated our first Christmas together, and Angie
insisted that I invite my mother over for Christmas dinner. Angie's
own mom still lived in southern California, where she moved after her
father, Angelo, died in a car wreck in Seattle almost two years ago.
I recalled with embarrassment the patronizing tone with which my
sainted mother spoke to me last February, when she found out I was
dating a black woman.
"She's
not gonna appreciate our living arrangements," I whined in dread
anticipation..
"Herc's
afraid of his own mama, Ange," Tina said, just before busting a
gut.
"Okay,
you asked for it," I muttered. So then I invited my 48-year old
Fundamentalist Christian mother to Christmas dinner.
On
Christmas Day, mother and I were having a conversation at my
apartment: “...So, honey, how's that business venture of yours
going?”
“Oh,
it's going, all right.
Nobody's making any money yet, unfortunately.”
“What
is it that your company does, again? I never have really
understood it.”
“Well,
to be honest, neither have I, ma, “I replied with a chuckle. “The
simplest way to describe it is that we provide a way for people to
send written messages to each other on their computers.”
“And
how is that done?”
“Over
phone lines.”
“Sounds
like a fancy way to send telegrams.”
“It
is, ma. Only it's much, much cheaper.”
“That's
a rather impersonal way to communicate. I think I'll stick with the
telephone.”
“Who
knows, ma? Some day you might be able to talk on the
computer.”
“Well,
I'll be. So, how much does a computer cost?”
“About
two grand.”
“I'll
keep my phone, thank you very much.”
Tina
came home from her visiting her mother just as Angie, my mother and I
were setting the table for dinner. "Ma, I'd like to introduce
you to Tina."
Mother's
personality was half Roman matron-half southern belle: She told me:
"Tina is a lovely creature, Denton - "
"Tina
lives here, ma. She moved in over four months ago - "
"Splitting
the rent three ways - how economical!"
As
Tina strode into the dining room just then, I replied to mother,
"That's not exactly why - "
"Missus
Smith, it's so nice to meet you!" said Tina with a huge smile
plastered on her face.
"It's
a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear.” Turning to me, she
teased, “Denton has always been secretive - haven't you, son?"
My
cheeks burned as I replied, "Naw - I was getting around to it."
We
ate dinner (which featured a slightly burnt turkey) and made more
awkward conversation. Finally, mother took her leave. "Well, I
have to pay a few more calls, so I'll be on my way." Then I
walked her to her car. "Merry Christmas, honey. I hope you and
Angie get married and give me some grandkids. Angie loves you very
much, Praise the Lord."
"I
know she does. I, I love them both, ma."
"You'll
be badly hurt, dear."
I nodded involuntarily, as if in agreement, although I replied:
"Yeah, well, that might be true, but I'll be no worse-off than I
was before. G'night, ma."
When
I went back inside, Tina flatly stated: “Yer mama hates me, Herc.”
“Tsk,
she doesn't hate you any more than your mother hates me.”
“Yup
- she hates me.”
Copyright 2015 by K.D. Bishop