96 Rocks. Ron Ph.D Hummer

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      “It isn’t right Diane. Think about it. Don’t end up like the people in my company. Or me. Get out before it’s too late. You’ll be free in California.”

      “I have to say that I’m thinking about it.”

      “I hope you are.”

      “I am. So, what do you want to hear?”

      “Just play some Zappa, Dead, Riders of the Purple Sage, and Little Feat.”

      “Tell you what.” She went back to the console, typed in Frank Zappa, came back with results, chose Dirty Love. “I’ll do that and I’ll throw in some Hot Tuna, Tull, and Commander Cody as well.”

      “Sounds great. Thanks.”

      “Take care, Rick. And good luck on your job.”

      “Thanks. Same to you.” He hung up.

      Diane put the phone back on the receiver, heard the voice of Jackson Brown fade. “All right. Coming up we’ll have some Grateful Dead, Little Feat, Riders of the Purple Sage, Jethro Tull, Hot Tuna, and Commander Cody. But let’s get started with Frank Zappa and Dirty Love at 96 Rocks.

      Diane leaned back in her chair, took in the music of Frank Zappa. She looked at her laptop computer, stared at the picture of her and her ex-boyfriend, John Carlton, on her facebook page. He was taller than her, his head shaved, his complexion was nearly the color of brass.

      She pressed the space bar and the picture switched to Mary Spellman. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders, framing her blue eyes, aquiline nose, and round face.

      Diane tried not to feel jealous standing next to Mary, knowing that Mary would still draw all the looks from men, including Tim Harrelson, the one who was responsible for getting her fired from the station.

      Diane heard her cell phone vibrate by her brown pocketbook. She took it out, recognized her mother’s number.

      “Hi Mom,” she said as she put the cell phone to her ear.

      “Hi. Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

      “Thanks.”

      “He called, didn’t he?”

      She smiled, put her feet on the table as Gina came back into the room. “How did you know?”

      “I’m sure you don’t get a lot of requests for Frank Zappa.”

      “I guess you got me.”

      “And you better not be updating your facebook page.”

      “I promised you I wouldn’t do that again.”

      “I’m sure you have the computer with you.”

      She arched her eyebrows, drew her lips together. “Just looking at some pictures, that’s all.”

      “Okay, fine. Get a song cued up for the Dead. This is a short one for Frank Zappa.”

      “Okay.”

      “And please do not play Truckin or Casey Jones. Jerry Garcia did more songs than those and the other radio stations only play those two songs. You can do something different.”

      “Fine.” She typed in Grateful Dead into the computer and came back with a list of their songs. “How about Hell in a Bucket?”

      “Sounds good. “You’re just looking at a bunch of titles anyway.”

      “Done.”

      “Did he choose Jethro Tull?”

      “No, that was my idea.”

      “You don’t mix Jethro Tull with any of those other bands. Neil Young. Bob Dylan. Eric Clapton. Creedence Clearwater Revival. Not Jethro Tull.”

      “Sorry.”

      “Play Skating Away. That will be close enough.”

      Diane went to her computer again, typed in Jethro Tull and Skating Away, then put that under Hell in a Bucket as that song came on.

      “Did he start in with you about that crazy talk about going to California?”

      She stared at the ceiling, smiled. “Yes.”

      “Are you still considering it?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Fine. You said you’re playing Commander Cody.”

      “Yes. She typed in that name and came up with a list of songs.”

      “What are you choosing? Hot Rod Lincoln?”

      “No. I like Beat Me Daddy Eight to the Bar.”

      “You played that yesterday. How about Smoke. Smoke. Smoke.”

      She put Beat Me Daddy, Eight Under the Bar under Skating Away.”

      “You didn’t choose Smoke Smoke Smoke.”

      “Excuse me,” she said, smiling. “This is still my show.”

      “Fine.”

      “All right. I’ll let you choose a song from Hot Tuna.”

      “Do Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning. That’s a long song.”

      Diane typed the song in with Hot Tuna, then put it under Beat Me Daddy, Eight to the Bar. “I don’t need a long song mother. I can put six songs together and sit back.”

      “I forgot how easy you have it.”

      “Yes, not like Dr. Johnny Fever of WKRP who took a nap when he played Dogs from Pink Floyd.”

      “First of all, he was not asleep. That was a TV show. That doesn’t happen.”

      “Fine.”

      “That show didn’t even reach a third season. Wasn’t that funny.”

      “I thought it was.”

      “Look at the music you’re playing. I’ll bet Rick Holman is getting stoned right now.”

      Diane’s smile grew wider. “Yes, you refer to it as drug music. You seem to know a lot about it though.”

      The DJ heard her mother take a deep breath. “Nobody likes a smart aleck. You don’t seem to realize that I knew all these people when I was a DJ. I knew Jerry Garcia, George Frayne, Billy Farlow, Jorma Kaukonen Jr, Lowell George...”

      “Wait,” Diane said, laughing. I don’t even know those names after Jerry Garcia.”

      “They’re members of Commander Cody, Hot Tuna, and Little Feat.”

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