“Very well,” Jim said with a sigh. “I’ll be there.”
And he was. He made the walk from room 237 to the admin building while students were still filtering through the halls to the exits. He arrived at the door at the same time as Stephanie Zool. Understanding suddenly filled him.
“Let me guess,” he said to his educational colleague and bandmate, “Jeffrey and Anne requested your presence at a meeting?”
She smiled. “You must be psychic,” she told him.
Broom Hilda, who was wearing a black dress on this day and actually looked like a witch, sent them immediately into the principal’s office upon arrival. The office was modest, with a cheap, district supplied desk with an in and out box and a large blotter on it. Jeffrey Jonas was in his early fifties, balding, and had been the principal of Hope High School for the past fifteen years. He made it clear that he planned to stay in the position until retirement. He tried to project an image of benevolent leader to both the students and the staff, but in actuality, he just hated being seen as a bad guy or making tough decisions. He sat behind the desk in his signature sport jacket and tie, his glasses perched on his nose. Sitting next to him was Anne Bordon, known as the hatchet woman by students and faculty alike. She was in her late thirties and full of ambition to rise to the very top of the PPSD food chain. She was marginally attractive physically, tall and thin with an aristocratic face, but quite unpleasant on a personal level.
“Jim, Stephanie, please, close the door and have a seat,” Jeffery told them with a phony smile that both distrusted immediately. He waved at the two seats that had been set up in front of the desk.
“Sure,” Jim said softly, shutting the door and making sure it latched.
Steph made no move to sit down. “What is this about?” she asked the two bosses.
“We just want to have a little discussion about some recent developments,” Jefferey said.
“A little discussion, huh?” Steph said. “Is this the sort of discussion we should be getting a union representative to sit in on?”
“No, no,” Jefferey said dismissively. “It’s nothing like that. This is just an informal talk about ... well ... about this music thing the two of you are involved in.”
“The music thing, huh?” Steph said. “Haven’t we talked about the music thing enough over the years? We understand. You don’t like that we are in a band and play the sort of music you think is offensive. And there is nothing you can do about it. End of discussion.”
Jeffery opened his mouth to say something, but Anne beat him to it. “It is not the end of the discussion,” she said, “but the beginning. Please sit down, both of you.”
Jim and Steph looked at each other for a moment, passing a look back and forth. They were certainly within their rights to have union representation here—they had invoked that right before—but Steph finally shrugged, seeming to say: “Let’s hear what they have to say.”
They sat down, Steph closer to Anne.
“It has come to our understanding,” Anne said, “that this musical group you two are a part of has recorded an album and they are now playing one of your songs on the radio locally.” She said musical group the way other people said venereal disease.
“That is correct,” Jim said.
“Why did you not inform us in advance that this was going to occur?” Anne asked.
“Uh ... because it’s not really any of your business,” Steph said.
A flash of anger appeared on Anne’s face. “Don’t be impertinent with me, Ms. Zool,” she said. “The fact that two of our instructors are playing rock and roll music on the local radio stations is very much our business.”
“Actually, it’s not,” Jim said. “What we do on our own time, as long as it is legal and does not affect our job duties, is our business and our business alone.”
“This does affect your job duties,” Anne said. “You are creating a large distraction to the educational process in this facility.”
Steph rolled her eyes. “You and the board members and the PTA have been telling us that for years,” she said. “We’ve gone to the wall on this issue more than once. We are not causing a distraction to anyone by playing music.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Anne said. “Things have changed now that your so-called music is being played on the radio.”
“How does that make things different?” Jim asked.
“I would think that would be obvious,” Anne told him. “When you were simply playing in clubs during the summer, the children did not have access to your music. Everywhere you played was a place where you had to be twenty-one to gain admission, correct?”
“Correct,” Jim agreed.
“Now they are playing your songs on the public radio waves,” she said. “On stations that the children of this school listen to. They are now being subjected to the offensive lyrics and radical causes that your group is well-known for.”
“Offensive lyrics and radical causes,” Jim said softly, as if pondering that. He looked back up at Anne. “Have you ever actually listened to one of our tunes?”
“Certainly not!” she said firmly, as if he had asked her if she had ever snorted cocaine from an ass-crack.
“Then how do you know our lyrics are offensive?” Steph asked.
“The type of music you play is well known for being offensive and supporting the left-wing cause,” she said.
“The song they’re playing on the radio right now is called Together,” Jim said. “It’s a song about the sanctity of a long-term relationship between two people, about how you have to face the tough times together so you can enjoy the good times. It is, in fact, a moving and quite touching declaration of love and commitment that my wife wrote for me. How is that offensive?”
“Or left-wing?” added Steph.
“We’re not here to discuss semantics or to interpret song lyrics,” Anne said. “We’re here to talk about how we’re going to deal with the distraction the release of this music of yours is causing to the children of this school.”
“What makes you think there is a distraction?” Jim asked. “All of my classes were pretty much distraction free today, except when my lecture was interrupted by Lynn calling me on the phone to tell me to come to this meeting.”
“My classes all went pretty much normally as well,” Steph said.
“Nevertheless, the distraction exists,” Anne insisted. “I’ve been getting calls all day long from parents, from members of the school board, from prominent members of the PTA, all demanding to know what we’re going to do about this situation.”
“It sounds like the admin and the parents and the PTA are the ones being distracted,” Jim suggested. “Not the students.”
“The children are being distracted as well,” Anne barked. “I’ve been out in those halls today, listening to them. They’re all talking about the song on the radio.”
“But they’re paying attention in the classroom,” Jim said. “At least as much as they normally do.”
“Again, I’m not going to argue semantics with you two,” she said. “The distraction exists because the children are being exposed to your so-called music. We need to do something about this situation.”
Jim and Steph shared another look. Here it comes, the look said.
“And what exactly do you propose we do about it?” Steph enquired.
“We are requesting that the two of you take a voluntary leave of absence for the remainder of this semester,” Anne said.
“A voluntary leave of absence?” Jim said.
“We think that is the best solution to the problem,” Anne said. “That would keep the campus distraction-free until the start of the fall semester in September. By that time, I’m sure your little album will have faded into obscurity and will no longer be able to distract the children in the manner it is now doing.”