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We need to have a budget meeting
Apr. 21st, 2019 12:19 pmWilford held an ice pack to the back of his head, barely listening to the noise in the room. Brain fuzz had given way to headaches, making getting through the day an entirely new sort of irritating. Nichola had brought Michael back home on her way in from the city, and apparently being home again zapped him full of all sorts of energy.
“No, sweetie. Daddy’s not feeling good,” she said.
Wilford barely opened his eyes to see her coaxing Michael over toward the sofa with her.
“Why?” Michael asked.
“Because,” Nichola said, obviously trying to find a few extra seconds to figure out what she was going to say. “Sometimes the medicine you need to take for one part of your body will hurt another part.”
“Why?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” Nichola said. “But Daddy’s medicine makes him sick right now, so we have to be nice.”
“Oh.” Wilford watched Michael wander back toward him, stopping to peer cautiously over the side of his chair.
“You sure you’re going to be all right?” Nichola asked.
Wilford nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said.
“When are you coming back?” Nichola asked.
“Aiming for tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure if he’d make it, but maybe if he started getting up and forcing himself to get things done, he’d adjust faster. Wilford glanced over at Michael and handed the ice pack to him. “Go put that in the sink,” he said.
Michael eagerly took it and trotted off toward the kitchen. He tossed the ice pack where he’d been told, and returned. Rather than waiting for an invitation, he climbed up into Wilford’s lap. As he squirmed around, Wilford watched the light from the big, bay windows play off his hair. He sat up just enough to look at a better angle, and reached out to hold a bit of michael’s sloppy, grown-out mohawk against the light.
“His hair’s blue,” he said, seeing it for the first time.
“Really?” Nichola asked. “Think he gets that from his dad?”
“Must be,” Wilford said. “Probably from being out in all that sun. Remember that guy that made me shave and dye my hair because he didn’t like the colour under the lights? Who was that?”
“Oh,” Nichola said, scrunching up her face as she tried to remember. “God, yeah. It was right after we left CBN, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, what was his name?” Wilford couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been worth enough for Wilford to bother putting his name into memory.
“Carmichael?” Nichola guessed. “No, Carlisle!”
“Yeah, him. God, I hated that douchebag.” But there was nothing like a string of awful bosses to give a person the drive to become their own boss.
“What’s douchebag?” Michael asked. Nichola tried not to laugh.
“My old boss,” Wilford said simply.
“Oh.”
“You have fun hanging out with Tim?” Wilford asked Michael, since he seemed talkative enough to actually engage.
“Yeh,” Michael said.
“What’d you do?”
Michael looked around the room. “Uhm.”
So much for engaging. “Uhm’s not an answer. What’d you do?” Wilford asked again.
Michael continued to look around the room, and Wilford shifted to pull his phone from his pocket.
“Went to… the park,” Michael said finally. “And beach.”
“Oh yeah? Did they take you to the sea lions?” Wilford asked.
“Uhm…” Michael shrugged dramatically. Wilford tried not to shake his head.
He pulled up Google on his phone and ran a few quick searches. He had no idea what the rules were for these things, or which programs were required and which ones were optional. Annoyingly, it took him several iterations of the same search, changing wording to get a straight answer.
“What’s wrong?” Nichola asked.
“I don’t think he’s going to be ready for school this year,” he said.
“Have you been looking at anywhere?” Nichola asked.
Wilford finally found his answer, buried in a recommended search. He had until the kid was six before he needed to enroll him anywhere.
“Few places,” he said. “Maybe next year. You want to stay home with me anyway, don’t you, pal?”
Michael nodded. “Yeh.”
“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Nichola said. “Bill and Sharon started Tim as soon as they could so they could get out of daycare fees. You don’t need that. There’s no reason to rush him.”
“What?” Wilford asked, trying to remember if he’d heard that. Billy was his best friend. He felt like he should have heard that, but it didn’t sound even a little bit familiar. “How much were they paying?”
“I think it was about thousand a month,” Nichola said.
It was the first Wilford had heard of it. He hadn’t been responsible for Billy’s salary at the time, but the man had another kid on the way in a few months. San Andreas’ rates couldn’t possibly be much lower than they’d been in DC. Wilford pulled up his calculator and ran a few numbers, and didn’t like what he saw. No wonder Nichola had been so strongly against taking his story public.
“We need to have a budget meeting,” he said. Technically he still didn’t have ultimate control over wages — the network still controlled that — but Wilford could twist a few arms. “I need to get my head back on straight.”
They needed to get away from the network. Wilford had the capital to do it, but they needed the infrastructure in place first. And that started with focusing on his damn blog like he was serious about it.
“Clear up Rosa’s schedule for me too. At least a week. Shuffle whoever you need to to make it happen.”
Nichola nodded. “Are you sure you’re ready to be jumping back in like this?” she asked.
“Nope,” Wilford said. “But it needs to be done.”
Wilford liked Sundays as a matter of course. Most people took it off anyway, which meant the studio was quiet enough for him to get some work done. Sundays that were also a holiday meant that only a few people ever came in. It gave Wilford time to read over everything he’d missed over the last few weeks while nursing a headache he was determined to chase off. A few aspirin and an ice pack were just about doing it.
Buried in the stack of reports was something from next door.
Looks like fun. Seems up your alley
—Jack
Wilford opened the envelope and found a proposal from ULS, with their sports division header on top and a web url printed at the bottom. Not something that had been sent out directly, but something Jackson had found, or been directed to.
He hadn’t been wrong though. Wilford was intrigued. He flipped through the pages, only skimming the program’s intentions and goals. Simple stuff that didn’t need much information — college kids looking for some work experience. The due date to sign up was at the end of the month, so why not. Wilford wrote his name and information on the top of the sheet before getting up and taking it out to the bulletin board. He didn’t think anyone else would sign up, but it was there all the same. He’d leave it up for a few days and then send it back in.
He’d have to dig his gear out of the garage. He’d kept most of it, but he didn’t think anything would fit him, and the damn dog ate his bat.
“No, sweetie. Daddy’s not feeling good,” she said.
Wilford barely opened his eyes to see her coaxing Michael over toward the sofa with her.
“Why?” Michael asked.
“Because,” Nichola said, obviously trying to find a few extra seconds to figure out what she was going to say. “Sometimes the medicine you need to take for one part of your body will hurt another part.”
“Why?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” Nichola said. “But Daddy’s medicine makes him sick right now, so we have to be nice.”
“Oh.” Wilford watched Michael wander back toward him, stopping to peer cautiously over the side of his chair.
“You sure you’re going to be all right?” Nichola asked.
Wilford nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said.
“When are you coming back?” Nichola asked.
“Aiming for tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure if he’d make it, but maybe if he started getting up and forcing himself to get things done, he’d adjust faster. Wilford glanced over at Michael and handed the ice pack to him. “Go put that in the sink,” he said.
Michael eagerly took it and trotted off toward the kitchen. He tossed the ice pack where he’d been told, and returned. Rather than waiting for an invitation, he climbed up into Wilford’s lap. As he squirmed around, Wilford watched the light from the big, bay windows play off his hair. He sat up just enough to look at a better angle, and reached out to hold a bit of michael’s sloppy, grown-out mohawk against the light.
“His hair’s blue,” he said, seeing it for the first time.
“Really?” Nichola asked. “Think he gets that from his dad?”
“Must be,” Wilford said. “Probably from being out in all that sun. Remember that guy that made me shave and dye my hair because he didn’t like the colour under the lights? Who was that?”
“Oh,” Nichola said, scrunching up her face as she tried to remember. “God, yeah. It was right after we left CBN, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, what was his name?” Wilford couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been worth enough for Wilford to bother putting his name into memory.
“Carmichael?” Nichola guessed. “No, Carlisle!”
“Yeah, him. God, I hated that douchebag.” But there was nothing like a string of awful bosses to give a person the drive to become their own boss.
“What’s douchebag?” Michael asked. Nichola tried not to laugh.
“My old boss,” Wilford said simply.
“Oh.”
“You have fun hanging out with Tim?” Wilford asked Michael, since he seemed talkative enough to actually engage.
“Yeh,” Michael said.
“What’d you do?”
Michael looked around the room. “Uhm.”
So much for engaging. “Uhm’s not an answer. What’d you do?” Wilford asked again.
Michael continued to look around the room, and Wilford shifted to pull his phone from his pocket.
“Went to… the park,” Michael said finally. “And beach.”
“Oh yeah? Did they take you to the sea lions?” Wilford asked.
“Uhm…” Michael shrugged dramatically. Wilford tried not to shake his head.
He pulled up Google on his phone and ran a few quick searches. He had no idea what the rules were for these things, or which programs were required and which ones were optional. Annoyingly, it took him several iterations of the same search, changing wording to get a straight answer.
“What’s wrong?” Nichola asked.
“I don’t think he’s going to be ready for school this year,” he said.
“Have you been looking at anywhere?” Nichola asked.
Wilford finally found his answer, buried in a recommended search. He had until the kid was six before he needed to enroll him anywhere.
“Few places,” he said. “Maybe next year. You want to stay home with me anyway, don’t you, pal?”
Michael nodded. “Yeh.”
“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Nichola said. “Bill and Sharon started Tim as soon as they could so they could get out of daycare fees. You don’t need that. There’s no reason to rush him.”
“What?” Wilford asked, trying to remember if he’d heard that. Billy was his best friend. He felt like he should have heard that, but it didn’t sound even a little bit familiar. “How much were they paying?”
“I think it was about thousand a month,” Nichola said.
It was the first Wilford had heard of it. He hadn’t been responsible for Billy’s salary at the time, but the man had another kid on the way in a few months. San Andreas’ rates couldn’t possibly be much lower than they’d been in DC. Wilford pulled up his calculator and ran a few numbers, and didn’t like what he saw. No wonder Nichola had been so strongly against taking his story public.
“We need to have a budget meeting,” he said. Technically he still didn’t have ultimate control over wages — the network still controlled that — but Wilford could twist a few arms. “I need to get my head back on straight.”
They needed to get away from the network. Wilford had the capital to do it, but they needed the infrastructure in place first. And that started with focusing on his damn blog like he was serious about it.
“Clear up Rosa’s schedule for me too. At least a week. Shuffle whoever you need to to make it happen.”
Nichola nodded. “Are you sure you’re ready to be jumping back in like this?” she asked.
“Nope,” Wilford said. “But it needs to be done.”
Wilford liked Sundays as a matter of course. Most people took it off anyway, which meant the studio was quiet enough for him to get some work done. Sundays that were also a holiday meant that only a few people ever came in. It gave Wilford time to read over everything he’d missed over the last few weeks while nursing a headache he was determined to chase off. A few aspirin and an ice pack were just about doing it.
Buried in the stack of reports was something from next door.
Looks like fun. Seems up your alley
—Jack
Wilford opened the envelope and found a proposal from ULS, with their sports division header on top and a web url printed at the bottom. Not something that had been sent out directly, but something Jackson had found, or been directed to.
He hadn’t been wrong though. Wilford was intrigued. He flipped through the pages, only skimming the program’s intentions and goals. Simple stuff that didn’t need much information — college kids looking for some work experience. The due date to sign up was at the end of the month, so why not. Wilford wrote his name and information on the top of the sheet before getting up and taking it out to the bulletin board. He didn’t think anyone else would sign up, but it was there all the same. He’d leave it up for a few days and then send it back in.
He’d have to dig his gear out of the garage. He’d kept most of it, but he didn’t think anything would fit him, and the damn dog ate his bat.
