It was difficult to keep the barely controlled energy from his foot on the accelerator of the car on the way to work, but he managed to keep the speedometer at the posted limit, well maybe a little over…most of the time. He was distracted enough to not really be listening to the desk clerk’s latest story about his grand daughter, but paid enough attention to smile and laugh appropriately at the right times.
He remembered the correct button to push this time when he got in the elevator, and leaned against the back wall as it took off.
“Good morning.” Someone chimed happily from the other end.
He looked back up and noticed he was sharing the elevator car with David Turner. Turner was leaned back on the corner, cane over his arm for a change and both hands behind his back.
“Good morning, sir.”
Turner cleared his throat. “I’m anxious to hear what you have in mind for fixing the daytime sched, Young Justyn.”
“We’ve been brainstorming, and I think maybe we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeve.”
“I’m sure you do.” David Turner grinned.
“Just trying to keep up with you, Mr. Turner.”
“That can’t be difficult. I sit at my desk, prop myself up with this damned thing and try to remember why the hell everyone thinks I’m so important.”
The elevator stopped at Ian’s floor and he started to get out. “Well, have a good day sir.”
“You, too.”
Ian took a step forward and caught the doors just as they were closing. “Forgive me if I overstep my bounds, or my place in space…whatever, but would you like to join my team and I? Thursday mornings we have a combined power meeting and breakfast.”
“A power…breakfast?”
“We toss ideas around and stuff ourselves with really bad, but really delicious food.”
Ian smiled and nodded, and let go of the doors. Turner whipped out the cane to stop them from closing again. “Sausage and Egg McMuffins? I haven’t had one in years. Would you be talking about those?”
Ian smiled. “With Cheese.”
“You wouldn’t tell my secretary? She thinks she’s my mother, and God knows everyone else I know is dead, so someone has to keep me in line.”
“I wouldn’t know your secretary if she peed on my shoes.”
Turner smiled and stepped forward with Ian. “I like you, my boy. I really like you.”
“My company yesterday morning had the opposite to say.” As they strode towards his office, they approached the reception desk, Ian whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Okay, keep calm and act professional…we’re halfway home.”
“Good morning, Haley.”
“Good morning, Ian…Mr. Turner.”
“Haley, do you know Mr. Turner’s secretary?”
“Well, yes.”
“Do you think you could call her and let her know that Mr. Turner and I are having a meeting in my office this morning and he requests that she clear his schedule?
“I think that could be arranged.”
“And Haley…”
“Yes, Ian…”
‘Do you think…”
Haley smiled and held up a finger, punching some buttons with the other hand. “Good morning, this is Haley, Ian Justyn’s receptionist. Mr. Turner is here this morning about the daytime schedule…yes it was last minute. He asked that you clear his schedule. Yes…and I’d like to order some breakfast for him, and I was unsure if he had any dietary restrictions. Is an egg white omelet on dry toast points alright?…I’ll contact you if we need to order lunch. Good day.” Haley looked at the men and smiled.
“Oh, she’s good.” Turner said. “Very good, a keeper.”
“Thank you, Mr. Turner.” Haley nodded to him.
Ian motioned toward to main office. “Shall we…”
“By all means.” Turner took several steps forward and stopped. “Young Justyn, Ian. Is this a good idea? I don’t want my intrusion to put a damper on…”
Ian didn’t let him finish. “Team, look what the cat dragged in…”
Wella beamed. “Mr, Turner! Welcome! Welcome!” Wella must have been channeling Tippy that morning, as she whisked him from Ian without further ado, and made sure that everyone on the floor had been introduced.
The team was crowded around, and certainly in awe. The place fell silent. Ian thought that maybe they should go in his private office for a few minutes, and give them all time to process the fact the legend had indeed entered the building.
“So Mr. Turner would you like to…”
Turner simply cut him off and said, “Have you decided what to do about Sybil’s Manners?”
The staff looked at each other. Ian looked at Turner. “Sebastian Manor?”
Turner stopped and draped the cane back over his arm. “It’s a piece of shit. Who cares what it’s called?”
It was exactly what the team needed to lighten up and act normal. There was definitely a reason he was the top of his field. Ian turned to Turner. “Shall we go into my office, sir?”
“Lead the way.” They turned to take the last few steps to the office door.
Ian called out before he shut the door to his office, “Blake, let us know when the food’s here.”
Once the door got closed, Turner laughed and Ian smiled. “I understand now why you are the legend you are.”
“Flattery, Young Justyn, flattery. Bullshit is the best degree to have for this business.” Turner said taking a comfortable chair that Ian shoved closer to the desk.
Turner smiled. “So, Kent?”
“Kent?” Ian asked.
“Simon Kent giving you a hard time?”
“He thinks he is, but he’s just wasting his time and energy.”
“He thinks you are after his position.”
“I have one thank you.” Ian started rummaging through his backpack. “Two as a matter of fact.”
“No, no. Head of the Entertainment division, Tolan’s job.”
Ian shut the flap on his backpack and looked at Turner. “Mr. Turner, maybe I should be flattered, but I am oh so the new guy here, and all I want to do is earn my place. I’ll worry about cutting throats for that position when I’m his age, and have put in the time he has.”
Turner sat back in his chair and smiled. “Let’s let him think you are. I’m having fun sitting back and watching him squirm.” Turner was like a kid. “Let’s call him and invite him to breakfast.”
Ian pointed his finger at him and went back to pulling things out of his briefcase. “You are a mean old man. Shame on you.”
“We’ve told my secretary, I’m sure the whole building will know within the hour.” Turner scanned the walls of Ian’s office. “There’s not a chance in hell, he’ll get the job, you know.”
“Actually, Mr. Turner, it’s not really my worry. That’s for the board to decide. My only hope is if Tallulah Belle does get the position, I’ve earned enough respect to get a job somewhere after he fires my what was it he called it?”
“Wiggly fanny?”
“Yes…I believe it was.”
“It’s not the board’s decision, you know.” Turner seemed confident. “Oh the board will be there, and I always let them have their say, but it’s my vote that counts. My vote counts 51%.”
“I heard that rumor.”
“It’s not true.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“My vote counts 63%, as long as I hold all the proxies.” He seemed amused that he wasn’t able to shock Ian. “It was 51 until Elizabeth Elysian retired and I hold her proxy until she names a successor.”
“Elizabeth Elysian?”
“Yes.”
“She was a share holder slash board member here?”
“Of course. She was one of the original share holders, that’s why she had such a large piece of the pie.” Turner looked at Ian. “You know of her?”
“I bought her house.” Ian couldn’t help but notice that David Turner got oddly silent. “I thought she was a sweet old lady, but now I understand why she didn’t care about the financial aspect of the deal.”
“Elizabeth Elysian is a valkyre in old biddy clothing.”
“I take it you didn’t care for her.”
“In a sense she was my Simon Kent, but I adored her. Our sparing kept us going strong for years. She and Herman were dear friends. I mourn both of them every day.”
“Interesting.”
Turner continued to look around the office, and pointed with his cane. “You need something up there, on the wall.”
Ian turned to look. “I’ll find something eventually, right now I’m just trying to get from Point A to Point B.”
“Good man, stay focused.”
There was a knock at the door. Wella stuck her head in. “Gentlemen, everyone is ready.”
“Now, let’s go have some real fun.” Ian stood.
David Turner was escorted to a comfortable chair Blake had pulled out of Wella’s office. Ian scooted a place on a desktop beside him clear and had a seat.
“As you can see, Mr. Turner.” Wella handed him a Sausage and Egg Mcmuffin and a napkin. “We eat healthy around here. You wanna Coke with that?”
“You won’t tell my secretary?”
“Honey, if she finds out, Blake held you down on the floor and force fed you.”
He smiled. “I’d like a Dr. Pepper.”
“You got it.”
The morning meeting was a blast of excited creativity. They were settling into the new offices, and the new team members seemed to take to Ian’s style of doing things. Having David Turner there, gorging himself on pastry and fried foods, only added to the dynamic. He seemed to be energized by the spirit as well, of course his energy could have come from three Dr. Peppers, but Ian hoped it was more the former than the latter.
They had decided to concentrate on fixing what they deemed to be the problems with the daytime lineup, first, while attempting to quickly develop something to fix the gaping problem that called itself “Sebastian Manor”.
They first discussed the 1 PM drama, a staple since 1968, and one of the last successful daytime dramas to be launched and survive from the many, many that had tried since. “The Best of Everything” was a good piece, but still trying to regain it’s footing after having been practically decimated when HRT decided to hire Baxter Reilly as it’s head writer. In the four years he headed up the writing team, the story and the history went ory, and the audience left in droves.
Things got worse when some idiot decided it was a good move to allow Reilly to remain as head writer, while creating, producing and writing “Sebastian Manor”. Manor debuted at the bottom of the heap and “The Best of Everything” slid from a solid number three to just above “Sebastian” at the bottom.
Two years ago, Reilly was removed from the “Everything” staff to concentrate on “Manor”. “Manor” refused to improve, and got worse creatively, but a new head writer managed to help the other older soap to get back up to at least middle ground.
Ian’s problem was to figure out a way to get that show back into the top third, minimum, although he felt with a few tweaks, it could zoom right back to the top. His staff agreed, it was a strong, old fashion soap, with a solid core audience that stuck with it during some really horrible storytelling years.
The thought was that the time slot was the biggest problem. Ian really wanted to move the two soaps he had on the schedule two hours later, removing them from competition with most of the other daytime dramas, making them unique in a glut of syndicated talk shows and local news. It was a tougher time slot, but Wella seemed to agree that the genre distinction would gain audience from viewers who were sick and tired of having nothing to choose from.
A group was assigned to begin calling affiliates to feel them out on the idea. Ian also gave a call to Marcus Hunter, the manager of his old station in Bristol. Hunter agreed to move “The Best of Everything” to 4 PM, admitting what Ian already knew. They hadn’t had decent ratings in that time slot since TV Land had snapped up the syndication rights to “Petticoat Junction” and “Green Acres”.
“America Alive” needed some chemistry adjustment. The anchors were solid enough, but the format was dry and reminded Ian of late night radio shows on college PBS stations. Someone suggested adding a third dynamic in the form of a roaming anchor, one who would actually broadcast from other locations. Four members volunteered to do some cost research and take a look at new formats that seemed to be working for the news/talk format in larger markets.
The biggest problem was “Sebastian Manor”. It was abysmal. While Reilly made quirky, surprising choices in his plotlines, often pushing taboos, his payoffs were lackluster, even insulting. A debate raged as to whether or not “Manor” could be saved and something else take its place.
Which led to a bigger question, could something be developed, written, cast and shot in time to start for a fall push in September? The third problem being was that the idiot who let Reilly create his own show, also gave him ownership, and he was notorious for telling the network brass to take their ideas and, well, you get the picture.
Time was running out and major decisions had to be made and put into action. Ian was determined that the best idea was to launch a “reformed” daytime slate with the fall prime time line up. It would save money, and quite possibly, if exciting enough, may even get a few people to try out daytime for the first time in years.
Ian didn’t mention his call or his desire to snag Pearce Warner for “America Alive!” but the general consensus was that a change in anchors would definitely be a good start. So, Warner or not, everyone was now on the prowl for new blood.
Ian was on his way out the door when he heard his name being called.
“Mr. Justyn?” A smiling young lady came dashing out of the elevator toward him. “Mr. Justyn, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Ian, call me Ian.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “I’m Pat Weaver, from public relations.”
“What may I do for you?”
“Sir, we handle among other things all your fan mail…”
Ian almost laughed. “Fan mail? I get fan mail?”
“Oh yes, Ian. Well, you are the face of HRT.” She read Ian’s face. “You seem surprised.”
“I am, stunned in fact.”
“Well, we take care of all of it. It’s legal thing…and a safety issue.”
“Of course. How may I help you?”
“Most of it is read and answered, but I ran across this one, and that I thought you might want to handle personally.” Pat Weaver handed him a small envelope.
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Ian.”
Ian looked at the envelope. The postmark was Lost Mountain. Ian didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He slipped it into his backpack and headed out to his car.
He didn’t think about Lost Mountain much, and he thought about it all the time. It seemed so far away. It hadn’t been that long ago, but it seemed like a nightmare some one else lived. He wished it didn’t haunt him, but it did.
It laid heavy on his heart. There were people he’d left behind there, people that meant something to him, Aunt Hil, Billy even Jude, but the smiles they brought to his face usually were quickly replaced by tears of fear. Then he’d feel guilty and the cycle would start over.
He thought about his Aunt Hil. He had had no contact with her since before he left. He called her and told her that he was moving and he’d be in contact. He’ll never forget what she told him. “Good for you, baby boy. You go, you go and don’t ever look back.”
That’s what he had done, but was it the right thing to do?
He barley remembered the drive to the gym, deep in thought. When he found himself in the parking lot, he thought, “Yes, this is exactly what I need.”
Ian had begun to take pleasure in spending and hour or two at the gym whenever he could. He really wasn’t interested in sculpting his body or bulking up, he just liked the feeling of accomplishment and working up a sweat.
He had found a nice out of the way place, actually the one that the big guy from Open Fields had given him a card for, where being a reluctant celebrity had no merit. The place was clean, the staff friendly and knowledgeable and the clientele, a good mix of people, from the average Joe to the wealthy and sometimes infamous.
Ian had been there a number of times now but no one seemed to bat an eye when the “Hunka Hunka HRT” strode in. So when someone famous ended up using the equipment beside him or anyone else, no one took a second look. It seemed to be an unwritten rule. What he liked most was the fact that in the showers there didn’t seem to be a lot of guys checking out equipment, if you know what I mean.
That early evening, the place seemed to be full of the regulars, people Ian had seen before, enough to smile and say hello or start a small conversation as they passed one another. Of course there were a few new faces, one in particular of curious note.
He stood there huffing a little in a skintight spandex onesy. Ian knew who he was, but chose to ignore him. Whenever the guy noticed anyone notice him, he’d look angry and rub his chest or his crotch, trying very hard to be noticed trying not to be noticed. Ian almost laughed out loud a couple of times at the guy’s not so subtle subtly.
He finally meandered near to where Ian was trying very hard to do bench presses. Ian tried hard to concentrate, but the guy made him uncomfortable, staring at him. Whenever he’d catch Ian glancing at him, he’d go back to his “angry stance”.
Ian couldn’t help but slip a few quick ganders. He was definitely the odd duck in the henhouse. The onesy barely covered the tattoos on his chest and arms, not garish, but bold and big. What topped off the look Ian found fascinating, was the Mohawk, the ends of the spiky black hair bleached blonde.
Suddenly the guy was looking back. Ian tried hard to focus back on his reps, thinking “That was the wrong thing to do”. The guy was obviously ‘under the influence’, another rarity for this place, and who knows what he thought catching Ian looking at him meant.
The guy finally sauntered unsteadily over. He rubbed his not all that well developed chest, stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “Hallo…aren’t you going to shake?”
“Uhh...kind of busy.” Ian said ignoring the hand, seeing his were busy trying to press almost too many pounds of dead weight.
“Oh right…” He said. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
“No.” Ian said a little too bluntly and quickly, but it didn’t seem to faze the dude.
“Right…right…” He rubbed his Mohawk. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Ian said placing the barbell back in its cradle. “You’re turn.” Ian didn’t bother the wipe down the machine, as was the usual custom. “Well nice to meet you Mr. Chamberlain.” Ian tried to move along.
“London…” he said. “Calm me London.”
“Certainly.”
Chamberlain grabbed Ian’s forearm as he tried to pass him. “Wait. I do know you.” He squinted his eyes and cocked his head. “Did we fuck?”
“Oh God no.” Ian looked at the hand on his arm and then back into the barely focusing eyes.
Chamberlain released the grip. “Sorry, you just look…I know I know you from somewhere. I usually don’t go for guys, but once and a while…” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “You know how it goes…”
“No sir, I don’t.” Ian was trying hard not to be rude. He knew he’d gotten himself in this mess. He’d get him self out gracefully, with no harm done…somehow. “It was a pleasure meeting you, uh…London. I’ll let you take your turn on the bench.”
“Oh yes…” the Brit took at step back and Ian breathed a sigh of relief. Chamberlain sat on the bench, seemingly oblivious to the fact the when he sat the onesy he sported gave a good look to all passersby his ‘sport’. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Sorry, Ian.” He turned to slip away.
The Brit grinned. “Oh yes…I know who you are.” Ian knew instantly the he had registered in the man’s brain, and it wasn’t in the intellectual part.
“I apologize.” Ian stammered. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I need to get my workout finished and get out of here, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” the man stared through him. “Busy man, busy man…” and he trailed off. Ian realized that the man’s unfocused mind had tripped toward something else. Ian made a hasty getaway and quickly lost sight of him as he finished his workout.
As he was using the treadmill to cool down the man beside him was watching the Brit, who by that time was annoying someone else, and shook his head.
“Is that guy supposed to be somebody?” He asked Ian.
“Everywhere but here. His records are huge all over except in the States. This is probably the only country in the world left where nobody knows who he is.”
“So he comes here to be an anonymous dick?” He asked.
“I think he’s pretty much a dick everywhere, he’s just an anonymous one in the U.S.”
The man laughed.
“I think he’s trying to get himself thrown out of the place.” The man said.
“Why would you say that?”
“You mean he hasn’t hit on you yet?” He asked.
“No.” he lied. “Has he hit on you?”
The guy nodded his head. “Told him I wasn’t into guys.”
“Bet that really stopped him.”
“Oh, yeah…” the man launched into a dead on impersonation of the Brit. “Me neither, mate. Just thought we could go back to my flat, get naked and do some ex. What happens would be just between us.”
Ian laughed at the comment and the impersonation. “You’re pretty good. Wanna job?”
“No…” the man said firmly. “My Dad was in the business, and I have no desire to follow in the old man’s footsteps. Mom and I even moved out of state when he passed away.”
“What brings you back then, if you don’t mind my asking?”
The man turned the treadmill off. “Same as you, starting over over again. My wife died a few months ago and I took a new job.”
“I’m so sorry, anything I can do for you?”
He looked at Ian and smiled. “Well, thank you Mr. Justyn. I appreciate the offer, but I’m doing fine…one day at a time. How about you?”
Ian smiled. “Same.”
“You take care.” He said and shook Ian’s hand.
“You, too.” Ian picked up his towel and tossed it over his shoulders and headed for the showers. The water was almost too hot, just perfect for the finish to a long work out. He
dried, dressed and headed for home.
“You have a good day,” someone behind the counter said as he passed heading for the door.
“You, too.” Ian hiked his gym back on his shoulder and walked to the front. He started to leave but saw the manager and walked over to her. “Terry, do me a favor?”
“You know I’ll try, Ian.” She said.
“No matter what he does, don’t ban London Chamberlain.” He told her. “He’s deliberately trying to get banned.”
“Well that’s dumb.”
“He’s not thinking clearly, we both know that. He wants to get some publicity, good or bad, to spin in whatever direction he thinks will work best for him. Unless he kills somebody, just smile and invite him back soon. If he damages anything or anyone quits I’ll take care of it.”
“Anything you say…” she seemed skeptical, but Ian knew she understood.
“And did you see that guy I was talking to earlier?” He asked.
“Mr. Patterson?” She smiled. “So sad about his wife.”
“That’s what I was going to ask…if you knew anything about that.”
“Just that he’s been coming here about a month, he pays per session and Monty said he told him he lost his wife to uterine cancer before he came back to L.A.”
Ian nodded. “Thanks, Terry. Give him a year’s membership and charge it to me. Don’t tell him…all the perks…tell him it was, I don’t know, a contest he won or something.”
“Sure…see you tomorrow?” She asked.
“If I can.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Take care.” And he was off. As soon as he pulled onto back on the highway headed for the home that would soon officially be his.
He unlocked his door, and walked into the respite of his house. He walked straight back to the laundry room, stopping momentarily in the kitchen to pour himself some tea. He sipped and dumped the contents of the gym bag in the laundry, fiddling with the dials until his used clothing was in the process of being clean.
It was one of his things. He couldn’t rest until he knew his gym clothes were in the washer. As soon as they came out of the dryer, they would be folded pristinely, and put on the shelf, beneath the other clean gym clothes so they would be used in rotation, never out of order. He told himself they would last longer that way. He was making good money now, great money, but to Ian there was no sense in wasting it.
He hadn’t bothered to take off his back pack, he felt its weight still on his shoulder. It was still early, and there was plenty of work to do. He wondered momentarily why he considered his house a refuge, when all he seemed to do was bring home work to do.
“Just get it done, hayseed.” He said to himself out loud. Maybe after the fall schedule was announced, things would lighten up…or would the cycle just start all over again?
He kicked off his shoes, and unbuckled his pants. He laughed to himself. “This is why home is a respite. I can work in my underwear.” He shrugged the backpack off, pulled his shirt over his head, folded everything up neatly and placed it them in the dirty clothes bin, well the darks in the dark bin and the lights in the light bin.
Ian picked up his tea, and his satchel and headed out to the pool. As he opened the door, he couldn’t help but notice it already in use. He stood still a moment to make sure the laughing and splashing was coming from just the brothers next door, that they didn’t have “friends” with them.
“Ian!” Jesse called tossing a handful of water at him. “Come join us!”
“Are you guys alone?” He cautiously asked.
“Yup, just me and the dork here.” Reese jumped his brother from behind and slammed his head under water. “We’ve ordered pizza.”
“Cool.” Ian put his backpack on top of the table, and looked up at the barking coming at him from the opening in the stone wall. “Evening, Ralphie.”
Rushing to him in excited doggy fashion, the setter jumped up, paws on Ian’s shoulders and licked his face. Ian rubbed his ears and pushed him off. “You guys know if Kellen’s home?”
“Haven’t noticed.” Reese pulled his gasping little brother out of the water by the hair.
“You son of a…” Reese shoved Jesse back under before he could finish his sentence.
“He’s not done yet…” Reese smiled and then suddenly disappeared, Jesse tripping him under water and sending him backward.
“Hey! Hey!” Ian yelled, “If you two are going to kill each other. Go do it in your own pool.”
Jesse looked up from the headlock he had Reese in. “We’re just playin’.”
“Well, no accidents.” Ian unzipped one of the compartments in his pack and began tossing paperwork on the table. “I’m in the press enough these days without having to explain two naked brothers floating in my pool.”
“We’re not naked.” Reese said, after elbowing his brother off him.
“But we can be, if you want.” Jesse added.
Ian looked up at him. “I just came from the gym. I’ve seen enough wet penises for one day, thank you.”
Jesse looked at his brother. “Did he just call me a penis?”
“You are a penis.” Reese slammed his brother’s head back under the water.
Ian heard a bell and looked around. He’d never heard that before.
Reese jumped out of the pool. “Pizza’s here!” He announced and went running into the house.
“Hey! Ian called, “Don’t get my carpet wet!”
Reese shot him the bird as he zoomed inside.
“And I thought you said you weren’t naked?” Ian bellowed just as he got in the face with a pair of wet trunks.
“We are now!” Jesse said hitting him with a second pair as soon as the first fell off Ian’s face.
Ian reached for the sloppy trunks and tossed them back in the pool. “Dork!”
“You’re a dork!” Jesse said pulling on his trunks and getting out. Knowing the place better than Ian, he walked right over to the cabana, opened a door and pulled out of couple of big fluffy towels. “You bring work home, again?”
Ian grabbed a corner and wiped his face. “Gee, Beav, I’m in high school now. It’s a lot harder than elementary school.”
Jesse rubbed himself down and wrapped the towel around his middle. “Never let’s up does it? All work and no play…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ian took the last of the papers out of his backpack and plopped it on the chaise. “I was dull before I took this job.”
“Who’s dull?” Reese asked, pushing the door open with his foot, box balanced on one hand, slice in the other, pepperoni flailing in the wind.
“Did you answer the door like that?”
“Yeah.” Reese gave Ian the ‘is there a problem’ look.
“How would you feel if you were the pizza guy, and some bozo answered the door naked?”
“Depends on how hot they were.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “I swear…”
Jesse grabbed the box and dived in. “You sound more and more like Mom every day. It’s creepy.” He pointed with the end he just took a chunk out of to the table. “Who’s that?”
“What?”
Jesse pointed again. “The kid in the picture.”
Ian looked at where he was pointing. A picture had slipped out of the envelope that Pat Weaver had given him. He picked up the envelope and pulled out the contents.
“What is it?” Reece asked, now having pulled his trunks on and seated himself at the table. “Get me a napkin, dork.”
Jesse reached back behind himself and grabbed a handful, tossing them liberally at his brother. “You want one?” He looked at Ian, before he could answer he repeated the process.
“Children!” Came the voice just out of the hedges. “What is going on here?” Tippy’s body appeared quickly after her voice. She came straight to the table on the patio, Colton in tow.
“Mr. And Mrs. Shores, we need to talk about your children.” Ian said sternly. “They are unruly and disruptive to the other students in class.”
Tippy put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, well get over it. We came by to see if the boys were in the mood for pizza.”
“Too late.” Jesse said. “You want, we should order another?”
“Make it two.” Colton said. “I’m hungry.”
“Aww,” Tippy didn’t bother to ask, surprise, and plucked the photo out of Ian’s hand. “Who’s this little sugar plum?” She turned a second photo over to look at the face, she’d plucked out with the other. “This little boy is a doll. Fan of yours?”
“Must be.” Ian said snatching them back. “A woman stopped me as I was headed out of the office and said he took care of my fan mail…”
“You get fan mail?” Jesse asked as he went for the second slice.
“Just as shocked as you are.” Ian grabbed some pizza before it was all gone. “Anyway, she handed me this one and said she thought I’d want to take care of it personally.”
Tippy plucked a slice of something off Ian’s slice and popped it in her mouth. “What’s the letter say?”
“I don’t know…I haven’t read it yet.”
“Well, read it, Baby Doll. I’m dying to find out who this cutie is.”
Ian swallowed, opened the envelope and pulled out several pages in matching stationary. He looked it over. His heart fell as the realization hit him. “It’s from Janie Osborne, she and her husband bought my place.”
“Well read it out loud, Baby Doll. We’ll pretend it’s a letter from home.”
“It’s hard to read so bear with me…” Ian had to squint, not because the light wasn’t right enough, but because Janie Osborne’s barely educated handwriting was difficult to interpret. “Dear Mr. Ian. I hope this letter makes it to you. We didn’t know where to send it, but we found an address for the TV station in the TV Guide. Miss Hillary said she had no idea where you were either, but to tell you to call her and she still loved you mighty fine…”
“Aww, how sweet…” Tippy cooed.
“Ronnie is in school now, and he has to write a letter to someone important. He insisted on writing to you.”
“Who’s Ronnie?” Reese asked quietly.
Ian cleared his throat. “Her boy.” He glanced down at the picture on the table, and read on. “He tells everybody that he lives where Ian Justyn the TV star grew up. Anything he finds in the barn, he draws a note on and puts it in that old chicken coop that we don’t dare tear down cause he says that’s his museum.”
Tippy cooed more. She picked up the pictures. “That is adorable. This must be him.
“He even talked Miss Hilary into parting with some of her goo gahs, and you know how she doesn’t throw anything away. Anyway, I hope this letter along Ronnie’s finds you happy and well. You enjoy whatever memories life gives back to you and I pray they are happy ones, much like the happy ones our little family is making here. Please come to visit soon. Course you won’t recognize the town. They put in a Pizza Hut where Tedder’s Grocery used to be and they built a new high school on the old Haynes Place. It ain’t a big town like where ever you must be, but its home, and like Miss Hilary always tells us you’re always welcome home, Mr. Ian. Don’t forget us, cause we’ll always remember you. Always Janie Osborne.”
Jesse pushed at Reese, “Are you cryin’ you little girl?”
Reese pushed back, “Shut up bottom boy!”
“Did you get the little boy’s letter?” Colton asked, tossing the now empty pizza box in the big plastic trash container Ian kept by the cabana.
“No. I guess that one escaped me.” Ian looked back in the envelope. “Wait…here it is.” He waved a sheet of paper.
“What’s it say?” Colton peered over his shoulder.
Ian unfolded a tidy sheet of paper with the wide thick lettering. He looked up to see Tippy motioning for him to hurry. “Give me a sec, geez, you’d think you knew these people.”
He noticed Reese watching the way he was holding the letter. “Okay…Dear Mister Ian Justyn.” Ian looked up at his audience, “At least he spelled it correctly, that’s a lot more than half the newspapers do.”
Tippy waved her hands at him. “Go on…”
“Dear Mister Ian Justyn, You don’t remember me, cause I was just a baby when we met, but I live in the house you was growed in…”
“Not learned grammar yet, huh?” Jesse chuckled.
Ian looked up at Rease. “He’s ten. It’s a colloquialism.”
“Obviously he’s smarter than Jesse.” Reese snickerd.
“Hey!” Jesse sat up straight.
“Boys…” Colton gave them a stern look, and then shot one to his wife, “...and you. Let Ian read the little boy’s letter or I’ll send everyone home to bed early.” He waited for the trio to become quiet. “Continue, Ian.”
“Thank you.” Ian cleared his throat. “We are learning to write letters and Miss Flaming…Fleming, says we all have to send a letter to some one important. I choose you.”
“Aww…”
“Please write back. If you do, I might win a prize and I’ll split it with you. Yours Truly, Ronnie Osbourne.”
“Well, your gonna write him back aren’t you?” Tippy said.
“Wait, something else on the back.” Ian said. “Oh, it’s something else from Janie…Our baby is ten years old now, growing like a weed. I put his school pictures in so you can see how handsome he is. He is the light of our life. J…”
“Baby Doll, get us some pens and paper, we are all writing that little Sugar Plum back.” She snatched the envelope. “When’s the post mark? We’ve got to hurry and win him his prize. If we all write that would help, don’t you think?”
“Oh Lord,” Colton shook his head. “She’s heard the magic word.”
“Magic word?” Ian snatched the envelope back and tucked the letters back in.
“Prize.” Jesse said. “If there’s a contest, Mom’s in. She even buys lottery tickets.”
“Oh pooh!” She said smiling at one of the pictures. “Can I have this? Anything I win I give to charity. Besides, this little cutie deserves a prize.”
“Tippy,” Ian looked at her as he handed her a pen from his pack. “That school is so poor, I’m sure the prize probably is…was probably a brownie for lunch or getting to be hall monitor.”
“That’s so sad.” Tippy said. “Paper…you know we raise millions of dollars a year for everything you can think of, all deserving, but sometimes I think we forget that there are so many in our own backyard that are just as much in need.”
“Well, why don’t you…”
“I’ll start with this little angel, and work my way from there.” She began scribbling on the sheet Ian produced. “Now we’ve got to get this to him fast.” She looked up. “I hope the contest isn’t over. Give me a phone someone, I’m gonna call the school…it’s still what? Late afternoon there…Reese honey, can you fly these letters to Lost Mountain tonight? Well, don’t just sit there, go gas up the plane!”
“Stop! Stop!” Ian said. “First of all, go ahead and write your letter, maybe send him a little gift. I’ll have it messengered to the school first thing Monday morning. I think having a response in the form of a huge box delivered by a fancy man in a limo will win little Ronnie his brownie.”
“Oooh…good idea.” Tippy responded.
The bong sounded again and Ian looked around. “Is that my doorbell?”
“Pizza! I’ll get it.” Colton headed for the house.
“Pop?” Reese yelled. “If it’s the same guy who delivered before, don’t bother to take your clothes off.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Colton disappeared into the house.
Tippy looked up from her letter. “Oh Baby Doll, your tux came. I hung in your upstairs closet.”
“You got a tux?” Reese sat up. “What for?”
“Better question,” Ian said. “You have a key to my house?” he directed at Tippy.
“Ian you don’t even know what your own doorbell sounds like, of course I have a key to your house.” She patted the back of his hand. “Are you excited? Ian’s got a date…”
“It is not a date.”
“Are you going somewhere with someone in a tux?” Reese asked.
“Well…”
Tippy cut him off “He’s taking Saxon Allen to the Academy Awards!”
“Saxon Allen?” Jesse said. “You’re dating Saxon Allen?”
“It’s not a date!” Ian insisted. “I am merely escourting an old college friend to an industry event.”
“You went to college with…Saxon Allen?” Jesse said.
Reese looked at Ian. “Jesse has a thing for Saxon Allen.” He pinched his brother’s cheeks. “He wuuuuuuuvs her!”
“Boys…” Tippy warned. “What’s important here is…does Ian wuuuuuuv her?” She put her index finger to her chin and batted her eyes.
“Mamie Rae Tipton you are just as bad as they are.” Ian said. “She’s a dear friend, and we are just fulfilling a promise we made to each other in college.”
“Sounds romantic…” Tippy sighed.
“Just a silly promise that we ended up being able to fulfill. That’s what friends, and I stress the word friend, do for each other.”
“What was the promise?” Reese asked.
“Back when we were in theatre together in college…”
“You majored in theatre?” Tippy asked.
“I started to, but switched majors…anyway, we promised that whoever got nominated for the Oscar first would take the other as their date, no matter what.”
“That is romantic.” Tippy sighed.
“Yeah…” Ian rolled his eyes. “Destiny, just destiny.”
“What’s destiny?” Colton appeared with two more boxes of pizza. He put them down and looked at Reese. “You were right.”
“Told ‘ja.” Reese opened the box and ripped out the first slice. “Ralphie, are you hungry?”
“Reese, do not feed that puppy dog, pizza!” Tippy barked. “Ian and Saxon Allen at the Academy awards is destiny. Just like us.”
“Next subject!” Ian started shoving papers back in his pack, obviously he wasn’t going to get work done until the Shores were gone. He really didn’t mind though. He sighed as he shoved a script in, he really didn’t. “I bought a bag of food for Ralphie it’s in the cabana with his dishes.”
“You’re taking care of that man’s dog?” Jesse asked, the one nearest the cabana, and heading towards it.
“No.” Ian said. “But when he gets out and Kellen’s not home, I thought it was the neighborly thing to do. At least if Ralphie knows he’s welcome, he’ll be less likely to run off or get hit by a car.”
“How does he keep getting out?” Someone asked, mouth full of pizza.
“He doesn’t know.” Ian said watching Jesse plop a blue dog dish down and start to fill it. “Not there, on the mat by the breeze way; food on the left, water dish on the right.” Jesse looked up at Ian in mid-pour.
“Switch the bowls.” Ian said until finally satisfied and allowed Jesse to finish the task. Ralphie sat patiently until Jesse stepped away. He looked at the meal, sneezed at Ian and then happily ate.
Tippy’s face scrunched in excitement. “Ooh, save your Oscar program and get Saxon to autograph it for the little Sugar Plum.”
As the men satiated themselves in pizza, and Tippy finished running Ian’s life for the night, he finally found himself alone by the pool, with the exception of Ralphie who had made himself comfortable in a chaise. The table was again spread with spread sheets, contracts and spec scripts. The ashtray was over flowing.
Ian dumped it in the trashcan he had reserved for ashes, rinsed out the tray and place it in the dishwasher. He got a clean out of the cabinet. Thinking it was getting too dark out, he opted to gather his work and move inside.
Scratching Ralphie’s ears, he began making stacks. “Okay, finished…not looked at…not going to look at…and…” he paused by the letter from home. He picked it up, pulling out and rereading the letters.
He stared at the picture, the one Tippy left behind. He traced his finger down the bridge of the boy’s nose. He couldn’t help it. The picture reminded him of the ache, the one that he had learned to live around.
“Cute kid.” Came the voice that startled him. “He yours?”
Ian looked up at the smiling face of Kellen Jackson. Ian snapped a smile on to his face. “He belongs to the people who bought my house in Virginia. You’re little boy is right over there, sleeping by the pool.”
Kellen laughed. “I’ve gotten to the point when I come home, I just come straight over here and get him. As soon as I figure out how…”
“No sweat. I enjoy the company. Long day at work?”
“Long night. I work mostly nights.”
“Is it that late?”
“Not for me. Have you got a minute?”
“Sure. Have a seat.” Ian continued to shove the last piles in his pack, leaving out the one he still wanted to look at before he called it a day.
“I talked to my friends down at the station for you.”
“And?”
“And not much. They talked to a few people and will officially close the case, probably accidental suicide, as soon as the coroner’s report comes back. Sorry…it does seem pretty open and shut.”
Ian nodded his head. “Thank you. It all just struck me as odd.”
“Other than the needle in the thigh, everything else is unfortunately run of the mill.” Kellen reached in his pocket and handed Ian a slip of paper. “I did get the names and numbers of a few of her friends. I thought if it still bothered you, maybe talking to one of them would help.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the effort, but I think I can let this go.”
“You blame yourself.”
“I’m not sure that blame is the word. I just felt an odd connection.”
“Connection? You and a porno queen?”
“She had it rough. Been there. Still fighting it, will always fight it.”
“Ian…” Kellen leaned forward and said with a soft, politely warning tone, “Any rough time this Bambi Helton was having she brought on herself. Everyone pays the consequences of the choices they have made. No one pays for someone else’s sins, unless they choose to.”
Ian cocked his head. “I’m not sure I believe that. There is too much that happens at random.”
Kellen shook his head emphatically. “Buddy, I was a cop for too long, and that was more than enough to realize that there is actually very little, if anything, that is random. If you trace things back far enough, with enough detail you can always find a moment when the string got tied, that was tripped over by someone else, who knocked the bucket over that spilled the water the preacher slipped in.”
“Kellen, I’m an orphan, a poor backwards mountain orphan, raised by the son of a woman who took my mother, another orphan, in. I ended up raising myself in clichéd poverty. I didn’t even have indoor plumbing until got unlucky enough to sell some worthless land and get enough cash together for one semester of school.”
Ian tried to make his point, “Yeah, I decided enough was enough and made the decisions that got me out of there, but I’m sorry, you will never, ever convince me that my mother or I made the choices that forced us to be raised by people who not only had nothing, but didn’t really want us in the first place.”
“I understand…but may I be a cop a moment?” Kellen asked. Ian shrugged and Kellen continued. “Why did these people take you in if they didn’t want you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Look, the way I feel isn’t about who did this to me, or even why it happened. It’s about knowing it happened and the constant feeling that I not only did have any control over it, but the fear it makes me live with every day, the fear that there is something or someone I should know.”
“What for?”
“To be prepared.” Ian reached for the cigarette Kellen offered. “I’m an escapee, Kellen, and being a cop, you should know, whenever there’s an escape, there’s someone looking for you, to drag you back and make sure you never have the opportunity to escape again.”
“Ian, you can tell me. Have you done something wrong?”
“No, just beat some pretty insurmountable odds. There were a few times I had to make some tough choices, choices a kid should never have to make, but I made them.
“You’re feeling guilty, not responsible.”
Ian took a drag of his cigarette and looked out into the dark night air. “Maybe.”
“Hey, buddy, you’re in a position or soon will be in a position to help reduce the odds for the next mountain cliché trying to get out of there. That’s the side you should be looking at.”
“Yeah.” He smiled and picked up the picture of Ronnie Osbourne. He touched the smiling little face. “He looks like his granddaddy.”
“You know the kid’s family?” Kellen reached for the picture and laughed to himself. “Forgive me, small town, you probably know every body’s family.”
Ian laughed, too. “Probably, everybody somebody’s third cousin twice removed, but this little boy’s grandfather was one of the few who were good to me. I’ve tried to do right by him and his family.”
“Problems?”
“No, I just can’t help but wonder, now that time has gone by, if I did right by them or just by me.”
Kellen took the picture out of Ian’s hand. “From the look on this little guy’s face, I’d say things have gone right for both sides of that coin.” He handed the picture back.
Ian nodded his head, slipped the picture back in the envelope and laid it to rest on the tabletop. “You have any kids?”
Kellen started to shake his head and looked out at the space of nowhere Ian had looked at earlier. “Similar situation, Ian. Made a mistake at fifteen, and thought we made a good decision. It didn’t make sense for two fifteen years olds, so I tell myself that three lives were made better, every day.”
“That was the best decision.”
Kellen crushed out his smoke. “It was a little boy, that’s all I know and I think about him all the time. How old would he be now? Would he look like me? Would he have his mother’s temper? You’d think after all this time, it would have gotten easier, but it hasn’t. I’ve just gotten easier at moving on.”
“Does your girlfriend know?”
Kellen looked at Ian with a big question mark on his face. “Girlfriend?”
“The woman you were…” Ian suddenly realized he’d given himself away.
Kellen laughed, a big, easy belly laugh. “Amanda? The woman you watched me…”
Ian cut him off and covered his face in shame and embarrassment. “We all know what…please let it drop, let it drop! Sorry…I am so sorry…”
“Ian, you are a trip…” Kellen wiped a tear out of his eye. “Amanda is my ex-wife. She left me for another woman, every once and awhile she gives me a call when either one or both needs a real penis and I oblige. I’m easy, what can I say?”
“I…uh…um…”
“Yes she knows about the kid and no she wasn’t the mother. It was a girl in my old neighborhood and no I don’t have any contact with her. She was killed in one of those stupid car wrecks on graduation night. Anymore questions?”
“God no…”
Kellen laughed again and clapped his hands. “Com’on Ralphie, let’s go home.” Ralphie leaped to his master’s command. “Ian, as always a pleasure.” Ian watched to dog follow and Kellen chuckle all the way out of sight.
Ian picked the envelope up off the table, picked up his backpack and gathered Ralphie’s dishes to put in the dishwasher. He fiddled around a while, but kept finding himself going back to the letters and the picture.
He made himself some hot tea and headed upstairs. Sitting on his bed he reread the letters one more time. He finally lay back on his bed and picked up the phone. He had to struggle a minute to remember the number, but it finally connected.
When the line connected he heard a sleepy mumble. “It’s me. Am I calling too late?”
“Ian?” There was a small silence and Ian almost hung up the phone. “It’s so good to hear your voice, boy.”
Ian’s heart was thumping and he suddenly had to struggle to get words to come out. “Jude.”
“I was just watching a ball game on the couch, son. You know how it is, just a sleepin’ through the commercials. I thought I’d never hear your voice again.” The happiness in Jude’s voice suddenly stopped. “Ian, son, is everything alright? Why you callin’?”
“I just needed to hear from home, Jude. I just needed to hear from home.”
“Well, that’s okay. We’re all doing good, just fine.”
“That’s good to hear.” Ian sat up on the bed, using one finger to pull the school picture out of the envelope. “I’m doing well, too. Tired, working hard…just a little lonely.”
“Lonely?” Jude got that tone in his voice, “That’s not what I been a hearin’”.
“You shouldn’t be listenin’ to all that gossip old man.”
“Well…just cause I hear it, don’ mean I repeat it, at least not most of it.” That made Ian laugh.
“Jude, I got a letter today, from Janie…”
It was silent a moment on both ends. “She told me she was gonna send one. That what’s put that sound in your voice?”
“What sound?”
“Aw, son. Everything’s fine here, you don’t need to fret none.”
“I know. I know. I just…Jude…he looks so much like...”
“Yes. Yes he does.”
“But they’re doing good? I mean…do they need anything? Money?”
“They so happy, boy. Don’t you worry none. They don’t need a thing, not one airy thing.”
“You’d tell me if they did, right, Jude?”
“Course I would.” Ian could see that look of reassurance in the man’s face even though he was hundreds of miles away. “Now, there ain’t a lot of building goin’ on right now, but Kyle’s still doin’ what ever little jobs he can, and Janie…she got a good job as a nursin’ aid or something at the hospital.”
“Janie’s a nurses aide?”
“Yep.” Ian could sense the pride in Jude’s voice. “When the boy went to school she started taken some classes, too. Got herself a degree and everything. Imagine that boy, a kid of mine with a degree!”
“Imagine that…and Aunt Hil?”
“Well, I won’t lie. She’s getting old, but doin’ fine. Ronnie goes over and sees her ever day, just like you…” there was a silence between them. “You done so good boy. You done so good.”
“Yeah, Jude. I just can’t…”
“Boy…” Jude’s voice got stern. “You buck up. Put all that right out of your head. Don’t you look back. Don’t you do it now.”
“Everything was just fine, just fine, and then I got a look at that little face.”
“Ian, son…” Jude struggled for words. “She’s gone. She ain’t coming back.”
“Yeah. I know.” Ian cleared his throat. “Listen, you tell that boy to expect a little something that will win that contest for him, tell him there’s a Miss America next door that is determined to make it be.”
“I’ll tell him.” Jude chuckled.
“And Jude, tell them to watch the awards Sunday night.”
“The what?”
“Tell them to watch the Oscars, I’m taking Saxon Allen to the awards…”
Jude whistled. “You fin’ly hook up with that girl?”
“No!” Ian put on his stern voice. “Just a couple of friends reconnecting and going to a social event.”
“Uh huh.”
“Anyway…it’ll just make Saxon and I feel good knowing for sure that someone from home is watching and rooting her on, although I think she’ll throw up if she wins.”
“Ian? Can I ast you somethin’?”
“Of course. Anything, Jude, you know that.”
“Why didn’t the two of you ever get together? You and the little Allen girl?”
“You know why.”
“That Clare thing?”
“Eventually.”
“So what’s stopping you now?”
The silence grew long. Jude finally spoke up. “Spit it out, boy. I know the answer, but you need to hear ya’self say it. Spit it out, now.”
Ian took a deep breath. “Taylor.”
“Ian, Taylor was a long time ago. You should be all over her by now.”
“Did you ever get over my mama?” Ian didn’t mean that to hurt, he really didn’t.
“Course not.” He heard the man sigh. “I miss your mama ever day, but I didn’t let that stop me.”
“I’m not letting it stop me, Jude. Look at what I’m doing, where I am.”
“I am, boy. You got a good job, and a good life, but honey have ya got a good love?”
“Well there was Clare…”
“Ian, that wasn’t love, that was poon tang. That twernt serious.”
“I thought so.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did.”
“I ain’t gonna argue that. Let’s just say, you’da never married that woman, if I had to put a bullet in yer brain afore ya said I do!”
Jude always made Ian laugh, and he did. They both did. “Look son, I’m just saying don’t let the whole Clare thang keep you from lettin’ something good get away, and for Chris’ sakes if you wanna be true to Taylor, and I know you Ian Justyn. I know you do. You grab that hot little Grundy girl and you take a chance.”
“You are such a hound.”
“She-it!” Ian could almost see Jude’s face, a little gray grizzle and frustrated that he couldn’t put into words what was written all across that face. “You listen to me, boy. You listen good.”
“I’ll be alright, Jude. I will. It’s just seeing that little face, those eyes…it just brought her back to life.”
“I know how you feel, bubba. I feel that way when I look in yours.”
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