Ian awoke that morning to the sound of his temples pounding. He had never had a hangover before. His mouth was unusually dry as cotton. He popped a couple of aspirin. As he showered and readied himself for the day, he wondered why now? He had never been a heavy drinker and he had certainly “tied one on” before, but he had never felt the after effects like this.
Getting dressed and checking the time, he decided it maybe it was just his due. He was almost thirty. His body was changing. Ian made a mental note to watch any and all alcohol intake. If this is what it was going to do to him from now on, he’d stick with tea.
Speaking of which, he poured him self a glass and the aspirin started to kick in. He felt his almost usual morning energy begin and he decided to do a little cooking for Tippy’s “lunch thingy” at one o’clock. He hadn’t actually cooked in a while and enjoyed the rest of the morning, whipping up this and that, generally making a mess of his kitchen.
At one o’clock he proudly gathered his concoctions and headed to the back yard. Just as he began to step through the opening in the shrubs, Ian heard Tippy’s voice say “Hey!” from the other side. A bread roll came sailing through landing square on his forehead.
“Dammit, Miss Congeniality, I am coming!” He rubbed the crumbs off his face and stepped through to the dark side.
When he adjusted to his new surroundings he was pleased to see the Shores’ backyard set for an informal. Everyone was dressed, even Colton, who was in the opposite corner flipping burgers on what Ian’s uncle Nate would have called a ‘swanky grill’.
“Baby Doll, you made it!” Tippy hugged him almost causing him to drop his armload.
“It wasn’t difficult. I just followed the flying buns.”
Tippy smacked him playfully on the cheek, “Now not everyone is here yet, but let me introduce you.” She started to pull him off in the direction of a small clique chatting.
“Uh…Tippy, could I put this stuff down first?” He held up his armload. It was below her breast level. She probably couldn’t see it.
“Mercy sakes, Baby Doll, what is all this?” she asked, helping him to put it down.
“Well, I was feeling Paula Deanish this morning so I decided to supply a few touches of the South to this shindig.”
“You cooked?” Her eyes got big.
“Don’t worry; I’m not that bad a cook.”
“Oh, honey, it’s not that. I’m just surprised. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Anyone can whip together some potato salad and a cheesecake.”
“Cheesecake? You made a cheesecake?”
“Well, no.” He peered into one of the bags and started pulling things out. “I made two, one New York style and one chocolate.”
Tippy sat the bag she was holding down on the nearest table and pulled out a cake pan, removing the lid and looking at it like it was a prized pig. “You made a cheesecake.”
“Yes.”
She looked at the cheesecake, then at Ian and back to the pie, “Colt, honey, we’re getting a divorce and I’m marrying Ian.”
Colton looked casually up from burger duty, “Okay Tippy, can we still have sex?”
“Well, of course!”
“Then I’m okay with it.”
Tippy quickly rummaged through the bags, squealing with glee at every little piece she pulled out. “Oh, I love this...”, “Oh my grandma used to make that….”, “Did you use Velveeta…?” Ian didn’t care if any of it tasted good; he just enjoyed seeing the look on Tippy’s face.
“Mmmmm, from now on...” Tippy cooed as licked the baked beans off the finger she had just dunked in the crock pot, “I’m not catering anything, I’m just telling you how many people are coming over.”
“I had fun,” Ian admitted, “besides it helped me get over the hangover.”
Tippy looked at him and grinned, “Did you have a good time last night, Baby Doll? I’ve been dying to know, but Colt refused to let me call or come over.”
A voice from the other side of the table piped in, “I don’t know if he had a good time, but everyone else there had a great time, and this man provided it!”
Tippy’s big brown eyes went huge, “Spill!”
Ian looked at the ground, “Aw, it was fun that’s all, and apparently I had a little too much to drink, either that or the scotch in California is a lot higher proof than back home.”
“Couldn’t tell you were drunk by the way you were singing and dancing. You were hot and on fire.”
“You didn’t!” Tippy grabbed Ian’s arm, “you sang and danced? I didn’t know you could sing and dance!”
“I can’t. That’s why I must have been drunk.”
“Buddy,” the man said as he took a slug from whatever was in his glass, “then you need to get drunk more often.”
Ian blushed and Tippy slapped him on the chest, “Oh my God! I’d have killed to see that!” She pinched Ian’s butt and sort of whispered, “You dog! Did ‘ja get laid, honey?”
“Tip? Someone’s at the front door and you gave Inez the afternoon off.” Colton yelled.
“Ian, don’t move! I want to hear every detail.” And she was off like, well, Mamie Rae Tipton.
The man stuck out his hand, “Jeremy Tyson.” He didn’t have to introduce himself. Ian had recognized him immediately.
“Ian Justyn” he said as he took the hand a shook it.
Jeremy was one of the biggest box office tickets in the film industry. An Aussie wild boy, with the reputation of a foul mouth, but well respected and admired among his peers. He had been a hard partying playboy until he shocked the industry by marrying Susan Andrews, sister half of America’s most successful pop duo, surprising everyone by not only making the marriage last but gaining the reputation of being a devoted family man.
Susan Andrews, America’s sweetheart, was not far from his side. Her stunning alto was the reason the recordings with her brother had rocketed to the top of the charts making them one of the all time best selling artists world wide. Her brother, a reputed temperamental control freak, was considered the creative genius, but it was Susan who had the talent. She, too, was anxious to introduce herself.
“You were wonderful last night,” She gushed like a teenager.
Ian was having a hard time swallowing it all, but thanked her politely and laughed when she asked what label he recorded for. He explained that he wasn’t a performer that he was in development for a network and left it at that.
“Well, if you change you mind, please, I’d love to talk with you about recording for my label.” She chirped.
“Well, next time I get drunk enough to think I could be a music superstar I’ll give you a call.” Ian had forgotten that when her brother had died unexpectedly three years ago of heart failure, Susan now had controlling interest in the mega music empire her talent had helped forge.
Susan handed him her card, “Why don’t we get together and talk anyway, perhaps we could be of mutual benefit to each other some time.”
Jeremy chided his wife. “Now, Suzie, it’s a day off. You and Ian can take over the world tomorrow. Today is a play date, remember?”
She smiled, so captivating, Ian’s heart jumped. “Okay, darling, I remember.” She slipped her arm around her hubby’s waist. “We make a perfect team. I calm him down and he makes me remember what it’s like to be human and enjoy life.” Jeremy squeezed his wife’s shoulders and kissed her on the side of the forehead. Ian thought how gorgeous their children must be.
“I see you’ve met the Tysons,” Tippy returned, “and I’m sure they won’t mind if I steal you away and introduce you around before we eat.” And in Tippy style before anyone had a chance to say anything, Ian was whooshed around like the new Miss America, introduced to all there.
He met the couple who lived across the street; Michele Alexander, Terry Myers and “Call Me Chip” Ellison who lived in the apartment building to his other side. Also in tow, were Jesse, of course, and Tippy’s oldest son Reece, as were Wella, with the man she has met last night, Blake, and three interchangeable starlets whose names he didn’t remember, but recognized them from either television or film.
Also in tow was the second third of what the industry called "The Musketeers” franchise, Trampus Scott, whom along with Jeremy Tyson and a missing Lucian Jahn had a string of hit action films. The final guest was a young man that Ian recognized but couldn’t place.
“And this is Seven Wyatt”, Tippy introduced. “He works for you.”
Ian shook his hand, “He does?”
“Sort of, I’m on “Sebastian Manor”, Seven explained, “so I kind of work for you…for now.”
“Moving on when you’re contracts up?” Ian asked.
“Everyone knows that HRT wants to get out of daytime, so when the show’s contract with the network is up, we’ll all be looking for new jobs.”
Ian smiled, “Well, I don’t know about that,but I for one don’t think that’s a wise move.”
Seven nodded, looking at the ground, showing off the long black eyelashes that made the fans of the show swoon. “It’s a piece of crap and we all know it’s a piece of crap.”
“You’re right. It’s terrible. At one time it was so bad it was fun, but that got old after a while.” Ian agreed. “Daytime isn’t my baby, but many of you are very talented and I’m sure that no matter what happens, work will not be hard to find.”
“Oh please, how would anyone even know if we had talent? Have you tried to say those words?” Ian knew how bad the scripts were. They had made him cringe every time he forced himself to watch.
“As I see it,” he responded truthfully, “Any one who can say that garbage in those ridiculous plot lines and make it sound like normal conversation has talent. Prime example, how long has your character been tied up in that basement naked?”
Seven laughed, “I get your point. I don’t understand why I’m naked, other than the fact that because of the budget cuts they started with my wardrobe.”
“See…” Ian pointed at him, “Talent…and hard abs don’t hurt.”
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