Chapter Nine: Agendas

He was at the office by 8 AM, excited by the staff ideas and mixing them with his own. At nine he had the staff compiling information that he might need and just before ten a.m. as Ian and Wella walked into the meeting; he felt scared but confident, ready and excited.

With the exception of Wella, he was without a doubt a good thirty years younger than everyone else in the room. Wella was the only woman and the only person of color, but not the only assistant.

Tolan quickly took charge, introducing Ian to everyone, most of whom he had already met. First on Tolan’s agenda, to Ian’s chagrin, was Ian. He started out by asking Ian to give his take on the current line up and what he would do to increase market shares in key demographics.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Wella scratch her forehead. He understood the signal. Ian cleared his throat and calmly said, “Thank you sir, but being the new guy here, I would prefer to sit back and learn for right now.”

Tolan nodded his head, but Simon Kent, a rotund man with Truman Capote’s body and Tallulah Bankhead’s voice, spoke up. “Please, Ian, we are all anxious to hear what your initial reaction is. Frankly, we are all on pins and needles.”

Wella’s eyes connected with his and she tapped her pencil on the pad in her lap. Ian thought in his head, “Proceed with caution.”

“Actually…” The old man with the cane, seated to Jack Tolan’s right leaned forward. “I’d like to hear what you have to say myself, young man.”

Simon Kent had to quickly hide the sour look that had taken over his face. The old man had been introduced to Ian as David Turner, the “T” in HRT. Ian had seen him walking in or out of the building. Until a few moments ago, he had no idea who he was other than the old guy he’d felt sorry for every time he saw him staring at the paintings in the main lobby looking forlorn.

Ian wasn’t about to say no to the man who founded, developed and still controlled a rumored 51% of the company. He stood and buttoned his coat, “If you insist. Let’s just point out the obvious; I am the youngest and most unseasoned here.”

There were a few grunts and a small titter from Kent. “I believe in being straight forward and in all honestly until I started working here the HRT schedule never interested me at all. Being a member of the most highly sought after network demographic that is a major concern.”

There were harrumphs and Kent piped up, “So if you were in charge you would just dump the whole schedule.”

“Absolutely not, only cable networks can afford niche programming, as one of the big guns we must appeal to our base and slowly attract other important demographics as well. If we simply up ended the current schedule we would insult our current base and drive them away with no guarantee of having another solid demographic regularly tuning in.”

Max Logan, one of the board members present, snarled, “And what do you believe is our base audience young man?”

Wella handed him a folder, which Ian opened and referred to, “According to the latest research we appeal to the older market, not a broad base, but the one with the most consistent viewing habits. We cannot lose them, but we must start slowly seed viewers with contemporary counter programming, cultivating younger viewers and growing them into a consistent audience.”

It was simple, but the other men seemed to approve. He still needed to get them to let down their guard and take him seriously without giving the impression he planned on always remaining silent and going with their flow.

“Rather than spouting my own agenda, I simply desire to allow my team’s work to speak as a whole. Hopefully, in time, you will see that we are striving for quality programming, not event programming, as we feel that quality will get all demographics to sit up and take notice, and make them continually tune in.”

Kent turned to his fellow execs, “And I’m sure Mr. Justyn will be presenting us with lots of high quality explosions and sex.” He laughed and others joined in.

“I’m all for pushing the envelope Mr. Kent, but only when necessary. And my idea of quality goes back to the foundations of this network. At one time HRT set the standards. We were the bar that every other network struggled to achieve. At one time every television set in American tuned in at least once a night to HRT because they knew if they wanted to see the best, HRT was where to find it.”

The smirk disappeared from Kent’s face and several others leaned in to listen to Ian. “What you will find from my department is, what will hopefully be a successful attempt, to give America, and foreign markets, what they want to see with the best possible artistic and production values we can offer. We will not be presenting copycat programming and poorly developed material created around the flavor of the month. My team, as well as the rest of HRT, will only be seeking out and developing our own unique style and once again be making every one else turn to us when it comes to quality entertainment.” Ian took his seat.

The room applauded. Kent half-heartedly clapped his hands and turned to Tolan who stood. “Well thank you, Ian. That’s exactly what we all needed to hear.”

Ian tried to gage David Turner’s reaction without staring at him. From the corner of his eye, he could see the old man smiling. Wella reached under the table and squeezed his thigh. He kept his own smile inward. He’d spoken from the heart and he felt good about it.

“Yes, very pretty words, young man.” Kent not so subtly condescended. The smile inside of Ian, quickly faded.

“Now to the matters at hand….” For the next few minutes the group talked about the problems in the schedules and possibilities to fix them. The line up was as aging as the networks demographics. There were major concerns as ratings overall continue to drop rapidly.

Simon Kent, to his own delight, had the floor. “...And it is my pleasure to officially announce a little coup that I am quite proud of.” He looked around the table, enjoying the fact that he had everyone’s undivided attention. “Yesterday afternoon, contracts were signed and…” Kent waited for the nonexistent drum roll.

“…Jeff Torkelson is officially ours!” He beamed, pulling his hands together at his chest as though he’d just open the door to the hunk in his “Mystery Date” game. This was no mystery and no surprise to Ian.

Ian had gotten wind of the negotiations. It was a good move for the network. Torkelson was one member of the biggest sitcom ensemble hit on any network. The show had run ten years, and the highest paid actors on television decided as a whole to end the hit while it was still on top. “Good for Kent”, Ian had to admit.

“Now…” Kent grasped the attention back after the round table finished expressing their excitement and patting him on the back. “He was expensive, but this a guaranteed hit for the fall…”

“This fall?” Ian let slip out, and out loud.

Simon Kent lowered his eyes and kept a pasty smile glued to his face. “Of course, strike while the irons still hot.” When the shocked expression on Ian’s face remained unchanged, the doughy man put his hands on his hips and demanded, “Have you got a problem with that?”

“No.” Ian said after Wella tapped on her pad again.

David Turner stepped in. “Actually I have a problem with it.”

Ian thought Simon Kent would die of a heart attack. “Sir?” He managed to squeak out.

David Turner didn’t stand. He motioned for Kent to have a seat and leaned forward on his cane. “I think my reaction is the same as young Justyn here. Great, we’ve scored a coup, but for the money we are paying, I think we should take our time and make sure what we develop is worthy of the talent and the money. I think we should announce the contract but hold off until next fall to air the series.”

Simon crossed his chubby fingers on the table. “Dave, I have to admit I felt it was a bit of a rush, too, but a September premiere was part of the contract. I was worried, but what Torkelson’s people have in mind is a continuation of his character, most of the same writers and most of the same team.”

Unfortunately Kent looked at Ian and Ian wasn’t able to hide his look. Ian smelled a bomb, a very expensive nuclear explosion. The ratings for Torkelson’s ensemble show were enough to keep it number one, but the creativity and quality was wearing thin. The ensemble made the right decision, and Ian had the feeling Kent had just shackled them to the cold leftovers of what was once a great feast.

“What?” Kent demanded.

“I apologize, Mr. Kent.” Ian snapped to attention. “The program developer kicked in and I was coming up with possible concepts they might be working on for the show, and wondering where the best place in the line up might be for those ideas.”

“The series will air in its usual time slot, only on our network.” He sneered.

“The Thursday night tent pole?” Another aghast voice spoke up.

Ian was sure that Kent’s initial reaction was to cut whoever made the comment off at the knees, but when he realized it had come again from Turner himself, he took a moment to carefully word his retort.

“Of course, Dave. It will be the most talked about new series of the fall, guaranteed to be number one; the same team, the same character, the same star. It needs to not only be on the most watched night of television, but with its pedigree it will easily hold up the rest of the evening’s schedule.”

“In other words…” Turner didn’t look happy. “It was part of the contract.”

Kent cleared his throat. “Yes, Dave, but its slam dunk.” He slowly turned his head and looked at Ian. “Am I not right, Mr. Justyn?”

Ian suddenly felt like the prettier poor girl that got too close to the popular rich girl’s table in the cafeteria. Fortunately, he was used to that and knew how to react. “Yes, sir, Jeff Torkelson will give HRT a slam dunk Thursday nights at 9 P.M. in September.”

Kent smiled. He knew he was right, and so did Ian. Ian also had the feeling that by October, ratings for the Torkelson spin off would be at most tepid. “Fine”, he thought to himself, “by that time I’ll have another show ready to take its place.”

Tolan finally took back over, moving on to the next order of business. Both Ian and David Turner remained silent, but the old man kept glancing over at the younger, seeming to gage his reaction to anything and everything. Simon Kent remained an obnoxious power mouth, wresting away as much control as he could from Tolan.

“And finally, we will be announcing shortly the cancellation of “Sebastian Manor” and adding that hour to “America Alive!” Tolan added as almost an after thought.

This was what Ian had been waiting for. He turned to Wella, who dropped her eyes and nodded ever so slightly.

“Excuse me if I am speaking out of turn,” Ian timidly asked, “Is that a done deal?” He couldn’t help but see Kent, shooting him a look that could only be interpreted as deadly.

“Well, no, but I think we are pretty unanimously in agreement…” Tolan answered.

“I understand that, but are we sure that that this the best move?”

Kent rolled his eyes and plopped his puffy hands on the table. “It makes perfect sense. “Sebastian Manor” is a huge disaster…”

“Despite a pedigree…” Ian interrupted to Kent’s annoyance.

“Soaps are losing ratings, and we expect to let “The Best of Everything” go when its contract is up, as well. Soaps are dead. Let the affiliates have the time.” Kent waved his hands in the air.

“Actually…” Ian stood, “if I may…?”

“Please, proceed…” Tolan took a seat and looked at David Turner, sitting there with intrigued pleasure on his face. Kent practically spit on Ian as he began handing out copies of the information his staff had compiled.

“If you will take a look at this data, we may want to reconsider before any formal announcements are made. While “America Alive!” is our highest rated daytime show, it is also by far our most expensive and adding the 9 am hour will actually triple the cost.”

Ian referred to his own notes. “That extension would be competing with Regis, Ellen and a host of others that will clobber us in ratings. According to this research most of our affiliates wouldn’t even pick up that final hour, as they have established hits guaranteeing them market shares up to five points higher than our peak at 7 am.”

“So essentially, you believe that we’d just be losing another hour to the affiliates?” Logan queried.

“Absolutely, and it would be the most expensive loss on our schedule, day or prime.” Ian added.

“Well…” Kent snorted, “That will be saving the network a lot of money and many headaches sooner than later.”

“Actually, if you will pick up the copies behind the previous data, you will see that more than sixty percent of the money earned from daytime comes from our two soap operas, plus the fact that in foreign markets they regenerate the same amount of money, while “America Alive” has no foreign market value whatsoever.”

“We are all aware of that fact,” Tolan remarked, “But as Simon pointed out, soaps are a dying breed, it makes more sense to just get out and take the hit, rather than continue to see our market shares dry up.”

“Jack, that seems true on the surface, but you have to look a little outside the box…” Ian saw Wella pull on her ear, meaning he was beginning to step over the line. “I’m sorry let me rephrase that…”

Kent pounded his fist on the table, “I don’t think I care to be told what I already know, by a boy whose only job here seems to be to get attention by wiggling his fanny in public!”

“Excuse me?” Ian’s buttons had been pushed and Wella could have gouged her eyes out and she still would not have been able to stop her boss now. She just sat back and hoped he didn’t hang himself.

“If you were paying a little more attention to what was going on in the industry instead of ogling my tight little ass maybe HRT wouldn’t be in the decline it’s in.”

There were a couple of nervous giggles, and Kent stood up. “I don’t have to listen to this!”

“Sit down! I respected you enough to let you insult me from the moment I walked in and by God you wee little man, you will sit down, shut up and listen to what I have to say!”

Kent turned to see if Tolan, or any one, would back him up. He slowly sat down in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “By all means, proceed.”

“Throughout the world, and even in US prime time, soap operas are the highest rated and most profitable programming. You can quibble about those dollars, but we seem to be forgetting that daytime drama is great seeding ground for the network and the entertainment industry as a whole. You would be hard pressed to name one major actor, writer, producer or director working today that didn’t spend some time there.”

Ian allowed a moment for the executives to process those statements. David Turner nodded his head, and Ian took that as a sign to proceed. “As a whole, we simply haven’t kept up with the public. Daytime is still playing to a 1960’s audience that no longer exists. The story telling is slow and shoddy, and we need to beef that up. You can tune into almost any soap once a week and still not miss many details. When it comes to “Sebastian Manor” you can tune in once a month”

Tolan turned to the older man on his right, “Is that guy still tied up naked in the chair?”

Ian answered for him, “Yes, as he has been for thirteen weeks now. What we need to do is reinvent or at the least modernize our daytime dramas. Find the fine line in the speed of storytelling that makes you not want to miss the episode, but not tune out completely if you do because you won’t be able to catch up. With that will come the ratings, the profits and the industry will start looking back at us to set the standard. It’s a small step, but it’s a step.”

Kent smiled, “Very impressive, Mr. Justyn, but you have left out one glaring detail.”

“Which would be?”

“A daytime soap opera has not been launched successfully since the mid-sixties.” Kent smiled and patted his chubby little hands together.

“Wrong again. In the late seventies, CBS launched “The Bold and the Beautiful”, not initially successful, but they stood behind it and in three years, rather than the average five, it became the number two daytime program, as has been for the last ten years, right behind “The Young and the Restless”, which was launched in 1972, the last immediate hit launched in daytime drama.”

“Can we afford to take that time, though?” The older gentleman asked.

“I don’t think we can afford not to try, and we can ease the cost of doing so by launching it with our Fall line up. If we push it with our Prime Time programming we'll be giving it the aura of glamour and excitement, something not usually associated with soaps. All we would have to do is be able to back up that aura.”

Ian closed his folder, “I apologize, Mr. Kent, for my outburst. You will find me very passionate about what I believe in and ready to fight for it until the last drop of blood is spilled, much like yourself.”

Kent nodded his head, and least feigning acceptance of Ian’s apology.

“Well, I think we have a lot to think about, but I think we all are probably thinking the same thing. There’s not much time to develop and launch a new daytime drama, so we’d better get cracking.” Tolan said to the table.

Kent smiled, “Oh Jack, why don’t we just put it in the obviously capable hands of Mr. Justyn? We’ll give him a head start on profitability by handing all of daytime to him; just fold it into his team, as he says.”

There were snickers around the table. David Turner, sat forward. “Kent, I think that’s a great idea.” He turned to a stunned Ian and mumbled, “Probably the only really good one he’s had all day.” He looked directly at Ian. “Son, do you think you can handle that?”

“I…uh…”

Turner leaned back in his seat. “I think you can.”

Jack Tolan looked at Ian. “Son, that baby is all yours now.”

“Uh...thank you, sir.” Wella almost had to pick him up off the floor, but first she had to pick up herself.

Ian looked over at Kent, whom to his surprise was smiling, not gloating. “Yes, young Mr. Justyn. I think we all look forward to seeing just what you do with something you obviously feel so passionate about.”

Neither remembered much of the rest of the meeting. They adjourned for the day just in time for a late lunch.

Ian ran straight to the can and vomited. It went well, but he didn’t expect to just be handed the daytime division like that. It was unheard of. He looked at the toilet and mumbled to himself. “Well now is time to shit or get off the pot.”

And Tuesday raced into Wednesday; the staff doubled in size over night, moving into a bigger suite on a higher floor. Ian took meetings and looked at contracts and weighed options. His staff brought him facts and figures, suggestions and ideas. By the time 5 PM rolled around Ian was exhausted, but exhilarated.

He spent the night looking over more contracts, demographics and ratings. He took notes, and forced him self to watch an episode of “Sebastian Manor”. He got on the Internet and read fan pages. He perused websites on Hollywood, pleased that most of the buzz about HRT seemed positive, for a change.

He sat on his back porch by the pool and distracted himself with conversations with Reece and Kellen, who came over when Ralphie suddenly appeared by the pool. He chatted with Saxon on the phone, fine tuning details of Sunday night and then hauled him self up to bed, falling asleep surrounded by even more contracts, spread sheets and spec-scripts.

First thing Thursday morning, Ian said good morning to portraits that stared at him from the foyer of the lobby, asked the man behind the desk about his grandkids as he signed in for the day, and dashed in the elevator just as the door was closing.

“Running a little behind schedule are we?” came the knowing nasal tone in the other corner of the little box.

“Good morning, Kent.” Ian said as he hit the floor button. It lit up. “Crap.” He hit a second button.

“Can’t remember where you’re going, dear?” The wee little man tittered.

Ian turned to him and smiled. “I’ll have to stop and think for a few days before I hit that button. They’ve moved my office to a different floor. I’m so used to hitting ‘4’ by rote.”

Kent looked at the higher number. “Closer to the top, I see.”

“Much harder crash to the bottom.” Ian said with little emotion, just a fact.

“Yes.” They remained silent for a moment. “I don’t like you.” Simon Kent decided to announce.

“Don’t really care.” Ian said back. The doors to his floor opened. The put his hand on the doors to hold them open, and turned to Kent. “I am truly sorry that you seem to think that I’m out to do whatever it is you seem positive I’m doing, but if you think the fact that one of the popular kids on the playground doesn’t like me is going to make me cry and stay off the monkey bars you’ve made a big mistake.”

Kent thought a moment. “Duly noted.”

“Look, in a few minutes, my team will have it’s morning power meeting. Why don’t you come join us? We could use the input of someone who’s been around awhile and would be able to give us a perspective that we probably haven’t thought of.”

The man smiled. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”

“Kent, do you think I consider you my enemy?”

He grin got larger, “I would if I were you.”

Ian shook his finger at him releasing the elevator doors. “If I considered you my enemy, that would mean I acknowledge your right to exist in the universe...dear.” The elevator doors shut on the shocked face on the little man in the little box.

Ian looked at the foyer of what was now his “floor”. He didn’t just have an office now, he had a whole damn floor. It boggled his mind. He hitched up his backpack and smiled at the perky little redhead behind the foyer desk.

“Good morning, Haley.”

“Morning, Ian. Shall I alert the team for the morning meeting?”

He picked up a stack of messages she scooted toward him. “Yeah, ‘bout say half an hour?” She nodded her head and started to pick up the phone. “Anything noteworthy in here?” He held up the stack of pink papers with scribbles on them.

“I put them in what I thought might be order of importance. I hope that’s okay.” She held the phone to her shoulder.

“Fine…uh…Reader’s Digest?”

She giggled. “Jenson Michaels confirming for 11; Saxon Allen for lunch, Lance wants a meeting about the requests you made for Fridays PC and the rest are just random.”

He nodded his head. “Thanks.” Haley pushed a couple of buttons and relayed his message to a staff member as he leafed through the memos and began to walk off. Ian nonchalantly told her to get rid of the gum and started to breeze past when it hit him. He stopped and stretched out his hand. “Let me see the magazine…”

“What magazine?”

“Haley, you know what magazine…” he held out his hand to her.

“Ian, I couldn’t help it, there’s this great article…it won’t happen again.” She put the magazine in her desk drawer.

“Haley, I don’t care if you read the frigging karma sutra at your desk as long as the phones get answered and you get the messages out promptly. I really want to see the magazine. Hand it over.”

“Really?”

“Give it!”

She opened the drawer and handed it to him. “They have this really great article my girlfriend was telling me about….”

Ian ignored her. “I’ll bring this back.”

“Oh…okay…” Haley picked up the phone, “HRT, Ian Justyn’s office….”

Ian tucked the magazine under his arm, and as he walked by Wella’s desk, he didn’t bother to mention that she was chatting with Blake who was sitting on her desk. “Wella, Blake, either one or both, get me Pearce Warner on the phone right now. I don’t care if he’s having sex with President Bush while Nancy Reagan watches. I need to speak to him personally, now!”

Papers flew and rolodexes started rolling. It was “The Advocate” tucked under his arm and on the cover was Pearce Warner, the person he needed to change the dynamics and direction of “America Alive!” Ian smiled to himself.

It seemed like hours, but it was only a matter of minutes when Blake entered his office and said the best that he could do was to leave a message. He asked Ian if he wanted him to leave his private phone number. Ian nodded his head in disappointment, and smiled, “Guess that magic book doesn’t have everything in it after all.”

Blake smiled. “I’m workin’ on it, boss man.” and quietly shut the door.

“Damn it,” Ian said to himself. He knew he had to act fast. It would be expensive, but he had to have Pearce Warner. He had been considered a rising star in the journalism war. His on the field reports from the war in Iraq were unparalleled. He was stunningly handsome, which made him a favorite with the women, and his Q with men was even higher than some action superstars.

Nine months ago, Warner had contacted the FBI. A man was trying to blackmail him, a man he had met on Internet personals site for hook ups. Although Warner had never shown his face to the guy, he managed to either figure it out or made a good guess and started demanding money or go public.

According to the interview in “The Advocate”, although scared of his homosexuality going public and its effect on his career, he refused to be blackmailed and went to the F.B.I. to set up a sting. Within 24 hours the word had spread and every newspaper across the globe reported the incident. To Warner’s relief it didn’t seem to have any effect on his popularity.

However, it had had an effect on his position at the network he worked for. He found himself with far less gritty assignments, and even they started growing few and far between. The article ended with Warner’s admission that he had been told when his contract was up the network had chosen not to pursue renewal.

And Ian wanted him. He wasn’t sure he could get him, but he knew enough to know that most major network news departments would consider him poison. He also knew that every cable company with half a nickel would be after him. Ian hoped that he could convince him to come to HRT. Finding him before he closed another deal was the hard part.

He pounded his fist on the desk. Would the man return a phone call from someone who wasn’t in a news department, and would he even be interested if he did? His best bet was to talk to him personally. He almost hoped Warner had caught him on You Tube, and peaked his interest enough to at least return a phone call. At least that would make that embarrassing moment that seemed to be lasting an eternity worth it—a little.

Then it dawned on him. Blake was not only one resource he had. The other happened to be a former Miss America with a penchant not taking no for an answer. He flipped his cell open,once he remembered what he’d done with it, and hit the speed dial.

It had barely rang when he heard Tippy say, “Baby Doll, this better be good, I’m the middle of the most wonderful massage. You better be putting out some time soon to make this interruption of pure heaven worth my while.” Which was followed, of course, by a giggle.

“Tippy, if you can fill this request for me, I will do anything you want—and I mean anything.” And he meant that last part to sound really, really dirty.

“Oh sugar….” He heard her yell, “Colton get that sex toy out of the dishwater and get ready to have some fun!” She put her cell phone back to her lips. “And exactly what can I do for you, Baby Doll?”

“Pearce Warner. I need Pearce Warner.”

“Okay.” She said flatly. “I call you right back.” And hung up the phone.

Ian was stunned. Could it have been that easy? Was Mamie Rae Tipton God? Would he soon find himself at the receiving end of some plastic thing recently sanitized by Cascade? If Tippy could deliver Pearce Warner, he was willing to give it up.

He started to hyperventilate a bit, so he turned and opened his office window, taking deep breaths. He looked down at the street, and saw a familiar figure leaving the building. “What the…?”

That couldn’t be Clare. Could it? He bent down to try and get a better look at the woman hustling across the lot and into parking. The woman was so far away, but that walk….

His cell phone rang.

“Tippy?”

“At your service. Pearce owes me one and now so do you. He’ll call you with in the hour. I’ll think of something special.”

Ian laughed with joy and giddiness, “I bet you will.”

“Bye sugar and sugar? Tippy teased. “Someday your tushy is all mine, bye bye.” Ian heard her giggle as she ended the call.

This time though Tippy was wrong, it wasn’t within the hour that Warner called, it was almost immediately.

“Ian Justyn? This is Pearce Warner; a mutual friend asked that I call you as soon as possible.” Ian would have recognized that deep, smooth voice anywhere.

“Yes, Mr. Warner, thank you for calling so quickly.”

The voice chuckled, “Well when Tippy calls….as I am sure you know. She said you were her neighbor?”

“Yes, I have that honor, and most days I enjoy it.” They both laughed.

“Now what may I do for you, Mr. Justyn?”

“Actually, I hope it’s what we can do for each other, and please call me Ian, I’m very uncomfortable with the whole mister thing…”

“I understand, Ian, I hope you will call me Pearce.”

“Certainly, Pearce. I apologize up front. I normally don’t use friends for business contacts, and I am hoping you’ll forgive me. Obviously, I wanted to get as close to the head of the line in handing out job offers.”

There was a moment of silence. “Well, I must say I am very flattered but I was not aware that you were a part of HRT’s news division, I understood you to be in development.” Being a good newsman, Warner…Pearce…knew what was going on, but then again maybe he didn’t.

“True, and I am assuming the possibilities of your interest in what I have to offer will be minimal at best, but I am praying that you will at least hear me out.”

Ian heard Pearce take a deep breath. “I wish I could say that I was fielding exciting offers right and left, but only the former would be true not the ladder.”

“I’ll just spit it out then, since this may very well be one of those offers that only I will find exciting. I want you to join “America Alive!”

Ian expected Pearce to laugh, and wasn’t prepared for the flat, “Well at least it is a news format, and I am actually flattering you when I say that I assume you save money by broadcasting in monotone…”

“Hmmm…not a bad idea.”

Pearce laughed. “I am surprised that a major network is even interested. I’m a newsman Ian, and I know that I’ve been caught with my pants down in the football locker room.”

Ian decided not to pussyfoot, “Pearce, I don’t care. I have a morning news show that’s about as exciting as a cockroach race. I know it’s not exactly hard news, but I think if the two of us put our heads together, we can make it something worth while before my bosses start chasing us around with a can of Raid.”

Pearce’s response was more laughter. “You’re sense of humor is adorable.” He said. Ian knew his face must be beet red. “Look Ian, you are just too much fun, so I am going to be honest with you. I’m being courted with everything from my own live talk show to spreads in Playgirl magazine…”

“You, too?”

“Well, my friend, the You Tube things are really…nice….”

“Oh shit.” Ian said unfortunately out loud bringing even heartier laughter. “Pearce, just don’t say yes to anything until I’ve had a chance to bounce some ideas around with you. I just want you to hear me out. I’m not the only one who does his research, Pearce.”

“So you know about my deadline with CNN? I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“There is no such thing as a real secret in this town, Pearce.” Ian lied.

“It’s a good deal, Ian…I think it’s going to be my best offer and I am charmed enough by you not to waste your time.”

“Pearce…the CNN deal can’t possibly be the best offer you’re going to get because I’m not I involved in it. If you want proof, just call our mutual friend for my references.” Evan Ian wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was having trouble being vague since he didn’t want to let Pearce know that he hadn’t the foggiest what the CNN offer was or even his for that matter, but he knew he could come up with it by the time he got a meeting with him.

“Okay fine, I’ll hear you out. I’m in Vegas so I’ll give you a call sometime when I get back.”

Ian realized that this was a very possible gentle brush off, so he had to make Pearce Warner determined to take a meeting. “Tell you what, Pearce, have a good safe flight, take your time getting home, get relaxed, get comfortable and think about carte blanche.”

“Carte blanche?” Pearce said. “You can do that?”

“I’m in charge of daytime programming. Think about it. You choose the story, how it’s presented. No one to answer to from your hot little hands to the air waves of America. I can give you…anything…you …want…” Ian let his voice trail off.

The phone line was silent. Ian started to sweat. He knew it was a big risk, but he also knew that it was screw or be screwed time.

“…uhm….”

“The ball’s in your court, Pearce. Catch you whenever you have the time, if you really want it.” And Ian closed his phone as quickly as possible.

He marched out of his office and gathered the troops. He needed to find out what CNN’s offer was, and if it was a serious offer. He was possibly offering more than he could, but his gut was told him that this man was the key to fixing one of his major problems. He just hoped his brain would tell him how to get from Point A to Point B.

Chapter Seven: Wrong

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 barbeque. 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? 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 ticket 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 that Susan now had controlling interest in the mega music empire that 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. “See, 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 in January, we’ll all be looking for new jobs.”

Ian smiled, “Well, I don’t know about that, 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 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 plotlines 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.”

The rest of the afternoon was a conglomerate of conversations and food. Although the guest list amounted to a broad spectrum of the people next door and the industry powerful, it was a great combination. Friendships were made and the day was filled with laughter and food.

Ian found himself sitting on a chaise conversing with Trampus Scott and Jeremy Tyson. The day had been of surprisingly little shoptalk, and delightfully about normal things that guys would talk about. Jeremy wanted to know how many “birds” Ian had bagged after he left the club last night and Trampus kept trying to light cigarettes that Tippy would grab out of his mouth and throw in the trash can.

“Dammit, Tippy, where can a guy go to get a smoke around here?”

Tippy batted her eyes at him, “Next door? Is that okay, Baby Doll?”

“Sure Tippy, me casa, su smoking lounge!”

“That’s my boy.”

“Com’mon, Trampus, I could use one myself,” Ian hoisted himself up off the chaise, and checked to make sure his phone was still in his pocket. “Follow me boys and fellow nicotine addicts.”

As Ian walked through the trees he could hear Tippy bellow, “And if you got another cheesecake, bring it back with ya!”

In a matter of seconds, Ian, Trampus, Jeremy and Seven where all in Ian’s yard desperately pulling out their brand of cancer stick.

“Man that tastes good. There’s nothing like a smoke after a job well done.” Trampus sighed as he released a thick cloud from his lungs.

Ian tripped up the balcony to get a second ashtray. “Make yourselves at home guys,” Ian said since they already had.

Jeremy said looking at Ian, “I can’t believe you don’t sing for a living, mate. You could be huge!”

“Not interested.”

“Why not? You’d get all the birds you wanted, and probably some blokes, too, if that’s what you were in the mood for.” He chirped.

Seven noticed that Jeremy wasn’t smoking and offered him one of his, “You wanna a smoke?”

He waved his hand, “Naw, thanks though, mate. I promised Suzie that I wouldn’t.”

“You are so whipped.” Trampus teased.

“Yes. I am.” He agreed without hesitation, “but it has its benefits.” He added with a throaty laugh. “I can barely walk this morning.” He pulled open the elastic band on his shorts and looked down at his crotch, “Poor monster’s all sore and chaffed.”

“Man, put that pitiful thing away…” Trampus rolled his eyes, “any excuse to pull your pants down, you just want everyone to have pity on you, for Chris’ sakes”

He yanked his pants back up with a snap of the elastic and sat down, “You’re just jealous.” Jeremy looked at the other two. “Someone went home alone last night…a little dry spell.”

“Rosey Palm and I had a whopping good time, thank you.” Trampus rebutted.

“I thought you had more hair on your knuckles than usual.” Jeremy snapped back. “Now what were we talking about? Oh, yeah…Ian why aren’t you in front of the camera instead of behind it.”

Trampus took a puff. “Good question and don’t give me the no talent crap. I was there, too.”

“Tried it, and I’m just more comfortable where I am.” Ian lit up his Marlboro. “Plain and simple.”

Jeremy nodded his head. “Alright, mate. I can accept that.”

“To be honest, I don’t see how you guys can do it, packaging yourself like so much meat and selling it. No offense, I’m one of the buyers, remember.” Ian puffed.

“None taken.” Trampus piped in. “Your gut tells you you’re more suited to choose the hamburger. Our gut tells us how to grind it up, wrap it up and what shelf to put it on.”

Seven interjected, “It’s a tough town. I’ve found you’ve got to take advantage of every situation you’re in, make the most of it good or bad.”

“Got my degree in that one.” Ian said quietly.

“Good for you.” Trampus said. “Make the most of the heat, that will always get you through the winter.”

Tyson snorted. “Thanks, Aesop.”

“Well it’s true.” Trampus crushed out his smoke. “I’ve been lucky. So have you.” He looked at his buddy. “We’ve used our highs to take care of the low times that are bound to come.” He picked the crushed butt up off the lawn and placed it in the ashtray Ian offered.

“By that he means we sock away as much of the profane amounts of cash they pay us away.” Tyson added.

“By low times, he means when no one will pay good money to see either of our wrinkled, sagging derrières anymore.” Trampus lit up a second and took a long drag.

“Or to pay for the plastic surgery to keep the buns perky a little while longer.” Seven teased.

“Personally, I’m hoping at age gracefully.” Jeremy mused. “Sooner or later, someone will take me seriously as an actor.”

“You are the highest paid film star in the world.” Ian reminded him. “You don’t consider that being taken seriously enough?”

“You put your finger on it right there, Ian.” Jeremy pointed at him. “I’m a film star, not an actor. You have a really big bug you want shot on the screen with a really big gun? I’m at the top of the list. You want to make a serious drama with depth and passion? My name is never brought up.”

“Like it’s that much better for me?” Trampus cracked.

“You just got your third Oscar nomination.” Tyson reminded him. “I think that effectively takes me out of your league.”

“I got lucky with the first film.” Scott defended. “A supporting actor nod for an indie during a lean year. The second was for the period piece. Shoot a musket, drop trou, die in your lover’s arms and bring in the bucks, they have to nominate you. It’s a rule.”

“What your excuse this year?” Ian asked with a smile on his face.

“Luck again, right place, right time.” Trampus lit another. “Saxon’s a friend, her co-star decided to have a very public meltdown a few days before production. She called, I answered.”

“But it was a romantic comedy, mate.” Jeremy retorted.

“Do you think it’s any easier to gain industry cred in a comedy?”

“Okay, dude.” Seven stepped in. “You’ve got a point there, but so does Jeremy. With that one stroke of ‘luck’ as you called it, you do have everyone looking at you in a different way.”

“A different way?” Trampus raised an eyebrow. “You know what I’ve been offered his week? A film reboot of “Red Dwarf” and a sci-fi flick set at a nudist colony on Mars!”

“Well at least that last one’s a different kind of action flick.” Jeremy laughed. “I guess we will both always be typecast as the dumb pretty boy.”

“You are a dumb pretty boy.” Trampus said. “I want that Oscar!”

“Do your next film for Harvey Weinstein, he’ll buy you one as a thank you gift.” Jeremy smirked.

Trampus looked over to Ian. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Colors were whirling in Ian’s head. “Do the “Red Dwarf” reboot. Don’t sign unless they give the other lead to Jeremy. If it falls through, let me know. I’d loved to do an American version for the network.”

“Really bad script.” Trampus said.

“Have you seen my show?” Seven tossed in.

“Seven, this script makes yours look like Shakespeare. I think they’re just offering it to me so I’ll turn it down. Then Adam Sandler and Eddie Murphy will fight over it.”

“They’d do that?” Ian was shocked.

“Happens all the time.” Jeremy confirmed. “Offer a piece of crap to someone at the top of the A list. They turn it down, but it gives the project cred and suddenly not quite so big names start screaming at their agents to get it for them.”

“Okay, that’s something I never thought of.” Ian made a mental note. “I’m so new at this. I’ll never survive.”

“Now there’s a successful attitude.” Jeremy warned.

“Hey, I’ll fight to stay here. I’m good at that.” Ian said. “There are just so many games. I’ve been naïve enough to think that even the awful stuff got made because at one time somebody thought it was wonderful.”

“Most stuff gets made because somebody at one time thought it would make money, lots and lots of money.” Trampus informed him.

“Face it, mate, your in show business, screw the art and show me the business.” Seven acknowledged.

“Well, that’s not why I’m here, and if it’s all about money,” Ian announced, “I don’t see what your problem is.” .

Jeremy and Trampus looked at each other. “Explain that one.” One of them said.

“Well, you’ve been complaining about not being taken seriously as actors, never being offered the scripts you want.”

“And?” said the other.

“Next time you find something you want to do, and the suits say no, why not just have the guts you claim to follow take a look at your bank statement and do it anyway? Form your own production company. Screw ‘em all.” Ian said.

Jeremy looked at Trampus, then back to Ian. “Do you know how expensive it is to produce a film?”

“Got a ball park.” Ian said emptying the ashtrays in the trash and wiping them out. “You want to do something else besides big budget action flicks, find a small budget drama the actor in you in crying out to do. Put your business where your mouth is.”

“But…” Trampus started to interject.

“Hold on.” Ian said. “I don’t know how I’m staying here, but I know how I got here. All my life I’ve been told I wasn’t good enough. A had to fight to survive when half the time even I believed them. I was born with nothing and it seemed like every day of my life was a battle just to keep it, a handful of squat.”

“You’re here now.” Seven said.

“And I got here because I got tired of less than nothing and when an opportunity came up I went after it. I knew there was no way in hell I was going to get a job as a network executive, and when somebody, God bless ‘em, had a brain synapse and gave me a call, I didn’t pussy foot around. I knew the only thing I had going for me was me.”

“You played the game and won.” Jeremy said.

“No, I played my game and trumped theirs. I told them exactly what I thought, not what they wanted to hear.” Ian found he was almost screaming. “Sorry, got myself stirred up.”

Trampus smiled. “I certainly see why they hired you. Damn, you know how to swing for the stands.”

“Now, I just have to figure out how to keep swinging.” Ian said.

“As I see it,” Jeremy looked at Ian “What got you here, is what’s gonna keep you here, mate.”

“Well, that’s all I got.” Ian said almost to himself.

“For now.” Jeremy smiled.

“I was trying to make a point, but my ego got in the way.” Ian said to himself. “Right. The next logical step, you too Seven, is to form your own production company. Stop whining about mot being taken seriously and take yourself seriously.”

“You got to continue to making the studios money if you want to keep working.” Trampus said flatly.

“Fine.” Ian stood his ground. “Keep making the big action flicks for the studios if you want, but use the success you’ve earned to do the kind of things you want. Make being bankable a hobby and make being an actor your career.”

Jeremy started hopping up and down. “Put me in coach! Put me in!”

Ian laughed at himself. “Sorry, got carried away.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It makes sense to me, but then again this time last year I was trying to figure out how to make corn production and hog calling interesting.”

“I love hog calling.” Trampus smiled.

“It how he gets laid.” Jeremy added.

In a few moments they were back with the group, but the shenanigans continued until the sun went down, and people started to disperse. Tippy thanked all for coming, Ian told everyone how genuinely pleased he was to meet them and everyone told Tippy what a great time they had.

Ian triple checked to make sure that he had his cell phone and crossed back home. He let himself in the house going straight to the closet and getting his guitar. He stripped down to his underwear, sat on the chair of the balcony and started strumming, but bits and pieces of the past kept coming in waves through his mind.

Ian’s hands were strumming, but his mind was folding moments over and over in his head. He was staring into space, playing his guitar, no idea how much time had passed and certainly no idea that he was being watched.

“Mom said that I should bring this stuff back over to you and thank you again for bringing it.” Reese was holding two bags, one in each hand. “She put everything in the dishwasher and to tell you again how delicious everything was.”

“Thank you, Reese. Just put ‘em down there and I’ll get them later.”

“I can take them inside for you, if you want.”

Ian stopped playing. “Okay, the doors unlocked.”

Reese let himself inside and Ian went back to staring into to nowhere and strumming the Gibson. In a moment, Ian heard a throat clear again. He looked again.

“Would it disturb you if I…” Reese nodded at the pool.

“No, go right ahead.”

“Thanks”, the young man said quietly and began to pull his shirt over his head pushing his sneakers off at the same time.

Ian continued to strum as Reese undressed. He was definitely the son on Colton Shores, the dark hair, still in the close-cropped military cut, and the broad, broad shoulders, quietly rugged and masculine.

Reese had served in the battlefields during the Iraqi conflict, which Tippy said he refused to discuss. He had always been quiet, she said and feared that his time in the military had forced him even more inward.

He refused to go out much and interaction with even his family was minimal. What Ian noticed was a 26 year old man, who had probably been through the most terrifying experiences anyone could imagine, much less a pampered Hollywood baby, and now just needed some quiet time to process it all.

When he was down to a pair of khaki color baggy boxers, Reese jumped in the pool and began to quietly swim back and forth. Ian went back to his strumming and thinking, but watching the man doing lap after lap, with the obsession of a long distance swimmer. As he reached the sides of the pool he would tag and flip over, coming back to the surface of the water and stroking to the other side.

Reese must have gone on non-stop for twenty minutes, Ian’s mind studying the whole time, but his eyes looking past the movement and finally beading in on a place that his mind went to, somewhere out of his own body, trapped in the terrors of the past. When Ian shook his head and snapped back to where he was, Reese had stopped swimming and was resting his chin on his folded arms, lower body still in the deep end of the pool, looking at Ian.

Reese didn’t smile. He just said flatly. “I like the way you play. It’s nice.”

Ian shook his head thank you. “Good night isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Reece agreed, “one of my favorite times of year.”

“I love the fall.” Ian thought out loud, “I’m not sure you have one of those here, do you?”

“Sort of, it mainly gets chillier at night and we get more rain.”

“I’m not sure I’m gonna like the lack of real seasons.”

“You get used to it. You get used to a lot of things around here.”

There was quiet for a moment and Ian strummed his guitar a little more. Reese laid his head down on his arms and looked at Ian sideways.

“I notice a lot.” Reese said quietly, never raising his head from its position on his arm. ”People think I’m quiet and stupid, but I’m not. I just like to observe.”

“I noticed that about you.”

“I know Mom and Dad are worried about me, but I’ll be alright. I just don’t know how to tell them.”

“They’re not stupid either Reese, they’ll catch on.”

He nodded his head. “You wanna talk about it?” There were more words coming from Reese than there had been the whole afternoon.

Ian stopped strumming and looked up. “Talk about what?”

“Whatever it is going on in your head, the thing that makes you so sad.”

Ian smiled. “I’m not sad.”

Reese blinked his eyes and was quiet a moment. “Yes, you are.”

Ian sensed his need to talk, so he put down his guitar and slowly made his way down to the pool. “Mind if I get in?” He asked.

“Your pool.”

Ian smiled as he slipped over the side beside Reece, “I keep forgetting.” He pushed himself down to the bottom and then floated back to the top, coming up wet and cool right beside Reece. Ian leaned his back against the pool wall beside Reese.

Reese hadn’t changed his position, his head was still lying sideways on his arms. They were quiet for another moment. Reese sighed. “You ever done it, with a guy?”

“Reese, I wonder if you should be having that conversation with your parents. It may be difficult, but they seem very open about sex and I’m sure they would…”

“Open?” Reese laughed and turned around facing the same direction as Ian. “The first time I snuck a girl in my room to have sex, my mother burst in the door and said, “Oh I’m sorry, I though I heard mice.” Then without as much as the bat of an eye she said, “Reese, honey, arch your back a little more, you’ll get deeper penetration and stimulate her clitoris more. She’ll love that.”

Ian laughed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.”

For the first time he saw Reese smile, “Its okay. It’s pretty funny, now, and she was right. Despite everything, my mother is almost always right.”

“I’m learning that.”

“So have you?”

“What?”

“Made it with a guy before?”

“No, and not interested. I have nothing against it, but it just doesn’t interest me.”

“That’s cool.” Reese said flatly. “I love sex with woman, but I’ve had sex with guys.” He sighed. “This is California. If a dude hasn’t had sex with another dude at least once he’s probably not been potty trained yet.”

Ian piped in, “It seems everyone I meet is beautiful, horny and not very discriminating about what sex they get off with as long as they get off.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“How do relationships survive here?” Ian pondered.

“Most of them don’t. Some do, but most don’t. A lot have a pact like my parents, but it doesn’t always work.”

“A pact?” They swim to the shallow end and sat on the bottom.

“You don’t know about that?”

“Not really.”

“It’s a pretty standard agreement. They only play around if the other spouse plays with them or watches; no one on one with the opposite sex unless the other one is there. Same sex play is permitted at any time provided condoms are used, and the spouse is honest about it.”

Ian was a little dumbfounded but not shocked. “That doesn’t seem very romantic. More like, oh I don’t know, rules to some kind of card game, not a relationship.”

“It works for some.”

“I guess it does.”

“It wasn’t going to be that way with me and Kelly. We were going to be monogamous and only make love with each other.”

“Who’s Kelly?”

Reese looked down in the water, like he’d let a secret he hadn’t meant to slip. “Someone I was in love with.”

“Have your parents met her?”

“No.”

“You should bring her to meet them.”

“Can’t”.

“Still overseas?”

“Dead.” Reese looked seep into the water.

Calloused hands dug into the scar tissue in Ian’s head with dirty fingernails and splattered bloody pulp everywhere. Almost as quickly the quake rocked him, the mess was pressed back together clean, slipped pristinely in the box and tucked away aware it couldn’t be seen or thought about again.

“Reese...I…” he stammered as he began to focus again on the outside.

When Ian was aware again, Reese was quietly crying. He knew that there was nothing he could say. He reached out and put an arm around him and squeezed him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Really, it’s okay. I won’t say anything.”

Reese pulled himself into Ian’s shoulder and filled the pool with pent up tears. Ian didn’t know why, out of the blue, Reese had chosen him, maybe he was just in the right place at the wrong time, but he knew how Reese felt, he understood. How many times a day had Ian felt that he was alive and dead and totally unconnected.

He let Reese shake and cry. Sometimes the boy/man whaled, sometimes he just sniffled until the next uncontrollable wave of pain and anger over took him. It was an hour before Reese stopped, dried his eyes and himself and walked back over to his house.

It left Ian drained, but feeling as though he had made or at least was trying to make the connections that had always escaped him. The incident also bubbled something else up—fear, the fear that there were things he could never escape. Things he feared that his simple being touched off and made bad things happen to good people.

Ian dressed and put away the dishes that Tippy had cleaned and Reese had left on the kitchen counter. After everything was where he wanted it to be, he hopped in his car and drove to the convenience store at the end of the street to buy a carton of cigarettes. Damn but they were expensive. He thought he should give it up.

He had barely entered the house, just enough time to flip on the lights, when his doorbell rang. Ian looked out the peephole before he opened the door. He was surprised to say the least.

As he opened his front door he expressed that surprise, “I didn’t think I’d be seeing the two of you so soon.”

On his door stood Jeremy Tyson and Susan Andrews, holding hands and looking sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind that we stopped by without asking” she apologized.

“The kids are with her folks, and we didn’t want to go back to an empty house yet. We stopped for ice cream and saw your car pass by.” He explained. “Is it okay that we decided to follow you and take a chance?”

“Sure”, he opened the door wide and invited them in. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Susan looked around, “Oh my, Miss Elizabeth left just about everything.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Jeremy said, “Many times. The Elysian’s were two of our favorite people. They are the ones that actually introduced us.”

Susan squeezed her husband’s firm shoulder. “They were such romantics.” Susan’s eyes shown bright and she walked to the painting on the wall in the stair wall. “I don’t believe it. She left this behind.”

Jeremy and Ian joined her and admired. “I love it, couldn’t bear to take it down or move much of anything at all. It just seems right the way it was.”

Jeremy touched the painting. “Did you know that Herman painted this?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“He was quite the artist. He worked in studio make up all his life, but painting was his real passion.”

“I didn’t know that either.”

Susan turned to Ian, “She was a contract player for a while, that’s how they met. She wouldn’t discuss it much, but whenever she was out of the room, Herman loved to talk about the old days.”

Jeremy put his arms around his wife’s shoulders, “And as soon as Miss Elizabeth walked back in the room, he would shut up changing the subject like a child caught telling a story”.

“They were such a great couple, made for each other. I often wondered why they never had children.” She said.

“I think they regretted it, especially as they got older. Elizabeth always got this sad look in her eyes when the subject came up.” Jeremy added as he led his wife to the couch Ian had silently offered them a seat on while they talked.

“I’m surprised she didn’t take that painting. She loved it.” Jeremy mused. “Although she never would have told Herman that. She was afraid it would go to his head. She’d get so mad when Herman would call it ‘The Untitled Masterpiece’. She’d fuss and he’d say back every time, well you know it is.”

“Actually, that seems the perfect name for it.” Ian said staring at the painting from his comfy chair.

Susan slipped her bag off her shoulder, opened it and reached inside. “It’s still playtime for us. Would you mind if Jeremy joins you in a smoke?” She pulled a cigarette and lighter out of her purse.

Ian was a little shocked. “Sure. No problem, if you don’t mind.”

“Actually I enjoy it now and again.” And she looked at her husband who had a twinkle in his eye. “And he does love it so; I can’t deny it to him all the time.”

“I let her control it.” He took the cigarette in his hand, put it to his lips and bent down to the flame she flicked. “That’s my Suzie, my control.”

Ian went to the table to find his new carton and opened his own pack. When he returned he found Susan had slipped to the floor and Jeremy to the end of the couch so he could share the large glass ashtray with Ian. Ian returned to his seat in the easy chair. Susan got up on her knees and flicked the little flame, to graciously light his cigarette.

They smoked for a moment in silence. Susan absentmindedly stroked her husband’s thigh. They were still dressed as they were this afternoon, he in Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless tank top, she in a tennis skirt and a matching cotton pullover. Susan looked at the hair on her husband’s thigh dance as she brushed it with her fingers.

“Ian, we so loved your performance last night.”

“Thank you.”

Jeremy looked at his wife and smiled. “I already told him all about it.” He kissed her and smiled.

She turned and looked at Ian. “We don’t get away too often. Sometimes the children need grandparent time and we try to take full advantage of it.”

“I understand.” Ian said as he put his cigarette out.

“You do?” she asked.

“Of course, it must be tough to get private time when you have small children. You have to make the most of it.”

“We try.” She said.

Jeremy kissed his wife again and then looked at Ian, his eyes doing a little dance. “We thought that maybe, hoped that you might want to help us make the most of our last hour of playtime tonight.”

Susan leaned back between her husband’s legs and rested her head on his crotch, and looked at Ian. “Would you mind terribly playing with us…?”

Ian knew he had to be getting the wrong idea. He had fantasized many times about Susan Andrews. He had dreamed of feeling her long blonde hair falling over his naked body as they made love. He never would have believed that he’d get the chance. Surely he was misunderstanding.

“I…”

“Its okay” she said getting back to her knees.

“Don’t be nervous, Ian.” Jeremy said quietly. “We’re just going to play. No one’s getting hurt. Just relax.” He stared at Ian with a calm cool sexiness.

“Okay” was all Ian could think to say.

“Don’t be nervous” Susan kissed her husband and he followed her lips to the floor with her.

Ian watched in silence for a moment. Okay so maybe he hadn’t misunderstood, the sight and sound of a husband and wife beginning to make love, both thrilling him and terrifying him.

Jeremy pulled his shirt over his head. Ian could see the taut abs and the mischievous sparkle in his eye that had made him the People Magazine’s sexiest man alive. He kissed his wife deeply, holding the small of her back, Susan staring into Ian’s eyes. Susan reached down and pulled off Jeremy’s sandals, as he reached over and squeezed Ian’s thigh.

“Let’s just all enjoy ourselves.” Jeremy sighed, before returning to his wife’s lips.

Jeremy, almost unnoticeably, took hold of the bottom of Susan’s shirt. She lifted her arms over her head, letting him slowly peel it off her torso, her waist length hair whisping back down over her back. She turned and looked over a naked shoulder and smiled at Ian, then bit her lower lip.

“My husband is so sexy, don’t you think?”

Ian was speechless, hands on the arms on the chair, feet flat on the floor, afraid to move. “So are you.”

“You can come play with us whenever you like.” Jeremy said as he took his wife in his arms and pulled her close, her arms wrapping themselves tightly around him. Jeremy hands slipped down her back, cupping her firmly, lifting her off the carpet enough to lay her gently on her back and fall into her.

Susan reached a hand to Ian. “Come and join us, Ian.” There was no way he could misunderstand what was going on now, especially with that look in her eyes. “Please come down here with us.”

And he did. God help him. Ian did.