by Tom Hogan
He stood up, looked once more at Josh, and went to bed.
CHAPTER 18
“I’m still wrapping my head around all this. True, you two look a lot alike. But…”
“But we’re not something out of The Parent Trap or The Patty Duke Show?”
“Exactly.”
It was the next day. Paul, Carol and William were on the L’s porch taking in the late morning sun. Lucky was down in Kinsella, making the rounds of the car dealers and their end-of-month contests. Donna, Pete and Harry were at the beach. Josh had joined Clark and Zeke for their morning walk. Two hours after Clark and Zeke returned, Josh was still gone.
“You have to remember, you saw us side by side. The guards never did. Not up close, anyway.”
“I still don’t know how you thought you could get way with is,” Carol said. She looked at William. “What’s the penalty for attempted escape?”
“Usually an additional three to five,” William said, eyeing Paul.
“Only if we used a weapon. Two years tops, the way we were doing it. Look, the first time he brought it up, I thought he was joking. Once I realized he was serious I told him this wasn’t grade school, these weren’t substitute teachers we were dealing with.”
“So what made you think you could pull it off?”
Paul looked over at William. “You want to try that one? Josh told me you guys used to talk prison psychology all the time.”
William chewed on the question before answering. “I can guess what he told you. But I don’t know that I’d have bet my freedom on it. He told you the guards never really look at your face, didn’t he?”
When Paul nodded, William turned to Carol. “It’s true. You know the part about prisoners not looking directly at guards. They see it as a challenge to their power and they beat you back to where you belong. So you look down or past them. Never at them.”
“Okay. But what about them looking at you?”
“Josh said, you have to remember that the guards, no matter how vicious, had to go home at night. Had to sit down to dinner with the family, had to tuck their kids in, lie down with the missus. All of them human beings. You can’t live with yourself if you see the grunts you spend eight to ten hours a day brutalizing as human beings as well. So you de-humanize us. You reduce us to numbers: our prison numbers, our cell numbers, the number of years we’re in for. And so that you don’t see our common humanity, you look through us or past us, not at us.”
Carol looked at Paul. “You were betting a lot on how good an amateur psychologist your brother was, weren’t you?”
“Not as much as he was. But, as he reminded me when I objected to his plan, who in the hell had ever heard of someone breaking into prison?”
CHAPTER 19
By the end of his second week at Moetown, Paul had integrated himself seamlessly into both the camp and the mountain community. He tended bar when The Gimp needed time off, helped Pete and Josh with their projects, and became Harry’s best friend. The two played ferociously in the morning, letting Donna work with Carol and Pete work either in his studio or on camp projects with Josh and Clark. Then in the afternoons Paul and Josh would head out together for a run or hike and Harry would spend the rest of the day with his parents.
Paul and Harry claimed a corner of the L for themselves and their play area. After breakfast the two of them would sit hunched over a pad of paper, designing their next city. Then they were down on all fours, building the city with the collection of wooden blocks that Pete had shaped in his shop. They would leave the finished city up for the afternoon, letting everyone admire their handicraft, then knock it over before heading off to bed.
Pete and Paul were thick from the start. The Gimp, needing a centerfielder for the softball team he sponsored and coached, asked Pete to help Paul get his arm and batting eye back in shape. So, in addition to working together on projects, the two men played catch every afternoon in the parking area in front of the L, tossing the ball back and forth, with Pete lengthening the distance each day to help strengthen Paul’s arm. During the second week, they headed down to a park in Kinsella, where Pete hit him fly balls and pitched batting practice, Harry shagging balls in the outfield.
The Sunday of his third week of freedom, Paul drove down to San Tomas, bought a nice piece of leather luggage, returned to the camp and packed his few belongings under Harry’s sad watch.
“Don’t you like it here?”
“I love it here. But I need to work, and I can’t work around here.”
“So where are you going?”
“Los Angeles. You heard of it, right? Well, that’s where I used to live and work, and I need to go back to see what’s left of my life down there.”
“Aren’t you sad to leave?”
“Crazy sad. I’m going to miss you guys every day. Especially you. I’ll think of you every evening, especially when I won’t have a city to knock down. I’m going to get you one of those instant cameras, so you can send me photos of the cities you build.”
Two weeks later on a Friday evening, the residents of Moetown—save Josh, Pete and Harry, who were off camping—sat around the dinner table. The dishes were clear and the table held two half-empty bottles of wine and assorted glasses.
“How’re the campers doin?” Lucky asked Donna.
“Good. They called at lunch, figuring they’d catch Carol and me up here. Pete says Josh is as helpless as Harry when it comes to fishing. Says he has to bait his line for him.”
“Any news from LA?” Carol asked.
Lucky, nodded mid-sip. “He called this afternoon, lookin for Josh. Says it’s goin great, that he’s already got a commercial and a week-long shoot back east for LL Bean. Says people’re fallin over backwards for him, sayin they knew all along he was innocent. He says he doesn’t know what the shelf life on guilt is, but until it expires he’ll milk it for all it’s worth.”
“Well, he deserves it,” Donna said, “after all he’s been through. You know, I’ve represented some people I thought were innocent, but this…” She shook her head and reached for the wine. “And Josh,” she said, filling her glass. “Every time I think of him getting ready to head off to prison, about how quiet he used to get, and how…shrunken he was when he got back…” She looked at the table. “I just wish he’d told us.”
“Why?” William asked, his voice slicing through the evening. “What good would any of us have been to him?”
Donna took a long breath and looked at William. She started to say something, then stopped.
“Which one is older?” Carol asked. “There doesn’t seem to be any big brother/little brother relationship there.” She looked at William. “Do you know?”
“Paul. By two years.”
“Huh,” Lucky said. “I woulda bet it the other way.”
“Then you woulda lost,” William said, mimicking Lucky’s drawl. “Wouldn’t you’ve?”
Lucky started to respond, but Donna put her hand over his. “William.” When he wouldn’t look at her, she said his name again, her voice quieter this time.
William kept his head down. “I’m being a shit. I know it.” He pulled his head up and looked at each of them. “And I’m sorry. But ever since Paul arrived on the scene, it’s felt like something’s wrong. And I’m worried it might get worse.”
He looked around the table again, this time with a questioning face. “Look, if it’s me just feeling jealous—or displaced—then just slap the shit out of me and we’ll get on with it.” His eyes fixed on Clark. “Is it just me?”
Clark held his stare, then shook his head.
William nodded at the pad of paper in front of Clark. “Then what is it? What’s changed?”
Clark thought for a moment, then picked up his pen. He wrote for a minute, then passed the notebook over. William looked at it then nodded. “You’re right. There’s a tension here that wasn
’t here before.”
Donna gave it some thought. “You might be right. I mean, Paul knows Josh in ways none of us ever will. But it’s hard for me to see him trying to do any damage to his brother, especially after what Josh did for him.”
William nodded. “I’m not saying it’s deliberate. But it’s there.” He shrugged. “Look. From what Lucky says, it sounds like Paul’s settling in nicely down in LA. I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of him around here.”
CHAPTER 20
But for once, William was wrong. While Paul’s work continued to flourish, with catalogue work and non-speaking roles in commercials dominating his calendar, he instructed his agent to preserve time on his calendar each month for returns to Moetown. He also had a copy of the softball schedule and made as many games as he could.
“It’s working out even better than I hoped,” he told Lucky, who was the only one in the L when he called one afternoon. “My agent says I’m booked solid for the next eight months—all quality work. And everyone down here’s falling over themselves to tell me how they knew I was innocent all the while.”
“Guilt and hypocrisy. Sounds like you’re playin with house money down there.”
“Yeah, I’m on a bit of a winning streak. So how’s the team doing?”
“We won one and lost one this week. The Gimp whines every game you’re not here, says Jeff’s doing all he can out in center, but he needs his lead-off hitter back.”
“Tell him I’ll be there next week for both games. Then I’m gone for a week—an LL Bean shoot in Nova Scotia.”
“Tell me when you get a warm-weather shoot and I’ll join you.” A pause. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
With Paul and his schedule integrated into Moetown’s operation, the camp settled back down. Josh and Clark continued to work on projects, with Pete helping on occasion. William’s counseling business grew to the point that he was turning away new clients. And though the camp assured him that he didn’t have to work another day in his life, Lucky continued to ply his trade with steady, though unspectacular, success.
The only ones whose lives changed that much were Pete and Donna. While Pete had initially worked most of the day with Josh and Clark on the buildings and clearings, he now ended his workday at noon, at which time he had lunch with Harry, freeing Donna up to work with Carol on the book. At three o’clock he handed Harry off to Donna and headed to his studio, where he worked the wood and marble until dinner.
The sculptures had always been for his own pleasure. Lucky, without Pete’s permission, had taken a few of the smaller pieces down to San Tomas, then up to San Francisco, but the feedback was that, while the craftsmanship was excellent, the work was ‘not for us.’
It was Paul who wound up creating Pete’s market. While on a catalogue shoot for The Nature Collection, a line of outdoor apparel for the upscale consumer, the set director and stylist were having problems finding the right background pieces. Paul placed a call to Moetown and put the director on the line with Pete. The next day, five of Pete’s pieces arrived by FedEx and made their way into the shots. When the catalogue came out three months later, there was as much interest in the pieces as the clothing. And in the sculptor.
Wary of publicity—not only for himself for but Donna and Josh—Pete consulted with William, who suggested he keep his identity secret, not just for privacy sake but to enhance interest in his work. The set director then put them in touch with a West Hollywood gallery, who offered a one-man show. Pete agreed, with the understanding that he wouldn’t have to attend the opening-night.
“What the hell,” William said. “If it ever comes to them needing to put a personality behind your work, we’ll give them Lucky. They won’t know if they’re coming or going.”
“It was kind of flattering,” Pete said to Donna one night as they lay in bed, “the idea of being interviewed and profiled. For about ten minutes. Then I looked at it from different angles and it lost its appeal.”
“How so?”
“Well, first, and don’t take this the wrong way, but once it got out that we were married, I’d never know if they were interested in me for my work or because I was ‘Mr. Donna Fairchild.’ You know?”
She nodded into his chest. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. Also, just in the preliminary talks with the agents who wanted to rep me, I felt like a piece of bread surrounded by seagulls. And I know that’s nothing compared to what you went through.”
“Yeah, well, that was then. I was on my own and it was all about the cause. Now…” She put her hand on his shoulder and puller herself more tightly into him. “I’m afraid it’s going to start up again. The interview and the subsequent articles—and now the book. Turns out I’m bigger news than I thought I was.”
He stroked her hair. “You sorry you got back in the game?”
“No. It’s time. And also, if not on me, the spotlight would have fallen on Josh. And none of us wants that.”
CHAPTER 21
It was Lucky who was the driving force behind the next change in the Moetown culture. When he got a look at Paul’s upcoming itinerary for the next six months and saw the Virgin Islands on the docket, he invited himself along. Paul took the morning to think it over, then agreed. He had his agent exchange his first-class ticket for two in coach and arranged for his suite to have a pull-out couch.
The trip went so well that Lucky invited himself along for the next shoot, up in Vancouver. But Paul, who had enjoyed having someone from home along, decided to spread the wealth. Carol got the Vancouver trip, Donna took the Puerto Vallarta slot and Pete accompanied him on a fishing trip in the Florida Keys. Even Harry got in on the action, accompanying Paul on a two-day shoot at the San Diego zoo. The only ones who chose not to share in Paul’s largesse were Josh, Clark and William.
Paul had invited both Clark and William more than once to join him, but they had declined each time—Clark with a simple shake of his head, William with increasingly more elaborate excuses. After the third refusal, Paul quit offering.
But in March, Paul received an assignment that caught Josh’s attention. It was a week-long shoot in Florida, an eight-page Esquire piece on summer fashion, to be shot in the Vero Beach and Fort Lauderdale spring training facilities for the Dodgers and Yankees. Knowing Clark’s passion for baseball, Josh suggested to Paul that he invite Clark along.
Paul wrinkled his forehead. “He’ll just say no.”
“Not to this one. You know how fanatic he is about baseball. Doesn’t miss a game, either up in the L or down in his cabin on the radio.”
“I’ll ask. But I don’t think he’ll say yes.”
Josh thought for a moment. “How about if William went along? I’ll pay the difference.”
Paul waved him off. “Hell, I’ll take care of the money if William comes along. But I don’t think William likes me very much.”
It was the first time the subject had come up between the two. “He doesn’t seem to, does he?”
“No, and it’s starting to wear thin. Look, I like William, same as everyone. But whatever’s on his mind, I wish he’d just come out and say it.”
“Maybe the trip’ll do the trick.”
“Maybe. But he won’t go.”
Josh left the trailer and went down to Clark’s cabin. Clark was enthusiastic about the destination but hesitant, until Josh told that William was going as well. When Clark agreed, Josh headed off to see William.
Because the harsh afternoon sun washed out the clothing’s colors, it was an early-morning shoot—cameras, backdrops and talent ready by six-thirty and wrapping before noon. Which left Paul free to join Clark and William at the ballpark most afternoons.
The first three days were in Fort Lauderdale, spring home of the Yankees. Clark watched each game intently, a scorecard at the ready, tracking both the action and the player changes,
as the coaches shuffled players in and out to get an early assessment.
William, who understood a little about sports from listening to Lucky explain his betting patterns, sat with Clark, his shirt off and the local paper and New York Times in his lap. He looked up whenever Clark nudged him and kept score when Clark went to the bathroom, but otherwise was oblivious to the play in front of him.
While Clark enjoyed every game, as William reported back to the camp, he was beside himself during warm-ups. Since both teams were cooperating with Esquire, lending their players as backdrop, Paul had become acquainted with a number of them. Using his press pass, he was able to come down on the field before the games, bringing Clark with him. When the players finished their calisthenics and batting practice, a number of them ambled over to talk to Paul, who was a minor celebrity in his own rite. If Paul saw Clark’s eyes grow wide as the player approached, he would introduce them, letting Clark nod his way through things, explaining Clark’s silence only if asked. By the second day in both Fort Lauderdale and Vero Beach, Clark simply kept Paul’s pass and wandered the field with impunity.
And if Fort Lauderdale was impressive, William reported, Vero Beach sent Clark over the moon. A lifelong Dodger fan, he arrived at the park when it opened, keeping a respectful distance on the field while watching every batting practice session, every infield grounder.
On the third day in Vero Beach, Paul found William alone in the stands behind first base.
“Where’s Clark?”
“In the dugout, as if you didn’t know. That was a nice thing you did, asking the manager—what’s his name, Lasorda?—to let him sit on the bench. He’s in hog heaven.”
Paul shrugged. “They wouldn’t do it if they didn’t like him.” He nodded towards the dugout. “For someone who doesn’t talk, he can communicate when he needs to, can’t he?”
William smiled. “I remember the first time I saw him outside of prison. Inside it wasn’t so strange that he didn’t talk. But outside, I was worried about him, though Josh had told me was fitting nicely into the mountain community—that they’d seen folks a lot stranger than Clark.”