A Season of Dreams

by Gilbert, Morris

  “That’s exactly what the man I thought I loved wanted. But I’m me, Ted. I can’t be anyone else. Just like you’re you, you can’t be what your father wants you to be, not altogether.”

  Ted was shocked at the feelings that ran through him. He had never found anyone who could put into words what he felt but could not express. “Something’s wrong with love,” he said slowly, “that eats away at people. It’s a cannibalism, and not love at all.” He was rather a deep thinker, and now he tried to piece together what had been going on in his mind, especially over the last few days. “If you love people, you don’t love them for what they can give you, you love them for what you can give them.”

  Maury turned to him, her eyes wide. “That’s very wise, Ted. How did you learn that?”

  “I guess from not seeing anything like real love. My mother died young and my father—well, he’s a very proud man, very ambitious. I remember growing up I’d have given anything if he had only taken me on a fishing trip or done something with me. But he never did. He told me over and over how one day I’d be president of Kingman Oil, and about all the power I’d have.” He fell silent then and shook his head. “But he never once told me he loved me, not once. I don’t think he does.”

  Maury reached over and put her hand on his. He at once clasped it and turned to face her. “Maybe he does, but he doesn’t know how to show it. He’s like a lot of people. They think they have to possess everything.”

  “I don’t believe that’s really love—it’s something else.”

  Maury was very much aware he was holding her hand and said uncomfortably, “You’re holding my hand, Ted.”

  “You’ve had your hand held before. Are you afraid I’ll be too possessive? Is that why you’ve never married, never wanted another man?”

  His question seemed to trouble her. She turned to him. “You know, I don’t think you would be too possessive. I think both of us have learned the hard way that if we ever do fall in love, we’ll have to ask what we can give and not what we can get.”

  Ted released her hand but remained facing her. “I like that,” he said. “The other thing about love, I think, is if you love someone it’s not an if kind of love.”

  She was puzzled. “What do you mean, an if kind of love?”

  “I mean, Dad’s always said to me, in effect, I’ll love you if you’ll be the kind of son that would be a good president of an oil company. I’ll love you if you’ll make good grades. I’ll love you if you get your degree. But love’s not like that. Love says, I love you no matter what you do. You think that’s right, Maury?”

  There was a plaintive quality in Ted’s voice. Somehow she felt a pity for him. He was a man, she felt, prevented by his father from becoming what he might have been. Now as he said these things, things she had believed for a long time but had not seen, she slowly nodded. “I think so. I think love says I love you no matter what you do. I love you for yourself and I expect your love to give me freedom to be what I am.”

  Ted was staring at Maury as if he had never seen her before. His life had changed so drastically that he was bewildered by it. For a long time he had known that he could not be what his father wanted, but he had tried to be and had failed. Now, sitting beside this lovely young woman who was saying the things that lay dormant in him, he suddenly felt a freedom and a joy that he had never felt before. Reaching out, he took her hand again and squeezed it.

  “I think you’re right,” he said simply. Then he smiled and there was a youthful look of joy on his face such as she had not seen before. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “we can help each other find our way.”

  LAST CHANCE

  I think it would be fun to be a cowboy, Bonnie.”

  Looking fondly at Adam, Bonnie shook her head. “I don’t think so, Adam,” she said. “It looks exciting, I suppose, on the screen or in books—but I think it would be pretty hard work.”

  Adam glanced across at the mounted men that were preparing to ride down a replica of an old western street. Bonnie had brought him to one of the studios so that he could watch the filming of a western. He had been fascinated, as most boys were, by the old West and had accumulated a sizable collection of revolvers, holsters, Stetson hats, and neckerchiefs. He drove everyone crazy enlisting them to play cowboy. And now at the age of fourteen, the phase seemed to be growing even stronger. He had pestered Bonnie and his mother until they had finally arranged for him to come and watch the making of an inexpensive western. Now, the boy’s eyes were alive with excitement. “Look! They’re going to have a shoot-out. See, Bonnie, that man with the white hat coming out of the saloon—he’s going to win, because he’s the good guy.”

  “I wish things were that simple in real life,” Bonnie remarked. She watched as the director, sitting in a canvas chair off to one side, lifted his voice and said, “All right, roll ’em!”

  Actors moved at once in obedience to the call. The lean, muscular man in the white hat stepped forward, then turned to face three men who had separated themselves from the other riders. The tall actor kept his eyes fixed on the trio, and, despite the fact that she was well aware that it was playacting, some of the tension communicated itself to Bonnie. She watched and listened as sharp words were spoken, then the leader of the three yanked a gun from his holster. The actor in the white hat also pulled his gun, and the air was filled with the sharp echoes of revolver fire.

  “Look, he got them, all three!” Adam said, carried away by the action. Unconsciously he had reached over and taken Bonnie’s arm, and his grip was very strong. Adam had a wide forehead, a squarish face, and his mouth was now pulled tight with suspense. It was a large mouth, and his ears were also slightly larger than usual. All in all, for a fourteen-year-old boy he had a look that bespoke strength—and an unusual determination. Not over average height, he was beginning to fill out with a promise of muscular strength.

  As Bonnie glanced down at him, she thought, He doesn’t look like a Stuart. They’re all tall and rather lean. I wonder if he’s noticed that? Thoughts ran through her mind, and her brow furrowed as she had a sudden fear that Adam’s dissatisfaction with himself was a problem that was not going to go away. To rid herself of the thought, she smiled, saying, “I don’t know why you like to watch these western movies. They’re all just alike.”

  “Well, so are the ones you watch,” Adam argued. He had a logical streak in him, this young man, and in turn a humorous side as well. Turning his light blue eyes toward her, he brushed his brown hair back with one hand, then shrugged. “I don’t know—they’re just exciting.” He watched as the three villains in black got up from the dust and asked, “Can we go over and meet the actor in the white hat?”

  “I don’t know him, Adam—he must be new,” Bonnie said. “There are so many of them, I can’t keep them straight.”

  “Please, Bonnie! I want to see his gun.”

  Bonnie nervously agreed. They were visitors on this set, and she herself did not know the director. Nevertheless, the tall actor had leaned up against the outside of the saloon and was rolling a cigarette. He looked pleasant, and she said, “Well, just for a minute. We can’t get in the way.”

  “Come on—let’s go!” Adam led the way, and Bonnie followed close behind. As they approached, the actor glanced up at them and shoved his hat onto the back of his head. A smile twisted his lips. “Hello, Pardner! What are you up to today?”

  “My name’s Adam Stuart. I–I sure liked the way you did the shooting and all.”

  Bonnie said quickly, “We don’t mean to interrupt—I know you’re busy.”

  “Why, that’s all right, Ma’am.” There was a twangy element in the actor’s voice, and he spoke rather slowly and deliberately. He pulled his hat off, nodded at her, then looked down at the young man. “You’d like to be a cowboy, would you? Well, that’s what I wanted to be when I was about your age.”

  “What’s your name? I’ve seen lots of western movies, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you,” Bonnie observed.
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  “Nope, I ain’t famous.” Again, the crooked smile. “My name’s John Wayne.”

  Bonnie had never heard the name, but she said quickly, “Adam here is crazy about cowboys and the West. I tried to tell him that being a real cowboy involved a little more than what we see in the movies.”

  “I reckon that’s right, Miss,” Wayne said. “It’s a pretty hard life.” He drew on the cigarette and studied Adam, saying thoughtfully, “Pardner, I don’t think you’d like being a cowboy much. That life’s all gone anyway. No more big trail herds to take from Texas to Abilene.” There was a thoughtfulness in his pale eyes as he shrugged his lean shoulders. “I’d like to have lived back in those days. It’d be more exciting than what goes on now.”

  “Can I see your gun?” Adam asked eagerly.

  “I don’t see why not.” The tall actor pulled the gun from his holster and handed it over butt first. “Be sure you don’t shoot it.”

  “It’s not loaded, is it?”

  “Just with blanks, but you see, those blanks can shoot powder for about ten feet. It’d be bad business if it hit somebody in the eye.”

  Adam held the gun almost reverently. He leveled it to arm’s length, aiming it at a blacksmith’s shop down at the curve of the street. Wayne watched him carefully and grinned. Then winking at Bonnie, he drawled, “This young fella’s got a real steady hand. I reckon he’s going to make a pretty good man.”

  Adam handed the gun back and said, “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

  “Anytime, Adam.” A call came from the director and Wayne pulled himself out of the leaning position and settled his hat. Nodding to the two, he strolled to his horse and mounted with a smooth, fluid motion. As he galloped to the end of the street, Adam said wistfully, “He’s a nice man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is.” Bonnie turned and led the boy away. On the way she saw an assistant script writer that she knew slightly. They stopped and talked for a moment, and Bonnie remarked, “We just met that actor, John Wayne. Is he pretty good?”

  The script writer, a short, pudgy man with a pale face and large, thick glasses, stared at her. “Wayne? Nah, can’t act a lick. He’ll never amount to a thing in the movie business.”

  “He seems so nice.”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s a fine guy and can ride a horse better than anybody in the business—but he can’t act.”

  As they moved away from the set, Adam was silent. Finally, when they were in the car driving home, Bonnie said, “Did you have fun, Adam?”

  “Yes—but I wish it wasn’t now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I mean, I wish it was back in the days when there were cowboys, Indians, and cattle drives—exciting and adventurous stuff like that.” He sighed deeply and turned to look at her. “There’s nothing like that anymore, is there, Bonnie?”

  “Oh, I expect there is. But most of life isn’t an adventure like that. It’s hard work.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Like learning that algebra you enjoy so much.” She laughed when he made a face and turned her attention to steering the Oldsmobile down the street.

  Not often did Gavin Stuart and his sister Lylah argue. They had been close all of their adult lives, and usually their relationship was calm and peaceful, even affectionate. But in Lylah’s office the air was thick with tension, and Gavin’s lips were drawn tight with something very close to anger as he faced her across the desk. His tone was clipped and sharp as he said, “I’ve had it with Jerry, Lylah! He’s disappeared and I guess we both know where he is.”

  Lylah was wearing a pale green dress and her hair was done in the latest fashion. She leaned forward and locked her hands together, her eyes troubled. “I know he’s got problems, but we have to stick with him, Gavin.”

  “He’s not an actor,” Gavin argued. “If an actor does something wrong and messes up a scene, you can shoot it over again.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strolled purposefully to the window and stared out at the bright sunshine. His back was stiff and he was obviously trying to gain control of himself. Turning back to face Lylah, he said, “If Jerry does something wrong in the air and kills himself—or somebody else—you can’t shoot that over again and bring them back to life.”

  Lylah rose and went over to stand beside him. Putting her hand on his arm, she said, “I know it’s been hard on you, Gavin—but I’m afraid this is Jerry’s last chance. You know him as well as anyone, and you’ve done more for him than anybody else.”

  “I’ve stopped him from getting killed a few times. I wish to heaven I’d never taught him how to fly!”

  “He would have learned from somebody else.”

  “Well, I guess that’s right. He’s one of those people just born to fly and nothing would have stopped him. Still, it wouldn’t have been my fault if he had gotten himself killed.”

  Lylah flinched and shook her head. Squeezing Gavin’s arm, she shook him lightly. “Don’t say that, Gavin.”

  “It’s true enough. But that’s not the problem now.” He looked down at Lylah and forced a smile. “Didn’t need all this along with all your other problems. I’m sorry to bring it up, but we’ve got to do something.”

  Lylah bit her lip and turned to stare out the window. She usually enjoyed the sight of the palm trees, the bright sunshine, and the blue skies, so clear they seemed to be painted. Now, however, they brought no pleasure to her. “When did you see him last?” she asked quietly.

  “We shot the last stunt three days ago. He was supposed to be here the next day, but I haven’t seen him since. We’ve got to do something, Lylah. We’re getting behind and I know the money’s running short.”

  Gavin’s words were more accurate than he knew. Only Lylah knew how desperate the situation was. They had run over budget, and she was spending a great deal of her time trying to raise extra funds. Knowing it would do no good to worry Gavin or the rest of the crew, she had said nothing of this. But the figures seemed to fly before her eyes, and she realized that something had to be done. “We’re so close, Gavin!” she whispered. “I’d like to see Jerry finish this. He’s got a bad record of walking away from things when it gets rough, and that’s what he’s done this time.”

  Standing tensely across from her, Gavin nodded. “It’s all about Cara, I suppose—he hasn’t gotten over her death. He still blames himself, and I can’t convince him of anything different. She knew what she was risking.”

  “I think it goes deeper than that. He was in love with her—or thought he was—for a long time. She hurt him pretty badly.”

  “Not as badly as if she’d married him.”

  “Yes, you see that, do you?” Lylah suddenly looked impressed with her brother’s insight. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a case of blind, foolish infatuation, and it went on for so long. He’s known so many fine young women, but he couldn’t get Cara out of his head. It was like a bad movie.”

  Gavin pulled his hands out of his pockets and ran them through his crisp, brown hair. “We’ve got to do something! For the rest of the stunts I can hire somebody to do Jerry’s flying.”

  Lylah stared at him unhappily. “I hate to do it, Gavin. It’s like we’re pulling the rug out from under him—and as I said, it might be his last chance. Amos is worried about him. I talked to him on the phone last night.”

  “I know, but if Jerry gets killed where will Amos be then? I think we’d better drop him.” He saw the unhappiness in Lylah’s eyes and went over and put his arm around her and squeezed her. “I know how you feel, Sis—and I feel the same way. We both love Jerry—everybody does. He’s his own worst enemy.” He stepped back and shook his head. “All right, I’ll give him one more chance—if I can find him that is. If I can’t we’ll just have to shoot without him.”

  Lylah tried to smile. “Do your best for him, Gavin. We owe it to Amos and to each other. After all, he is a Stuart—one of us. I’ve done far worse than he ever thought about doing.” Once again her eyes were filled with dismal unhappiness, and she shook her head,
saying, “It’s a turning point for him, I think. We’ll have to bear with him.”

  “All right, I’ll see if I can find him. You do the same, but we’ll have to shoot that scene in the morning, with or without him.”

  “I’d like to speak with Miss Bonnie Hart, please.”

  “This is Bonnie Hart.”

  “This is Sergeant Evans at the Sixth Precinct. We have a young man down here who claims you’re a friend of his.”

  At once, Bonnie knew exactly whom the sergeant meant. “Is it Jerry Stuart?”

  A soft chuckle came over the phone. “I guess this ain’t the first time you’ve got a call like this, is it? Well, your boy’s down here under arrest for misconduct and drunkenness in a public place. There’s no real damage, but someone has to bail him out.”

  “How much is the bail?”

  “Around fifty dollars, I guess. The judge is lenient on things like this.”

  “I’ll be right down,” Bonnie said. She hung up the phone and stood there for one moment thinking rapidly. Jerry must have been afraid to call Gavin. He knows he would boot him out of the picture and ground him if he found out he had been drunk and was in jail. I guess he’s afraid of Lylah, too.

  A quick strain of sorrow touched her as she thought of the waste of Jerry’s life, but she threw her shoulders back and picked up her car keys. Adam was at school and Jesse was at the studio with Lylah. It’s a good thing I was here to take the call, she thought, as she got into her car and started it up. The traffic was heavy, and by the time she got to the police station she was more upset than ever with Jerry. Going inside, she marched up to the sergeant and said, “I’m Bonnie Hart.”

  “Oh, yes, are you sure you want to take him home with you? He’s in pretty bad condition. Might not hurt to leave him in for a day or two.”

  “I’ll take him. Fifty dollars, you say?”

  “That’s right, Miss Hart.”

  The sergeant took the money and called out, “Bring Stuart out—if he can walk, that is.”