Heartland

by Davis Bunn

  Martin Allerby went on, “I’ve seen the dailies. And I’ll tell you what you’ve probably already heard around the soundstage. You have the makings of a good actor. You are as clearly made for this role as anybody I have ever met.”

  The office was large enough to seat them all comfortably. JayJay and Britt Turner sat in the two leather chairs in front of Martin Allerby’s desk. Peter was joined on the sofa by Milo Keplar, Centurion’s sales director. The three adjoining chairs were taken by Phyllis Gleason from Casting, Centurion’s chief counsel, and a woman from Publicity that Peter did not know. Gloria, Allerby’s personal assistant, had rolled in a chair from the adjoining boardroom and sat to one side, laptop at the ready. Back in the far corner by the boardroom’s entrance, just inside the door, sat a young Oriental man whom JayJay had requested be allowed to join them. Peter recognized the kid from the fire. Ahn somebody. He looked seriously spooked to be where he was.

  Martin Allerby continued, “But Centurion has been down this road once before. The Heartland series is unique. Our leading man needs to set a certain example. We can’t have you taking on roles that conflict with what we’re trying to achieve here.”

  From his position, Peter could openly study JayJay at close range. The man defined rawbone. Even seated, JayJay exuded a remarkable power. He encompassed the still force of a whirlwind yet to strike. His face was both strong and attractive, yet also vulnerable. He sat slightly hunched over, watching the chief while twirling his hat between his knees. He still wore his trademark denim outfit. Yet he did so with the ease of a man born to nothing else. He was not so much tanned as leathery. His shoulders were huge when compared to his waist. And the knife jutting from his belt fitted as comfortably as his boots.

  “We want to establish you not merely as the star of a popular series, Mr. Junior. We want to make you a brand.” Allerby could not read JayJay’s expression any better than Peter. And he didn’t like it. “Tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

  “Looks to me like you want to tie me up proper,” JayJay replied slowly. “And you want to do it cheap.”

  Britt laughed. He tried to cover it with a cough and failed.

  Allerby gave a tight smile. “Who represents you? May I call you John?”

  “I’ve always been partial to JayJay, Mr. Allerby.”

  The chief shook his head. As jarred by this as everybody else. The woman from Publicity was busy making notes and smiling. She filled the silence with, “Where are you from, Mr. Junior?”

  “I was born in the Central Valley, miss.”

  “And now?”

  He studied his hands for a long moment. “I reckon here is as good a place as any to hang my hat.”

  Allerby repeated his question. “Who’s your agent?”

  “Don’t have one, sir.”

  “You’re telling me this is your first role?”

  His hat twirled faster. “I left the ranch. I got on the bus. I landed here. I don’t know how to say it any better than that.”

  “Well, Casting has outdone themselves, locating you like they did.”

  Phyllis Gleason shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but had the sense to remain silent.

  “We’re in a touchy situation here, Mr. . . . JayJay. We’ve actually started filming a two-hour special and we don’t have you under contract. What I’d like to suggest is we allow our counsel to draw up a temporary contract—”

  “A handshake would work fine by me, sir.”

  Allerby’s smile had nothing whatsoever behind it. “This is Hollywood, JayJay. We live by what’s down on paper.”

  The actor leaned back with a sigh. Settled his hat on his knee. Tapped it a couple of times. “I never did like the feel of that word, temporary. Has the same feel as dangerous.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  JayJay used his hat to point toward the Oriental man. “Ahn here can do my dickering.”

  The kid might as well have become plugged into the wall socket. “Me?”

  Allerby said, “You’re suggesting we appoint this young man as your agent?”

  “Nobody said nothing about agents, sir. You want to work out a contract. I’m saying Ahn can lay the groundwork and point me in the right direction.” JayJay glanced over. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

  “Well, sure, I mean, one of my professors is a former agent. And the guy who taught me business law—”

  Allerby broke in, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that here, JayJay. Hollywood agents and attorneys are licensed. You will need one or the other to give you formal representation. We’ll be happy to refer you to someone good.”

  “Somebody who you know and I don’t, you mean.”

  Britt laughed out loud. Allerby studied his director before replying, “For our sake as well as your own, the contract must be drawn up by recognized professionals.”

  “Eventually,” JayJay finished for him. “If I’m staying.”

  “If you’re—” Allerby’s cold edge emerged. “You’re thinking of leaving?”

  “Not directly, no sir.”

  “Most actors would donate all four limbs for the offer I’m making.”

  “That’s what we need to decide on, though, isn’t it. Whether I’m an actor or not.”

  Peter had never seen the chief’s face so taut. Or his voice. “I can’t bankroll a series based on a man who isn’t sure he’s got the staying power.”

  JayJay appeared unfazed by the chief’s ire. “That makes sense. How long will it take to do the series you’re talking about?”

  Britt Turner responded, “Six months. But we wouldn’t want to do just one, JayJay. The public is going to want this to run forever.”

  “Well, only God can talk about that sort of timing. What say I give you my word I’ll do everything in my power to be here through the end of your series?”

  Allerby didn’t like it. But all he said was, “You’ll give us an exclusive for the duration?”

  Ahn spoke up then. “For Townsend’s salary and benefits, he will.”

  Allerby looked aghast. “You can’t expect me to offer a green actor what our star received.”

  “Your star was dumping this show right in the ratings basement.” Ahn went through a remarkable transformation. He was tight and cold as Allerby in his response. “You want an exclusive, fine. This is what it’s going to cost you.”

  “I can’t agree to that.”

  JayJay rose to his feet, making the same action Peter had seen ten thousand times before. Until now, however, it had always been on the little screen. Using the brim of his hat, Jayjay brushed off the front of his trousers. The reflex of clearing away the trail’s dust was so ingrained he did not notice. But everyone else did. Neil Townsend had mocked the action and all it stood for, a down-home hick who didn’t know enough to put on clean pants. This particular JayJay did it without thinking. Everyone in the room watched.

  JayJay said, “Looks like you and Ahn can work this out without me.”

  Allerby was still locked on the actor’s hands. “I’ll have a limo run you home.”

  Britt added, “And pick you up tomorrow.”

  “No limo,” JayJay replied. “I can’t say I like being driven around like I was somebody special.”

  “You prefer to drive yourself?”

  “I might. Only my truck is broke down, I don’t have a red cent to my name, and I misplaced my driver’s license.”

  “The license is no problem. The local authorities are very helpful. Gloria?”

  “I’ll see to it as soon as Publicity can give me a head shot.”

  “Done,” the lady replied, still making notes. “Mr. Junior, I need a few minutes of your time for background—”

  “Not today,” JayJay said. “I never thought standing around and jawing could get me as tuckered out as I am right now.”

  Britt said to Allerby, “We covered all five scenes. In one day.”

  Allerby repressed his excitement well. “Gloria, let the gentleman ha
ve something from petty cash. Would five thousand dollars do you, JayJay?”

  He had the easy smile of a man carrying little unseen baggage. “I was hoping for a twenty.”

  When the room stopped laughing, JayJay asked, “How much did this Townsend fellow earn, anyway?”

  Allerby was reluctant to divulge this. “One fifty per.”

  “One fifty what?”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “Dollars?”

  Allerby was not enjoying this exchange. “What did you think, yen?”

  JayJay shook his head. Started for the door. Said to Ahn, “Go easy on this fellow. Sounds to me like he was kidnapped and held for ransom.”

  “I hope you’re listening good,” Allerby snapped at Ahn. “All right. Britt and Legal stay, please. Everybody else, thank you for your time.”

  JayJay was still chuckling when he got to the front gates and found the lovely Miss Channing deep in conversation with the studio guard, Hardy Twyford. They were apparently using a break in the rain to discuss baseball. From the deep-set angle of the guard’s right arm, JayJay assumed he was describing a curveball. The fact that Kelly actually seemed interested only made the woman more attractive. As did hearing her say, “That so-called stupendous throw you’re describing. Is that the same one Lopez knocked over to a week from next Thursday?”

  The guard dropped his throwing arm. “Yeah, well, you know what they say about a steady diet of steroids.”

  “I tell you what I think,” Kelly replied. “The Dodgers couldn’t win against the Yankees if they packed Uzis and Mace.”

  “Riverside’s own,” Hardy said. “A town and a team made for heart-stopping moments and nights of pure dread.”

  “Capital of drive-bys and assault by car stereo,” Kelly agreed. She re-aimed at JayJay. “I detect a fresh limp, but I don’t see any gaping wounds.”

  “They didn’t even wing me,” JayJay said.

  Hardy felt comfortable enough with the moment to say, “Never known Martin Allerby to fire blanks before.”

  “Actually,” JayJay said, “I was protected by that fellow who came in with me.”

  “What, the kid?”

  “He’s small, but he’s got a dead-solid lock on smarts.”

  Kelly said, “Old slugger here’s been filling me in on the game I missed yesterday. On account of my being paid to pretend there’s nothing that’ll ever make me happier than dressing up like a stick of cinnamon gum.”

  “You only missed a finish that put half the stands in the ER with cardiac arrest,” Hardy said.

  “I have the perfect excuse,” Kelly said. “I was sick with that dread virus called overdue rent.”

  “I know that one,” JayJay said. “Brings me out in the worst case of rash.”

  “From the sounds of things,” Hardy said, “neither of you folks are gonna have to worry about that particular infection for a long time.”

  Kelly snorted. “I’ll believe that when my landlady stops meeting me at the front door.”

  JayJay motioned for her to join him. “I got something I need to tell somebody before I explode.”

  Hardy waved them off and hummed something that sounded like “Love Is in the Air.”

  Kelly called back to the guard, “You do a great play-by-play, Hardy. Next time, I’ll bring the grill, you get the dogs.”

  “I’d say you got yourself a date,” Hardy replied. “Except for the lock that other guy’s got on your arm.”

  The studio was fronted by a postage stamp of green and a border of fussed-over flowering plants. JayJay stopped by the concrete wall blocking them from the street. “I just heard how much they want to pay me for this particular game of dress-up.”

  “And?”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year.”

  Kelly actually hit a falsetto. “What?”

  “I know. It’s a sin.”

  “It’s worse than that, it’s robbery!”

  “What, you think I should give it back?”

  “Give . . .” Awareness flashed clear as humor in her gaze. “Sweetie, are you really that green? Or is this just a line I haven’t heard before?”

  “You pick, long as you call me that again.”

  “What, sweetie?” The smile actually broke through then. “Tell me exactly what they said.”

  JayJay had difficulty recalling what they were talking about, the impact of her smile was that strong. “I asked what they were paying that other fellow.”

  “Townsend. And?”

  “One fifty per. Those were his exact words.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “You think I could ever forget a thing like that?”

  “JayJay, here. Sit yourself down on this bench.” She nestled in close enough beside him for JayJay to catch her scent, wildflowers and clean hair and country.

  For the first time in far too long, he stopped worrying about the confusion these days had carried. He looked into emerald eyes sparked with down-home humor. Eyes that carried no threat. Eyes that did not need to look beyond this moment. Which, from where he was sitting, was pretty good indeed.

  “Now. Take a deep breath, because you’re in for a serious shock.” Kelly was clearly having the time of her life. “Okay. You ready?”

  Martin Allerby smoldered his way across the hall to Milo Keplar’s office.

  The place had the plasticized look of a condo display unit. Testimony to how much time Centurion’s sales director spent at the studio.

  Keplar demanded, “So?”

  “We’re in.”

  “And?”

  Allerby shut the door. “It cost us.”

  “You’re telling me you couldn’t handle the runt?”

  “The kid is not human.” Allerby slumped into the chair across from Keplar’s desk. “I got in real tight. Under his tongue there’s an imprint that reads ‘Authentic Dell Parts.’ ”

  Milo did not laugh. “How much damage are we talking?”

  “One fifteen per.”

  Milo might have squeaked out a what.

  “Plus escalation.”

  Milo’s mouth did the goldfish thing, all action and no sound.

  “Another fifty for every two points we rise in the ratings.”

  Milo grabbed his heart.

  “And not from when we were at the top. Where we are now.”

  Milo gasped. “You didn’t sign.”

  “Our mini-Dell borrowed Gloria’s laptop and wrote out a deal memo. Invited me to do it then or wait until he’s back in school and can get his professor’s input. Wait to film, Milo. As in, I sign or we don’t do the special.” Allerby fished out a cigarette and lit up. Milo did not even protest. He was that upset. “Two ten for the special. Half up front. Claimed his man needed the funds to set himself up. His man. The mini-Dell left with the check.”

  Allerby lifted his cigarillo. As in, what to do with the ash. Milo did not even bother to respond. Allerby walked to the window. The rain had ceased, but the sky remained gray and brooding. He opened the window and flicked. “But I got him. Oh yeah. John Junior is ours for as long as we want him.”

  “That’s something,” Milo muttered.

  “Not enough.” Allerby’s cigarillo only added to the moment’s acidity. He flicked it out the window. Slammed it shut. Said to the glass, “I’m going to find a way to stake that kid out somewhere his screams won’t be heard.”

  They drove to what passed for downtown Riverside in Kelly’s battered Yukon. The bank was where Ahn’s parents did their trading. He knew they kept late hours because he handled the family’s deposits. The drive was punctuated by Ahn making Kelly tell the story nine times, and laughing so hard he couldn’t give directions.

  When they pulled up in front of the bank, JayJay said, “Y’all have got to come in with me. I can’t carry all that money by myself.”

  “It’s a check, JayJay.”

  “Ho, ho, ho, Ahn.”

  “Them zeros are heavy suckers.” He tried to give he
r the envelope. “Here. See for yourself.”

  “It’s your money, JayJay.”

  “What if they discover it ain’t mine. And they call the cops and SWAT takes me down. I don’t want to go through that alone.”

  “Hee, hee, hee.”

  They were barely through the bank entrance when a voice shouted, “Hold it right there!” An elderly security guard approached with his hand on his revolver. “You can’t bring that in here!”

  “I told you,” JayJay said. “Even he knows this is bogus.”

  “He means your knife, JayJay.”

  “Ho, ho, ho.”

  “Hang on a second.” The guard loosened in segments. First his hand dropped from his holster. Then his neck rose, drawing the rest of his scrawny form with it. “You’re him. Ain’t you. That guy.”

  “Here.” JayJay handed the guard his knife. “Better take it before I do something to old funny bones here.”

  “What’s wrong with the kid?”

  Kelly answered, “He’s studying to become an agent. Agents are all crazy. It’s in their contract. Come on, JayJay.”

  The teller was a narrow lady with skin of polished ebony. Her face was a repository for circles. Round eyes. Big “O” of a mouth. Before she could speak, her supervisor emerged from the side office and said, “Can I help you?”

  JayJay lifted his hat. “Afternoon, ma’am. I’d like . . . What do I want again?”

  “Open an account and make a deposit.”

  “What she said.”

  The teller breathed, “You are him. Aren’t you. The hero.”

  “Helen,” the supervisor admonished. She was a large woman in rust-colored tweed who held herself impossibly erect. She asked JayJay, “Do you have some form of ID?”

  “But it’s him!” The teller did a two-step in place behind the counter. “My daughter wants to grow up and have your babies. Oh, I can hardly stand it.” She scrambled for pen and paper. “You got to sign this. Say to Larissa. With love. Sign it JayJay Parsons. She will die.”