by Stephen Bly
“Nope.”
“So she drinks a little too much?” Tony inserted.
“Yeah… Would you believe she reads her Bible and drinks? Weird combination, huh? She thinks that God’s punishing her for something. Do you think God does things like that?”
Tony took over pushing the cart as Price piled in fruits and vegetables. “Well, there are certainly consequences for our actions, the law of cause and effect, but I don’t think God means us to suffer continual physical and mental anguish.”
“I wish you’d tell my mom that. I wish someone would sit her down and confront her, face-to-face.”
As they crossed the slightly humped bridge back to the Island, they admired the stretch of shoreline view. Pines and firs ran to the water’s edge, down and around landscaped houses and
docks. A few fishing boats trolled the still surface.
Melody let out a deep sigh. “I’m really sorry for crying and making a big scene last night after what you said about my book.”
Tony peered into Melody’s round brown eyes through the rearview mirror.
“Price let me have it for my complete lack of tact. I’m afraid I didn’t do a good job of expressing myself. I should have said..
“No, really, it’s all right. This morning I woke up and realized I really didn’t like that book myself. It bores me to tears. It’s just that… I want to be a writer so bad. And it’s, sort of, the only story idea I ever had. I guess I’m afraid to give it up. I wouldn’t know what else to write.”
Tony tapped Price on the leg as if to say, “There’s your cue.”
“Melody, what was the first week’s lesson in Advanced Creative Writing?” she began.
“Let me think. It’s been a while. Something about ‘write about things you know… people you know.’”
“Write within your world. Now, where is your world?”
“Fox Island?”
“Bingo!” Price said. “Why not write a short story about your grandparents?”
“Or your mom and your dad and how you felt when he took off to Alaska?” Tony urged.
“Or write about the mysterious Mr. Bennington who suddenly shows up after fifty years looking for Jill Davenport.”
“Oh, wow, sure! I was thinking about him. What if he jilted Auntie Jill for a girl from the Ziegfield Follies whose family owned property in Texas? But after making millions in the oil business, he’s left a widower and remembers his one true love. So he hurries to Fox Island, only to find she died soon after he left her.”
“It’s a start,” Price said. “Why not write that scenario? A good basis for a short story.”
“Or even a book,” Tony added. Now Price poked him. “Just keep asking ‘what if?’”
“Like what?”
“Like, what if Bennington and your Auntie Jill purchased a lot together to one day build a house, and he kept the property in her name all these years, and now it’s worth millions to a real estate developer?”
“Oh, wow!”
“Or what if the reason they split up was because he ran across your Grandma Jessie and her husband, thought it was Jill, and figured she was two-timing him.”
Melody squealed. “And by the time he figured it out, he couldn’t find her. Yes! I need to write this down. What a great story.”
“Go for it,” Tony said. “Enthusiasm is half the battle of writing.”
“I think I will.” Melody practically bubbled and bounced. “I can hardly wait to get to my computer.”
Tony spent most of the week digging through boxes of papers, letters and diaries stacked in the back room of the Fox Island Historical Museum. Price interviewed several more long-time residents of the Island, including two former ferryboat captains. Neither saw much of Melody, who seemed content, secluded in her loft apartment.
With cups of hot chocolate and French roast coffee, Tony and Price converged on the deck on a sunny Monday morning.
“It’s been a month, babe. Do you miss Scottsdale?” Tony asked.
“I miss the girls. I guess I’m not ready for them to be on their own.”
Tony sipped his brew from a dark blue porcelain mug with the word Seattle inscribed in gold. “Kathy calls about every day. I think we’re still needed.”
“I hope Kit calls today. I’d like to find out how she got along working with those kids in Mexico last week.”
Tony laughed. “She probably taught them how to tune up a V-8. 1 really figured she’d have outgrown that by now. A daughter with grease under her fingernails and a twin with designer nails would drive the behaviorists wild. Same identical environment, totally different personalities.”
“The boys aren’t exactly the same either.”
“Have you talked to our eldest recently? I caught Josh at home last Thursday, but I missed Mark.”
“We should call him tonight after he gets off work.”
His coffee cold, Tony stepped into the house for a refill as the phone rang. Price trailed behind.
“Shadowbrook here.”
“Tony, hang on to your cowboy hat, dude. Have I got great news for you.”
“Who is this?”
“Terry. Terry Davidian.”
“Is it August yet?”
“Wait ’til you hear what happened last night. I was at this party in Malibu, one of the beach blasts everyone attends. And I’m talking to David Irving Silvers. THE David Irving Silvers … and he mentions the studio is taking a look at a couple of possibilities for doing a western. But he said all the material he’s seen is so stilted to political correctness that it’s lost its zip, and I say, ‘Have I got a story for you.’”
Tony shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “What’s the bottom line?”
“Wait. I mentioned Shotgun Creek, and Silvers said he was familiar with your work and would take a look at the story.”
“He did?”
“He even asked if you were a member of the Screenwriter’s Guild. You are, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Not a problem. I can take care of that. What he did want to know was if you had representation, so naturally I made it sound like we were working together. Now, here’s the thing. I’ve got an appointment with Silvers, but I can’t go in there without being an authorized agent. So, what do you want me to do? Is that 15% thing a deal?”
“Ten percent, and you don’t get a penny until I have money in hand.”
“But, Tony, baby, I can’t work all day and not get paid until way down the road.”
“So do I, every day of my life.”
“Make it 15% and we’ll go from there.”
Tony glanced at Price who mouthed, Get it in writing. “Make it 10%. When I get paid, you get paid.”
“You’re a tough man, Shadowbrook. But we’ve got a deal. I’ll call you after I talk to Silvers.”
“No, we don’t have a deal. I want to see the agreement in writing first.”
“What?”
“I want a written contract with all the terms and limitations spelled out.”
“But, Tony, this is hot. I need to….”
“No contract, no representation.”
“Okay, okay. Give me your fax number and I’ll get you something to review by noon.”
“I want a contract in the mail. FedEx it, if you want. I want the real thing. Then I’ll send it to my publisher and my book agent. After the lawyers have looked it over and we settle with them, then I’ll sign it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. We don’t have that kind of time. Let me get in the saddle with Silvers, then we can plow through the paperwork.”
“I don’t do business that way, Davidian. Send me the papers and I’ll see they get shipped to New York.”
“Tony, Tony, Tony. You can’t make it down here unless you play by the rules. Hollywood rules.”
“I play by a lot higher rules. I’ll look for the contract in the mail.”
“I tell you, you’re kissing off hundreds of thousands, maybe millions here. You t
hink it over and I’ll call back this afternoon.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Wait… listen…”
“Bye, Davidian.” Tony hung up the phone and grimaced at Price.
“You did good, Shadowbrook.” Her smile dimpled both sides of her well-tanned face as silver earrings flashed in the afternoon sun.
“You don’t mind if I pass up millions?”
“Potential millions,” she corrected. “We do all right the way it is.”
“I thought you wanted me to hook up with Davidian?”
“Not if you have to cut comers.”
“The whole deal keeps sounding a little thin. You know what I mean?”
“Maybe you should let Liz and the lawyers at Atlantic-Hampton handle it.”
“That’s my feeling exactly.”
Melody burst through the front door, swinging a brown leather purse with one hand and car keys in the other. Gold dangle earrings hung to the straps of her dark green tank top. “Hi, guys. Can you get along without me the rest of today?”
“We’ll manage,” Tony said.
“I’ve got to go talk to a psychologist at the convalescent home. She called to say Grandma Jessie’s been in a severe depression for several days. She wants to talk to the family about it. Mother agreed to go with me, but I figure it will be a long session.”
“Be sure and give us a report,” Price urged. “We’ll be praying for you.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll need it ”
They both stared out the front door glass panels until Melody’s car chugged up the steep driveway to the road.
Tony sighed. “I hope we haven’t been the cause of her grandma’s setback.”
“She’s never made peace with her past.”
“Did you ever notice how this happens every summer?”
Price glanced in the hall mirror, admiring the gold filigreed frame as she brushed her hair back from her face. She remembered she’d forgotten to put on perfume. “What happens?”
“We try to slip unobtrusively into some little out-of-the-way spot for a summer of research and writing, then we get tied up in the lives of the people there.”
“Maybe that’s part of the Lord’s plan for us. How do you think I would look with earrings like Melody’s?”
“Gorgeous.”
“You say that about everything I wear.”
“It’s true. I married a beautiful woman.”
“And I married a man with poor eyesight.”
“Are we going to continue this ridiculous conversation or get to work?”
“You’ve got a book to write.”
“I’ve got a book to write every day of my life.”
“Shadowbrook, are you bragging or complaining?”
“Did I ever tell you your eyes sparkle when you go authoritarian?”
“I know, I’m gorgeous.” Price raised her eyebrows in the semblance of a young Lauren Bacall imitation, then strutted back to her desk.
Mid-aftemoon Price heard a shout from the deck. She looked in time to see Tony clutch his head with both hands. “What’s wrong?” she called out.
“I can’t believe it!”
“Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right. This laptop just ate chapter four.”
Oh, good. “How terrible. How much did you lose?”
“The whole chapter. Why in the world did we ever start using computers? I don’t have time for this.”
“Did you check your backup files?”
“I can’t find any backup files.”
“Maybe there was a power surge.”
“I’d like to power surge Bill Gates, that’s what I’d like to do.”
“Hey, here’s chapter four on a backup disk.”
Tony groaned. “But I’ve lost the last six hours of editing. This can’t be happening. I don’t need this.”
“Where’s the manual?”
“In Scottsdale.”
Price scooted a metal chair close to him. “Let me look at it.” While Tony prowled back and forth on the deck, Price punched the keys of the laptop.
“There it is,” she shouted.
He leaned over her shoulder. “You got it back?”
“Look. On the auxiliary file. Isn’t that the backup document?”
“What’s it doing over there?”
“Nothing. I can’t bring it up.”
“What?”
“I’ve got it listed, but it won’t come up on screen. Maybe you can print it out.”
“Great, just great! I’ll have to punch it all back in again.”
“Why don’t you call tech support?”
“Oh, sure, and get stuck on hold for hours?”
“What choices do you have?”
“Yo, Dudes! Can you lead me to Melody?”
Tony and Price spun around. A huge man with shaggy, full, tightly curling black beard, wild flying hair, and a black leather jacket flung across one shoulder bulged through the sliding glass door. “I’m lookin’ for my woman. Does my Melody Tunes still shack up here?”
“You mean, Melody Mason?” Price eyed the man’s massive arms.
“Yeah. Where is she?”
“We’re renting her house for the season.”
“Now, ain’t that a bummer? Where did that little spitfire move to?”
“Why don’t you leave your name and number? We’ll have her call you when she gets back,” Tony offered.
“So, she does live here?”
“In the garage apartment, but she’s gone for the day.”
“Cool. I’ll wait.” The man lumbered across the living room and plunked deep into the sofa. “You got anything to eat?”
Price and Tony looked at each other.
“Look, mister,” Tony began.
“Everyone calls me Stud.”
“If you want to wait for Melody, that’s up to you. But she might be gone quite a while. And we’ve got work to do, so you aren’t waiting for her in our living room. You can park yourself out on the road by the driveway, or you can give us your phone number and I’ll have her call you.”
His burly face cowered like a massive wounded dog as he pulled himself off the couch. “Talk about lacking the gift of hospitality.” He rolled to his full six-foot-six frame and stumped toward Tony who backed onto the deck and against the railing. The man stopped midstride. “I think I’ll cruise around the Island. Is Melody Tunes still driving that green VW bus?”
“Eh, yes.”
“If I miss her, tell her I was looking for her.” He glanced down at the laptop and peered closer. “Looks like your Toshiba Turbo 75 is locked up.”
“Well … yes. Something like that.”
He held down two buttons with his left hand and punched two others with his right. “Hey, there you go. Chapter four.”
Price and Tony gawked in amazement.
“How did you do that?” Tony sputtered.
“Fifteen years with Microsoft taught me a little bit. Retired on my thirty-fifth birthday. Shoot, how much money does any one human need?”
Price studied the screen. “What did you do?”
“Nothin’ to it. Here, I’ll show you.” He took Price’s left hand in his and placed her fingers on the keyboard. Then he reached around her shoulder with his right hand and placed those on the laptop, still holding both hands. He caged her like a helpless puppy in one smooth movement.
“You can show me.” Tony yanked the man away from Price. “It’s my computer. I really ought to be the one who learns.”
“My, he’s a bit insecure, isn’t he?” the big man roared. “That’s what you get for marrying such a foxy younger woman.” He backed away from Price, gave her a wink, led Tony through the steps, then turned to the house.
“You’re leaving now?” Tony asked.
“Yep, just need to pick up my helmet. Tell Melody Tunes I’ll catch her later. Say, did she ever tell you about the time we took my Harley to Alaska?”
“Eh, no, she didn’t.”
“Well, come to think about it, maybe it wasn’t her. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“We won’t.” As soon as the man was safely out in the carport, Tony added, “Thanks a lot for the computer help.”
He nodded. “Is Captain Renfold still at the Acoustic Lab?”
“We haven’t met anyone down there yet.”
“Think I’ll go swap lies with the navy. I built ’em a system once and they never used it. Didn’t employ enough of their appropriations.” The roar from the motorcycle deafened the air.
“Did some biker just appear at our house and fix my computer?” Tony asked when the noise subsided.
“How in the world did we not hear him drive up?”
“Next summer, we definitely need a house with more privacy.”
“I don’t know. If we get too remote, who will fix your computer?” Price’s blue eyes danced, a teasing, well-aimed dance, a dance learned through nearly thirty years of learning each other’s rhythms.
Sunset splashed with washed orange and bright pink from the Olympics to McNeil Island when Tony lugged the research papers and computer into the house. Price leaned over the sink, peeling crisp, small cucumbers. “You going to call our oldest child tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll ask him to drive down next weekend and help Kit find a home for that calf. Kathy said the flowerbed’s about eaten up and the backyard’s drawing horseflies.”
Price lowered her voice. “I think I hear Melody. Shall I invite her in for supper?”
“Depends. Is she alone, or is Goliath with her?”
“She’s alone.”
“Sure, invite her. I’ll call Mark from the bedroom.”
Tony returned to find Price and Melody huddled at the kitchen counter. Their faces glowed like sisters sharing a secret.
“I hear you met Kenny,” Melody blurted out.
“Who?”
“The Stud? That’s Kenny Mallard.”
“So you do know him?”
“He’s a jerk. He’s only got one thing on his mind.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah, computers. What a bore.”
“He helped me out,” Tony admitted.
“How were Mark and Amanda?” Price inquired.
“The internship’s going good, but Amanda was a little sick last week. She had to miss work and take some IV fluids. Everything’s OK now. Mark said they’d drive down Saturday and check on the girls.”