Fox Island

by Stephen Bly

  “Hey, I almost forgot. You had a FedEx package left at the door and a phone call.”

  “Where’s the package?” Tony asked.

  “It’s over behind Grandma’s umbrella stand.”

  “Who called?” Price quizzed.

  “Your daughter.”

  “Which one?”

  Melody waved her hands as if trying to generate a word. “The one whose name starts with K. Who is it?”

  “They both start with a K. Was it Kit or Kathy?”

  “Let’s see … someone was pouting in her room with the door locked, and the other one called.”

  Price took a deep breath. “Must have been Kit.”

  “How old did you say your daughters were?”

  “Eighteen, sometimes going on twelve.” Price took a long sip of tea. “When did she call?”

  “About seven.”

  “Well, maybe they’ll have it all solved by morning.”

  Tony entered, examining the contents of a cardboard envelope. “What about the girls?”

  “Probably just a sisterly spat,” said Price. “Why don’t you fly home tonight and take care of it, dear?”

  Tony looked up with a puzzled expression.

  “I’ll call them in the morning. What did you get?”

  “It’s the agreement with Davidian. The legal boys at Atlantic-Hampton worked it over.”

  “How’s it look?”

  “I’ll give it a long read.”

  “What does Liz think?”

  “She said it was up to me.” Tony scanned the pages and took a swig of coffee.

  Melody slapped the table. “Hey, I haven’t told you the big news… what I found out about Bennington.”

  Tony and Price both turned to her.

  “I completely forgot,” Price said. “Did you talk to the florist?”

  “Yes. Lynne Anne, that’s my friend, let me check the records. The bouquet was purchased by an older, gray-haired man who paid for it with a credit card in the account of CMI.”

  “The only CMI I know is Chesapeake Mutual Investments,” Tony remarked.

  “Bingo! That’s exactly what I thought, Mr. S.”

  “You know about mutual funds?” Price asked.

  “Oh, sure. I manage my grandmother’s portfolio. Didn’t I tell you that?”

  Tony and Price looked at each other. “I guess it slipped your mind.”

  “I’ve been doing that ever since I graduated from ASU. It gives me some income until the book royalties start rolling in, like you guys. In fact, that’s where I met Kenny.”

  “Where?”

  “At the brokers’.”

  “He really owns early Microsoft stock?”

  “Yeah, isn’t that wild?”

  “It’s totally awesome,” Price admitted.

  “Anyway, just on a lark, I called Chestertown, Maryland, and sure enough they had a number for CMI.”

  “So you called them?”

  “Yeah, but it was already closing time back there. I’ll have to call in the morning.”

  “Well, that is a lead. Maybe Bennington is a stockbroker.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. And maybe he has an unlisted number. I’m hoping I can get a home phone or something.” Tony groaned, slapped the papers and got up to pace the kitchen.

  “What’s the matter?” Price asked.

  “This isn’t right.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “This contract. They propose to give Davidian 10%, the publishing house 45%, and I receive 45%, less Liz’s 10%.”

  “How’s that again?”

  “Davidian gets 10% off the top, Atlantic-Hampton 45%, Liz 4.5% and that leaves me with 40.5% of royalties earned off the movie rights.”

  “Is that the way they assign movie royalties?” Melody asked.

  “Not for my books,” Tony huffed.

  “Actually, we have no idea what is usually done,” Price said, “since this is our first contact with a Hollywood agent.”

  Tony’s face pinched into a frown. “I’m not agreeing to this. Why does it always seem like the writer is the least important person in the royalty chain?”

  “Davidian hasn’t sold the story. It might be a big worry over nothing,” Price reminded him.

  Melody carried her cup and saucer to the sink. “You think Tom Clancy gets that kind of deal?”

  “I think Clancy can get just about whatever he wants.” Price tucked a stray brunette strand behind her ear.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re both home safe and sound. I’m going to bed.” After a few steps, she turned around. “Hey, did I tell you Kim finally kicked Amigo out?”

  “Does that mean you’ll be moving in with her?” Price walked with Melody to the front door. “The summer’s half over.”

  “Hey, that’s what I was thinking. I might as well just stick it out in the garage. That is, if it’s all right with you and Mr. S. Besides, Kim’s in one of her dark moods.”

  “Dark moods?”

  “All her paintings are in black and blue.”

  “What is she painting these days?”

  “Kind of a modernistic, surreal, still life, ocean scape thing with angels looking on. Know what I mean?”

  “I can see why you’d rather be in the loft.”

  “Then you two don’t mind?”

  Price glanced back at Tony in the kitchen, engrossed again in the contract. “We wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t around.”

  “Boy, I can’t ever thank you guys enough. I wouldn’t have been able to write this new book without your help. I’ve decided I’m going to dedicate this book to ‘My good friends Price and Tony Shadowbrook, who taught me all I know about writing.’ No matter how famous I get, I’ll always remember how you helped me in the early days. And maybe, someday, I’ll be able to help someone else get a start.”

  “Good night, Melody.”

  “Good night, Dr. S.”

  A persistent buzz needled Price out of bed at 6:29 A.M. She fumbled for the alarm, then grabbed for the princess phone on the nightstand. Where was Tony? What time was it? Why did he have to run so early? “Priscilla Shadowbrook,” she mumbled.

  “Good morning,” the cheery voice chirped. “Hope I didn’t pull you out of the garden.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Tulip.”

  “Who?”

  “Tulip. You’re on the committee with me to ensure the humane treatment of Fox Island animals held in temporary confinement.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Last week at the community meeting, remember?”

  “Oh. Yes … sorry. I’m a little groggy.”

  “The meeting is at the Community Center 10:00 this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “To go over a site selection procedure for finding the proper location for the petting zoo.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. See you at ten. Say, tell Tony he’s certainly welcome to come with you.”

  “I think he’ll be busy writing.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” Tulip held onto the word bad much too long. “Is Kenny Mallard there?”

  At 6:30 a.m.? “Eh, no.”

  “I can’t reach him. If you see him, tell him about the meeting.”

  “Sure.” Then dial tone.

  No “goodbye.”

  No “thanks.”

  No “sorry to bother you so early.”

  Price pulled back the covers and collapsed back into bed. She got the idea Tulip didn’t care two cents about her. Why did she think that? The woman’s agenda drove her over the top of people. Even with right goals, it helped so much to care about the people along the way. Tulip reminded her of Mrs. Lindsay in the sixth grade: “You girls are going to learn this if I have to beat it into you.” So, they learned, whatever it was.

  But this morning, Price didn’t have an early class to teach. She wasn’t required to drive to cheerleading practice … or hang gliding lessons …
nor did she have a 4-H animal to feed. She did not have to get up. No reason in the world not to go back to sleep.

  She reclined on a stack of three pillows to study the room and wondered for the hundredth time if it were Melody’s design or Jessica Reynolds’. Ribbons of roses and floral lattice covered the comforter, the cases, ruffled round tablecloths and pouf curtains. Tiny floral sprigs scattered broken antique gold stripes on the shams and wallpaper. Even the milk glass lamps were hand painted in shades of pink wood roses.

  Like sleeping in a garden.

  She sank into the soft, cool pillowcase with a sigh. Her mind floated into wonderful, peaceful blackness. On the third ring Price propped herself on an elbow and yanked up the receiver. “What is it?” she managed to mumble.

  “Price, this is Liz. Is Tony around, or is he out fishing?”

  “Fishing? Price blinked at the clock.

  “Oh, I forgot, you’re in Pacific time zone now.”

  “It’s 6:47… in the morning!”

  “Sorry, just remind Tony he has a radio interview at 3:15. Let’s see, I guess that’s 12:15 Pacific. Al Germain at WINC in Lafayette, Louisiana. Thirty minutes on comparing the myth of the cowboy as portrayed in western novels of the early and mid¬twentieth century to the actual cowboys of history. It’s a live show.”

  “Does Tony know about this?”

  “I sent him a fax.”

  “Where?”

  “Oops, your home. Tell him not to worry. He can wing it. I think it’s a call-in show. How did the book signing go?”

  “Fine.”

  “And how’s Fox Island coming?”

  “Except for chapter five, it’s moving right along.”

  “Sorry to wake you, girl. Bye-bye. Go back to sleep.”

  Price could feel the ache and twitch of every bone and muscle in her body as she slipped back between the cotton sheets. She could tell by the grayness that it must be foggy outside. Still, she fumbled in the nightstand drawer to find a black silk sleep mask. She slipped the strap over her hair and settled it against her eyes. She wondered if she should have gotten up and taken Advil. she couldn’t recall being this tired when she was younger. Getting up in the night with the twins. Corralling all four of them ready for Sunday school. Hauling the gang to the supermarket. How in the world did she do that?

  Maybe she was still recovering. Maybe she should unplug the phone until after breakfast. Or after lunch.

  She felt like someone jabbed pencils into both ears as the nagging phone harangued her once more. She considered screaming and throwing the instrument through the window. Perhaps she was trapped in a bad dream.

  Lord, make it go away. Put a hedge of protection around this house and cast this demonic phone far from me.

  The ringing didn’t stop.

  She pulled off the sleep shade, hunched on the side of the bed, and squeezed the molded plastic. “Yeah, what is it?” she growled.

  “Mom? Is that you?”

  “Kristina? What do you want?”

  “Whoa, is it that time of the month?”

  Price silently counted to ten. “Sorry, Kit, I’m not fully awake. What can I do for you, honey?”

  “It’s not me. It’s Kath. Did that Melody person tell you I called?”

  “Yes, she said Kath is locked in her room or something. We got in too late to call back. What’s up?”

  “I don’t know why she does this. We’re just friends.”

  “Who’s just friends?”

  “Me and Linc.”

  “What Linc?”

  “He’s a new guy that works in the admissions office with Kath. You know, the one with the new Camaro convertible?”

  “And awesome smile?”

  “Yeah, he’s a hunk all right. I fixed his car last week, and he wanted to thank me, so he took me out to the Rustler’s Roost last night. He’s a real nice guy, Mom. You and Pop would like him. He’s transferring in from some college in Idaho. His dad’s a teacher up there. He said he thought he signed up for one of your classes and here’s the thing. He likes me just like I am. He doesn’t seem insecure or threatened like the others. But we’re just friends, that’s all.”

  “And when you got home, Kath was in her room, pouting?”

  “Yeah. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Go on to work. Kath will be okay. You’ve been a little bit jealous like that yourself, haven’t you?”

  “Not really. Usually the guys Kath goes with are dorks.”

  “Leave a note for your sister to call me when she gets up.”

  “Mom, what should I say if Linc calls and wants to take me out again?”

  “What do you usually say when a boy invites you for a second date?”

  “Don’t know. None ever has.”

  “Do you want to see him again?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I know it’s kind of weird, Mom, but I really like talking to him. And I had a real fun time. We laughed a lot, and he made me feel important.”

  “Well, then, you’d better let him know that.”

  “How do I do that? Should I call him up?”

  “My advice is, don’t call him. Let him initiate another conversation. That will be easier to explain to Kathy.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll leave a note for her. This is kind of weird, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Seems normal to me.”

  “I love you, Mom!”

  “Love you too, honey. Bye.” I love you? from her tomboy daughter? She wasn’t sure why she expected their children to exhibit qualities that so eluded her. It was a long time ago when she was eighteen. That’s what worried her.

  She heard the front door open and close. Good, Tony could answer the phone.

  “Hi, guys, it’s just me,” Melody called out. “I know it’s early, but it’s after 10:00 A.M. in Maryland, and I figured I better try calling CMI. I’ll just use the phone in the hall.”

  Maybe Price could get a hotel room in Seattle. She could fly to Cabo San Lucas and sleep in the sun on an isolated beach. She could even go back home and stay with the twins. Kit was at work. Kath pouted in her room. Even that would be more peaceful than this.

  She pulled on her robe and slippers and padded to the kitchen. She stuffed a couple pain pills in her mouth and swished them down with dregs of orange juice in the bottom of the pitcher. Then she stood and stared into the soupy fog.

  Melody bounded into the room wearing a Seattle Seahawks shirt that hung to her knees. “CMI does have a Lloyd Bennington. His secretary took my name, message and phone number… well, your phone number, really… and said she would see it personally gets to him. He is out of the office this week, but he’ll be calling in. I wonder if he’s still out here. Wouldn’t that be so cool? Oh, wow! I just had a great idea of how to open my book. I can’t believe it. Boy, when inspiration hits, a person’s got to write. But then, you know all about that. I love it. Don’t you just love being a writer? Boy, you look awful, Dr. S.” Melody scooted out of the kitchen, bare feet slapping linoleum tile floor.

  Shuffling around the small kitchen, Price got a pot of coffee brewing, then slid the glass door open to step onto the misty deck. The Sound shrouded in monochromatic gloom, a fishy stench stifled the air. Through the fog, she cringed at lapping waves and squawking seagulls. She held her ears and wished they would both shut up.

  Tony ran up the side of the deck, his voice cutting through like a foghorn, a loud, piercing, screeching, wailing, mind-numbing foghorn.

  He pulled an orange beach towel out from under a tarp. “Morning, babe. Boy, it’s great to see you up. Isn’t this a perfect time of the morning? I love it. Gets the heart pumping and the creative juices flowing, doesn’t it? This is one of those mornings I wish I could’ve carried my laptop with me as I ran. I kept having one idea after another.”

  He wiped his hair, face and neck. “I was down by the Navy Acoustic Lab, and this great illustration for a concluding paragraph to chapter six came to me. It’s just what we need. Remember how you
said last night on our way home that it ended weak, and I said it was fine the way it was? Well, I was thinking Price just might be right this time. So I developed an alternative. I’ll punch it in and see what you think.”

  As he rubbed his chest and legs and arms, orange fuzz from the towel left a trail. “And I figured out what to do about that contract with Davidian. I’m going to propose that Davidian get 10%, Liz 5%, and Adantic-Hampton 25%. That leaves us with 60%. That sounds better, don’t you think? Of course, that’s only the first book. If they want to do a sequel, everything is up for renegotiation. I read somewhere that the writer should ask for a percentage of gross revenue of the movie, not net profit. Of course, that’s assuming they’ll pick up an option and actually make a movie. I think I’m getting jazzed about the possibility. I just wish Davidian wasn’t such a flaky acting guy.”

  Price mentally told him to peel away the fuzz, but the words didn’t come out.

  “Say, you’ll never guess what else I thought of. I got direction on my next western series. I’m going to call it the End of the Line series. Each book will be located at a different cattle town that was the end of the railroad line at that time. I can weave in the Mastersons, Earps, Bill Hickok and all those guys. What do you think?”

  Half-open eyes peered at him through a face full of wrinkles, but no dimples. “What I think is, I’m at the end of my line. I’m going back to bed.”

  “To bed? You’re kidding. The day’s just starting.”

  “Not for me, it isn’t.”

  Tony was hard at work at his computer while Price dozed at hers at 2:00 P.M. when Melody burst into the house toting a large blue Icee and a big bag of Cheetos. “Lunch,” she explained. “Hey, I had a great idea. Get your notebooks and let’s go interview Grandma right now.”

  “I thought you said she didn’t want to talk to us,” Tony said.

  “That was yesterday. She always forgets, so I thought we’d just show up and I’ll say, ‘Grandma, here are those people who want to talk to you about the old days.’ You jump in with a quick question, and maybe she’ll forget all about her tirade. What do you think?”

  Tony’s brows tightened together. “I don’t know. We can try, but if she puts up any major resistance, we’re out of there. Our purpose isn’t to harass the local citizens.”

  Price pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Maybe we shouldn’t take any notes while we’re there. We’ll jot down as much as we can back in the car. That could put her more at ease.”