Five for Forever (35 page)

Louise laughed out loud and then keeled over, grabbed her bucket, and retched into it. Then she looked at Madge. “I want you to play Sarah Lewis in
Five Ways
.”

“Get out of here!” Madge stared at Louise. “You are out of your mind!”

Louise held her stare. “You are my worthy successor, if not even a better actress.”

“You are aware that you are giving away your third Oscar,” Madge said, not believing her luck.

“I might receive it for Best Picture as a producer. And you’ll get the best actress. We’ll pay you one million plus five points domestic, three foreign, and three points for digital rights. That is way below your market value, but adequate for an indie production. Nonnegotiable to keep us within the thirty-million-dollar budget.”

Madge stared out the window. It was starting to snow again. “I don’t know what to say”—she smiled at Louise—“except thank you.”

“Madge, I know you feel as if you have won the lottery. In ten years from now, I will send you a letter. It will contain only one question.”

“Question?” Madge still couldn’t understand her fortune. Nor the why behind it.

“The question will be: Do you still think you won the lottery?”

“But haven’t you taken out any suspense by telling me now?”

“It’s the answer that’s important, not the question. I won’t try to explain, because you’re not yet in a position to understand. But it is important that you are aware that you are now Number One in our profession. Either way you decide, after your
Gone with the Wind
payday or after the next Oscar for
Five Ways
, you will be the highest-paid actress of all time. There is no one above you, only three billion girls and a million transgender boys at your heels, who want to be you, be better than you, overtake you, and will do anything to reach your height.”

Madge’s head was reeling. “This is a strange night. I expected everything else, but this is a different level of crazy.”

“I have blood cancer, not a brain tumor.”

“Maybe that is what makes it so baffling for me.” Madge looked at Louise. “I was so mad when you snapped away
Five Ways
earlier this year. In fact, I hated you!”

“You know why I did it?”

“So that I wouldn’t get it offered?” Madge guessed and gave a sad smile when Louise nodded. “That’s crazy, right? But I would have done the same thing in your position. Can I ask why you changed your mind?”

“My doctor told me to get my affairs in order, as tacky as it sounds.”

Madge laughed. “We got a good bang out of our buffet fight, right?”

Louise gave a sad tiny smile. “Yes, we did, Madge. In another lifetime.”

Early January. Britta had called about some missing dinner ingredients, and Rick took a detour from a job interview he had had in Ventura to the first supermarket that came up on his side of the road. The interview had gone well; the new building boom in L.A. had companies scrambling to increase capacity again, and housing design was becoming a differentiator for many of the small independent outfits. The company owner’s was a guy about Rick’s age, on the blonder and beefier side—how Styler would look in about twenty years. Rick couldn’t bring himself to say yes on the spot. The owner felt Rick’s hesitation, asked some “what-can-I-do-to-make-you-say-yes” questions, but then didn’t press further. Rick asked for a few days to decide and left, torn between the need to feed his family and a humdrum job that did not really motivate him. Shipbuilding was the opposite of housebuilding. The wood for a boat had to be made to fit the lines, whereas the material for a house was all high-tech, preprocessed, and cut in rectangular shapes. When he looked at a boat, his heart beat faster. When he looked at a house, he thought about mortgages.

The supermarket was of the same chain as their regular one in Oxnard, so it took Rick no time to find and grab the five items on Britta’s list. He lined up to check out and saw a man he thought he recognized ahead of him. Long, sun-bleached hair, athletic frame, middle-aged, well maintained. There was a small click in Rick’s brain—the aged surfer guy walking beside Agnes after school. But then Rick was taken aback for a second. The guy in front of him wore khaki shorts, and his right leg was an artificial limb from the thigh on downward. But then Rick remembered the slight limping gait when he had walked with Agnes, and his brain clicked again.

“Excuse me, sir,” Rick said, tapping on the man’s shoulder.

Aged Surfer turned around. He held himself ramrod straight and had deep blue eyes that were calming but hard at the same time. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Is it possible that you are the career counselor of my daughter Agnes?”

“Agnes Flint? Yes and no,” the man said with a little smile.

“Are you or aren’t you?” Rick asked, feeling anger rising in him. Was this the guy who had convinced Agnes to pursue a military career?

“I am not associated with the high school, therefore the no. I am a Blue and Gold Officer, a coach for US Navy recruits,” the Aged Surfer said, his face friendly. “My name is Brian Compston, colonel, retired. Excuse me.” He took care of his checkout and waited until Rick was done, too.

“Did you convince my daughter to get killed?” Rick pointed to Compston’s leg. “Or crippled?”

Compston visibly cringed but remained friendly and looked Rick straight in the eyes. “You want to talk about this over a beer? I’ve spoken to many concerned parents over the years.”

Rick’s anger evaporated; he had made an ass out of himself, and he glanced at his watch. “Yeah, but no beer, though. I still have to drive to Oxnard.”

They ended up in a Starbucks a block down the street.

“Apologies for earlier. My nerves are a bit frayed, ex-girlfriend business and daughter business at the same time,” Rick said, meaning it.

“Yeah, Agnes told me about her movie-star stepmom and the fallout you had. Don’t sweat it. The decision Agnes made can be a very emotional one for many. But to answer your question: I did not convince your daughter to join the navy. She had already made up her mind when I first spoke with her. She came to me very informed and was favoring some options for her major.”

“And then where did you come in?”

“The process to be accepted as an enlisted officer with a college seat in the Naval Academy is complex. My role is to help the newbies find their way through it. That’s all.”

“You served, obviously.”

“Yes, I was part of Operation Desert Storm, naval air support.” Compston wagged his artificial leg. “I got out fine. In 1998 I had an accident on duty where I lost my leg and eventually had to leave the service. Became a financial manager for a health insurance company.”

“So what
can
you tell a concerned father?” Rick asked, crossing his arms.

Compston looked at him, his eyes changing from friendly to cold. “Agnes is the best recruit I have ever supported. She comes with superior grades, an almost perfect SAT score, and she excelled in all the application tests and interviews.”

“Tell me something new.” Rick couldn’t help but be proud of his daughter. “She’s the overachiever.”

“But it’s not only her performance, it is also her personality,” Compston said. “She is eighteen but has the presence of a much more mature person. The selection process is confidential, but I can share an anecdote with you. The final interview is kind of reviewing the recruit, verifying any assumption or hunches, and simply getting to know the candidate better. Agnes came into the room, three highly ranking officers in uniform opposite her, me on the side, observing. All the officers sat straighter when she approached the desk, and after she sat down and looked at everyone, I had the feeling that the power structure of the room had changed for a second. Your daughter, a mere high school student, for a moment commanded the room. And keep in mind that the military is all about chain of command. Usually everyone inside a room full of soldiers knows exactly who is in command of what and whom. And your daughter disrupted that.”

“Is that good, or bad?”

“Your daughter is a natural leader. She has presence. She will go very far.”

“If she’s not killed first?” Rick asked. “Just keeping my role as the proud but concerned father.”

“Agnes will be serving in the US Navy. She will defend and enforce US interests anywhere necessary. In good times and bad times. Live with this, and Google the statistics yourself, Rick,” Compston said. “I promise you: she will be an excellent officer, and she will have a lot of fun. And my personal prediction, which we will keep between ourselves: she will become a four-star general by the age of forty.”

Rick shook his head. “This is hard to digest.”

“I can only tell you my observations and personal opinion. Nothing I say will convince you to shed your fears. You will have to work that out for yourself. You had other plans for her, or saw her in other roles, but she is an adult now and is taking control of her own life.”

“You are right about that. I saw her more with a Nobel Prize than with some golden stars on her shoulders. Or at Harvard, kicking scientific ass,” Rick admitted.

“I’ve had this discussion many times before. ‘Such an excellent student, now lost to the military.’ But, in all fairness, why shouldn’t the military get the smart ones, too, once in a while?” Compston finished his coffee. “To keep the stupid assholes at bay. Rick, I have to go. Give my regards to Agnes.”

The men shook hands, and Rick watched Compston walk and click out of the store.

General Flint. Now that’s a thought to get used to.

thirty

A Harebrained Scheme

Dana was not privy to the details of the plan until the last minute, to avoid unintended verbal spills. Agnes purloined her late mother’s still valid driver’s license and, with Britta’s help, attempted to add twenty years to her face with makeup and Mom’s reading glasses. The result was stunning, and both girls had to swallow several times in recognition of their mom’s features looking back from the mirror.

“It’s like this magic mirror where Harry Potter sees his dead parents for the first time,” Britta whispered, and the sisters sat spellbound for a while. Agnes didn’t even dare to do a impersonation of their mom.

Charles bypassed Agnes’s open door, cool as ever. “Nice work, sisters! Hi, Mom!”

The tickets were purchased via prepaid Visa. “A practice that will flag us with Homeland Security, for sure, together with the fact that we’ll only have carry-on luggage,” Charles predicted. “But in our favor: single white mom with three kids, nothing more unsuspicious for the TSA. You just need to act convincingly, Agnes.”

Agnes felt the nerves coming on. “Hope that some of Louise’s skill rubbed off on us.”

Tuesday morning came. School wouldn’t start until the following week, and Rick had a job interview with a conventional shipbuilder in Santa Barbara. At eight-thirty he left the house. At 8:45 a.m.,
Mrs. Flint
and her
three kids
got picked up by a taxi service and driven to LAX. Dana had to pee twice from excitement, but they made it in time for their flight to Baltimore. Security was tight, but there were no guns, knives, or water bottles in the possession of the Flint posse, and also their shoes were not considered threatening. Most importantly, Agnes’s make-up and acting skills held the test of various real-life interactions, including constant giggles from Dana, so no issues.

All four of them sat fidgeting and restless in their seats before takeoff. Charles and Dana because it was their first flight, and Agnes and Britta because they expected to be pulled out of their seats by a determined sky marshal, or, worst case, by their furious father.

None of that happened, and American Airlines moved them to thirty thousand feet fifteen minutes later, direction: Baltimore.

It was cold. Very cold. “Take jackets” had been Charles’ logistical advice, but being a native Californian who had only left the state once to cross into the Nevada desert, he had no further practical knowledge on how to beat real snowstorm weather.

“Shoot,” Britta said. “Coming so far to be beaten by a wall of cold.” They had retreated into the terminal after the first failed attempt to get outside to wait in the taxi line. A straight ten-yard jump from sliding door to taxi door was feasible, but not a fifteen-minute wait at ten degrees with a cold-charged nor’easter controlling the outside. Charles spotted a limo service sign, and they were able to negotiate a cash transaction. Ten minutes later, a young Indian guy with an iPad reading “Flint” came into the terminal.

He gave the mock Flint family a lookover. “You are aware that our beaches are closed this time of year?” he asked.

Dana giggled. She was still crazed-up by the exciting stunt the whole gang had managed to pull off.

At eight o’clock in the evening they entered Johns Hopkins Hospital through the main entrance.

“How do we do this? She is Louise Waters; they will not let us into her room,” Charles asked.

“Open and honest,” Agnes said and approached a receptionist. “Excuse me, we are visitors of Louise Waters. Could you let her know that the Flint kids are here?”

“Sorry, but we have a policy not to disturb patients after eight o’clock. And we cannot confirm that this Miss Waters is a patient of ours.”

“Maybe she is registered as Mrs. Ivana Voda? We came all the way from California to visit her. It is important.”

“No, I am sorry. I can’t help you.”

The Flint kids regrouped. Charles had an idea. “Do you still have Floris’s number? He should be around somewhere nearby.”

“Sure, good idea.” Agnes got out her phone and called the bodyguard. After a few rings, the phone was picked up, the background sounds indicating a bar or restaurant.

“Floris, this is Agnes Flint. We are in Baltimore and would like to see Louise.”

“Agnes? Baltimore? Now?”

“We’re in the lobby at Johns Hopkins.”

A moment of silence. “You guys are beyond . . . Give me your dad.”

“Um, we are alone.”

“Alone? As in
no Dad
?”

“No Dad. Long story, but in a nutshell, we bolted to visit Louise. Dad wouldn’t let us.”