To Tuscany with Love (18 page)

Meghan chose her words with care and then spit them out in a voice both clear and strong. “I should have looked at your flabby ass from this vantage point before, Jason; it would have saved a shitload of heartache.”

19

Lower Fork of the Salmon River, Idaho

“W
oo-hoo.” Phillip, athletic at age thirty-two, dug his paddle into the swirling water.

Their guide, a tanned young woman with chiseled muscles, perched on the back of the raft and shouted commands. “Right side back. Dig in. Harder. Left—forward. Hard.”

Spray hit Phillip’s face; the cold, rising water drove his arms deeper into the current. The second day into their five-day vacation, they faced the first Class III rapids of the trip. He glanced over his shoulder at Jewel, his preteen daughter.

What he saw sank his heart. Not joy, fear, or concern. No. Not Jewel. His daughter hung onto the safety rope, inspecting her fingernails. God knows what she had done with her paddle.

The raft bounced and bobbed. Water smacked the front riders’ faces. The chilly blast of river water brought shouts and cheers.

Phillip turned back and dug harder. He gritted his teeth and surrendered to the physical task. His heart hammered in his chest. The paddle rubbed across the blister from yesterday, but he didn’t care.

They emerged from the rapids. The water smoothed out in a wide stretch of river.

“That’s it,” their guide said. “You did it. Take a break.” They pulled out their paddles and rested them across their knees. She steered them to a calm eddy at the river’s edge. “Great work, team. Last group I brought through here dumped the front two riders after the big rock.”

“When’s the next one?” Phillip rubbed his palms together. “That was great.” He refused to let Jewel’s bad attitude spoil his fun.

Ruth, the tall, athletic woman across from Phillip, raised her arm and slapped the hand of her son, a boy a little younger than Jewel. His red ball cap had worn through at the edge of the brim, exposing white underneath. Ruth then slapped the outstretched hands of the rafters on her side and reached across to Phillip. She stretched to extend her palm to Jewel.

Phillip caught her eye and shook his head. Jewel hadn’t raised her eyes to acknowledge the woman. He mouthed the word, “Sorry.”

At the end of the day, Phillip sat in the calm, shallow water on a three-legged stool. His bare feet rested in the water, his toes curling over the smooth pebbles as he nursed a beer. How different this was from his normal high-pressure corporate life. This was another world—relaxing and sitting in the water after an exhilarating day in a raft.

Ruth sat next to him on a similar stool. The other adult rafters were nearby in the shallow water on stools or wading, each with a cool drink in hand.

The sun lingered over the horizon, not ready to relinquish its grasp on the day. Here the canyon widened to expose a broad white sand beach. Two-person tents dotted one end of the beach. A guide led the kids in games at the far end of the sandbar.

“Rafting must not be your daughter’s thing,” Ruth said. “It’s not for everybody, you know.” She tilted her head to take a big swallow of beer. “I’m just glad my James seems to be having fun. It’s a splurge for us to be here on a teacher’s salary, but I wanted to do it for him. It’s tough for him, without a dad.”

Laughter from the younger group peppered the air. Why couldn’t Jewel let herself be a kid here? Phillip’s eyes drank in the jutting rocks that lined the canyon’s walls. He looked at Ruth. “Divorced?”

“Widowed.”

“I’m sorry. Was it recent?”

“When James was three. Thanks for asking. I focus on my son and my kids at school. It’s enough.” Ruth stood. “Anybody want another beer?”

Phillip stood and stretched his legs. “No, but I’ll help carry. I want to check on Jewel.”

After Ruth got the beer count, she splashed out of the water toward the cooler. “Leave her be.” She rested her hand on Phillip’s forearm. “You know your child. But if you don’t think she’s depressed, I’d let her sulk. If she’s bored enough, maybe she’ll join the games.”

As if to answer the unasked question, Phillip saw Jewel crawl out of her tent. She had changed into dry clothes. Jewel turned back into the tent and tugged her large, waterproof gear bag outside.

Above them, a whirring sound cut the calm, still evening. The noise grew louder. The distinct air-chopping sound of a helicopter stopped the children’s jumping game. Everybody stood and craned their necks to see it.

“Clear the area! Everybody, clear.” One of the guides ran to the group of youngsters and shooed them toward the tents. “It’s coming down.”

The helicopter hovered twenty feet above the now-empty section of the sandbar. The wind created by the chopper blew the plastic cover off a table by the campfire. The guides scurried to retrieve the blowing supplies and cover the food from the swirling sand. Those wearing baseball caps or river hats held onto them to prevent them from being blown into the river. The whirling air ruffled Phillip’s hair and whipped up the long tresses of their guide.

The helicopter shut down, and silence blanketed them.

Phillip had a hunch the surprise landing brought bad news. He would bet the cost of a charter into these canyons exceeded the national average annual salary.

“Dad. We’re going.” Jewel stood with one hand on her narrow hip. “The helicopter is for us.”

Phillip’s mouth suddenly went dry. “What?”

“Mom promised me. If I came on this stupid trip with you, she’d take me to Rodeo Drive. She said all I had to do was wait until a helicopter could land. This is the first spot where the dumb river’s wide enough. Get your stuff. C’mon.”

Phillip gritted his teeth.

Beside him, Ruth’s voice spoke only for his ears. “It sounds like the decision’s been made.”

“Not for me, it hasn’t.” Phillip opened his mouth to berate his daughter but swallowed his words unspoken. “Let me talk to the pilot.”

Once he verified that Angel, his wife, waited at the helicopter’s hanger for Jewel’s return, he turned to his daughter. “You didn’t give rafting a fair shot.”

“Sleeping on the ground? No shower or bathroom? Get real, Dad. This is so ... primitive. I told you I didn’t want to come.” She dragged her bag behind her. After two steps, she stopped and pouted at the pilot. “Help me,” she said to him.

“Don’t touch that bag.” Phillip’s eyes locked with the pilot’s.

The pilot shrugged.“Sorry, man. Your wife's paying my tab.” He lifted Jewel’s bag and tossed it into the helicopter. He turned back to Phillip. “You coming?”

“No.”

“Want me to tell your wife anything?”

Phillip stood erect and silent.

The helicopter roared to life and kicked up more sand. The guides scrambled again to cover the food.

Phillip spoke to the retreating helicopter. “Thanks for the father-daughter bonding, Jewel.”

20

Los Angeles, California

A
t age thirty-five, Rune figured he was due for some good luck. He kept his face impassive and let his eyes case the starlet who stood in his office. Short, tight skirt and tits ready to burst out of her blouse.

“Mr. Adams.” She offered him a file folder. “Please. Look at my resume and photos, even if you aren’t interested in my screenplay. I have acting experience.”

Her voice carried a professional tone, but her eyes betrayed her. She eyed his roast beef sandwich. Kid probably hadn’t eaten.

“If you wanted me to look at your script, why bother dangling your boobs at me?” Rune leaned back, a smirk tightening his lips. This was a piece of cake. He wanted to savor the anticipation before indulging.

She squinted, as if to fight back tears. Her lips quivered.

The girl’s words came out whisper-quiet, but her enunciation left no doubt of her intent. “I’ve tried making a contact every day for two years. Every day. First a business suit. Then a modest dress. Stylish pantsuit? Not a chance. I handcarried my script to every agent I could find an address for. I brought one here, too, hearing that you would look at unagented work. You mailed it back the same day, with only a “no” scribbled on the front page.”

Her back straightened. “I tried everything. This,” her left hand grabbed her breast, “is my last resort.” Her eyes met his dead-on.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.” She extended the folder toward him. Her eyes narrowed.

Rune took the folder. She had a nice package, all right. Dynamite photos, a script presented in standard industry format, a professional resume—equally impressive in amateur acting and screenwriting credentials. He closed the folder; his head bowed over it.

He looked up at her and nodded. “I admire your perseverance.”

“Will you read my script?”

Rune stood and moved to her side of the desk. “I’ll read it, but no promises.”

She extended her hand. “Shake my hand, Mr. Adams, and we have a deal.”

This girl had all her chips on the table. No way he’d read now. He had one hell of a hard-on.

Afterwards, he read. She paced his bedroom while he lay in bed. The script fell to his lap. The sound of the ruffling pages stopped her movement. She rushed to the side of the bed. She looked sexy in his robe. This girl paid a huge price for her ambition. He respected that.

“It’s good. Bankable.”

She had the sense to wait for him to continue.

He grinned. “I’ll option this with me as the director and see if I can get one of the major studios to back it.” She sat beside him on the bed. Her left hand lowered to the sheet covering his groin. “Thank you.”

He removed her hand and returned it to her lap. “You paid your price. From now on, I’ll get my reward from a piece of the action.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to. I want a part in the film, even if it’s a small one.”

“I can’t deliver that. If I can sell the script, I’ll try to get you a screen test, but no promises. I’ll ask. That’s all.”

She stood and extended her hand.

“What did you say your name was?” Rune met her grasp.

“Sunny.”

“Sunny what?”

She straightened her back. “Just Sunny.”

Two months later, Rune knew the deal had gasped its last breath. The studios wanted the script. Screen test for Sunny? Only on a “no promises” basis. But nobody wanted to bankroll him.

Rune stood by the Porsche convertible in the MGM parking lot. It was a lousy sign. The only place Frankie would meet him was here—at the end of the day. Christ, it must be over ninety. Why in hell had he worn black? Rune wiped his forehead with his fingertips; he smeared the sweat from one side to the other.

“Rune.” Frankie’s velvet voice came from across the lot.

Rune slapped a grin across his face and spun to face him. “Frankie.” He lifted one arm in salute.

Frankie tapped a rolled-up script against his left palm. He stopped beside Rune, tapping the script in a staccato rhythm.“I want it.”

Just like that.

Rune tried to appear confident even though acid shot into his stomach at a breakneck pace. He puckered his lips. Let Frankie think he was contemplating the nuances of a deal.