Redwood Bend
Page 40
What the majority of the glittering city didn’t understand about Jay—he was a genuinely decent guy. That didn’t make him a patsy; he was a fierce negotiator. But he had unshakable ethics and his values ran deep—the only reason Dylan ever talked to him at all.
“Something about this meeting feels wrong,” Jay said.
“Not at all, not at all,” Dylan said, approaching, putting out his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Drink?” Jay asked, moving from behind the desk to the buffet that doubled as a bar.
“I think so, yes,” Dylan said. “What’s the special tonight?”
“A very expensive, aged single malt or a cold beer,” Jay said.
Dylan laughed. “That cold beer sounds pretty good. Do you know how many planes a person has to board to get from Virgin River to L.A.?”
Jay opened two cold bottled beers and handed one to Dylan, without the chilled glass, without the linen napkin. Then he half leaned, half sat on the front edge of his desk, facing Dylan. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Dylan tipped back the beer first. “I want to start by telling you how grateful I am. Not for a potential movie deal, Jay, but to have you for a friend. You’re one of the very few people in the business I’m proud to have call me. It must be hard sometimes, dealing with all the stuff you deal with, when you’re driven by such rigid scruples.”
Jay laughed. “All right, all right. You could’ve just sent flowers. Or a case of that single malt.”
“I came to tell you that I’m not an actor. I’m a pilot and a rancher.”
Jay took a moment to absorb the shock. Then he said, “You might be a pilot and rancher, but you are by God an actor. One of the few naturals I know. I saw you when you were ten—”
“You saw a kid who couldn’t read but could memorize anything, but I wasn’t sure what was going on around me, I just wanted to please people. Do you have any experience with dyslexia, Jay? Mine wasn’t too serious—I now realize it was moderate. But I wanted to make my mom and dad happy, and while all the other kids could read what the teacher wrote on the blackboard and snap out answers, I had to fake it. I had to manipulate people into telling me what I was attempting to read. Since I realized the rest of the world was way ahead of me, I’ve had a terrible fear of failure. You’re right, I became a very good actor. Did you know the scripts for Rough Housing had to be read to me? That I memorized them from hearing them?”
Jay leaned away from him a bit, surprised.
Dylan laughed. “Isn’t it just typical—the celebrity news managed to capture every single incident of me drinking underage and getting with a girl, but they never knew I could barely read. I could almost read if you gave me a lot of time, but who had a lot of time?” He shook his head. “Sometimes I think those were funny memories, sometimes tragic. But the bottom line is—I don’t act anymore.”
“I thought you were into this idea?” Jay said.
“I was, I definitely was. I have a little airline that’s limping along and it looked like easy money. I figured I could probably hang by my toes for six months—or put up with the gossip and insanity that can get so mean in this town. But then something that has nothing to do with airlines or movies happened to me—the last thing I expected. I met a woman.” He could feel the silly, boyish look on his face. “She has twins and now she has one on the way. I don’t want to make a movie, Jay. I want to go home. I want to take care of my family the best I can in a safe place.” Then he laughed at the absurdity. “A safe place full of blizzards and grizzlies. Much safer than Hollywood.”
Jay looked at Dylan for a long moment, then he tipped back his bottle of beer and took a deep swallow. “Sounds romantic,” he said with sarcasm.
Dylan laughed. “Yeah, doesn’t it? I hope she doesn’t tell me to go pound sand. But she likes me, I know she does. She doesn’t have a lot of faith in me yet, I’m working on that angle. I might’ve talked a little too much about not being the marrying kind.” Dylan leaned toward Jay and said, “Jay, I’m not an actor anymore. I’m a pilot, rancher and father.”
“How you going to stay afloat? Adele?” Jay asked.
“She offers all the time, but we have an understanding—we both work and try to take care of ourselves. If she ever needed me, I’d move heaven and earth for her—she’s my only real family. And I know she’d do anything for me. But what I hope will keep me above water is a little boost in the charter business. Just enough to let the economy recover. See, there aren’t many businesses who still hire air charter. There’s professional sports teams and there’s the entertainment industry.”
Jay lifted an eyebrow.
“Bells and whistles went off when you offered to send a jet for me—I realized I could’ve brokered that deal. I’ve spent so many years avoiding this place, I forgot how much money is thrown at services. You need a really competitive charter contract? I’ll cut you a deal.”
“You’re in Montana,” Jay said.
“I can put an airplane in L.A. Better still, I can put an airplane at Burbank or Long Beach, crew ready, convenient and low stress. What’s your pleasure? Will a Lear make you happy? If you want something bigger, I just let a BBJ go—bet I can get her back. That would be sixty seats in a luxury jet. We could tear out seats and put in a screening room or pool table. Or, maybe you want a charter contract out of Montana—we’re pretty flexible about where we can pick up and deliver.”
Jay thought about this a moment. “What have you got for equipment?”
Dylan smiled. “What do you need for equipment? Six seats? Twelve? Sixty? It’s a buyer’s market, Jay. Whatever you need, I bet I can get cheap right now and operate your charters at a better price than you’re getting now. And I bet you have friends with similar needs.”
Jay just smiled slyly. “Pilot and businessman,” Jay said.
“And, with any luck, family man.”
“But no matter what you say, you are an actor. A natural. I think you got it in the DNA.”
Dylan smiled because it was nice to hear about some positive stuff in the genes. “Thanks. My dad smiled down on you for saying that. But I’m not acting right now. I’m looking for work. I love what I do and want to keep doing it. So, if you have any ideas…”
“Feel like a pizza?” Jay asked. “We could go to my favorite pizza dive. I could bring my BlackBerry. There won’t be any stars or photographers.”
“Perfect. Before we go, I think we have a couple of phone calls to make. Like the agent, the lawyer, the director, all the folks looking to get into a new film....”
“You call your agent—”
“Adele’s agent,” he said with a laugh.
“Good,” Jay said. “That’ll cut down on the screaming. I’ll have my assistant get in touch with the rest of them tomorrow. We’ll still get a movie out of this and you’ll be jealous as all hell.”
“I feel bad, bailing out on everyone like this,” Dylan said.
“Yeah? Well don’t. They wouldn’t feel bad if they bailed on you.”
“There’s just one thing you have to know before we break bread,” Dylan said. “I was never really into the idea of a movie. I wanted to be—I thought I could be. My heart’s in another place. But I’ve operated my company successfully for fifteen years and if you book a charter, I won’t be breaking it to you over pizza that I’ve changed my mind. It’s what I do. And we’re real proud of our little company.”
Jay slapped him on the back. “I get it, Dylan. I get it. Let’s see if we can scare up a little business over pepperoni and sausage.”
Nineteen
When Dylan returned to Virgin River, there was no stopping off at Jack’s on his way to Katie’s cabin, he was so anxious to get back to her. It was after four o’clock and it appeared all the kids had been picked up from the summer program—the school looked quiet. He hoped there was food in the cabin, but if not he would take them all out to dinner. When he drove into the clearing, he saw the monkeys on the jungle gym and Katie’s horn beside her empty chair.
He parked and pulled his duffel out of the truck and the boys came running to him, shouting his name.
He never thought he wanted this—coming home like this. He dropped the duffel and grabbed the boys, tossing them up in the air one at a time, laughing at their excitement.
“Are we going tomorrow?” Andy asked.
“To ride the horses?” Mitch asked.
“Not tomorrow. The next day,” Dylan said. He was just about to say, “Where’s your mom,” when she stepped out onto the porch. “Go play while I take my duffel in the house and get a soda.”
“Then wanna play catch?” Andy asked.
“I have to talk to your mom for a while,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. For identical twins, Dylan marveled at the differences in their personalities—Andy was so silly and rambunctious and Mitch was the serious one. “I need a little time with her.”
Katie didn’t greet him with the same enthusiasm as her sons. She smiled for him, but seemed to wait tensely. Fortunately she didn’t stretch it out. “So?” she asked, looking up at him. “The movie?”
“No movie,” he said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Something way better. Some potential charter business for the company. I wish I’d thought of it a year or two ago, but I was so intent on avoiding Hollywood and its high maintenance stars, I didn’t take a closer look.”
“Huh?” she said.
“I turned down the movie—I don’t want to do a movie. But production companies fly their stars and executives around in private jets—sometimes little planes, sometimes bigger ones. I talked to the producer, who I consider a friend, about letting us bid on some of his charter needs and he gave me a couple dozen names of people to contact for more work on his recommendation.” He grinned. “Just the thing we need.”
“Isn’t that a little far from Montana?” she said, confused.
“Not a problem,” Dylan said. “It obviously wouldn’t be cost-effective to fly from Montana to Southern California every time a charter is booked, but if there’s enough work there, I’ll just put a plane and crew there. Lang and I don’t fly every trip. We have a lot of other things to do.”
She let out her breath slowly. “Is that something you do? Put planes in other places?”
“Only when there’s lots of business in one location. We kept a plane and crew in Seattle for a software manufacturer several years ago, till they stopped spending so much money on charters. We can park a plane in L.A., send a pilot down on a commercial flight and put him in a hotel. This could be—” He looked at her closely. “Have you been worrying about this?”
“I don’t understand very much about how your company works,” she said. “For that matter, I’m not sure how you work. I thought you’d be coming back to tell me you had to spend six months in L.A. and I’d be doing it again, having a baby alone. And I know you want me to go to Montana to check out where you live for a reason—probably so we could live there. But I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of change. It bothers me. I don’t want to be six or seven months pregnant, the mother of twins, in a blizzard when I’ve never seen a blizzard and—”
“No,” he said gently. “No, baby, no. When I promised to take care of you, I never considered sticking you out in the middle of nowhere, alone, while I went off to do something else. Katie, I want you to see my home so you understand—I’m not some movie star. I’m a pretty ordinary guy. Let’s not plan any further than that right now. Let’s just plan what you’ll pack. The tickets are round-trip.”
“Something about this meeting feels wrong,” Jay said.
“Not at all, not at all,” Dylan said, approaching, putting out his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Drink?” Jay asked, moving from behind the desk to the buffet that doubled as a bar.
“I think so, yes,” Dylan said. “What’s the special tonight?”
“A very expensive, aged single malt or a cold beer,” Jay said.
Dylan laughed. “That cold beer sounds pretty good. Do you know how many planes a person has to board to get from Virgin River to L.A.?”
Jay opened two cold bottled beers and handed one to Dylan, without the chilled glass, without the linen napkin. Then he half leaned, half sat on the front edge of his desk, facing Dylan. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Dylan tipped back the beer first. “I want to start by telling you how grateful I am. Not for a potential movie deal, Jay, but to have you for a friend. You’re one of the very few people in the business I’m proud to have call me. It must be hard sometimes, dealing with all the stuff you deal with, when you’re driven by such rigid scruples.”
Jay laughed. “All right, all right. You could’ve just sent flowers. Or a case of that single malt.”
“I came to tell you that I’m not an actor. I’m a pilot and a rancher.”
Jay took a moment to absorb the shock. Then he said, “You might be a pilot and rancher, but you are by God an actor. One of the few naturals I know. I saw you when you were ten—”
“You saw a kid who couldn’t read but could memorize anything, but I wasn’t sure what was going on around me, I just wanted to please people. Do you have any experience with dyslexia, Jay? Mine wasn’t too serious—I now realize it was moderate. But I wanted to make my mom and dad happy, and while all the other kids could read what the teacher wrote on the blackboard and snap out answers, I had to fake it. I had to manipulate people into telling me what I was attempting to read. Since I realized the rest of the world was way ahead of me, I’ve had a terrible fear of failure. You’re right, I became a very good actor. Did you know the scripts for Rough Housing had to be read to me? That I memorized them from hearing them?”
Jay leaned away from him a bit, surprised.
Dylan laughed. “Isn’t it just typical—the celebrity news managed to capture every single incident of me drinking underage and getting with a girl, but they never knew I could barely read. I could almost read if you gave me a lot of time, but who had a lot of time?” He shook his head. “Sometimes I think those were funny memories, sometimes tragic. But the bottom line is—I don’t act anymore.”
“I thought you were into this idea?” Jay said.
“I was, I definitely was. I have a little airline that’s limping along and it looked like easy money. I figured I could probably hang by my toes for six months—or put up with the gossip and insanity that can get so mean in this town. But then something that has nothing to do with airlines or movies happened to me—the last thing I expected. I met a woman.” He could feel the silly, boyish look on his face. “She has twins and now she has one on the way. I don’t want to make a movie, Jay. I want to go home. I want to take care of my family the best I can in a safe place.” Then he laughed at the absurdity. “A safe place full of blizzards and grizzlies. Much safer than Hollywood.”
Jay looked at Dylan for a long moment, then he tipped back his bottle of beer and took a deep swallow. “Sounds romantic,” he said with sarcasm.
Dylan laughed. “Yeah, doesn’t it? I hope she doesn’t tell me to go pound sand. But she likes me, I know she does. She doesn’t have a lot of faith in me yet, I’m working on that angle. I might’ve talked a little too much about not being the marrying kind.” Dylan leaned toward Jay and said, “Jay, I’m not an actor anymore. I’m a pilot, rancher and father.”
“How you going to stay afloat? Adele?” Jay asked.
“She offers all the time, but we have an understanding—we both work and try to take care of ourselves. If she ever needed me, I’d move heaven and earth for her—she’s my only real family. And I know she’d do anything for me. But what I hope will keep me above water is a little boost in the charter business. Just enough to let the economy recover. See, there aren’t many businesses who still hire air charter. There’s professional sports teams and there’s the entertainment industry.”
Jay lifted an eyebrow.
“Bells and whistles went off when you offered to send a jet for me—I realized I could’ve brokered that deal. I’ve spent so many years avoiding this place, I forgot how much money is thrown at services. You need a really competitive charter contract? I’ll cut you a deal.”
“You’re in Montana,” Jay said.
“I can put an airplane in L.A. Better still, I can put an airplane at Burbank or Long Beach, crew ready, convenient and low stress. What’s your pleasure? Will a Lear make you happy? If you want something bigger, I just let a BBJ go—bet I can get her back. That would be sixty seats in a luxury jet. We could tear out seats and put in a screening room or pool table. Or, maybe you want a charter contract out of Montana—we’re pretty flexible about where we can pick up and deliver.”
Jay thought about this a moment. “What have you got for equipment?”
Dylan smiled. “What do you need for equipment? Six seats? Twelve? Sixty? It’s a buyer’s market, Jay. Whatever you need, I bet I can get cheap right now and operate your charters at a better price than you’re getting now. And I bet you have friends with similar needs.”
Jay just smiled slyly. “Pilot and businessman,” Jay said.
“And, with any luck, family man.”
“But no matter what you say, you are an actor. A natural. I think you got it in the DNA.”
Dylan smiled because it was nice to hear about some positive stuff in the genes. “Thanks. My dad smiled down on you for saying that. But I’m not acting right now. I’m looking for work. I love what I do and want to keep doing it. So, if you have any ideas…”
“Feel like a pizza?” Jay asked. “We could go to my favorite pizza dive. I could bring my BlackBerry. There won’t be any stars or photographers.”
“Perfect. Before we go, I think we have a couple of phone calls to make. Like the agent, the lawyer, the director, all the folks looking to get into a new film....”
“You call your agent—”
“Adele’s agent,” he said with a laugh.
“Good,” Jay said. “That’ll cut down on the screaming. I’ll have my assistant get in touch with the rest of them tomorrow. We’ll still get a movie out of this and you’ll be jealous as all hell.”
“I feel bad, bailing out on everyone like this,” Dylan said.
“Yeah? Well don’t. They wouldn’t feel bad if they bailed on you.”
“There’s just one thing you have to know before we break bread,” Dylan said. “I was never really into the idea of a movie. I wanted to be—I thought I could be. My heart’s in another place. But I’ve operated my company successfully for fifteen years and if you book a charter, I won’t be breaking it to you over pizza that I’ve changed my mind. It’s what I do. And we’re real proud of our little company.”
Jay slapped him on the back. “I get it, Dylan. I get it. Let’s see if we can scare up a little business over pepperoni and sausage.”
Nineteen
When Dylan returned to Virgin River, there was no stopping off at Jack’s on his way to Katie’s cabin, he was so anxious to get back to her. It was after four o’clock and it appeared all the kids had been picked up from the summer program—the school looked quiet. He hoped there was food in the cabin, but if not he would take them all out to dinner. When he drove into the clearing, he saw the monkeys on the jungle gym and Katie’s horn beside her empty chair.
He parked and pulled his duffel out of the truck and the boys came running to him, shouting his name.
He never thought he wanted this—coming home like this. He dropped the duffel and grabbed the boys, tossing them up in the air one at a time, laughing at their excitement.
“Are we going tomorrow?” Andy asked.
“To ride the horses?” Mitch asked.
“Not tomorrow. The next day,” Dylan said. He was just about to say, “Where’s your mom,” when she stepped out onto the porch. “Go play while I take my duffel in the house and get a soda.”
“Then wanna play catch?” Andy asked.
“I have to talk to your mom for a while,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. For identical twins, Dylan marveled at the differences in their personalities—Andy was so silly and rambunctious and Mitch was the serious one. “I need a little time with her.”
Katie didn’t greet him with the same enthusiasm as her sons. She smiled for him, but seemed to wait tensely. Fortunately she didn’t stretch it out. “So?” she asked, looking up at him. “The movie?”
“No movie,” he said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Something way better. Some potential charter business for the company. I wish I’d thought of it a year or two ago, but I was so intent on avoiding Hollywood and its high maintenance stars, I didn’t take a closer look.”
“Huh?” she said.
“I turned down the movie—I don’t want to do a movie. But production companies fly their stars and executives around in private jets—sometimes little planes, sometimes bigger ones. I talked to the producer, who I consider a friend, about letting us bid on some of his charter needs and he gave me a couple dozen names of people to contact for more work on his recommendation.” He grinned. “Just the thing we need.”
“Isn’t that a little far from Montana?” she said, confused.
“Not a problem,” Dylan said. “It obviously wouldn’t be cost-effective to fly from Montana to Southern California every time a charter is booked, but if there’s enough work there, I’ll just put a plane and crew there. Lang and I don’t fly every trip. We have a lot of other things to do.”
She let out her breath slowly. “Is that something you do? Put planes in other places?”
“Only when there’s lots of business in one location. We kept a plane and crew in Seattle for a software manufacturer several years ago, till they stopped spending so much money on charters. We can park a plane in L.A., send a pilot down on a commercial flight and put him in a hotel. This could be—” He looked at her closely. “Have you been worrying about this?”
“I don’t understand very much about how your company works,” she said. “For that matter, I’m not sure how you work. I thought you’d be coming back to tell me you had to spend six months in L.A. and I’d be doing it again, having a baby alone. And I know you want me to go to Montana to check out where you live for a reason—probably so we could live there. But I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of change. It bothers me. I don’t want to be six or seven months pregnant, the mother of twins, in a blizzard when I’ve never seen a blizzard and—”
“No,” he said gently. “No, baby, no. When I promised to take care of you, I never considered sticking you out in the middle of nowhere, alone, while I went off to do something else. Katie, I want you to see my home so you understand—I’m not some movie star. I’m a pretty ordinary guy. Let’s not plan any further than that right now. Let’s just plan what you’ll pack. The tickets are round-trip.”
