Junior Year Box Set

Saul had called Caryn. The Japanese sunglasses company wanted to buy the rights to the video of the fight, and every time I mentioned them on national TV, they would pay me. If I actually worked-in showing the sunglasses, I made more. Of course I was able to do that. Each morning talk show got to hear about the ad I’d done and the coincidence that I was wearing their product. I even joked about how they gave me the edge I needed to win against my attackers. I hoped the Japanese company execs would be ecstatic and sign me up for more ads involving large and impossibly easy amounts of money.

Later in the day, I was given some relief: there was a mistrial declared in a Baltimore case. The police reportedly had maltreated a suspect on a van ride, and he died three days later. Frank’s assertion that we would get a three-day ride out of this was cut short. I can say I was pleased to have the press focus elsewhere.

Ms. Dixon did catch up with me.

“What do you think you were doing talking to opposing counsel without me at least in the loop?” she asked.

“I stopped it before it became a problem,” I said.

“Don’t get smart with me. You pay me for a reason. You got lucky in this case, and if it’d gone south, I would have had a larger problem to clean up. Next time you call me, or we’re done. Am I making myself clear?” Ms. Dixon asked.

“If I didn’t know you, I’d be shaking in my boots,” I teased.

“David!”

I’d heard that tone of voice before, usually from my mother.

“Look, I admit I need to call you each and every time something like this happens, but there wasn’t time. And before you lecture me about making time, I had this well in hand. I knew this would never move forward,” I said.

“Let me hear your reasoning before I explain how many ways this could’ve gone wrong and how much money I was going to charge you,” she said. That somewhat alarmed me.

“This started before the surfing incident. I was with two nice young women, uh, talking, when Al Faulkenburg exposed himself. The phrase used by one of the women was ‘Baby Dick.’ I expect word got back to him that one of the women had shared her observation of his assets, or in his case, lack of them. I told him that if they continued with their threats of a lawsuit, I would reveal to the world his little problem. Dad always taught me that you had to give the other side something in a negotiation. So I agreed to make it seem like it all was because of a surfing incident,” I said.

“Was it really that small?” Ms. Dixon asked.

“Al Faulkenburg’s penis when erect is probably smaller than your pinky,” I admitted.

I could tell by the laughter that word of Baby Dick’s penis size would be all over her office before the day was out. I would bet his whole high school knew by now. In some ways, I’d felt sorry for him, but later, not so much, after learning about him being a mean-spirited little jerk. To top it off, when it became clear he planned to use his association with me to social-climb, I’d lost all sympathy. Maybe I could host a fundraiser to help him. I could see the posters now: ‘Help our baby become a boy.’ We could raise tens of dollars, I was sure.

◊◊◊

We drove to the studio after I was done with the morning interviews. On the way, Caryn received a call from my mom. When she hung up, she didn’t look happy.

“The farm deal hit a snag. Apparently, the left hand didn’t know what the right hand was doing at the bank. They auctioned off all the farm equipment that was part of the sale.”

We’d made sure it was all included because tractors and the associated implements weren’t cheap.

“And?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Caryn said. “The good news is that when the inspection was done there, they created a list of equipment.”

“The bad news is buying it new will cost a more than we’re willing to pay,” I said.

“Let me see if I can salvage this deal. Otherwise, we need to scramble and figure out how to spend some money in the next two weeks, or you’re going to owe the government a lot of it.”

There came a knock on the door. I was late again, so I left Caryn to figure it out.

◊◊◊

When I came back to the trailer for our lunch break, Caryn was there, smiling.

“You have an audition at Disney on Friday,” she said.

“Star Wars?” I asked.

“Yes. Saul just called and confirmed it. They’re messengering over a script for you to learn for the audition.”

The word around Hollywood was it was almost an open casting call. I knew that Zak planned to audition. Saul had warned me that there would be several meetings before a final decision was made. I was just excited I would get a shot at being in a movie for this franchise. Of course, if I were to pick a role, it would be some kind of Jedi Knight part where I could wield a lightsaber. Han Solo only got to shoot a laser gun. What was the fun in that?

“Is there any word on the farm problem?” I asked.

“Still working on it,” Caryn said with a tight smile.

I ran over to the buffet, grabbed some tacos, and was quickly back on set.

◊◊◊