by Dave Daren
The service ended, and Vicki and I somberly made our way out. I didn’t feel much like talking, and it seemed Vicki didn’t either. On the way out, though, we were approached by a dowdy looking woman in a shapeless black dress.
“I’m Cindy Greenwood,” she said. “We haven’t met.”
“Hello,” I said. “Henry Irving, nice to meet you.”
“Yes,” she said. “You went law school at UCLA, and worked for five years at Sanchez Law Firm, before moving back to Sedona six months ago to start your own practice.”
I stared at her open mouthed. Having my resume stated back to me by a complete stranger was beyond creepy.
“That’s all correct. Are you wearing a wire or something?” I joked uncomfortably.
“I did all the research when Alister wanted you to represent him,” he she laughed. “I guess that comes off a little creepy. I don’t mean to be. It’s all just stuck up there,” she pointed to her head, and laughed. “And it just sort of comes falling out without permission. You must be Vicki Park, right, from Sacramento?”
“That would be me,” Vicki said and shook her hand.
“Great,” she said. “It’s good to finally put a person to the bio sheet. The will reading is next Monday,” she confirmed in a way that was somewhere between a statement and a question.
“Yes,” I said.
“Great,” she said. “I would like to coordinate with you. I managed Alister’s assets, and I am the only one that knows everything. As I understand it, the will is sealed?”
“Yes,” I said. Earnie wasn’t kidding, these people were out for blood.
“Okay,” she said. “I have all of his records, so as soon as we open the will, I’ll get you anything you need.”
“Sounds great, Cindy,” I said.
She left, and I turned to Vicki.
“Wow,” I said, wide eyed.
“Well,” she laughed. “She may end up being useful.”
“Hopefully…” I trailed off. “I get the feeling that a lot of people had their hands in the cookie jar and even more people wanted to snack.”
After the funeral, Vicki and I headed home to our little cottage downtown. Downtown Sedona is not exactly downtown L.A. It’s a quaint little area, with vintage looking shops, art galleries, cute eateries, theaters, and hole in the wall bars.
Our cottage is a tiny one bedroom, about a quarter mile from our office. When we decided to move to Sedona from LA, Vicki and I had just barely started dating, and I was nervous about moving in together so quickly. But, it actually worked quite well for us. Despite a mutual barrage of sarcasm and teasing, we seemed to keep a harmonious peace that surprised me sometimes.
I would think that all the time we spent together, working and living together would put too much pressure on our relationship. But, it hadn’t, really. We are one of those couples that don’t fight, and we are after the same goals, and on the same page most of the time. Sometimes, it’s too perfect, and I keep waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.
But we have a cozy little life here, a warm nook, decorated in whites, creams, and wicker. We arrived home, and I immediately sank into the couch.
“It’s exhausting thinking of a man’s life summed up in a two hour service,” I told Vicki. “Do you think we’d be like him if we were millionaires?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’d like to think I’d stay grounded, but money changes people.”
“It does,” I said and sat in silence for a few minutes. “It also changes the surrounding people, which is even more dangerous.”
“You think too much, Henry,” she said.
“I do,” I said.
“It’s not advantageous to think so much,” she said.
I laughed. “You’re right.”
“Let’s just have a nice and cozy afternoon, the two of us,” the tall brunette said as she sat down next to me on the couch, leaned into me, and wrapped her arms around me.
I smiled. “That sounds very appealing.”
“We could turn on some stupid show,” she said. “And lay in bed and binge-watch until we fall asleep.”
This sounded like the perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon, especially after a funeral for such an odd man. We changed into sweatpants and curled up in bed and watched one of those nature shows on Netflix. It seemed a fitting way as any to say goodbye to Alister O’Brien.
We settled deep into the pillows. Against the backdrop of dramatic music and a British narrator, we watched the African landscape of rock and luscious green landscape in aerial view.
“Gorgeous,” Vicki said. “We should go there one day.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Isn’t the whole point of this show the lions and rhinos and what not?”
“Well,” she said. “There are hotels too.”
“Seriously?” I gestured toward the screen. “Do you see any hotels, woman?”
She laughed. “Where do you think the camera crew stays? The BBC is not putting them up with the lions.”
I shrugged in agreement. “You do realize how much you sound like a shallow American tourist, right?”
She laughed. “I do, and I am.”
“As long as we clear about that,” I said.
A volcano exploded and angry molten lava tore through the landscape in high definition clarity.
“Whoa,” we said simultaneously.
The camera then rolled across green pastoral hills and mountains, and then showed a silent, serene creek. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a lone wildebeest crashed into the water and blasted through the creek. A chaotic herd was right behind him, and it was sheer madness of thunderous hooves and water. The camera flashed to their destination, a nearby herd of grazing zebras.
“Oh, geez,” Vicki sighed. “I think we might have had enough of zebras for a while.”
I laughed. “I think I agree there.”
The cameras didn’t stay on the zebras long, I imagined we would come back to them once the wildebeests had joined with the zebras. Now, we moved to watching a gecko on a rock, and he looked hungry. A lion nearby shook his head, and his nose was covered in flies.
The gecko saw his meal in the buzzing insects, but he knew it was shrouded in imminent danger. He had to go after it, because after all, no one was going to hand him the flies. If he wanted something, he was going to have to go after it, no matter how dangerous it might be.
It wasn’t long however, before the lion collapsed its massive form into sleep. His closed eyes, nose, and padded paws, made him look oddly like an endearing housecat. But, this was no kitten. This was one of the fiercest predators on the planet.
The gecko’s advantage was his tiny size and speed. He took his opportunity, and chanced it by walking right up to the lion, exponentially dwarfed by the sleeping beast.
The hungry gecko pawed through the lion’s fur to find the flies. Dramatic music swelled, and we waited, tense to see if our new friend the gecko will make it out alive, or if the lion would wake up and eat him. The lion didn’t wake up, and the gecko got its prey and scampered off, victorious. After about an hour of this, my brain was massaged into oatmeal, and I was able to fall asleep.
The next morning, I woke early to go for my dawn jog. I let the crisp air awaken my senses and took in Sedona at just after sunrise. At seven in the morning, most of the city was still asleep, and the red rocks rose in the distance against a blue and purple sky. The bluffs were striped, with red and orange hues descending in tone from cool to warm. They framed the city, with painted desert shrubs falling down into the modern village.
I thought about all the random odds and ends we had going on right now, and I enjoyed that it was a slow time in our lives. Perry and Kristen would be getting their distribution contract from Earth Market soon, and we would go over it and make changes as necessary.
Alister’s will reading would be a week from today, and we would see what we were dealing with then. I had never really handled wills, I had done a lot of contracts in LA, and it was
fairly similar. But, I was concerned about the lack of focus on our caseload. We were taking what came to us, but I wanted to work on defining ourselves as a firm. The problem was, there might not be enough of any particular workload here to specialize completely.
Right now, Vicki had a number of smaller cases she working on, DUI’s, trusts, and a handful of small civil suits. Without a big criminal case to work on, like I had been doing the past six months, I was taking on the smaller ones as well. We were certainly doing fine, with our LA pop diva Jasmine Stone ringing in really good money, and others, we were more than staying afloat. So, that was good. But, I felt like we needed to vision cast what we were doing here.
I also wondered about AJ. We had taken her on because she helped with Harmony’s case, but now that we were past all of that, I wondered what she was thinking about her career and future. It occurred to me that I never really talked about that with her. I made a mental note to chat with her when she got back.
I looked down at my GPS watch as I rounded the corner. I saw five miles on the counter and turned back around. I noticed a street vendor had set up and was selling breakfast tacos. This was new, and decidedly not unwelcome, development. I asked the couple running it, and they told me they had just got their permits, and it was their first day out. I smiled and dug into the pocket of my sweatpants to see if I had any cash on me. I found a ten and brought back breakfast for me and my lady.
I arrived back at the cottage to find Vicki had barely finished waking up.
“Breakfast in bed?” I whispered as I climbed into bed next to her with the paper sack. I kissed her on the cheek and she moaned softly.
“You are the best boyfriend ever,” she said as sat up, opened the bag, and looked in at the delectable breakfast tacos. “Oh my gosh. Okay, forget best boyfriend ever, I need to put a ring on it immediately.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
She laughed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Only my stomach,” I added as I took a bite of taco. The salty bacon, fluffy scrambled egg, and queso fresco were a taste explosion on my tongue.
In between a bite of tacos, my phone buzzed. It was Phoenix. Why would he be calling me, especially this early in the morning?
“Hello,” I said.
“Okay,” he said as soon as I answered it. “Dude, it happened so fast and I don’t know if I said the right thing. It’s like this guy and he’s all like, ‘we want to make you a big producer and give you all of this money,’ and I didn’t know what to say.”
“Wait, Phoenix,” I said and sat up. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”
He took a deep breath. “So, this studio in LA just called me late last night. They want to buy my movie.”
“What?” I asked skeptically.
First of all, Phoenix’s debut project, a film called Weed that he submitted to the Sedona Wine and Film Festival last month, was a great student effort. He did it with the help of friend Jeremiah Ogilvie. But, it was far from professional. I mean they had props made from papier mâché and a girl with volleyballs stuffed into her shirt.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s this studio called Blue Light Pictures. They want to remake it, but they want me to be involved.”
“Wow,” I said. “Did you look into them at all?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “I’ve actually been talking to them for a while. They found the film after the festival, and they contacted me, and I’ve been going through a whole process. It just seemed like nothing was going to happen with it, so I didn’t really get excited.”
“Right,” I said.
“But, then,” he continued. “I hadn’t heard anything for like a week, and then out of the blue, the CEO calls me, and he’s like ‘we want to fly you out here, blah blah, blah.’ So, I’m like, hey, maybe this something huge, man. Maybe this is my big break, you know. Like the universe knocking on my door. This is like epic man.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“They seem legit,” he said. “They’re an indie company, and they’ve done a few similar documentaries. They want me to come to LA. They want to meet me.”
“That’s incredible,” I said. “When?”
“Right away,” he said. “Like tomorrow.”
“They want you to fly out there tomorrow?” I asked. “That’s short notice.”
“I know,” he said.
“And what about Jeremiah?” I asked.
Phoenix was quiet. “We aren’t really talking.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“It’s complicated,” he said. “But he said if I wanted to pursue it, he would sign whatever.”
“So, he’s not mad at you?”
“No,” he said. “Well, yes. Mainly he’s mad that I submitted it to companies without him knowing. But, I didn’t think he believed in it, and that’s why I didn’t tell him. So, now, it’s all complicated, and we’re not talking. I think if he sees how huge this is going to be, he’ll be on board.”
“Maybe,” I said, concerned that this would lead to trouble.
“But, the thing is,” Phoenix continued. “I was wondering if you would come with me. Make sure I don’t get taken advantage of and all of that.”
“Yeah,” I said, as I mentally tabulated what I had on the agenda. “Let me check on that. That’s pretty short notice.”
“I know,” he said. “But mom and dad don’t want me to go alone, and you know all about movie contracts and what not. Isn’t that what you specialize in?”
“Yes, it is,” I answered.
“Cool, man,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let me check my schedule, and I’ll call you back.”
“Cool man, thanks.”
“You bet, later man.”
“Later, big bro,” he concluded, and I disconnected the call.
When I told Vicki what had happened, she was ecstatic.
“That’s so great for Phoenix!” she gushed. “I’m so proud of him. Well, what’s this place like? How long do they want to shoot? What kind of budget do they have? How much artistic control is he going to have?”
I laughed. “I don’t know any of that. We’re going to have to find it all out.”
“When is he supposed to meet them?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
“That’s soon,” she said.
“Yeah,” I told her. “What do you think? You think you could do without me for a day?”
She laughed. “There you go, thinking you’re all hot stuff.”
I smiled. “No, seriously. If I go out there, will you be okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s super slow, and AJ will be back tomorrow, so we should be good.”
“Great,” I said.
“What about you?” she said. “You think you could manage without me for a day?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. I might not know how to tie my shoes.”
“Just wear loafers,” she joked. “You’re going to Los Angeles.
Chapter 5
The following morning found Phoenix and me on a plane, flying over the Los Angeles skyline as we descended into LAX. The aerial view of the city still felt like home, and from here, I could pick out the buildings and freeways.
“You’ve never been here, have you?” I asked Phoenix.
My brother shook his head, and I felt like a tour guide. I was rambled on about restaurants and old friends as we made our final descent and my ears popped in and out with the cabin pressure changes. The plane landed, and we waited to be let off. I kept talking.
“We’re only here for a few hours,” Phoenix finally said. “And we do have a business meeting.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said sheepishly. “But we can do a lot in a few hours.”
He nodded. “Cool. Do you think we’ll see anybody famous?”
“Probably not,” I said. “And if we do the most asshole thing you can do is point it out.”
“Got it,” he said.
“Oh
look,” he suddenly gushed and banged on the window overlooking the airfield.
“It’s Ozzy Osbourne. OZZY!” He banged on the window and called out.
I raised an eyebrow and quizzically glanced out the window.
“Just kidding,” he laughed hysterically.
I rolled my eyes and laughed. We finally deplaned into the crowded terminal. Even the airport felt like the city itself. It was full of the bustling life and the rhythm of one of the largest, most influential cities on the planet. Six months in Sedona, and I had forgotten how much I loved this city. Phoenix and I headed to the rental counter where I picked up the car I had already booked.
“Okay,” I said, as slipped on my shades, and we left the airport. “Let’s hit this city.”
Phoenix smiled but seemed unimpressed. “I don’t know what’s so great about L.A.”
I was speechless. “L.A. is the, well, it’s...”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I came up with the lamest most over poetic explanation I could come up with.
“It is the great cultural center of our time,” I said. “America is the Roman Empire, and L.A. is Rome itself.”
Phoenix looked at me quizzically. “John Lennon said that, and he said it about New York, not LA.”
“When did you get so smart?” I retorted as we settled into the rental, a blue Chevrolet Malibu.
“I mean, it’s a good city and all,” he continued. “I just don’t think it’s this Holy Grail.”
“I don’t know what to tell you about that,” I laughed. “You’ll just have to experience it for yourself.”
“Hmmm,” he said as he looked out the window to the congested highways. “Never have seen the ocean though.”
“Really?” I asked. “What time is this meeting again?”
“One,” he said.
“So in three hours?” I clarified with a glance at the dash clock.
“Yep,” he said.
“We have time, then,” I said. “I’m going to take you to the beach.”
“Cool,” he said.
“Santa Monica Pier is probably the most famous beach in America,” I said. “So many songs have been written about this beach, like ‘Ice Ice Baby.’”
