would have ruined everything.
six
The Fourth of July was always a big deal at our house. Every year about 150 guests would show up for the Independence Day extravaganza. They were mostly Robert and Greta’s friends and colleagues from the entertainment business, many of whom brought their children. The party was always catered by one of the best restaurants in Beverly Hills or Hollywood, and featured a popular rock band on a stage that had been set up in the backyard. My favorite part was the fireworks show they put on after it got dark. This year was special for me because Greta had invited Tom and Jessica. They were among the first to arrive, around six o’clock.
Tom and I tagged along as Greta gave Jessica a tour of the house. Jessica kept saying, “Tom, can you believe this?” as we went from room to room. “Why didn’t you tell me how great their house is?”
“It’s incredible,” agreed Tom, but it was obvious that he wasn’t all that interested in the curtains, rugs, and tile flooring that were sending Jessica into rapturous envy.
We came back downstairs and Greta opened the French doors to the library. Robert was sitting in his favorite chair. It was made of extremely expensive leather, a color Greta described as “Napa Valley Cabernet.” The chair was always strategically placed in front of the built-in bookshelves that lined the walls of the library, instead of behind his large oak desk. If Robert was a meeting with a Hollywood producer, the chair was set in front of a collection of great literary works and art books that would make a librarian drool. However, if Robert was meeting with one of his political friends or someone seeking his backing for a charitable organization, the chair was placed in front of an assortment of significant books on history and philosophy, and biographies of great men and women.
That evening, Robert had positioned the chair in front of the nonfiction wall of books; obviously, this was a political meeting. Robert was dressed in tan linen slacks and a crisp, short-sleeved white shirt. The two men facing him both wore dark pants and sports coats, despite the fact that the temperature outside was around ninety degrees.
“Sorry,” Greta said, acting surprised to see the room occupied. “I didn’t think anyone was in here.”
I was pretty sure she just wanted to see who Robert was in there with.
“That’s all right,” Robert said. “We’ll be finished in a minute.”
Greta closed the doors. “Those guys want Robert to run for Senate next year,” she said, leading us away from the library and toward the sunroom.
She’d finally said something that seemed to pique Tom’s interest.
“Do you think he’ll run?” Tom asked.
“Yes, of course he will. He’s wanted to run for office for years,” Greta said with some bitterness.
“You don’t want him to?” Jessica asked.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Greta said. “Isn’t this a great room?” she chirped as we entered the sunroom. “Joe, you should practice your speech. Tom can help you while I find out from Jessica why he hasn’t proposed to her.”
Jessica gave Tom a
don’t abandon me
look, but Tom just smiled and said, “Okay.”
“Let’s go up to the writing room,” I said.
A few minutes later we were in the room above the garage.
“Why do you have to make a speech?” Tom asked incredulously. After having worked on the book with me for almost a month, he still could be jaw droppingly surprised by some of the things I had to do as a trophy kid.
“I have to make speeches. It’s how I earn my room and board,” I said dryly.
“Very funny…. How long has this been going on?” Tom asked with some trepidation.
“Pretty much ever since I could read.”
“You’re joking. So does that mean…”
“Everything’s written for me. Or for my character in the movie that’s Robert and Greta’s life, is more like it. You know, the one whose story we’re supposed to be
six
The Fourth of July was always a big deal at our house. Every year about 150 guests would show up for the Independence Day extravaganza. They were mostly Robert and Greta’s friends and colleagues from the entertainment business, many of whom brought their children. The party was always catered by one of the best restaurants in Beverly Hills or Hollywood, and featured a popular rock band on a stage that had been set up in the backyard. My favorite part was the fireworks show they put on after it got dark. This year was special for me because Greta had invited Tom and Jessica. They were among the first to arrive, around six o’clock.
Tom and I tagged along as Greta gave Jessica a tour of the house. Jessica kept saying, “Tom, can you believe this?” as we went from room to room. “Why didn’t you tell me how great their house is?”
“It’s incredible,” agreed Tom, but it was obvious that he wasn’t all that interested in the curtains, rugs, and tile flooring that were sending Jessica into rapturous envy.
We came back downstairs and Greta opened the French doors to the library. Robert was sitting in his favorite chair. It was made of extremely expensive leather, a color Greta described as “Napa Valley Cabernet.” The chair was always strategically placed in front of the built-in bookshelves that lined the walls of the library, instead of behind his large oak desk. If Robert was a meeting with a Hollywood producer, the chair was set in front of a collection of great literary works and art books that would make a librarian drool. However, if Robert was meeting with one of his political friends or someone seeking his backing for a charitable organization, the chair was placed in front of an assortment of significant books on history and philosophy, and biographies of great men and women.
That evening, Robert had positioned the chair in front of the nonfiction wall of books; obviously, this was a political meeting. Robert was dressed in tan linen slacks and a crisp, short-sleeved white shirt. The two men facing him both wore dark pants and sports coats, despite the fact that the temperature outside was around ninety degrees.
“Sorry,” Greta said, acting surprised to see the room occupied. “I didn’t think anyone was in here.”
I was pretty sure she just wanted to see who Robert was in there with.
“That’s all right,” Robert said. “We’ll be finished in a minute.”
Greta closed the doors. “Those guys want Robert to run for Senate next year,” she said, leading us away from the library and toward the sunroom.
She’d finally said something that seemed to pique Tom’s interest.
“Do you think he’ll run?” Tom asked.
“Yes, of course he will. He’s wanted to run for office for years,” Greta said with some bitterness.
“You don’t want him to?” Jessica asked.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Greta said. “Isn’t this a great room?” she chirped as we entered the sunroom. “Joe, you should practice your speech. Tom can help you while I find out from Jessica why he hasn’t proposed to her.”
Jessica gave Tom a
don’t abandon me
look, but Tom just smiled and said, “Okay.”
“Let’s go up to the writing room,” I said.
A few minutes later we were in the room above the garage.
“Why do you have to make a speech?” Tom asked incredulously. After having worked on the book with me for almost a month, he still could be jaw droppingly surprised by some of the things I had to do as a trophy kid.
“I have to make speeches. It’s how I earn my room and board,” I said dryly.
“Very funny…. How long has this been going on?” Tom asked with some trepidation.
“Pretty much ever since I could read.”
“You’re joking. So does that mean…”
“Everything’s written for me. Or for my character in the movie that’s Robert and Greta’s life, is more like it. You know, the one whose story we’re supposed to be