Redwood Bend

Three



It was a whole new scene at the bar now that Preacher knew Walt and his gang were in town. Walt planned on having every evening meal with Preacher and Preacher was clearly showing off. The cook was in the bar as opposed to the kitchen, which was not typical. “Tonight my best of show—stuffed trout. Trout’s fresh—at least what you’re getting is fresh. Me and Jack stood in the river this morning, reeling it in. Rice and cornbread stuffing, squash, onion and pepper side from Jilly Farms… You probably don’t know about Jilly Farms—she grows organic heirloom fruits and vegetables and her sister, a chef, cans a lot and makes up special sauces and bisques, which I’m willing to take off her hands—the flavor of these vegetables is beyond good.”

“Bring it on!” Walt said, causing his pals to laugh. “Can’t wait to hear about tomorrow night. What are the chances you’ll have some of that seafood bouillabaisse again while I’m in town?”

“Aw, sorry man—not unless lobster tail and scallops go on special at Costco. Otherwise it’s just too high dollar for this camp.”

“I’ll get it,” Walt said, with a fist on the bar. “How much do you need?”

Preacher looked startled. “If you’re serious, it takes a lot to make it right. A case of each, fresh not frozen. And ask how long it’s been on ice. Sniff it—I want you to smell the meat, not bottom of a boat or shipping crates. Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” Walt said. “This is an exceptional nose. I’ll make these old boys a map for their ride and head to Costco. If they don’t have what I need…”

“If they don’t have it fresh, go to the fish markets in Eureka—the closer to the marina the better.”

“Done!” Walt said. “You boys won’t mind too much, will you? You’ll get payback when you eat.”

“We’re good,” Dylan said with a laugh.

“How was today?” Jack asked. “You had sun.”

“Awesome. There are some back roads along the cliffs right on the ocean. Good ride. There are a million logging trucks out there. They take up the whole road and then blast their horn at us.”

“That’s just a friendly hello. Don’t you boys have loggers in Montana?”

“Our friends are mostly ranchers or loggers,” Lang said. “Cutting back on the logging a little these days, and we were growing dude ranches like clover for a while there, but when money gets tight, girly stuff like that tends to be in a decline, though there are still quite a few.”

“Easy,” Dylan said. “I think I’m a dude with a ranch.”

“You ranch, Dylan?” Jack asked.

“Depends on your perspective. I have chickens, some goats, a bull, six cows, two horses and a hand who’s been watching that property for years. He was old twenty years ago, so now he’s ancient. I don’t exactly—” He was about to say, “earn money,” but he was cut off when the door to the bar opened and a man, woman and set of five-year-old twins came in. He watched as she took them in, all smiles. Then she took the hand of the man she was with and led him to the bar, to Walt first.

“Conner, this is Walt, and he changed my tire the other day.”

Whoa boy, Dylan thought. This little girl cleaned up nice. She had the look of a drowned Chihuahua when he met her, but here she was all fluffed and buffed and sexy as hell. He grinned stupidly.

Walt turned on his stool and grasped the man’s hand. “Well, good to see you again. We met the last time I passed through. Yes, the miss here had herself an impressive flat. She was determined she was gonna change it if she could just get past the lugs.”

Conner laughed and shook his hand. “Katie can change a tire—but the lugs always give her trouble. To tell the truth, they give me trouble.”

“And, Conner,” she said, moving to stand beside Dylan. “This is Dylan. He also helped. I didn’t meet the others.”

Conner shook his hand, thanked him, and then Dylan introduced Lang and Stu. While Conner stood having conversation about the rides with Walt and the boys, Katie didn’t move away. Of course he was at one end of their foursome while Walt was at the other, but still. She was right there beside him.

“The husband?” he asked rather quietly.

“No,” she returned just as quietly, acting secretive, but she was mocking him. “The brother. Uncle Conner.”

“Ah,” he said. He took a drink of his beer. “Divorced?” he asked.

She leaned toward him. “No. Widowed.”

That clearly surprised him. “I guess you need to be near your brother…” he speculated.

“Well, the boys do,” she said. “Despite Conner’s insistence to the contrary, I’m pretty self-sufficient. But you know big brothers…”

“Hmm,” he said, as if he did. His big brother was in prison; his big sister was following in their mother’s footsteps with lots of scandal and unsuccessful relationships.

And then Jack was there. Jack seemed to be everywhere. “How’s that cabin working out for you, Katie?”

She lit up. Her eyes got so big, so bright. “Jack, it’s wonderful! Conner told me some of the history—your wife lived there? Your son was born there?”

“It was provided to Mel for the first year of her service to the town as the midwife. We lived in the cabin while I was building our house and David showed up—kind of fast, during a thunderstorm. We bought the place, just to have a little extra space around here for…well, for things like this,” he finished, with a smile.

“So, just how bad is the bear situation?” she wanted to know.

“Not significant, but they’re there.”

“If you say they’re more afraid of me than I am of them…”

Jack laughed. “As long as you don’t get between a mother and her cub, it’s a true statement.”

“So, you Virgin River people have sissy bears?”

“Scavenger sissy bears,” Jack said. “Keep the garbage inside and drive it to the Dumpster in town. If you’re scared…”

She scoffed. “I’m not scared. I love the cabin. It’s perfect. I’m going to have to run into one of the bigger towns to buy a TV, however. My boys have an Xbox. But I love the loft—a perfect place for it. It’s fantastic to put them up there with their noise.”

“They won’t make it without TV?” Dylan asked. And he was remembering when Adele refused to have a TV in the house, but of course her reasons were different. Dylan had been addicted to TV, to the news, celebrity gossip, sitcoms and series he’d been competing with. She was trying to get him off all his drugs.

“They might,” she said with a laugh, “but will I? I need a whip and a chair for those two.”

He glanced at the boys, already staking out a table, sitting on opposite sides and throwing packets of sugar at each other. “Gee. They look so well behaved…”

She just laughed and said, “Nice running into you, Dylan.”

“Wait a sec,” he said, catching the sleeve of her blouse to detain her. “So are you buried in the woods?”

“Sort of,” she answered. “But I’m only about ten minutes out of town in this picture-perfect little clearing surrounded by flowers and blackberry bushes in a cute little cottage… It was way more than I hoped for. Excuse me, I’d better pick up the sugar packets…”

And she was gone across the room.

And wow, he thought. With her hair down and dry, she was such a fox. While he sat and watched, her brother introduced her to person after person. A woman came into the bar and sat with Katie and the boys; Jack took the newcomer a glass of wine without asking for her order. Dylan supposed it was like that around here, Jack knowing what everyone wanted. Then he spoke to Katie and fetched her one, as well.

Once their mother was sitting with them there was very little funny business from the twins because they didn’t get away with anything—she seemed to have eight arms. She grabbed the packets, confiscated the ketchup bottle, removed the straws, pulled one back into his chair while she caught another by the wrist before he spilled his water. What she did even more easily was laugh with her friend. Sister-in-law? While Conner was BSing at the bar with men who came in and one by one introducing them to his sister, the girls were laughing and keeping the sugar packets in the container on the table.

“Where’s Preacher? Get him out here!” Walt said. “This is unbelievable—this trout is amazing! The man is a genius!”

Dylan looked at his plate and saw that he’d been eating, but it hadn’t even registered. “Excellent,” he finally said. He took another bite. “Really excellent.”

While the little boys had child-size hamburgers, Katie and her friend had the trout and made a very big deal about it with a lot of eyeball rolling, fanning their faces and letting their eyes fall closed as they hummed in ecstasy. Katie tried to coax a little fish into her son’s mouth, but he shook his head and resisted, which made the women laugh.

She positively sparkled. But he wasn’t interested in sparkle right now—he had too much on his mind. His business, his company, was in trouble and the only thing that mattered right now was coming up with a solution to their financial crisis. Besides, even though he was a world-class flirt, he was not attracted to young mothers. He was never tempted to get involved with a woman who had kids. He’d grown up around that—yours, mine and ours—and it might’ve worked in the movies, but it didn’t work in real life.

But when Jack brought him a cup of coffee he asked, “How long are you renting that little cabin for?”

Jack gave a small smile. “At least a couple of weeks, but probably the whole summer. There’s no waiting list. Why? You interested?”

“Maybe,” Dylan said. “Like sometime in the future…if I get back down this way…”

“Really?” Jack asked. He shifted his eyes toward Katie and said, “I thought maybe you were interested right now.”



With the enthusiasm Walt poured over Preacher’s dinners, Dylan might’ve wondered if he had been more influenced by the food than their routes. But he had to admit, the riding around here was awesome. And it wasn’t an original idea; they passed and followed a number of groups of riders while they were on the narrow mountain roads, the edgy cliff roads, beachfront, the dark paths through the redwood groves, the sunny hilltop ranch roads and the vineyards.

They stopped along the road to help bikers who had problems; Walt handed out a lot of business cards. None of his cards said President and CEO. They all said Harley-Davidson Sales and Maintenance. He drew attention away from himself. There really was a lot more to Walt than met the eye. Walt was an extremely successful businessman. Because of the look Walt presented, that of social outcast living hand to mouth, it was hard to imagine the amount of business acumen buried beneath that shaggy beard that would lead him to own five dealerships and build a small fortune. But he had.

“You have to remember, while the economy and fuel prices worked against you, they work in my favor,” Walt told the Childress Aviation contingent. “Motorcycles—fuel efficient—and sold in a moderate climate where there are very few days of the year they can’t be ridden.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t get away with that in Payne,” Dylan said.

The four bikers sat on a ridge in Mendocino County that overlooked vineyards and the ocean. Their bikes were propped up on stands, and they were in various positions of repose with big submarine sandwiches and cans of cola.

“I get that,” Walt said. “What’s up with the company, Dylan? Last time we rode together, you couldn’t shut up about it. This trip, you’re not talking in a real obvious way.”

Dylan took a long drink of his soda and lifted his head. “Sales are way down,” he said. “In this economy, not only is fuel too expensive to run a cost-effective flying operation, but people don’t hire charters as often. They fly their executives commercial. Coach. We’re not profitable—we’re barely above the red line.”

It was quiet for a minute.

“Bummer,” Walt said.

“We’re probably going to have to downsize. We’re going to have to give up the BBJ.”

“Oh, no!” Stu wailed. “Not the BBJ!”

That made Dylan smile. As a mechanic, Stu so loved that BBJ.

“What’s a BBJ?” Walt asked.

“A Boeing Business Jet—737 configured for luxury business travel. Instead of 120 passengers, more like 60. Perfect for a sports team, a group of executives, a rock band. We’ve been leasing it.”

“It’s sweet,” Stu said mournfully.

“We managed without her for a long time,” Dylan said. “And we talked about this before—that’s a damned expensive jet for a small company.”

“I don’t know if this’ll help,” Walt said. “My dad is real successful in lots of different businesses and one thing he taught me—always have an exit strategy. Just in case your current plan doesn’t work, always know what your endgame is and where you’re going next.”

“What’s your exit strategy?” Dylan asked.

“That’s part B of the plan,” Walt said. “My plan probably won’t work for anyone but me—but I never put all my eggs in one basket. I invested outside my franchises as well as in them, so I’d have a little nest egg in a worst-case scenario. The idea of being a president and CEO doesn’t mean anything to me—the only thing I’ve ever cared about are the people and the bikes. So with a little nest egg as a cushion, I can be real happy as a wrench. It’s what I’m best at anyway.” Walt took a long pull on his soda. “You just have to be clear about what drives you.”

“I like to fly. I like living in Payne. I don’t know what else there is.”

“I’m a different animal, Dylan. As long as I have my little house, my bike, my parents in good health, my brothers on my nerves and Cassie in my bed, I have just about everything I need. I can always find work. It wouldn’t be high dollar work, but it would be honest work.” His cell phone twittered and he pulled it out of his vest pocket. “Speak of the devil,” he said, grinning like a fourth grader. “Hey, baby…” Then he walked away from his group to have a private conversation.

And after all that baring of souls, all Stu had to say was, “God, I’d hate to lose that BBJ. She’s sweet!”

The afternoon ride was not only beautiful, but silent. That part was typical as bikers didn’t have conversations when they wound noisily around the mountain curves and broke single file for logging trucks. They ended their day as they had the three days before—at Jack’s.

“Has Preacher got the bouillabaisse going?” Walt wanted to know, because he’d been to the marina and delivered the seafood components.

“I think you’ll be satisfied,” Jack said. “I’ve been helping and I’m satisfied.”

“And how do you help?” Dylan asked.

“Every so often I wander back there, scoop out a little and let him know how he’s doing.”

They all laughed. Jack served up a couple of beers, a cup of coffee for Walt and a cola for Lang. By now, given the end of their fourth day in town, when people stopped by the bar, they wanted to know what the bikers had seen that day. And the men were more than happy to describe their ride, the views, the little towns they rode through, the other riders they ran into and sometimes rode with for a while.

They raved about the stew, had some coffee and dessert, and eventually said their goodbyes because they were heading out in the morning. There was a lot of handshaking all around. Preacher came out of the kitchen where he and Walt grasped fists and pulled each other shoulder to shoulder like brothers.

“You come back,” Preacher said.

“Absolutely,” Walt promised. “And you know how to reach me if you ever feel like a trip to the valley. I have some places I’d love to take you for dinner.”

And then they retired to the cabins.

When they got there they found Luke was just stirring up a fire in a shallow pit in front of his porch and it was natural to wander down that way. Luke’s wife, Shelby, sat in a chair on the porch and their handyman, Art, was beside her. Luke welcomed them all to join them and before long Walt had himself a chair by the fire while Lang, Stu and Dylan stood around with Luke. They talked about nothing in particular—weather, fishing, the long ride back to Montana. Little by little they broke up—Shelby went inside, Art retired to his cabin, Walt decided to turn in. And finally Luke indicated a bucket of sand.

“I’m calling it a day, boys. When you’re done with the fire, bury it. We’re coming up on fire season.”

“You bet,” Dylan said. “If we don’t see you in the morning…”

“I’m up early,” he said. “Knock before you go. It’s been a real pleasure.”

And then they were left, the Childress Aviation management, sitting on the porch steps in front of a small fire. A few moments of quiet passed before Lang asked, “So…this is really it for the company, huh?”

“Not necessarily. We’re definitely gonna have to lose the BBJ,” Dylan said, “but that should give us six months to figure out the next move. Either we find some charters for the Bonanzas and the Lear to keep us going or, the next step is, alternate work plans. We have a snowplow for the runway—maybe we start a little plowing business in the winter.”

Lang laughed. “I’ve been using that plow on my road anyway.”

“If you two can manage to find Montana on your own, I want to spend a little more time in California,” Dylan said. “I’m going to check out the smaller airports around here, see if there’s any work for our charters, any interest in a partnership. We have some things in common—charters into the mountains and isolated hunting and fishing locations. And also…” He paused. “I’m considering another idea. Sometimes over the years I’d hear from an old friend of mine, a producer, that he’d like to do a movie, if I had any interest. Jay Romney—he’s one of the good guys. I should listen to his ideas. It could keep us in business.”

“Make a movie?” Stu asked, suddenly interested.

Dylan lifted a corner of his mouth in a half smile. “I’ve made a couple of movies. And had that long-running sitcom as a kid.”

“Yeah, but make a movie now?” Stu asked.

“I could,” he said. “If the terms are right.”

“Would actresses be involved?” Stu asked.

Dylan laughed and Lang gave Stu a wallop to the back of the head.

“Hey! I’m just saying…”

“There would undoubtedly be actresses, but I have no idea what he has in mind. Could be a totally ridiculous sitcom reunion show of some kind, or it could be something else. But if there’s significant money, I should talk to him. Could buy Childress Aviation a couple of years and give the economy time to turn around.”

“I hate to think of you doing anything you hate,” Lang said. “Life’s too short.”

“What’s the big deal?” Stu asked. “Make a lot of money, date actresses, have some fun… Tell him I’ll do it.”

Lang and Dylan had been best friends since college, so Lang knew everything there was to know about Dylan’s childhood, but Stu didn’t.

“My experience as a child actor wasn’t good,” he said. “I thought it was at the time because I was spoiled and could have anything I wanted as long as I did the job I was paid to do because a lot of other jobs depended on it. But I was an ass. Every kid on that set was an ass and we were pure trouble—I’m sure people hated to deal with us. By the time I was thirteen my best friend, Roman, and I were fooling with liquor, pot and girls when we could get away with it, which was often. We pulled pranks, we busted up property, made off with cars we weren’t licensed to drive. I thought we were screwing around and having fun. We were cocky. Immune to failure. I didn’t really get that Roman was in over his head. He died of an overdose at the age of sixteen—he took a bunch of his mother’s pills and washed ’em down with rum, looking for a high. He had been my closest friend for a long time. We weren’t together the night he died. I was fifteen. The whole thing—it almost destroyed me.”

Stu was younger than Dylan and Lang and hadn’t been up to speed on the gossip surrounding Dylan’s Hollywood career. Plus, being a guy, he had no fascination with another guy’s antics. He merely whistled.

“My grandmother flew back to L.A. from London, took me to Roman’s funeral and got me out of Hollywood. She put her own career on hold and raised me in Payne until I went to college. She probably saved my life. So, going back to that lifestyle…”

“Yeah, but you’re not stupid anymore,” Stu said. “You’re older now.”

Dylan opened his mouth to speak, to explain that it was more complicated than that, that he had an entire family there in various levels of fame and infamy, from his half sister’s chronic problems with drugs to his half brother’s long running habit of trashing hotel rooms in which porn stars or hookers always seemed to be present. One stepsister was in drug treatment and a stepbrother in jail for dealing. And that was not to mention his mother, who he considered the worst of all. But before he could say any more, Lang put a firm hand on his shoulder and, in the dark, gave his head the smallest shake.

Don’t bother, he was saying. “All Stu wants is a girl to spend the night with. He’s not going to understand any of this.”

“Right,” Dylan said. “So I’ll get in touch with Jay and find out if this is just a lot of talk or if there’s real interest with a contract and money attached. And if it’s a way to keep us afloat a couple of years, I’ll consider it.”

Stu grinned hugely and stood up. “Call if you need backup on that movie or at some Hollywood parties!”

“You’ll be the first,” Dylan said drily.

And Stu ambled off to his cabin.

It was quiet around the fire for a minute before Lang said, “You probably should’ve told him you’re not keeping the BBJ, even if you get an Oscar.”

Dylan laughed.

“Don’t do this unless it really feels right,” Lang said. “Don’t do it for me. I can always manage, you know that.”

“Yeah? You have a wife and five kids.”

“Five brilliant kids. I’ll rent ’em out. Sell ’em to the circus.”

Dylan laughed with a shaking of his head. Lang and Sue Ann were the most devoted and conscientious parents Dylan had ever known.

“Seriously.”

“Yeah, trust me—I’m not stupid anymore,” he said, echoing Stu. “I’m older now.” And then with a touch of solemnity he said, “Trust me. I take this very seriously. Jay Romney’s a decent guy or I wouldn’t even talk to him.”

Lang stood up. “Do what you want, I’ve always got your back. But I’m with Walt—it doesn’t take that much to keep me happy and working. I’d be happy to run that snowplow around town until Childress Aviation gets on its feet again. I’m better at driving a snowplow than running a company anyway.”

Dylan stood and put out his hand. “Thanks, Lang. Can you manage without me while I stay behind?”

“You have to ask?”

“This is your chance to file a complaint with management.”

Lang just gave a snort of laughter. “You going to bed?” Lang asked.

“I might sit here awhile.”

“Kill the fire,” Lang reminded him. “See you in the morning. I expect a good send-off.”