Chapters 11 – 15

11.

Maurice and Lilliette Charbonneau arrived the second week of May with a huge pile of suitcases and a flurry of hugs and kisses.
“Although you have wonderful boutiques here in America, my darling brought things for the baby,” Maurice explained as Jorge hauled the luggage up the stairs. “And they are, of course, so much better, because they are French,” he said wryly.
“French things for the French bebe,” Lilliette called cheerfully from the top of the steps. “I do plan to do some shopping while I am here, and then I will buy her American things.”
Maurice shrugged and smiled.”We will do our best to spoil her before we leave.”
“How was the flight?” asked Shelly.
“Delightful! We slept most of the way. Perhaps, one of these years, the airport construction will be finished when we arrive.”
Shelly chuckled. “I don’t think that Dulles will ever really be finished.”
“It is a beautiful airport. So much light, so clean.”
“It was designed by a European architect,” Shelly said.
“Ah. That’s why I like it so much,” Maurice joked.
Lilliette came bounding down the stairs. She had the energy and spirit of a much younger woman, and Shelly hoped that she would age as gracefully.
“We have brought a new toy,” Lilliette exclaimed, waving an I-Pad. “We thought that there would be many pictures of the bebe, and so Maurice bought this. Maurice, there is a lovely bottle of wine in our room. Bring it down and we shall show them the pictures of home.”
Shelly went to the kitchen to fetch some wine glasses and Lilliette followed her. The Charbonneaus were the only guests Jorge had ever let into the kitchen. During one visit Maurice had exchanged recipes with Jorge and been given lifetime kitchen privileges in return. Jorge even let Maurice use his knives – something that even Shelly was not allowed to do. Shelly and Lilliette knew that they would find the men in the kitchen drinking and cooking together at least once during their stay. Shelly set the glasses on the table and searched a drawer for the bottle opener.
“Shelly you look very well. Have you done something different with your hair?” Lilliette had grabbed Shelly by the shoulders and kissed her again. “It is so good to see you!”
“No, not really.” Shelly patted the fluffy mop. “I have lost a little weight though,” she said shyly.
“It must be nearly impossible with Jorge doing the cooking,” Lilliette laughed.
“He’s lost weight, too. We’re working on it together.”
The men joined them in the kitchen and after pouring the wine, Lilliette turned on her I-Pad and looked for her photos.
“Some of these are our petite mazet-”
“Farmhouse,” Maurice translated.
“And some are the vacation in Nice,” Lilliette finished.
Jorge and Shelly looked at pictures of a sturdy two-story building. It was stone and stucco, and looked very old. Maurice told them that the original footprint of the house dated back to the 1600’s. Two sets of doors stood open to an inviting courtyard where a turquoise swimming pool was surrounded with large stone planters full of bright flowers. On the flagstone patio two white chaise lounges sat beside a small glass-topped table. The house was the color of brown mustard, the shutters were painted dark green and it was roofed in red tiles. Across the courtyard was a small studio/guesthouse. It had windows with wide ledges and a wood-beamed porch. A bent-twig chair sat on the porch and terra cotta pots filled with herbs sat at its feet. Shelly was enchanted.
“If you come to visit, you would stay in the studio. It has a small kitchen and a fireplace. In the back are hedges of lilac and when they bloom in the spring the scent fills the rooms. It is lovely,” said Lilliette. “These were taken last summer, but you can see the leaves of the lilac just over the walls.”
“I think I would be very happy there,” Shelly said, smiling. “You might not be able to get me to leave.”
“You can stay as long as you wish, my dear,” offered Maurice. “We could tour the countryside or go to Marseille. A bit further up the coast is Cassis and Nice. Nice is a very old city and is quite beautiful. We have a pied-à-terre in Aix-en-Provence that we let out to tourists, but you could even stay there for a few nights.”
Shelly looked at Jorge and grinned. “Wouldn’t that just frost Lori’s cookie? She’s always wanted to go to the Riviera.”
“She probably wouldn’t let you go without her. If you tried she’d curl up into a ball and hide in your carry-on,” Jorge replied.
Lilliette had been scrolling through the pictures and had finally found the ones she wanted.
“These are of Nice.” She turned the tablet toward Shelly and started the slideshow. Pictures of a curving harbor that ran along a highway, and tall office buildings and hotels that sat at the foot of some mountains, glided by.
“I know this place,” Shelly said, puzzled. “I mean, I’ve seen it before, somewhere. Recently.”
“Maybe you saw it online, Shelly,” Jorge said.
“I don’t think so. I’ve never looked up Nice.”
“This is a very famous area. There are many photographs of it. It has been the setting of several movies,” Lilliette explained.
The slideshow changed and they were now looking at narrow cobblestone streets flanked by old stone houses. Baskets of flowers hung from doorways. A small rounded gateway looked out towards the sea. Nearby, a three-tiered fountain threw diamond droplets of water into the air.
“This looks very familiar,” Shelly said. “But how could it? I’ve never been there.”
Lilliette stopped the slideshow and pointed to the second story of a rowhouse.
“This is our apartment,” she said.
“It has been in a movie. The whole street was in the movie,” Maurice elaborated. “We were there doing some repairs the week that the cinematographers came to film.”
“They told us that we couldn’t look out of the windows and watch, so we went onto the roof. We saw the whole thing from there. Very exciting! Much commotion!” Lilliette exclaimed.
”What were they doing?” asked Jorge.
“Chasing with cars,” said Lilliette. “They went so fast, very perilleux. The streets are so small. So….so…” she looked at her husband.
“Narrow” he replied.
“Oui. Narrow.” Lilliette demonstrated narrow by holding her hands a few inches apart. “It is a movie pour les hommes.”
“What movie was it?” Jorge asked.
“Le Transporteur.”
“The Transporter?!” Shelly and Jorge said in disbelief.
“Oui! It stars my favorite actor. He is so handsome, so manly. There have been many films that he is in. He is my petite amor,” gushed Lilliette.
“I believe that in America you say that she has ‘a crush’ for him?” asked Maurice.
“Shelly likes Jason Statham too, Lilliette.” Jorge was grinning.
“Non, non.” Lilliette looked perplexed. “Francois Berleand. He was the Inspecteur.” She sighed dreamily.
“What is the name of this town? Ex-something?” Shelly asked.
“Aix-en-Provence. It is a city ancien,” said Maurice. “Very cultural. There is a festival in the summer, the Musique dans la Rue, that you would adore, Shelly. Perhaps you would visit us during that time. We could sit in the cafes drinking wine and listening to the music.”
“I think Fate is messing with you, Shelly,” Jorge said only half-joking.
Shelly wondered how much plane tickets to Aix-en-Provence cost.

12.

Lori called Shelly on Wednesday afternoon to catch up on all the latest news.
“Are the Chardonnays still here?” she asked. “Did they invite you to France again?”
“They are, and they did. Right now, Lilliette and her daughter are down in Georgetown shopping for baby clothes. Maurice is golfing with Jorge, and they are talking about having lunch at the Dangler.” Old Anglers Inn was one of Shelly’s favorite restaurants. Sitting across form the C&O canal, along tree-lined MacArthur Boulevard, it catered to the Washington elite as well as the kayakers and hikers using the trail and boating on the Potomac River. It had become known locally as ‘the Dangler’ by the regulars that frequented the stone tavern. Although Shelly had never seen any proof of it, the Dangler was rumored to be the place for congressmen and senators to take their mistresses for a discreet, quiet lunch.
“Yummy!” Lori said. “I haven’t been there in ages. So when are we going to France?”
“Lilliette showed us some pictures of their property. It’s spectacular,” Shelly said, wistfully.
“I don’t understand why you refuse to take a vacation. You have three months off every year to travel, and you go nowhere. Jorge is more than capable of running the place while you’re gone, and it’s not like you don’t have the money. They’ve offered you a place to stay, so all you’d need is plane fare and incidentals. With Maurice cooking you wouldn’t even have to spend all that much on food.”
“It’s becoming more tempting all the time. For years I’ve found a way to make excuses not to go. Besides, I know how much it would mean to you,” Shelly said, laughing.
“Well, heck, let’s make it about me if that’s what it takes to get your ass to France. I thought you were done making excuses in your life.”
“I do find myself slipping back into the habit of rejecting things outright that other people do every day. How hard could it possibly be to get on a plane and fly over there? My poor little passport doesn’t have a single stamp in it. I keep looking for reasons to chicken out, and I do believe that I have finally run out.”
“Good! Let me know when we leave,” Lori said happily.
“It won’t be for awhile. We have a screenplay to deliver to someone first.”
“Ah, yes. I’d almost managed to forget about our invisible fifth friend, the ever-present ghost of Jason.”
Shelly laughed. “It does seem that way sometimes, doesn’t it? He’s here with us in spirit.”
“We’ll need to burn some sage and scatter crystals. Maybe do an exorcism to get rid of him when this is over. Promise me Shell, this will, someday, be over,” Lori said, suddenly serious.
“I promise,” Shelly vowed. But in her heart, she hoped that this would be more than a chance to see her screenplay become a movie. Shelly had decided that she wanted Mr. Statham not just to like her script and show up in Washington. She also wanted an opportunity to say thank in person.

The Charbonneaus went back to France, and the mild spring days gave way to the heat and humidity of the mid-Atlantic summer. The temperatures shot up into the 90’s and stayed there. School let out and the sidewalks baked. Kenny and Jimmy were sent off to camp and a languid silence filled the street. Even with carful watering the flowers looked tired and dusty. Shelly started taking her computer out to a table by the pool and spent the afternoons writing under a big market umbrella. She and Jorge still went to the dojin, but the class size had dwindled with various kids missing when their parents whisked them away on family vacations, or packed them off to camp. No amount of air conditioning seemed to cool down the dojin in the evenings, and Shelly and Jorge drank pitchers of ice water and cold tea to replace the fluids they sweated out during practice. Lori complained that it was too hot to drink wine, even when it was nearly frozen into slush.
One evening, after a late-afternoon thundershower had failed to lower the temperature, and had added to the stifling humidity, Shelly called Vida with a question. The sun had come back out and steam rose from the pavement as she spoke to her friend. Once she had her answer, she called Lori.
“Have you ever been rappelling, Lori?”
“I don’t think I’m particularly repellent, thanks for asking,” Lori punned. “Do you mean that thing where you jump off a cliff attached to an itty-bitty piece of rope?”
“That’s that one.”
“No. Where are we going with this, Shell-face?” Loris asked warily.
“I’m trying to write the rappelling scene, but I don’t know anything about it.”
Lori sighed. “Can’t you look it up on the internet? Get the basics, an equipment list, watch a video on YouTube maybe?”
Shelly stayed quiet letting Lori figure it our for herself.
“Oh, crap. You want us to jump off a cliff with you, right?”
“Vida said she’d give it a try.”
“Vida is all hung-ho for a promotion and she thinks it will make her look good. How will dying help my career exactly?”
“You’re not going to die, silly. It’s very safe, and there are schools that teach you how. I found one up in the Catoctin mountains. And it will be cooler up there, so no sweat,” Shelly offered.
“And we all know how very important it is to be comfortable when dying by being smashed on a rock,” Lori said sarcastically. “Have you asked Jorge to go yet? He’s not going to want to do this.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s afraid of heights. That poor, sad man came to my apartment only one time. He couldn’t get anywhere near the windows, and he’s never been back. He spent most of the time lurking in the kitchen, and the furthest he came out was too the end of the dining room table. And even then he couldn’t stand to look at the view. It was truly pitiful.”
“I thought that if the three of us had already agreed to go…”Shelly trailed off.
“I see. The gang bang approach to persuasion. Fabulous.” Lori thought about it a moment. “But I’m only going because I want to show Jorge that my balls are bigger than his,” she said, meanly.
“You can show him anything you want,” Shelly replied placidly. “Just as long as you go.”
“And when does this death-race to the bottom of the mountain commence?”
“How does next weekend work for you?”
“Superb. It will give me plenty of time to update my will and order that spiffy casket I’ve had my eye on.”
“Lori, I swear no one will get hurt,” Shelly promised.
“Jorge certainly won’t. Because I don’t believe for a second that you will even get him up there. And I don’t believe he will go all the way to the top, and if he does, I don’t believe he will come down on a rope. A stretcher, maybe,” Lori laughed. “Remind me to take a camera. This is going to be a great photo-op.”
“Why are you so mean to him, Lori?”
“I only pick on the people I like. Why waste time with the others?” Lori shot back.
Shelly sighed. She knew that getting Jorge to join them on this adventure was going to be difficult, if not downright impossible. Shelly was counting on his loyalty, and barring that, on his need to watch out for his sister. It was all she had.

Sunday afternoon came far too quickly for Jorge. It had taken all three of the women, using a combination of gentle reasoning, sisterly nudging, and pointed needling, to get him to accept. He sat in Shelly’s car becoming increasingly apprehensive during the nearly two hour drive to the mountains.
They had started on a highway that led to a paved two-lane road, then wound down to a gravel drive, and ended up on what appeared to be a cow path made of dirt.
“This isn’t showing up on the GPS, Shelly,” Lori said. “Are we still in Maryland?”
“We’re supposed to be close to the West Virginia border, but I think the property is considered to be Maryland,” Shelly replied a little uncertainly. “They told me there were signs.”
“We’ve seen ‘No Trespassing’, ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot’, ‘Trespassers Who Survive Will Be Shot Again’, and ‘Beware of Dogs’. Are those the signs you are referring to?” asked Vida from the backseat where she was holding Jorge’s trembling hand.
“Look for the one that says ‘Catoctin Mountain Challenge Course’.”
“Pretty soon, Jorge, we’ll be challenging gravity,” Lori said gleefully.
Jorge moaned.
“There. By that oak tree. Is that the sign?” Lori pointed to blue and white rectangle half hidden by leaves.
Shelly pulled off the path and stopped. Lori got out, pushed the foliage aside, and read it. She returned to the car and indicated a path going off through the trees to the left.
“Are you sure this isn’t some survivalist compound?” she asked.
“Um…no,” Shelly replied.
“Hear that, Jorge? Might be a strip search involved!”
“Lori, stop picking on hum or we’ll never get him out of the car,” admonished Shelly. Lori smirked.
They parked in a graveled area near a big log cabin. It was neatly kept, with a flagstone pathway leading to the wide front porch. Adirondack chairs in brightly painted colors sat against the front wall. The porch railing was made from branches polished with high gloss varnish. Voices came from inside from inside, but they were still too far from the porch to hear who was talking.
A group of four people, two men and two women, came outside carrying ropes and harnesses. They had metal spikes in their hands and a variety of carabiners in different sizes and colors hung from their belts. All of them wore helmets and sturdy hiking boots. Shelly thought that the gear looked rather heavy and cumbersome. She contemplated her sneakers wondering if they would be sufficient.
A man about Lori’s age followed them from the cabin. He was lean, sun-weathered, and had a kind face. His grey eyes were the same shade as a rain soaked sky. Although he wore a long- sleeved blue work shirt and faded jeans worn to flannel softness, it was apparent that he was heavily muscled. Lori gave a low whistle of appreciation. His military haircut suggested he had done time in the Armed Forces.
“Well, isn’t he a cupcake,” Lori said under her breath to Shelly.
Shelly looked at Lori in surprise. Very few men ever elicited that sort of comment from her.
“You must be my two o’clocks,” he said. “I’m David. He thrust out his hand to shake theirs.
“Thanks for helping us,” Shelly replied, returning his handshake. “Does it matter that we’ve never done this before?”
“We have rocks for every level of experience. My son, Jimbo, is going to be your guide today. He’s been doing this since he was five years old. We’ll get you set up with the right equipment, and he’ll take you step by step through the whole process. If you’d like to come inside,” he gestured toward the cabin, “we can get started.”
The log cabin was even bigger than it appeared from the parking lot. A circular rack with shirts sporting the logo of the business was centered into middle of the room. Along the walls were shelves of equipment, most labeled with their manufacturers. Boots, ropes, harnesses, and a surprisingly large display of bug spray, took up one long wall. Jackets, helmets, and rain gear, and the hallway top the bathrooms occupied the back of the store. Jorge stood to one side refusing to look at anything. Shelly wandered the area studying all that was offered. Vida and Lori walked the perimeter in silence, noting the safety equipment, and wondering if it would be adequate. They were all nervous.
“How high -” Jorge squeaked. He took a deep breath and tried to force the terror from his voice. “How high are we going?”
“We have several cliffs to choose from, but all newbies start on the 38 footer. It’s not a sheer rock face and it slopes out in a sort of dome. That way you get a feel for the equipment, and can take it more slowly. There are permanent bolts driven into the top of the hill, but you’re still going to learn the knots and what to do with a piton. All of you will be carrying your ropes and gear to the top. It’s not a long hike, but I do suggest that you take a bottle of water with you. And ply some bug spray. The deer flies are pretty thick today, and they can make a climb miserable. It’s also a distraction you don’t need your first time out.”
“You don’t want to plunge to your death swatting a fly, right Jorge?” Lori asked.
Vida glared at her and grabbed a can of fly repellent from the shelf. Jorge looked pale.
Jimbo appeared from a room at the back of the store that had an ’employees only’ sign affixed to the door. In stark contrast to his father he looked like he had just emerged from the ocean after a long day of surfing. He was rangy and tall, long, luxurious, sun streaked blonde locks hanging past his shoulders. His bangs covered a eyes like a sheepdog’s. He wore a faded t-shirt that said ‘Raps Like It On The Rocks’, a pair of thin-soled black rock climbing shoes, and blue and orange board shorts with a wild graphic pattern. A tribal tattoo circled his left ankle. Around his neck and wrists were woven hemp bracelets with beads. Shelly expected the first words to come out of his mouth would be some version of “hey, dudes.”
“That’s pure West Coast, like La Jolla,” Lori whispered to Shelly. “Must have taken a wrong turn in Texas and ended up here.”
Jimbo sized up his charges. Three women, one guy. The tall blonde and the little Hispanic spinner looked ok. The guy looked kind of grey and unhappy. The chubby redhead was cute for an older piece. He decided they would probably do alright. He had been hoping to get assigned to a mor experienced group so he could do some climbing and have some fun, too. He gave a mental shrug – business was business and unless he got paid some serious coin this summer, there’d be no winter surfing in Haleiwa and definitely no snowboarding in Vale.
He smiled sunnily and said, “Let’s gear up and go rapping.”
Jimbo outfitted them with helmets and harnesses, explaining as he went the history of rappelling and the uses for the different types of equipment. He told them that the Europeans called the sport abseiling, a form of the German word for ‘rope down’, and that rappel was French and meant ‘to recall’.
“Brits just call it ‘abbing’, or say that they’re going to ‘ab off the rock’,” Jimbo said.
“Now you can converse knowledgeably with Jason about this stuff when you meet him, and you’ll even be speaking his language,” Vida teased Shelly.
When everyone had their safety equipment and ropes together, and had signed the papers releasing the owner from liability should one of the group fall off a cliff, Jimbo led them out the door and around the back of the cabin to a pathway that took them through the trees. Birds called loudly to each other, the burble of a stream out of sight sounded like chimes, the leaves rustled in the slight breeze. By the time they were halfway up the hill all of them were sweating, and the deer flies buzzed angrily around their heads. The track narrowed slightly as they neared the top, but it had been a fairly gentle climb. From the path they could see the slope of the cliff. It was shaped like an upside down bowl. A few sparse seedlings grew out of the face, and big chunks of rock that resembled warts stuck out in several places.
They paused at a flat, well-trampled area. Lori, Shelly, and. Vida walked to the edge and took in the view. Jorge stood fifteen feet behind them and refused to budge. He studiously studied the clouds and ignored the pretty vista.
“I don’t think you can ab from back there,” Lori called to Jorge. “The pitons are over here where we are.” She pointed to heavy bolts with thick rings that were embedded in the cliff top.
“No,” said Jorge. It appeared that he had come to a decision.
“No what?” Shelly asked, puzzled.
“No, I am not going to do this.”
Lori and Vida walked over to where he stood.
Vida tried to reassure him. “It’s going to be ok. This is very safe, and I am going to be right here with you the whole time.”
“No.”
“C’mon Jorge, reach around down there and see if you can locate some testicles. Man up, for cryin’ out loud,” Lori snorted.
Jimbo sighed. It wasn’t the first time someone had changed their mind at the last minute, but he had thought it might be one of the women.
“I’ll teach the girls and they can go first. You can go singly or in pairs. If you’d like I’ll pair with you, and we can take it real slow,” Jimbo offered.
Jorge covered his face with his hands and moaned.
“Shelly and Lori can go, and I’ll stay here with you,” Vida told him. “We’ll watch how they do it, then we can try.” She took his arm and attempted to lead him a little closer to the edge. Jorge stood as if he had become part of the mountain. Lori took his other arm.
“I’m sorry for picking on you, Jorge,” Lori apologized. “But look, we’ve come all this way, hiked up this mountainside, and we’re here to help Shelly. I know you can do this if you just make up your mind to try it.”
“No!” Jorge shook his head and kept his face hidden.
Lori released his arm and stomped back over to Shelly. “It’s you and me, kid,” she said. “Let’s rap this rock.”
Jimbo sighed again and looked sadly at Jorge. He joined the two women at the precipice.
“First thing we will do is learn the figure eight knot. That’s what will secure you to the bolts. Check each other’s harness to make sure that they’re secure and fastened correctly. Attach your daisy chain before you turn your back on the descent so that you are always anchored to something while you work. Then make the knot. When you’re ready to step off one of you will go first, with the other checking the security of the bolt. Put your water bottles in your carrier toward your backs so they don’t interfere with the ropes.”
He handed each of them a metal device.
“This is a Trango belayer. It’s the thing that controls the speed of your descent. The first time down is for practice. Since this is a short, roundy slope you’ll be walking down it, not jumping. I want you to take it easy and get the feel of you equipment,” Jimbo cautioned.
Shelly and Lori did as they were told, and then Shelly leaned back slightly to test the resistance of the bolt. When Lori pronounced that it was holding well Shelly took a step backwards, guiding the rope with her right hand, and walked off the top of the hill. She was fully on the face of the slope and looked up to see Lori peering at her over the lip.
“How does it feel, Shell?” she asked.
“Good so far,” Shelly replied.
Jimbo got Lori set up and checked her bolt. Then Lori turned her back to the ravine and lowered herself down to where Shelly had stopped to wait for her. When she reached Shelly they looked at each other and grinned.
“This is better than I expected, Shell!” Lori exclaimed. “This is actually fun.”
Shelly risked a glance down and found that the height didn’t bother her as much as she thought it might.
“Everything ok down there?” Jimbo called out.
“Just taking in the sights,” Lori replied. She turned to Shelly. “Guess we’d better get going. We’ll have to make the climb back up. It’s going to take all three of us to get Jorge off this rock.”
It only took a few minutes to traverse the rest of the slope. After pulling their ropes down they wound them into neat coils and started up the path that led to the top. That moved quickly and Lori noticed that Shelly, who used to get extremely winded climbing the stairs to take fresh linens to the upper floors of the inn, was barely breathing hard.
“Feeling good these days, Shell-face?” she asked.
“I feel great! Taking tae know do was just the thing. I used to pant walking down the stairs to get to the washing machine in the basement, bur now I hardly notice it.”
“And you aren’t hauling all that extra weight around anymore.”
“I really should get a scale, because I have no idea how much I’ve lost. I do feel lighter though.” Shelly did a few goofy dance steps in the pathway demonstrating her newfound lightness.
When they reached the bare spot at the top of the slope nothing had changed. Jorge still stood fifteen feet from the edge with Vida holding his hand, pleading. Loris rolled her eyes, and Shelly looked at him with raised brows.
“He’s refusing. What should we do?” asked Vida.
“I’ll stay here with Jorge, while you and Lori go this time,” Shelly offered.
Shelly watched as They stepped off the hill. She talked softly to reassure Jorge, who appeared to have gone completely deaf. After the girls had reached the bottom and climbed back to where they were waiting, Jimbo asked if they were ready for something a bit more challenging.
“Hell, yeah!” Loris replied, enthusiastically.
“No, no. God no,” Jorge moaned.
“What are you complaining about, Jorge? You haven’t even tried it,” Lori said disgustedly.
“We’ll follow the path a little farther along this ridge. There’s a sharp, steeper highwall about a quarter of a mile away. It’s seventy feet, and now that you know how to slow yourselves down and control the descent, you can try swinging out from the face in short jumps. Please make them short jumps, ladies.” Jimbo held no illusions that Jorge would get involved.
The sun-dappled lane, flanked on the left with tall locusts and maples, rose continuously as they trudged along. Jorge marched resolutely, staring with great concentration at the back of Jimbo’s blonde head to avoid an accidental glimpse of the drop-off to his right. Behind them, the women held a silent group conversation in gestures and meaningful glances trying to decide how to help Jorge. In a short while they were standing at the next station. Lori looked out over the edge and gave a low whistle.
“This isn’t like the last one,” she warned.
Shelly and Vida joined her, leaving Jorge waiting his usual distance away. “My goodness,” Shelly said a bit warily.
The rock face was jagged, a few sad ferns poking from its toothy surface. It sloped inward, and from their perch they couldn’t see the bottom of the cliff. Off to the left they saw two members of the group from the cabin climbing up toward them. They were grunting with the exertion.
Lori turned to Shelly. “Please do not ask me to do that,” she said, firmly. “I only go down.”
“So, we’ve heard,” Vida teased.
Lori looked at Vida, raised her middle finger, and scratched her nose with it.
Jimbo tried unsuccessfully to hide his grin. He had decided the this group, with one notable exception, was pretty ok. He know that most people who had made up,their minds to try rappelling did well on the easy hill. This was the one that separated – he shot a quick glance at Jorge – the women from the girls. Jimbo hoped that none of them would chicken out, because this was the truly exciting and fun part of rappelling.
“This time you’re going to do some small hops. You’ll release and drop a couple of feet – keep them short hops – and catch a little faster. The stop will be jerky, so don’t freak out when it happens. Your belayer will stop you. After a few tries it will get less sudden, and you’ll learn to glide smoothly instead of snapping on the rope,” he explained.
Vida and Lori went first. They hooked up to the same type stationary bolts embedded in the top of the cliff, gave a heavy yank on the ropes to test the security of the pitons, and leaned backwards on the edge. Looking at each other, they jumped at the same time and disappeared from view. As his beloved sister abruptly left the ledge, Jorge squealed in fright.
“It’s ok, Jorge. I can still see her, she’s fine,” Shelly said.
Vida and Lori hopped, and as they gained confidence, leaped faster down the face of the rocky cliff. By the time they reached the bottom they were laughing giddily. They pulled down their ropes and then hugged each other, jumping up and down with delight.
“You are so going to love this, Shell-face,” Lori shouted up at her. “We’ll be up in couple of minutes.”
Shelly waited with Jorge and made small talk with Jimbo. She asked how he learned to do this and what he did in the off season. He answered, then asked why they had decided to take up rappelling. Shelly hesitated, still unwilling to admit to writing a screenplay. She finally said it was something she had always wanted to try. She deliberately failed to tell,him that she had wanted to try it ever since she had seen Mr. Statham leap from a very tall skyscraper in one of his movies. Soon, they could hear Lori and Vida coming up the path talking and laughing together. Jorge watched them approach, frowning.
“This is very dangerous, Vida,” he scolded.
“Jorge, it’s really not. And you should at least try it. We could go back to the fist hill – it’s easy. I’m very disappointed in you,” she said, shaking her finger at him. Jorge folded his arms across his chest and returned to his study of the clouds.
“Who’s coming with me?” Shelly asked them.
Lori and Vida did rock-paper-scissors for the privilege and Lori won. They hooked up their ropes and harnesses, and faced the rest of the group. The two rock climbers, one of the couples, had gained the top and came over to watch their descent.
Shelly was hesitant at first, taking only the smallest of hops. Lori leaped ahead and then paused hanging from her harness, waiting for Shelly to catch up. Shelly, not wanting to hold Lori up any longer,swung away from the cliff face in a long arc.
It was too much, too soon.
Shelly couldn’t quite get her right hand in position and suddenly flipped upside down. Her legs hung above her head and her ankles dangled near her ears. As she completed the arc her back slammed painfully into the rock. There was a sickening crack as her helmet crashed against the stone. Lori watched, stunned, as Shelly bounced away from the face and then hit it again.
Ow! Whuff. Oww.” Shelly said. She hung there, unsure how to right herself. A piece of rock gouged her shoulder blade.
Lori’s amazement gave way to hysterics and she started to howl with laughter. At the top of the cliff, Vida shrieked. The climbers dashed to the edge to see what had happened. From his position, Jorge couldn’t see what was going on, but he knew Shelly was in trouble. He flung himself to the ground and crawled to the edge on his belly, sobbing Shelly’s name. As Shelly looked up between her legs she saw the front of Jorge’s helmet, and his wide, frightened eyes peering down at her. Jorge could see Shelly’s legs and rear end, but not the rest of her, and feared that she had disfigured or crippled. The woman climber looked down, and said to her companion, “Oops.”
Lori got herself under control and slid down a few feet until she was even with Shelly’s head.
“Um, how’s it going, Shell?” she asked.
“Pretty good,” Shelly replied calmly. Lori thought that Shelly might be going into shock.
“Whatcha gonna do now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Your face is turning red.”
“Oh. Well, maybe Jimbo has some suggestions for us.”
“I’ll ask,” she replied. “Hey, Jimbo,” she called.
“Is she alright?” Jimbo asked.
“I don’t think she’s facing the right direction, but other than that…” Lori said sarcastically.
“Shelly can you hear me ok?” Jimbo hollered down.
“Yes.” Shelly’s voice was muffled a bit by her uncomfortable position.
“Put you feet against the rock and slowly push out and away from the cliff until you are perpendicular. Then you can release some rope and get upright.”
Ever polite, Shelly replied, “Thank you, Jimbo.”
Lori was still chuckling with amusement as she watched Shelly maneuver into position. When Shelly has turned right side up she paused leaned her head against the cool rocks.
“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work,” she commented.
“No doubt. How does your back feel?”
“I’m sure I’ll be sore tomorrow,” Shelly sighed.
“Jason would be proud of you, Shell-face,” Lori said kindly.
“There is no way I’m ever going to tell him about this,” Shelly replied.
Lori didn’t think that Shelly would ever get a chance to say anything of the sort, but she didn’t say that to her.
“Well, your secret is safe with me. But there are people at the top of this rock taking your picture with their phones. You are about to be prominently featured on the internet. We’ll just have to hope that Jason’s not a big YouTube fan,” Lori said, trying to sound sincere.
“We’ll never get Jorge to try rappelling now, will we?”
“Nope. Not a chance.”
“And we still,have to go to the bottom, don’t we?” Shelly asked, rather sadly.
“As I see it, we have two, no three, options. We can climb up, rappel down, or hang here and hope that someone takes pity on us and sends down a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio, preferably one with a screw top, that we can share as it grows dark and scary when the sun sets,” Lori offered cheerfully.
“I choose down,” Shelly said with a small sigh.
“Excellent! I think we should take it slowly.”
Moments passed.
“Is there a problem?” Lori inquired.
“My hand is not ready to move,” Shelly said.
“Your hand, or your mind?”
“Well, since one controls the other…”
“Then tell your mind to move your hand,” Lori replied helpfully. “Try counting to three, then go. I’ll count with you.”
“Do we go on ‘three’, or do we go on ‘go’?”
“Stop stalling. Start counting.”
They counted to three. Shelly’s mind moved her hand, and they slowly descended to the forest floor beneath the soaring wall. Shelly just barely resisted the urge to kneel down and kiss the ground by reminding herself that Mr. Statham would never lose his dignity in such a manner.

As they went up the hill to join the others, Jorge was stomping down, followed at a distance by his sister and Jimbo. Vida, seeing the look on her brother’s face, had wisely decided not to rappel down and catch up with Lori and Shelly.
Jorge was furious.
“Uh-oh,” said Lori. “You’re in deep shit.” She listened closely to Jorge’s muttering as he came toward them. “You made him so mad he’s speaking Spanglish.”
“What’s he saying?” Shelly asked nervously.
“Something unkind about your parents and how you were raised.”
“Oh, dear. He’s just scared for me, that’s all. It makes him feel powerless and frustrated,” Shelly explained.
“Ah. I went rappelling with Dr. Freud.”
Jorge skidded to a stop in front of Shelly.
“You are never going to do this again,” Jorge shouted. He punctuated every word by jabbing a finger in Shelly’s face.
“Wow! I’ve heard about you passionate Latinos, but -” Lori started to joke. She fought sight of Vida frantically shaking her head and making a cutting motion across her throat. Lori gave a small, harrumphing cough and took a large step off to the right.
“Jorge,” Shelly began to explain.
“No! It is enough. This is madness! Why do you have a desire to do damage to yourself? First, tae kwon do, now this…” he sputtered.
“Muy loco-ness?” Lori offered.
Jorge spun around towards Lori. She took one look at his beet-red, furious face and raised her hands in surrender, patting the air.
“Sorry,” she said.
Jorge pivoted back to Shelly. “You could have been killed.” He was still shouting.
Lori had prudently moved to safety over by Vida and Jimbo. “Technically, wouldn’t she have had to hit the ground to be killed? She was still attached to the rope, you know,” she whispered to them.
“We are not being lawyers right now, Lori,” Vida hissed. “We are currently in ‘concerned friends’ mode. Don’t make this any worse.”
“When will this obsession with death and destruction end? You will never meet Mr. Statham if you are dead from one of these crazy ideas of yours,” Jorge pleaded.
“Jason Staham?” Jimbo’s eyebrows had shot up and disappeared under his bangs. “Man, that dude is wicked sick. His movies are great.”
Lori looked at him. “You and Shelly should have a talk,” she said snarkily. “She feels exactly the same.”
“Does she know him?” Jimbo was gawking at Shelly with new-found respect.
Lori and Vida responded at the same time.
“Yes, they’re old friends/No one really knows another person do they?”
Jimbo looked confused.
“No, she hasn’t met him,” Lori said, glaring at Vida.
Jimbo sighed and shook his head. “Thought I might get an autograph there for a second,” he said. “What do you mean ‘yet’?”
“She’s planning on meeting him,” Lori replied.
Jimbo seemed satisfied with that answer.
Shelly held out her arms to Jorge for a hug. He fell onto her shoulder, weeping quietly, and crushed her into an embrace.
“Jorge, I’m just fine. Or at least I will be if you let me breathe,” Shelly told him.
“I couldn’t stand it if something bad happened to you. Promise me there will be no more of this,” he insisted.
“I’m not giving up the tae kwon do, but I won’t be rappelling any time soon,” she promised. “Ok?”
“Ok,” he replied. “Can we go home now?”

The five of them walked back down the path towards the cabin. Shelly and Jorge led the way, Vida directly behind saying calming words to her brother, Lori and Jimbo bringing up the rear. Vida reported to Shelly that the rock climbers had been impressed with Shelly’s ability to not panic, and Shelly told Vida that it had been panic – it was simply her version of panic. A quiet, desperate sort of panic that she had no intention of repeating. Jorge sniffled loudly, wiped his nose on his sleeve and thanked God a few more times for saving his dearest friend. At the back Lori was getting a business card from Jimbo and making plans to return to the cliffs as soon as possible. Lori thought that there had been a small orgasm when she went off the rock and that if the cliff had been higher it might have been more intense and lasted longer. Either way, she was determined to find out. Despite the flies, the long drive, and the general ickniness of being in the country, Lori knew she’d found a skill that she was willing to hone just for the thrills. Maybe she even could talk David into joining her. ‘Now, that would be truly orgasmic,’ she thought. Lori wondered if there was such as thing as rappelling sex, and spent the rest of the hike dreamily imagining doing it on a rope, suspended from the top of a mountainside.
They went inside to return their gear. David took one look at their faces, locked eyes with Jimbo, and didn’t ask if they had enjoyed themselves. He handed Lori a brochure with the hours of operation, and a card with his private number on the back. They murmured over the counter for a few minutes making plans to meet for dinner in DC while the others gathered at the car. Jimbo watched his dad flirting, and grinned. The chemistry between the two of them was beyond obvious, and JImbo hoped for the best. He thought Lori was a serious piece of hot tuna and his dad looked besotted.
Jorge was very thoughtful and quiet on the way home, and Lori had to fight to keep from gushing about how much fun she’d had. Instead, Vida and Shelly spent the time filling the silence with meaningless conversation trying to distract everyone. When they arrived at the inn Jorge went to his room, shut the door, and didn’t come out until the next morning. The girls said their goodbyes, and Shelly went up to shower. As she stood under the cascade of hot water, she wondered if Jorge was right. Was she doing things that were self-destructive? Shelly didn’t think she was doing anything too awful, but how would she know? Jorge was still angry with her, and that felt terrible. None of this was going to be worth it if she lost the trust of her friends, and she had always relied on them to set her straight when necessary. Maybe this had been a fluke.
But the longer Shelly thought about it the more she came to believe that Mr. Statham wasn’t running around second-guessing his life. He was challenging himself all of the time to be better, and that was what had inspired her in the first place. And if he wasn’t going to take life lying down, then neither would Shelly. She got out of shower, wrapped a towel around her goose-bumpy body, and went out to have a talk with Mr. Statham’s picture.
“Do your friends ever think you’ve gone too far, Mr. Statham? Do they warn you, worry about you, tell you that maybe you shouldn’t be doing these things that are so dangerous?” Shelly looked deep into his eyes. Where before she had seen kindness, Shelly now saw fearlessness and steely determination. She didn’t think that he indulged the nay sayers in his life, and the more she gazed at the photo the more positive she became that he would brush off those concerns, even the ones from the people who loved him most. He looked like a man who knew himself completely and trusted his instincts.
“I’m going to trust myself too, Mr. Statham. There may be a few bumps and bruises, and maybe even a pretty bad day or two, but I’m going to listen to my heart. And I’m going to do what it tells me to do,” Shelly said fiercely.
She might have just been imagining it, but Shelly would have sworn that Mr. Statham had a glimmer of a smile on his face when he heard her intentions.

13.

On July 3rd, a sweltering sunny day that featured puffy white clouds drifting through an azure sky, Shelly sat at her desk watching some of her guests splashing and laughing in the pool. She had just written ‘The End’ on the last page of her screenplay. Mr. Statham gazed down placidly from his perch on the bulletin board as Shelly looked up and told him, “Well, it’s finished.”
Shelly wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Last night she had spent almost two hours researching on the internet and from the several suggestions offered, she had decided to ask her friends to come over to do a read-through of the script. If it sounded good, even with their complete lack of theatre experience, then she would be confident that she was truly done. If not, it would be revision time. It was also a good excuse to have a barbecue and drink some homemade sangria. They could wait until the guests had gone off to wherever their day would take them, and then set up in the backyard by the pool. Shelly picked up the phone and started calling.
She printed out four copies of the screenplay, put each one in a separate envelope for neatness, and wrote the characters that Lori, Vida, and Jorge would be playing on the outside of the flap. She tried to divide them evenly, and felt a bit guilty for handing Jorge most of the villains’ parts. She hoped he would tap his deeply hidden, inner badass for the read-through. If not, she could always give it to Lori who would probably snarl her way through it quite convincingly. She was more interested in how it flowed, and whether or not it made sense as a story. She didn’t need a Robert DeNiro performance out of them, but she did want them to try to make it sort of real-ish.

July 4th began with a pinky-peachy dawn and clear skies. Jorge had been in the kitchen since 5 a.m. preparing breakfast for their early-departing guests. Most of them were headed into Washington DC for the parades, the big party on the Mall, and the evening’s immense fireworks display set to a musical extravaganza that always included the 1812 Overture and it’s booming cannons. By 6 a.m. it was already 70 degrees and Shelly was glad that they would be sitting in, or near, the cooling water of the pool. There would be salad, lean burgers on whole wheat buns, and Lori’s fruit-filled, stupendously alcohol-laden sangria. Not spectacularly healthy, but it was a holiday and so Shelly was willing to indulge to celebrate the birth of her favorite nation. She went out to the patio and opened the umbrella over one of the round, glass-topped tables. It seated six, and there would be plenty of room for their paperwork, food, and drinks. Shelly had purchased a new bathing suit, and although she was still without a scale, she estimated that had lost almost forty pounds. She had developed an actual waist, of which she was very proud. The new suit had some sort of magical modern technology that made her look even slimmer, and she marveled at the advances of bathing suit design while she was trying them on in the over lit dressing room at the store. It sucked in at the middle, mashed down any unfortunate flab in the front, and lifted her butt and boobs to previously unforeseen heights. She looked less like an overstuffed muffin cup and more like a wonderfully curvy woman. Shelly had thoughtfully modeled it for Mr. Statham’s picture, and had spun repeatedly in front of the mirror trying to see all sides at once. Jorge had also gone out to get a new pair of swim trunks after reporting that his had fallen off and puddled around his ankles while he was preparing for the party yesterday. Shelly and Jorge were looking forward to showing off their noticeable progress to Lori and Vida, both of whom never needed to worry about making a bathing suit fit well.
The guests, two families with five children between them, were gone by 9:00, carrying the small American flags that Shelly had provided for the occasion. Jorge cleared the breakfast dishes from the tables in the big, formal dining room, tossed them in the dishwasher, changed the table linens, and flung them down the laundry chute that led to the basement. Shelly raced upstairs to replace wet towels, change sheets, make beds, and do a quickie vacuum job. She restocked the nuts and chocolates in each room, took the spent flowers out of their vases, and emptied the wastebaskets. Jorge swept the porch and the sidewalk, rearranged the red-white-and-blue bunting and flags, pulled a few stray weeds he had missed the day before, and watered the plants in their wicker baskets on the verandah. It was almost noon by the time they had done all their chores. Lori and Vida were expected at 1:00, and Shelly was nearly frantic with anticipation. She hadn’t told them that she was about to debut her masterpiece, and she was bursting with the news.
Lori and Vida pulled into the drive promptly at 1:00, reggae music blasting from the car. They were still singing even after shutting it off, and both of them carried overnight bags. Since the Inn wasn’t full, Shelly had invited them to stay over, fearing that Lori’s sangria would overpower all of them. Jorge had vowed to stay sober enough to deal with any late night guest requests, and had told Shelly that she was free to party. He knew that he had to get up early to make breakfast for thirteen people, and wasn’t too keen on trying use sharp knives, and concoct culinary greatness, with a vicious hangover. And Lori’s sangria was known for producing industrial quality headaches the next day.
They charged up the stairs, deposited their bags in the room they’d be sharing for the night – the lovely Rose Room – and still belting out an old Bob Marley tune, changed into their swimsuits. Shelly had laid out beach towels on the beds, and armed with sunscreen, sunglasses, hats, and coverups, they went down to the kitchen and out the back door to the pool. Vida had on flip-flops with huge rhinestones on the top, and a bright pink, but modest, bikini. She had put her long black hair up in a ponytail. Lori had chosen neon green kitten heels with ridiculously huge flowers that matched her outrageously tiny bikini. She had rolled her hair into a perfect chignon and secured it with a rhinestone comb. They claimed two chaise lounges at the the edge of the pool, went back in the kitchen to get the one of three huge pitchers of sangria, each holding a whole gallon of potables, and some glasses, and set up the drink station on the table. Jorge had uncovered the big gas grill, scrubbing it until it shone. Lori lifted the heavy lid to check his work.
“You could do surgery on this thing, Vida. Think you can get him to come to my house and clean my oven?”
“Fat chance. Although if you promise him he doesn’t have to go near the windows…never mind. After the whole rappelling incident there’s just no way he’s ever going back to your apartment in the sky,” Vida replied, laughing.
Shelly came out of the house to join them. She had on an old floppy men’s shirt that she had used for gardening. It hung nearly to her knees. On her head she wore a conical Chinese-style straw hat that one of her guests had bestowed on her after she politely commented how much she liked it. She hadn’t liked it all that much, but couldn’t find a nice way to refuse the gift. It was too large for her head and all Lori and Vida could see of her face was the bottom third of her face. Lori referred to it as her ‘Chin’ hat.
“Where did you get those goofy shoes, Shell?” Lori asked. “You‘d better not let Jason see you looking like that. He’ll run away screaming.”
Shelly glanced down at her feet. She was wearing royal purple and emerald green boat shoes with red laces. Compared to the footwear of her friends, they looked like circus clown attire. She kicked them off under the table.
“They’re not that bad are they? Although I can’t really imagine Mr. Statham screaming and running from anything.” She said, smiling.
They tried to picture the athletic, muscular Jason shrieking and flailing in an attempt to rid himself of the horrific sight of Shelly’s shoes. It reduced them all to fits of giggles.
“Damn!” Lori exclaimed, “And we haven’t even had our first drink.”
“You two might want to relocate to the other side of the pool,” Shelly advised. ”The side facing away from Jimmy and Kenny.” Shelly pointed to the two heads poking up over the top of the fence. “Especially you and your nearly invisible bathing suit,” she said to Lori.
“I worked hard for this body, Shell. Besides, the suit is lime green. A person could pick me out in heavy fog. You seriously don’t like the outfit?”
“I like it, and so do they. But they’ll be watching us all day if you don’t, and I don’t want to set a bad example – especially if we’re drinking.”
“Oh, all right,” Lori said, sort of grumpily. “I was thinking that I could be an inspiration. Shouldn’t they learn to appreciate us middle-aged girls? Hey, Vida, come over here and rub sunscreen on my back. Do it really suggestively, and I’ll moan with delight. That ought to make their day,” Lori said.
Vida laughed. “Are we going to kiss, and rub up on each other like cats?”
“Please don’t,” Shelly admonished. “I have no desire to talk to their parents this afternoon.”
A stern female voice called out from the yard next door. “You boys get down from that fence right now!” The two heads disappeared.
“Killjoy,” Lori said. She looked around. “Where’s Jorge?”
“He went to the store. We decided to be exquisitely lazy this afternoon, and that means you’ll be eating off of paper plates, and we didn’t have any,” Shelly replied.
“Oooh, standards are slipping. The guests get fine china and we get recyclables. Tacky, Shell. Very tacky,” Lori teased.
“Suck it up, babe,” Shelly replied, snickering.
“Watch it, Lori, Shelly’s feeling feisty. All that martial arts stuff is giving her high testosterone levels. She seems overly kick-ass today,” said Vida.
“We don’t have to wait for Jorge if you’d like a glass of sangria,” Shelly told them. “He’s only going to have one with dinner.”
“Sad for him. More for us,” Lori said cheerfully. “We’ll have our own little cabana boy to serve us while we sun and chat.”
“He cooks, too!” Vida chortled.
“You are a very lucky woman, Shell-face. Many of us would dearly love to have someone to cook, clean and serve all without ever having to sleep with him.” Lori commented. “Well done, I say,” she said in her best imitation of a plummy British accent.
They poured the rich, red sangria into three wineglasses and admired the color. Chunks of fruit settled gently to the bottom.
Glasses raised, they toasted the patriotic holiday, then arranged themselves on their chairs.
“Speaking of Mr. Statham…” Shelly began.
“Were we?” Lori interjected.
Shelly ignored her. “I want to ask you a favor.”
“Here we go again,” Lori said in disbelief. “What is it this time, Shell? Parachuting out of a perfectly good plane? Setting ourselves on fire? Or maybe you’ve contemplated taking up motorcycles, and we’ll all be chasing each other down the George Washington Parkway on Ducatis, which I’m sure will result in one of us flying off the edge and drowning in the Potomac.”
“None of the above, Lori. I want you to read my finished script,” Shelly replied proudly.
“You did it! Absolutely, fabulously, awesomely cool. Shell!” Vida said excitedly.
Lori squinted at her through narrowed eyes. “You’d better slow down, girl. That’s only your first glass,” she told Vida.
“I didn’t have any breakfast,” Vida grumbled.
Shelly got up and went into the house, returning with a plate of cheeses, an assortment of whole wheat crackers, and a small ceramic salad plate. She put a food tent over the platter to discourage bugs after Vida had gotten a sample of everything.
“I don’t just want you to read it. I thought that perhaps we could sort of act it out. There’s a copy for everyone and I’ve assigned you parts.” Shelly took the envelopes from the beach bag she had carried out to the pool.
They each took the envelope with their name on it and pulled out the script. The piles of papers were held together with office clips so they wouldn’t blow away in the light breeze. Vida looked at the flap of her envelope for her assignment.
“Wow! I’m Jay-Stay!” She was delighted.
“How come Jorge isn’t Jason?” Lori asked.
“I’ve given him the bad guy parts, so one of you has to be Mr. Statham.”
“And you picked her?”
“Hey, why not me?” Vida asked, irritated. She turned to Shelly. “Can I do his accent while I’m reading?”
“If you’d like. Lori, I made you the heroine and she has lots of lines,” Shelly said, trying to be conciliatory.
“Thanks for throwing me a bone. I just think that I’d be a better Jason than Vida.”
Shelly hadn’t thought that this would be a problem. Lori was always competitive, but why did she care who took Jason’s part in the screenplay? It was only a silly read-through. Lori was taking it far too seriously.
“We’re just going to read it and not do any acting. None of us brought our guns,” Shelly joked, hoping to smooth the waters.
Lori picked up a toy tug boat from the patio where it had been left by one of the guests. “We could do the chase scenes in the pool. We have our yacht,” she said, grinning. “Can we make gunfire and explosion noises when the time comes?”
“We’ll have to wait for Jorge, and then we can have ‘best Foley artist’ auditions,” Shelly laughed. She glanced at Lori, and thought that she still looked a bit miffed at not being Jason. Maybe another glass of sangria would calm her down.
The high summer sun had made Shelly too warm, so she stood and unbuttoned her oversized shirt, tossing it onto the patio.
“Holy Mother of a Vogue model, Shelly! When did you get that body?” Lori said with admiration.
“Shell, you look incredible. Look at your legs! And your shoulders,” Vida sputtered.
“And your everything,” Lori chimed in. “You’ve got good stuff” – she made circling motions around Shelly’s body – “going on here.”
“It’s the suit,” Shelly said modestly. “It’s got smoothing panels and lifty thingys in it.
“I double-dog guarantee you that it’s not the swimwear, Shell. That,” she said pointing at Shelly’s rear end, “can only be had through a lot of hard work. Your new lifestyle is paying off big time,” Lori said seriously. “Wait til Jason gets a look at you.”
“I didn’t do it so that Mr. Statham would notice me. I did it because he inspired me to challenge myself to be better.”
“Shelly, what was it exactly that you saw that night when we were watching the movie? What happened to you?” Vida asked, puzzled.
Shelly took a cracker covered with Tome Fontenay from Vida’s plate, and thought about the question.
“At first, when he took off his shirt, it was lust,” she began.
“Aha! I knew it!” cried Lori.
Shelly looked reprovingly at her over the top of her sunglasses.
“But later, after I went to bed, I wondered what makes a person, this man Mr. Statham – a man not much younger than me – want to live his life like that. Why doesn’t he just sit back and take it easy? He can act, and he didn’t look bad to begin with, but at some point he decided to take it to a whole other level. Why?”
“I always figured it was because the producers paid him to look a certain way for a particular role,” said Lori.
“If you look at the trajectory of his movies every one has bigger, badder stunts. If he didn’t work out the way he does he could get seriously injured. I thought he was doing it to avoid hospitalization,” Vida said.
“I thought about that, too. But now that I’m trying some of the same things that he does, even if it’s in a more moderate way, I think I’ve learned the reason.”
Vida and Lori leaned forward waiting for the revelation.
Shelly smiled at them. “He likes it.”
Lori and Vida looked at each other. Then they looked at Shelly.
“That’s it? That’s the life lesson we’re supposed to take away from all of this craziness? ‘He likes it’? Lori asked, incredulous.
“Yes. This has been so much fun. We’re doing things we’ve never done before, and it’s exciting. And…” she paused, running her hands over her new, slimmer waist, “look at the results.”
Lori pondered this.
“So you’re saying that your boy Jason is a narcissistic, thrill-seeking, adrenaline-addled crazy man with a hefty side of sado-masochistic ideology?”
“No! Not at all,” Shelly said flustered. “What I am trying to say is…” she paused searching for the right words. “Every time I do something out of my ordinary routine, something so unusual that I might not have ever considered it, it makes me want to do…more.”
“Like what?” Vida asked warily.
“You know that car course they offer down in Virginia – the one where you learn to use the hand brake to spin yourself around in the road? The stunt driving course. I might try that.”
Lori groaned and put her hand over her eyes.
“I’ve also been thinking about getting my hair straightened and wearing contacts,” she hurried to reassure them.
“Ok, there’s a ‘new thing’I can live with,” Lori said enthusiastically. “I”ll call the salon tomorrow. We could all go and get make-up makeovers, too.”
They had a few more crackers and cheese, and refilled the sangria glasses.
“So Shelly…if you ever did get to meet Jay-Stay what would you do?” Vida asked. She had moved to the pool and was sitting on the side dangling her feet in the turquoise water.
Shelly had thought long and hard about that question, many times. Most often right before she went to sleep. She had imagined shaking his hand, or meeting in an office, or having lunch discussing her screenplay, and entire conversations that always seemed to center on her asking him a lot of questions and Mr. Statham making monosyllabic replies. His single word rejoinders had taken on the sleep-inducing monotony of counting sheep. She was not about to share this dubious fantasy with her friends.
“I think that I would say ‘thank you’,” Shelly said. “I hope he would say that he liked my script.”
“What about you Lori? What would you say to Jay-Stay?” Vida flicked a few fingerfuls of water at Lori who was reviewing her part in the screenplay.
“Hmmmm. Assuming he had read this damn thing,” she said waving the pages, “I would probably suggest to him that the very least he could do after all of Shelly’s efforts to give him a good story that would in turn become a box-office smasheroo, would be to take her out somewhere nice for dinner. But, I want to thank him, too. Whatever inspired her – his naked body or his other…mysterious attributes,” Lori sighed, “you can’t argue with the success that it’s brought. Shelly’s thinner, healthier, and far happier than I’ve seen her in a very long time. She….sparkles.”
“And you Vida? What would you say to Mr. Statham?” Shelly asked.
Vida giggled. “I’d say, ‘Jay-Stay ole buddy,” Lori and Shelly began to laugh, “Jay-Stay, you don’t know it, but you are responsible for great things.” She pointed to Lori, “You are responsible for my friend over there leaping off a mountain, and meeting a really cute guy who just so happens to look a lot like you.” She pointed at Shelly. “And you are totally responsible for her new figure and the bruises on her fanny, due to getting her tushie whipped every other day in tae-kwon do.” Shelly and Lori were doubled over, whooping with laughter. “And as for me, you are responsible for the romance I have developed with the newest class of anti-aircraft misslery, and if I get my promotion, I’ll even kiss your stubbly, unshaven, glowering face. And, oh yeah, thank you.”
“Wow, Vida,” Lori gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. “He’ll be rendered speechless in the presence of our gratitude. By the way, ‘fanny’ in British means ‘vagina’. You might want to talk about Shelly’s bum, instead.”
“Noted. I’d hate to talk about Shelly’s privates when I’m trying so hard for sincerity.”
“I’m starting to think that maybe it’s best that none of us ever get near the poor man,” Shelly said, still chuckling.
Vida stood up and walked back to the loungers. They heard voices and looked up to see Jimmy and Kenny back on the fence staring at them.
“Hey Miss Shelly, looking good!” Jimmy called out.
“Thank you, Jimmy” Shelly replied politely.
“How old is that future perv?” Lori asked.
“He’s twelve. But in porn years he’s around twenty-seven. Kenny is ten and following closely in the footsteps of his older brother.” Shelly frowned at them and made a motion for them to get down from the fence. They ignored her.
“Vida, have you learned any cool new moves in class lately?” Lori asked, a wicked grin on her face. “Maybe you could do a demonstration.” Lori had decided to give Jimmy and his little brother something to talk about.
“We’ve been doing some stuff with poles that’s kind of nifty.”
“Stripper poles?” Lori teased.
Vida walked over to the garden beside the grill and picked up a rake. She twirled in hand-over-hand like a baton major in a fancy regiment.
“Poles like these. Staffs. Weapons,” she answered.
Lori went over to the back porch and grabbed the broom that Jorge had been using earlier.
“Show me what you got, sister,” Lori said.
“Right now, we’re just using plain ones. But there are some that have spears or short swords on the ends,” she said. Vida held the rake sideways across her middle. Lori kicked off her shoes and held her broom with one end slightly raised.
“Maybe you should do that away from the furniture,” Shelly suggested.
They went out into the yard. Jimmy and Kenny relocated from their uncomfortable perch on the fence to a thick limb of the magnolia tree that hung over the garden, and watched as the two women squared off. This was much more interesting than anything going on in their back yard.
“What are they doing, Miss Shelly?” Jimmy called out.
“Nothing, boys. They’re, um, practicing. It’s only for fun,” Shelly said with her fingers crossed behind her back to erase the lie. “They won’t hurt each other. You should get down from there before your mother sees you.” Shelly didn’t want any witnesses if the fight got out of control and someone got hurt.
Vida took a step forward and gently clacked the rake against the handle of Lori’s broom. Lori dropped the left end of the broom down and hit the rake close to Vida’s hand. Vida looked surprised. Lori had used more force, and it would have stung had she missed the rake and gotten Vida’s wrist.
“Oh, ho! So you really want to play it that way, huh?”
“Maybe we’ll just see who’s really the better Jason,” Lori said, jabbing her broom at Vida’s hip.
Vida kicked her sandals off to one side.
“I am so going to kick your tall, Amazon ass,” Vida threatened.
“Here I am,” Lori replied.
Shelly was becoming alarmed. “Girls, play nice,” she cautioned nervously.
Vida lunged forward bringing up the end of the rake handle as she tried to dislodge Lori’s grip on the broom. Lori feinted to the right, turning the broom vertically so that Vida would miss. The rake caught her on the elbow and Lori grimaced.
Vida smiled sweetly at her and said, “No blood, no foul.”
“No blood! No blood, please,” Shelly pleaded.
“We’re just goofing around, Shell,” Lori said. Before the last word was out of her mouth she took a huge step to the left so that she was facing Vida and swung the top of the broom handle down onto the rake. She then quickly spun to the right and walloped Vida on her rear end with the ratty straw broom. A piece of the golden grass came loose, sticking in the bottom of her suit. Vida reached around to pull it out and stop it from poking her.
“There’s plenty more where that came from from,” Lori said cheerfully.
Vida grunted in reply. She suddenly crouched low, taking a vicious sweep at Lori’s shins. Lori dipped the broom handle down just in time to avoid getting hit. The handles came together with a mighty cracking sound. Vida hadn’t done a very competent follow-through, so Lori took the opportunity to step on the rake blades and pin the garden implement to the ground and Vida’s left hand along with it. Mockingly, Lori patted Vida a few times on the head with the broom’s straw end. Then she took her foot off the rake fan to let Vida stand up. Shelly could hear Kenny snickering up in the tree.
“I think you should give Jason’s part to me,” Lori said.
“Uh-uh. I’m Jay-Stay, so get over it,” Vida replied angrily.
Lori shrugged. “Ok, if you haven’t had enough of this yet….”
They faced each other again. Both of them looked very determined and rather dangerous. Shelly tried to tempt them back to their chairs with an offer of more sangria, but gave up when they firmly chorused, “no way”.
Lori had decided to put a swift end to this skirmish. She brought the handle of her disintegrating broom down as fast as she could toward Vida’s shoulder. Vida held her rake up high with her hands far apart as the rake came crashing near her head. Kenny and Jimmy yelled delighted encouragement from the safety of their branch. Shelly wasn’t sure if they were more excited by the fighting, or the sight of two scantily-clad women, breasts and rear ends jiggling attractively as they sparred. She thought it was probably a combination of the two.
“Get down from there this instant!” Shelly yelled at them. They continued to ignore her.
A flurry of strikes that made the wooden handles ring had Shelly turning her attention back to the combatants. Teeth bared and snarling, Lori and Vida looked crazed. Neither of them was willing to give in, and they were huffing with the exertion. Luckily, none of their blows had landed hard enough to do damage. But slowly, little Vida was backing the much taller Lori toward the pool. Lori’s long reach was no match for Vida’s short, faster strikes, and she was forcing Lori to give ground. Shelly nearly swooned with relief when she heard Jorge’s car pull into the drive.
Jorge couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His sister and Lori were beating each other with sticks! He leapt from the car, groceries forgotten, and ran to the girls.
“Stop it!” he shouted. “Right now!”
But Vida and Lori were too focused on what they were doing to listen. When Jorge saw that they had no intention of quitting he did the first thing that came mind.
He tackled both of them into the pool.
All three came up sputtering and coughing. The rake sank to the bottom, but the lighter broom floated just below the surface. Lori’s bikini top went askew, revealing one very erect nipple. From the magnolia tree Jimmy and Kenny cheered happily at the sight. She wrestled the top back into place and glared at them. Vida’s suit stayed in place, but her sunglasses sank to the bottom of the pool near the drain. Jorge dived down to get them, and then retrieved the garden tools hauling them to the side. He flung them out onto the concrete and pulled himself up out of the water. Lori and Vida swam to the shallow end and climbed out using the steps. They stood by the handrail looking at each other. Lori’s mascara was running down her cheeks, and Vida’s hair hung across her face. They began to laugh.
“Wow, girl. I guess you’ve learned some good moves,” Lori said chuckling.
“For someone who hasn’t learned any at all, you did a fine job,” Vida congratulated her.
When Jorge wheeled around to confront the two boys they vanished with startling quickness. He found himself staring at nothing but an empty space in the leaves. Shelly went over to the two women to see if they were all right. Jorge peeled his wet shirt from his torso and threw it on a lounger and stood panting with frustration.
The three girls stood together in speechless amazement at what they were seeing. Jorge’s former flab had hardened into rock. His pecs and abdominal muscles stood out as thought they were airbrushed onto his body. His full shoulders and thick biceps glistened with drops of pool water and his caramel skin glowed in the afternoon light.
Lori walked slowly over to him, her eyes taking in every inch of his chiseled body. She reached out and ran her hand lightly down his chest. He slapped it away, his face still dark with anger.
“Damn, Jorge,” she said admiringly. “Why couldn’t you have been born a straight man?”
Vida looked stunned at her brother’s progress. Her mouth hung open and she finally gave a little shake and shut it with a snap. He hadn’t looked this good – ever. Even when he was younger his muscle tone hadn’t been as defined. She saw him with an entirely new appreciation, and suspected that a whole lot of men would be just thrilled to be seen with Jorge. His dating days and nights were about to get very busy.
Shelly gasped. Jorge, although shorter and more barrel-chested, had created the same body she so admired on Mr. Statham. She couldn’t stop staring at his…everything. She gazed in wonder at her dear, gay friend and grinned. Although Shelly and Jorge were folks who lived under the same roof they were basically modest people and practiced a certain amount of decorum. Neither of them were prone to parade about in their underwear, so she hadn’t been able to see the changes. Even if he wasn’t interested in women she fervently hoped that he’d at least do her the favor of walking around the yard with his shirt off more frequently. He could be her living, breathing, private Hispanic version of Mr. Statham. Jorge had become a very beautiful man.
The three women walked slowly around him as thought they were assessing the qualities of a prize steer. His back was as impressive as the front. Without warning they flung themselves at him hugging and laughing his dripping form. He sighed and submitted gracefully, finally hugging them back and smiling at their happiness.
When they released him, Jorge grabbed a towel and vigorously rubbed his head to dry his hair. Lori and Vida did the same. Lori’s neat chignon now hung limply down her back, the comb caught in it like bird in a net. Vida pawed at her own locks trying to restore some semblance of order.
Watching the play of his muscles under his skin as he toweled off, Lori asked, “Um…would you mind not putting your shirt on right away? It’s a really sexy view.”
Jorge blushed furiously, but made no move to put it on. He was rather enjoying the flattery and attention. He had worked hard, denied himself his favorite foods with great discipline, and Jorge believed that he looked better. But he hadn’t expected that it would set his female friends to drooling over him like they were eyeballing a piece of filet mignon or a box of truffles. It was disconcerting, but very, very nice. He could see that Vida was proud of him and that was the best of all. When he caught Lori staring at him again he flexed a little, struck a body builder’s pose, and she winked, giving him a thumbs up.

14.

While Shelly, Vida and Lori took swim in the pool, less of a swim and more of a splash-fest, Jorge went into the kitchen to get the salad and burgers from the refrigerator. He had combined the spinach, fresh peaches, and jalapeños early in the morning so that the flavors would have time to meld. He sprinkled some Old Bay on top and tossed it vigorously. Sticking the big spoon and fork into the bowl, and two more bug tents under one arm, he carried everything outside and deposited it on the table. When Jorge lit the grill it gave off a whooosh, and the women applauded from their blow-up rafts in the pool. He went back in to fetch the Old Bay, buns, plastic forks, and paper plates, this time putting a roll of paper towels under his arm. After unloading his burdens, he took the pitcher of sangria, and waded out to the rafts to refill glasses. So far no one had dumped their drink into the pool – a minor miracle considering how much booze they’d had. He returned the pitcher to the table and went back in the water to apply sunscreen to everyone’s back. Jorge climbed out, checked the grill’s temperature, and put the burgers on.
“You have about 10 minutes before we eat,” he warned.
Lori paddled over to Shelly and Vida, her glass tipping precariously.
“I can’t get over how good it looks out here, Shelly,” she said, nodding towards Jorge’s back. “Women always joke about doing the gardner, and if I had a gardner that looked like that…” she trailed off wistfully. She turned to Vida. “Are you sure he’s not even a little bit bisexual?” she asked.
“He hasn’t shown any inclination in that direction, so probably not. But if he wasn’t my gay brother….damn, he does look good,” she admitted.
“When he goes out to the bars he’s going to have to fight them off with a machete,” Shelly said, snickering.
“Can you imagine what Jay-Stay goes through when he goes out in public?” Vida asked. “All that attention, no privacy. We could go to a nude beach any time we want and no one would give us a second glance. But if he tried it someone would immediately take his picture and put it up on the internet. Then people would make comments about his junk on the message boards.”
“Yeah, troll comments,” Lori added. “It wouldn’t matter if he was supremely endowed. Someone would write something mean-spirited.”
“Here’s what I wonder…” Shelly began.
“If he’ll hug you when you hand him the script?’ Lori said, giggling.
“Noooo….I wonder how he knows when he meets a person for the first time, whether or nor not that person is just interested in him because he’s famous, or if it’s because he’s a nice man? It must be kind of sucky.”
“Ooooh, Shell’s wasted. She said ‘sucky’,” Vida laughed. She pointed at Shelly. “Potty mouth.”
Shelly kicked the bottom of Vida’s raft, trying to dump her into the water. She missed, and nearly flipped over. Sangria and fruit floated away.
Standing by the grill, Jorge smiled indulgently. He was going to have to drag all three from the pool and get some food into them very soon, or they’d be asleep before nightfall.
“Nobody has anything to gain by hanging out with us,” Lori said, musing. “How does he know? It’s not like a black aura suddenly appears around them, or the word ‘asshole’ pops up on their foreheads.”
“Maybe you’d develop a sixth sense about people’s intentions after awhile. Or maybe, you don’t ever really trust anyone ever again,” Vida said sadly.
“Except the people you’ve known for a long time. Before fame attacked,” Shelly replied. “I’d trust all of you, ‘cause you know me now and I’m not famous.” She raised her glass to clink a salute to old friends, and realized it was empty.
“Oh, Cabana Boy!” Lori sang out. “Sadness occurring in the pool! Sangria emergency!”
“Come up out of there. It’s time to eat.” Jorge was setting the table. “Then I’ll give you refills.”
They paddled to the steps, ditched the rafts, and sloshed to the table, arms around each other for balance. As they plopped into their seats, Jorge poured another round.
“Jorge, your’e not bi, are you?” Lori asked. Jorge started and spilled some of the sangria in her lap.
“No. Have some salad,” he said firmly, setting the bowl in front of her.
“Just checking. One never knows…”
“I know. Burger?” he offered.
“It’s all about the meat, eh Jorge?”
“If you do not stop immediately I’ll put my shirt back on.”
Lori heeded the suggestion and started eating.
“After dinner,” said Shelly, waving a fork with salad on it in her friends’ general direction, “I would like us all to read through the screenplay. If we could manage to hold off on the sangria for a little while, it would be greatly appreciated.”
Jorge jumped up and went around the table to hug Shelly. “Congratulations! You did it,” he exclaimed.
“You’re portraying all of the bad guys, Jorge,” Lori said. “Vida gets to be Jason.” She smiled kindly at her former opponent.
“Why can’t I be Jason?” Jorge asked.
Shelly groaned. Why did everyone suddenly need to be Mr. Statham? It was simply a first reading.
“Let’s just get through this once. And if we have to do it again I’ll reassign your parts. Then each of you will get to be Mr. Statham. Please?” Shelly begged.
Jorge shrugged. “Sure Shelly. I only mentioned it because I’m a man and so is he.”
“Apparently, having a penis doesn’t count in Shelly’s world,” Vida giggled.
Jorge got up, and went to the kitchen to clean the sangria pitcher. He refilled it with water and ice before carrying it back outside.
When everyone had finished their burgers, the tableware had been disposed of, and red Solo cups of icewater were distributed, Shelly handed Jorge his script.
“This is quite impressive, Shelly,” he remarked, thumbing through the pages. It looks very professional.”
“Thank you Jorge. I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out. What we’re trying to accomplish at this moment is to see if it makes sense, or if it sounds stilted and odd. It should sound like the way ordinary people speak to one another.”
Lori laughed.”You mean ordinary people who blow up yachts and shoot each other into oblivion?”
“Those would be the ones, yes,” Shelly grinned. “Jorge, it would help if you could sound menacing, and Vida it would help if you sounded…”
“British and Jason-y?” Vida supplied.
“Well, let’s just go with sincere,” Shelly replied. “Lori, you were in Drama Club in high school, so you probably won’t need any of my suggestions.”
“I hope I fare better than most of the females in his movies. They get discarded faster than used toilet paper,” Lori commented.
“This one actually sticks around until the end. They don’t exactly ride off into the sunset together, but at least she doesn’t meet a horrible, grisly fate,” Shelly said.
The next hour and a half flew by quickly. Occasionally, Shelly would stop them so that she could take notes or mark her copy with a big red pen. They made gunfire noise, groaned theatrically while getting shot or dying, and when it came time for the yacht to explode they all joined in to create a huge series of ongoing explosions that brought Jimmy and Kenny back to their favorite place on the fence. Jorge was having so much fun he didn’t even bother to yell at them.
When they were finished with the read through, Jorge trotted into the house for a second pitcher of sangria. Glasses full, they toasted Shelly’s masterpiece, her new-found waistline, Jorge’s pecs, and their wonderful friendships. As the twilight deepened the shadows, firecrackers began to pop throughout the neighborhood. Jorge went to his car and returned with packages of giant sparklers in red, white and blue. Shelly phoned Jimmy and Kenny’s parents to invite the boys over for their own, private celebration. The adults joined the children running excitedly in the yard, laughing and waving the spitting rods over their heads, drawing pictures of light with their motions. After the boys went home, the four friends sat around the table having another glass of fruity cocktails and listening to the bigger, community fireworks off in the distance. The faint booms were sometimes accompanied by a higher-than-usual chrysanthemum burst of red or gold that appeared over the top of the fence and the trees, and they would applaud and cheer the sight. Fireflies winked in the darkest recesses by the garden walls, providing a calmer, stately show as the insects searched for a mate. Eventually, tired, drunk, and happy, the women helped Jorge carry the remains of the meal and libations into the kitchen. They sat for awhile around the big, oak country table joking about the screenplay and making wildly inappropriate suggestions to Shelly about changing some of the action. Most of them were in the vein of Mr. Statham having more adventurous sex with his co-star. Shelly blushed and demurred, trying unsuccessfully to not picture the things that they were describing.
Near midnight, the guests returned from Washington. The two fathers carried sleeping youngsters in their arms, their wives close behind with the other bleary-eyed children in tow. Tiny American flags and bursting fireworks designs had been painted on their cheeks, and one stumbling child clutched all of the cloth flags that Shelly had given them in his fist. Jorge swept up the tired, grumpy flag bearer and carried him up the stairs to his parent’s room. He asked the guests if they needed anything, and when they declined, Jorge went back to the kitchen to join the women, who were fading as fast as the little kids. Shelly, Lori, and Vida kissed him goodnight and climbed the stairs to their rooms carrying their hats, and beach bags. As Shelly undressed in her bathroom, still too shy to be naked in front of Mr. Statham’s picture, she thought about what her next move would be, briefly and drunkenly contemplating getting the screenplay to his agent. She sighed, realizing that she was in no shape to be doing any sort of planning, and decided to leave it til the morning.
Before she got into bed, she stood in front of Mr. Statham’s picture, and smiled.
“Happy Fourth of July, Mr. Statham. I hope you had as much fun as we did tonight,” she slurred. “By the way, I’m coming to Hollywood. See you soon.”

15.

Everyone slept in the next morning, so Shelly and Jorge didn’t get up until 7:00 am. The guests had requested the late serving for breakfast, and wouldn’t be downstairs in the dining room for another two hours. The roommates had time for quiet coffee, and in Shelly’s case, aspirin. Jorge whipped up a batch of Navy bread, a cake-like rich pudding popular in near-by Annapolis, and put it in the oven to bake. He sliced fresh fruit, and made butter rounds with his melon-baller, then placed them back in the refrigerator to stay cold. Shelly doled out maple syrup from a gallon jug into smaller, crystal pitchers that would sit on the tables, and together they laid out the linens and silverware. By the time they were done, Vida and Lori had joined them in the kitchen. They helped themselves to the coffee and aspirin.
After fortification with at least two cups of coffee each, Lori set down her mug and looked at Shelly, who recognized that expression immediately. The interrogation was about to commence.
“So Shell-face, what now?” Lori asked.
“Well, we have to serve breakfast to the guests. And then we’ll clean up,” Shelly replied innocently.
Lori was not dissuaded. “You know that’s not what I mean. Now that the screenplay is done, or almost done, what is the next step?”’
“We have to get it into the hands of Jay-Stay’s agent,” Vida said.
“And that will be accomplished how, exactly?”
The four of them looked at each other. No one said anything.
“I see,” Lori commented after a long silence. “There is no plan. Does anyone have an idea or suggestion to offer?”
The only sound was the ice maker in the refrigerator dropping cubes into the freezer’s bin.
“Lovely,” Lori exclaimed with false cheer. “Apparently a war council is in order. Everyone get their calendars and let’s regroup in Shelly’s office. Ten minutes, gang.” The others sighed, but knew better than to resist.
Vida and Lori went upstairs to their room, located their phones, and headed back down the hall. On the way back they paused outside the bedrooms of their fellow lodgers. There were sounds of slow awakening, and water was running in one of the bathrooms. When they returned to the kitchen, Shelly and Jorge were waiting for them in the office, calendar displayed on the computer monitor.
“We’ve got enough time. They’re just now getting up,” Vida reported.
It would be a little more than three weeks before their schedules meshed.
Lori was going to be tied up in court with the obnoxious McNaughton siblings, Shelly and Jorge were booked solid at the Inn. Vida was being sent out of town for a training conference which made Lori mutter something about consorting with arms dealers. They determined a time, and marked their calendars for the last Sunday afternoon in July, with a rain date for the first Sunday in August.
“In the meantime, I will compile a list of Jason’s people,” Lori said, making notes to herself on her phone. “That will include his agent, his manager, and I’ll try to find out which security firm they use to escort his fuzzy ass around. Once I get the addresses of the offices, I’ll try to find a way to get the specs on each building. One of them may be easier to get into than the other.” She looked at Shelly sternly. “I trust that while I am doing this, you will endeavor to get an actual appointment with these folks, so that we won’t need any of this crap. It would be best if we could do this in a legitimate, legal fashion with no need for extracurricular activities that could result in our incarceration. I’ll text you the info.”
Shelly gulped. Suddenly, the notion of writing a script for Mr. Statham had never seemed more ludicrous. What had she been thinking?
“I…I – I don’t know if I can do this,” Shelly stammered.
Jorge and Vida gaped at her in stunned disbelief.
“I beg your pardon?” Lori asked pleasantly, cocking her head to one side and smiling.
Shelly had also seen that expression before. It was the calm that came just before the tornado touched down and leveled everything in its path, leaving a wide wake of destruction.
“Umm…maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe it’s one of those better-as-a-fantasy things,” she said nervously, waiting for Lori to pounce.
“Oh no. No, no, no. You are not going to pull that shit. You have been dragging all of us up and down Crazy Street for months.” Lori pointed her cell phone at Shelly’s head like a gun. “You do not get to back out now.”
“Shelly, it’s good,” Vida said. “The screenplay is good. It’s something we would go to the movies to see. I’m telling you the truth. Please don’t quit,” she pleaded.
Voices drifted in from the dining room. Shelly took the opportunity to flee.
Jorge, Vida and Lori stood in the office wondering what had happened.
“Jorge, talk to her,” Lori commanded. “The script is really not bad. There’s certainly worse drivel being shown at the theatre and on cable, these days. Don’t let her do this. She’s got a chance.”
“Once she gets over being scared, she’ll never forgive herself for not trying” Vida said quietly. “Then what will happen to her?”
Jorge looked at them. Vida’s face was suffused with sadness. Lori had a strange feral grin like a large, predatory cat about to devour the villagers’ livestock. He stared down at the floor for a moment.
“All right. This isn’t over.” He shoved his index finger under Lori’s nose. “But you’re going to let me handle it. Promise?”
Lori crossed her heart. “I promise,” she swore.
“For now, we will go into the dining room and have a civilized, friendly meal. I’ll talk to her later today after you leave. I think it’ll be easier with just the two of us, ok?”
Vida and Lori agreed and went out to join the other diners. Jorge paused in the doorway, leaning his head against the casing. He didn’t have a clue what he would say to Shelly to change her mind, no idea of what could do to persuade her.
But he was damn well going to try.