Season 2 Chapter 14

I sat in the solemn confines of Nell Tanner’s office, alone, which flooded me with memories of grade school and the countless times I was sent from one class to another, testing the wills and willpower of teachers who’d never realized the daunting task of trying to control me fell under their public school employment parameters. The nervous breakdown of Miss Carmichael may have been attributed to her husband’s infidelities with her sister, and Mr. Grogan’s massive heart implosion might have had a link to his all sodium, high meat diet, but I am convinced my wild, youthful antics were exacerbating those circumstances greatly, just like how Dr. Roberts eventually lost the god he’d found after giving up the bottle, which I’d drove him back to.

The principal was acutely aware of my existence, moving up the grades and making regular visits to his office to discuss my “troubles”. “Sheldon,” Mr. Firkiss would say, hardly surprised to see me on the other side of his desk, “what brings you back to my office,” which was my cue to hand him the folded note whatever teacher had enough of me. I would watch Mr. Firkiss as he silently read the recounting of what I’d done from the biased viewpoint of the authoritarian figures who felt outmatched and outwitted by a child. After a while, even the most rebellious and obnoxious things hardly raised an eyebrow, and he’d just lower the page and take of his half-moon reading glasses, and look at me curiously.

“You see, Jim, I think ________ has it all wrong,” I would say.

Mr. Firkiss would stare disapprovingly, and use my name in reprimand. “Sheldon.”

“”Oh, sorry…James,” I corrected myself.

And true to our roles, Mr. Firkiss would slip past exasperation immediately to save himself the energy of getting worked up, review the charges and somehow be moved to exonerate me of my actions, which I usually owned up to with pride, but with an explanation for what I’d done.

“Let me understand this Sheldon…he was going to touch your, ah, privates.

“That’s possible, sir. Or touch me which his.”

“I see.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that was before or after you pushed Padraic.”

“That was before.”

“And why did you push him?”

“To distract him while I got away.”

“So when he had his back turned and was using the urinal, you decided to push him.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“He peed all over himself because of that, you know.”

I did, and I had to fight every urge not to laugh. That was the whole point of it, to make Padraic Donnelly piss himself. That little shit was giving me all kinds of grief with his buddy Matithias Evans and all it took was one last remark in the bathroom to make me lose my cool. What was he going to do, tell the angry parents that this piss-covered son was possibly threatening other students with molestation? No, they were already displeased, and he didn’t want the headache of dealing with me any longer than he had to.

“My mother told me not to let anybody touch my special privates,” I told him confidently. Of course, I’d rebel against that whole idea in high school. Shit, I’d even paid a few people to do that in my time. So I’d be sent home for the rest of the day, and Padraic would have to wait for a dry pair of pants to be brought from home.

Nell walked in hurriedly, breaking my daydream of grade school disobedience. She was wearing a red strapless evening gown, though it was hardly past noon. It was an Oscar de la Renta number (a $5700 red duchess satin strapless draped gown to be precise) that clung to her slim frame, exactly how they’d designed it to, and her typically hardened shell gave the ensemble even more of display-like quality, a mannequin with a familiar face. She didn’t address the fact she was completely done up nor bat at my far simpler twill pants and reprinted (and overpriced compared to the original) The Who 1979 tour shirt.

“I have to be brief about this Sheldon, and cover these three things…”

She didn’t bother to sit down, but took some index-sized cards out from a desk drawer and leafed through them rapidly.

“I’ve reviewed your first engagement from last week, and though I regret not being there to observe as I do with most of out new speakers, judging by the response cards, you did better than I’d expected. I would, however, like to see you learn to keep that sharp tongue of yours off the language that teachers and school administrators would find unbecoming of a speaker. Being professional means being precise with not just how you say something, but what you’re saying. Clean it up, please,” she emphasized the request, which was more of a command.

She continued, “I know you’re looking for more than just pep talks with pre-pubescents, and that’s not my plan for you here Sheldon, but you need some minor league experience before I send you up to play with the heavy hitters. We’ll start to get you up there after another positive showing at El Camino.”

She put the cards back, but I caught a momentary glance, seeing columns of check marks and ratings. Nell kept going, “In a few months, there’ll be one of the biggest industry shows and I want you to come to it. It’s called Talking Heads, and every year, we take two or three speakers out to get a chance to deal with our clients face to face. There will be hundreds of speakers presenting, and thousands of companies there, all looking for information on our speakers and potentially using our services. A lot of it is public relations and image, but there have been several clients we’ve managed to acquire, not because our materials have the fanciest font or our booklets are on the glossiest paper. It’s about impressing them when they take a few moments to see us, and standing out from all the faces and business cards they get. And I believe you can do that.”

“Finally,” she said, leaning against her desk in from of me, “there is a small matter with Artie Rosen to address.” I was surprised to hear her mention him and certainly hadn’t been bridging the two worlds. “He seems to think that while you’re - how should I say this, in absentia from your past duties on television, that he is entitled to certain interest in your activities. I do understand your relationship with him is far longer and intimate than you and I, but knowing your situation as I now do, you are still, as you have been, employed by my company at will – your own a much as through mine. I tell you all of this because Mr. Rosen is foolishly thinking about legal action for what he thinks is a cut of your earnings, though a letter from our legal representatives will certainly crush those thoughts. He is, and will remain your agent in the same capacity he has always been, and if you choose to seek employment in other forums and mediums, that is your choice. But as long as you are part of our agency, I will be looking after and taking care of you as I do the rest of my company. I know that you will eventually have a choice to make about your time and direction, and even if you plan to take your career back into familiar territory, it does not necessarily mean our business is complete. I just wanted you to hear it from me before you heard something from him. I’m sure he misses the opportunity to utilize your talents, but had he had the slightest involvement in our business together, he’d have already been handsomely compensated. I do hope that if he does bring this up, you will refrain from discussing it with him, for legal reasons of course.”

That diabolical grin of hers came out again and she have a slight adjustment to a silver stem hair that dared violate her eyeline, neatly correcting it to above her brow. She stood and made her departure. “Best of luck at El Camino next week, Sheldon.”

I couldn’t keep pace with her, but saw the well dressed man waiting for her in the reception area. He must have been half her age, and in contrast to her fair completion, he was bronzed like the beaches in Italy he likely called home. Peter was out there, also admiring Nell’s beautiful companion, envious as hell.

“I wish I could do half the things to him she’s going to,” Peter said staring at the elevator doors after closing with them inside.

I too was staring at the elevators. “Where’s the boss lady off to?

“Dinner. In the Mediterranean.”

“Sure. Of course,” I said marveling at the incredibly decadent yet fitting nature of it. “If I wanted Italian for dinner, I’d do the same as her.”

---

I wish that I didn’t possess need to care about how I came across to my ex, but I think that it’s unavoidable, even for somebody as cocky and carefree (or is that careless) as myself. For six days I was watching what I ate, getting at least eight hours of sleep, and walking the neighborhood in the morning and evening. Fran laughed at me when I told him my regimen, and then laughed even harder when I mentioned my next talking engagement which would take me in front of Joanie Knapp, who for 27 months turbulently made her way into my heart. And through it. Mother was a little more pleased by my activities, and though I did omit the small part about having to see Joanie, it was satisfying to be taking better care of myself and telling my mother so.

When the day came to head into the San Fernando Valley and conquer the Conquistadors at El Camino Real, I told myself to just treat it like any other day, even though I had been planning for it to be anything but. I followed the directions Sunday had provided and parked in the smaller of the parking lots reserved for faculty and visitors, leaving my black blazer in the back seat until arriving to avoid wrinkling and putting it over my white button down and deep indigo jeans – what is the standard Hollywood-type uniform. Were the jeans and coat dry cleaned before this occasion? Goddamn right they were!

The main entrance was on the boulevard side of the school, where the multi-lane road was bordered only by shrubs and foliage, decorating the cinderblock walls that ran the length of the street. On the other side were a maze of streets and cul-de-sacs, snaking down the slight hills and surrounding the campus with a subdivision of ranch style houses that predated the school itself by a good decade. As I walked into the corridor bridging the administration with a building that I determined housed the arts judging by the choral students practicing, I was not at all gently illuminated with the myriad sporting and scholastic accomplishments the high school had garnered in its 40 years. Rah rah, school sprit!

The first office I saw I entered, and the elderly woman filing papers kindly rang the principal, who in turn sent a student to take me to my destination du jour.

“So,” I asked the young girl who was playing hall monitor for me, “are you in the class I’m talking to today?”

“No, I just have the administrators as an elective this period,” she replied, lisping her S on account of the hardware in her mouth.

“You can take that as a class?”

“Sure, you can do almost anything for credits if you have the open slots. All I had to do is take trig at summer school so I could use the period to do the elective. It’s for my transcript. I do, like two clubs a day to pump it up.”

“I didn’t realize that things got so competitive since I graduated.”

“Oh, when was that,” she asked innocently.

“How old are you?”

“I’m sixteen.”

“Way before you were even born.”

“Yeah, I figured. Okay, you’re here,” she said, stopping in front of a closed classroom door that was up a flight of stairs, a corridor, and a T-intersection from where we’d started. She pulled a sticker off a roll with the school logo on it, offering it up.

“Keep that on so they know you’re a cleared visitor. Otherwise school security could shoot you.”

“This is the Valley, not South Central.”

“Yeah, but you sure don’t look like a teacher. You look like a casting agent.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Duh, it’s the Valley. They make porn movies over in Chatsworth.”

I smiled politely at the warning, and put the sticker on my breast pocket. Through the small window I peered into the classroom, which was empty, but entered anyway, knowing I was a few minutes earlier than scheduled.

---

“Look what the cat threw up.”

Shit. Joanie.

“Dragged in. And I believe it was your cat that constantly turned everything into a puke ball. I see you’re still sweet after all these years. Come to watch me address this class, or planning to incite a riot?”

”I’m sure you’re still able to start a riot on your own. I’m just here to see what’s become of you Sheldon.”

“If only you hadn’t cancelled your fan club membership you’d still receive The Sheldon Quarterly and know my every move.”

“Still charming as ever. Even after almost 10 years.”

“Well, I guess I aged more like wine.”

“No, I think you’re vinegar. That’s what in a douche bag.”

I met her crocodile smile with my own even bigger, beaming false happiness.

“Oh you’re just like a melody…no bitterness.”

A bell rang and the hallways jumped to life with teens swimming through the crowd, stopping to talk or open lockers or navigate from point A to B.

“So, you’re looking well,” I commented to Joanie, who despite looking like an older version of the gal I once dated, wasn’t too different. I figured I’d only have to keep a little small talk going until the first few kids came in and then I could get on with the speechmaking. I was desperately trying to not let all the ugly thoughts and feeling that had been exercised after we split surface, since my plan to be cooler and nicer than she if we crossed paths was now in jeopardy of becoming a plan to take her into the backroom and beat her unconscious with a textbook without being seen.

“I know,” she said with zero trace of appreciation to mask her conceit. She went to the back of the class and opened a transom before pulling a lighter and cigarette.

“Oh, they’re allowing smoking on campus finally,” I prodded her. “Is there a lab where the equipment pulls down into a bed for the students too?”

Joanie took a deep drag and savored it before exhaling out the window. “I always needed a smoke to calm down and deal with you, Shel.”

“I thought you stopped.” That was one of her many plans she made and never achieved. “And I just got here, so I don’t know what you mean by ‘deal with me’, okay?”

I looked towards the door expecting students to show up any moment so I could get out of the death spiral our conversation was locking into, but no salvation came.

She took a few more drags and put out the cigarette gently, preserving half of it for later. “There was a sign up for teachers who wanted to have a guest speaker come to their class, and when I found out it was you, I took it down and turned it back in signed.”

“I’m get the impression that if I’m feeling flattered that that wasn’t your intent.”

The bell rang again and the commotion in the halls was gone. The classroom was empty. Television personality brutally killed by school supplies by delusional ex, coming up at eleven.

“I just wanted to see how you liked it when somebody else changed things on you and made you disoriented.”

“Disoriented? You mean your surprise when you told me you wanted to split up and I agreed it was the best thing to do that I made you take all your things right then and there?”

“That was a whole patio furniture set I had to fit into my car!”

“And clothes and other knick-knacks. But you got it all.”

“You’re an asshole, Sheldon.”

“Yeah, that’s just how I get when my girlfriend decides she’d rather break up with me than work out the nonsense issues she has. You wanted it and I gave it to you, even though you would have probably preferred a big fight. You think I was going to have you come back and get your stuff some other time? Sorry, but that’s a luxury reserved for girlfriends, and that ended when you ended it. And what better way to get the change you wanted by not having you ever need to see me again. You’re welcome isn’t out of line, but I can see you’re not up to that, still.”

She didn’t say anything and gathered up her purse and keys.

“So the point of all this is to make me think I’m going to give a talk and then I’m not?” Was it?

“Nope. You’re not speaking to my class. I signed them up for the assembly this period. You’re going to be talking to about a third of the school. Hope that doesn’t change your plans.”

---

Folks number one fear is public speaking, followed by being attacked by a shark, getting set on fire, and having forced sex in a prison shower. As a person who has already dealt with talking in front of strangers (if not with), going from a few dozen to a thousand is not a big deal, but it significantly alters your approach and direction. Winning a small crowd is far easier than a huge group if for nothing else than that sheer number of failures you have to avoid with a large turnout. One or two disinterested people in an audience won’t disrupt your plans like a few hundred.

Outside the MPR that Joanie took me to was Mr. Thomas, the Dean Of Students, who was half paying attention to our introduction while talking to people involved with the assembly that were checking with him of information or directions as it was getting underway. He would talk to one as another radioed him on his walkie talkie, and he would juggle two more before getting the next call. He looked over at me long enough to tell me that it was going to be a 10 minute segment in the middle, right after the breakdancers, and to wait in the backstage.

It didn’t take long for my turn to come, as the applause died down for the spinning and flipping that proceeded me. Joanie came out on the stage and placed a mic stand dead center of the empty stage.

“Good afternoon, students,” she addressed them in a tone that was lacking when she and I talked. “Coming up right now is a change of pace for what’s been seen so far, and what is coming up, but don’t let that ruin the whole assembly for you. From the program Another Fifteen Seconds, it’s host…please welcome Sheldon.”

The flat introduction garnered a soft, charitable round of applause. I covered the mic slightly. “That’s Another Fifteen Minutes,” I said calling to her as she left the stage.

“You wish it was,” she yelled back, which got a better response than the introduction.

“Okay…well, my name is Sheldon, as Ms. Knapp said, and yes, I have been hosting a program for many years now. I also do speaking engagements like this, where I get to ask how many of you may be familiar with the program I do. Hands?”

It was a weak showing. Good thing there were no advertisers there.

“Ah, not too many. So that means most of you have good taste, or you just want to see me fail and have to spend my time standing in front of students finding out just how few of them know I have a show.”

There was a murmur, but it was a response, and that’s what you need to get right away when fighting for the attention of a big room.

“Thanks to those of you who have seen it, really. And if you can convince everyone else to watch, then you’d actually get less of me up here bugging you.”

Another mild response, but they were responding.

“Yeah, usually do a couple of breakdancing moves too, but let’s face it - it would be hard to top those guys, right? Let’s give them another round of applause!”

They clapped and cheered, which gave way to chants for me to do some moves. I started to do the robot, but after a few swings of the arm I waved the crowd off.

“You gotta have one dollar bills for that, okay?”

There were chuckles and boos, but they were still involved.

“So normally, I’d ask a few of you what you’re interested in and we’d use that as a way to talk about me and what I’ve done so you can apply that to yourselves, but that could be kinda boring with this many people. Instead I want to share something with you that most of you might fight out later in life, or not at all.”

“You’re gay,” shouted a kid in the back, which got the largest response so far.

I smiled and nodded, “My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen,” which kept the spirits light.

“Seriously, I want to tell you about motivation. Real motivation. A lot of people will tell you you need to stay positive, to reinforce your will to achieve through some mantra of positive thoughts. Well, I’m here to tell you about something else. Because that’s bullshit.”

There was a clapping and cheering, but at the swearing, which I quickly tried to recant. “Sorry, bull. It’s bull.”

I took the mic out of the clip and carried the stand off to the side of the stage. I felt more free to move, to work the room.

“I want to tell you that even the worst intentions, the most petty of selfish thoughts, can become excellent ways to achieve your goals.”

That got their attention.

“Who here has an ex-girlfriend or boyfriend? C’mon, let’s see the hands.” There were a lot. “Wow, that’s a lot. When I was your age in 1861 we didn’t date too much. But we did have arranged marriage. Alright, on the count of three I want you to yell that person’s name out loud. One…two…three!”

There was a lot of yelling, but somehow, “Joanie Knapp”, what I yelled, seemed to cut through. Damn proximity to the microphone. The cries melted into a palisade of oohs. In the back of the room, even through the spotlight that was on me onstage, I faintly saw Joanie give me the finger.

“Okay, okay…now how many of you stared working out extra hard to look better after that? Or made sure you put on something a little nicer when you came to class? News flash, you’re not trying to impress them – you’re trying to depress them by improving yourself. And there’s nothing wrong with that. See what makes you eat better to fit into that pair of jeans or keeps your gut from poking out – that or ‘doing what’s healthy and best for you’. It’s that desire for a little revenge by making them jealous. Never mind if you should or shouldn’t be hung up on why you care what they think, just use that to make it happen.”

It didn’t entirely hit home with them, so I immediately tried another approach.

“Here’s a little concept called ‘the secret war’. You can’t lose a battle with an enemy if they don’t know that you’re attacking them. Right? For example, I was bowling a while back and on the lane next to me, a whole biker gang showed up. There were about 14 of them with their biker mamas, a couple of cute ones too, and they were starting to make a lot of noise and basically intimidate people just by their presence. Now I could have called my gang out there, but you can imagine what a dozen more of me would look like, right?”

They laughed at that image.

“Not that scary. So instead, I was secretly waging war on them, focusing on knocking those damn pins down and out-bowling that tattooed, leather clad bozos. After the fourth or fifth strike in a row, they started to take notice that some serious bowling was going down, and their wild whooping subsided. A couple of them even chatted me up to get some pointers. In fact, I actually found them to be decent folks, but it took being fixated on bowling the crap out of those frames to diffuse the situation, and they had no idea I of me secret agenda. Having the upper hand by showing that they were not going to be disruptive and being badass, even at something like bowling, gave me control of the situation. You all may not have an interest in bowling, but it’s that concept, that plotting and planning and desire to covertly achieve a goal to use to your advantage is that can be an asset.”

“Another thing you can do, and I guarantee you will do it, is to fail. I’m not talking about your classes – you gotta do well in those. I mean at new things, by taking risks. That is the only way you can make things better and your experiences count. I made a huge mistake at my job, but it turned out to be good because I really got a lot out of realizing my mistakes and the scale of my failure. It was epic. Let me see, how many of you have a crush on somebody and they don’t know about it?’

There were a good amount of hands.

“Okay, y’all yell that name of that person on three. One…two...three!” This time I refrained from blurting something out.

“From what I heard, everybody likes Mijenkimalianasisca Wilgrufamtriblucrant? Is that right? Looks like there’s going to be some competition getting that date…”

There were laughs, but an even bigger one followed another jokester who yelled “your mom, dude”.

“You’d better rethink that…picture me with longer hair, 30 years older, and with a moustache.”

They laughed and were back on my side..

That person, they may or may not be into you, but if you don’t try, you won’t know. And if you don’t fail when you do try, you won’t take anything from the experience. I mean, unless you’re lucky enough to succeed, in which case, you’re welcome. But regretting the things you don’t do is worse than failing at the things you do. If I could go back and be your age again, to have the chance, I would have totally asked Jennifer McGrath to prom. And I really wish that I had, just so I wouldn’t be disappointed in not trying. Go out for that team, try and get a role in the play, ask that girl out who sits in front of you in 3RD period. And don’t worry if you fail, because you certainly will. Get used to it, but sometimes you’ll get lucky and be rewarded.”

I glanced over to the side of the stage where Mr. Thomas was frantically motioning to his watch and trying to keep his assembly from falling but even a second out of synch with his schedule.

“You’ve got some plate spinning or something else coming up, but go ahead and fail and do the right things for the wrong reasons, and have secret goals to dominate others. You can do a lot of good for yourself even if you’re trying to take advantage of a situation by controlling it. Thanks for your time…”

It was a solid response, and far better than when I was introduced, even though I took a negative swing at what should be a positive framed topic, but fuck it, that’s really how I approach things, and what works for me should be goods for others. I ducked backstage and made a beeline for the front entrance, and jumped into my car – anything to keep from Joanie for even one second.. I didn’t even take my coat off until I’d already hit the freeway onramp at Valley Circle. As the lights cycled, and I had a moment to undo my belt and take off my coat. My phone was in the pocket, with a text message.

Cami was insistent on dinner and said she was planning to resort to dubious methods if I didn’t agree to it. No time to enjoy my small success, but at least one hurdle at a time. I drove home feeling good about firing off the cuff, and making a tiny bit of sense not only to them but to myself.

Season 2 Chapter 13

Fullerton is in Orange County, but it’s in the North bordering La Mirada, so it’s practically in L.A. County. The loaded white kids and housewives of Laguna Beach in O.C.’s South would have to climb Fullerton’s myriad hills to find anything in common with the railroad suburb sitting in the shadow of Disneyland’s Matterhorn and Angel Stadium. In Fullerton like in many other suburbs in SoCal, the higher your altitude, the more money you make. Of Fullerton’s three high schools, Fullerton Union High sits smack in the middle of the city, serving the highlanders of the North and the lowlanders of the South. I know all this because I do research. I like to know what I’m getting myself into. Know your audience, as Nell would say.

I was a relieved to find out I wouldn’t be speaking to the entire student body. I was going to be speaking to students that were part of the ROP—Regional Occupational Program. I anticipated that my audience would skew more towards the lower income and/or academically challenged end since the rich and/or book smart kids would be too busy trying to make A’s. The rich and/or book smart kids would still have four years after high school to think about becoming doctors, lawyers, accountants, or engineers, or taking over the family business. These ROP kids were going to be firefighters, policemen, mechanics, landscapers, office assistants, drafters, carpenters, dental hygienists, gaffers, and so on.

My stage was the front of a classroom. I didn’t need a microphone. There was no need to dim the lights since I despised the use of PowerPoint. All eyes were focused on me, not some bullet list of fragments.

“You’re probably all wondering what I was like in high school. Maybe you’re not, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I was stoned or drunk maybe ten percent of the time I was there—pot and the occasional acid trip. I did get laid but never hooked up with what you would call an A-lister. The band and drama geek girls had a thing for me. I myself had a thing for the goth chicks but could never manage to get myself dolled up enough to impress one of them. Back then in a southern town, goths were a rare sight. It wasn’t a mainstream thing like it is today. Yeah, I see you rolling your eyes back there, Siouxsie. You’re a normal teenager rebelling against the same stuff every teenager rebels against. You’re just not that original.

“So I muddled my way through math with passing grades. I did all right in English. To be honest with you, I am quite the speller. I wrote a few articles for the school paper. Despite my mediocre showing in high school, I’ve still found success doing what I love to do.

“The secret is pretty simple. I’ve always done what I love doing. During that other chunk of time when I wasn’t wasted or trying to pass a class, I had a camcorder in my hand, and I would talk to people and document their existence. I would talk to anyone about anything. All the money I made working at the ice cream parlor went towards blank tapes. I let everyone in my town know that they were to dispose of their old videocassettes through me alone so I could degauss them and reuse them. I edited, I dubbed, and I’d show the tapes to my friends and family. The more I did it, the better I got at doing it. I followed this one kid around in my art class for three weeks because I thought he was going to be the next Van Gogh. It was probably one of the most in depth character studies I did in high school. This talented guy ultimately ended up in prison for dealing meth. He wanted to cut corners. He couldn’t wait to see where his talent would lead him, and he lost his way. He went to jail, while I ended up hosting a show on the Classic News Channel.

“Success didn’t happen overnight for me. I can’t even count how many times I had pitched my show to low level network execs only for it to be rejected. I was good enough at producing and editing news magazine segments that I could earn a living working at a few networks and even win an award every now and then. But I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to do. Then along came a little thing called the internet. I had found a way to distribute all the little idiosyncratic lives I had documented to the world, and slowly but surely the shows began to attract a following. That’s when the network execs began to realize the opportunity they had been missing out on. I’d been out of high school close to twenty years before I was making money doing what I wanted to do.”

Their eyes were glazing over. Here I thought my little monologue had enough shock value to snag their attention and keep them interested in my boring yet atypical life. Maybe it was just too close to graduation. Maybe the kids were just too jaded from all the fake reality shows they were watching. It was time to summon more dramatic life experiences from people other than myself.

“Like a lot of y’all, I knew early on what my calling was. But there isn’t any rule that says you can’t change lanes further down the road. I had a buddy in high school who loved playing video games. I carried around a camcorder; he played video games. He got into a good college. He got his teaching credential. He became a teacher, a noble profession. After teaching for a couple years, he felt like something was missing. When he was teaching or when he was grading tests, all he could think about was getting home to play video games. Then it dawned on him that maybe he should somehow make video games a bigger part of his life. He took a minimum wage job as quality assurance tester for a game studio. He started to teach himself how to program. He ultimately became a game producer. He now produces video games that embed educational elements blending his love of video games with his training as a teacher. Some of you guys have probably played Skate or Spell. How about Protein Hunters or Slope Shooters? Or the number one selling Where in the Heck Is Buford San Francisco? He was lead developer on the latest version of that one.”

Crickets. I scanned the room to make sure the kids were alive. There were a couple kids in the front row, who seemed to be paying attention. I was losing the rest of them.

“The reason I’m telling you about my story and my buddy’s story is so you can take away some lessons from our experiences. ‘Never give up.’ ‘It’s never too late.’ ‘Always be doing.’ ‘Set goals.’ Blah, blah, blah. What you really want to know is, ‘What do I have to do?’ ‘Show me the way, Sheldon.’ ‘Give me the easy-to-follow instructions.’ Unfortunately, there are too many of you here for me to hand out individualized road maps. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. A handful of you lucky randomly chosen bastards are going to get personalized advice from yours truly. The rest of you are welcome along for the ride and will hopefully take something away for yourselves as well. Someone is paying me to be here. I want you guys to get your money’s worth.”

The blank faces morphed into bemused and befuddled looks.

“All right. Who here wants to talk about themselves today?”

The kids looked around waiting for someone to make the first move. Would it be a leader, a cool kid, someone they respected? Or would it be that guy who always raises his hand but no one liked?

“Come on guys. We’re talking about your future here. You may think I’m full of shit, but I guarantee you I’ve talked to a gazillion more people than you have with incredibly varied backgrounds. I’m a lot better at talking to than talking at. Any takers? It’s only advice. You don’t have to follow it.”

I wasn’t going to let them off the hook. One of these kids was going to talk.

“Okay. Who wants five bucks?”

They all started raising their hands. I pulled a five out of my wallet.

“Okay. First one up here gets it.”

A kid with a chinstrap beard and an Angel hat on blasted up from the second row knocking a heavy-set young lady out of the way.

“We have a winner. So, Pamplona, what’s your name?”

“Warren.”

“Well, Warren, you are a lucky man today because in addition to this five dollars, you also get the privilege of speaking with me today in front of your friends.”

“You tricked me, man.”

“No, you tricked me. You made me pull out my wallet to get you up here. You’re a sharp man, Warren—a keen negotiator. So tell us, Warren, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I’m going to be an auto mechanic.”

“Well, surely you’re not just going to work in a garage for some guy making shit wages for the rest of your life? There has to be something more. Are you looking to get into management? Are you going to be a service advisor at a dealership? Maybe join a pit crew for NASCAR or Indy.”

“I want to run my own shop.”

“Well, you’re definitely taking the right step by taking advantage of the ROP. I’m sure you’re also fiddling with cars in your spare time.”

“Yep. I’ve got a Ford Focus I’ve been modding.”

“Customization. Nice. It must be a growing market after all those Fast and Furious movies and all those shows on TLC and Discovery. Are you going to specialize in tuners or are you going to do standard repair work as well?”

“I mainly want to work on tuners.”

“Hmmm. That’s still a pretty small slice of the driving population. Plus a lot of folks tune their own cars. You’re going to have to be pretty badass to capture enough of that market to sustain yourself.”

I could sense Warren in his head counting all the people he knew who drove modified cars who didn’t work on their own cars. It didn’t take him long.

“It would probably be a good idea to mix in some standard repair work. If you can take a transmission apart and put it back together, that’s a pretty valuable skill. Even if you don’t make it on your own, you could always work at some place like Aamco.”

“Trannies are pretty crazy.”

“Oh, I know. Trannies are fucking crazy.”

I never expected to say something like that at one of my speaking engagements. I could cross that one off the list. Now I had a dozen more sentences that I wanted to try to squeeze in before my career as a public speaker was over.

“You’re not going to mind spending a few years in an apprenticeship somewhere to get a good feel for all the different cars and things that can go wrong with them. I mean, you’re not going to make a lot of money opening up a shop and having to turn people away because you don’t know how to fix their cars.”

“Nah. No problem. I know I’ve gotta pay my dues.”

“That’s good. Focusing on your goal helps get you through those tough times when you’re not making a lot of money and you have to do a lot of shitty jobs like cleaning up the garage and the bathroom. By the way, Warren, how are your grades?”

“School is not really my thing. Cars are my thing.”

“That’s great if you’re just an average mechanic collecting a paycheck. But if you’re running your own shop, you’ll wish school were your thing too. Let me make some connections for you. Math is at the core of finance and accounting. English and probably Spanish too are at the core of advertising and sales and just straight up communication. If you don’t know how interest works, you’re going to get ripped off when it comes time to find a deal on your heavy equipment. You won’t know whether to lease or buy because you won’t know how to calculate the present day value of the stream of payments you’ll be making. You won’t know how to budget for costs and overhead because you don’t know algebra. You may have a lot of clunkers rolling into your shop, but if you can’t present yourself in an intelligent manner, I doubt you’ll be seeing too many new Beamers and Benz-Os for regularly scheduled maintenance. It’s those people who can’t change their own oil that are the cash cows. Customer loyalty is how you’re going to build your business.”

Warren and I had a good little talk. When we finished up and I called for a new victim/volunteer I was surprised to see every kid in the room raise his or her hand. I didn’t even have to pull out a five-dollar bill. I was in demand again. I convinced one girl she needed a college degree. I convinced another to enter California state politics after her prospective stint as a public defense attorney. I convinced a kid who wanted to get into construction to retake trigonometry. I called it speed mentoring. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to follow up with each one, so I told the kids to find someone like me whom they could lean on every once in a while for quick dose of reality. And then I got the hell out of there before anyone had the chance to ask me how I had enough time to spend talking to high school students.

---

Stuck on the 91 westbound I got a call. It was Carla. Knowing I would be talking to a cop I donned my Bluetooth headset and answered the phone.

“So how did it go, amigo?”

“Before or after I dropped my pants onstage?”

“You didn’t!”

“No. But I think I did drop a few ‘F’ bombs.”

“Nothing they haven’t heard before.”

“Exactly.”

“So were they into it?”

“I think so. They all seemed pretty satisfied at the end. They may have just been glad it was over. My approach was a little unorthodox, and I think my normal sense of humor isn’t suited for a high school setting. I had a bunch of stuff I was going to do that I sort of just threw out the window in favor of a more personal and improvised discussion. I don’t know if I can sustain that kind of approach. I might need to just come up with more of a canned routine.”

“It will take some time to get it dialed in, and even after you’re a seasoned veteran like me, you’ll still have bad days. My experience is that if it’s canned, you can usually taste that it’s not fresh. But it sure is a lot easier to fly on autopilot.”

“I like to keep my hands on the wheel.”

“I was talking to Nell, and it looks like you’re already booked for another gig.”

“Tell me it’s not another high school.”

“Sorry, Charlie. It is.”

“Fuck. Can’t I get a group like the whores at the Bunny Ranch—something like that?”

“Keep dreaming. This time you’ll be at El Camino Real in Woodland Hills.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Those kids don’t need motivating. This is a disaster.”

“Boo hoo. Come on, Sheldon. Are you burning out on us already?”

“No. I love the new job, Carla. It’s just that an ex-girlfriend is a teacher at El Camino Real, and I really don’t have an interest in running into her.”

“Yikes.”

Season 2 Chapter 12

I hate to admit it, but I had to jerk off about 10 minutes after I got home.

Not because it’s embarrassing to say you rubbed one out, even as a middle aged – albeit single – man. I’ve done that ever since I realized that it does more than make pee come out. And I’ll be doing it as long as I have hands. Or feet. Or anything I can graze around waist-height. It’s something I do when I’m in a relationship close to as much as I when I’m not.

Lots of time a guy will see or meet a girl and he’ll think of sex or something sexual about her. Those mysterious studies and buzzworthy soundbites say we do that once every 7 seconds, which is in and of itself just can’t be accurate, since there are activities you’ve done where you’ve been focused on that with no hint of sexual thought…driving, enjoying music, writing – there’s plenty. So maybe that’s the average, because I know I could spend a whole chain of seconds and minutes thinking only of satisfyingly filthy sex acts. My trouble with having to deal with the compulsion is the implication, at least, for me.

I have long had a test, for myself, of how much I was interested in somebody, which grew out of the male preoccupation with masturbation. The critical difference between pure carnal, hormone-driven lust and genuine emotional contact was what happened in the moments after that mess was made. If a woman was still on your mind even after doing things, however unlikely to actually happen in reality, then there could be something more in your mind than just a premeditated sexual assault.

My dental hygienist would disagree with me, because she has a completely different perspective on the mental state of sexual desire, which we discussed – no, debated at length when we went out for cocktails one night. Aside from her husband, she claimed she had no sexual thoughts about other guys, and that if she did, it was tantamount to emotional cheating. This had stemmed from my comments that I would see a female, and very frankly be able to admit that I wanted to fuck her. Now, that didn’t mean I was, or given the chance I would, but I was comfortable with my own male desires to admit it without shame or guilt. She didn’t see my point, since I was involved with a gal at the time, but that expanse between thought and action was so great didn’t help to foster an understanding of my point. And I still think that she’s full of shit when it comes to that point. It’s great she thinks or feels she is 100% committed to her husband in a psycho-sexual way, but I don’t buy it…that no other single person arouses desire in you to that level? No way. And it’s not because I don’t believe in an emotional component to sex – that’s the whole idea of my theory; sex can operate outside of love and knowing where that falls between the two vertices is what is really worth determining.

So I spent the first few minutes at home taking off my shoes and socks, and getting a drink. That’s not some pre-masturbation ritual, I was just getting comfortable. I sat on the couch and thought about what a good day it had turned out to be, and that it was fun to have gone with Carla. I hoped she’d at least felt similarly, because I never want to be a pain in the ass, unless I’m actually trying to be one. I’d never been particularly into Latin women, but Carla happened to hit one of my long time triggers – powerful women.

Policewomen are right there at the top of the list, as well as the handful of female MMA fighters and competitive physical fitness instructors. It’s not entirely that they are fit, strong women, but that they have the ability to possibly kick your ass. That hint of masculinity in a female is somehow sexy to me. Taken to the blown out extreme when female bodybuilders just look like trannies or when women get a lesbian butchness, that’s where it loses me. And the same for somebody like Nell Tanner, who is unquestionable a powerful woman, but that is more of a respect for the power and control she wields. She could make you miserable and dominate you, but certainly not physically, and that icy, chilling effect makes a woman less attractive. That hard-as-nails bitch thing is great for dominatrix sessions but not attractive to me.

As my mind drifted back to Officer Diaz, my hand drifted to other places, and soon, I found myself adding a scientific twist to what would otherwise be considered habit.

---

It was nearly a week later, and it was time to check in at Fort Tanner, as I’d come to think of it. The boss lady had ask me to stop by her office before joining the others in The Pit, as in “of vipers”, which was the presentation room. I turned the corner and saw the desk outside Nell office vacant, and thought about taking a seat in one of the cushy chairs and leafing through one of those magazines that only seem to be subscribed to for display, like Wine Bureaucrat or High Performance Private Jet Quarterly, but inching forward I could see Sunday though the glass door to Nell’s office, and she was leaning over Nell’s desk, showing her some papers, which Nell seemed determined to sign but not without a pained look on her face.

I gave a light rap on the glass and opened the door enough to lean in. “Am I interrupting, ladies?”

From the corner, where I hadn’t seen him, Peter replied, “No, we girls are just doing some work.”

I hesitated, stuck between elaborating my way along the path of an apology and barreling past as if I’d said nothing out of the ordinary, but Nell spoke, without even glancing up from the task at hand. “Come in, Sheldon. Multi-tasking is a necessity to getting anything done, or done well. It’s a good stimulant; it keeps the mind loose.”

Peter rolled his shoulders and shook out his wrists, which then dangled in front of him, and echoed Nell by mouthing the word ‘loose’ as he stretched his neck on both sides. He looked like a gay bunny rabbit in chinos and a silk shirt.

“Things going well,” Nell inquired of me.

“Ah, sure. Last week was good for me. Carla, er…Officer Diaz gave me a perspective on speaking that I think will help when I tackle those high school kids.”

“Yes,” Nell said with a slight trace of pride, “I though Ms. Diaz would be useful in building the right approach for your upcoming engagement.” Peter was moving at the very edge of my field of vision. He was nodding in agreement with her statement, and then opened up an appointment book, scanning the pages before settling on a particular entry and circling it. Closed-captioned for the hearing impaired and the fabulous.

She continued, “I’m going to be going over some basic speaking points and keys, not only for your benefit, but to refresh for the others. I have you down for a week from next Thursday, but before that I want you to give me a synopsis of what you intend to do. In writing. You’re going to need to fill 40 minutes, which is the lower end of our bookings. I don’t want every word, but I do want to know what you’re planning to say.”

“I can do that, sure.”

“Good,” she said, and made her last marks on what Sunday was presenting to her. She finally looked up, though not at me, and took off a frameless pair of reading glasses that she meticulously polished the lenses with a poly-fiber cloth, before putting them in a leather case that went into a drawer in her desk. Sunday, papers in a folder she carried made her way towards the door, but stopped in front of me and pulled the top paper out of the folder.

“That’s for your time and involvement, Sheldon,” Nell said. “We pay monthly our associates monthly, and even if they have speaking engagements that are spaced far apart, we try to make sure there is a steady flow coming in to them so that they do not have any trouble staying retained by our agency. Appreciation comes in many forms, but gratitude never paid the rent.”

Sunday also produced an envelope for me, and I looked at the paper, which was an unfolded check. It was for $5000. Not bad for a couple of hours of my time, and certainly plenty for the little I’d done since leaving CNC.

“Thank you very much Ms. Tanner,” I said, realizing that my blood and sperm were safely restricted from sale to the public for at least another month.

“You’ve got a few minutes before we’re meeting, so please feel free to socialize with the others.” Peter waved goodbye, completing his pantomime act, and taking my cue, left towards the presentation room.

---

The room was about half full, and the only person I recognized was Vivian, who must have been feeling the real estate crunch and took to this speaking gig as a life preserver during the economic downturn. There wasn’t anybody else from the previous session, but there also wasn’t Carla. The group wasn’t really talking too much or interacting, so I played that game and kept to myself. I took a seat and waited for the thing to begin.

Nell came through the door and what little conversation there was, ceased. Like a puppy, Sunday bounded after her into the room. The door was about to close when a young black kid squeezed through and shuffled over to the open seat to my right. He looked like the last 30 years of Black History Fashion Month all rolled into one. He had some baggy Cross Colors pants that nearly covered his vintage Nike Air Jordans, a Wu-Tang logo tee under a track jacket that was Sean John or Fubu – I didn’t know the brand for sure, a leather necklace with Africa in the center in yellow, red, and green, and a crochet koufi to top the whole thing off. It made my jeans and black v-neck tee utterly dull by comparison.

“Whad’up,” he said, feeling me scan his amazing technicolor ensemble as he sat, and putting his left fist out, inviting me to bump it.

I gave it a tap and said, “Hey.”

Nell surveyed the room, or more correctly, the occupants, and began her refresher course on effective public speaking and interaction with the audience. Diligently, there were lots of notepads getting scrawled in. Nell Tanner could lower the temperature in a room by five degrees and she could also speak in such a manner that even the most useless sounding information was given greater importance. The room was dim enough for the projector in the back to still display images, but small canned lighting above seemed to give my fellow note-takers and I sufficient vision. Sunday operated a PowerPoint slideshow on a laptop alongside Nell’s oration.

“There are many different acronyms we use in this field to give instruction and shape our programs. I happen to think this is one of the better ones…be a NINJA. Sunday brought up an animated graphic of a ninja, who did a flip onto a stage and kicked a podium with a microphone, which made it shatter into an 8-bit array of splinters. It got a low rumble of laughter from the room, and even seemed to amuse Nell, if she was capable of finding humor. The little ninja bowed at the broken fragments and then turned to us, and bowed again.

“NINJA,” Nell repeated again. “Natural. Informative. Noteworthy. Jovial. Articulate.” The words appeared one by one on the screen. “Be a NINJA speaker.”

“Fuck that noise, man,” my neighbor whispered to me.

I turned and looked, and he was tapping his notepad with a pen, where he had written BE A NIGGER.

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull. He started writing down his page:

Nonchalant
Intelligent
Gracious
Genuine
Enthusiastic
Radical

I smiled and he smiled when he saw that I got it. I held up my finger and wrote on my pad BE A HONKY.

Humorous
Original
Nurturing
Knowledgeable
Youthful

“You alright, man,” he said. Yep, I alright.

Nell’s presentation went for a good hour, but it passed quickly, as she said a good speaker should be able to make a person forget exactly how much time they’ve been there.

“Before you all go, I just wanted to introduce somebody we hope we’ll have with us for a long time. You may have seen him around here lately, and some of you may even be familiar with his work. Please give a very warm welcome to…”

I started to stand, but quickly shrank back into my chair as Nell finished. “Vesodious Prime.” Next to me, Vesodious stood, unphased (or perhaps unaware) at my mistaken attempt to get into his spotlight. A gentle smattering of applause was given, and Nell waved him down towards the front where she was.

“Vesodious just finished a term with Coogan Harrington Woods & Grossman, but now he’s exclusively ours.” She looked at him and gestured with the microphone, offering him the opportunity to speak, which he reluctantly took from her, but that was part of his act. Nell sat in one of the seats in front of him, but didn’t see as we did Vesodious check Nell out as she took those few steps away.

“Yo, I wanna say thanks,” he put a slight emphasis on that thanks, as his words took on a more musical cadence, “to Ms. Tanner and all y’all here. I’m real happy to be wit’chu, cuz y’alls now my crew, and we’s tight like that.” Vesodious stalked around like a jungle cat, which I’m sure he’d have used to describe his prowling, sizing up the small audience he had.

“I’ma do somethin’ that I want y’all to help me wit, a’ight? So I can get to know y’all, I wanna find out yo name and have you give me a word or two that describes you or what you do. But first, I gotta have a beat to drop this flow. Y’all in this side of the room,” he gestured to the right, “hit that arm rest and snap your fingers like this…”

Vesodious slapped his thigh and snapped, getting the right side to follow his lead, slap-click, slap-click, slap-click.

“Oh yeah, thas nice. Keep that up. Keep it going. Now y’all on my left, you gotta gimme some claps. Follow me, like this…”

He clapped out a simple rhythm on top of the slap-click pattern that got everybody making crude music. Clap-clap…clap, went the beat.

“Aw, c’mon Ms. Tanner, don’t you hold back. Gimme some claps or this don’t work,” he needled her. And she obliged, creating a little ripple of surprise that he’d cracked her armor enough to see the person inside was somehow the slightest bit similar to us.

“Nice, y’all is real good.”

Vesodious started beatboxing over our skeletal groove, adding noises beyond typical percussive sounds. It was quite a feat as he started to rap in-between his own orchestration, “Vesodious Prime…it’s Nell Tanner time…feel my rhyme…this rising sign…the heat the beat the feat of Prime!”

Heads were bouncing and people were swaying in their seats along to the impromptu performance they were all part of.

“Now I’ma point and axe you name and your word, so don’t be shy!”

He pointed at a rotund woman in plain garm. “Waz yo name,” he asked.

“Connie,” she said excitedly.

“And waz yo word?”

“Faith!”

It made sense with her dull dress style, which was a scaled down version Sunday morning wear; Connie, the Jesus warrior.

“Yeah, a’ight girl…here we go,” Vesodious chirped, brining back his musical accompaniment to the room beat. “Connie, Connie, this lass be bonny…full of grace…you in this place…spiritual power…believe this hour…don’t take the fifth…six seventh or eighth…Connie gotta, gotta have –“ He pointed at her again and she elatedly shrieked with him “faith!”

“You good! Y’all get me? You see what we doin’ here?”

The room responded yes.

“Oh, no…you gotta bring it bigger than that! You see what we doin’ here?”

This time was a lot hardier yes response.

Vesodious worked the crowd, moving from person to person, freestyling a few lines about each. There was Randy, who “liked the Muppets and a master of puppets” with Henshaw, his googly-eyed sock friend. And Vivian was “doing great with her real estate”. “Bobby Joe did the rodeo”, and Roy could “be a recruiter and friend of computers”. He went through everybody, and came to me at the end.

“Okay, we just about done, but we got one more ta go…my man in the back, give it up.”

“Sheldon,” yelled about the fevered clapping and noise.

“Here we go, Sheldon…here we go,” Vesodious chanted. I said “television”, but I was overpowered by Vesodious and his mic, as he laid into a melody.

“Shel-don…perhaps you can call him Shelly…I got the food in my belly like jelly…or the hot carne…asada, I’m gonna…head to Tiajuana…but my ride is kinda wonky…I don’t hang with a burro but I’m down with a – “

Vesodious pointed and I yelled “honky!”

The room exploded with an abrupt, smothering blanket of silence. Slowly, heads turned back until the whole room was looking at me. Even Randy turned his covered hand at me, and Henshaw, his sock puppet said, “donkey. It’s donkey.”

Vesodious laughed, and said, “you still alright, Shelly-boy.”

---

With my tail between my legs and feeling about two feet tall, I resigned my self to figuring out what I was going to give to Nell as my point of view for my style of presentation and the type of content. I really wanted to impress her, if only to show that I was able to do as she asked even if I was a poor predictor of rhyme schemes and poetry. Nell had emailed to see how it was coming along, but I didn’t reply, since I was stuck coming up with what I felt was the quintessential direction of who I was and what I was bringing. And with mother now back from her trip, I doubted it would get any easier.

“I was going to fry up a fish for ya, but you must have had a fair amount going port to port,” I yelled back to my mom, who was doing some unpacking. I was grilling a pair of fat steaks and had a pot of green beans going while some potatoes were crisping in the oven. My culinary skills were not anything to brag about, but meat and potatoes I could handle, and my mother wouldn’t complain.

“After all the fresh fish we had, I think I can take a break for a little while. And the same goes for Germans…those Krauts can party.”

“You want a nip,” I asked as I set out the plates and put a fair portion out on each.

“Nah, hon…I had my fill of that too.”

That’s been one of my saving graces, being on the cusp of having a drinking problem. Never feeling so compelled to have a drink that I would when my company declined. Though a good cut of meat makes scotch come alive.

“You remember your Aunt Tilly?”

“Kinda. How is that?”

“It’s good. Cooked just the way I like it,” she said, taking a bite to emphasize the comment. “Tilly is Grandma Esther’s younger sister.”

“She lives in Baltimore?”

“No,” she corrected, “that’s your Aunt Rhoda, and she’s dead. Tilly is in Delaware.”

“Okay, and she’s alive, right?”

“Yeah. She just had her hip replaced and is having some trouble. I’m going to stay with her and make sure she doesn’t have any trouble.”

“Like entering a dance competition?”

“Something like that…”

“So, when are you going? And when are you coming back?”

“Couple of days…and I’d say that’s up to her.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. You going to be okay to pick out your clothes in the morning and make your bed?”

“I was able to while you were gone. I think I can handle it. She gonna be able to look after you as much as you are with her?”

“She won’t have too much trouble…should be an easier time than you’ve had.”

I finished the mouthful of potato, and put my fork down. “Are you…drying out?”

“Don’t sound so accusatory, Sheldon.”

“No offense, Ma, but you getting on the wagon is kinda like finding out there’s no Santa Claus…it takes a little getting used to.”

“Fair enough,” she said, and took another bite. It was uncomfortable to hear the lucidity in her voice. She was not terribly difficult to deal with as a drinker, but that’s pretty much been my interaction for her nearly as long as I can remember. She used to tell me a story from when I was an infant about the time my father shaved off his beard and came home from work. I must have cried for an hour, she said, because I didn’t recognize the man claiming to be my dad since he didn’t look like how I remembered him.

“Are you disappointed,” she asked.

“Yes, you’re getting sober. How fucking dare you. C’mon Ma, what do you think we are, the Bukowski family?”

“You just seemed, I don’t know…upset.”

“I just am a little stunned. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” she said, “it’s not a health thing. I’m way past that anyway. I just had a hell of a bender, and it was a nice way to really go out on top and take a break.”

“So this thing with Aunt Tilly, that’s just good timing?”

“She’s very old and she’s the last of the sisters left, and there’s nobody else who can take care of her. Now that she’s out of rehab, I don’t want to have to send her back to assisted living. That would be a whole mess…packing her stuff, selling her place. Just a pain in the ass.”

“Growing old sucks,” I said.

“Amen to that,” and she clinked her glass of diet soda against mine.

“Besides, being here got to be kinda lonely at times, with you taking off and traveling all the time. I got used to it but being around people so much recently just added to it. It’s not like Tilly and I are going to go out every weekend. It’s just nice having another body around most of the time.”

“Funny you mention that,” I trailed off and made the last of the green beans disappear.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m…taking some time away from the show. About a year.” I waited for a reaction, but it didn’t dislodge her the way I thought it would.

“Is that wise,” was the best I could get out of her.

“Well, I won’t say I burned bridges, but my sabbatical was not entirely planned…I created a situation and then got myself out of it.”

“You get somebody pregnant?”

“I wish it was that easy.”

“More complicated that a new life? I don’t think I want to know…”

“It’s a new direction,” I proclaimed boldly, clearing the dishes from the table. I cleaned them off and turned back to her, “If it goes well, they’ll be paying me to run my mouth instead of paying me to keep it shut.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Public speaking,” I said. “Fran hooked it up and it so far it’s looking good.”

“Just be yourself…without trying to be yourself.”

I smiled a big, fake smile, but she was right on the mark. And that was what I was struggling with, as I then explained to her.

“Look, you’re who they want, so that’s who you should give them. It doesn’t have to be pretty and it doesn’t have to be perfect, but it has to be you. Know your limits. But know everybody else’s limits.”

“Thanks, Ma.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m gonna sit down and try to figure this out again.

“You’re welcome, dear. Until I leave, I’ll take a look at what you have if you want, and that’ll still give you a day or two before you have to do your first talk.

---

I walked my mother to security checkpoint at the terminal and gave her a hug. “You sure you’ll be okay with Aunt Tilly?”

“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

“Different situation. Still the same person,” I said.

“Exactly. I’ll be fine. So will you.”

I handed her an envelope. “It’s what I wrote for Ms. Tanner. I already sent her a copy, and so far, she hasn’t told me I’m fired, so that’s a good thing.”

“Good. And just remember that if you fuck up, be sincere when you say you’re sorry.”

I waved to her after she’d made her way through and watched as she disappeared into the expanse of the walkway to the different gates. What I’d written was a very brief, and I could have given her the night she came back and we spoke, but I didn’t want to have the opportunity to change it – I was committed to it because it was the one thing that I did not want to hide about myself, and my biggest, best flaw: I said exactly what I thought and felt. And being true to yourself, even if sometimes you’re the only person who accepts that truth, is better than being a liar if only to have a single person agree with you.

Forty minutes of stand-up philosophy.

No bullshit. No holds barred. No nonsense.

Sometimes the language can be coarse, the stories a bit extreme, but the resulting ideas and wisdom are time tested and road worn. Years of tapping into the American psyche and interacting with people across the country has created a perspective hardly seen, let alone heard. And is exactly what is necessary in this day and age.

Life is not scripted, and fails when it tries to be. Conversations go off the rails the same. Life happens and you act. And react. You start at one place and you end up in another, but the point of a journey is not to arrive.

Ma would appreciate that last part, I’m sure.

Season 2 Chapter 11

“You know, Carla, I don’t think I’ve been to an elementary school since I graduated from the fifth grade. Also, I’ve never actually sat in the FRONT seat of a police car.”

“It’s probably a little scarier than how you remember it.”

“The police car? No way. It’s much better on this side of the cage. I’m a little disappointed though that you don’t have the twelve gauge up here for me to caress.”

“Not the car, Sheldon. Elementary school. The kids are pretty grown up.”

“The only thing I remember about elementary school is that the last drinking fountain in a row of four always produced pee; no cuts, no butts, no coconuts; and girls went to Jupiter for some reason. Oh, and I won a couple spelling bees.”

“You nerd! I bet you read books for fun.”

“Sure. I also played Dungeons & Dragons. I made little origami animals out of construction paper. Teachers loved me when I wasn’t intentionally or unintentionally making them feel stupid.”

“You’d probably have a tough time relating to the group of kids we’ll be talking to then.”

“I’m not so sure. I was considered a bit of hellion—literally. Jesus was a pretty big deal where I grew up, and my mamma wasn’t the church-going type. A lot of the other parents thought we worshipped satan. If these kids are demons, then they’re brothers and sisters of mine. God, it was great to have the neighbors think I was spooky without having to go full-on goth.”

“I did the goth thing a little bit in junior high.”

“No fucking way. From goth to cop—that’s a great story. How did you end up a cop?”

“I always wanted to be one. My brother and I used to watch Hunter religiously when we were kids. I wanted to be Dee Dee McCall so bad.”

“Yeah, it’s a little different from TV, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, they sort of leave out the boring stuff on TV. You know, I was actually a police explorer in high school. I used to go into liquor stores to buy booze, and we’d bust the ones that didn’t card.”

“So you were the one ruining everyone’s fun. For shame!”

“You know how kids get when they’re drunk-- adults too for that matter. Bad things can happen.”

“Yep. They grow up to be me.”

“Now that’s scary.”

We continued along the freeway in the Crown Vic heading eastward through the city towards our ultimate destination in Boyle Heights while a spattering of numerically coded conversations came through the radio. A little part of me was hoping Carla would answer an urgent request for back up, putting me right in the middle of a cop show shootout. That would add some serious flavor to an already eventful day. Unfortunately, we arrived at the elementary school without incident.

---

I felt like a retired NBA backup center as I walked the school grounds. I could easily dunk on the basketball hoops that were set well below the regulation ten feet. All the door knobs were just a little lower than normal. I could barely squeeze my knees under the lunch tables. I was a giant.

The drinking fountains were at about knee level. I tested the fourth in row of fountains, and, “Surprise!” It was water. The second one did taste a little like tea, or was it a gustatory hallucination. I wondered how ubiquitous that “coffee, tea, soda pop, pee” chant was back in my day. We recited the chant at each and every four-spigot drinking fountain. It was mandatory. I wondered if the kids were still using it today. Who the hell came up with that phrase anyway? This was definitely something to look into. I could imagine the bafflement of drinking fountain plumbers across the country as they encountered one four-spigot fountain after another: “The third one is always shot to hell, but the fourth one is always like new, completely untouched. I’ll just swap the third and the fourth and save the school district some money.” I could remember lining up to get to the third one. A few desperately thirsty kids would hit the first and second for an imaginary caffeine jolt, but no one ever touched the fourth. I did one time, and I was ostracized for a couple weeks. Hell, I knew it was water, and I pled my case as much as I could to my fellow second graders: “Does the fluid out of the third spigot taste anything like soda pop? No, you numbskulls.” But when it came down to it in the end, it wasn’t worth the silent treatment. I avoided the fourth spigot after that. I bet they don’t even make the four spigot models anymore to save tomorrow’s kids from humiliation.

Carla and I finally stepped into the fourth grade class, and I was shocked. Carla built it up like we’d be walking into an early scene out of Dangerous Minds or Stand and Deliver or To Sir, with Love or one of those movies where the protagonist teacher faces a class of seemingly hopeless hoodlums. These kids were no different than the ones I remembered when I was in the fourth grade. They were right before that age when they really start to care about what they’re wearing and how they do their hair. They were right before that age when they start to become assholes like the rest of us. I didn’t see any kids wearing shirts that read, “Fuck tha police.” In fact, these kids took an instant liking to Officer Diaz. She had this smile that the kids and I just couldn’t get enough of. If you asked me then, “Gin or Carla’s smile,” I’d take Carla’s smile without hesitation at that particular moment. It was genuine. I could tell she enjoyed being with the kids.

A few of the students recognized me from seeing my mug on TV, so I became known as Sheldon, the TV guy. I actually felt a little bad for being somewhat of a distraction, but I got over it quickly as I always do.

Carla opened up her talk with a little exposition on the LAPD’s motto, “To protect and to serve”. She basically painted the rosiest picture possible of the department—the ideal version of the LAPD. The police were the good guys. They protected the community (the kids) from the bad guys. The police worked for the community since the community indirectly paid the police through tax dollars. I know, it sounds like a mafia. I wouldn’t be the first to say all governments are mafias. In Carla’s words with her hand on her heart, she adopted all the kids in the classroom, “You are my family. Ustedes son mi familia.” She meant it. The kids ate that line up like it was a plate of chocolate cake and ice cream.

Carla didn’t drag the speech out too long, having to deal with fourth grade level attention spans. She had little work papers for the kids to fill out with a list of moral/statutory questions. Each question briefly described an activity. The kids were to write down and discuss why the activity was right or wrong. Most of the kids seemed to be getting it until we got to a question about graffiti.

“Okay, amigos. Spray painting or writing on walls out on your neighborhood streets—who thinks this is okay to do? Who thinks it’s okay for me to write my name on the front of the school?”

A couple of the boys raised their hands.

“Okay, Hector, tell us why you think it’s okay.”

“Well, it’s not hurting nobody. Nobody gets killed, and it’s not stealing.”

“Do you know anyone who tags, Hector?”

“Well, my brother got arrested, and he had to do community service, but he says it wasn’t really fair because he didn’t hurt nobody.”

“Where did he tag?”

“It was a wall on the freeway.”

“Well, Hector, first off, he was on the freeway with very fast moving traffic. He could’ve been hit by a car or a truck. I would hate for that to happen to your brother. Secondly, the freeway belongs to everyone. Everyone pitches in a little money to build the freeway, so we all own the freeway and the walls on the freeway that keep the noise out of our neighborhoods. How many of you write your name on your toys and jackets and folders and books so that you know they are yours?”

Most of the class raised their hands.

“It’s okay to write your name on the stuff you own, but Hector, your brother wrote his name on a wall that he shares with the whole city. Because we all own the wall, he should have checked first with everyone if it was okay to put his name on the wall. He didn’t ask permission. Most people in the city don’t like it when people write on public property. They’ve made it illegal to tag because most people don’t like the way it looks. It’s vandalism. It damages the property. If your brother is artistic and tagging is how he expresses himself, he should find some paper or a canvas or a wall in his own backyard to paint.”

I knew I was supposed be observing, but I felt like helping Hector out a little. “Hey, Hector, if your brother thinks the law is silly, he really should work on trying to repeal the law. If he can convince a majority of lawmakers that tagging isn’t so bad, then we can all tag all over the place to our hearts’ content. Tell him, best of luck with that.”

Carla flashed me a stern look.

“Sorry. Have they had government yet? They probably don’t get that until high school.”

We continued down the list of scenarios, and I have to say I was impressed by how articulate some of the fourth graders were. They were a lot sharper than I thought they would be. A few of them stumbled magnificently, but on the whole, Officer Diaz was bringing out the best in them. I struggled immensely to keep quiet during the drug-related discussions. Carla finally reached the point in her mini-class where she solicited questions. The first one was a doozy from little Marisol in the second row.

“Officer Diaz, is Sheldon, the TV guy, your boyfriend?”

The kids giggled and oohed.

“Well, he is my friend, and he is boy, pero el no es mi novio.”

The laughing children focused their gazes on me. I feigned a painful yearning look and turned the classroom into a telenovela.

“No puedo mentir. Ella es mi amor. ¡Yo te quiero, Officer Diaz!”

The kids lost all control at that point. Their laughter was the opposite of kryptonite. I couldn’t get enough. I was riding high. Then Carla brought be back down. She had her hand on her gun, wide-eyed, with an exasperated grin.

“Don’t make me kick you out.”

“Lo siento. Just kidding. Only kidding,” I said as I held up my hands. You don’t want to mess with a woman when she has a Springfield 40 strapped to her hip.

Carla handily answered many more questions, but the last question of the day was also a doozy. It came from a gordito in the fourth row.

“Officer Diaz, have you ever shot anyone?”

Carla paused a little longer than I thought she should have.

“I never have, and I hope I never have to. We only resort to violent force when lives are in danger to protect ourselves and other innocent people around us. It’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

Not wanting to end on a somber chord, Carla pulled out a goodie bag full of police badge stickers and activity books. The kids were grateful, and Mrs. Ybarra, the teacher, was grateful for the time off from babysitting. I was grateful for not having to sit through another one of Dean’s oral dissertations. If all Mondays involved putting the screws to your old employer in the morning and making fourth graders laugh in the afternoon, they wouldn’t have such a bum rap.

---

“You were lying about not shooting anyone. Am I right? I know I’m right.”

“Some of those kids might grow up to be cops, and I don’t want them to think it’s all about shooting people. I’m trying to weed out the sociopaths if you don’t mind. We have a few already I think.”

“Yeah, I’ve probably met some of them. I can see why they send you instead of some of the WWE rejects I’ve come across.”

“A lot of those super buff cops are really just big teddy bears, and the kids love them. They’re like superheroes. You have to be a super villain to fear those lovable hunks. Is that you, Sheldon?”

“I’ll admit I wasn’t always a responsible partier in my younger days, and on more than one occasion, I’ve had the knee of some behemoth in blue drilling into my spine. And I’ll admit, I probably had it coming. But my super villain days are definitely over.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

We were driving back towards the Pacific, and Carla’s aviators were two intense glowing orbs of sky blue fire protecting a couple drops of smooth dark chocolate. If all cops looked like her, crime would be out of control. We’d all want to be cuffed and carted off for interrogation.

“You think you can handle a bunch of high school kids on your own, Sheldon?”

“I’ve got a few ideas. I have a feeling I’ll either be a huge hit, or I’ll be seeing lawsuits from the parents of emotionally scarred teenagers.”

“You were a teenager once. Just put yourself in their shoes, and you’ll know what to say.”

“I was ‘A’ teenager. There are so many different ways to be a teenager. I’d take fourth graders over teenagers any day.”

“Stay away from my fourth graders. I almost had to use deadly force back there to keep your mouth closed.”

“We all had a lot of fun, didn’t we? Great job by the way. I was impressed. You won over the crowd. I can see why Nell would like you. How did you guys hook up anyway?”

“Doing the community outreach stuff is one of my favorite things about my job. There is so much negative energy with my job, it’s nice to bring in a little of the positive. I love talking to groups of people, and I’m pretty good at it. I didn’t know I’d like it until I started doing it. Then I started thinking, if I like doing this so much, I should try to do it more. So I tracked down Nell. Do what you love, right?”

“Yep. Do it until someone stops you with the force of a signed agreement and the funding of a multinational conglomerate. Then you have to find something else that you love doing.”

“If you love pissing people off, that’s probably not a good thing.”

“It can be fun, but it is very expensive.”

Carla dropped me off at my place while many of my neighbors wondered why and how I was able to employ Los Angeles’ finest taxi service.

“I’ll see you around, Sheldon. Take care.”

“Ditto.”

Season 2 Chapter 10

I’d love to be able to tell you how exciting the weekend was.

Monday morning I was thwarted from seeing Phoebe Cates undo her red bikini top at a Tuscon IHOP. Why is it that the most indecipherable part of a dream is not why you’re hundreds of miles away from home at a restaurant you don’t frequent re-envisioning an iconic scene from a movie, but how you wake up the moment before it reaches a climax? I laid there in bed wondering if I’d be able to recapture the feel of sticky table and underlying aroma of maple syrup when my cell phone vibrated. It wasn’t mother, who’d similarly not shown much regard for timekeeping Saturday calling from one of the on-board ship phones to tell me what a wonderful time she was having and how much fun this group of South Africans who’d been at the next table over in the dining hall were. The clock said 8:12, and I was unsure for a second, since the window shades were drawn tight as a vampire’s coffin lid. In a few short days, years of discipline and regiment had gone out the window, and my patterns of sleep were now becoming irregular as the twists and turns of my life. Yeah, I’m melodramatic when I’m waking up.

“Sheldon,” the voice questioned. It was a woman’s, and though groggy and thinking of flapjacks I was able to place it.

“Cami. It’s too early. In my life.”

“C’mon, Sheldon, it’s after eight…”

“Yeah,” I interrupted, “but I don’t wake up and go to work anymore. You should know that.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry, okay? I swear I didn’t have anything to do with what happened –“

I cut her off. She sounded sincere and the last thing I wanted to wake up to was the wounded cries of a gazelle.

“Look, I know what I did and I’m taking responsibility for it. Don’t beat yourself up over what happened, because you’ll lose that fight. I ain’t happy about it, but I did what was going to be best for everyone, including myself. Especially myself.” Morals, calibrated…cross that off the day’s checklist. “I hope that’s not why you’re calling,” I added. Because calling me early in the morning for absolution is not a favorite of mine.

“My flight just landed, and I…I just thought I should call. I’ve got some things to work on, but maybe once I get settled we can have dinner.”

“Is that still allowed in your agreement?”

“Dinner?”

“Yep.”

“Of course,” Cami said, “and they don’t care if you and I talk.”

“Hans told me everybody was getting orders not to talk with me.”

She fired back immediately. ”He’s paying homage to you and your defiance by not signing it. But if Mr. Perfect actually read the document, it was just a standard form not to engage a former employee about their discharge or discuss it publicly. They faxed one to me. No biggie.”

“Resignation,” I corrected. “Not a discharge.”

“Sure, resignation…on a business level, we’re just being marched in formation, that’s all. And besides, it’s only the on-airs and the upper management types. There’s nothing the peons can or are going to say. They all got a copy of the company’s press release, and somewhere after the scheduling change of Top Farmers to Tuesdays, there was a couple of sentences noting that in addition to your taped segments, other special presenters were going to be adding to the program, and that you were going to remain on the program in a producer’s capacity.”

It sounded like the story that Jeff gave me, but it didn’t explain why Artie was saying there was a leak. I wanted to see if she had any more insight, but she resumed, “Have you though about what you’re going to do?” And there’s her real interest in meeting up with me.

“I don’t know, let me see what’s on the calendar. Hmmm…looks pretty open for the next year or so.”

“I’m serious, Shel, we’ll have dinner and maybe I can help. It’s the least I can do.”

No, the least you could do was not have your strings pulled by your company and advertisers and unwittingly become their little spy to keep tabs on me and make sure I’m staying below the radar like I promised I would.

“We’ll, you let me know. And those generous folks at CNC can pick up the tab on your expense report. I gotta get back to hash browns at Ridgemont High,” and with that I hung up. But I didn’t get back to it as I’d hoped.

On the refrigerator was a letter that Nell Tanner had sent. Actually sent and not emailed, which was a rare touch of class that distinguished her from the other zero-tolerance, no bullshit ice queens that run companies. It was very business-like in expressing her gratitude for coming down to not only meet with her but also participate in her group evaluation, and that she was looking forward to utilizing my unique observations and style as both a speaker and personality. I stood and looked at it. No, Ms. Theroux, we were not going to be meeting and chatting about the one safe haven I’d found while this shitstorm blew over. Not with you, and not with anybody. The cleanest way to make this break and serve my time was to just knuckle down and do it.

---

Looking online, I saw the same PR comment in Variety and the Hollywood Reporter, but neither had them on the main page. I had to do a search on them to find links to the few lines about the show, and I doubted that they even made the print editions. I called Fran to harass him, but mostly with appreciation.

“She didn’t eat you alive,” he laughed.

“No, but the bones of her past meals where still in her lair. I must have arrived after one of her feedings.”

“Can you keep it together while the dust settles?”

“It’s a lot of dust, but yeah.”

“No,” Fran said, “I mean, can you handle Nell and how she does things?”

“You mean, can I keep from fucking this up?”

“Well…yeah.”

“I’m going to take it a day at a time, and try to keep from ruining it. And I really appreciate you getting me in touch with Nell.”

“It’s the least I could do. You’ve been there for me.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Can you do me a small favor. Just keep this gig with Nell quiet. Cami called this morning and was trying to get a bead on what I was doing. They’re watching to see if I slip up. If I can keep my mouth from moving faster than my brain.”

“No problem, amigo. I got a call from that snake in HR, what’s her name – Connie?”

“Celine,” I corrected him.

“Right, Celine. She just had a few questions and wanted to see what I knew about what happened. More to make sure I wasn’t going to say anything in case I was asked.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“Nothing…I could tell she was fishing. But she did say something weird, not right out, but I picked up on it. She hinted that if I didn’t know anything it would be best not to take pains and get involved.”

“That sounds like her. Only she would say ‘take pains’,” I agreed.

“Right, but she added that it would not make the company happy, and even though I was not actively employed, I was still receiving benefits…”

“That fucking bitch!”

“I know!”

I wrapped up the call quickly and rang Artie, just to get confirmation of the suspicions that had been building. He was not as excited or stressed by the conversation as had been the case the last few times.

“Sheldon, my friend,” he started in the slimy tone that all agents have, “is it already time?”

“You’d know. If there was a second of opportunity for you to have to strike a deal, I’d expect it was already being made.”

“Listen, unless you’ve got a new proposition or idea, I think we’re waiting it out. I don’t know what else to say.”

It was still before his afternoon bowel movement, which he famously broke any and all commitments to keep scheduled. Aside from my calls, I can only imagine how many other clients and deals were brokered while he was in the bathroom. But right now he was far too relaxed.

“What happened to all that buzz and chatter from the other nets?”

“There nothing we can do about that. You said yourself –“

“I know what I said, Artie,” I redirected our conversation. “But I want to talk about what you said. Where’s all my heat?”

“It, ah…cooled off.”

“And this leak you mentioned?”

“It dried up, I guess.”

“Thanks, Artie. You’re a real straight shooter,” I said with a cream filled center of sarcasm. I wasn’t trying to take it out on him because I was seeing what was happening, but it still got me fired up.

“Uh, yeah…you take care Sheldon.”

---

I hadn’t planed on heading back over to CNC, but I’d called Jeff three times since my morning rounds and each time I got a different bullshit answer as to what he busy doing. I was outside the building and called one last time. And this time it wasn’t to Jeff. It was to Mason Burnett.

“Mason, how are you, it’s Sheldon?”

“Hi, Sheldon. Why are you calling?” He sounded confused, which I liked. It’s always to your advantage when you confuse and disorient an adversary.

“Well, you see, I’ve been having trouble getting in touch with my buddy Jeff. Normally, I’d just cruise down the hall and pop into his office, but we both know that I’m not that much of a health nut to start to take up walking. And for some reason, I just can’t seem to get him on the phone. But lucky for me, I was able to get though all the directories and assistants and barriers and get you on the line. It’s flattering to think that I could still get somebody important on the phone even after I’d left.”

“What do you want, Sheldon,” Mason said, showing impatience with my grandstanding.

“Get him on the phone and get him to call me on my cell in the next five minutes, or in precisely three hundred and one seconds you’re going to find out what I loose cannon I can become.”

“I thought this was taken care of Sheldon. Don’t forget our agreement. Our signed agreement.”

“Listen, Mason. It’s very clear how things can play out. But if you and Ephimria and CNC and whoever else don’t take your finger off my trigger, I got a whole new scenario for you, and it is not going to be as nice and tidy as we made it. The way it should be. Five minutes.”

I hung up and felt a wave of adrenaline. Goddamn that was some gangster movie shit! I hoped that my tough guy routine was going to spark a little fear in Mason, even if my threats were far from likely to be carried out. He didn’t know me well enough to see if I was full of shit or a psycho, but my reputation was clearly going to get play. If he waited me out, I’d be screwed.

My phone rang just shy of four minutes later.

“Sheldon, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Thanks for taking my call, Jeff. I should ask you the same thing.”

“Mason just tore me a new asshole!”

“You in your office? Come down to the corner so we can talk, or Mason is going to really learn the meaning of torn assholes.” I realized that sometimes, sounding macho also sounds incredibly gay.

“I’m coming down, Shel, but this is only because it’s you.”

It didn’t take too long for him, and I figured Jeff must have ran down a few flights of stairs to get here so quickly.

“You want a hog dog,” I asked pointing to the cart by the street. Jeff was a little out of breath, and must have wondering why I was acting so flippant.

“Shel, everything was taken care of…what are you up to?

“We’ve been friends for a long time, and I hate to think that this is going to be the thing that ruins it,” I told him. “Don’t give me any bullshit. Don’t lie to me. Don’t read from the corporate cue cards. Just be honest with me and we’ll see if there’s a problem here.”

He looked at me and nodded, waiting to see what commotion I was going to incite.

“I told you, and I told those fuckers that I was going to play ball and stick to my word. So why is it one day I have Artie complaining like a eunuch getting a lap dance and then the next pretending the whole thing never happened?”

“What?”

"There was a leak, the story getting out that I was up for grabs. Gonna make a big splash, and then…nothing. Artie didn’t tell me anything. Wouldn’t. What do you have to say about it?”

“About Artie?”

“Jeff,” I said sternly, “don’t do this to me. Who plugged the leak? And how’d it get out?”

Jeff didn’t say anything.

“Your rules and procedures harpy is laying into Fran about me, holding his pension and coverage over his head. Having Cami poke around so you can keep tabs on what I’m doing. And yes, the slip that never was with Artie. If you wanna pretend it’s nothing, then keep standing there like a dummy…but you’re here, so let’s go.”

Jeff looked me in the eyes and didn’t break his gaze. “They were just making sure there wasn’t anything that was going to bite them in the ass once you left. The big deal that became nothing – that was a test. They wanted to see if they could contain the story.”

“There was no story.”

“And there is still no story. They put it out there to make sure they could reign it back in. Testing to see how firm their grip was.”

“I told you, I wasn’t going to break our deal. I told them! It was your stupid idea anyway!” I hadn’t realized I was starting to yell, and it only registered in Jeff’s wincing reaction.

“I know. It wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with it. Mason just told me, just now. That’s what happened between when you spoke to him and I called you. Honestly. He said that you called and were acting like you were going to break our deal, which I told him wasn’t like you, and so he said that the company was making sure things on our side were airtight. They were concerned that even if you held up your end – like I told them you would, there could be an issue. I didn’t know about Fran or what they said to Artie. You know that I would have never gone along with those plans. No way.”

I looked at my friend, and felt he was telling the truth. Or at least, his version of the truth with what he knew.

“I’m doing what was asked of me so I don’t become a Mariah, okay,” I told him.

“It’s pariah, Shel. Pariah.”

“No, I mean Mariah. Mariah Carey, like when she and Tommy Mottola divorced. Her career went to shit and it took her years to pick up the pieces. She blamed it on him and his connections to her record labels, and while she chose to make that awful fucking movie Glitter, I do think that it was more ignition than self-combustion that torched her. Her follow up Rainbow was a far better album than Glitter, but it tanked because the corporate big boys wanted to teach her a lesson. I don’t have the pipes or the tits, so I don’t plan to rock the boat, because being out of the game for a year isn’t what I want, but I’ve accepted that it’s how things are going to be. So what you need to do is tell your puppet masters everything is hunky-dory here and that it’s going to stay that way as long as they don’t start shit up.”

“You can’t threaten then Sheldon. They’ll just go on the offensive.”

“They’re the ones making it happen, so now they can hold up their end and let it lie.” I reached into my pant pocket and gave Jeff a flash of silver metal plating. “I recorded this, and you can let them know that,” I said, now flashing the small foam covered bud in my sleeve. “It didn’t take much for me to see what they were doing. Just tell them to stop and everything will go according to plan. You can convince them of that, right? You got me to go along with your scheme to not make waves. Try some of that charm with them.”

I made an exaggerated smile and walked away to punctuate the point, which appeared to settle in. After a couple of paces I turned back around and said, “Give my regards to Laura,” and then continued around the corner to where my car was. Once inside, I pulled the electric razor out of my pocket. Next to it on the passenger seat I put the earbud and mic from my cellphone, pulling the stringy cord from under my sleeve. I palmed my face over the whole situation. I just tricked my friend into intimidating a television network, a foodstuff manufacturer, and media conglomerate into deescalating their cold war against me. And worse, I let it slip that I listen to Mariah Carey.

---

When I got home, there was a police car parked in front of the building, and I figured I’d fucked up royally with my stunt with Jeff. 'Officer, this man made a bomb threat on our building; he’s a disgruntled former employee and he’s got child pornography that we show was sent and received while he was working for us. Please arrest him.' Damn it, I really wanted to savor what I thought was a victory! And have lunch.

I saw the blue uniform standing by my front door. “Afternoon, officer,” I tried say as non-confrontationally as possible.

“Hello, Sheldon,” the officer smiled as said as she turned to me.

“How do you know –“

“”Didn’t you get the message? Ms. Tanner wanted me to pick you up and take you with me to my assignment.”

“Ah, no…nobody called.” I was happy I wasn’t under arrest, but was off-kilter by the sudden plans.

“Listen, why don’t you take a moment to get composed, and then we’ll go. I’ll call Peter and remind him what his job is.”

“Ah, thanks Officer –“

“Diaz,” she said turning the nameplate on her pocket. “Carla, though. You can call me Carla.”

“Come in, Carla. Let me put on a fresh shirt.”

She sat on the couch which I fished out a clean shirt in the bedroom, a simple blue oxford to go with the black denim jeans. My phone beeped and a text message registered. It was from Jeff, and read: sorry again. spoke w/ Mason etc. this issue is closed. our agreement holds. I sat on the bed for a moment relieved I wouldn’t have to deal with it again.

“So,” I called out from the back, “what’s this assignment?”

“Grade school,” Carla said. “Standard community interfacing. But I do some work with Ms. Tanner too, and the department feels it’s a good PR situation, so I can use a cruiser and my uni if she wants me too. But today is department business, and Ms. Tanner already cleared a civilian with my watch commander.”

“So, you’re going to tell kids to do well in school and say no to drugs.”

“Something like that, and answer their questions. It’s supposed to be educational.”

“I can see that,” I said as I came out. “I’m ready.”

“Yeah, pay attention and you’ll learn a lot.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. I told you it was supposed to be educational. Besides, you’re going to get your turn soon. Older kids. Fullerton Union high school, if I heard Sunday correctly.”

Great. Me versus hormone-addled teens. I hope I get to carry a gun too.