Surfing Dude Page 6

  “Yes! Your idea really worked, there are six of us and the teachers have already given our group a name. They call us the Brat Pack.”

  I hoped I never met them.

  Eddie joined in, “I tried it, and met three other guys that seem nice.”

  I looked at Denny. “Did you meet any guys that way?”

  He looked down a little and said, “I didn’t try it with any guys, but I did get two cute girls phone numbers.”

  Dad snorted and Mum shook her head. I think I saw another gray hair sprout, but didn’t mention it.

  The boys had some homework, Mary some sort of a project that involved popsicle-sticks and glue. Mum helped with that.

  I dove into my new aviation material and that was how a peaceful day at Jackson house ended.

  Wednesday was clear and bright, in other words normal. My run was fun, I tried a new route. It went into an area with even steeper ravines than the main path. I was running on a particularly steep bit of trail. Since I was going uphill I naturally slowed down.

  Slowing down is probably what allowed me to hear a weak, “Help.”

  Not certain that I really heard anything I stopped. It came again.

  “Help me please.”

  Looking down into the ravine I saw a person at the bottom. I worked my way down a fifty-foot embankment to the person. At the bottom holding her ankle was an attractive young lady. She was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt so it was obvious that she had been out running.

  She was bleeding from a lot of surface cuts. None of them looked serious but overall there was a lot of blood.

  “Help me please. I can’t stand on this ankle. It might be broken.”

  “Let’s see if we can walk you out here, by moving down the ravine. There is no way you could get up this hill side.”

  We tried but even with me supporting her she couldn’t use that leg. I picked her up in my arms and started carrying her. Fortunately, she wasn’t that heavy, maybe one hundred and five pounds. I had lifted enough I could estimate her weight, not that it mattered. I was getting her to safety.

  She put her arms around my neck.

  “My name is Veronica Beckham but I prefer Ronnie, what is yours?”

  “Rick,” I puffed out.

  She may not be heavy and I may be strong, but this was tough territory.

  Luckily the sides of the ravine dropped quickly. About a hundred yards down the sides were shallow enough that I could carry her out of it. As we came back onto the path a couple came running up the trail. They looked to be in their early thirties and very fit.

  They stopped as they came up to us, so I explained the problem. They quickly offered their help. As we were walking they introduced themselves as Tom and Susan Simpson. They had a car at the nearest trailhead and would drive Ronnie to the emergency room.

  Tom even helped carry Ronnie for a ways. She may be little, but it adds up!

  I was hoping there would be a pay phone near their car, but no luck.

  I helped get Ronnie into their car, after that I excused myself.

  “Ronnie you are in good hands here. I have an appointment so I have to take off, are you okay with that?”

  “Certainly, Rick thank you for your help.”

  I turned around and took off, just as I was getting into the woods I heard.

  “I didn’t even get his full name!”

  Oh well, good deed for the day done.

  Chapter 11

  At breakfast Dad asked me how my run went, I told him just fine. No sense in opening up a discussion on my actions this morning. It was no big deal.

  Dad reminded me that I hadn’t talked to Susan Wallace my publicist or John Baxter my entertainment agent in a while.

  The first thing I did after breakfast was call and make appointments with both of them. Then I had to hustle to pick up Fred and get to the beach.

  Fred was getting excited about going to Hawaii for the movie, especially the surfing part. He had a good point, it might be fun to shoot the pier at Huntington and Malibu, plus walking the nose at Rincon, but Hawaii sounded so cool.

  At that moment if we could grab our boards and a woody we would have been ready to go for it, though the woody would sink about five feet off shore. Maybe we could paddle it out past Santa Catalina with a guitar. Yes, we were being silly.

  From there we speculated about the surfing in Peru, Australia and South Africa. We had heard talk about all those places.

  It was as usual a nice day at the beach. I caught a couple of good waves and a lot of rays. I was lucky in that I didn’t burn easily. I just got darker and darker all the time.

  Mum had told me we had a lot of Irish in us. Family legend was that Spanish sailors washed ashore from the Spanish Armada giving birth to the Black Irish, and that I was a descendant from them. My black hair supported that theory. Whether or not it was true, I had no idea, it sounded good though.

  Dads contention was that there was some Shawnee Indian in the family mix. My cheek bones were higher than normal; so maybe that was it. I wondered which story would impress the girls the most. Maybe I could claim a combination?

  After surfing I asked Fred if he wanted to come to the house to play pool. This time he said yes, and out of nowhere told me that penicillin was really a wonder drug. Too much information!

  Fred had never been to Jackson House so he was really surprised when we had to stop at the guard house, and I signed him in. Then he saw the house. To say he was shocked was an understatement.

  “Rick, your family lives in this castle?”

  “It’s not a castle, though if you want to be technical it was modeled on Kohl house near San Francisco which in turn was modeled on a palace in England.”

  “Oh excuse me. I’m not up on the differences between a palace and a castle.”

  “One is fortified and the other isn’t.”

  “Oh. I should have guessed a knight would live somewhere like this.”

  “Don’t make too big a deal about it. My Mum doesn’t want us to forget our roots.”

  About that time a limo pulled in. Mary was being brought home from her half day of kindergarten.

  “Yeah I can see you are sticking to your roots.”

  Since he said it with a laugh and a smile it was okay.

  I took him in the formal front door. Hey, I was proud of our house and wanted to show it off.

  Dad wasn’t home but Mum was in the library with Anna and Sharon along with several other ladies. I tried to sneak us by but she spotted me. I had to take Fred in and do the introductions all around. Apparently they were talking about Sharon’s new charity project.

  I really didn’t catch the ladies names, but I did remember one was a Douglas and the other two Knight and Brown. I wondered what their husbands did. They would have to be heavy hitters to be in this group.

  Mrs. Douglas seemed to be interested in meeting me. She told me that her husband Donald had mentioned me when he heard she was coming to Jackson House. I had no idea who he could be so made a few polite noises and ran for it. They were talking dinner plans, not something a fifteen almost sixteen year-old wanted to be near.

  I had to tell Fred what was going on.

  His only question was, “Who is the Viscountess Jackson?”

  “Oh that is Mum.”

  He surrendered at that point and quit talking about my roots. Maybe I should show him our invitation to the White House.

  I showed Fred my room which resulted in a lot of wows. A trip up the elevator to the top of the tower was nifty. He asked why I was going to the beach. I could catch all the rays up here I needed. Even without a suit if I wanted. I don’t think so.

  We then took the elevator to the basement and played pool for several hours. His playing was just a little better than mine so we had fun. Mrs. Hernandez sent a maid down with a plate full of snacks and several Cokes so we were in pig heaven.

  Fred had to kid me about not forgetting our roots. I took it in good stride because he was right, but not
being mean about it. I told him that if he worked hard, he too could live this lifestyle. Oh yes, and have a ton of luck.

  I took him home before dinner. The meal itself was quiet, other than Mary telling us about her new friends. She had invited a group over on Saturday, so I thought I would try to make myself scarce. The boys answered the questions with okay, and alright, and boring, so all was good with them.

  When I retired to my room for the night I sat on the sofa and read a short story that was listed in my English homework. Personally I thought the story completely overrated. I would have fired Nippers and Turkey for their bickering and thrown the other guy out instead of letting him live there.

  This was one story where I elected to write as short of an essay as I could in response to the questions in the text. They didn’t have drugs for depression in those days, I did check on electro-shock therapy, but it wasn’t available then. Anyway I found the story to be depressing in itself, with no point in it even being written.

  My morning run was not as eventful as yesterdays, which was a good thing. My weight workout had plateaued which was fine by me. I didn’t need a spotter as I wasn’t trying to up weights or bulk up. I was more concerned about keeping my core strength up and having a toned look, without looking like a muscle bound weight lifter.

  I had seen guys down at the beach in Venice who actually looked deformed to me, as they had bulked up so much.

  At breakfast Dad asked me my plans for the day. I told him I had flying lessons in the afternoon but that my morning was free. He suggested that I use the morning to visit my office staff since I had never been there.

  That seemed like a good idea, and I kicked myself for not thinking of it on my own. What sort of businessman was I that I didn’t even show interest in those working for me?

  I hit the books hard half the morning. First it was school work, then flying ground school. Since I didn’t know what was expected the first day I had surveyed all of the course work, I had been given. At least now I had an idea of what I needed to learn.

  Today I actually started to study the material, starting with the Aeronautical Knowledge book. It was well written but very dry. Since I owned these books I underlined items and wrote in the margins.

  I had never done that before, in public school it was death to write in your book so I had never tried it before. That even carried over to all the books I had bought to study at home. The world is changing! Who ever thought I could write in books.

  Next thing you know I would be allowed to throw away my soda bottles and not return them. Dream on.

  Chapter 12

  I was immersed in my work and Mum came in and reminded me that I had mentioned going to my office and an appointment with Susan Wallace for lunch. It was at a small sidewalk café next to my office.

  I put on a blue sport coat over my polo shirt and was good to go. I didn’t want to come across as too high and mighty during my first visit, but did want a professional look. For California this was professional.

  There weren’t any parking spots along the street; in front of Dad’s building so I drove around the back to see if there was parking there. There was plenty of parking but what caught my eye was the spot with the sign, Reserved for Richard Jackson.

  I usually wasn’t impressed by most things that were indications that I wasn’t your normal teenager. For some reason, seeing my name on a parking sign made me feel special. I felt special until I went to open the backdoor and found it to be locked. There was no bell to ring and no window in the door, so I had to walk around to the front public entrance. Yep, I’m special.

  In the front lobby there was a sign indicating the offices of Jackson Enterprises were on the second floor. Ignoring the elevator I took the steps two at a time.

  The second floor foyer was the waiting room for my offices. There was a desk with a receptionist. I noticed there was a young man sitting in a chair reading a book. From the cover I could tell it was by E.M. Forrester. My kind of guy!

  Anyway the receptionist a middle aged woman said, “Good morning Sir.”

  I started to introduce myself, but she had got up and opened the door to the offices for me.

  As I was going into the office I heard the young man ask, “Who is that?”

  “A visitor,” was the terse reply.

  Once I was inside the office I had no idea where to turn. This was resolved immediately by another young man who introduced himself as my accountant. He took me around the office and introduced me to the half dozen people who comprised my business staff; it was so many, so quick that I had the names and titles confused.

  Still I spent my time going around with them and getting an update on what each was doing. Without really understanding everything they were telling me, I made positive sounds of appreciation. It finally filtered through to me that they were keeping a running summary for me of each division’s status including its finances.

  Each person had their own office. They were a mixed bag of men and women of different ages. I asked my accountant, I had forgotten his name and was now too embarrassed to tell him that I forgot it.

  Someone called him Jim, so I went with that. He looked to be in his early thirties so it didn’t bother me to call him by his first name. I asked Jim if there was any place I could talk to everyone at once.

  He promptly had everyone go into the conference room. I asked if the receptionist could come in. While she was joining us someone asked if I wanted any coffee. I really liked this group already.

  Once we were all settled with coffee, tea or soft drinks in hand I started.

  “As you know my name is Richard Jackson, please call me Richard, Rick or even Ricky. The next one who calls me Sir Richard will have to put a quarter in the coffee fund jar I noticed in the break area.”

  This brought out some smiles so I must have been on the right track.

  “As a matter of fact why is there a coffee fund jar in the first place. That should be charged to petty cash. That is to include all the drinks, not just coffee.”

  Now I had a room full of smiles. Since I saw Jim making a note I figured it would happen.

  “Now in the first few minutes of my visit I realized that I should have been here sooner and more often. My question to the group is how often should I come in?”

  They looked at each other and a few small conversations broke out. I let it go on for a few minutes. Finally a forty year old woman spoke up for the group.

  “If you could stop by once a week for an hour we will be able to update you on each division.”

  “Which day will be best?”

  “Friday afternoon.”

  “That’s it then, I will be here at one o’clock every Friday if I am in town for a business update. We will have to figure out how to handle it starting the first of the year, as I will be in Hawaii on a film shoot. Is there anything else?”

  The woman whose name I now remembered was Janet, almost blushed as she asked, “Could I get your autograph for my daughter?”

  “Certainly.”

  That gave me a thought. I asked our receptionist to call the studio and have them send over a stack of unsigned photos. I planned to sign them and pass them out to any who desired them.

  That led to another thought. I turned to Jim, who was the default office manager.

  “Jim, we need to have our first Christmas party. Will you get a planning group together?”

  “I will be glad to, will it be just for the office workers or are spouses included?”

  “Make it for the whole family. There are only a few of us so I think we can afford it.”

  “How about a budget?”

  Leave it to the accountant to think of that.

  “Start at five hundred dollars and see what you can come up with.”

  From the look on his face I think my budget was about ten times what he thought it should be. From that I decided to hold my thoughts on a Christmas bonus until later. Maybe until I found out if my companies were actually making any
money.

  From the easy atmosphere I felt like my first visit to my office had been a success. I did remember to ask Jim about a key to the backdoor.

  “Oh, that is on your keyring in your office.”

  “My office?”

  Instead of answering he took me too a corner office that looked out the front of the building. It was the biggest office I had ever been in, and that included the studio offices. I had a massive wooden desk, there were several chairs in front of it, in one corner there was a sofa and several chairs set up around a coffee table.

  Opposite those was a conference table that had eight chairs around it. There was a wet bar set up with a hot plate for a coffee pot, with the littlest refrigerator I had ever seen. There was even some art work on the walls, but I didn’t take a good look at it.

  Some of it was pretty bright and totally impressionistic; I didn’t know how I felt about that. They were signed by some guy who called himself a Polock, which didn’t seem cool.

  A door at one side of the room opened to a private restroom which even had a shower. I realized if I slept on the sofa I could live in this room.

  “Who did all this?”

  “Your mother, and two friends, someone said that they were Anna Romanov and Sharon Bronson, but I don’t see how that could be.”

  “Trust me, it was them, my Mum and they are in business together and thick as thieves.”

  “You mean those famous ladies were in here! The office is going to die when I tell them. They missed a chance of a lifetime to get Miss Romanov’s autograph, and the younger set will feel the same way about Miss Bronson.”

  And I thought I talked a little too formal at times.

  “Maybe we can invite them to our Christmas party.”

  Changing the subject, since I was afraid Jim might have a stroke.

  “Who is that young man sitting in the lobby? He appears to be settled in.”

  “He’s a reporter for some paper. When the office first opened we had a great many requests for interviews and a lot of reporters did camp out in the lobby. It has dwindled down to him.”

  On an impulse I told Jim to bring him in. Jim introduced me to Dennis Lawson a freelancer. His goal in life was to get a story and sell it to a newspaper or magazine. A really hot story would get sold to AP or UP. From his looks he had not been at it very long.