Chapter 4

The weeks turned into months. Dan was wearing tracksuits almost exclusively now, since he was losing weight and his waist size decreasing. He'd started out at a forty-four, and now, nine weeks in, he was now a forty. He was pretty proud of that. He was still large and had a belly, but he also now had shoulder muscles, the first time in his life. His biceps and triceps were growing and getting harder. His legs looked great.

The boxing was really taking off. The two sparring partners he had were still trying to take his head off, but they were now a lot more respectful of his reach and his power. In any given practice, he could land hits on them and sometimes make it count. He'd already knocked both of them down during sparring and he felt pretty good about that.

Unfortunately, what it meant was that they were just getting more vicious. Since they didn't already know they could take him on any more, they were getting nastier with their punches. He got an elbow in the face at one point that had blood streaming out of his nose. A few times he had kidney punches that were very painful. Greg saw it and did nothing about it, and Dan just shrugged and figured that if he could deal with this, he could deal with anything in the real world.

Whenever he could, Dan got Greg himself up into the ring to spar. He figured Greg got to watch him spar and see his weak spots; it was only fair that he got to see some of Greg's. Dan had never lost sight of that end match. He wanted all the information he could possibly get.

Something else happened one morning. Dan was waiting to use the leg squat machine in the gym one evening, and he noticed it was being used – by the same guy who had called him a butterball that one time. Dan just went over and sat on a machine opposite and just waited, quietly, drinking water. He could see the man had noticed him and was trying to catch his eye. Dan just wasn't interested in another confrontation, and after waiting for five minutes got up to leave.

The man suddenly finished his exercise and sat and said, "Hey ... don't go. I'm almost done."

Dan looked at him and decided on impulse to wait it out.

The man said, "Hey look. I think – no, I know – the last time we encountered each other I was unpardonably rude. I ... look, I need to apologize. I was having a really bad day – well, week, actually – and you just got in the firing line. I'm sorry I was rude."

Dan honestly didn't know what to say. No one apologized to him. He didn't know what the next move was, so he said, "Umm, sure, I guess."

The man looked at him and said, "I've seen you around here a lot recently. In fact, you've always been here whenever I've been here. Some kind of crash weight loss course?"

"Something like that, " said Dan.

The man nodded and said, "Yeah, I've seen Greg do it a few times. I'm Caddy by the way. My mother named me Card, Card Nelson and, well, everyone calls me Caddy." He stretched out his hand.

Dan looked at the hand, and then, on another impulse took it, shook it and said, "I'm Dan."

"So Dan, what's the occasion? Got a movie part or something?"

"No, nothing like that. It's ... personal."

"Ahh, sorry I pried," said Caddy.

"It's ok. You weren't to know. I know it's weird, but it's something I have to do."

"I get that," said Caddy, nodding. "We all have our Everest's to climb."

And that was the start of a new friendship. Caddy was in the gym three times a week and they started getting a smoothie at the juice bar at the end of their workouts and talking. They talked movies, actors, books they'd read. It turned out Caddy was an agent, and the moment he heard that, Dan determined he would never tell him he was a writer. This was the first friend Dan had that was worth a lot professionally, and Dan wanted no hint that he was using him. When asked what he did, Dan said he was a 'professional nerd' and that he worked in a comic book store. Caddy accepted that.

Over the next two weeks, they became better friends – Caddy showed Dan pictures of his wife and kids, and explained that they were in France on a European tour right now. Then he invited Dan out for dinner. And Dan went. He had no idea what to expect – a car came and picked him up - and found himself at Morton's Steakhouse in Beverly Hills. The two had a great evening, and Dan even indulged in two glasses of wine, the first alcohol he'd had in months.

After the dinner detritus was cleared away, Caddy sat back and said, "Right, time for a brandy and then you can tell me exactly why you are doing all this exercise?"

Dan was caught. He had just enjoyed an awesome meal – that was going to cost him time on the skiing machine tomorrow - and now he was cornered. The brandy arrived and he took a mouthful and decided What The Fuck. He was going to tell it to Caddy. No one else knew apart from Donnie – it would do him good to talk to someone.

"My wife of years cheated on me," he started.

Caddy nodded and said, "Yeah, I had a feeling it was something like that. You never talk about a wife or girlfriend, but you aren't gay. I see your eyes following some of the hotties at the gym."

"She cheated on me with Greg Hamilton, who runs the gym."

Caddy's eyes widened at that. "Seriously? And you are there, what, to get the skinny on him before you take him to the cleaners?"

Dan looked down and said, "No, not quite. Greg offered me a deal. A way to get back my self respect and loose the weight."

Caddy frowned. "Is this some kind of cuckold thing? You get his services while he gets your wife's?"

"NO." said Dan, forcefully. He was aware other people had looked around at his raised voice, so he lowered it. "No, it was broken off when I walked in on them in New Orleans. He came to me and offered me this. At the end of the training, I get to face him in the ring."

Slowly a large smile wiped itself around Caddy's face. "Dan, I think you need to start at the beginning here. I think there's a hell of a story here."

So Dan did. He told Caddy of his marriage, of June, of the fight, of him going to New Orleans, of the aftermath and of Greg's offer. During it, they had another brandy. Dan shrugged – he wasn't driving so why not.

At the end, Caddy just sat back and said, "Jesus Dan. Fuck me I don't think I could do what you are doing. You so even tempered. I'd have hired someone to take him out by now. And her. It's one HELL of a story."

Dan just smiled back. He was feeling no pain at this point, due to the wine and the brandy.

"In fact, my friend, I wonder if I might have your permission to commission a treatment of this? This is something I could sell to the Hallmark channel, at the very least. Beat down large husband reinvents himself to take back his woman? They'd eat that up."

The smile froze a bit on Dan's face. He sat there, not knowing what to say. Then something Greg said, about opportunities came back. 'Fuck it, ' thought Dan, 'faint heart never fucked a pig.' It was a phrase his father used and Dan had never really understood until now.

"What if I could save you the trouble?" said Dan.

Caddy looked at him, confused. Then his face cleared. "Don't tell me. You're a writer. Of course you are. Everyone in LA who is not an actor wannabe is. Why didn't I see that?"

"Umm ... look, the thing is Caddy, I don't have that many friends. If I had told you I was a writer, you'd have filed me into that group and thought I wanted something from you. I just ... want to hang out. I didn't want you to think that."

Caddy smiled slowly. "Yeah, I can get that. It is an occupational hazard. So, you already have a treatment? Can you send it to me? You have my email address. I'll take a look and ... well Dan, I have to say, I have no idea if you can write or not. I want you to be prepared that I might say 'thanks, but no thanks' and take it to some one else ok? I don't want there to be any implied promises here."

Dan laughed quietly.

Caddy said, "What's so funny?"

"Caddy, I've been in LA for almost eight years. I've never had anyone look at my stuff except to stamp Rejected on it. You just looking at it is more than I've had since I got here. You know it has no ending yet though?"

Caddy sighed. "Well, it might be because it stinks dude. Be aware of that. But if it does, I'm still your friend, ok? As for no ending, well, it will soon, right? Now, no more shop talk. I want to know what you are going to do when you get home."

Dan's smile went sadder and he said, "I honestly don't know. One day at a time. I need to get past the anger first. That colors everything and while the concept of scorched earth is attractive, I need to get past that. I do love her, but I just don't know if I can deal with the sheer betrayal of it all, you know?"

Caddy looked at his friend sympathetically. "You need to get loaded Dan. And thankfully, I am just the man to help"

And so they did. Dan was dropped off at 4:30am and the next day was one of the most painful ones he'd ever had. His head hurt and his body did not want to cooperate. But he struggled through. And during lunch, he emailed his treatment to Caddy.

Caddy didn't reply till that evening and his email was simple.

'This is great. I should have trusted in your ability. There are two questions now. The first is, can I represent you and the second is, is there a script to go with this? – Caddy.'

Dan just looked at the email. It didn't register. Had he just got an agent? It looked like it.

Once it registered, Dan jumped up and danced around, hollering and whooping. After a minute of doing that, he realized how ridiculous he looked, and he just wanted to tell someone, and that brought him up short. The only person he wanted to tell, he couldn't. He just couldn't tell her. And that brought him back down to earth.

He crashed into the easy chair in his apartment and really started to think about the future – how he felt, what he wanted and what his options were. And they weren't happy thoughts.

Two days later, Dan fired off the script he'd written for his experience, - called 'Metamorph' – to Caddy. He'd waited two days to go through the script again, for another pass, adding and tweaking dialog and adding in two new scenes. He was on pins and needles waiting for a response, and he got hit twice in the ring from Greg because his mind wasn't 100% there. Needless to say, after the second belting, he put the script out of his mind and concentrated on trying to beat the snot out of Greg instead.

Instead of Caddy emailing him, Caddy showed up at the gym instead. Dan saw him come in, but was working out on the bags at the time. Forty-five minutes later, Dan was sitting at the juice bar, impatiently waiting for Caddy to join him. When Caddy slipped into the seat next to him, he smiled at Dan and said, "I'll just bet you've been chewing your nails, waiting for me, haven't you?"

Dan just looked at him and Caddy held up his hands, 'Ok ok, it was cruel of me to work out first. But you know all about that. Ok. So here's the deal. The script is good. There are some small issues with it, but frankly, as a first time writer, you've hit the nail on the head. Your script is almost shootable – there aren't too many locations, the characters resonant and there's consistency. I've been talking with the Hallmark Channel on your behalf and they are more than interested. I think they want to buy it – they've certainly been talking that way. However, there are three obstacles. The first is that you need to come to my office and officially sign on the dotted line so I can represent you. The deal is a three-year exclusivity – so you are mine for three years. I get 15% of what I negotiate for you – that's the standard rate – and we also act as agents for any other works you may have. I will also get you work as a scriptwriter on other shows – they are always looking for new views on their stuff. That's the gist of it, anyway – it's all very boilerplate and standard, what we offer all new writers. Assuming you are ok with that, then it's just a question of coming in and signing.

The second is that you are not part of the union, and you have to be. So the way we deal with that is that Hallmark buys the script, gets fined by the union for buying from a non union writer, they – or rather, we – pay the fine and then we apply for membership on the back of the fact you have a script purchased. It gets around the whole catch 22 thing, and it's what we do for everyone. It'll cost you $5k out of you initial earnings and while being a member of the union is necessary to get work, also understand it's a commitment. You have to pay your dues to get the health benefits and all the rest of that. Which are, by the way, extendable to your wife. I don't know if that really matters, just mentioning it.

OK, so those are easily solvable. The third is that the script is incomplete. There's no third act yet. I know that's because you haven't gone through it yet, but without an ending, I can't sell this. Hallmark is hot to trot, but we need that ending. What do you propose?"

Dan was shell-shocked. Everything he'd ever wanted was being presented to him on a plate. Now he had to eat it.

"I can do that. In fact, how about this? How about I give you, oh, three different endings, and they can pick the one they like the best?"

Caddy sat back, considering that. "You can do that? Wow, that's unusual. Normally a writer is so in love with his story and creations that that idea would never fly. The guys at Hallmark will love this, and love you. How soon can you get those done?"

Dan thought hard. "Give me a week?"

"That's awesome. I wish all my scriptwriters could turn stuff around that fast. I'll make some calls tomorrow and we should be able to wrap this deal up in a month. Understand though, selling the script doesn't mean it gets made. But it does mean you get paid."

"Yeah, speaking of that..." said Dan, "umm, not wanting to sound greedy..."

Caddy laughed and nodded to the juice bar attendant and indicated a strawberry/apple smoothie.

"You want to know how much? Ok, lets see ... standard theatrical, non network channel, 90 minutes, that should be ... yeah, the standard WGA rate is about sixty five K."

Dan's eyes widened. "Sixty five thousands??"

"Yeah, but since they've been enthusiastic, we can boost that. I think the top end range is around one hundred and twenty k. I suspect that with a bit of negotiation, you should clear a hundred grand on this."

"A ... hundred... ?" Dan was shaken.

"Dan, you are a professional now. This is what good writers command. Trust me, if this goes the way I think it will, you will be in demand. You'll be asking a lot more of that once you've sold a few scripts and people see what you can do."

"I..."

"Dan, take a moment. It's all good. It can all fall apart of course, to pour some cold water on all this. But, you've got people in your corner now. You aren't alone; you've got me looking out for you. Now go away and write me some good shit so I can sell it and we all get paid and laid."

Dan looked at Caddy.

"Ok, well, maybe not the last one, although frankly, you could use that too."

The smoothie arrived and Caddy picked it up and said, "Cheers Dan. To the future!" and sucked down a long pull.

Another three weeks went past. Dan cracked a rib in the ring when a bout got particularly nasty. He knew he'd broken the other guys nose, even through the headgear. Even Greg scrambled up into the ring to separate them.

After looking at the other guy, Greg came over to where Dan sat, nursing his left side.

"Hurts like a motherfucker, doesn't it?" he said. Dan nodded.

"What's worse is that there is nothing we can do about it. They don't even tape up broken ribs any more. You just have to suffer through it and take Advil. It's going to be very painful tomorrow, so you have a day off. Come back on Thursday."

Dan nodded, still in pain.

"Oh and Dan. Think about this. You broke that guys nose. Think you could have even thought of doing that when you started?"

It was painful. Dan went back on Thursday and took it very easy. It wasn't long before he was in agony, and Greg sent him to the hot tub. Dan was amazed at how much you used his ribs in almost anything he did. Almost every act was agony for two or three days and he was popping Advil like it was tic-tacs, before it became a dull throb and eventually subsiding. In the meantime Dan polished the script he'd prepared for Caddy and Hallmark, with its three endings. They'd still not decided which ending to pick, and so Dan just polished up all three.

In the mean time, he also started in on something new. An idea he'd had while working out, and he wanted to see if it had any legs.

And then it came. The long email from June. He knew it had been coming since he read the transcript from Megan and June weeks back. He had no idea if he was going to read it when it did arrive, but, of course, he did.

Since then, June had continued to send him texts, never letting up. The emails still came; she'd bought a cat for company, calling it Heinz since it was an orange tabby cat. They had an in-joke regarding Heinz Baked Beans, a British delicacy. When they were at U of W together, they had an English friend who had introduced them to Heinz Baked Beans on toast. They both fell in love with it and bought tins of Heinz Baked Beans whenever they saw them.

She was still working at HBO. They'd started primary shooting on the first episode of War Moments in Italy, and she'd had a few long meetings with Tom Hanks, and been invited out to dinner with Steven Spielberg – one of Hanks' friends – and his wife. She'd declined – regretfully – because her husband wasn't there to escort her. Spielberg had offered a rain check until he returned from his business trip, which is where she'd told him Dan was.

But it was late in the day when the long email came in. Dan could see it on his iPhone, but couldn't get the will up to read it, until he was done for the day, and could read it on his laptop.

He sat down in the little apartment with a smoothie, with vodka added – Greg would have had a fit – and he opened the email.

So you asked me why. According to the Doctor, there are two aspects. One is that I subconsciously felt like I was carrying you in the relationship. I don't want you to read that and think I am trying to blame you – that's not it at all. I'm trying to explain what my brain was doing. I'm a producer – by definition what I do is produce. I make people do their jobs and get it done. But with you, I can't. You are my husband, my partner. I cannot push you in the way I do at work, nor do I want to. But the lack of success you've had bothers me. Again, this is ­not your fault in any way; I know you've tried and LA has just been a closed door to you. I know you have the talent but just can't get that foot in the door. That would be enough to frustrate any man. But it's contrary to who I am. Not only could I not help you because of what our relationship is based on, you made it clear you didn't want me to anyway. I respect that ... well, mostly.

Apparently I have some deep-rooted submission streak. Not a huge one – not anything that makes me need to wear any of those stupid clothes or run around and call any one master or get slapped around or anything like that. Just a need, at times, to have a man tell me what to do. To be, in the words of Doctor Bellingham, 'Firmly Guided'. It's not all the time, and not all the time in a specific situation either – it's not like I need to be sex slave all the time when sex comes up or anything. Just, the more overloaded I get, the more I need this outlet where I am not in control. Where I am told, firmly, but not abusively or arrogantly, what is going to happen. I dunno if I really buy it, but it would explain why I went with Greg in the first place. Not wishing to hurt you, but he is a very masculine man, very firm and very pushy. If you knew him, you'd know what I mean. He's like the ultimate Alpha male, even if he is extremely shallow and has the morals of a skunk.

From what I'm told, I just responded to that in way I wouldn't normally do so, because I was so stressed at the time. I was so in charge during the day, that when I wasn't, it was necessary for my personality to be fulfilled or something. If I'd not been so stressed, and not been far from you and home, in my own little bubble of the world, I'm told it's very unlikely I would have done what I did. Still, I was and I did and I need to fess up to that.

I don't know if that's any comfort to you. For me, I'm not sure I buy into it. I've never consciously felt the need for a man to tell me what to do in the past, but maybe it's something I didn't even know I needed on occasion. Where that leaves us, I don't know. Like I said, I know for a fact that I don't suddenly need a dominant alpha male ordering me around – but perhaps I need more analysis to work out exactly what I do need in those situations. Of course, on your part, you'd not even know that I needed it at the time, especially if I didn't. I don't know. My head is going round in circles and I don't know what to think. I so wish you were here to talk to. You'd know just what to say so I could make sense of it all.

I should say, it was good though. I'd do it again for you in a heartbeat. I don't regret doing it at all, and I hope you don't either. I just regret why.

Since we are talking total honesty, I need you to know I haven't seen Greg again since that night, apart from going to him to see if he might be able to find you when you were gone initially. There was no hint of anything sexual, I just was desperate. He didn't find you and there's been no contact since. You haven't asked but I feel that you should know, we were together four times in total, counting that night you found us. I don't know what you'll do with this information, or if you even want to know, but there it is.

He did get fired from the movie by the way. The next day after you saw us in fact. Although after I talked to them, reading between the lines, I think the production company were ok with that. His work with Justin was already done and he was just sucking up money. Fifty grand extra they didn't have to pay out was fine with them.

Before you left, you asked me how I would make this up to you. How I would rebuild the trust and faith we had. I've been thinking a lot about that and I honestly don't know what to do. The thing is, I cannot make you trust me. I cannot make you have faith in me. All I can do is keep going, not faltering and giving you no reason to doubt me. The trust and faith must come from you. I don't know if the damage I've done will even allow that – that's up to you I'm afraid and yet again I have to say sorry for putting you in that position. I just hope you love me enough to give me that chance. I'm not asking you to forgive me or forget it; I know there's no chance of that and nor should there be. I just want the chance to be the wife I should have been all along. That I was till I fucked it all up. It's up to you really.