Chapter 13: Seize the Day

Sunday October 9
My mom’s attempt at humor last night had failed, in my estimation. I’d been completely freaked out until the doctor came in and explained my injuries. Any time you’re knocked unconscious, it’s cause for concern. That was why they’d kept me overnight. Other than the risk of brain injury, the doctor had said I would live. If the pain I felt this morning was any indication, I had my doubts.

When I’d seen the SUV about to plow into us, I’d turned my body. The back of my head had a cut and a huge knot where it had struck the window. I had three cracked ribs, a bruised upper arm with a swollen elbow, and the outside of my right leg was banged up. What hurt the most was my hip.

The doctor said I’d injured my iliac crest or hip bone. In layman’s terms, I’d received a hip pointer. The way the doctor described it, I’d had the soft tissue of my hip crushed against my hip bone. What made that injury so painful was that the cluneal nerve runs right along the iliac crest; a contusion (basically a bruise) to that nerve hurts—a lot. I could attest that the pain was intense when I tried to walk, laugh, cough, or even breathe deeply. The cracked ribs didn’t help with the last three, either.

My parents walked into the room.

“How do you feel?” Mom asked.

“You know how we joked about turf toe and hip pointers?” I asked my dad, and he nodded. “Hip pointers are no joke. Between that and my ribs, I can barely move without it hurting.”

“How long until you can play ball again?” Dad asked.

“Three to six weeks. The best case would be to come back for the last game of the season, worst case would be for the State Championship Game,” I explained.

When I first woke up, I thought the doctor had been overly cautious when he said I wouldn’t play for at least three weeks. Then my pain meds started to wear off. I’d come to dread the ten feet it took to walk to the bathroom, and I didn’t even want to think about running around on a football field.

“How is everyone else?” I asked, fearing to hear the answer.

“They’re all fine,” Mom assured me. “I sent them all to the hotel last night when they told us that only family could visit you. I received a text from Brook saying they’re coming over after breakfast.”

“I want to get out of here. We have all those meetings scheduled for today, plus I need to talk to the USC coaches.”

“Your dad and I had some time to talk last night. We think you’re right,” she said.

I guess my look of confusion had come through, at least when it came to my mom ever admitting I was right about something.

“No smart comments,” she said with a warning glare, and then it softened. “Your dad pointed out that we hadn’t taken your desire to just be a kid seriously. We had some heated words when he pointed out I was the worst offender by having you take pictures for my listings.”

“What your mom is trying to say is, let us worry about the meetings. If something big comes up, I’ll talk to you. Your mom was always going to remodel your house anyway, so why fight it,” Dad said, and got a dirty look from her for his efforts.

“Sounds good, but I’d like to sit in on today’s meetings,” I said.

There was a knock on the door, and Fritz stuck his head in. I saw he had his wrist wrapped.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Broke my wrist. I guess I had a good grip on the steering wheel when we were hit. They have to wait for the swelling to go down before they can put it in a cast.”

He then told us about the accident. The driver of the SUV was one of the security people who worked for Zander Lewis. Several of the people in our car had seen Zander and the other security guy bail and run off when they discovered I’d been hurt. The driver, probably from prior experience with Zander, quickly figured out Zander was going to cut him loose and hang him out to dry, so he’d told Fritz everything. Zander had wanted to send a forceful message to Halle, and things had gotten out of hand. When the police arrived, the driver had repeated his story to them. Zander and the other security guard were now missing.

“Dear Lord, the press must be going crazy,” I guessed.

“It’s only a matter of time. The good news is that we were inside the gates. Residents of Malibu Colony pay to keep the paparazzi out. The press will know soon, though. They have sources in the police departments, and you, Halle, and Zander being tied to a traffic accident involving some pretty severe injuries will garner considerable attention,” Fritz said.

My dad helped me to the bathroom so I could shower. I figured out quickly that I would need some help in the short term because I couldn’t even get my pants on or tie my shoes without almost crying. I think if I’d just had the hip pointer or cracked ribs, I might have been able to deal with the pain when I tried to walk or move. With both, it was like trying to juggle chainsaws while walking in six-inch high heels. Every move I made felt dangerous because if I did anything too quickly, or did more than shuffle my feet, I was in tears.

As a parting gift, my doctor gave me a couple of boxes of sample pills for pain to hold me over until I got home and could go to the pharmacy. Mom had warned him what not to give me. It was probably best that I didn’t become chatty in the mood I was in. They put my arm in a sling and made me ride out in a wheelchair. I say ‘made,’ but the truth was I would have never been able to walk out.

“Well, shit,” Fritz said as we got close to the exit.

For Fritz to cuss, you knew it had to be bad news. I could see the paparazzi had shown up. I think people could almost make a living tipping them off. One of the hospital staff was more than likely responsible.

“Mom, you go get in the car first,” I suggested.

“Why?” she snapped.

How do you tell your mom that you don’t want her embarrassing you by going postal? I was sure that when the paparazzi went into a frenzy, she would have some choice things to say or might even pop a couple of them in the nose. Luckily, Dad figured it out and put his foot down. From the look she gave him, I was glad she wasn’t my wife.

Mom slipped through the crowd and got into the SUV that Fritz had brought today. She pulled it around so that we didn’t have to navigate the parking lot with paparazzi hounding us.

“Showtime!” I announced.

Fritz led the way, and Dad pushed the wheelchair. Thankfully there was only a handful of them. That didn’t stop them from being rude and trying to push Fritz out of the way. He quickly made them realize that that wasn’t a good idea.

“David, why are you in LA? Are you and Halle James back together?” one of the paparazzi shouted.

“The usual reasons. The weather, California girls, and Mexican food.”

“Seriously?” another asked.

This wasn’t good. Frank would have my ass for blurting out something that foolish. I slowly realized my pain meds had kicked in, and it felt like I was halfway in the tank, as if I’d just drunk a six-pack of beer. Suddenly, it seemed funny, and I laughed. I was so screwed.

“No. I came on a recruiting trip to USC,” I explained, trying to get it back together.

“Are you and Halle back together?” the first one repeated.

“I’m actually dating someone else. Halle and I are close friends.”

“Does your girlfriend know you’re cheating on her?”

I made a brief scan of the area, as though looking for her.

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” I said in my best Bill Clinton imitation.

No one ever thought that was funny. Of course, the reference was from before I was born. Believe it or not, I’d met President Clinton when I was about six. He must have been campaigning for someone, and I’d been with my granddad. I’d liked him. The man knew how to make you feel special, and he’d taken a moment to talk to me. Later my granddad had been joking around with his buddies, and someone had spoken the now famous line. It had stuck in my head. It was a sad reminder that I would have to be careful about what I said around my boys. I didn’t want them repeating something inappropriate to the press.

“Sorry,” I said. “They gave me some hefty pain meds, and I think they’re kicking in.”

I made sure I looked appropriately sorry. I can be a better actor than I sometimes let on.

“So, you did cheat on your girlfriend?”

“My girlfriend was with me in the car. It’s hard to ‘cheat,’” I said, doing air quotes, “when she’s right there. I would never do that to her, anyways.”

One of them made some rude remark, and that triggered my rant.

“I sometimes wonder about y’all,” I said, pointing at the paparazzi as I drawled the ‘y’all.’ “You’re a bunch of phonies. You make up things just to make the news.”

“You say people here are phonies,” the guy who’d made the rude remark retorted. “I say they come here to reinvent themselves. And I think that’s why you’re here. To reinvent yourself.”

“For some, you may be right. Still, if this is the result of how some other people reinvent themselves, I’ll pass,” I said while gesturing to my wheelchair.

Dad had had enough. It was probably as good an exit as I could make under the circumstances. I might have pulled it off if I’d been able to get myself into the SUV. I had to have both Dad and Fritz help me climb into that monster.

When everyone got in, Dad mumbled something about how we should have let my Mom loose on the paparazzi. It wouldn’t have been any worse than what I just did. Later I would agree with him. Now, I got the giggles.

We’d stopped and rented a non-hospital wheelchair for the day. It caused quite a stir when I was rolled into the John McKay Center’s Parker Hughes atrium. The two-story video board showed highlights from yesterday’s game. Brook, Tim, and Wolf were already there with the other recruits. I was happy to see everyone was eating breakfast; I was starved. They’d saved seats for my parents and me.

“How bad is it? Will you be able to play Friday?” Tim asked.

The worry was plain on their faces. I would feel the same way if either of them was injured. They were key reasons we won football games. Not many teams had four legitimate division-one prospects starting. I was selling Roc and Yuri short because they could eventually make it too. It would depend on whether they continued to develop, which I hoped they would.

“I’ll be out three to six weeks,” I announced.

“Dammit. We could be toast by then,” Wolf said.

“David will be on the field as soon as he can, and he knows what his being unable to play means,” Brook chastised Wolf.

“Sorry, I just know you’re our leader and ... you know,” Wolf said.

“It’s not like I won’t be around.”

Their facial expressions said they weren’t sure they believed me. I wasn’t sure I believed me either. Finding myself in a wheelchair was more than a little unnerving. When I’d hurt my neck, and had the back spasms, it hadn’t hurt quite like this. With those injuries, I’d take some pain pills, stretch it out, and it would feel much better. This time, I was actually afraid to move too much, and every time I took a deep breath, I was reminded that something was wrong.

After breakfast, Fritz, Brook, my parents, and I went to Coach Clayton’s office to talk. He ushered us in and then sat behind his desk. I’d noticed that the coaches at each school handled this differently. At Oklahoma, they’d had us sit across from each other at a conference table. Clemson’s coaches didn’t put a table between us, and they’d come across as more personable. Coach Clayton sat in a big executive chair with his desk between us. Uncle John had told me that if you wanted to show you were in charge, you would either do this or sit at the head of a table. I wasn’t sure if Coach Clayton was insecure or if he wanted to let me know where I stood. I felt it was the exact wrong way to recruit.

“What happened last night?” he asked, getting right to the point. “Were you driving?”

“What are you implying?” my mom asked in an icy tone.

I think Coach Clayton realized he was about to blow his chances.

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong. Seeing David in a wheelchair with his right arm in a sling caught me off guard. Let’s try this again,” he said, then took a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

My mom eyed him but gave me a little nod.

“I’ll be fine. I have a hip pointer and three cracked ribs. I hadn’t been drinking and had a driver take us to and from the party. At the party, I didn’t touch anything that would make you worry unless you have an aversion to Mountain Dew,” I said.

I could see the worry drain from Coach Clayton. The last thing he needed was his next quarterback to be either a head case or disruptive. I was sure he knew that several of his players had gone to the same party I was at, including his other quarterback recruit.

After our rocky start, things smoothed over. Coach Clayton knew an awful lot about me and wanted clarifications about what he’d read. I explained that I would have to be in next year’s recruiting class because of my movie commitments. He told me in confidence that if I were available for the incoming class, he would possibly pass on Matt Long. I was shocked, and he saw it.

“If we’re going to work together, I want to be straight with you. From what I understand, you’re a man of integrity. I hope you find that I am too. I know that you’ve probably heard the song and dance that you’ll be given a chance to compete while schools target other top prospects. I’m not one to just get three or four guys together and then throw them into a dogfight. I want to know who my starter will be, and I’ll work to make sure he’s given every opportunity to prove me right or to prove me wrong. If you come to USC, the timing would be perfect for you to step in right away, or to sit a year if Ridge Townsend doesn’t go to the NFL early.

“Matt is my insurance policy in case you either decide to go elsewhere or become injured. I usually try to spread out talents like the two of you have by a couple of years. The ideal situation would be you have a full year to learn under Ridge.

“I’ve talked to Matt, and he knows that it’s his job as of now,” Coach Clayton said, leaving the part where if I came here unsaid.

This was the closest to guaranteed playing time I’d been offered. I suspected that he knew I was leaning towards Michigan and had just pulled out all the stops. I looked at Dad and saw he’d picked up on it as well. Coach Clayton had just made USC tied with Michigan, in my mind. It would be interesting to see what Tim and Wolf thought.

Wolf and Tim both received offers. They planned to meet with the strength and conditioning people and then fly back. I skipped because I had my own workout routines and we’d already seen this dog-and-pony-show several different times. We would fly back tonight after all our meetings. First stop was my new house.

We pulled up and found Jack Mass talking to Dean Lloyd, who was in charge of the College of Engineering. When they saw my dad bringing around the wheelchair, they both came over in concern.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jack asked.

“Car accident. Long story; I’ll tell you all about it later,” I assured him.

Jack looked like he wanted to ask me more but instead decided to give me the bad news.

“Your home is set on a hill. We’ve checked the back portion of the lot, and there are signs of erosion. It looks like it isn’t isolated to just your property,” Jack said.

“Why is that an issue? Can’t you just fill it in?” Dad asked.

“In California, there are often concerns of flash floods and mudslides. While the hills here aren’t as pronounced as they are in some areas, those still can do quite a bit of damage. When you combine wildfires and then significant rains afterward, the ground no longer has vegetation and their roots to hold the dirt in place. With the subdivision’s development and all the modifications to the landscape that go with it, there has been a significant reduction of natural protection,” Dean Lloyd explained.

“We planned to clear the back half of the lot and put in garages and parking areas out of view from the front of the house,” Jack said.

“Wouldn’t that help stabilize everything?” Dad asked.

“Maybe for your property, but we have to worry about what’s up the hill. We need to figure out the best way to mitigate the possible danger,” Dean Lloyd said.

“But there haven’t been any mudslides here,” I reasoned.

“It only takes one,” Dean Lloyd said.

I still wasn’t a believer until Jack had me Google ‘mudslides.’ That changed my mind. Everyone talked about how great it was to live in Southern California. Between earthquakes, wildfires, flash floods, and mudslides, it sure seemed like God had it in for them.

I left them to figure out the engineering issues and went inside where Brook and Mom had gone to talk to Cindy and her group. Doug Wild let me in. It amazed me that he looked so much like his older brother.

We did the whole ‘what happened to you’ routine.

“Thank you for letting us invade you this weekend.”

“It’s your house now. I’m just glad you plan to fix it up. My brother wanted to do it but never got the chance. I gave these students the plans he’d had someone make for the house,” Doug shared.

“Are you sure you want to live through the renovation?” I asked.

“The rent’s right. I bet you have no idea how expensive it is to live in LA.”

Kent had told me that he’d paid $5,000 per month for a two-bedroom apartment. Back home that would go for $500. I was sure that Kent’s old place had more bells and whistles, but his LA rent was more than most people back home made a month.

I heard everyone upstairs. It soon became clear that going up those stairs was something I wouldn’t want to do again anytime soon. I had to use my left arm and leg to get me upstairs.

I’d broken out in a cold sweat halfway up. I was ready for another pain pill by the time I made it to the dining room table where everything was spread out.

Sitting with my mom, Cindy and Brook were Professor Donaldson (Architecture), Professor Katz (Interior Design), and two other students who were earning internships with this project.

“Is there anything special you wanted us to consider?” Professor Donaldson asked.

“Could we do something with the rooftop?” I asked, and then turned to my mom. “Something like Rita has at her oceanfront property?”

“We stayed at a home down the coast that had an outdoor kitchen, entertainment area, and hot tub with ocean views,” Mom explained.

“I think that was one of the best features of that home,” Brook agreed.

This was a much more fun conversation than preventing natural disasters. I asked Doug to order in some food for everyone since he already knew what was around. Caryn was going to kill me when she saw what I spent this weekend feeding people. I had a feeling that I wasn’t done because I still had to meet with all my business people later this afternoon.

Doug came back with a variety of dishes from pizza to subs to Chinese. He hadn’t been at all put out by the diversity of orders because LA has a company called Deliver It. They would stop by each place, pick up the food, and drop it at your front door. Now that was something we didn’t have back home.

The dean and professors declared they had enough firsthand knowledge to go back to Ohio State and start bringing all our ideas together into a coherent plan to remodel and add to my LA home. What surprised me was the number of bedrooms they thought we needed. When Mom started ticking off who all would need one, I finally realized that I might not have purchased a big-enough home. It was suggested that second stories be added to the planned garage and pool house. The area over the garages would be for two security apartments and a work area that would house all the monitors. The pool house already had a bedroom, but the plan was to add two more upstairs. The total would be eleven bedrooms.

When it came time to leave, I needed Dad and Fritz to help me get down the stairs. Mom volunteered a bunch of helpful advice. The result was the two men grabbed me by the belt on each side to help stabilize me as I hopped down the stairs. Each step felt like someone had stuck a knife in my ribs and hip.

I thanked Doug again for allowing us access. I’d watched him interact with everyone today, and Trip was right, he was nothing like his brother had been. I would even go so far as to say that Doug would fit in well with the people back home, if he ever made it there. I felt a lot better about him renting the house.

Dawson Management had secured offices in the building housing its sister company, IDC – Public Relations, on Hollywood Boulevard. It was nestled between trendy little shops and restaurants and close to the Hollywood City Library. Since it was Sunday, Frank Ingram met us at the door to let us in.

He gave a quick tour of the office space and then took us to a large conference room where everyone was waiting for us. Frank remained my publicist and was one of the managing partners of IDC. We’d made a deal to buy into each other’s companies, along with Mass Investments. Part of the agreement had Frank named as president of Dawson Management. We’d wanted someone more experienced to oversee the operations. Kent Crain would be the senior talent manager, but he needed more experience before he could run the whole management business.

Kent formerly worked with Craig Wild before Craig had died in the terrorist attack in Orlando. Kent had then worked for me in Illinois for a short time as my PA, and it was his suggestion that he and Frank pool their experience, connections, and resources, along with a healthy infusion of capital (my money), to expand Frank’s activities and include a talent-management arm. I don’t think Kent appreciated the Midwestern lifestyle.

Caryn Buckley, the COO of my parent company, had hired Kendal Miller, who’d been my first PA. Kendal had her law degree, so she was placed in charge of contracts and was also one of our managers. Kendal’s former job was at a law firm where they’d created an Entertainment Division. One of its employees was Angelina ‘Angel’ Hargrove who had a background in music artist management. She was currently managing Birthrite, where my friend Jett was the lead singer. Jett and Birthrite had played at Zak’s party and announced their first record deal.

Kent had said he needed more managers because business was growing. I’d suggested two people I knew, and he’d hired them. The first was Aubrey Dunham, a former model who after she retired had worked for Ford Models in their European Division. Aubrey and I had been, shall we say, close. Dad had warned me that, now that she worked for me, she was out of bounds.

The second new hire was Clare Thomas. She’d been my first agent at Ford Models and had left to get her MBA. She was fresh out of school, and we hired her before her aunt, who was in charge of talent development at Ford Models, could hire her back.

Joining us were Jack and Bev Mass. Bev had lost her bid to get reelected as state’s attorney for Cook County, and her term was almost up. She held a seat on my board of directors. Jack was my CFO and the managing partner of Mass Investments.

The final person in the room was Megan Crowley, who held multiple roles for me. She kept track of the day-to-day financials, did all things technical, and was also very good at investigating stuff. If we planned to do something, she did much of the research.

Seeing me rolled in in a wheelchair caused a stir, and we had the predictable conversation as to what happened. I offered Brook the choice of going shopping or staying for the meeting. To my utter surprise, she opted for the meeting. I’d seen her look of interest in the various shops as we’d driven up Hollywood Boulevard. I would have bet a large sum that Brook would have picked shopping.

“I call this meeting to order,” my dad intoned.

Uncle John and Ms. Dixon, with Shannon Goehl, our corporate counsel, had joined the meeting via conference call. With my mom in the room, we had all the board of directors accounted for.

“This is not an official board meeting. With David’s trip to USC, we wanted a chance to meet everyone who’s based in LA and get updates about what they’ve been up to. For those of you on the call who might not be aware, David was in a car accident last night and was injured. While he may not be able to play football for three to six weeks, he’s okay,” Dad said.

“I’ll talk later about how we plan to spin this and reassure key people that he’s fine,” Frank said.

Frank was referring to my movie deals that were in place. Dad had told me that once word of my accident got out, people like Chubby Feldman, the director of my James Bond movie, would be worried I might not be able to perform. God forbid if my face had been scarred.

I zoned out at that point as I watched each person in the meeting. Kent seemed excited to have the management business growing. Combining the services of our publicist and management partnership was appealing. He talked about each client they’d signed and the ones they were working on. Brook took copious notes. If you had just walked in and hadn’t known any better, you might have thought it was she who owned the business, not me.

When the meeting broke up, Dad pulled me aside.

“I’m glad I came, but it’s obvious that they don’t need me. That is, unless you think otherwise,” I muttered.

“No. I think Kent and Frank have things under control. Caryn keeps tabs and tells me if there’s anything that needs our attention.”

I smiled because I’d apparently finally gotten through to him that I wasn’t needed. He’d been doing what he thought was right. It was my money, and he felt I should be involved.

Maybe someday. It was enough for me to know that we had people in place that were both motivated and trustworthy. My grandma had been right when she told me I should build something with my money instead of simply investing it. The way the markets were going, so long as I wasn’t losing money, I was ahead.

“Halle is coming in so we can talk about the car wreck. Fritz says they have more information, so we’ll be staying a little later than we’d planned,” Dad informed me.

Kent, Frank, and Caryn stayed. I wasn’t really surprised when Ari showed up. Halle had an expected and an unexpected tagalong: Rita James and Lexi Andon. Fritz came in with Flo, Halle’s security person. She’d been left behind at Zak’s to see if the bedroom had been monitored.

Halle rushed over to me when she came in, and there were tears in her eyes.

“This was all my fault...” she said, and I cut her off.

“Nonsense.”

“If you hadn’t been with me, you never would have been hurt. When they took you away in the ambulance, I thought the worst. I’m so happy you’re going to be okay,” Halle said, and then planted a kiss on me.

I glanced over at Brook and saw she surprisingly had a contented smile on her face as she looked on.

Everyone gathered around the conference table. Halle sat on my left-hand side, with Brook on my right; Halle grasped my uninjured hand for support. Caryn called Ms. Dixon and Uncle John to have them on the conference call.

We did introductions around the table for the benefit of the two on the phone. When we got to Lexi, she introduced herself as my new personal assistant for Star Academy-related matters. Before we went further, Ms. Dixon piped up, asking for some background and the reason for Lexi’s presence at this strategy session. I felt a need to explain.

“Lexi’s the daughter of Paul Andon, the studio exec who signed me for the two Star Academy movies. She told me last night that my contract with the studio allowed me to hire people. She wants to be my PA on their dime, so I agreed,” I said, and turned to Caryn. “We need to look at that contract closer because Lexi says I can hire more people.”

“That’s all well and good,” Ms. Dixon responded after a heartbeat, “but if she’s paid by the studio and her father’s an exec there, she’ll have an automatic conflict of interest whenever David’s interests differ from those of the studio.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Kent offered. “That provision was in Craig’s contract, and he used it to hire Chaz and me.”

“You mean his drug dealer was on the payroll?” I asked.

“I would suggest that you go in a different direction with it, but yeah, he was,” Kent admitted. “Craig had the studio pay him, and then he paid us. Actually, the studio insisted on it when he hired Chaz.”

“Good call,” Ms. Dixon said sarcastically.

“I still have to do her background check and everything else before we can hire Lexi,” Caryn stated.

“You might be a cat lover,” I told Lexi.

“Hey, I thought you loved Bandit,” Halle complained.

“No, I love you. Bandit’s just okay.”

“Don’t believe him. He treated that cat better than he did his kids,” Mom observed.

“I think my juvie record is sealed, so I should be good to go,” Lexi said, not missing a beat, then added, “And I like cats.”