Chapter 33

Maria didn’t come home that night, but she did ring Sandy to tell her that she wouldn’t and asked her to ask me whether it was all right to spend the following day with Kostas.

“Don’t worry Mom,” she said, “that will be fine. I’ll sort it out with him and Mom I hope you were careful; we don’t want any little accidents.”

Maria obviously said something funny because Sandy laughed and said, “I love you too Mom, have fun,” before she ended the call.

“I take it your Mum and Kostas decided on a private party last night,” I said.

“Looks like it, she asked if it was all right for her not to be here today, I told her it was.”

“Of course it is, she’s not an employee, she’s family.”

“I knew you’d say that, which is why I just said, OK.”

“Sandy, she’s your mother, she could live here with us even if she didn’t do all the cooking and cleaning.”

“I know that too,” she said and kissed me.

“Don’t forget we have a representative from the studio coming out tomorrow,” she said, “in the meantime I’ll speak to your Mom about food for today.”

“Why don’t we all go out?” I asked, “then we don’t have to cope with the washing up, or the cooking.”

“That sounds good, but will Mom think we only went out because she wasn’t here?”

“Then ring her and invite her and Kostas to come too,” I suggested, “Well, they can only say no, at worst.”

She picked her phone up and called her mother, explained our plan and arranged to meet her at a small restaurant halfway between them and us at one o’clock. Sandy and I set about mixing batter for pancakes for breakfast, those and scrambled eggs, bacon and, this being Canada, maple syrup.

Just before eleven, as I finished putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, I got a surprise, my phone rang, it was an unknown number, but, when I answered it, the voice on the other end was familiar.

“Sam,” I said, “this is a pleasant surprise, what can I do for you?”

“Well, you could get me picked up, I’m at the airport.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I’ve come to meet the man who single-handedly closed down a production,” he replied.

“But my dispute is with the production company and the director,” I said.

“And since, last week, I bought the production company, it has become my problem, now are you going to make an old man wait in line for a taxi?”

“No, of course not, we’ll be there in about half an hour.”

We hung up and I went in search of my Dad.

“Dad, can you drive me to the airport please?”

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Just to pick up the head of the production company.”

“The head of the company has come out to see you, on Boxing Day?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, but he is an old friend, so maybe it will be more of a social visit,” I said.

“An old friend?” he asked, “Sam?”

“Yes,” I said, “can we get going I promised him half an hour.”

We were ten minutes late and found Sam drinking coffee inside the terminal building.

He stood as we entered and we hugged.

“Sam,” I said, “you remember my Dad?”

He stuck out his hand.

“James, good to see you again,” he said, “I never realised that you raised a troublemaker.”

“Oh, I did Sam,” Dad replied, “but she’s back at the house, this one is the shy retiring one.”

“Then let’s go and resolve this,” he said.

“Sam, we’re about to go off for a family lunch, why don’t you join us?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” he said.

“Sam, after all you’ve done for David, you couldn’t, you’re family, now come on, meet everybody, have a meal, then you can talk business,” my dad answered.

“All right, you’ve persuaded me,” he said.

We walked together back to the car, climbed in and headed off back to the house, where after the necessary greetings we all immediately got back into cars and headed off to meet Maria and Kostas.

At lunch, Sam was his usual self, avuncular, witty and charming. At the end Dad and he had an involved discussion as to whether he, Sam, or Dad would pay. In the end they compromised on me paying.

We all walked out of the restaurant together, with Maria and Kostas peeling off to go back to whatever they had planned. Maria promised to be home in time to cook dinner, but the girls told her not to rush, they could manage. The rest of us split between two vehicles, with Mum and Aunt Mary doing the driving.

Once we were home, I put the coffee maker on and then, with three mugs on a tray, Dad, Sam and I retired to the study.

“So,” my Dad opened the conversation, “why are you here, we expected someone from either the TV network or the production company.”

“And you got me,” he said, “sorry to disappoint you, but I am the production company.”

“What?” I said, “but my contract says Another Productions LLP.”

“That’s right, when they first proposed this series, they approached me for funding. I offered twenty-five percent for a twenty-five percent share in the production. They ran into some serious financial difficulty, which is when they started drawing back from contractual obligations. Since I’ve been looking to get into TV production, last week I offered to buy the other partners out, they accepted, so Another Productions Ltd, is now the production company. You’ll have a letter about that waiting when you get home, James.”

“What does that mean for me?” I asked.

“It means that you and your colleagues all start back at work the Monday after New Year’s all contractual obligations on the part of the company will be met, including tutors for juvenile actors and you will all work very hard and produce a show that will make me lots of lovely money. Oh and you’ll have a new director.”

“who?” I asked.

“TBD, David, TBD,” Sam replied, “which is why shooting doesn’t recommence until the Monday after New Year’s.”

“You know, Sam,” my Dad said, “you could have said all this in a phone call, you didn’t need to fly all this way to tell us.”

“I know, but then I wouldn’t get to spend time with my favourite young actor,” he said, “and his wonderful family. Well, that and I needed to get away from my offspring for a couple days.”

“Anybody would think you weren’t fond of your children,” Dad said.

“Oh, I am,” Sam replied, “it’s just the shrews that they married I don’t like.”

“But what about your grandkids?” I asked.

“Basically, they see Grandpa as an unending supply of money, just like their mothers,” he replied.

“So, you used us as an excuse to escape,” I said.

“Well, put like that, yes,” he said.

“Whyever you came we’re glad to see you,” I said, “where are you staying?”

“Hilton at the airport,” he replied.

“Well, ring them and cancel,” I said, “we can do a little bit of reorganising and you can stay with us.”

“Are you sure?” he said, “I don’t want to be a trouble.”

“You won’t be,” I replied, “and besides, if it hadn’t been for you, taking a chance on a young boy on the word of his English teacher, we wouldn’t be here at all. So, as the Spanish say, ‘Mi casa es su casa’.”

“That reminds me,” he said, “before I forget, I have something for you.”

I was puzzled when he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a white envelope.

“This is for you, a little Hanukkah gift from me,” he said and handed me the envelope.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well if you open it, you’ll find out,” he replied, “I promise you it won’t explode.”

I think he noticed how gingerly I was holding it.

I tore the envelope open and took out the contents. It was a stiff piece of paper, folded in two. When I opened it, I saw a rather elegantly printed certificate, stating that I David James Barker was the duly registered owner of one share in Magnum Productions Incorporated, a corporation registered in Delaware.

“Sam,” I said, handing the certificate to my Dad to read, “I can’t take this. Magnum is your company.”

“You can, David,” he replied, “and I hope you will. Look, that’s one millionth of the company. It’s worth less than I would have spent if I’d gone out and bought you a Christmas present. Besides, I have an ulterior motive.”

“Which is?” Dad asked.

“Well, if David owns part of the company, if it comes to it, he might well be more likely to choose it over some other company when deciding what projects to work on.”

I looked at my Dad, who just nodded slightly and handed me the certificate back.

“Thank you, Sam,” I said, “I shall treasure it always.”

“I have another ulterior motive too,” he said.

“What is it?” Dad asked.

“James,” he replied, “I’m sixty-nine years old. I can’t go on forever. If I were to retire, or even die and my sons inherited it, they’d sell the company the day after the will was read and my creation would be consumed by some faceless multinational corporation. I want to groom David to take over after me; when he’s ready, of course.”

“For something that was guaranteed not to explode,” Dad said, “that bombshell just went off.”

“It wasn’t meant as a bombshell,” Sam said, “just planning for the future. As an outsider I think I may see something in David that you as his father don’t.”

“And I think, Sam,” Dad said, “as his father, if you have plans for David beyond casting him in more of your productions, I’d prefer it if you discussed it with us first.”

“I’m sorry, James,” Sam said, “you’re right. I think it’s because I see in David what I had hoped my own sons would turn out like. I promise you; I will not do anything similar again. I would though take it as an honour if you allowed him to keep his share.”

Dad said nothing for a while, just looked at me and then at Sam. Finally he stuck out his hand to Sam.

“Apology accepted, Sam. David, where’s that bottle of single malt you have stashed away in here?”