Chapter 56: $$$$

Dead tired, I arrived home to find a message from my attorney, Thomas Lee Miller. One the aspects of my arrangement was that I never wanted to hear from him. So it was with some irritation that I called his L.A. office.

“Larry. Thank God you called me,” his annoying voice greeted me.

“I thought part of our arrangement was that I never had to hear your voice,” I said.

“No, our arrangement was that you never had to see my face,” he replied wearily. “I wouldn’t think of bringing the reclusive L.C. Compton into the sunlight.”

His dropping my pen name in the conversation told me this was going to go below the belt. Forewarned is forearmed.

“What’s the matter? Your commission on a zillion dollars gonna put you in another tax bracket?” I said.

“Nothing compared to yours,” he laughed, breaking the ice. “I knew that you had a franchise that could span generations, but I never dreamed you rated a ride at Happy Land.”

“Didn’t ask for it. Opportunity knocked anyway,” I said, annoyed. “Why are we needing to talk, Thomas Lee?”

“I wanted to suggest a crazy idea,” he said. “Althea told me that you had written a shitload of new stories and had more in the pipeline.”

“True enough,” I agreed. I’d written another in the limo ride from my bachelor party. It was about a tropical vacation...

“She said that your plan was to release them quarterly, maybe put out a new collection at Christmas,” he said. “I’m begging you not to do that.”

“Why not?” I was genuinely curious.

“Think about Peanuts,” he said. “The cartoon, not the food. When Charles Schultz passed away, unexpectedly, the stories stopped when he did.”

“Sad but true,” I agreed.

“Consider that if you have dozens and dozens of really good books waiting their turn to be released, year after year,” he continued. “Even with all your newfound wealth, the stories are an annuity that will take care of your children, and your children’s children, for generations to come.”

It wouldn’t have been prudent to tell him that I was now capable of living for hundreds of years, as was my family, but his point was well-taken in another very real sense.

“How about if I let them be an annuity for a charity instead?” I asked. That question was met with silence at first, then a cautious reply.

“Which charity?” he asked.

“Might have to create what I’m thinking,” I said. “I want to ensure the schools of Bakersfield and Newtown fully fund performing arts, with a special emphasis on the dance.”

More silence, then, “That’s a wonderful idea, Larry. Where have you been keeping that one?”

“I’ve always wanted to help somehow. Now I can.” I said simply. “Oh, and I also want to build the biggest library in California.”

“Well, you can afford it,” said my attorney. “All of it.”

And with that, the Stacy Fund was created. Millions would eventually pour in, not just from my success, but from the other families who had invested in the pact. Indeed, the Stacy Fund was our new “pact.” to keep thriving and keep turning out the talented, oh-so-sexy dancers. And Susan Castle would be there to teach them.

A magnificent office adjacent to the dance studio atop the plateau and an organization run by Susan Castle meant that, should I desire, I would continue to have the pick of the litter.

But that was down the road. I still had a wedding to survive.