Chapter 7: Homeward Bound

Depart: 9:45 P.M. Sat., June 3

Honolulu, HI (HNL)

Arrive: 4:57 A.M. +1 Day Sun., June 4

Los Angeles, CA (LAX)

Flight Time: 5 hr 12 mn

Distance: 2,556 miles

Flight: UA7534

Aircraft: Boeing 777-200

Fare Class: United First Class

Meal: Snack

Change Planes.

Connect time in Los Angeles, CA (LAX) is 5 hours 29 minutes.

Depart: 10:26 A.M. Sun., June 4
Los Angeles, CA (LAX)
Arrive: 6:51 P.M. Sun., June 4
New York, NY (JFK)
Flight Time: 5 hr 25 mn
Distance: 2,475 miles
Flight: UA7779
Aircraft: Boeing 757-200
Fare Class: United Business First (J)
Meal: Lunch

Total Travel Time: 16 hr 6 mn
Total Distance: 5,031 miles

Sheila:

The departure day was strange. Our tickets were on the red eye, but we left the island right after a quick breakfast. I hugged Barbara and told her not to miss the holiday we scheduled. She gave me an early pregnancy diet. It looked like I would gain weight.

One boat ride and a helicopter later, we were back on US Army turf. I have to admire the way Sean disposed of the issues. We went straight to Gen. Buehrle’s office, where an offensive lackey waited. Sean guided me past him and chose a suitable young officer to be a liaison, though the Army might argue with my idea of suitability. He turned white when Sean outlined his new responsibilities. Since he would displace the offensive lackey, I was not about to let him refuse.

After that, a car took us to the resale shop. I spent some time chatting with Ioki and buying Hawaiian beachwear for Christine. She asked me if the dress had been lucky. I bit my lip and blushed, then looked down. Ioki’s eyes went wide, and she hugged me. I promised to send her pictures when the baby was born.

From there, we went to the Airport Hilton, where we met George Kada. He gave us a room key, saying it was only good til 5:00 PM. I did not want to know the details. Sean and I had a shower with unlimited hot water. That was reason enough. I took a nap, and then we ate dinner at the hotel restaurant. Sean had them cook our frozen fish. It was not as good as Don’s grill work, but you cannot have everything.

Going through the airport without Kiku felt odd. She left word at the desk that she was in Japan. We received word of a different sort from Francine. She told me that Aaron Aldermann wanted to meet face-to-face. Columbia Pictures would pay for all the necessary changes. I text her the flight schedule. Five and a half hours would be enough. They could buy us breakfast.

Going through airport security was like passing through the looking glass. Sean stopped at a kiosk and bought us fruit drinks. Daniel Ngo found us to settle the details. It was nice but did not explain his being inside the glass. Daniel confessed he had a ticket to one of the northern islands, where a lady friend worked. The domesticity did as much to settle my nerves as his news.

We still had time before our flight, so I found an outlet and opened my fancy laptop. There were so many things I had let slide during my week away. Siobhan sent details of the cleanup. Francine had stayed on the dance floor til after midnight. Even then, she didn’t quit until the band was tired. I hoped Dr. Foxworth’s heart was strong enough for vigorous sex. There was much talk when they left together. That had to be Francine’s choice because there was plenty of room at the Residence.

On Sunday morning, the Amish had services in the Ballroom. That afternoon, there was a big feast for the grounds staff and other workers. Siobhan negotiated for four Amish girls to remain and act as cooks and cleaning crew. She said the Farmer’s Market would be getting a shock before long. The Mothers had visited the Market on the Saturday before the wedding. They were not impressed.

When one of the boys found a horse-drawn plow in storage, the elders decreed that a garden be plowed. They did it on Monday, before going to the train depot. The rest of the men spent the morning moving a large wood-burning stove to a wagon. Siobhan donated it to their church. There were many teary eyes at the depot. In a related note, the Elders Nuefeld were looking at farm properties on the market. The Amish see the collapse of the family farm as a business opportunity.

Siobhan’s grad students lasted a bit longer. Conrad and Kerin disappeared into one of the attics for two days. They emerged carrying a basket of old letters and papers they wanted to take to Hanover. Sean never told me his family was important during the Revolutionary War. Siobhan insisted on an itemized list and photocopies of every page. Even then, some of them would never return. Various departments/museums at Dartmouth would keep them. Over time, Siobhan earned a name as a shrewd negotiator of favors.

Among the students, there was a pair of marriage proposals, one hetero—Conrad and Kerin—one same-sex, plus a third involving one of Sean’s security staff. That case was more of a formal courting. Still, Siobhan felt it would bear fruit. Harshini’s family sent her to school in America, expecting her to meet men. A British officer raised in India and on a solid career track made for an easy sell. I told Siobhan to get started on citizenship for both of them.

Christine’s messages had a completely different emphasis. She told me Jason would father Francine’s first baby, but only because Dr. Foxworth was married. She expected him to slip up at some point. Francine, Dr. Foxworth, and the band had already booked two high-profile weddings in Manhattan. Francine would be donating her five-figure fee toward new band uniforms.

Jason was the Beau of the Ball. His pictures ran in People, US, Teen Beat, and several celebrity sites. Francine was on his arm for many pictures, but not all. Matthew Arnold was a Cynthia client and talent agent. Jason needed an agent, so I brought them together. As with some of Sean’s instant hires, it proved inspired. Not only did they hit it off, but Matthew understood Jason. He deflected almost all the photographic inquiries in favor of art modeling. Jason had already done sittings for two paintings and had a sculpture scheduled.

On a more personal level, Christine detailed two group sessions Siobhan conducted. Both times, Christine was the centerpiece and both sessions were well attended. What caught my attention was that all attendees were restrained and several were also gagged. Both sessions were video recorded, but Christine only sent still pictures. It was enough. Siobhan wore her corset, pumps, black panties, matching bra, fishnet stockings with a garter belt, and a harlequin mask. In four-inch heels, Siobhan towered over everyone. Adding the ramrod-straight posture, she cut an imposing figure. Good for her.

That part of the mail pile was fun. I had a Richards Enterprises pile that dwarfed my personal stack. Fortunately, Roxanna was flagging things by priority. I checked with Sean. He told me to commend her initiative and have her contact Helen. She and Sean had a similar system. We needed to get them synchronized. I sent that note and also briefed Roxanna on my expected breakfast meeting. That would be her speed.

The military and government prospects, not so much. I told Roxanna to expect contacts from various governmental entities. Since we did not yet have a security system, everything should be routed to Gerald, with copies to Sean and me. Naturally, I copied Sean and Gerald, but I guessed Gerald beat me to the punch.

For the next several minutes, I waded through several things I wanted to kill. It was OK if I touched them that long, but the process made me want to wash my hands. Distasteful as it was, I realized my mood had improved. Some reflection pointed out that I was working again. After a decade of sixty to eighty-hour weeks, the last month had been a nice break. Breaks are temporary. It was good to be back to business.

This thought brought something else to mind. I would never be going back to my studio. Somehow, that was no longer a big issue. My clients had been through this before. We would adjust. The key was to keep moving forward.

With that in mind, I replied to a note from Richard. On Wednesday, he sent me an update on my clients’ progress. While it covered most of the important subjects, the format was scattered and the issues were not prioritized. I suggested he spend time with Siobhan, working on organization. I never mentioned Siobhan’s girl Friday. He would have to connect some dots if he was going to keep his job. I concealed-copied this to Siobhan. She would love that.

Long before I finished, Sean prodded me. Our plane was boarding. Where had two hours gone? Reluctantly, I closed the PC and moved to the queue. On board the plane, the flight attendants wanted to fuss over us. Apparently, we were still celebrities and I made it worse by waving off the champagne. This brought pointed looks, which Sean encouraged. My meal plate was at least double the size of Sean’s.

Over the ocean, Sean rolled over and went to sleep. It was hard to hold it against him since the reverse had been true more than once. Instead, I pulled out the design suite and began working on Siobhan’s bedroom. It was difficult working from memory, but that made it a challenge. Before we touched down at LAX, I could recognize the room from my sketch. One last twist was to leave one window open, where Siobhan had dangled Francine over the boxwood bushes.

As we taxied to the gate, I checked for messages from Francine. There were at least twenty. I picked the last one and told her to make sure the kettle was boiling. She replied, “Coffee it is.” ;-) You have to love her or strangle her. I replied that I wanted to be careful of what I drank. She sent back, “Damn it. I wanted to go first. Break a placenta.” I told her not to feel bad. If she wanted a semen sample, she should ask Dr. Foxworth’s wife. She took time answering, possibly to swear creatively. The reply was short, “That might work.” Life was good.

The flight was First Class, but we were no longer hot news. Several of the crew gave us congratulations, but we were almost normal tourists again. I waved off the light meal and worked on a presentation for Francine. It was just polishing work I had already done, and then laying it out in a PowerPoint file. Simple as the work was, I barely finished before we landed in Los Angeles.

Airports are a pain. LAX is no exception, though they were used to handling dignitaries. I found it surreal to be in that category. Lackeys met us at the ramp and asked for our baggage claims. There was an awkward moment when I told them the luggage was through to JFK, but these were professional ass-kissers. We were quickly moving, with security in front and behind. It proved insufficient.

Our convoy drew stares. Everyone wanted to know who I was. I would have included Sean, but all eyes were on me. I was embarrassed enough to get seriously irritated. The blowup happened at the limo stand. Our ride was third in line. While we waited, several cameras flashed. While the security types were keeping autograph seekers at bay, a thirty-something sleaze peddler slipped in. He shoved a recorder in my face and asked if I was in town to shoot scenes with Richard Johnson.

Those were his last words because I grabbed his hand and put the ball of my thumb on his third CMC joint. If he knew any self-defense, he would have known this was not a disabling hold though it hurts a lot. Sean saved me from overdoing things.

He said, “Son, you stuck your dick in the grinder. She can and will break things in your hand. She is very good at gauging tension and rupture points, but she has put people in the ER before, surgery even.” Sean took a moment to crush the recorder with his heel. “Now, if you want my advice, ask for forgiveness and never, ever try that again. By the way, she works behind the camera. They call her in when a hundred-million-dollar picture is in the toilet. Trust me on this. She’s that good with image processing.”

We did not wait for the apology. Our limo pulled up and we climbed in. One of the security types shot several images of him kneeling on the concrete, cradling his hand, with his mouth open. I never learned his name, but he was a big cheese in the tabloid world. That phone pic was on the cover of a gossip magazine before we made it out of JFK.

The irony of it all was the limo itself. It was Sean’s Mercedes done large. There was a selection of alcohol, bottled water, and juice. Next to that was a fruit basket, which paled compared to one of Barbara’s. Then there was a stack of papers and magazines. In the pile was Sean’s catalog. I wanted to die. Sean calmly picked it up. The cover starts, with “Richard’s Enterprises Presents...” Sean pointed at the “Richards”, then to himself. Light dawned on a couple of faces. Then Sean flipped to the credits page and pointed to my name, then me. Heads nodded. Under the circumstances, it was as good as I was going to get.

The limo pulled into an all-night restaurant called Johnny D’s. I didn’t even make it through the door before Francine yelled from her table, “Sean.” Suddenly I was arm candy again. Introductions were made, not including me. I was loving it. At the table were Francine, Aaron Aldermann, a Sony executive named Morita Masaru, and two staff. My radar pinged.

I looked at Sean. He stopped glad-handing long enough to ask if I could make a call. Mr. Morita did not roll his eyes, quite. I called Kiku and hoped she was free. I must have been on caller ID because she said my name before I spoke, which saved time. I gave my phone to the senior lackey. Soon, he was nodding and saying “Hai.” He gave the phone to his boss, who looked annoyed.

After a quick “Hai.” there was a long pause. Mr. Morita looked startled, then looked hard at me, then at Sean, then back to me. “Hai. Domo.” He pulled his aide aside and spoke at length. The aide pulled out a smartphone and started looking for something. He soon presented the phone to Morita, who looked at it, then said into my phone, “Arigato, Kikusan.” He handed my phone to his aide, along with instructions.

As he returned my phone, the aide said, “Mr. Morita thanks you for your quick thinking. He did not understand that you were Mr. Richards’ wife. A breach of manners may have occurred. He was very taken with Miss Kiku. Her Japanese is excellent. Do you know her family or place of birth?”

I nodded, “Toda Kiku was born in Honolulu.” These answers were not expected. Into the phone, I said, “I’m going to get you for this.” Kiku laughed. “I told him you were Toda clan. Now you have to take my offer, or he will be after you.” Kiku laughed harder. “Laugh it up, Fuzzball.”

I muted the call and asked the aide what Kiku had said about me. He smiled, “She asked if Mr. Richards was accompanied by a tall woman who could teach tea ceremony at Lotus House. This is high praise. Then she said that you are the principal. Is this true?” In response, I pulled out a flash drive.

While they opened a tablet and loaded my PowerPoint file, I returned to my call. Kiku said, “Sheila, you should know that is the grandson of one of the Sony founders. His aide is probably being groomed for Senior Management. Have fun, but be aware of the stakes. You were right, he hit on me. Toodles.” Ending the call gave me a chance to check the table.

I have mentioned that a quiet Francine scares me. This was one such occasion. She sat back, sipped coffee, and watched faces. Sean was studying a menu, though he would not have noticed if it were upside down. The junior aide was a Hollywood guy because he and Aaron Aldermann were talking shop. The senior aide was explaining things to Mr. Morita. I waited for the logjam to break.