EDITH REPRISE

"I think you need someone to have lunch with you," she said.

It was a statement, not a question. Should have been a question. Caught Dan off guard. Something new for him. He was not sure that he enjoyed being slightly disturbed, off balance, even if only temporarily. On a set or a location, you had to appear poised. Just as if you knew precisely what you were doing even if you didn't. Brady was his set. This square that was actually an oval. At least for the moment.

He shrugged off the feeling, quickly accepted it, glanced around to find this small whirlwind in his patterned plain of existence.

Edith Mussleman had a sandwich in one hand. Wore a faint, rather nervous smile.

He glanced at his wrist and then remembered leaving his Rolex in the Mercedes. In the glove compartment. Which, of course, no one kept gloves in anymore. So far as he knew.

"I do?" he asked. He looked up at her. Noticed the quick expression on her face. One of doubt. As if her offer was being rejected.

Wrong answer from him, of course. Said nothing. And his tone of voice had been a little too sarcastic. Too Hollywood. He immediately wished he'd said something different. Television shows are often written in tandem. The problem with many most scripts is that the person who wrote the particular scene -- the scene in question -- is seldom around when you needed a rewrite.

But if he thought the sandwich was being offered to him, he was half wrong.

"That is not a commitment," she said. "That's a question. I would like to point out that I have a sandwich in hand which is quite good because I made it myself and I'm willing to share it. But I will insist on a firm commitment that my sandwich is appreciated."

"I probably do need something to eat," he said.

"That's not a commitment either. You'll have to ask me to dine with you or I shall retreat to my car and disappear."

"I'm ravished," he said.

"No you're not. I happen to know. Remember? You had something to eat earlier. With my daughter, I believe. I demand a solid commitment. Personal. Definite."

"That was breakfast with your daughter," he said. "I would think that I deserve lunch. A stranger in a strange city. Needing pity. Dying of hunger."

He really wasn't all that hungry. At least not starved. But he quickly decided that Edith Mussleman was correct. He preferred company at the moment. The visit with Doctor Hinchman had not answered all of his questions. Unfortunately, he didn't even know the questions he wanted answered. But as he watched Doctor Hinchman cross the street at the far corner of the square, he realized he'd asked the wrong person. Doctors, like bankers, never told you everything you wanted to know and even less of what you needed to know. Just like the ratings services; they were the very last methodology of knowing whether you had a hit television show or not. First, you tried it out with the public. Previews. Then you put it on the air or perhaps on cable. The public knew good from bad and they had no problem telling you. They didn't turn on the TV set. Or they watched the news or a football game. To wit: Bad show. Poor public relations campaign.

She stood waiting, as if she needed an invitation in order to sit down. Perhaps, even demanded an invitation.

She gestured toward the canvas chair.

"Yes?"

"Definitely yes," he said. "You're right. I do need some company at the moment. How you knew this, I do not know. But you're right. Definitely right. Guess you could say that this has been a most unsettling day."

"I thought as much. Had to wait some," Edith said. "I didn't want to bump into the sheriff. I have, of late, found him quite upsetting. Then old Doc Hinchman came and I sort of figured you had something personal to discuss with him."

"Frankly, I wasn't all that happy about bumping into your sheriff either," Dan said. "Nor, come to think of it, the once great and loyal Doctor Hinchman. Please do sit down."

"The doc? He's still great. Don't even question it. And don't even think about insulting him. Because I'd have to hit you in the nose, take my sandwich, and go. The doc is absolutely the best thing that ever happened to this town."

He grinned just to show her that he was apologizing to some extent for his sarcasm.

He was glad that the little bells were still in her voice. She didn't know -- and probably never would -- but with the right training she could have made a million dollars doing voiceovers in New York or Los Angeles. Some men and some women earned even more. For a few years, Casey Kasem made several million a year as the "voice" of NBC. And the story about the "voice" of Darth Vader doing lines for CNN was legendary. James Earl Jones, the actor. They didn't have the bells, though. Not like Edith.

She pulled the canvas chair slightly angled from him so she could see him without having to turn her head. Like her daughter, she sat primly. All ladylike.

"That's your opinion," Dan said. "I find the doctor an old busy body. Lovable, but still meddling. He has always meddled in the lives of people in this town. Don't misunderstand, I'm not complaining. That's just an observation."

"Sure. That's the truth, too. Not just an opinion. But I trust him. He's my doctor. Always has been. If I'd had the money, I would have used him when Dorothy Leann was born. At that time, I didn't have any money, sad to say."

"He still would have helped. My own family probably still owes him a small fortune. He wouldn't take any money just now. I tried. Said nope. But still meddling, that Doctor Hinchman. Once again."

"I am quite familiar with his meddling. After my daughter was born, he dropped by a couple of times. Said he was just in the neighborhood. One of the kindest people in this town. That's why I didn't use him for Dorothy Leann. I went the mid-wife route."

"A mid-wife? Thought that sort of thing went out with the middle ages."

"We're still in the middle ages in Brady, Dan. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Guess I trashed that memo by accident," Dan said. He smiled. Or he hoped it was a smile. Hoped his voice was mild. Not sarcastic. Not offensive. Sometimes he hated his own voice. When you're surrounded by people who knew how to milk every nuance out of a word or a sentence, you became aware of your own shortcomings.

She had done something to her hair and evidently added a touch of makeup. She looked much better than she had when he'd confronted her in the drygoods store earlier. But, still, he was aware that one of the makeup people he hired could wave a magic wand and turn her into a fairly attractive woman. Frankly, he wasn't sure that it was necessary. The light was just right on her face at the moment and she seemed like a very pleasant person. Clean. Wholesome. Sometimes, that's best. Often, he discovered that stunning women had little substance. Actresses, anyway, were more like chameleons than real people; they changed to whatever you wished at the moment. On the spur of the moment. But it was a shell. Talent of a kind, if you will. Customized for the television camera. Under a good director, the camera often captured something that seemed real when it was not.

"You don't remember me, do you?" she said.

"I do remember you. High school. Very quiet. Studious."

"No, I meant before that," she said. And she smiled a very curious, very amused sort of smile that make her eyes bright and large. She laughed. Again, those little bells.

He had no idea what she was talking about.

"Should I?"

"We played together as kids. We lived over beyond Central Junior High School in those days. Just north of the school a few blocks. You lived in a house there, too. Once day, you slew a huge monstrous dragon for me."

"Oh, my god!" he said. "The little girl with the horned toad."

"Yes!" she said, delighted now, suddenly, with him. She clapped her hands.

"You teased me into killing that poor toad. I've felt guilty ever since. I swear to you. Guilty! Poor toad."

"I was afraid of it at the time. I don't know why now. But you were such a hero! You came to my rescue and slew the monster. Came charging up on a white horse, as I recall, with a sword in one hand, your other hand on the mane of the stallion."

"It was a stick horse," he said.

"Was not! I remember everything very well, thank you. A white stallion with a flowing mane."

"Poor toad," he said softly.

"It remains a terrible, fire-breathing dragon to me. To this day," she said. "Sorry about that."

"Well, at the time I probably felt a little heroic myself, I will admit. You were the cutest girl in the neighborhood."

"Thank you," she said. "Are you enjoying your visit to Brady so far? Are you once again charging to the rescue of someone?"

"Afraid not. And, no, I'm not enjoying myself very much, I'm afraid," he said. "I thought I would. And it was sort of fun for me to meet Rudy Ramierez and Spider Wiggins again. I'll admit that. Known those bandits for a long, long time."

"Spider Wiggins?"

"Your good reverend."

"Gracious! Spider?"

"He wasn't always a preacher, Edith."

"Well, he's a good preacher now. Maybe he has the poorest congregation in town, but he's certainly the best preacher. I go to his church. It's not really a church, you know. He holds sermons in an old house. But it's a good church."

"I'm really pleased for him," Dan said. "Glad he has found his calling, so to speak. Although I haven't seen him in a great while...years...I still consider him a great friend. He and I and Rudy used to roam up and down the Brady Creek. Barefoot. Swam naked in the creek. I'm a little embarrassed. Because I didn't come back sooner to see these guys. The honest truth is that I'd forgotten about them until just recently. I was too consumed in my own life. My career. That nonsense. Or it seems a little like nonsense as I sit here on the sidewalk in Brady...old memories flooding back."

"For the life of me," she said, "I can't understand why you bothered coming. In spite of your friends. I find it very difficult to believe that this is merely a fortuitous passing through."

"You're right," he said. "At first, I thought I was searching to find myself. Something like that, I suppose. Had absolutely nothing to do with Rudy or Spider. Now, I don't really know."

As he said it, however, he wondered why he was confiding all of this to her. She, like Rudy and Spider to some extent, was a stranger.

"Old friends are important," she said.

"Yes. True. But I had really forgotten them until the very second I stopped in some town yesterday and bought this cheap scarf I'm wearing now. Maybe I was seeking my uncle George."

"Seeking someone who's dead? He is dead, isn't he?"

"Yes. Long ago. Strange reason, I know that. Perhaps I had another reason. I really can't explain it. Actually, I'm on my way to Austin to give a small talk. I could have flown down there. But, for a reason I cannot fathom, I drove. And this seemed like a good route to take to Austin."

"I don't think I ever met your uncle."

"My great uncle really. He's probably a ghost now in this town somewhere," he said. "Wandering that old hotel over yonder. Wandering the alleys of Brady. And to some extent, I am also a ghost here. In fact, to be quite honest with you, I'm flattered that you even knew my name. Enough, at least, to list me, however fictitiously, as the father of your child."

"I was a little desperate at the time," she said. "Frightened out of my wits. Have you ever been like that?"

"Many times," he admitted.

"It wasn't the baby. Women have had babies for quite a while and have survived. I was worried that they might take her away from me. Because once she was born, she was the greatest thing. Just wonderful! Things have changed since then. Society, I mean. But I was young and frightened and your name was the first one that came up in my mind. The knight on a white horse. I know you're probably quite upset with me about that."

"Not much," he admitted. "To tell the truth, I don't really know how I feel. Like an actor who hasn't really learned his part very well, I suppose. Flattered on the one hand. On the other hand, I'm disappointed somewhat with your Lester Bradley. Callow cad, so to speak. You'd been to Pinky's, I presume?"

"Nothing that exciting. No fast curves. The living room couch at the home of his parents. You could say I was seduced. I believe that's the term used these days."

"Archaic. In Hollywood, people refer to that sort of thing as a relationship."

"A half hour does not a relationship make," she said. "Anyway, I think I cried the entire half hour. Lester had a mean streak in him even way back then. No pity, I'm afraid. Definitely a callow cad."

He almost laughed, but decided that laughter wouldn't be proper. "No, a crying half hour is not much of a relationship by today's standards. I suppose. Your daughter says you told her that you were still in love with her father."

"I had to tell her something. You know kids. But, no, I'm not in love with the sheriff. Never was. He was a football player and I wasn't even a cheerleader. Simple as that. In retrospect, it was a wasted effort on my part to try to be as good as a cheerleader. A bit dumb as well."

"I think you would have made a great cheerleader."

"Didn't have the right stuff," she said. "I thought I had some at the time. Probably didn't. Nor the moves. Probably still don't. Always wanted to be one, though."

"You wanted to be a cheerleader and I wanted to be a basketball player. Not a star. Just wanted to play the game. I met Coach Stallings earlier. I think I used to worship him. But that doesn't mean I liked him. I've always resented him to some extent. I really wanted to play basketball."

"Pity you never got to play on the team."

He grunted. "The coach this morning...he came down to see me thinking I was my brother. Funny, isn't it. He didn't even remember me. The team manager."

"Often, I think, other people have too much control over our lives."

"Well," he said, "in retrospect, I'm not sure that it would have made much difference in the way things turned out."

"And your life, Dan? My daughter says you're some kind of fancy television executive."

"Fancy? I'll have to talk with her about that. Quietly successful, perhaps. At the moment though, indefinite," he said. "I'm between roles, as someone might say. No, make that between situations. Be more accurate. However, you could definitely say that my situation is somewhat indefinite."

"My life has been that way, indefinite, a long, long time," she said. "Except for Leann, of course. Thank God for children. They help make life worthwhile."

"Of course," he said. "Would you like to hear a silly?"

"What's a silly?"

"Disc jockey I know coined the term, I think. Gary Owens. I was at this cocktail party. Bumped into Shirley Maclaine. Dull party. Boring plus! Both of us were bored. So, I asked her, 'You ever have an indefinite life like this before'? She laughed and hit me on the shoulder with her small fist."

Edith didn't laugh.

It was a good joke. Then he realized the problem.

"Shirley Maclaine is into reincarnation," he told her.

"She is?" Edith seemed shocked by the idea. "I used to like her movies. Now, well, I'm not sure that I'll be able to like the next one. I don't really know that much about reincarnation, though. Maybe it's like a religion and I'm getting my dander up about nothing."

Dan found it interesting that a joke in Hollywood wasn't necessarily a joke in Brady. Different town. Different people.

"Hollywood," he explained.

But he was aware that there was no such thing, in reality, as Hollywood anymore. Hollywood, per se, probably met its demise when F. Scott Fitzgerald came to town. His time in the sun with or without Gloria Graham. Perhaps the myth hung on for a while longer. But, when Sylvester Stallone, Robert Redford, Sandra Bullock, Burt Reynolds and all of the others refused to live there anymore, even the myth of movie magic disappeared in some haze off the coast. A marine layer, it was called. Hollywood and Vine was still there. A place today of rather unsavory sorts. The movie "Pretty Woman" with Julie Robert and Robert Gere depicted the place rather well, he thought. Unwell, actually.

"Things must be quite different out there," she said. "Even strange."

"Sometimes very strange," he said. "If it's weird, it's in Hollywood or San Francisco. Come to think of it, I believe San Francisco is even more weird than Hollywood. But I suppose that's just my point of view. To some people, San Francisco is probably normal. I assure you that to me Hollywood is strange enough."

"How can anyone possibly have a normal life in Hollywood? Reincarnation? Whew!"

He wondered just briefly if that was actually a question or just a statement.

"Difficult," he said. "Takes work. Takes sacrifices. Takes patience. It's not so bad if you actually live in Beverly Hills or Malibu. Or down the coast near Del Mar like Diana Ross."

"You trying to make me feel a little sorry for you?" she asked. She didn't actually eat at her sandwich. Just nibbled. As if to make it last longer.

"Sometimes, I even feel sorry for myself," he said. "I think I have everything. Sometimes that's not enough. Not even close."

"Doesn't sound really indefinite, though, this life you have."

"Maybe not. I sometimes wonder."

"Bet it beats Brady, though," she said. "Maybe that's why you came back...just to see how really good you've got it. Life, I mean."

"I don't think so," he said. "That might be all I'll get out of this trip home. But, of course, this is not really home anymore. I don't know."

"Now I'm making you sad," she said.

"No. Of course not," he said.

"I hope you don't think I'm imposing on you," she said.

"You're not imposing. Anyway, I am most definitely willing to be imposed on at the moment," he told her. "Don't sweat it."

"Don't sweat it. What a strange choice of words. Still not much of a firm commitment to lunch."

"A cliché on the west coast," he said. "At least I've eliminated such phrases as 'right on' from my vocabulary. You should be grateful. I'll make it for sure. I'm very pleased you came over to share lunch with me."

"Right on? You used to say 'right on'?"

"Right on," he said. He shrugged. "I used to be quite strange. Not as strange as the Hollywood and Vine crowd. Or, for that matter, the crowd on 42nd Street and Broadway in New York City. I'm not as weird as that, believe me. And I'm less strange now than I used to be Maybe odd, but not too odd. In fact, growing less odd, I would think. Constantly."

"Well that's good news, I suppose. At least you're someone with whom I can talk. It's just that a person doesn't get to talk with an outsider very often in Brady," she said. "Odd or not. Strange or not. Come to think of it, I haven't even had lunch with anyone in years. Normally, I have my sandwich alone in the back of the store by the coffee pot. Or sometimes on a pleasant day I'll go sit in my car with the window down. Hide in the shadows and watch everyone. Today, however, I thought lunch with an outsider -- even a strange outsider -- would be a nice change of pace."

"An outsider? Me?"

(continued next week)

The Internet is a wondrous thing. I have made a few new friends and have rediscovered many more. One of these rediscovered is Jay Blackburn, author of "The Radio Gypsies," (PublishAmerica.com) and a veteran radio programmer/manager. Guys like Blackburn and Bruce Miller Earle and Rob Moorhead like to maintain a low profile, but now and then I like to step on their toes just to wake them up, thus this note from Jay Blackburn, San Antonio: "The Queen and I have been watching the Talking Heads, as we do, with our coffee every Sunday morning. Of course, today’s topic was the financial meltdown. The answers are relatively simple; it's just that no one wants to verbalize them.

"For more than 60 years we have had the technology to build Hydrogen Fuel Cells. Water in clean, pure water out. So far only Norway has had the guts to defy the oil companies. From Oslo and all around the peninsula, they have built a freeway. Every so many miles they have installed what we would call filling stations. The exception is that these stations fill your car with hydrogen. Here's how it works: those big tanks that we have underground at our filling stations that we fill with gasoline, they fill with water.

"The pumps that fill up our tanks with gas, fill up their cars with hydrogen. The ‘tanks’, about the same size as our gas pumps, separate the hydrogen from the oxygen and other impurities. That left over water goes back into the large holding tank to be used again. You then drive off in your hydrogen fuel cell-powered car that has approximately the same range as a gasoline-powered car. Your exhaust is pure drinkable water. There's no waste. In fact, you are ‘greening’ the environment.

"What's our problem? Building the infrastructure along first our Interstates. Eisenhower did and so can we. Did you know that The Mean Ass Henry Ford shut his plants down for a year to retool for the Model A? In the above sentence, I meant Eisenhower built the Interstate. He did it so he could rapidly move tanks from one place to another. With as many automotive plants as we have, we wouldn't have to shut them all down at one time and we would be creating thousands of jobs.

"Speaking of jobs, well! T. Boone is planning on building two large plants close to Ozona to produce wind turbines, but there's a problem. Our grid is owned piecemeal by lots of different business men and they don't want to give up their power (not a pun). There's another problem, NIMBY. Getting right of way is a major problem. There's only one way I can think of to solve both problems, FEDERALIZE the grid. Again, think of all of the jobs that would be created!

"One more thing, we have been wasting one of the greatest power sources ever known to man. The Sun! The Federal Government already owns the land. Think of the Mojave, Death Valley, The Painted Desert. We have two winners here, the manufacture of Solar Panels, a great job creator, and then the installation and maintenance of these great fields of solar panels. Another job creator. But still, getting the power to the grid you have the problem of NIMBY. On the other hand just think of the jobs created by running this power from creation to the grid.

"I'm not done. Remember the CCC boys? They built infrastructure, including high-speed rail lines. Certainly the high-speed trains would have to built. It doesn't matter to me whether they are mag lev or another technology just as long as I don't have to fly. My feet swell up and I can hardly walk for a few days.

"How do we pay for all of this? How about the old British trick of putting a high tax on inherited wealth, Capital Gains and Salaries over a Quarter of a million, then close all of the other loop holes including the companies that skate taxes altogether, except there would be one large loop hole. They could save on their taxes according to how much they donated or helped to train, hire and help build the above.

"I'm sure everything I've suggested has been thought of and dismissed by Republicans. This just smacks like what they called Socialism when FDR was elected. However, desperate times call for desperate measures and God knows these are desperate times!

"I believe a version of the Draft should be reinstituted. Instead of going into the armed forces, you would have a choice of Public Service. This would pay or help pay for your advanced education. The Colleges and Universities should be reined in as to tuition and other expenses. Another thing, this publish or die disease should be secondary so that we can get the real professors back in the classroom instead of their assistants.

"Chrysler is a lost cause, so why don't we do the same thing as FDR did? Put them to work rebuilding our Armed Forces. The same would work for our former shipyards. Do you know most of our Navy is out-sourced to other countries" The Unions would have to take a hit, so would the owners and shareholders, but it means jobs. The above draft suggestion means an educated work force.

"Forget Wall Street for the moment and bail out the foreclosures that deserve it. I don't mean those guys that bought their second or third house on spec, I mean the people that have a home, not a bunch of houses. Of course, we have to steady the world financial system and that's exactly what it is, a world financial system. We are not the only ones responsible. Just look at the German and French Banks. They are in bigger trouble than we are.

"Okay, I guess I've been a blow hard long enough."

Scott St. James: "LOVED your political rant! In a related note, I had a good time performing a tongue-in-cheek/serious monologue titled, ‘If I Was a Terrorist’ in front of an audience that included nine Casting Directors yesterday. A monologue designed for ‘thinkers and thank goodness there were at least a few in attendance."

Rick Frio: "I don't know if you are aware of this website...it is a great find. it takes me back to my ‘old days’ when i was with an indie distributor and then with Liberty, Imperial, Uni and MCA Records. Pick a record label and remember."

http://www.bsnpubs.com/discog.html

e-mail  claude@claudehallonline.com