Here's something I NEVER do. It's an unedited, deleted scene. It was deleted with good reason. But readers are often as curious to see what didn't make the final cut as what did! Some things in the story have changed completely. So here, you go. *Hides under the bed.* Please excuse any typos or other errors. You want it raw and as-is, so you got it.
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“What’s
the name of your design friend?”
“Shyla
Hollings?”
“Yes,
yes. The one that does set design. I need to hire her to do my house.”
“What?”
“You
heard me. My
New York decorator is busy and wouldn’t travel out here anyway.
I’m tired of living in a dump. It’s time to get this place set up. If I’m going
to live like a hermit, I’m damn well going to do it in style. Her number,
please?”
“I
don’t think she’ll appreciate you calling and asking her to decorate your
house.”
“She
will when I tell her what I can pay.”
“Her
husband is a wealthy retired pro football player.”
“So
what? I don’t give a crap who he is or what he does. If you won’t let me call
her, then you do it. I need help. Mindy in a total decline here.”
“Okay,
okay. I’ll call her.”
“Good.
Thank you. I knew you’d see it my way.”
“I
always do, don’t I?”
“That’s
why I adore you, cousin. You’re the only one who hasn’t turned their back on
me.”
The
minute the words were out of his mouth, he regretted his candor. He’d vowed to
himself, never to admit that to anyone. Well, Mindy wasn’t just anyone. Still.
Here comes the pity.
There
was a moment of silence. “I’m so sorry, Rick. Let me call Shyla now.”
“Thank
you. Forget I said that, will you?”
“Whatever
you want, hon.”
He
put down the phone and took a moment to thank God for Mindy. Checking his
watch, he realized it was dinner time. At his feet, Oliver gave a little whine.
“Okay,
boy. I know. Time to eat.”
He
traipsed into the kitchen, grinding his teeth. He hated cooking for himself,
even if it only meant heating something up in the microwave. And the frozen
food selections were not to his taste. Still, he had no idea how to do much
more than boil water, so he relied on frozen food.
He
opened a can of dog food for the pooch and gave him fresh water, then heated up
his supper. The two sat together in the kitchen, eating. Rick stared out the
window at the beautiful scenery. The green of the trees, the sweet bird songs
soothed him. He had to come to terms with his disfigurement and move on. He had
to build a new life. But how?
He
knew people with personal resources –inner strength, determination,
problem-solving skills. But that wasn’t him. Rick Breaker Winslow had grown up
a pampered child. He’d had the run of his parent’s Victorian mansion in Pine
Grove. Hot-and-cold running nannies, cooks, caretakers looked after little
Rick.
Then
he started modeling. After he’d given up fighting to get his life back, he
learned to enjoy the attention and, for sure, the money. It’s wasn’t a far
distance from slave to master. Before long he was calling the shots, picking
and discarding jobs on a whim. Doing only what suited him. Spending time only
with people who paid the proper homage to him and his fame.
As
he sat and looked out the window, it dawned on him what a monster he’d become.
Shame filled him when he recalled how he’d treated the little people, interns,
go-fers, people just starting out. He’d been high-handed, condescending and
sometimes even cruel.
His
heart sank as he conjured up a true picture of Breaker Winslow, famous model
and total dick. Fear gripped him. What if he reached inside himself to find his
inner strength and there was none? What if he was truly as empty has he had
appeared?
When
he finished eating, he poured a glass of white wine and took Oliver out to sit
on the back porch. He eased his butt into an ancient rocker. The movement
calmed him. He watched the birds and searched for a way out of his depression,
a path that could lead to some kind of life.
He
made a mental list of professions, jobs, but couldn’t come up with anything he
either had the skills to do or wanted to do. Face it, Breaker Winslow was only
a shallow, pretty face with no skills, no aptitude, and no ability at anything.
Being the best frog catcher on the street didn’t qualify you for anything in
life. And he couldn’t even become a gigolo because he’d lost his looks. That
was a shame because he did have a talent for making love. He laughed to
himself. He ought to, he’d done it enough.
Absently,
he petted Oliver who had curled up in a small bed by Rick’s feet. The feel of
the soft fur between his fingers lowered his blood pressure, reduced his
heartbeat. He could no longer hear it in his ear. Rocking back and forth
refreshed his spirit.
His
thoughts turned to his body. He hadn’t worked out much in a year and was
already getting flabby. He’d gained five pounds. He needed a gym, but there was
no way he’d be joining anything – even if they had one in this no-man’s-land.
He’d have to construct his own gym. He knew the equipment he needed to keep
himself fit and slim. Now where to house the damn stuff?
****
The
next morning, after breakfast, Rick harnessed the dog for his morning walk. His
mind returned to the idea of a gym. As they strolled, the pooch pulled toward
the center of his property. Rick unleashed the animal, who ran full speed after
a squirrel. Rick loped along behind, his long legs and easy strides keeping him
close to the little pug.
As
they ran, an outbuilding came into view. The barn! Why didn’t he think of it
before? It would be the perfect place for a gym. He whistled for Oliver and the
twosome headed for the decrepit structure.
If
the house was sagging and sorry, the barn was about three steps below. It
looked so rickety, he’d be afraid it would collapse the minute he pushed on the
door. And who knew what lived in there? Deadly spiders? Vampire bats. He’d be
afraid to go inside alone. A yap from the floor reminded him that he wasn’t
alone.
Not
that Oliver could do much to protect him against anything truly threatening,
but he could bite and make noise. That would have to do.
“Ollie.
Oliver! Get up! We’re going exploring, buddy.”
At
the sound of his name the pooch jumped up. Rick put down his glass of wine,
tucked his fingers into his pockets and headed for the barn. Oliver trotted
along behind him. He hoped the place was decent enough to turn into some kind
of a gym.
A
rueful smile spread his lips. If you threw enough money at a problem, you could
solve almost anything. He touched his cheek. That’s right almost anything.
****
The
dark wood was weathered beyond shabby chic straight to falling apart. Two large
doors came together in an uneven line. A rusty closure dared Rick to touch it.
He grimaced and put his hands on the metal. Oliver barked and wagged his tail.
Anger
at the barn’s uncooperative attitude fueled his strength. He’d show this hunk
of junk exactly who was boss.
“So
you’re not going to open up? We’ll see about that,” he said, yanking hard.
Rust
crumbled on his shoes as the latch sprang up with a jolt. He swore, brushed off
the tops of his Nike’s, and faced the double doors. As he pulled on one, the
creaky hinges wailed like a dying coyote.
Rick cringed at the assault on his ears. A musty smell enveloped him as
the door swung wide. Temporarily blinded by the darkness, he hesitated before
moving in.
Oliver
trotted inside, nose to the ground.
“Stinks
in here, doesn’t it?” He asked the pooch.
Unafraid,
Oliver continued in and turned to the right. When he disappeared, Rick
panicked.
“Oliver!
Ollie, where are you? Get back here right now!”
An
answering bark assured him his pal was still alive. As his eyes adjusted to the
lack of light, he took tentative steps inside. There wasn’t much to see. He
made out what looked to be stalls, maybe three in front of him. To the right
was a half-wall. He guessed that either hay was housed there or a small tractor
of some kind.
There
was a bit of old straw on the floor. A small shaft of light poked through a
hole in the roof. On the left was open space and in the rear, a ladder going up
to the loft. The ladder was missing a rung –the others looked weak, at best. No
way was Rick going to attempt to check out the loft. Spider webs, masterly
woven between supporting beams, tickled him as he passed by.
He
shuddered at the notion that a spider might be crawling on him and he’d never
know. Even as a boy, he’d been afraid of spiders. He frowned to think he hadn’t
outgrown that yet. He shook all over, hoping to knock off any hangers-on.
Oliver gave his fur a shake as well, making Rick laugh.
He
exited the building and latched the door. While they checked out the barn,
clouds had gathered. Big drops of rain began to fall. Rick sprinted toward the
house with Oliver running full speed behind him. Once inside, he made more
coffee and took a mug out to the back porch. Easing into the rocker, he watched
the rain fall. As long as the wind didn’t pick up or shift, he was safe from
the wetness. Oliver curled up at his feet.
He
stared at the monstrosity that used to hold horses and tractors and other useful
things.
“Now
it can house my gym and I can get back to where I should be.”
The
rain beat a steady song on the roof. Something to the right caught his eye.
Damn! Water dripped down on the far end of the porch. This roof would have to
be fixed.
“Probably
have to rebuild the whole fucking house. And that shitty barn, too,” he said.
Ollie
barked.
Still
be cheaper than rebuilding his townhouse. The insurance company was waiting to
pay up until the fire department declared that the fire wasn’t arson and wasn’t
set by him. He frowned at the thought. If anyone had seen that palace, they
would have known he’d never burn it to the ground.
For
the millionth time the pity party returned. He missed his hot tub and his king
sized bed. Never get something that big in any bedroom in this place. The one
wound that would never heal was the loss of the original artwork on the walls.
He’d never be able to replace that. He sighed.
“Maybe
we should have a plan for this dump, Ollie? What do you think?”
The
pug barked as Rick eased up from the rocker and went inside to fetch a pad and
pen.
“Okay.
Where should we start, boy?”
New
energy surged through him as he wrote down his thoughts. The design and
construction team, consisting of Shyla Holllings, Will Lennox and his sister,
would be arriving that night. He’d ordered pizza and beer for their
get-together to plan the renovation of his new digs.
At
least he’s be prepared with a few ideas on paper. He worked hard to muster
enthusiasm for the new project, but he fell short. Yearning for his old life
took over. No one had as perfect a life as he had and now it was gone –forever.
Would he ever stop mourning? Probably not.
He
finished up and put the pad on the dining room table. Then he went up to his
room, a new cozy mystery by Mel Comley shoved under his arm. Reading proved to
be the best escape. After reading two chapters, he fell asleep. Oliver had
jumped up to join him and curled up next to Rick. The snoring of the creature,
which had annoyed and disturbed the man at first, had become a lullaby,
soothing him to sleep.
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