The Big Time

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

IT WASN'T HIS FATHER'S orange Porsche but Seth's yellow H2 that was resting in the red clay patch in front of Troy's house. Beside it was a silver Cadillac sedan. On the porch, Seth stood talking to a man who wore a dark blue sweat suit, a baseball cap, and big glasses.

"Who is that?" Troy asked.

"Come on," his mom said, pulling to a stop and getting out of the car. "Let me introduce you."

Troy followed his mom up the front steps.

"Thank you so much for coming," his mom said to the man who blinked curiously at Troy. "Troy, this is John Marchiano. Mr. Marchiano came all the way from Las Vegas to help us."

Marchiano wore a big, friendly smile, and it seemed even brighter set in a face dark with razor stubble. His hair was long enough to spill free from the back of the baseball cap. He looked nothing like Troy's father, not even in the same league. Not big time at all.

"Troy, nice to meet you," Marchiano said, sticking out his hand so that Troy had to shake it. "Just call me John. You've got some mom, I'll tell you; and Seth has told me all about you. I'd love to help out."

Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, Troy had to admit that there was something very open and friendly about the man; in any other setting, he would have liked him. Still, Troy said, "Thanks for coming, Mr. Marchiano, but I've got someone to help me already."

Marchiano blinked at Troy, then smiled uneasily and looked at Seth. Seth scowled and looked at Troy's mom. She glared at Troy.

"That is very rude, young man," she said. "You apologize."

"Tessa," Marchiano said, holding up both hands, "he doesn't have to apologize to me. He's the client. The client's never wrong."

Troy's mom curled her lips back off her teeth.

"I'm sorry," Troy said, looking down at his feet. "It's just that I've got someone I want to represent me already."

"What?" Seth said.

His mother gripped his upper arm and asked, "What are you talking about?"

Troy looked up at her, his eyes moist from the frustration and anger building inside him like a towering thunderstorm.

"My father," he said, choking out the words.

"Troy, stop that right now," his mother said, gripping his upper arm. "You don't even know the man."

"He's my father," Troy said. "What more do I have to know?"

Without another word, Troy tore open the front door and raced into the house. He dashed through the living room, around the corner, and into his own room, where he slammed the door shut. He slumped down on his bed, clenching two handfuls of hair. Through the door he could hear the voices of the adults as they entered the living room and talked among themselves. The sound of their voices rose and fell like the ocean surf. It went quiet for a minute. Troy heard a chickadee outside in the pines chattering away, then the rap of knuckles on his bedroom door.

"Go away," Troy said.

"Troy? It's me, John. I'm going, but I did want to just say a couple quick things to you, if you don't mind. Honestly, I came all the way from Las Vegas, and I'm heading right back there, and that's fine; but if I could tell you a couple things, maybe it'll help you down the line somewhere."

Troy got up, went to his door, and swung it open. John Marchiano stepped inside and looked around. His eyes came to rest on a picture of Troy and his gramps holding up a huge catfish between them, both of them straining, both smiling.

"Some fish," John said, stepping closer.

"That's my gramps," Troy said. "He knows all the good spots."

"I never had that," John said, "someone to take me fishing."

Troy nodded.

"Look," John said, taking a business card from his jacket pocket and handing it to Troy, "you ever need some advice, you give me a call. Your mom told me the whole thing about you and your dad, and I told her he should represent you."

"You did?" Troy said, searching the agent's eyes for a trick.