The Plan

Chapter 7.

DAWN BROKE LIKE A CHEAP WINE COOLER SPREADING AN ugly red stain on the gray ocean. A sadistic construction crew was working a jackhammer in Ryan's head. Hi s s tomach was on an E ticket ride. By eight o'clock whe n h e had started to feel like he might live till noon, his agen t c alled. Jerry Upshaw was raging.

"Look Ryan, I don't know what you expect from me, but I can't represent a guy who's calling the head of Drama Development a Jew faggot and threatening to knock his teeth out. Jeez, what the fuck is that?" Jerry had been Ryan's agent since his hit television show The Mechanic.

"Jerry, this is really pissing me off. I never called him a Jew faggot. I just said it was his fault the picture turned out bad."

"The bottom line is I can't represent you any longer." "Jerry, look…"

"Hey, no looks, bunky. I've got other people I have to try and sell to Marty Lanier. If I keep you on my list, it's like I'm saying I don't care that you threatened his life and called him a Jew faggot. It's like I'm in tacit agreement. End of story. I'll send your other material back to you. Good luck, Ryan." And the line went dead.

End of story, Ryan thought.

He looked out at the beach. A man on horseback was coming toward him, riding the horse carefully in the dry sand. It reminded him of the day that Matt had died. Ryan and Linda had been up in Santa Barbara having a weekend together while Matt had been sent off to stay with friends in northern California. It had been Ryan's idea. He'd insisted on it.

He'd sent Matt away to die.

He and Linda had driven up to the Biltmore in Santa Barbara for the weekend.

Linda wanted to take a walk on the beach and they had ended up almost a mile down the strand sitting on the sand, looking at the water. A man on a beautiful Appaloosa had ridden up the beach. Linda was on her feet, talking to him.

"He's beautiful," she said, rubbing his shiny coat. "Where'd you get him?"

"Intrepid Farms," the man said. "They raise the best Appies on the Coast."

Linda ran her hand down his flanks and withers, looking in the horse's eyes, smiling and cooing at him, giving him affection.

It was two o'clock and they hadn't eaten so they walked back up the beach to a restaurant on the pier that overlooked Santa Barbara Bay. They sat out on the sundeck and ordered beer and sandwiches. Then Linda started to obsess about the horse.

"I really want a horse like that. Did you see him? He was gorgeous." Linda was becoming nervous.

"Yeah, really great," Ryan said, seeing tension around her eyes, stripping beauty from her.

"Intrepid Farms. I'm gonna call." She bolted and Ryan, startled, followed. Linda was already talking on the wall phone in the bar.

"Operator… It's got to be there… Intrepid, I-N-T-RE-P-I-D."

Finally, she slammed down the receiver. There were tears in her eyes.

And then she was grabbing the phone book, tearing at the Yellow Pages under "Breeding Farms." Nothing.

"It's gotta be there. It's gotta be there!" Her frenzy was building and it was scary.

He finally got her back to the sundeck and they sat looking out over the sparkling bay. She drank her beer but silent tears were coming down her face.

"Ryan, we've got to find it." She was begging. He'd never seen her like that and he'd known her for fifteen years.

He paid the bill quickly and they left the deck.

"It's got to be someplace nearby," she said without logic, almost running to the car.

Ryan drove his red Mustang down random streets looking for a sign. They asked at half a dozen gas stations. It was a silly exercise, but he didn't know what else to do. She was wild with anxiety.

"Intrepid Farms," she said over and over to herself, her desperation growing. Ryan looked at his watch. It was three-fifteen. And then, suddenly, Linda got very still. She sat looking at her hands in her lap.

"We can go home now," she said, her voice limp. "We can keep looking."

"No, it's okay."

The phone was ringing when they arrived at the Bel Air house.

"Is this Matthew Bolt's father?" a woman's voice asked.

"Yes," he said. "What is it?"

"This is the Montecito Hospital. Hold on for Dr. Mar-pies."

And then he was on. A voice Ryan didn't know. "You have a son, Matthew Bolt?"

"What's going on? What's happening?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but your son was swimming in the surf and he got swept out to sea… By the time the lifeguards got to him, he'd been under for almost five minutes. We tried to revive him. He died at three-fifteen this afternoon. I'm very sorry."

Ryan let the receiver fall and looked at Linda. "Is he dead?" she asked softly.

Ryan could only nod. She sank to the floor and put her head on her knees. He stood there, unable to get his mind to accept it, unable to see his life without his son.

That had been the end of Ryan and Linda. What little cord was binding them had been severed by Matt's death. But one thought never left him. She knew Matt was going to die and she knew when he was dead. At three-fifteen she had stopped struggling against it.

What let her know he was dying while Ryan had no inkling?

Why had he been left out of the cosmic conversation? It was as if he didn't deserve to know.