California Christmas Dreams. J.M. Jeffries

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      “And how much is this bungalow going for.”

      “Six point five mil, man. I can afford that.”

      Jake sighed. “You can afford to buy the house, but don’t you want to put some furniture in it, pay the utilities, put some food on the table for your kids?”

      “But if I buy this house, it means I’m back on top, man. I can get out of this dump.”

      “Hollywood Hills is not a dump, Cecil,” Jake said with another sigh.

      “I’d be a lot closer to work,” Cecil stated. “And I can live in a real house.”

      “You’re living in a real house.”

      “I’m living with my mother.”

      “There’s no shame in that. Your lawyer and I have worked really hard to get you back to the point where you could afford a house. But six point five million is way out of your price range. Buy something you can pay for outright and not have to worry about a house payment again.”

      “Jake, I want this house.”

      “Cecil, your children want to eat.”

      “The schools are good,” Cecil said, changing the direction of his argument.

      “And your kids are already going to one of the best magnet schools in the Hollywood Hills, and Cecil Jr. is in one of the best music programs.”

      “It’s Santa Monica, man.”

      “Cecil, you’re not talking me into this. I gave you a budget and that’s what you’re going to follow. The real estate agent found four houses in Hollywood Hills you can afford. You can send your kids to great schools and have your studio in your house. If you buy this house, all you’re going to have is a house. If you buy one of the four houses in the Hollywood Hills I suggested you look at, you’ll have a life. So you have a decision to make.”

      “I want that house.”

      “Okay,” Jake conceded. “You’re telling me your ego is more important than your future or your children’s future.”

      “That’s not right, man.”

      “But it’s the truth,” Jake replied. And everyone laughed at me when I majored in finance with a minor in psychology. He heard a long-suffering sigh from the other end of the phone and knew he’d won the argument. Cecil was a challenge, but he eventually accepted Jake’s arguments. He disconnected and Jake went back to the window.

      Merry was standing in front of the carousel. She tilted her head from side to side. Jake watched her, running the conversation with Cecil over again in his head. He’d managed Cecil without any problem. How come he couldn’t use the same skills with her? He should have been able to talk her around to what he wanted, yet he’d tried to intimidate her instead. He was used to working with difficult people, and she wasn’t even trying to be difficult. She was trying to do her job.

      What the hell was wrong with him?

      He stared at her, and for a moment he felt fifteen years old again, watching her on TV, knowing she was way beyond him and he would never get her no matter how much he fantasized. How crazy was that? He’d been dealing with people like her for fifteen years, yet around her he was completely clueless.

      If he couldn’t force her to his way of thinking, maybe he should try flattery. Stroke her ego a bit. He pondered that idea for a minute. He was used to stroking fragile egos; he could do this.

      He opened the door to his office and stepped out into the September heat. Heat waves shimmered from the sidewalks. After a glance at the thermometer, he started toward her. She had climbed onto the carousel and was studying one of the hand-carved animals. She sat down on a bench and opened her ever-present sketchbook.

      “Did you know that carousel can also mean horse ballet?” Jake asked as he swung up on the platform. A glance at her sketchbook showed him she was drawing the horse. She frowned slightly as she added a flourish to the mane and then looked up at him.

      “That’s beautiful. I can see why a carousel could be called a horse ballet.”

      Jake stroked the horse she’d sketched. “All the horses on this carousel were hand carved in Germany in 1896.” He smiled, remembering how much he’d loved riding the carousel as a child. “Want to see my favorite horse?” He held out his hand, and after a slight hesitation, she took it. He pulled her to her feet, led her around to the back and stopped in front of a white horse with a flowing blue mane. “When I was a kid, I used to pretend I was a knight of the Round Table and this was my trusty steed.” Joy filled him as the pleasant memories returned. “And I would win the gold ring and present it to my princess.”

      “Really,” she said, her dark eyes showing a touch of cynicism.

      “You’ve never played make-believe?”

      “Sure I did. Five days a week, eight hours a day for eleven years, until I outgrew the roles and decided to go to college.”

      “Why didn’t you keep on acting? You were good.”

      “I got tired of playing the second banana. Then the roles started slowing down. I was never going to be lead-actress material. I had to make a life decision, and I decided to leave.”

      “Do you miss being catered to, fawned over and treated special, the way only actors are treated?”

      She studied him. “No. That was not allowed in my mother’s world.”

      “You mean you had a crazy mom manager.”

      “I wish,” she said. “My mom wasn’t my manager and she isn’t crazy, but the one time I acted crazy, she snatched my butt home and wouldn’t let me go back until I apologized to the entire crew. I even had to write a letter to Fred Chapman. The worst thing that ever happened to my career was when she had lunch with Ron Howard’s mother at the studio.”

      “What do you mean?” Jake asked curiously.

      “Apparently Ron Howard’s mom didn’t believe in children giving B.S. to their fellow actors. My mom didn’t believe in it, either. I was taught to be respectful of others and consider them before I considered myself. And one tantrum from me shut the set down for almost a day until I apologized for my behavior.”

      “You mom sounds like one hell of a woman.” He couldn’t help a spurt of admiration.

      “Her presence is a ‘no madness’ zone,” Merry said in a rueful tone.

      “If more of my clients had mothers like yours, I’d be out of business.”

      “What exactly do you do?” She ran her fingers down the neck of a zebra with flowers for a mane. She smiled as she stroked it.

      “I’m in financial-crisis management. In other words, I help high-risk clients handle their finances when they can’t do it themselves. Sometimes the court appoints me as their conservator. I take them in hand, heal their financial problems and get them out of trouble with creditors, the IRS or any other government agency they might СКАЧАТЬ