Prison Wars: An Inside Account of How the Apocalypse Happened By Martin Sanger. Martin Sänger

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      Picture the driveway, long and curving. The front of the main house literally had plantation pillars. In this seventies film, a woman with blowing luxuriant hair would drive a long red convertible up the driveway. Only, in reality, the Longus home had an SUV, a Mercedes, and a BMW in front of their home.

      Quentin actually told me on the day we met that he had something huge in mind. Had I known what he had in mind and what kind of a path it was going to take me down, I would have run and hid myself. Had I known I would have shook in panic and vomited out my remorse.

      But sitting on patio furniture, behind his six bedroom Malibu home I could scarcely guess that we would plunge into the bowels of hell over the next two years. At the time, I just felt happy to be interviewing him and stunned when I found out that he had read a lot of my work!

      “Mr. Sanger, I like your writing. It has an air of panic about it.” Quentin had a light blue sweat suit and tennis shoes on. In these clothes and with his demeanor he couldn’t say “panic” in a way that really conveyed the essence of the word.

      “Gee, thanks, I guess.” You can imagine how much this remark unsettled me. No other interviewee had ever read my writing before I visited, much less analyzed it.

      “No. I really like it. The sense of panic means that you are conscientious. And still, while faced with panic, your writing remains coherent. That’s because, at heart, you know that you’re basically competent.”

      “Basically competent. . . thanks again.” I nervously replied, unsure of where this was going.

      “No. No. Don’t get me wrong. I really liked it.” At that moment I saw Quentin Longus’ wide grin for the first time. It was captivating - all teeth. And it was accompanied by smile lines and a light in his eyes that nearly actually sparkled.

      “When I read your work, I felt that you had potential that was just waiting for a good story. And Marty, what I’m about to embark upon will be revolutionary. I’d like somebody to document my upcoming venture full-time. I think you’re the guy for it.”

      “I’m extremely flattered.”

      “But….?” His half-question probed the hesitancy on my part.

      “But…” I continued finishing the sentence he started, while thinking about the accuracy of the intuition he had about my hesitation. “But I’ve worked my butt off to get where I am, I’ve just met you and I have no idea who you are or what your intentions are or what you’re talking about, really.”

      “Of course, I guessed you’d be reluctant because you don’t know who I am. That is natural. That’s why I’d like you to live here, at this house, with my family.”

      “What! Aren’t you being a little forward for our first date?” He had just gotten my attention, but in the wrong way. My confidence in him plummeted. But facially, my humorous attempt to defray the tension wasn’t accompanied by a smile, but, rather, a look of slight nausea. His smile just increased a bit on the sides.

      “I mean, isn’t that offer just a little extreme and impulsive?” I asked with a blend of seriousness and coyness. Showing some self-awareness, I forced a smile meant to mirror Quentin’s gamey spirit.

      “Yes. But not as impulsive as you think, Marty.” He cocked his head a little to the side and paused. “Can I call you Marty, Mr. Sanger?”

      “Sure.”

      “Marty, I do my research. I know your background and have read a lot of your writing. I’ve even read the film reviews you did with that guy Tom McDonnell for your high school newspaper.”

      “You read that?”

      “Yep. I’ve read that and a lot more.”

      “Wow. Geez, strange,” his references made me blurt out. I hadn’t thought about Tommy McD for a while and Quentin knew about him. “I thought this was going to be all about you today. I’m a little taken aback.”

      “Yep, it probably is a little unexpected for ya huh?” His smile was as bright and wide as the Cheshire cat’s sans cat. “But this isn’t a job interview. You’ve already got the job. If and when you want it, it’s yours. I really like your writing. It is very conversational. We’ll work on taking that overly professional panicked aspect out. That’ll come with time.”

      A laughing quizzical confused tone came out of me in my elongated one word response, “Okaaay.”

      “Yep. I’ve read you stuff and like it. And though we’ve just met, I’ve already pegged you as being that nice guy your columns convey in real life. I like your energy.”

      “Thanks again, but…”

      “Look I know this is a bit extreme and I expected it come as a bit of a shock. So why don’t you think it over. I know that I’m a good judge of character,” He smiled and leaned forward and squinted. Then after a brief pause, Quentin finished the thought with a broad smile, “Even though I may not be a good judge of writing.” He had a great sense of dry humor and could blend it with seriousness.

      Quentin lowered his arched eyebrows and went back into a more serious mode. “But character is just as important to me . . . even more important, than writing ability. And I think we could hang together. We could be good friends.”

      He reclined as his smile stretched and eyes brightened to an improbable amount. I blushed profusely at the intimacy of the statement as I nervously smiled.

      “Thanks. I don’t know what to say.”

      “I know it’s sudden. Why not think it over? In the meantime, I want you to cover my press conference next month for Fortune. It’ll be the on the second Friday at the Sunset Hyatt.”

      “I don’t know if I can get the time off or the assignment.”

      “Okay. Rule number one is to relax. There are no problems, only solutions.”

      “John Lennon.” I misattributed the anonymous 1960s era quote.

      “Oh, really? I thought my therapist made it up.”

      “Oh, so you have a therapist.”

      “Yeah.”

      “I can keep that off the record.”

      “That’s okay, don’t. But please call him my ‘spiritual trainer.’” Quentin cocked his head and said to himself, “I love saying that.”

      Bringing his focus back to me he continued, “But, regardless of what you decide concerning my offer, I want to tell you a little life secret.”

      “Okay, shoot.” I said with the earnestness and tone of a reporter.

      “It’s all about the dream. And we have nothing to fear, but fear itself. I know who said that!” We smiled together at our new inside joke. “And you cannot let fear СКАЧАТЬ