Becoming the Storm
28 The Post
MY CASA did not let me brood over ‘losing’ Sarah. It was a transition that we needed to go through. I was sure it was not the only transition we’d see. And I had little time to waste on deep introspection. I loved Sarah. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see her lying in my arms after prom with her breast daringly exposed, knowing I wouldn’t touch her sexually because I’d promised. That memory still gave me an erection. But did I see her as eventually becoming my cónyuge? Bearing my children? No. Neither of us ever had. Still, she would always be very special to me.
We had a party to plan. Roslyn Knightly would be arriving with a videographer on Friday. We were having a Valentine’s Day party on Saturday, even though it was the thirteenth. We would include three live interviews at the party that would be sent directly to CEN over our connection. This was the precursor to us going live with Chick Chat next fall from our own studio. Ron’s crew had been busy this winter. Stalls three and five had been bumped out four feet with curved windows that let the booth crew control lighting, sound, and camera angles for the entire studio. Stall four had a bathroom added, albeit a small one. It was considered the dressing room/green room.
Most people in the clan were involved in one way or another, but everyone understood that our party was staged. Certain people would be guests. Others would be crew, and some would be servers. Mary and the triplets were providing the food. People from all over the ranch were serving. Mom, Dad, Anna, John, and Bea were going to attend the party as representatives of the older generation, though we weren’t making a big deal about it. We just wanted them there. The biggest problem was to create a star-studded guest list. By Hollywood standards, it wasn’t going to be a big party. We weren’t going to expose a lot of our lifestyle. There were areas that would simply be closed, most especially the upstairs dormitories. A pair of our security guards would be at each stairway. Champagne would be the only alcohol served and there would also be sparkling juice for those who were underage.
Finally, we released the guest list to Roslyn and she was pretty pleased.
Heaven, international model and star of Redress
Adam Wolfe, international model
Elaine Frost, comedienne and star of Chick Chat
Miss Polly, star of The Homemakers’ Hour
Brian Frost, star of Young Cooking and executive producer of Redress
Rose Davis, co-CEO of Hearthstone Entertainment
Hannah Gordon, ETA award-winning producer/director of Chick Chat and co-CEO of Hearthstone Entertainment
Nicolette Duval, lead writer for Chick Chat
Maggie Kwan, producer/director of Redress
Leonard Hamm, owner of Designed by Leonard and fashion designer for Miss Frost
Lexi Cortales, CEO of Designed by Leonard
Harvey Grissom, producer of The Homemakers’ Hour with Miss Polly
Sora Miller, star of Dance Fit
Kevin Hofstedter, Miss Gay Cougar, WSU
Doreen and Doug Darling, parents of Matthew Darling and stars of mini-series Starting a Family
Larry and Theresa Irving, parents of Eleanor Irving, born on Chick Chat
Rhiannon Harris, architect/narrator of the documentary Raising Home
Lionel Trane, center for the first ranked IU Hoosier basketball team
Lonnie Phillips, Director of IU School of Media
Music by the Warren Devereux Trio
Of course, there were others, but these were the stars of interest to CEN. We were also making sure that CEN understood same-sex couples were not unusual to us. Several of the pairings for the evening would be same sex. We had also hired two limousines and had a red carpet rolled out in front of the studio. April, Jason, and Jennifer would be on duty as photographers and videographers, with Joyce manning the booth. We were staging everyone at John and Bea’s house. The limos would pick up a group of passengers and then come through the main gates to the ranch before delivering them to the studio. Then they’d leave by the village access and cycle back to John and Bea’s for another load. We weren’t going to drag it out, but we were certainly going to milk it for what we could get out of it. Besides, it was fun. It was a way of recognizing all we had accomplished at Hearthstone Entertainment in the past three years.
Roslyn and her cameraman arrived mid-afternoon on Friday. They wanted to immediately start taping background shots and atmosphere. Rather than Hannah or me dealing with them, we sent Maggie and Jess. Lots of people were decorating the studio, so it was a good place to have them take some pictures as Maggie gave them the tour. Jess kept the cameraman distracted enough that he never got a shot of anything inappropriate. We were trying to keep everything on the up and up, but some of the girls were dressed in their short-shorts while they decorated.
I met with them briefly and welcomed them to the studio. Rose was with me as co-CEO of the company. I was glad that was no longer my role. I had a feeling that Hannah would back out of it as soon as Rose was out of school. Hannah wanted to focus on the artistic side of producing and directing shows. Rose would become a fantastic CEO without either of us interfering. I was glad to see Roslyn and her cameraman leave to go to their hotel. Everyone had been discreet, but it was our home and we didn’t like being examined.
Nikki and Kevin flew in Saturday morning. Liz and Cassie went with me to the airport. Cassie really had a way of managing Kevin and immediately started asking him what he was going to wear and if he could help her fix her hair. Nikki, of course, plastered herself against my side in the front seat and then switched and hugged Liz.
“I don’t know how to act like a lesbian!” Nikki said. “Liz, you have to do all the work.”
“Like I’d know! How about if I stuff a dildo in my pants so it looks like I’m well-hung.”
“Honey,” Kevin interjected, “the way you wear a dildo it would be invisible.”
“Are you implying that I’d wear it outside in?” Liz asked.
We had a good time getting back to Bloomington.
I was headed to the bedroom to welcome Nikki home for the weekend when we got another surprise call. Shelly Ames was calling in a favor. She wanted to cover the red carpet for WNAP tonight and the newscaster Elaine interviewed a couple years ago wanted on the invite list with a plus one. We agreed and Shelly said she’d be there with a satellite truck at six. I asked if the news anchor and her date had a driver. When Shelly said no, I gave her directions to John and Bea’s so they could come in a limo.
Courtney and Carl were handling front door security with Anna, Mom, and Dad acting as greeters. Lamar and Amy were providing inside security under Whitney’s watchful eye. Sandy had arranged for her dad to actually be at the entrance with the red lights flashing to direct traffic. Dawn had the babies for the night. Everyone else in the clan was going to be circulating, serving, and making sure our guests were secure.
What a night!
I couldn’t believe we pulled it off. The whole studio looked incredible. The food was fantastic. Roslyn got her interviews with Heaven and Elaine. Shelly narrated an entire red carpet broadcast as limo after limo arrived to deliver its guests. Absolutely no one needed to know that most of the guests were arriving from less than 400 yards away.
The live link worked flawlessly. We switched control to the CEN studio in New York when we went live and then took control back after each interview. Other than the live interviews, everything was fed to their studio on an eight-minute delay. We wanted a control just in case a disaster occurred. Joyce controlled it flawlessly under April’s direction. When Roslyn’s camera went dark, we all breathed a sigh of relief. From that point it was just a party. Warren’s music was great to dance to. No one got blitzed. Everyone had a ride to wherever they were staying.
I walked into the house and started stripping my tux off on the way to the bedroom. I was exhausted.
We got the Nielsen ratings on Tuesday and Redress reruns on our independent syndicate had beaten out Dress for Success in the Sunday evening timeslot in every market where we competed. The Saturday night live broadcast on CEN had been good for us. Elaine’s shows were getting a boost, too. LWN had still not contacted us about canceling the show. We continued producing them and shipping them. They continued holding them. I suppose they figured they’d have a stock of them to show in the summer when they had to give their new star a break. They were going to get a shock in five weeks.
The Lady Hoosiers were on a losing streak that was beginning to rival their eleven-game winning streak at the beginning of the season. Whitney was pissed and throwing herself into her physical therapy and our twice-weekly dojo sessions. I was adapting to the style of the new master. He was Chinese like Master Cho, but had a more aggressive style. In our instruction, he talked about the forms as a way of gathering in power from the universe that would explode from us when we struck. Still, he never had either of us sparring. All we did was work on forms.
It was a clear and sunny day. And colder than brass balls in January. It was six below when I got up and I don’t think it warmed up more than ten degrees all day. You know how the combination of cold and sun will make your eyes water and then the water kind of crisps up in your eye and everything gets blurry? I went out to wait for Courtney in front of the Computer Science building and my eyes were in that state in no time. I’d wandered over to the statue that I liked so much—the one called The Space Between. My eyes were in that blurry state with a blast of wind that made me squint. In the statue, Adam is on the left with his hand outstretched to Eve on the right. There’s a vast chasm between the two. There’s something about the tilt of Eve’s head that made me think that even though she was raising her hands toward Adam, her eyes were focused somewhere else, off to the right of him.
Then she moved.
I know it was just my teary, frozen eyes playing tricks on me, but I swear, she moved and I saw her. A vast gulf between us as her eyes were drawn away from me.
I stumbled off the path far enough that when I threw up it wasn’t in anyone’s way. That’s where Court found me and led me to the car. She kept asking if I was okay and what she could do to help. I just kept nodding and shaking my head and sometimes holding up a hand to get her to stop talking. It was all I could do to keep my gorge down. My stomach was in a knot.
We swung by to pick up Whitney and drove home with Whit joining in the questions. I just kept shaking my head. When we pulled up to the house, I threw my book bag at the deck and took off. Halfway to the pasture, I stopped and threw up again. Running wouldn’t work in this weather. I needed to hit something.
A lot of thought and secrecy went into creating my sacred space a couple of years ago. I was pretty sure Rose knew and probably Hannah, but they’d never said anything. A lot was happening with the remodel of the barn back then. Rich had helped me move the railroad tie into the silo, but never questioned what it was for. I’d padlocked it soon thereafter. No one on the ranch ever questioned what was in the silo or why we never used it. It was just a huge round cement thing that we painted the same color as the barn. Decoration.
Only it wasn’t.
It was the place I went when life was too much for me. Years ago, Whitney had taught me to beat on a post in the barn back in Mishawaka while she was gone. I couldn’t do that in our home or the remodeled studio. I didn’t want anyone to see what I did. I didn’t want anyone to know.
I unlocked the silo, slipped the padlock through the hasp so it couldn’t accidentally be locked from outside and entered my private sanctuary. The temple of my rage.
I started forms in the cold darkness.
There’s not much light in a silo once you close the hatch. It filters down from the vents in the roof, but they are forty feet above. It was built on a concrete slab, but Ron had told me early on that the foundation was as deep and sturdy as the barn.
By the time I’d completed ten forms, I’d lost my coat. I was getting warmed up enough not to notice the cold. At twenty forms, I’d shed my shirt. It was soon followed by my shoes and pants. The cold concrete floor numbed my feet, but I continued my naked dance in the dark circle.
Then I struck.
I’d positioned the railroad tie upright in the center of the room and anchored it to the walls. The impact of my fist on the wood jarred my bones. There were gloves that I kept by the door, but I hadn’t bothered to put them on. I could feel the warmth of blood running between my fingers.
I hit again.
And again.
I gained speed on each of the forms and battered the railroad tie with my hands and feet. Fists, fingers, palms, toes. I could barely see the wooden form, but it didn’t make a difference. It was him. I beat him again. No subtle cleverness this time. No accidental suicide. I looked at him and my rage built. In my mind I killed him with every move I’d ever trained with. Tears continued to rain from my eyes, but I didn’t need my eyes to see him. I rained blows down on him. I killed him over and over. They all blended into one. The people who had hurt people I loved. I killed them all. I hated them. I killed them.
A splinter of light shot into the darkness as the door to my sanctuary opened. I was found. Using everything I had learned from our new master, I gathered in the power of the universe and exploded into the tie.
The splintering sound of the railroad tie breaking echoed in the circle. He was dead. I couldn’t kill him again.
I’m not sure how Whitney managed to get me from the silo to the master bedroom. She was still using one crutch to get around on. Somehow, she’d found where I had gone. She just said that she ‘felt it.’ She’d helped gather my clothes, lock the silo, and make our painful way back to the house. Most of the clan was still on campus, so I guess I didn’t raise much of an eyebrow walking naked across the yard in ten-degree weather, leaving bloody footprints behind me.
I was beyond tears. The water stung the bloody scrapes and gashes from beating on the railroad tie. My hands would be a bloody swollen mess when I did my show on Saturday. But what the hell. That’s why I wore gloves on the show. I sat silently while Whitney pulled splinters from my hands and feet with a pair of tweezers, then dumped iodine over them. She wrapped my hands and feet in gauze. Not exactly the kind of professional job Dawn would do, but it stopped the bleeding. When she was sure I was no longer leaving tracks, she led me to the bed and propped me against her as we lay down.
“Why did you never tell me we had a post to practice on?” she said.
“We didn’t have a post,” I said. “I had a temple of rage. No one else could be there.”
“Why today? What set you off? Where is your rage now?”
I couldn’t cry any more tears. My throat constricted and my first word was just a croak. My stomach clenched, but I had already disgorged all its contents. I finally forced enough breath into my lungs to speak a hoarse whisper.
“Denise,” I whispered. “She would have been twenty-one today. She’s been dead for four years. I wanted to kill him again for taking her from us.”
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