Word Gets Around Part 22

Justin curled his lip. "He should have told me."

"Everything's not about you." I swung the truck wide into the gateway to keep from downshifting. "Maybe he didn't do it to you, maybe he just did it. You ever consider that? The man probably has his reasons."

"Yeah, whatever," Justin muttered. "He ... " The sentence faded as he leaned close to the window, squinting against the evening sun. The field near the old house was filled with cars, pickups, horse trailers, farm trucks. There was even a team of mules pulling a hay wagon across the driveway, and people riding on the hay. They were laughing and making gestures in the air, as if they were doing some sort of organized cheer together. ... No, not cheering ... they were singing ... "Old MacDonald." I rolled down the window, and over the rumble of the engine, I could hear the words.

"What the ... " Justin and I exchanged bewildered glances as the hay wagon pa.s.sed on its way toward the gate. There were kids on board, lots of kids, and a few men and women, too. I thought I recognized Dane's wife among them, perched on a bale of hay, laughing as she bounced a baby on her knee. In the back of the wagon, I caught a glimpse of Amber with a guitar ... or at least it looked like Amber. Her face was hidden beneath a pink cowboy hat, so I couldn't exactly tell.

"What's going on?" Justin pointed at the house. On every level, from the roof to the front steps, people were working-sanding, painting, sweeping, nailing, washing windows, repairing shingles. By one of the chicken house foundations out back, a group of men were raising a new wall. I recognized them-Bob from the cafe, and the countertoppers. Outside the food tent, Pastor Harve and crew were cleaning up the leftovers from a meal. They waved at us as we pulled in. Justin waved back, and the two of us shared an exchange of complete confusion as we got out.

From the shadows inside the tent, I heard Willie and Frank telling some story about taking horses from a kids' riding stable in Texas, trucking them to California, and renting them to movie studios for five times the price, back in the days of the big westerns. "Yeah, by gosh, I figured if Girl Scouts could ride 'em, they'd sure enough do for actors!" Willie exclaimed, and laughter drifted into the open air.

As we stepped inside and my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw M. Harrison Dane, the M. Harrison Dane, in the flesh, along with Willie, Frank, Imagene, Donetta, and Brother Erve from the Baptist church chatting it up at a picnic table made from an old electrical cable spool. The table was covered with paper plates, Styrofoam cups, blueprints, and pieces of paper, which I recognized as bits of The Horseman treatment. My blood, sweat, and tears lay mixed with used napkins and spatters of barbecue sauce, like so much trash. Not a good sign.

Donetta was the first to greet us. "Well hoowww-do!" She stood up and crossed the tent with her arms outstretched and a smile that seemed like it went from fingertip to fingertip. "Y'all come right on in hay-er. We were just finishin' up some good ol' Texas pork ribs. You hun-greee?" She hugged Justin, then me, the volume of her voice growing ear-piercing up close. "I was just tellin' Mr. Dane it was a lucky coincidence he got here on the very day we were havin' a party to celebrate the foster shelter plans. Isn't that the luckiest thang?" Widening her eyes at Justin and me, she nodded meaningfully.

"Sshhhure," Justin stammered, slowly beginning to bob his head as if it were rubber banded to Donetta's. "Sure is ... good he ... came during the ... party?" For an actor, he wasn't very convincing.

Donetta winked like she had a tic in her eye. "Well, come on over and say hi. I told Mr. Dane you were tied up a bit earlier, but it was fine, because it gave us all time to tour the ranch, look at all the plans for the foster shelter buildin's, visit and talk about the movie and have some fun with the kids. It's just fascinatin'-about the movie, I mean, and they're sure cute-the kids. I'll tell ye-ew, I don't believe I ever saw such a cute bunch, and that oldest boy! He just can't get enough of them horses. Why, he's down at the barn with Lauren right now. Reckon we ought to go down there and y'all can take a look at Lucky Strike, or do you two boys want to talk here first? We still got Imagene's gen-u-ine Daily apple pie ready to serve up. You hadn't lived till you had Imagene's apple pie. She's gonna be on Good Mornin' America with that pie one'a these days."

Imagene blushed and batted a hand, shooing away the compliment before it could land. "Well, it's real easy to make."

"Let's go take a look at the horse," Dane answered, and he immediately became the conversational centerpiece.

Surprisingly enough, he didn't seem irritated by our late arrival, just ready to get down to business. I'd heard that Dane was an impatient man, not given to chitchat. Sitting here in Justin's food tent, sopping up the last of his creamed corn with a half-eaten hush puppy, he seemed oddly relaxed. When he stood up, he bowed like an eighteenth-century courtier. "Ladies, that was delightful. I don't think I have s.p.a.ce for apple pie, but the kids might like some when they get off the hay wagon."

Donetta smiled and began clearing the table. "Well, we'll fix them up just as soon as Kemp brings the hayride in. And we'll just cut ye-ew a piece to take home-a little souvenir from Daily, Texas. It tastes fine on airplanes, too. Oh, good gracious, look. We got ribs and sauce on yer papers here." Licking her finger, she began trying to wipe splatters off pages of script.

"No need." Dane gave the papers a dismissing glance. "I'm finished with those."

I took that as a bad sign. If Dane liked the proposal, he probably wouldn't leave it covered with barbecue sauce and used napkins. "Let's go see Corley and the horse." It occurred to me that perhaps this Dane family outing was mostly about entertaining the children. Dane was known for taking his kids on extravagant getaways.

"Sounds good." Justin finally seemed to be coming out of his fog. Stepping forward, he reached across the table and shook Dane's hand. "Great to see you again, Harrison."

Harrison? Harrison? I thought as Dane returned the greeting.

They're on a first-name basis?

"I hope Corley's having a good time," Justin went on, and I recognized the rising gleam in his eye. It was time for negotiation, and Justin loved negotiations. Having people beg and offer him obscene amounts of money fed his ego. I wondered if he realized we were on the begging end this time. "Sorry I couldn't be at the ranch when you got here."

"Not a problem. Corley has. .h.i.t it off with your horse trainer." Shading his eyes as we walked out of the tent with Frank and Willie, Dane looked at the hay wagon, where his kids were giggling and bouncing as the wheels b.u.mped over driveway ruts. Next to Amber Anderson in the wagon, Dane's wife threw her head back and laughed, her long dark hair streaming out behind her. Dane stood at the edge of the tent, momentarily enthralled. As we walked toward the barn, he took in the ongoing construction, the pads for new buildings, the flags that marked areas for riding arenas, basketball courts, and playgrounds. His face straightened, becoming unreadable.

Justin seized the opportunity to press on with business. "This is my writer, Nate Heath." He introduced me as we crossed the driveway. "He put together the proposal packet, and he'll be working on the screenplay. I'm sure you've heard of him."

Yeah, right, I silently choked. I think we sat next to each other at the Academy Awards last year.

Dane was polite. "Nate," he said, and shook my hand, but that was it. As we neared the barnyard, his attention gravitated toward the little corral next to Lucky Strike's round pen. In the small enclosure, Lauren and a hairy gray pony were giving riding lessons to Dane's eldest. He was listening intently as she offered instructions.

"I think Corley's in love with the horse, or the trainer, or both," Dane commented.

Justin delivered a practiced laugh that didn't really mean anything.

"Puggy has that effect on people," Frank chimed in. "She always has."

"She's a good trainer," Willie added, trying to roll the ball along toward the topic of his horse and the movie. "She's one of the best trainers I ever did see. She and Lucky Strike got on with each other right away. 'Course, he's an amazin' horse, but she's an amazin' trainer, too."

"It's unusual to see Corley react so well to someone new," Dane observed, seeming largely immune to the conversation and mostly interested in his own agenda. "Corley came out of an orphanage in Poland. He's been diagnosed as mildly autistic. He loves movies, but real people aren't always so easy for him." He motioned to Justin. "He invited you to his birthday party because he's seen all of your films."

"Of course," Justin answered, as if he couldn't imagine that someone wouldn't have perused the entirety of his work.

"I appreciate the fact that you accepted the invitation. It was very important to Corley. He sometimes has difficulty discerning fiction from reality."

"Wouldn't have missed it." Justin's reply was completely plastic. Fortunately, Dane was engrossed in watching Lauren, the pony, and Corley. Lucky Strike's goat had wiggled through the fence to join them and was sniffing noses with Corley's mount. In the next corral, Lucky Strike remained surprisingly calm about his friend's absence.

We stopped near Lauren and the pony, and Dane leaned over the gate, listening in as Lauren patiently showed Corley how to turn to the right and left. Lauren's back was turned, and she seemed completely oblivious to our presence.

"I'm interested in what you're planning to do here, with the horses and the kids. I've been doing some reading on animal-a.s.sisted therapy," Dane offered. "It's impressive what some of these programs can accomplish, especially with kids."

"Exactly." The only thing Justin knew about animal-a.s.sisted therapy was what little was in the script. "The original screenplay for The Horseman was ahead of its time, but the market's right for it now." Clever how Justin quickly turned the discussion to the film project. Clever, but maybe a little hasty. Dane looked displeased.

"The original screenplay was horrendous. Everyone knows that. The writer's sense of story and character was laughable-clearly a novice effort. It lacks inciting incident, shows no clear character development, the action's flat. What works in a book doesn't work on film. It's a different medium. Film requires an understanding of the visual and a compression of time frame. On film, there's only s.p.a.ce for the things that matter most."

"Exactly," Justin said, as if he knew all about it.

A rope tightened in my stomach-something between one of the horseman's la.s.soes and a hangman's noose. I felt the boom over my head, waiting to fall. If Dane didn't like the original, what were the chances he'd like my partially completed rewrite? I was way out of my league here.

I heard the still, small voice of Doug, telling me I should have known that all along.

Dane opened his mouth to say something, and I thought, Here it comes. He's going to tell us the new treatment is lousy, too, and there's no way he's getting involved in this thing.

"Of course, what we e-mailed you is just a draft," I stammered, trying to delay the inevitable. "There's a great deal more to be done on the writing end, but we've had a limited amount of time to put a proposal together, and-"

Corley picked that moment to wave at his dad, and there wasn't any point in finishing the sentence. Dane's attention swung instantly. He was engrossed in watching Corley play with the pony. Lauren looked over her shoulder and smiled at us.

Justin used the conversational gap to move the negotiation from talk to action. "We've got a little bit of a demo worked out for you over there with the horse." He pointed toward Lucky Strike's corral, and I wondered if he'd even noticed that Lucky was sans goat at the moment. Justin had never succeeded at playing the horseman when the goat wasn't there, standing at Justin's feet, providing enticement for the horse.

Dane turned his attention to the round pen. "So that's the famous Lucky Strike."

"In the flesh," Willie confirmed proudly.

"I've seen him race. He's a beautiful animal."

"Yes, he is."

"Heard he's got a bit of a reputation."

"He did have. In the past."

"Shame about his leg."

"Yes, it is," Willie lamented. "But he's got a whole new career ahead'a him here in this movie. Won't hurt the movie a bit that Lucky had all that press back when his leg was broke, either. Had folks from Dallas to Paris sending him flowers and well wishes. The pile at the gates of the vet hospital built up so big they eventual' had to clear it out with a front-end loader. You can bet every one of his fans'll come see the film the minute it hits the screen. They'll all want to see ol' Striker back on his feet again. He's an eyeful. Just wait till you watch him in action."

Willie nodded to Frank, and Frank opened the gate to the small corral, then went inside to take over the pony's reins. "Here, let me walk the little chap around," he told Lauren. "Y'all go on over to the round pen and talk movie talk."

Lauren obliged after giving Corley a few more instructions. She won his rapt attention and a smile, which seemed to fascinate Corley's father. "He never reacts to people that way," Dane observed as Lauren joined us and we walked to the round pen.

Lauren glanced back at Corley, a tender look in her eyes. "Animals have an amazing ability to reach beyond the barriers. That's the overriding message of The Horseman, I think-breaking down the fences, not being afraid to let someone in." Her eyes caught mine, and I experienced a sensation I couldn't translate into words. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before, as if I knew what she was feeling because I was feeling it myself.

The moment seemed longer than it was-like a five-second still shot, and then we were at the round pen, and Lauren went in. I stood on the rail next to Dane as Lucky Strike took notice of the fact that he wasn't alone anymore. He whinnied and bolted toward the fence, making a strafing run past Lauren, which she calmly sidestepped. The horse circled once, twice, pawed the fence that separated him from the pony and the goat, then circled again.

Lauren began explaining the process of resistance-free training, of building a bond between human and animal. Her body movements subtly propelled the horse away, pushing him along the fence, keeping him moving, allowing him to run and nicker, check the boundaries of the enclosure and search for an escape that would lead him to the pony and the goat. A sheen of sweat formed on his coat as five minutes pa.s.sed, then ten. Lauren continued to move him, pausing occasionally to explain his actions and reactions and to describe the body language she was looking for-the displays of submission that would show a willingness to come to the center.

Dane began to lose interest, and Justin drummed his palms impatiently on the railing. I found myself fearing that this would be the one time Lucky Strike wouldn't cooperate. Maybe he'd become too attached to the goat. ...

And then, finally, it happened-a lowering of the head, a softening of muscle and bone that rounded the animal's back. A long, slow sigh and a glance inward.

Lauren took a step back, and Lucky Strike stopped running, then came to her, finally lowering his head into her hands.

The moment was a postcard in my mind. Lauren, the horse, the sunlight falling over her hair, casting it in deep shades of red, her hands catching the shadows as she stroked the horse's muzzle, her face close to his. The animal relaxed, as if in that moment, there was perfect trust between them.

The bond broke as quickly as it had begun. Justin entered the corral, and the horse went berserk. Lauren stiffened, casting a worried look toward Willie and me.

"Now, you see, Lucky Strike, he's got a lot in common with the racehorse in the movie." Willie began explaining Lucky Strike's history of abuse and injury, of being filled full of drugs and forced to continue to run when he must have been in tremendous pain.

Dane watched with skeptical interest as Lauren whispered something to Justin and exited the enclosure, leaving him alone.

Willie went on, trying to thread together the story of The Horseman and Lucky Strike's past. "You see, any horse, even one raised in a stall like Lucky Strike, or the racehorse in the story, he's still a herd animal, at the instinctual level. He don't want to be out there on the fence alone. ... "

Slipping in beside me, Lauren let out a long breath and wrapped her fingers over the rail, holding on for dear life. Her lips moved almost imperceptibly, as if she were sending out signals, or praying for a miracle, or both.

I slid my hand over hers. Her eyes met mine, and I lost track of things until the horse bolted past, snorting and kicking. Dane took a step away from the rail, and Lauren closed her eyes, whispering, "Come on, come on ... "

"Now, sometimes it takes a little longer for him to come around," Willie hedged. "Ol' Lucky, he's got a lot of bad past to overcome, but that's okay, because it makes it all look nice'n real. Too many movies out there use some old washed-up kid horse to play a youngster like Lucky Strike. It don't look real to anybody that knows horses. You want people to believe it, you gotta have a real runnin' horse. A blueblood like Lucky, and ... "

The moments ticked by as Willie rattled on, trying to fill the time. In the corral, Justin looked confused, and eventually, frustrated. He yanked off his hat and slapped it against his knee, undoubtedly considering throwing it. Amber joined us at the fence, and Justin glanced at her for support. She flashed an encouraging smile, giving him the high sign. He grimaced, shaking his head.

"Calm down, calm down," Lauren muttered under her breath as communication broke down and Lucky Strike began to weave back and forth along one section of fence. "Keep him going forward," Lauren whispered. "Don't let him disengage."

Justin changed his position, forced the horse out of the repet.i.tive pattern, pushed him along the rail.

"Good," Lauren whispered. "Good. Keep him moving. ... " Justin looked at her, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, wheeling a finger, then turning her thumb upward and giving the signal for Justin to step up the pressure a bit.

Justin closed in slightly, focusing intently on the horse, pushing Lucky Strike harder, until the horse's coat was slick with sweat, foamy and lathered around his neck and shoulders. His ribs heaved with effort, and Lauren's hand tightened inside mine. I felt myself giving up, surrendering to hopelessness. It's not going to happen this time, I thought. This is it. We're dead in the water.

Across the corral, Amber closed her eyes, intertwined her fingers, and pressed them to her mouth. Her lips moved slowly, sending up silent words. Her face was serene, as if no matter how the evidence looked in the corral, she still believed in the horseman.

I reminded myself that we weren't finished yet. Dane was still present. There was still hope. Lucky Strike circled again, snorted at the dust swirling around his feet, coughed and tossed his head, then circled again. Justin yanked off his hat and I felt my teeth clench. Don't quit, I thought. Give it a little more. Give it everything.

Mopping his forehead with his sleeve, Justin squinted against the dust, pressed his arm over his eyes for a moment, seemed to consider whether to keep on or give up. An impossible silence enveloped the round pen. In the corral next door, Frank stopped walking the pony. At the house, the hammering and sawing halted. Overhead, the breeze stilled in the live oaks, and the cicadas fell into a hush, as if even they felt the weight of the moment, the breathlessness of antic.i.p.ation. There was no sound, only the rhythmic collision of Lucky Strike's hoofbeats, the drawing and releasing of breath, the groan of flesh and muscle, straining to continue, fighting to keep running rather than giving in.

Then suddenly, there was a subtle sign-a slight lowering of the horse's head, the barest indication of surrender.

"Back off," Lauren whispered. "Back off." In the arena, Justin stepped back, not as if he'd heard, but as if he knew without being told, as if he'd felt the change in the horse's motivations, as if he were the horseman. He stopped pushing, let the animal come to him, seeking a partnership, a gentle communion, a place of safety. Justin stretched out his hands, and Lucky Strike lowered his head, moving tentatively forward, one step, then two, then another, until only inches separated them. Justin cupped his fingers, and the horse laid his muzzle inside them in an instant of trust between man and animal.

Justin looked surprised, amazed, relieved. Content. In that instant, he was the horseman.

Across the ring, Amber smiled, her cheeks wet with tears. Wiping her eyes impatiently, she silently pressed her hands to her face as if she were trying to still her joy before it could bubble into the round pen and disturb the silence.

Lauren's lips parted in a long sigh. I felt her body relax against mine. Her fingers loosened, and I realized they had been clutching mine so tightly I couldn't feel my hand.

"That's how it's done," Willie said. "A true horseman works with the animal, not against it. He takes the time to build a bond of trust instead of resorting to force. There's a good lesson in that for people. When you get right down to it, animals and people ain't that different. We're all workin' through the places we been, and we all need someone who's gonna wait for us till we're ready. This story'll help folks figure that out sooner in life, rather than later." He gave Justin a meaningful look as Justin stroked Lucky Strike's nose. "That's a good job, son. You're a fine horseman."

In the arena, Justin smiled to himself and looked into the horse's eyes with a sense of wonder.

Backing away from the fence, Dane dusted off his hands and stroked his thumb and forefinger along his chin, frowning. He studied Corley and the pony, seeming unaware that everyone was watching him, hanging in thin air while awaiting his reaction. He backed away a few steps, and for an instant, I was afraid he was about to walk off without saying anything. What did we do then? Follow? Leave him alone? Let Imagene and Donetta try to ply him with pecan pie and southern-fried conversation?

Maybe he'd head back to LA without giving us any indication of his feelings. Dane was known as an independent type, not the sort to be pushed into anything. If we didn't get an answer now, the wait would be agonizing. ...

He cleared his throat, and the onlookers froze like kids engaged in a game of Mother May I. "I like it," he said, rocking to his heels and looking around the ranch.

On the driveway, Dane's family had finished petting the team of horses pulling the hay wagon. Monique was laughing and talking with the driver as he handed her one of a set of twins adopted from Africa. The rest of the kids dashed ahead to see Corley and the pony.

Dane watched them bolt toward him. "It's a good project," he remarked, as if we'd suddenly become an afterthought. "Good message. Well done." He turned and headed toward his family.

Lauren, Willie, and I exchanged glances, wondering, no doubt, the same thing: Is that a yes, a no ... a maybe? I had a sense that the lot of us were still hanging in agonizing limbo-except Justin, who seemed content just to have finally succeeded with Lucky Strike. Laying his forehead against Lucky Strike's, he closed his eyes and traveled inside himself to a place that had nothing to do with the film. I stood watching him, taking in the moment as a look of peace settled over him. A soft breeze circled the round pen, ruffled the horse's mane, and caught Justin's cowboy hat. Neither of them noticed as the wind lifted it and sent the crown of the horseman floating away. Justin only whispered something to the horse, and the horse nickered in return, and they remained in their weary embrace, finally in harmony with one another.

One of Dane's daughters, a stocky-legged little girl from some south-sea island, reached him, and he scooped her up, asked her if she wanted to go see the pony. They started off in that direction while the rest of us stood in suspended animation, wondering what to do next. Push for an answer? Wait longer? Follow along behind Dane? Give him some time to relax and entertain his kids?

The little girl put her hand to his ear, leaned close and whispered something. "Yes, we are," Dane said, then glanced back at me. "How soon can I have the remainder of the script? A month? Six weeks?"

"Your choice." I sounded amazingly calm, considering that my head was exploding and I felt like I'd just scratched off the million-dollar Lotto ticket. "You tell me. I'll get it ready." If I have to glue myself to the chair and live on Starbucks and NoDoz, I'll get it ready. It occurred to me that the magnum opus I'd started and restarted a hundred times, the piece I'd moved to the mountains to write, would have to wait, and I didn't care. My mind was filled with The Horseman, with all the lives it could touch, with all the people who believed in it. I saw them standing on the porches of the old ranch house-Donetta, Imagene, Lucy, Bob, Brother Ervin, Pastor Harve, Miss Beedie, the boys from the Countertop Coffee Club, and a few dozen more Dailyians, all looking our way, piling their hopes on the wind, waiting for a sign.

Tapping a forefinger in the air, Dane gave me an appraising look. "Give it the time it needs. It's fine work so far. Excellent sense of the character. Good writing. Keep on with what you've been doing."

"I ... yes, I will." Be calm, be cool, I told myself, swallowing the seventy-six piece band in my chest. Don't act like an amateur. Act like this happens every day. "I'm pleased that you like it. Thank you for the vote of confidence." Good job. Perfect. Friendly, but not desperate. Grateful, yet not groveling.

"It's well deserved. You've dug down and found the heart of this story. That's a writer's job." Dane met my gaze very directly, giving the sense of a man much more complicated than the tabloid hype indicated. I had a feeling he was someone I would enjoy working with, someone who really could do justice to the story of The Horseman. "I've been waiting a long while for a project that seemed ... worth the time."

"This one is," I said, and the words conveyed a belief I didn't have to manufacture.

"I agree." Dane put his hand out and shook mine. With a last glance toward Justin and Lucky Strike, he headed off to join his family, and I stood slightly numb, basking in the glow.

Doug was nowhere in my head. There wasn't a whisper of him, not even in the most remote corner, and suddenly I knew that was what I'd been seeking all along. I wanted to create something that was only good, that didn't come from fear or loathing, insecurity or financial need, self-recrimination or self-doubt, that had no part of the past in it, but came only from a hope of what could be.

The dark corners were gone now. There was no place for Doug to hide.

Lauren smiled at me, and I knew she understood. "I think that's a yes," she whispered. "He said to keep on with what you've been doing." Her eyes were the soft green of spring gra.s.s, dewy with joy, and I was lost in them instantly.

"I guess that means more late hours in the beauty shop," I answered.