Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

“I don’t think so, Jean. I’ve just gone numb.”

“Ha,” she voiced, “this is the kind of news I love to deliver. Tell you what, I’ll fax the details and you consider them for a day. Don’t tarry, Dan-I need to get back to them tomorrow, so call me first thing in the morning.”

“All right. I’ll stand by the fax if you can transmit now. I want to keep this confidential for awhile.”

“I understand. I’ll send it right now. And, Dan, my sincerest congratulations. I think you’ve just entered a new phase of your life. I’m pleased to represent you. Just to add to your confusion, the moment we sign with S amp;S-if that’s what you decide-I’m going to send the manuscript to an associate in LA. Movie rights are the next consideration. This could become a whirlwind and if so, it will all happen very quickly, so stay sharp. I’ll get the fax out right now. Have a good day, Dan.”

“Thanks. Oh, and Jean?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, sincerely. I really appreciate all your efforts. This wouldn’t have happened without you.”

It was Jean’s turn to pause. “Thanks. That was considerate. At this stage, some authors wonder why the agent gets such a large cut. Thanks for understanding our worth.”

“No question about your worth. We’re a team in this, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely. Talk to you tomorrow, Dan. Bye.”

“Bye,” Dan said, as he replaced the receiver.

He leaned back in his chair and swung around to look out the window at the small park surrounding the building where people were beginning to appear as the lunch hour approached. What a day! A threat to his job by some of the supervisors, and then this. Dan found himself thinking of Rumsey Valley and the Almond Festival, a resplendent time of year with the almond trees in bloom throughout the length of the valley. California was his home and he was a Californian. How was he going to take a stand against all those people he’d grown up with, gone to school with, fished with, and cared about? With pressing and disruptive issues to deal with and the board of supervisors’ apparent split over the upcoming vote, this was actually a bad time for outside distractions.

He rose and stepped closer to the window, watching as Pat walked across the grounds, returning from the post office. Then, slowly, he began to laugh. How could any time be a bad time to sign a million-dollar contract? He was interrupted by the ring of the fax. Pat entered the office just as Dan retrieved several pages from the machine and started back for his office, still chuckling softly.

“Anything I can help with, Dan?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got it. Just some personal stuff. Think I’ll head for lunch and see you about one-thirty.”

“Good. Oh, Dan, I’ve got a dental appointment at four.”

“Fine. We’ll cover; no problem.”

“Thanks. You okay?” she asked, noticing his faraway demeanor.

Dan stopped before entering his office, glanced back at Pat, and smiled. “I’ve never been better,” he said, reaching behind the door for his coat. Then, stepping quickly to her desk, he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She sat there, astonished at his unusual behavior, as he whistled his way out the door.

After lunch, Dan closed the door to his office and picked up the telephone, dialing the information operator for the 415 area code.

“Operator. What city, please?”

“San Francisco. A business listing for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Thank you, sir. One moment.” Dan waited several seconds until the computer voice provided the number, which he dialed and waited once more.

“Good afternoon. Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I direct your call?”

“Special Agent Bentley, please,” Dan said.

“One moment, sir.”

Again Dan waited while his call was transferred, wondering how to initiate the conversation and feeling foolish, remembering his note which had gone unacknowledged. He momentarily considered hanging up, but then Nicole’s voice sounded, calm and professional.

“This is Special Agent Bentley; how may I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Agent Bentley. This is Daniel Rawlings in Woodland.”

Not missing a beat, Nicole responded. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rawlings. How goes our local government?”

“Well,” he laughed. “Some supervisors would say I’m still wet behind the ears, and I’d better wake up and smell the coffee.”

“You’re not alone, Mr. Rawlings. I just might have some of that attitude around here as well. By the way, I meant to respond to your kind note last month, but one thing or another. .”

“I understand, Ms. Bentley. I’m sure it was a very trying time for you. How are you doing?” Immediately, Dan felt like a fool, and he grimaced into the phone, hoping she wouldn’t be offended by the personal nature of his question.

After a slight pause, she responded. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”

“Great.”

There was another awkward pause.

Nicole broke the silence. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Rawlings?”

“Well, uh, yes. The reason I called is. . I was wondering if you might, uh, be free for dinner.”

“When?” she asked.

“Uh, tonight? I mean, tonight,” he said, wondering why he was having such a hard time doing such a simple thing. “I know that’s short notice, Ms. Bentley, but, well, it’s been one of those days. I’ve had an absolute low, followed by an absolute high. I was hoping you might be willing to be a little spontaneous, and that I could conclude the day with some very pleasant company for dinner.” He grimaced again, feeling completely foolish. “How about it?”

Dan felt certain that Nicole knew he was as nervous as a young schoolboy.

“I don’t know. I’d hate to give the impression I don’t have anything to do. I mean, I do have a life, you know,” she parried. “Let me think about it for a moment.”

Silence.

“Ms. Bentley?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure. I need to ask you two questions. First of all, if I go to dinner with you, will you call me Nicole?”

“I can do that. What’s the other question?”

“Are you buying?”

“I’d planned on it,” he said, a smile beginning to cross his face.

“Then you’ve got a date.”

Dan made a fist, punched the air in front of him and mouthed a silent yes . “Great. Would you like me to meet you in the city, or is there somewhere more convenient?”

“I’ve got an appointment near my residence this afternoon. Let me give you my address in Walnut Creek. Where did you want to eat?”

“There’s only one place suitable, in my humble opinion. In Chinatown. The Empress of China.”

“I love Chinese. I’m at the River Oaks Apartments, Unit Esperanza , off Sycamore Street in Walnut Creek. We can take BART into the city and then walk to Chinatown. Seven-thirty too early?”

“Seven-thirty’s fine, Nicole. See you then, and thanks for allowing spontaneity to prevail.”

“Seven-thirty, then.” She gave him her phone numbers in case he got held up. “I’m looking forward to it, Dan. Bye.”

“Thanks, Nicole,” Dan replied, replacing the receiver, leaning back in his chair, and locking his fingers behind his head.

Dan had no trouble finding the River Oaks Apartments, which mirrored the thousands of other Spanish architecture apartment complexes scattered throughout California cities. It was nestled in a grove of Manzanita trees and surrounded by a high-security fence veiled in foliage. The rustic wooden sign out front advertised a pool, spa, training room, tennis courts, and even an on-site film viewing room with a large screen.