The Do-Over Worked Fantastically

ÓGlenn Shorkey
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Naturally, the Do-Over Worked Fabulously
by
Glenn Shorkey


Little pieces of the world get changed more often than anyone can imagine.
I repeated that mantra for maybe the 28th time since they’d announced first-class boarding in Charlotte.  Kelli Montalco, ”former Playmate of the Year, ex-vampire-lovin’ ‘Port Edward’ trouble-maker, 5’3” of bodacious tah-tahs and lust-inspirin’, Dancing with the Stars womanhood” as Ollerstein enthusiastically described her, being the powerful reason for my westward journey sure wouldn’t have been imaginable just yesterday, but tomorrow afternoon I’d be providing excruciatingly personal insights about my screenplay to Ms. Montalco.  Not the physical dead ringer of a nut job I’d blown a chunk of life over but the real deal--that difference being the clear, dramatic essence of the Little pieces mantra. 
Wednesday morning, after exchanging kisses with Sam and waving bye-bye to Evonne as she left to drop her at day care before work, I mentioned being a little disappointed at not having responsibility for Evonne all day.  As physically gratifying as making love like newlyweds with Samantha was, having a terrific second career as a published author and being a family man were Reality factors I was still getting comfortable with.  A week of dressing and feeding her while Samantha got ready for work had been delightful, but as Sam noted, routines counted with kids, my vacation wasn’t forever, and one book wasn’t a career.
“Between sand castle building, boogie boarding, golf with my Dad and brothers, grilling, and the usual family events, Mr. Popularity won’t get much writing accomplished at the beach,” she’d offered logically, “and if you’re really wanting a break later, she’s only four blocks away.” 
  I’d settled in at my spacious, well-organized desk, continuing to review and scribble periodic notes while massaging more of the thankfully large folder of completed stories and undeniably golden query letters.  At 11:42 my producer friend Dave Ollerstein’s mind-blowing call came, and Life added serious zip to it’s fastball.
“I swear, I got the real Kelli Montalco,” he quickly replied to my threat about ripping his face off if he was fucking with me about the script I’d sent him several months before, “and you won’t believe how it came together the last week Shorks,” he finished proudly.  ‘The O’ was someone I’d been tight with since second grade, and if anyone in the whole freaking Universe knew that mentioning Kelli Montalco would never be distant enough to discuss lightly, it was Dave.
“Try me pal,” I challenged him, “writers have tremendous imaginations.“  Actually, if ‘real good unbelievable’ stuff was on his mind, A-1 holy shit! unbelievable was on mine.  Without being ready to discuss everything my brain still flipped about,  I’d gotten The Word pretty specifically while kinda sharing a bong hit and reviewing personal situations with God Almighty last week.
“I'm issuing you a Do-Over Glenn, and don't sweat those time travel movies about how deviations extremely affect mankind's Destiny; little pieces of the world get changed more often than anyone can imagine. You’ve earned all the positives that are coming very soon.  Relax, consider desirable alternatives, and things will change wonderfully.”  So far, Sam and Evonne were essential proofs of that.
“I’ve always had terrific personal luck Shorks, but sometimes there’s an element of divine intervention in the entertainment business.  Maybe four months ago I cast what I recently recalled was Montalco’s sister Stephanie, for a decent part in something that just wrapped in Oregon.  Same yowzah! eyes, ass, and symmetry, not quite Kelli’s incredible rack, definitely taller.  It’s a biker-chick part, so she was made up in freaky red hair, big chamunkin’ boots… 
“Anyway, I periodically go on-site to ensure things are moving smoothly.  Stephanie stops me during lunch break to say thanks for the opportunity, explains how another friend I’d picked decided against going on location, health or something, and while it’s mostly yadda-yadda stuff, ding ding! eventually it comes through that she is Montalco’s sister, just still using the family name instead of a Hollywood name.
“So we’re walking and chatting, and suddenly we’re at the production trailer.  I say hold on a second, and I go inside and find that script of yours.  You know, ‘Unbelievable’, the one you wrote post-intervention, after us guys straightened you out regarding all the bullshit that twisted little psycho who pretended to be Montalco had you gobbling.  I suggested Stephanie pass it along, and three days later she marches up to me at the crew party and says Kelli is hot about playing the major badass again, something edgy-dangerous.  Your note about Sharon Stone, and while I know what you were saying, Instincts II shows she’s finito pal, was still in the envelope, and when Stephie brought it back, in real sweet handwriting at the bottom it says, ‘Forget that old bat, I’m doing this!’ along with a check for $150,000.
“What I’m telling you is that I’m absolutely positive your movie can happen,” Dave continued quickly, and he always talked real fast when he was excited, “because Kelli Montalco is like The Bank right now.  That script was whoo-hoo! acid-dipped type shit for obvious reasons, and quite honestly, everybody was watching you reallll careful at that point, thinking you’d crapped out mentally.  I’ve had ‘Unbelievable’ buried since then, just happened to be schlepping it after finding it looking for something else. I’ll give you major props for your comeback with ‘Cards & Consequences’ because that’s the kind of literature we all believed you had inside, but about ‘Unbelievable’, well, Kelli wants a sit-down meeting with you.” 
“No way.”
“You saying no way won’t do it, or no way, you don’t believe she wants to?”
“More the idea of specifically her wanting to sit down and discuss that psychotic lady situation.  Dave, is this honestly moved to the point where Montalco’s ready and there’s money to do this?”
“Glenn, its ‘Field of Dreams’ stuff—we have her, financing becomes ridiculously simple.  She’s on break right now, actually called and said anytime after 11:00 Friday through the weekend is available, same deal next week if you can’t shake loose immediately.  When Hollywood calls and looks this fucking great, and I mean the deal, not the babe, that’s a situation I’d usually say should be grabbed with both hands.  The obvious question is whether you can handle a nuclear boomerang like this; fantasy is kind of my life and personally it’s yikes! material. 
“Professionally I did negotiate $3,500 a day plus expenses for your consulting, and apparently she loves your book too. It’s totally your call though.  Talk to Samantha about it--give her a big smooch from me at some point, okay?--but I’m going to have Ronni make a reservation for you leaving tomorrow afternoon.  We’ll have dinner someplace memorable and catch up on things over a buncha drinks tomorrow night, then go see the Bodacious One Friday. Call me if you decide otherwise.”

What continued to surprise me, beyond my beautiful family life, the book and movie legs my writing career apparently had, Dave’s call or the definite fact this plane was headed to LaLa-land instead of me driving to the Carolina shore, was still remembering my totally zeroed life before last week. ‘The O’ talked about the whole Fake Kelli fiasco essentially like I recalled, but about Samantha, my recovery, the book and movie script, Ollerstein knew about and accepted them better than I did.
Starting out, I hadn’t known or exactly cared who the hot hot hot woman in Reid’s West deli was.  She didn’t ask for money, smelled awesome during the ride home, and anything after I’d heard her screaming my name and some HERE BABY! NOW!! stuff while rocking her world, I’d willingly deal with it.  She’d hinted about being a model, so after ten days of prolific togetherness, when I’d started getting Playmate pictures by e-mail and suggestions I “watch ‘Port Edward’ because there might be someone you know on there,” I locked in on the idea I’d nailed a star. 
I hadn’t gotten to thirty-six without previous female disappointments, but things with Fake Kelli, as I’d labeled that life derailing bitch, were a total crash and burn romantically and physically, a train wreck from Hell psychologically.  It wasn’t just the memory of sensational sex either; I’d invested deeply into heavy personal shit about incredible abuse and loneliness she ‘shared’ with me over two slavishly stupid years.  While it was unbelievable to consider most days, she’d pushed exactly the right knight-in-shining-armor button with me; that Glennie-boy alone could fulfill one troubled star’s desire for that truly Good Man, someone who loved only her, someone she could give everything she was and had to without fear.  I’m a writer; fantasies like regular guy gets incredible woman are pretty standard.
At an intellectual level I’d known events were too inconsistent, definitely way wrong at times, but I became totally, 1000% dedicated to someone I thought was super-babe Kelli Montalco. I believed a shitload of excuses for her never returning to me, including car accidents, kidnapping, even cancer.  After a hundred chances to take another ridiculous event in the shorts and say fucking forget it, eventually I knew a tenth or eleventh airport wait wouldn’t turn out right.  Friends and family offered un-subtle negatives about one of us being definitely crazy, and anybody sane would have crumbled beneath reasonable doubts regarding the truly bizarre stuff she confided, but my over-riding criteria, “Would you do it for HER?” always came back ‘Yes!’, so I’d pushed my pitiful stack of chips in every time. 
  Something urgent and powerful inside had believed that getting the poor, mentally suffering Kelli MontaIco I alone knew about through each stretch of darkness and pain would allow all the incredible, magical things we imagined and talked about for endless hours to become possible.  The hero inside wanted soooo badly to save the incredible girl that I let all rational thoughts, and essentially my life, get sucked straight down.  It sounded stupid now, but at times, even when I was being mostly rational, I thought that if it wasn’t really Kelli, whoever I’d spent ten days of carnal Paradise with would still recognize love and dedication from a great guy and return for it. 
Ollerstein, Scott Piracci, my youngest brother Pete, and a practicing shrink college buddy finally performed an intervention.  Four brutal, nut-crunching days of replaying and replaying every obvious contradiction and stupid lie I’d swallowed were necessary to break me of the idea I’d been phone-dating the most undeniably desirable, solid gold Playmate-level body plus talent star instead of becoming a tightly wrapped morsel in a psycho’s spider web.  Until they’d shown me a perfectly shaped and radiant woman hosting the Daytime Emmys at a time she was supposedly on Death’s door during that de-programming, I’d believed saving that woman’s gorgeously shaped if mentally tortured ass was my knightly mission. 
I’d recently learned about “savings” reality, but that knowledge was miles from anything anyone could’ve imagined…
After the intervention I’d transformed into a stone cold, sixteen-hours-a-day writing machine for thirty-three days, cranking a hundred shitty details into the lean, speeding bullet of a script Kelli was apparently enthused about.  It’d been almost easy, a chimpanzee banging freaking dictation into a computer, to produce my screaming, tortured recognition of how that magnificent avalanche of lies from a sexually potent but mentally twisted mirror image sent an intelligent, perfectly good man swirling down the emotional toilet.  I’d polished it’s hurtfulness to razor sharpness, spread my guts across seventy-eight pages, then slapped it in a FedEx envelope to Ollerstein with the notation, “You wanted a story with a strong female lead—get fucking Sharon Stone to play this bitch!”  After that effort I’d soaked a large pile of gifts, pictures, tapes, and a favorite leather jacket with gasoline, then sent a bonfire of memories heading skyward. 
With zero inside to give and nothing to justify getting up in the morning, I’d tanked for three months before starting a piddilisky job, certainly not the rewarding one I’d been enjoying vacation from yesterday.  Between tanking and getting on the plane was my personal sit-down with, well, it’d looked like Piracci, but everything essentially came across as God Himself.  My particular changes weren’t exactly what the Born Again’s pushed, but making fun of them would never be part of my schtick again either. 
I was still keeping some impressions to myself, at least until talking with Dave. Life had definitely changed for the good, was continuing smoothly apace, and Kelli Montalco was a complicated background factor in that, but I wasn’t sure how having blown two-plus years on a psycho and then saying I’d talked to God about fixing the whole shitty mess with a Do-Over would play.  Sounding like I’d gone off the deep end a second time, especially pre-meeting with the subject of all that behavior, might not come across too cool.

Flicking the ice blue lighter into action, I watched the individual strands of high quality marijuana glow bright orange and alive before withering beneath the flame, retreating downward as I inhaled with clinical precision on the glass cylinder. Releasing my thumb from the carburetor hole, I sucked the bong clear of its dirty cloud, filling my lungs to capacity.  Holding the smoke I could feel the pot working, an instant band of numbness clamping above my ears before quickly expanding to encompass everything from behind my eyes to the hair resting on my collar.
Bingo.  Absolute unfeeling perfection.  Zero concerns about the job I hated and was screwing up at, another late car payment, or a still gimpy ankle from yesterday's basketball.  Just a specific awareness there was caramel cheesecake ice cream left from last night’s gorging and a desire for one of Fake Kelli’s CDs filled with heart-breakingly deep songs to guide me to Neverland.  Songs that promised to love in passionately perfect ways would echo righteously hurtful with tortured memories about a woman nowhere near my apartment tonight.
Opening my eyes and seeing Scott Piracci, a college buddy I still consistently communicated with, on the other side of the small kitchen table was surprising. The pot was fine but not hallucinogenic, and it couldn't really be Scott.  The door was locked and I knew for 100% fact he'd left for a three-week audit in Argentina after we'd talked last week, sooo...
"God, right?"  I asked the figure, exhaling a massive cloud sideways.  No matter what kind of slacker I'd become, blowing smoke in the Almighty's face didn’t seem like a good idea.  Factually it’d be a leap, but for some reason I didn’t doubt myself.
"Seems you're tuned in fine Glenn.  Good herb?"
"Just what the doctor ordered Lord.  Anything I can offer you?  A hit?  Brewskie?  Water?"  I couldn’t help thinking He could transform it to wine, but extremely deviated or not, there was still one Bud left in the 'fridge, and if Piracci-God's vision wanted it, pulling my ass out of the chair and fetching it seemed reasonable.
"Nahhh, I'm good, " Piracci's figure smiled. "Using a shell you’re comfortable talking to might not be necessary, but historically it works pretty good.  Glenn, I'm not here to bust you for keeping yourself messed up like this since things crashed so badly over the last 737 days. Your current situation is about great heart and not just being stupid.  Know you’ve earned all the great personal news and positives that are coming in the very near future. 
“The real name of the woman you devoted yourself to so painfully is Terri, and we needed every second of what you provided.  She used my name frequently while asking you to love beyond reason and essentially forget your own life path.  You accepted fantasy level explanations you’d normally have investigated better because I gave that beautiful but dramatically unbalanced child ‘Conviction’.  You lightened a terrible load by listening and sharing her past during your relationship, and you ultimately made a difference, because now she can love again.
“I'm issuing you a Do-Over, and don't sweat those time travel movies about how deviations extremely affect mankind's Destiny; little pieces of the world get changed more often than anyone can imagine. Relax, consider desirable alternatives, and things will change wonderfully.”   
My Catholic upbringing said God knew what I was thinking, but high or not, I’d immediately accepted my turn with The Man had arrived.  Asking weighty questions regarding world peace or evolution wasn’t going to happen; I just needed to know why a woman of extravagant promises hadn’t returned with her love to completely change my life.  Everything I'd given up because her plight pulled at shining knight-like ideals, and He knew it was about being convincing?  Seven-hundred-thirty-seven disastrously stupid days and being issued a DO-OVER?
"It's okay Glenn, ask away."
"She said that YOU sent me to her." 
"That’s true, promised her an ultimate love the day she was nearly beaten to death.  You needed her too," Piracci's image offered simply, examining well-gnawed fingernails.
"Like hell I needed all that twisted bullshit!"
"You're going to tell ME about suffering too much? You had numerous doubts about things along the way Glenn, but the important part was you kept moving forward, trying to be her hero daily." 
"Dammit, since she wasn’t a former Playmate or soap opera person, how much of her total psyche job was true?  Didn't I see her on TV?  What about the singing on these CDs?  Was she ever kidnapped by a billionaire?"  Hearing those events out loud again made believing what she’d told me sound sooo incredibly stupid.
"No, extremely close on that actress' looks, but of course, you never had another chance to compare things after your time together.  Very bad things happened early on with modeling unfortunately, and the singing on your CDs, well, Terri's done wonderful choir work and brought some people closer to me through that, but you’ve compiled tapes yourself.  Like Scott and your friends smacked you with, mostly she provided enough material for several books.  Remember that part about material Glenn."
The answers weren’t very comfy; I didn’t doubt their Truth either.
"She told me finishing my book would create terrific financial success, even a movie in my future.  Was that legit?"
"You're the Bigger Plan Glenn.  You've been given The Goods ability-wise, and yes, analyzing painful personal dynamics is something you'll present successfully.  Those page-turners for the beach ladies you’ve always talked about, they’re out there too.  Things happening differently from how you imagined doesn’t preclude them from never happening at all.  Your ideas are Quality stuff, just pick any one and work it.  Then pick another one.”
I’d had tons of questions.  Memories of how she'd howled with lust during phone sex, about wanting me like no man ever in her life because they'd all abused her so badly from childhood on and she trusted me totally.  Stuff about saving her eggs before chemotherapy and how we might have some kind of Immaculate Conception II miracle child, making me sort of another Joseph...
“You were important Glenn, but not Second Coming important,” Piracci answered the thought.
"I wanted to believe I was making a difference. That really helped her?"
"Yes, there was unconscionable abuse from her earliest memory until just before she met you.  Seeing herself as incredibly desirable, defiant of consequences, able to escape trouble in dramatic ways, that’s what the soap opera persona was about.  As powerful as her desire to be loved was, allowing herself to be so intimate for so long with you was about those small pieces being changed.  Your sexuality early on and constant faithfulness proved someone could care despite overwhelming negatives and failures.
"You were her rock Glenn.  Everything you did was for righteous reasons, and your love made the difference.  That’s why you're getting this Do-Over.  Smile Glenn, and trust Me, things work out divinely. You've got a smart, beautiful daughter, and soon there'll be a son.”  Pointing to a cardboard box on the floor He added,  "Definitely check that out after you bring Evonne her drink of water.  I'm certain you'll appreciate it."
That’s the moment I discovered some of those little pieces of the world had already changed.  Tossing my job to become Fake Kelli’s manager/lover was the biggest mistake.  Things started swirling bad after that, a feeling like I couldn’t grab the smooth porcelain sides of a toilet.  There'd been people like Samantha in Finance at work.  We'd talked, had drinks, I'd enjoyed a social life.
"Da-a-a-a-a-d-e-e-e!" a small voice called from a hallway behind me, so numbly noticing the Bud tallboy changed to a small red cup of water in my hand, I turned and walked towards the sound, passing through a large, softly lighted living room with a scattering of bright, certified safe toys, an entertainment center where I would have sworn a boombox was, and a stylish brass-and-glass table free of paraphernalia.  Everything as perfect as Samantha's painting over the pink marble mantle, gorgeous and glowing in a wedding gown.
The little person standing in the crib was waiting expectantly for me and the water.
"Tank-koo Dah-dee," she offered simply after draining the water in four long sips.  She reached up to bestow a quick hug and kiss, then dropped to her little knees and rolled over in the sea-foam green flannel suit, asleep immediately. 
Back in the living room, I picked one of the books from the carton, gratefully noting my name under the title: ‘Cards & Consequences’ by Glenn Shorkey. It'd been the working title of my Great American Novel, a long-term project I'd discontinued writing because, while I’d started it long before knowing her, the heroine of the story was essentially everything Terri: killer legs and semi-magical green eyes, smart and sexual, an unreal variety of skills and accomplishments, the perfect ‘with you beside me we’ll definitely whip some ass’ companion.  No doubt about it, somehow I’d believed my future would be equally grandiose once I’d joined forces with Kelli Montalco. 
 
A mixture of emotions continued blowing through my brain as Kelli waved from a second floor balcony before disappearing inside and re-appearing, barefoot and dressed in short-shorts with loosely tied in the front light blue gauze shirt over a darker blue sports bra, walking out to meet me and Dave. I smiled and shook her hand, balancing emotional history against simply being impressed about an amazingly touchable woman.
Dave only stayed long enough to make sure I wasn’t going to curl into a whimpering ball, or maybe attack Kelli, before leaving.  Putting the disaster part into words had allowed me to create a script that had gotten me here, and apparently I’d been able to adequately verbalize the vision and fixing explanation with him.  He hadn’t said much either last night or on the drive over, but he at least seemed to accept what I believed had occurred.   
“Poolside is where I work and relax on off days, that okay with you?” Kelli asked and I nodded, following her absolutely perfect derriere and bronzed legs as we passed through a spacious living room and gained a view of the pool through French doors at the far end of a beautiful dining area.
“I’m going to insist you not call me Ms. Montalco like you’re writing a speeding ticket, and I’ll call you Glenn instead of Mister Shorkey,” she continued, opening the doors and stepping into the late-morning warmth outside.  “Your friend/agent Mr. Ollerstein wasn’t sure you’d come, but I insisted meeting you and discussing some of the underlying facets of this script would be essential for me.  Judging its intensity, maybe there’s a last important piece of some healing process for you too.“
Little pieces of the world get changed more often...
“Something major alarm-wise went off in my head when I read your book Glenn, and I wanted to buy the movie rights to ‘Cards & Consequences’ even before Stephanie brought this positively evil script to me.  I guess every woman wants a chance at being Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’, and while I liked how the book reversed the roles so super-girl Marlena’s got the chips, playing both the sicko and myself in this movie is something I really like. You know, I got some awards when I played two parts for a whole season on ‘Port Edward’,” she said, settling into a padded chair under a Polo-logoed umbrella.  “Its exactly the twisted ‘Fatal Attraction’ type role I’ve wanted, and both your woman’s ability to spin the guy around till he can barely shit straight and the chance to play opposite a hunkster who loves intensely but is totally faked out sounds perfect. 
“I’m really tired of the soap opera bullshit, fighting for a specific number of minutes and same stuff-different day acting.  I’ve paid my dues, and beyond well-documented tits and ass, I’ve got a brain and plenty of what industry people call ‘fuck you money’, meaning I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.  When I told my agent Rudi about possibly buying a property that really interested me he thought that was legitimate, so having a script by you literally dropped in my lap by Stephie, well, I was a singin’ in the shower happy girl. 
“Mr. O told me $150,000 was an attractive initial option offer, and as your buddy he’s watching out for you very well Glenn, but I am going to have both ‘Cards’ and ‘Unbelievable’,” she added, and looking into those intensely beautiful golden-green eyes, I was struck by the notion that probably every guy she’d ever trained them on said fuck it! and did whatever she wanted.  Remarkably similar eyes had certainly worked on me.
I took several swallows of lemonade to chase a sudden dryness in my mouth and some queasiness in my stomach.  Fine with me that she wanted both properties, but based on how that last look affected me, maybe coming to see her wasn’t the best idea after all.  Wednesday morning I’d been genuinely happy.  This life, a job and writing career, all the love and goodness of a wonderful wife and beautiful child sunning on a beach or playing in the salty surf of an ocean 3,000 miles away, it’d been granted because I’d sacrificed a piece of myself.  Kelli was right though; ‘The O’ was watching my back about the script, and if I’d considered meeting Real Kelli an ultimate payoff as part of the Do-Over deal for traveling through a piece of emotional Hell, did I really need it?     
”Maybe I should apologize for whatever agonies you endured chasing someone I recognize must’ve looked amazingly like me Glenn, but I’ll say ‘thank you’ for putting together a script with the meatiest emotional stuff I’ve read in a long, long time instead.
“Doesn’t truly great work involve tapping into something intensely moving anyway?  I mean, I can cry whenever they point a finger at me, but if I’ve really got to sell a scene, I go someplace and make myself pretty miserable first.  Suffering aside, I know Jess Alba or a dozen other leading ladies would die to be considering  this script, so I’m truly grateful to have a shot at something ‘Basic Instinct’-ish,” she smiled knowingly, “and I really appreciate your willingness to provide these deeper insights.
“But honestly, up close and personal, minus air-brushing the chest freckles out or extra make-up perfection, were your flaky-faker’s looks really that close to this?”  Kelli stood and struck several poses, a certain note of disappointment or concern in her voice.  “I made an awful lot of money because this wasn’t something found just everywhere.”
Stacked against a sudden blast of sensations, the touches, tastes, and smells from ten super-sexed days aroused from memory, and figuring that asking her to strip off the distracting clothes to properly recreate the fabulously exciting images of her Playmate days would be out of line, my brain bagged on the comparison.  The verdict came back-- Not enough to really make a difference. 
“No, definitely only a couple corners of the Universe could have a Kelli, although they say everyone has a twin,” I smiled easily, aware that insecurity is an Achilles heel in the mental makeup of the famous and physically beautiful people and thinking I’d taken the diplomatic path.  “BUT,” I emphasized after watching a seconds worth of storm cloud emotions gathering on her face, “after spending a short, intense amount of time with what was a terrific body, desperately trying to reclaim that exciting physicality of your’s was obviously enough reason for everything else.”
Amazingly, admitting that physical factor settled things for both of us.  Being told that outrageously great sex with her body double had caused someone right in front of her to completely lose touch with reality seemed exactly the confirmation Kelli’d wanted.  Without being the deepest thinker, and despite eventually gaining tremendous benefits from this Do-Over, I recognized that giving up trying to help anyone that caused such grief would’ve been easier if the package was wrapped less fantastically.  Minus being in that store on that day and having the balls to approach someone that awesome, maybe incredibly-close-to-Kelli Montalco Terri would’ve been another poor bastard’s problem. 
As we dug into the script, as I replayed the overall anguish during irrational rants and explained the alluring satisfaction in specific moments during the hours of IMs and emotionally complex phone calls that I’d reduced to manageable scenes, I was impressed with Kelli’s level of attention.  She’d played ‘bad’ frequently, certainly knew the realities of an industry where screwing people over was expected to get ahead, but beyond lines she wanted to truly comprehend the ‘why?’ of that elaborate deception’s painful effects.
Suddenly, in mid-sentence, the brightest silver lining behind a darkest cloud revealed itself, crystallizing my somewhat surprising ability to return to those events without feeling the overwhelming frustration and loneliness.
It wasn’t about me any more.  While she’d be performing material I’d paid for in gut-wrenching agony, Kelli’s fans knew her obvious desirability could certainly cause a man to stagger through life trying to please her long beyond the point where reason shouted stop, stop, STOP!  Wherever the lines came from, she would be the focus. They’d seen that manipulative dark side, but they’d be more concerned about her acting than anything distilled from painful truths.  She’d be brilliant, would unquestioningly kill the part.  There’d probably be awards… 
Walking and talking intensely through my explanation of quitting a good job to be 24/7 available for Fake Kelli, I nearly stepped on Kelli before she landed two medium-hard shots to my solar plexus, popped my jaw with a short, upward strike of her hand, then dumped me into the pool with a roundhouse kick. I came up surprised and splashing, with Kelli Montalco’s sexy green-hazel eyes peering into mine from the edge of the pool.
“You can take those defense skills as an audition for your super-star female in ‘Cards & Consequences’, but everyone winds up wet here at some point,” she offered laughing, “and I’m thinking we’ve earned a break.” 
Stripping off the gauze top and shorts, she dove in and swam four leisurely lengths before walking out the far end, while I paddled around some before hoisting myself out, soggy and grinning like an idiot.  Wet and more nearly naked, visions like Kelli were obviously not found everywhere, and somehow a soundtrack accompanied her sweet walk. 
“Gotta feel refreshed, right?” she smiled, handing me a thick towel as I stood up. Two maids, one with dry clothes and another with a cart of lunch foods, appeared behind her.  “I hope you like sushi stuff.  No carbs for me, but holler if you want anything different.”
As we relaxed and ate, Kelli held a copy of the script in one hand, my book in the other, looking slightly serious. 
“Mind if I take a guess about a connection between your book and some of those un-good events in your life?”  I nodded, so she continued.  “The central theme of the book is tarot cards.  Your guy gets a second chance with the fabulous, fabulous, got-it-all woman because the heroine believes that through them, by listening to certain signs and opportunities provided by the Universe, anything’s possible, including them being together again after a long time apart.  Is it because you worked on that book so long, and having written certain beliefs into that guy about when an incredible circumstance comes along you have to believe and do 100% no matter what, you transferred the same feelings to your situation with Nutty Girl?
“I mean, why else would you continue going through anything like this when everything had to be lies?  Suicide attempts, car wrecks, or a kidnapping without all of Hollywood knowing?  Shootouts in the woods with a helicopter rescue?  How could anyone believe only they knew about such crazy stuff when I’m micro-scrutinized daily?” 
“Yes, at times I imagined I was channeling the studly character in ‘Cards’ awesome opportunity,” I admitted, delighting Kelli for her perceptiveness.
“Okay, and while I’m thinking it needs some rewriting so Stephanie can play it, there’s an enabler part, someone trusted who does things like bring gifts or talk to the guy during really tough times, and moves matters along the way she wants.  You follow the enabler to a house and discover the other person is actually kinda crazy at the end.  I was exactly like that on ‘Port Edward’; one part of me doing what my vampire-lover wanted, the other half never suspecting about any wrongness.”
“Well, yeah,” I conceded, “listening to someone you think is trying to help could cause results just like nobody suspecting you of deliberately screwing things up.”
“Wow!” she chewed thoughtfully on a sliver of honeydew.  “Wow.”
“Well, you’ve written a book I like lots and a script I’m willing to pay plenty to call mine, you’re married and have a little girl, so it seems you’ve made a great recovery from this disaster.  What was the first date with your wife like?  Happier I’m sure,” she shifted into a more traditional line of small talk.
“Truthfully Kelli, I don’t remember a romantic ‘first’ with Samantha.  One minute I was bumming about futility and having chased everything in this script, smoking dope in a crappy apartment and thinking about caramel cheesecake ice cream.  The next I was married, with a beautiful daughter and box full of books.  A week after that I was flying here to meet you.”
That was my nut, the ground floor truth I was dealing with.  I’d gone through this conversation twice already, once with someone who knew absolutely all the answers, and last night with ‘The O’.  Little pieces of the world had changed, but I wasn’t sure about discussing that again.
“I have exactly the same one minute this, another minute I wake up to something very different story, ” Kelli began after a thoughtful pause.  “Only a few people know about it, and I’m telling you because I trust it won’t become tabloid material.  While trying to avoid sounding overly…religious I guess, its my personal proof that God hears our individual cries, and sometimes makes changes only He can possibly know are needed. 
“I’m the fourth of five girls, and not the smartest one, even if I did get mostly A’s. I was fast in sports and cute, but I wanted more, and then these knockers blossomed between junior and senior year.  Eyes and great tits can get you almost anything you want Glenn, especially with jocks and geeks.  One thinks they deserve ‘em, the others are grateful whenever chances come along. 
“My parents had refused to let me get modeling pictures; said all models were sluts etcetera.  I was a partier who sometimes got a nasty edge after a couple drinks, and one night I was pissing and moaning about not getting the pictures I needed done. A Camera Club nerd said he had equipment and would gladly help, but I really embarrassed him in front of a lot of people, bullshit about him never having a chance at seeing someone like me close to naked, even if he owned the last camera in Pennsylvania.
“Somebody put ruffey or whatever in my drink, and I remember nobody questioning that camera guy telling people he’d get me home.  Then another geek and the second-string quarterback were yanking my clothes off, standing over me and laughing, licking and touching me…”
She shuddered at the memory; I was transfixed at the impending horror.
“All three started whipping their dicks, told me how I deserved what was coming, said they’d have pictures that would be worth money if I somehow did hit it big.  I was praying so hard, because nothing could be worse than watching yourself be raped and never screaming or moving a muscle.  I could’ve become your Nutty Girl, never would have trusted men again. 
“Suddenly my Mom and older sister Kate were there. I don’t know how they could’ve known where to find me.  Mom had an old .38, Kate had an aluminum bat, and she absolutely wrecked the place; broke a couple knees and arms, destroyed thousands in camera and computer equipment.  The guys couldn’t tell what happened, just made up something about a gang.
“I woke up in my own bed with Mom crying next to me.  Shortly thereafter my folks found the money to get good pictures done, and everything else is kind of history; Playmate, videos, soaps, appearing everywhere.  Yeah, I’ve paraded my body, but somewhere along the way the message that I’d eventually do something equally good and worthy came through.  I’m not 100% sure what that is, but I’m ready.  You got anything like that?”
I told her what happened in the same straight-up way, about talking to my buddy Scott as God, that somewhere beyond being wasted I’d gotten an ultimate explanation about my personal disaster; that it’d been about completing a mission and now I was getting a Do-Over.  ‘O’ hadn’t laughed at it; neither did Kelli. 
“I think that’s an even better ending than what you’ve got now.” 
Looking into those amazingly luminous golden eyes staring up at me, I immediately knew she was right.  We’d just started talking about the possibilities over cherry pie and butter pecan ice cream, a combination she said was an all-time favorite she caved to when she was feeling particularly great, when an assistant came to remind her about getting ready for that evenings event.
“I’d invite you, but my dates already set.  Photo ops and all, you know,” she said with a dejected look.
I couldn’t help laughing.  I’d been sitting poolside, actually in the pool, with one of Hollywood’s hottest, most recognizable stars incredibly up close and personal.  Once I’d accepted her eyes as a simple and attractive fact instead of weapons, she’d been easy to be with, the next date I’d always wanted.  We’d taken care of business, but also shared extremely deep experiences beyond the twisted mess Terri always painted.  I’d learned a star’s reality, we’d even become the type of backyard barbeque friends you look forward to talking with again.  How could I feel cheated about her having to end our day together?
Instead of calling Ollerstein to pick me up, Kelli suggested I cruise LA in her Viper, Jag, or Porsche as long as I wanted and her driver would bring it back.  After the assistant returned to ask about dress options, Kelli posed for a dozen digital pictures of us together, including one after placing my hand on her ass and looking shocked, which she said was “for your buddies to die over.” 
As we finally walked to the door, she gave me a full-mouth, four-second, just as mind-melting great as one would expect stars to dish level kiss that I shared more enthusiastically than I’d ever admit to Samantha.
“You’re not coming back for more insight, are you?”
“No,” I said simply, flashing on the story of Icarus and burned wings from flying too close to the sun, then about a little girl and sand castles.
“That’s okay, I’ve got this set in my brain, and I promise I’ll do a great job. Thanks for everything, especially the sharing, and keep the outfit, it looks great on you.  Your buddy Dave negotiated a three-day minimum, but cash the check and splurge on something really, really nice for your family.  And Glenn, that girl wasn’t wrong about wanting ultimate dedication from a great guy.”
I spent Saturday with Dave, knocking back cocktails and smoking the joint Kelli’d told me was in the Porsche’s ashtray, “just in case you need to discuss matters with you-know- who.”  Late Sunday afternoon I was enjoying the North Carolina beach with a wife and child I was extremely glad to hold again, accepting congratulations from everyone about the movie deal and considering their obvious questions about what came next.
         “Oh, I’m certain there’s another book in me,” I said pretty lazily.  “Someone told me I had lots of Quality ideas, to just keep picking and working them…”

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