Dream On (Dreams Book 2), page 1
Dream On
by
Peter Butler
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, incidents and events are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Peter Butler
All rights reserved
www.peterbutler.net
Without limiting the rights under copyright, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, information storage and retrieval, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author. The only exception being unedited, continuous sections, of less than one hundred words to be used solely for review purposes.
ISBN: 978-0-9924417-6-0
www.peterbutler.net
Cover design by Peter Butler.
Laugh loud,
Smile often,
Dream BIG.
Chapter 1
Mark Caron
The flight attendant glanced at my boarding pass and smiled at me. 'Welcome aboard, Mr Caron.' She gestured with her hand, pointing down the aisle, '21 rows down on the right.'
I nodded to her and I'm sure I saw her smile take on the hint of a smirk, I assumed it was because of the slightly bent over awkward way I was walking - a result of the four days I had just spent in the Hawaiian Islands with Vanya Caine, one of the talents I personally manage. I changed my mind as I approached Row 21. I had grabbed the window seat when I booked figuring I could use the time to do some serious work, hopefully undisturbed.
I might have got that wrong.
There were three seats in my section, the window seat the only one unoccupied. A boy, about 12, had the aisle, his mother was in the middle, I had no trouble identifying her as his mother because the boy was an identical, slightly smaller version of the woman, even his haircut was the same; but slightly shorter. They reminded me of those Russian dolls that split in half to reveal an exact, but slightly smaller doll inside, which in turn splits to reveal yet another smaller doll and so on. When I say smaller version I mean slightly less large in this particular case. Both were wearing their souvenir Hawaiian shirts, smothered in large multiple versions of bold, colorful flowers. As I got closer I could see one difference; the boy, as yet, could not match mom in the belly department but he was mounting a respectable challenge in the boob area.
I unzipped my carry-on and took out my laptop and the two magazines I'd bought at the terminal newsstand then I stowed the bag in a gap I found in the overhead locker a few seats down.
'Hello,' I smiled warmly at the pair as I stood at what should be the entrance to where my seat lay.
Mom beamed at me. 'Why, hello,' she replied. I think I caught a glint of light flash from her eye before she turned to junior. 'Osborn. Where are your manners? Make way for this handsome gentleman.'
Osborn did his best at jamming his butt into the back of his seat to provide a hint of a gap in front of his knees for me to squeeze into.
'Thank you,' I offered as I edged my way in. My smile had now become rigid and fixed resembling an eighty-year-old man who had just experienced an orgasm... and a heart-attack, at the same moment. I had made a tactical error though, I entered, fake smile welded in place, politely facing Osborn and mom instead of giving them my back, which would have allowed me to grab the seats in front for support. Mom had similarly stuck her butt into the back of her seat but the math just didn't add up to a gap for me to use. As I reached her legs she was forced to heave herself up using her large arms and in doing so her face drew almost level with mine. Suddenly her leg shot out from under her and banged into my knee and I found myself plummeting face-first towards her as she slid back into her seat. I urgently reached out with my one free arm to break the fall - I had a choice between putting my hand right into her chubby, slightly furry face... or, her right boob. To my brain's credit it did the math in an instant and made its decision. Mom squealed as my hand took grip of her ample breast as she was squashed back into her seat, with me angled awkwardly on top of her. Ignoring the startled look - no, make that a look abject horror, my face landed on hers with the accuracy of a teenage boy going in for his first kiss; my lips landing just off-center of hers. We both emitted a sharp, involuntary squawk. Hers was an 'Arrgh!'. Mine was closer to a distorted 'Yuk!' My mouth formed an involuntary pout as my lips slid from her mouth and across her cheek, settling near her ear with my nose buried in her thick, wavy hair.
In her defense I gather her sound might have been from the pain the edge of my laptop caused as it jabbed into her other breast.
I can't think of anything to excuse my response.
'I'm so... so sorry,' I said anxiously, my head shaking from side-to-side with my face still only inches from the side of hers. 'Are you hurt?' I asked, very aware that my hand was still firmly attached to her boob - it was my sole means of support. I was trapped - if I lifted my hand my whole body would collapse back on top of her, again.
Thankfully a potential solution came to me, I was close enough to my seat to carefully lob the laptop and magazines onto it, which I did, then I used that freed-up hand to grab the back of the seat beside her head and push myself up and away from her. Mom somehow made a gap for my lower body by wriggling and spreading her legs as far as she could and I was able to stand.
'Whoa,' she laughed... thankfully. Phew! After all, lawsuits have emanated from lesser situations than this. 'Nice to meet you, too.' She was beaming broadly, either from embarrassment or, maybe, from the realization that there was a man between her legs. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, as I sure as hell was embarrassed. 'Umm... no, I'm not hurt,' she responded in a slightly flustered manner. Her face was flushed, red. 'What about you?'
'Embarrassed. But still in one piece,' I offered as I carefully lifted my leg to actually climb over hers, still using the back of her seat to support myself. 'I'm Mark,' I gave her an apologetic smile as I was halfway over. 'Once again... I'm so sorry.'
'Nice to meet you, kind sir,' she said, cheerfully, 'I'm Jilly and this is Osborn.' She pointed to mini-me in the seat beside her who had tears running down his face from laughing too hard.
I gave Osborn a small wave and took my seat, letting out an audible 'Phew!' as my butt settled in. Out the corner of my eye I could see Jilly massaging the battered boob that my laptop had attacked - the one I had grabbed had apparently fared better and didn't require attention.
The flight was scheduled to take about four and a half hours and given that I was now imprisoned, I was glad I'd taken care of the peeing problem before I boarded this Hawaiian Airlines flight back to L.A. I'm not being a snob but I don't normally travel with the tourists when I fly, but this flight was a last minute decision and I had to take what I could get. I would have at least expected two armrests, though - as I mentioned, Jilly is a large woman and part of her waistline had already claimed the one we were meant to share. I had to live with that, it seemed fair, as I had already taken way too many liberties with her.
As we taxied to the runway I reached for one of the magazines I had bought. I don't normally buy "fan" magazines like these but I had been warned that a relevant article was featured in both these particular examples of journalistic excellence - articles that "I might be quite interested in" according to the text I had received from my P.A. I didn't like the beaming red faced Emoji she had placed at the end. These mags certainly give the impression that they cover a lot of topics, the covers are filled with double-meaning captions and a multitude of celebrity pictures. The first one I found that I was told to buy had the heading: "Vanya's Perfect Avocados", and a couple of pictures of her in a low-cut top - without an avocado in sight.
Vanya Caine is fast becoming one of Hollywood's top actresses and I have more than a passing interest in her life and career as I'm her manager. And her part-time lover. The magazine reference to avocados is actually about this trip I've just made to the islands to finalize the purchase of a 500 acre avocado farm near Pukalani for her. It is on the island of Maui and is surrounded by lush tropical rain-forest and massive volcanic mountains, a beautiful beach and a boat harbor are only a short drive. It is a profitable working farm and I structured the financial arrangements so that the farm will buy itself over the next three years. By that I mean the income from the sale of the produce covers any loan and interest repayments. This was strictly for tax reasons, Vanya has no need of the extra income as she comfortably makes seven figures for major acting roles and she manages at least two of those a year, plus as many highly paid commercials as she can be bothered with. Money is not an area of concern for Vanya - that is my job. For her the icing on the cake is the large veranda surrounding the beautiful four bedroom old colonial homestead, and the properties' nearness to the ocean. She has already bought herself a double hammock to complete the image. The property manager lives in the big house at the moment, but, he and his family will be moving to a smaller "Picker's" cottage located near the properties entrance, in a weeks time.
'She's really beautiful.' Jilly says into my ear, much closer than I would have expected, causing me to jump a little. She has stopped massaging her boob, and not content with just taking over our joint armrest she has now taken to reading over my shoulder. And come to think about it, she seems to be leaning on me a little.
'Mmm..' I agree with feigned distraction as I subtly press closer against the side of the plane. I have no inten
'Mmm.. I know what you're saying, Mark,' Jilly offers with a nod, 'it must be real embarrassing for those poor folk, having hundreds of pictures of themselves splashed all over the place.' She pauses for a moment, then adds, 'The headlines might be made up nonsense, but the pictures are very... revealing.'
I nodded agreement and chanced another quick glance. I could tell from the look on her face and her use of the word, "revealing" she had definitely noticed the problem pictures - the ones where you can see me lying on a sun lounge close beside Vanya, rubbing sun lotion on her belly. It was covertly taken, a few weeks back, from an even higher-rise balcony of a nearby Miami hotel. Sadly, Vanya had forgotten to put on her bikini.
* * *
With my carry-on dangling over my shoulder and my suitcase dragging behind I make my way to the long-term car park, relieved that the past five hours of hell have finally ended. Jilly had decided to stick with me even after the flight had landed, side-by-side we had made our way to the baggage carousel, with maxi-me, Osborn, in tow. I upgraded him to maxi when I saw him standing. Jilly's never ending monologues barely paused long enough for a breath. My first real break came when my suitcase emerged first and I quickly wished them good luck and bid them good-bye before theirs surfaced. It turns out it's not easy running with a bag over your shoulder while you drag another behind you, but I gave it my best shot. Most people who run at airports are racing to catch a plane. Not me - distance between me and the baggage collection area was my objective. I never looked back to see if her bag had arrived - I just ran.
My bright red pride and joy sat where I left it four days ago and I smiled at it as I approached. It had its back to me so I don't know if it smiled back from its parking slot. Probably not as its mouth is more like a snarling guppy giving it an edgy look from front-on which I consider a perfect offset to its otherwise extremely pretty body. It did flash its lights at me when I got close which I regard as an automotive version of a smile. I took delivery of this all electric Tesla only three weeks ago so we are still very much in the honeymoon period of our relationship. I bought it as a homage to a friend and business partner who died six months ago. It seemed like a fair deal as it was his intelligence and creativity that earned the money to pay for the car. I only knew Ange Linscott for about two months and my relationship with him went from total mistrust and contempt at the beginning, to total awe of his brilliance and a type of love for his "goofy" genuineness as a human being. I believe Ange and I would have become good friends as the years unwound despite the fact that I was about thirteen years his senior.
Ange invented a device that bends, phases and modulates sounds that musicians and recording engineers all around the world are claiming to be the greatest advance in instrumentation since the invention of the synthesizer. He called it the Sashan Modulator and together we formed a company to manufacture and sell it. Sadly, Ange was killed in a car accident just as the Modulator was starting its journey to profitability. He had spoken often of his desire to buy a Viper or Corvette if he ever made some big money, and arguably, if he had been in a car like one of those he might not have crashed. The old Chevy he was driving on that fateful night was barely suitable to be on the roads. It was part guilt, part homage to Ange's dream and part reward to me that I sold the 2-door BMW 4 Series Coupe, that I was more than happy with, and spent a small fortune on this state of the art rocket ship that I was currently loading my baggage into.
I disconnected my car from its Tesla charging station. The car park had recently installed four of them in their parking bays. I was comfortable in the knowledge that it would be fully charged and ready to rock and roll. I had never been a fan of electric cars but one drive of this car had been enough to change my mind. It drives just as smoothly as any other top-range executive vehicle, but push the launch button and it turns into a speed machine that literally monsters a 690 HP Lamborghini in acceleration. I never use the car like that, but it's nice to know I have it available. I like to be in control - when I can.
As soon as I'm on the freeway I place a call to Sally Rabino, my P.A and my second in command... Sally joined Caron Enterprises about six months ago and had been a fabulous help in getting the business settled down. That time period is significant as an awful lot happened around then - not just Ange dying.
'Welcome back, Big Kahuna,' Sally's voice speaks to me through the cars speakers. I'm hands-free on a call to my office. 'You managed to do better than Captain Cook and get out of Hawaii alive.' She is laughing at the euphemism she has just painted. Sally knows the extent of my relationship with Vanya; she has seen how drained I am, and I do mean literally, after I spend a day or two with that incredible woman. Her jest is said in good fun though; unlike my previous P.A. Sally has no romantic complications with me.
'I was in more danger on the flight back than the four perfect days I spent with Vanya.' I laughed.
'Rough flight, eh? Turbulence?'
'No. More like "flabulence",' I chuckled at the word I had just created. 'If you ever book me "cattle-class" on a flight again, Sally, you can consider yourself fired.'
'Oh... I'm shocked to hear you didn't bond with your fellow tourists. But you can't blame me for that booking, Mark, it was a choice between the back of the plane or the back of a row-boat.'
'I know...' I answered with a chuckle, 'and I did try to bond, at least I made the first move. I reached out, so to speak. But it went badly.' I smiled about it to myself now that enough time, and distance had passed. 'And by-the-way, the word Kahuna refers to a priest. Or a sorcerer or wizard.'
'Really? I thought it referred to testicles. I'm sure I've heard that in a movie? You know - "kicked him in the kahunas".' She giggled as she said that, 'It still works with the real meaning anyway, to me you will always be like a high-priest and a wizard.'
One of the reasons I had hired Sally was her ability to smooth out awkward situations with a few well chosen words, or as we say in the trade, some bullshit.
'Right back at ya, Sally. You are the perfect assistant, my expert "head witch".
'Muchas grassy ass, senor-boss. We humble servants at the bottom of the food-chain do what we can to assist.'
Sally is way from the bottom of the food chain, as she puts it. I know this because I negotiated her pay deal myself. 'Have we had any feedback about the pics of Vanya and me in those two magazines?'
'Not yet,' she chuckled as a thought occurred to her. 'I'll just tell anyone who asks that the Big-Kahuna was baptizing her in avocado oil. It's an ancient Hawaiian ritual required before anyone can own a farm over there.'
I smiled to myself at that. 'Officially, Sally, we'll go with "No comment". It will blow over quickly, nobody gives a rat's about me.' I paused, momentarily as an idea hit me. 'In fact, I'll organize for Vanya to go on a date with Marcello and accidentally leak the destination to a couple of paps.'
