Redwood Bend

ever feel like a trip to the valley. I have some places I’d love to take you for dinner.”
And then they retired to the cabins.
When they got there they found Luke was just stirring up a fire in a shallow pit in front of his porch and it was natural to wander down that way. Luke’s wife, Shelby, sat in a chair on the porch and their handyman, Art, was beside her. Luke welcomed them all to join them and before long Walt had himself a chair by the fire while Lang, Stu and Dylan stood around with Luke. They talked about nothing in particular—weather, fishing, the long ride back to Montana. Little by little they broke up—Shelby went inside, Art retired to his cabin, Walt decided to turn in. And finally Luke indicated a bucket of sand.
“I’m calling it a day, boys. When you’re done with the fire, bury it. We’re coming up on fire season.”
“You bet,” Dylan said. “If we don’t see you in the morning…”
“I’m up early,” he said. “Knock before you go. It’s been a real pleasure.”
And then they were left, the Childress Aviation management, sitting on the porch steps in front of a small fire. A few moments of quiet passed before Lang asked, “So…this is really it for the company, huh?”
“Not necessarily. We’re definitely gonna have to lose the BBJ,” Dylan said, “but that should give us six months to figure out the next move. Either we find some charters for the Bonanzas and the Lear to keep us going or, the next step is, alternate work plans. We have a snowplow for the runway—maybe we start a little plowing business in the winter.”
Lang laughed. “I’ve been using that plow on my road anyway.”
“If you two can manage to find Montana on your own, I want to spend a little more time in California,” Dylan said. “I’m going to check out the smaller airports around here, see if there’s any work for our charters, any interest in a partnership. We have some things in common—charters into the mountains and isolated hunting and fishing locations. And also…” He paused. “I’m considering another idea. Sometimes over the years I’d hear from an old friend of mine, a producer, that he’d like to do a movie, if I had any interest. Jay Romney—he’s one of the good guys. I should listen to his ideas. It could keep us in business.”
“Make a movie?” Stu asked, suddenly interested.
Dylan lifted a corner of his mouth in a half smile. “I’ve made a couple of movies. And had that long-running sitcom as a kid.”
“Yeah, but make a movie now?” Stu asked.
“I could,” he said. “If the terms are right.”
“Would actresses be involved?” Stu asked.
Dylan laughed and Lang gave Stu a wallop to the back of the head.
“Hey! I’m just saying…”
“There would undoubtedly be actresses, but I have no idea what he has in mind. Could be a totally ridiculous sitcom reunion show of some kind, or it could be something else. But if there’s significant money, I should talk to him. Could buy Childress Aviation a couple of years and give the economy time to turn around.”
“I hate to think of you doing anything you hate,” Lang said. “Life’s too short.”
“What’s the big deal?” Stu asked. “Make a lot of money, date actresses, have some fun… Tell him I’ll do it.”
Lang and Dylan had been best friends since college, so Lang knew everything there was to know about Dylan’s childhood, but Stu didn’t.
“My experience as a child actor wasn’t good,” he said. “I thought it was at the time because I was spoiled and could have anything I wanted as long as I did the job I was paid to do because a lot of other jobs depended on it. But I was an ass. Every kid on that set was an ass and we were pure trouble—I’m sure people hated to deal with us. By the time I was thirteen my best friend, Roman, and I were fooling with liquor, pot and girls when we could get away with it, which was often. We pulled pranks, we busted up property, made off with cars we weren’t licensed to drive. I thought we were screwing around and having fun. We were cocky. Immune to failure. I didn’t really get that Roman was in over his head. He died of an overdose at the age of sixteen—he took a bunch of his mother’s pills and washed ’em down with rum, looking for a high. He had been my closest friend for a long time. We weren’t together the night he died. I was fifteen. The whole thing—it almost destroyed me.”
Stu was younger than Dylan and Lang and hadn’t been