Chapter 4-Fasten Your Seat Belts Colton

Chapter 4—Fasten Your Seat Belts (Colton)

The phone rang and I bounded down the stairs three at a time.  I skidded into the kitchen and picked it up.

“Hello?” I said, nearly out of breath.

“Colton! Is that you, sweetie!” my absent mother’s voice asked.

“Um, yeah…”

“Hey Kid, how are you?” she cooed.

Kid, she still calls me kid. I haven’t been a kid since the day she left. I was nine. After that, I never cried again—not even when a horse threw me into a fence and busted my leg. No tears.

“Good, Mom, it’s nice that you called,” I said and I meant it. It had been months  since I had heard from her.

“ Well listen. I have a news flash, Kid…” she paused, waiting for me to take the bait.

I don’t and I wait on the line wondering what tiny tidbit of Hollywood gossip she had uncovered for my entertainment.

Mom had contacts everywhere. After 30 years in the business she knew all the movers and shakers—the producers, directors, writers , wardrobe people, set designers, stylists, musicians, even the boys who washed the producers’ cars. She knew everyone worth knowing. You actually may know her--Alexis Worth.  In her youth, she was a big Hollywood starlet. Then she met my dad, moved to Montana and had me. After ten years of living a rancher's life, Mom had had enough of the wide open spaces  and freezing temperatures and she went back to sun-drenched, starry-eyed  Hollywood.

“Colton, it’s big! It’s HUGE!” she chirped.

“You know that girl you were so in love with a few years ago? That little singer? Jett Black?”

I realize I’m not breathing. I breathe in. Jett Black. I hadn’t thought of her in a while either, but when I was thirteen, she ruled my world. I spent every waking moment, heck and every sleeping moment dreaming about Jett.  

“Yeah, Mom, I remember.”

“ The word is there’s a new reality show taping. Kind of a teenage survival show. The producer is a friend of mine,”

 

Of course he is. Everyone in Hollywood is Mom’s personal BFF.

She continued, “Well, he already signed her for it. She doesn’t even have to audition.”

“Okay, Mom, that’s great for her, I guess,” I said, not knowing what direction this whole conversation was going.

“Oh, but the best part, Kid. You wanna know the best part?”

She obviously was not asking a rhetorical question.

“Okay, Mom, I’ll bite. What’s the best part?”

“They’re looking for eleven  other normal teenagers who have the it factor, “she said proudly. “No one has more “it” than you, Colt, no one!”

This is probably the nicest thing my mom has ever said to me. Sure, she invited me out to California for summer  vacations, but she was always busy reading scripts or running from appointment to appointment and when she was home, we were always surrounded by her people—her assistant, her personal trainer, her chef, her housekeeper, her manager, her dog walker, her pool cleaners—it was an endless stream of people on her payroll. I was the boy sitting in the corner of the room watching it all play out.

I have to hand it to her. Mom is  right this one time. This was huge. A chance to audition and maybe meet the real Jett Black?  I tried to control myself when all I felt like was whooping at the top of my lungs.

“Mom! This is huge! Thanks!” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too needy.

“I’ll email you the flyer, “ she said, “And I’ll put a bug in Morty’s ear that my son is looking for a spot on the show.”

What could I do to wow the producers? I couldn’t count on Mom’s celebrity status to get me in. Even if she knows everyone, she's not the celebrity she once was. Maybe the producers already have  the cast in mind. I better get busy.

I opened the front door and let go an ear splitting whoop to the open prairie . Today is a good day.

**************

(Colton)

First I texted Earl.
come over. need help. bring camera.
Earl was a friend of mine  from just down the road. When someone tells you "just down the road" in Montana it could mean anywhere from a short two mile jog to over 100 miles. It was about four miles as the crow flies from our gate. I knew Earl from town. He helped his mom and dad run a little grocery and feed store that had seen better days. Earl said the store used to be a big money maker before his dad started trying to find life at  the bottom of a bottle. Earl's mom ignored her life and disappeared into gossip magazines, trashy novels and getting her hair done once a week at the only beauty parlor in town. She would come home to their sad little trailer with her hair teased and shallacked, turn on the t.v. and watch soap operas where everyone's life was more messed up than hers.

Anyway, Earl is  a great guy even though his parents had serious issues. Earl is also a serious math genius, always calculating random stuff like how long it would take to get to the gum center of a blow pop. He is also a crazy good camera guy. His videos on YouTube actually madk money. He is  paid to advertise on his channel and he has close to enough money stashed away for an Ivy League school, just in case he doesn't get a scholarship, that is. With his math scores, it was a given that MIT will choose him for a full ride.

Earl  texted: on my way.
I pulled on faded jeans, old boots, a black button front shirt and my cowboy hat and headed to the stables to saddle up Midnight Rain. I had an idea for the video but I could always  count on Earl for about a thousand more creative ideas.

He pulled up just as I walked out of the barn with Midnight.
"What's up, bro?" Earl asked, climbing out of his ancient blue Ford pickup.
"Dude! You're not gonna believe it!" I said. "I need a video asap for a chance at a reality show."
"Ummm, reality t.v. show?" Earl asked incredulously. "That's not really your thing, is it?"
"It is when Jett Black is on the show."
"Jett Black?! THE Jett Black?" Earl knew about my serious boy crush on her. We both were infatuated with Jett, actually.
"Yep, the very one." I said.

"Well, we better do a bang up video, then. What are your ideas?" Earl wanted to know. He was humoring me, I'm sure. He always had better ideas.

"Well, I think I'll just ride Midnight into the camera view, tip my hat and introduce myself. You can add all the bells and whistles later."

"Okay, let's shoot it and then I have a few ideas of my own." Earl assured me.

My video shoot took about 32 takes, I know because Earl's a math guy, remember? Every time I rode Midnight into camera range, meeting Jett Black would take over my thoughts  and then I would get all flustered. Once I even tipped my hat and  said "Hi, I'm Jett Black..." and Earl lost it. I thought he was going to pee his pants he laughed so hard!

"Dude, that's sick! You think you're Jett Black?!" and he erupted into a hurricane of laughter.

After the 32nd take, I finally got it right without stuttering or saying "um" or "er" or renaming myself and then Earl got the bright idea of making a funny video, making fun of my ranch lifestyle.


"You know those Hollywood types probably have pre-conceived notions about cowboys who live in Montana anyway. Why don't you give them what they expect?" He was convincing.

The funny video was me mucking out a stall, horseshit in my  shovel saying, "Ain't country life on the ranch sweet?"

The next shot was me aboard our mean bison Deathmaker. He was the meanest beast we had at the ranch and it was  no small feat to get on his back. Staying there was even harder.

The camera zoomed into bison and me and I said, "Greetings from Montana. I'm Colton McCabe and this is Deathmaker. He is the meanest beast I've ever tamed, but  I've got what it takes to be "Wild at Heart.'"

Earl promised to add the "bells and whistles" and then send me a copy to send in to the show. At least that's what we agreed on at the time.

Five days later, the phone rang, and I raced for it, as usual.
"I'm looking for Colton McCabe," a lady's voice on the other end said.
"That's me," I said, not recognizing the caller's voice.
"Colton! It's so nice to talk to you. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Carol Silva. I'm a producer with "Wild at Heart."

Oh, hold my horses! This was it! A call from Hollywood!
"We loved your video, Colton, so cute! And so masculine. We think you are just what we need on "Wild at Heart." We thought the song from "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" and the cowboy hat and the buffalo...Deathmaker...I love that name. We loved Deathmaker! I'm offering you a spot on "Wild at Heart!" she said.

"Thank you! I can't believe it!" I also couldn't believe Earl sent in the joke video, but props to him. They loved it. Maybe Earl really is the crazy good camera guy.   I didn't correct the producer about her mistake. Deathmaker is not a buffalo, he's an American bison. Buffalo do not live in North America. They live in Asia and Africa as in water buffalo and Cape  buffalo. Don't believe me? Look it up.

"Colton, we have your email and you can sign all the documents with e-sign. That way, we don't have to overnight the package. Will that work for you?" she asked.

"Well, I'm not sure how to use e-sign..." I admitted.
The only thing I'd ever signed was for my driver's license and a few other things.
"It's easy. The first page of the email explains everything. If you need help, my assistant's phone number is also provided. Cissy will be glad to help you. Remember, help is just a phone call away."

"Thank you, Ms. Silva," we hung up and I did the silliest happy cowboy dance of my life. Even Barkley was impressed. It takes a lot for that lazy hound dog to open his eyes or stir from his rug but he actually joined me in the celebration.

Thanks, Earl! I'm in! Sheer genius of using "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" theme song, Earl. What? You've never heard of it? Google it...find it on YouTube. From the best spaghetti western ever made. The best Clint Eastwood movie ever made. The best western movie ever made. Period. And it got me a chance to meet Jett Black.


(Colton)

 Man, what a way to travel!  This shiny private plane with a jagged broken heart and the words “Wild at Heart” on its tail looks like the production company has spared no expense for us. The cabin seats are a warm caramel color with soft buttery leather reclining chairs–bigger than any first class seat I’ve ever seen with  leg room for miles.  Each seat is practically the size of a couch. I grab one near the front and remove my Denver Broncos cap. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it down –I am already regretting my decision to wear that cap. I bet I have hat hair. Resigned to the fact, I buckle my seat belt.  

“Hi, I’m Maggie Sullivan. I’m from San Francisco, and you…?” a pixie looking girl asks, her voice trailing off, as she holds out her tiny elfish hand in front of me.

“Oh, hi…I’m Colton McCabe…Montana,” I said, shaking her hand. I try not to squeeze it too hard fearing I might break one of her skinny little birdlike fingers.  A slight breeze could blow Maggie away. I can’t imagine her surviving in the wild. She doesn’t look like she’s much competition at all.  I think that’s a good thing for me.

“I’m so excited. Don’t you just wanna scream?” she asks loudly , her blue eyes intense on me. Her voice is squeakily high. She could summon droves of wild animals with her call. I imagine black panthers slinking out of the Everglades following their uncontrollable urge to make that infernal noise stop.

“Uh…well,” I say, thinking that the last thing I want is to scream or, worse, hear   her scream—I mean she’s practically screaming now.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna be on t.v.!” she  shrills, in her little girl voice.  “We’re gonna  be stars! Like the Kardashians or something!” She’s practically dancing in front of her own seat now. I’ve seen that dance usually performed by toddlers  before and now I worry she might need to visit the little girls’ room soon.  She drops into the seat beside me, claiming the window.

The Kardashians, really? Not why I’m here, but I so don’t want to burst old Maggie’s bubble or anything. To say I have a hidden agenda is the understatement of the year. I'm here to meet Jett Black. I've followed her every move since I was thirteen and found her video on YouTube. She had this angelic, bad girl quality about her yet a certain vulnerability. I could see myself with her. I followed her as she became Smoky Blue. I never tweeted her or commented on her Facebook wall. I was too afraid. To have the chance to meet her now in person is beyond comprehension. I'm making myself more nervous by the second.
 

Thankfully, two more passengers step on board. The first is a tall, broad shouldered guy with dirty blond hair who looks like his mama just took the silver spoon out of his mouth.  His cocky grin and jaunty swagger speak volumes of his own sense of self-importance. He carries a Louis Vuitton messenger bag and sports a DKNY jacket—telling the lesser beings of the world that  he likes labels and doesn’t mind spending a lot of money for them. Behind him is another guy—shorter-- with darker brown hair and sea green eyes. He looks familiar, and I try to place him. Seen him somewhere, I know.

“Hey, people! “ the blond guy announces like someone just put him in charge. “I’m Chet Reynolds. From Dallas. How are y’all?” He says and smiles at Maggie—eager to make a good impression.  He never makes eye contact with me, but he seems quite taken by tiny Maggie.

I look over at her and she’s basking in the glow of this sudden testosterone overload.

“Hi, I’m Maggie,” she says in a breathy little girl voice. Where did her unearthly screech go? She’s quiet now and softly bats her eyelashes—wait, those have to be extensions—no one has eyelashes that long-- for maximum girl effect. He flashes her his big Dallas smile and gives her a hug; she nearly disappears from view as he holds her.  

The second guy stops in front of me and shakes my hand,

“Hi, I’m Bowdee James,” his handshake is firm and no nonsense… and I remember now where I’ve seen him.  On the silver screen, in a darkened theater.

I say, “Pleased to meet you, I’m Colton from Montana,” yet all the while I’m picturing him as I first saw him -- a nine year old Bowdee James.
 

I remembered him as the little freckled tow-headed star of “The Parent Trap” and later in the television series.  He dropped off the Hollywood map in his teens but later resurfaced in an ugly court battle against his thieving parents; he claimed they stole his money from residuals earned when “The Parent Trap” went into re-runs.  He sued them for emancipation and won. The judge declared 16 year old Bowdee James  a legal adult and the media reported  he’d been sleeping on friends’ sofas and playing with his underground rock band ever since. Once in a while, there would be a blip on the radar—he had lunch with a new reality star, he went to a charity event, he built houses for Habitat for Humanity, mostly he volunteered for things. He even visited Haiti with Sean Penn.  Recently, I saw a video of his band on Youtube and thought Bowdee really stood out the rocking lead singer of Ragged, a raw band close to the edge. He’s got kind of a Kurt Cobain delivery with a punk/Indie vibe. Too bad Ragged hasn’t been discovered by the mainstream music world… yet. I know he’s desperate if he’s on a reality show. But, hey, aren’t we all desperate for different reasons?

He’s got a quiet grace about him, almost like he’s shy, and I wonder what it’s like to be so famous so young and then lose it all—the fame, the popularity, the hit show, the money, and —even the parents you trusted, the parents you loved, the parents  who raised you and then betrayed you, the parents who stole your future and left your childhood in the weeds.  Must be tough.

He shakes Maggie’s hand but she’s only got eyes for Chet. I keep hoping Jett will board the jet soon, and then realize how funny that sounds. Jett will board the jet soon…Wait, my prayers may be answered because suddenly here she is.

It. Is.  Her!  She enters the cabin, pushing her sunglasses up on her head and shifting her messenger bag  on to her other shoulder. She makes eye contact--and is it my imagination? or does she smile a little bit  in my direction? This is too good to be a dream.

“Hi, I’m Jett…” she says shaking everyone’s hand. Everyone but Bowdee, that is. She gives him a huge hug. Do they know each other? I realize I'm freaking out a little about a girl I only know from the Internet and t.v.  When she gets to me, I’m so nervous I don’t offer my hand right off.   She stands there, awkwardly with her hand out. I finally snap out of it and grasp her hand. Her hand is delicate and cool.  It feels completely comfortable and fits neatly into mine—this is a sign, right?

“I’m Colton McCabe,” I manage to say.

She smiles a huge welcoming smile and I wish I could wrap myself up in that smile.

“Colton McCabe, that’s a great name, “ she says, still shaking my hand. She lingers a minute, and adds, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Colton,” she puts emphasis on my name and I believe her. I want to believe anything and everything she says. Then she moves past my seat toward the back of the plane, and I can’t help it, I watch her go. She turns around and catches me watching. She smiles and winks. I feel my temperature rising and know I’m turning red. I sit back down.

With Maggie on my left side and Chet on my right—both of them falling in love with each other, chattering over me, awkward, so I decide to change seats. I undo my seatbelt, get up and make my way to Jett’s row. “May I? “ I ask, hopefully.

“Sure!” she says, “I was hoping you’d move back here. A little noisy up there,”   she nods toward the row where Chet and Maggie are still enthralled with each other. Bowdee sits alone a few seats behind them,  headphones on, his head down.  Just before takeoff,  a stream of contestants fill the plane. The girls are Summer Redstone, a Hollywood producer’s kid. Gee, I wonder how she got picked for this show? Lauren from Portland, Dandy from Boston and Jilly from Miami. The others are Kenny from Florida, Mike from Oakland, and Seth from Georgia. And Chet and Maggie and Jett and me. Jett and me. I could get used to saying that.

 

 Jilly is pale and quiet. The first thing she does after fastening her seatbelt is to pull down the window shade, shutting out her view.  I wonder if she’s afraid of flying. Everyone is talking and laughing but I concentrate on only one thing. The girl--no the goddess-- sitting by my side.

Hours passed. Jett talked about her dogs and horses, her home in Georgia and her twin brothers, movies and books, music and school.  Wow, she's a real girl. I guess I've put her on this pedestal for so long, it's amazing we think about the same things. I’m impressed she doesn’t mention anything about Disney or being Smokey Blue. She doesn’t brag or talk only about her, her, her  like other girls. Conversation is easy with her, and I don’t have to try too hard. She asks about Montana and my family. Not much to tell, really. I don’t mention the fact that I practically stalk her on Twitter. She would probably think I'm a creeper or something.

 I was worried we would run out of things to say, but we never did. She has this amazing way of making you feel at home; like you’ve always known her. She smiles with her eyes, too. Her whole face lights up and I know I want to bask in that glow.

Our plane touches down at a small airfield. I spot palm trees outside the plane’s porthole window and beautiful aqua water off to the right. We have arrived.  Jilly slides her rosary into her bag. She’s been holding it between white knuckles the entire time.  Man, she hates flying more than me!

Let the games begin because I’m in it to win it and maybe walk away with the girl, too! No one can beat this cowboy.  Well, no one except maybe Jett. But she doesn’t know that.