- The Old Billionaire has been in a pickle, as country
folks say.
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- He and Nettie, his wife, have been married for almost
50 years. But at a time when they should be planning a big anniversary
shindig together they're barely even speaking.
-
- "She thinks I've been unfaithful," the Old
Billionaire told me. And no, he didn't say it just the last time we talked.
He's said it the time before that, and the time before that, and the one
before that, too.
-
- "Have you?" I said. And no, I didn't say it
just the last time we talked. I've said it every time the subject has come
up. Not that I think I've got a right to know, because I don't. But because
it seems to me that a man doesn't start talking about such a thing unless
he's looking to dig down deep and express his soul.
-
- Of course, you don't get to be a billionaire, young or
old, by revealing yourself, do you? You become as rich as Croesus, Henry
Ford and the whole Rockefeller family by holding your cards close to the
vest and playing them with intelligence and courage.
-
- In other words, the O.B. never answers that particular
question. He just gets a pained look and moves on.
-
- The last time he mentioned his situation was when the
O.B. called to invite Gwen the Beautiful and me over to his house in the
neighboring county the following Sunday for "some fine home-cooked
food and good company. In other words," he went on confidentially,
"Nettie's a much more sociable person than I am, and I'm hoping to
make her happy by bringing in her favorite folks."
-
- How could anyone refuse such an invitation?
-
- Last weekend was the big night. Gwen and I drove to the
Old Billionaire's sprawling old place and found only two other cars there
that didn't belong to the O.B. (We knew they weren't his because they were
in the driveway and not up on blocks. The Old Billionaire loves tinkering
with machinery. "My purpose in life is to fix everything till it breaks,"
he once confessed.)
-
- Nettie greeted us graciously, and together she and the
O.B. introduced us to the other two couples: Nettie's childhood friends
and their spouses. Refusing all help, Nettie went back into the big, remodeled
kitchen to finish up dinner. The rest of us gathered in the den to sit
before the Old Billionaire's newest acquisition.
-
- "Watch this," he said, and pushed a button
on a Bill Gates-style electronic panel that looked more than a little out
of place on the knotty pine-paneled wall.
-
- The double doors of a cabinet at the other end of the
room opened, and a six-foot television screen swung out.
-
- "NASCAR time!" the Old Billionaire called out.
"On the best HDTV money can buy. And this better be some mighty fine
signal 'cause bringin' it in wasn't any picnic. I had to pull long strings
at the satellite company to get the installation boys to set the connection
up this morning so it'd be ready for y'all tonight.
-
- "They were grousing the whole time they were here,"
he continued, "about missing church and all. I gave each boy a crisp
new hundred-dollar bill to say thanks, and they sniffed at 'em like the
devil'd personally printed each one."
-
- The O.B.'s attitude was so different from the way he
usually spoke that none of us knew how to respond. In the silence, Gwen
whispered to me. "Has he gone insane?"
-
- I looked at the lanky, grizzled man standing there at
his tomorrow-tech box and watching our reactions with increasingly angry
eyes.
-
- I whispered back. "Just desperate, I think. His
world's slipping away. He's looking for something to replace it."
-
- "So I shouldn't tell him that the same satellite
company put in our dish on Memorial Day with no finagling and no extra
charge?"
-
- "Shh. Want to break the old boy's heart?"
-
- "His heart's already broken," Gwen said.
-
- Across the room, the Old Billionaire's eyes narrowed
to slits. He picked up a couple of remotes, pointed them in random directions,
and pushed just as randomly. Still nothing happened.
-
- We sat motionless. Not wanting to look but unable to
turn away.
-
- "I want my wife back!" the O.B. roared. "I
want my life!"
-
- He kept pushing. At last, the big screen came to life.
Maybe things would work out?
-
- Eight letters appeared:
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- NO SIGNAL.
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- Copyright C 2008 by Larry Brody. All rights reserved.
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-
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- Author Larry Brody's weekly column, LIVE! FROM PARADISE!
appears on his website, www.larrybrody.com. He has written thousands of
hours of network television, and is the author of "Television Writing
from the Inside Out" and "Turning Points in Television."
Brody is Creative Director of The Cloud Creek Institute for the Arts, the
world's first in-residence media colony. More about his activities can
be seen on www.tvwriter.com and www.cloudcreek.org. He welcomes your comments
and feedback at <mailto:LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org>LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org.
Brody, his wife and their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion
County, Arkansas. The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise
reside in his imagination.
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