Friday. A mild fall evening in Texas. There it was again-the funny feeling. I'd had it off and on since I woke up this morning, and I was experiencing it again now, now when I was about to load the grill with more of what seemed a ton of food for my friends. It was not an unpleasant feeling, but an anticipatory one. I kept glancing at the redwood fence's gate, also redwood, and I avoided any excitement I could have felt if I'd allowed myself to believe that my funny feeling was associated with a possible visit from Kiefer. A visit seemed unlikely since
24
filming was in full swing, but the feeling had proven pretty sure in the past. I managed to turn the meat and get the veggies on the grill and then mumbled an offer to retrieve more beer and wine. I certainly wasn't going to answer my friend Sarah's most recent question honestly.
"What's wrong with you, P.J.," she asked. "You've been more there than here since we arrived."
"Where's there," asked David.
"Oh, don't be obtuse, David. You know that's a figure of speech."
I smiled, an attempt at normalcy, and told Sarah, hence the group, that I had simply been distracted by thinking about my upcoming lecture tour.
"This one's different," I said. "This one takes me to two universities I've never been to in this capacity before. I get nervous, a good kind of nervous, going to new places."
A few years before, I'd gotten out of the full time classroom and begun to teach as a guest lecturer around the metroplex area and to travel to universities and colleges throughout the country delivering lectures on various pieces of literature and literary periods. I was enjoying my new lifestyle. Although it was in some ways more hectic, there was also more free time when I scheduled it. A more flexible schedule meant more chances of being free when Kiefer had a few days off.
"You'll love Pepperdine," Beth said. "I used to visit there when I was at UCLA. I had a friend there."
My friend Beth had attended UCLA in the early 70s and was very fond of recalling her days in Southern California. My friends, all of whom were also colleagues, were more than that-because I had no relatives, they were my family as well. I'd known most of them for twenty years or more, and although they knew much about me, there was much they did not know, too. They knew that I'd been in relationships, but they were long distance relationships and my friends were not privy to the details. They were, however, nosy, constantly asking me who I was seeing, what the person was like, and when they were going to meet him. They continually tried to fix me up with men. When I met Kiefer, about a decade ago, I told them about it but they didn't know whom I was talking about really until I said he was Donald Sutherland's son. "Oh, yeah, Donald, he's cool," they said.
More recently, D'Ann, my large, beautiful-souled friend, had gotten everyone interested in Kiefer because of
24
. To her credit, she had been a rabid Kiefer fan for many years, but she was the newest member of the group and had not been around those many years ago when I told my story about meeting Kiefer. The others had probably neither believed nor disbelieved me because they were indifferent. Of what importance was a Kiefer Sutherland? If D'Ann only knew. She had managed over the past two years to draw Sarah, Beth, and Jennifer into a Kiefer frenzy and had even gotten David and Jared to watch more than a few Kiefer flicks. In fact, one night a month the four of us ladies get together for a "Kiefer-fest." We choose two movies, watch them in succession, get increasingly drunk as the night progresses, and discuss the merits and demerits of the movies. Hell, even
Dark City
gets good reviews if it's the second movie and the margaritas are good!
Beth continued her California talk. "Really, you won't feel uncomfortable at Pepperdine at all. I think you'll really like it. You'll have to look up my friend Cheryl while you're there. How long are you going to stay?"
"Oh, I'll be there for awhile. Probably a month, at least. It's not just a Pepperdine trip. I'll be doing some research for a piece I'm writing for that journal published by the U of C Press."
Although all of my friends were quite intelligent, Beth was the most intellectual and certainly the most conservative personality of the group. Sometimes she surprised us with glimpses into her California past. Since we had known her though, we'd seen only a staid, deliberate character-steadfast, trustworthy, loyal, and suspicious for her friends. We could count on Beth to ask the right questions for us when she surmised we were on the brink of trouble. D'Ann, despite her less than modest size, was a gregarious, urbane, witty woman who could tell stories of her years in New York with abandon. Jennifer, a musical artist, was delicate and brash at the same time, and her voice held the same melodious quality as her piano performances. David, a very organized and intelligent man, was well read and able to converse decently on a number of topics. Jared, a dancer, director, and actor, was opinionated and entertaining. Sarah was just Sarah. She was a professor and a lawyer, brilliant, scattered, and giving to a fault. Sarah, Beth, D'Ann, and Jennifer all had husbands in the past-I'd never met any of the husbands. Although D'Ann had a string of men friends, the others had no known love interests. Made me wonder why they were always harping on me to find someone. David had a wonderful companion, John, with whom he'd been involved for seven years. John rarely accompanied David to our gatherings and Stacy, Jared's wife, never came. She was considerably younger than us and preferred time with their four year old son. Our ages ranged from 40 to 57, with me being somewhere close to the median at 49. We were comfortable together.
Comfortable. Yeah. That's what Kiefer and I had been from the moment we'd met. Within an hour or two, it was as if we'd known one another for ages. Ages. The difference between our ages didn't seem to matter to Kiefer at all-he seemed oblivious, in fact. It bothered me in that I worried about what his friends, or peers, or the media would say about him being with an 'old lady.' It was the reason, the only reason, I'd chosen to be a kind of back door woman. Kiefer and I were usually together here at my home, somewhere on vacation, or, not so frequently, in L.A. when I was in the area. I was thinking about my impending California trip when Beth's voice brought me back to reality.
Just as she was about to inquire more deeply into the trip, my chocolate Labrador began to whimper. He had been a puppy when Kiefer gave him to me four years ago. I was torn between calling him Young Tad, from
Bright Lights, Big City
, or Athos, from
The Three Musketeers
. Still undecided after all these years, I called him both, switching back and forth at will. Athos began to jump straight up in the air as well as whimper. Now I knew. My funny feeling had been accurate. Kiefer was here. Athos only whimpered and jumped straight up when Kiefer was near.