The Houston Flea Market Encounter
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Junior Year - Part IIIChapter 22: Houston, We Have A Problem free porn video
I found myself in another meeting about my companies. This was getting old, but Dad insisted that I had to learn this stuff. He’d threatened to step down as CEO (Chief Executive Officer—top dog) if I didn’t participate as the owner. Caryn was already COO (Chief Operating Officer—handled the day-to-day), but Dad wouldn’t allow her to hold both positions.
In an ideal world, Caryn would run the business until we grew to the point where we needed more management she could delegate to. At that time, she would move up to the CEO spot and handle high-level overall management and focus on planning. We would see what the long-term held and my role in it.
We had a special guest today who I was eager to hear from. Mom had flown out to LA on Thursday and returned on Friday. She’d refused to tell me what she found there.
“I’m rearranging the agenda,” I announced because some smarty-pants had put Mom down as ‘new business’ at the end of the meeting. “I think we forgot that the house issue was talked about last week. That makes it open business. I turn the floor over to Mom.”
“Someone has been paying more attention than we give him credit for,” Dad said.
“This will just mess up what I had planned...” Caryn said, and then smiled. “ ... but I’m flexible.”
“I have pictures,” Mom said, and plugged her tablet into the TV that we installed for presentations.
There was a rumor that soap operas and daytime talk shows might be watched on breaks. I honestly didn’t care because I’d never heard anyone say they couldn’t get their work done.
“Malibu is a beach community located 30 miles from downtown LA. Serra Retreat is the subdivision that the house is located in. It was established in 1942 and many legendary people from the movie industry have lived there over the years. Some of the past and current residents are Dick Van Dyke, James Cameron, Mel Gibson, Britney Spears, and Matthew Perry.
“It’s a gated community with guards at the gates, and the HOA is only around $325 per month,” Mom explained.
“That’s more than half my rent,” Megan complained.
“This is LA. My rent was around five grand when I lived there,” Kent shared.
“What’s this going to cost me?” I asked.
I about fell out of my chair when Mom told what I’d be on the hook for each month once I financed the home when you figured in the principal, interest, HOA, insurance and taxes.
“What’s Doug willing to pay in rent?” I asked.
“We agreed to a lowered rent during renovations and then higher once they’re done. He’ll be paying below market, but we have someone already moved in and willing to put up with what’s needed to upgrade the home,” Mom said.
“Does this sound like a lot of money, or am I looking at this wrong?” I asked.
“I talked to three local realtors and they all told me that you could sell it for 50% more than you’re paying without doing anything to it; three times purchase price if it’s fixed up. A couple of years down the road it could be much more.
“Let me show you pictures and you can decide,” Mom suggested.
It was built up on a hill and had a wraparound deck on the second floor that looked out over the neighbors so you could see the Pacific Ocean. The problem with the house was how dated it seemed. The early ‘60s wasn’t the best, as far as décor went. The previous owner had been in her 90s when she sold it to Craig. Her husband had been a studio executive and they’d had the home built. It looked like over the past twenty or more years nothing had been done to maintain the home.
Then Mom showed us the renovation plans. An architect had computer-generated pictures that showed what they wanted to do. They planned to open up the second floor, where the living area and master bedroom were. The plan was to install floor-to-ceiling windows and sliders to highlight the views of the ocean. If it ended up looking half as good as the drawings, I wanted it.
They also proposed to do a lot of upgrades to the exterior, along with the pool and pool house, and to add an outdoor kitchen and entertainment area. It would make the perfect LA home for my family.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked.
“I recommend that we buy it. Normally, real estate isn’t a good short-term investment. This is the exception. I think if we do the upgrades, which it needs, we could triple our money if you wanted to sell it,” Caryn said.
“What about Doug?” I asked.
“We leave him in there for a year and see how it goes,” Dad said.
“If there are no objections, I say we do it,” I said, looking around the table.
There was nothing else pressing, so I was assured I could ‘go play’ for the next month, as Caryn put it.
When we came home, we found Fritz waiting for us. He wanted to talk about security for the trip to Mexico.
“The games will be held in Monterrey, probably the wealthiest city in Mexico. The average income is almost twice what it is in the US. Ten years ago, it was considered one of the safest cities in Mexico, and it is the most Americanized. Since then there have been issues with drug wars. In 2011 there was the attack on the Casino Royale.
“Los Zetas set the casino on fire and killed 52 people. Los Zetas is a criminal syndicate that the US government considers the most technologically advanced, sophisticated, efficient, violent, ruthless, and dangerous cartel operating in Mexico. Since the attack, the police and military have moved in to protect the citizens and tourists.
“Los Zetas has expanded beyond drugs, sex trafficking and gunrunning. Its activities now include protection rackets, assassinations, extortion, kidnappings, carjacking and other things. This group is no joke. The US government has a travel advisory for its personnel in the area. Employees are not allowed outside the city limits after dark and must use only the toll roads when traveling. They have also imposed a curfew from one to six in the morning,” Fritz explained.
“Is it safe to have my friends and family come to watch the games?” I asked.
“I want to hire some extra security to help us out. The extra manpower will keep us from being stretched too thin, but we’re having problems with the Mexican authorities about carrying guns. You must get a special permit from the Secretariat of National Defense. Without it you can go to jail for up to five years just for having a bullet in your possession,” Fritz said.
“Mom would know who to call for some help on this,” Dad said.
“I would appreciate any help she can give us. Otherwise I’ll be forced to hire local security, and frankly, I’m not sure whether that’s a promising idea or not. You never know who they’re really working for.”
“What are you most worried about?” Mom asked.
“I’d suggest that you keep extra cash and valuables in your hotel safe. Men shouldn’t put their wallet in their back pocket, and women should watch their purses. I would use a debit card with a low balance or credit card with a low limit that can be canceled if stolen. Don’t walk at night even if it’s a short distance. We will drive you. For someone like David, there’s a risk of kidnapping,” Fritz explained.
Tuesday August 2“Chuck!” I called out in surprise.
He’d been my security when I first got started and there were issues with me being cyberstalked and concerns when I traveled to larger cities. I always teased him because he dressed like he was with the Secret Service.
“Hey, David.”
“Are you one of the people Fritz hired?” I asked.
“Yeah. I was shocked your mom recommended me. I guess I survived her tormenting me, so she thought I’d be a good fit,” he explained.
I took him inside so he could get some coffee. While I ate breakfast, Yuri, Roc and Phil all showed up with their moms. We planned to leave for the airport from here. I was amused when the mothers cornered Chuck and explained that he was responsible for his charges.
I could tell he was about to step into it when I heard, “I’m not a babysitter.”
“Hey ... uh ... I think it’s time we go. I’ll make sure Chuck and everyone else knows what’s expected of them,” I said, pulling him out of the living room. “You go make sure the SUV is loaded up.”
I turned back to look at the moms as they eyed me. I could tell they weren’t done giving instructions.
“Look, everything will be fine. They know there’ll be hell to pay if they get out of line. I promise I won’t get them liquored up and buy them hookers,” I said with my best angelic face. Mom looked like she was getting one of her headaches.
“Just get out of here before none of you can go,” Mom suggested.
I threw in an ‘I love you,’ gave my mom a hug, and kissed her cheek. The other moms took that as the cue that they needed to say goodbye to their sons. Chuck was smart enough to be in the car when they came out.
Yuri called shotgun, but I explained that we had to ride in the back. I wanted them to get used to having security. Phil and I ended up in the middle row, with Roc and Yuri in the back. Chuck had a little smile when I explained everything about working with security and to let them do their job.
“So, you’re not trying to be a big shot when they open your door to get out of the car?” Roc asked.
“No. They have a routine where they observe the area as they pull up. If it looks safe from the car, they’ll get out and walk around to identify any possible trouble. If all is clear, they’ll open the door and let you out.”
“But we should be safe in Houston, right? It’s not like Mexico,” Yuri observed.
It sounded like my mom had informed their parents about Fritz’s concerns. That might have been why Chuck had been ambushed.
“Houston is not like where you live. Bad things can happen there, just like Mexico. Realistically, bad things can happen to you in a small town. Just keep your eyes open and listen to me or the other security people,” Chuck said.
Everyone was flying in today, so we could start practice first thing in the morning. The plan was for the team to get together for dinner and get a good night’s rest. It was good to see everyone, and Coach Kingwood was happy to see that his new batboys fit in with everyone. I did miss seeing M.E. She and I had become friends over the summer.
Everyone wanted to go to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. I would rather have had steak since we were in Houston. Besides, I figured we might get the genuine article in about a week. But that was crazy talk, according to Allard. The restaurant we ended up at was a mom-and-pop joint not too far from the hotel.
I tried something new, quesadilla sincronizada. It is made with ham and Oaxaca cheese, which are put onto a tortilla and fried until the cheese melted. They cut it into wedges and topped it with avocado, sour cream and salsa. I’d never had ham as the meat in a Mexican dish before.
Wednesday August 3I suddenly woke to the sound of vomiting in the bathroom. I’d roomed with Phil because both Yuri and Roc refused. Phil still didn’t believe he snored. I planned to get the video proof, as they’d put video cameras in my room again.
I’m not the best when it comes to people barfing. Having a bunch of little ones running around had toughened me up some, but I felt like Phil was on his own. That was until I suddenly felt my stomach roll over and my mouth fill with saliva. Houston, we have a problem.
I barged into the bathroom and saw that Phil had made a mess in there, which didn’t help.
“Move, or I’m throwing up on you,” I announced.
Phil barely got out of the way in time. When I was done, we both laughed at our predicament.
“I never thought we would have our own vomitorium,” Phil said.
“You think it was something we ate?” I asked.
“I haven’t felt this bad since I was little.”
He was right. This was more than just getting sick. I felt my forehead and it was hot. We cleaned up and went back to bed.
There was a knock at the door. I looked at the clock ... damn, damn, damn. It was ten, and I was late. Phil and I’d been up and down all night. Around six, the diarrhea had started.
“Are you getting that?” Phil groaned.
I just got out of bed and opened the door. Coach Kingwood took a step back at the smell of our room.
“Shit, you too?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Half the team is sick. We need to get you to see a doctor because we suspect it’s food poisoning.”
“I’d rather just go back to bed,” I said.
“I’d rather we get you back on your feet as soon as possible. Put on a pair of sweats and meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.”
I got Phil up and we somehow made it to the lobby. There was a minibus waiting and it was full of my teammates, all of whom looked like death warmed over.
It turned out that we had norovirus, which is behind more than half of the foodborne illnesses in the US. There’s no treatment for norovirus because it is a viral, not a bacterial, infection. As a precaution, some of the players were given an IV to replace the liquids they were spewing if they couldn’t keep water down. Mom had always given us 7 Up when we were little, but I needed Gatorade.
Another problem was that norovirus could be transmitted to others if they touched anything we’d been in contact with. I gave housekeeping a large tip to sanitize the room and for the stellar job they’d done after our first night.
Saturday August 6Let me just say, I would never recommend food poisoning as the best choice for a bonding activity with your half brother. You don’t feel well and you’re grumpy; not the best conditions for cementing a bond. Phil had the added complication that his snoring bordered on torture. I vowed to get him to a good ear, nose, and throat doctor when we got back home. No one should make that much noise when they sleep.
The baseball team struggled while I was laid up. They traveled to Austin and played the University of Texas and gave them a game, but came up short 5–4. Our next game was against San Jacinto College, a large community college that served the Houston area. We lost another close one 3–2.
On Saturday, I felt better and made the trip to play the University of Houston. I was still feeling the effects of my recent stomach troubles, so Coach Kingwood sat me. It was sheer agony to watch as we got whipped 12–3.
Something happened there that I saw for the first time ever and hope to never see again: two teammates fighting during a game. Royce and Logan Greene were our third baseman and shortstop. During the third inning, we were still in the game with the score knotted up 2–2. A weak ground ball was hit between the two infielders. It was Royce’s play to make, but Logan was focused on the ball and knocked him down. The runner made it to first and the brothers exchanged words, which had Coach Kingwood out to calm them down. When he came back in, he was shaking his head at the two of them.
On the next play, Logan was hit a sharp grounder that he probably should have gotten. He got a late jump because he’d been jawing at his brother. Houston now had runners at first and second and the top of their order coming up. On the first pitch, their batter laid down a perfect bunt down the third base line. Royce picked the ball up with his throwing hand and fired it to first. Unfortunately, it sailed over the first baseman’s head, allowing a run to score.
When the next batter came up, the two brothers each said something to the other that caused them to both stand straight up and not pay attention. The batter hit a ground ball between them that rolled all the way to the fence, clearing the bases with a stand-up double.
I was watching the ball and consequently didn’t see the first punch. When I looked over, they were rolling around on the ground, trying to kill each other. Coach Kingwood grabbed two sports bottles and raced out onto the field. He used them to hose the two combatants down.
Phil sat down next to me.
“I promise to wait until after a game to kick your butt,” he assured me.
That caused everyone in the dugout to start laughing. The other coaches weren’t amused at our reaction. Coach Way ordered us to remain on the bench. I had other ideas. In a fight, you’re supposed to storm the field and defend your teammate.
“Team Royce! Ahhhhh!” I yelled as I leaped over the dugout fence and charged the field.
“Team Logan!” Allard yelled and joined me on the field.
We then did what all baseball players do: we grabbed each other and shuffled our feet. Soon the bench cleared. The Houston ballplayers laughed their butts off at our antics. Logan and Royce realized how dumb everyone looked and hung their heads. Coach Kingwood wasn’t happy. The umpires ... let’s just say I thought we were all about to be kicked out of the game. Considering the final score, it might have been for the best.
“Get your butts back into the dugout!” Coach Kingwood ordered as he dragged the two real combatants to the locker room.
After the game, he gathered us around him in the locker room.
“I’m not even going to discuss this game. Tomorrow you have a day off. I want you to all think about the last three games. When we get to international play, we’ll be facing teams better than we’ve faced so far. I don’t think any of us wants to be embarrassed in front of our families and the country we represent.
“Take your day off and get refocused. I want everyone back on Monday, ready to go. It looks like we should be at full strength by then, so no more excuses,” Coach Kingwood said.
“We’ll be fine, David will play,” Mitch, our second baseman, said.
That got a laugh out of everyone. Somehow it had just worked out that when I played, we won. I doubted I could’ve prevented the butt-kicking Houston gave us, but baseball players are a superstitious bunch. Coach Kingwood just embraced the coincidence.
“See, no need to worry,” he confirmed. “Dawson, in my office.”
I decided I should probably follow him in instead of taking a shower first. Everyone gave me sheepish grins as I held my head high to face the music.
“Sit down,” he barked, and then shut the door.
“Team Royce?!?”
“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” I said, to show I wasn’t sorry about it.
He rolled his eyes.
“I was totally Team Logan,” he said in his best valley girl impersonation. “It was all I could do to keep from laughing when you jumped over the fence and charged the field. If the guys hadn’t bought into the whole ‘when David plays’ BS, I’d bench you for that little stunt.”
“Team Logan?” I asked.
“Get out of here and tell them I chewed your butt,” he ordered.
Sunday August 7At breakfast, everyone wanted to know what my plans were for the day.
“Football,” was my one-word answer.
Turns out that high-level high school baseball athletes play football, and they’re pretty good. My three teammates agreed that today was all about fun. We’d get serious about getting ready for the season during the upcoming week. I needed something pleasurable after being sick for several days.
There was a park down the street, so we walked over. I was impressed that Chuck showed up in shorts and a t-shirt like the rest of us. I couldn’t blame him. It was only 88 out right now. My phone weather app said it felt like 100. By late afternoon it was going to get to 96. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
We found a large open area that had soccer goals at each end. This looked like a suitable place for us to play some football. Roc had carried the bag of balls I’d brought. He dumped them out so I could grab one and start tossing it around.
I must have shown too much because it was decided that to make it fair I had to play a receiver position. They also put Roc, Yuri and Phil on the other team. Chuck even agreed to play to help us fill out our team. He was still in decent shape, even though he was getting old.
I did notice that my sweat stunk. I think all the poison left in my body was seeping out through my pores. When we were done, I was tired. It felt good to get in some physical activity after being bedridden for three straight days. Yesterday I’d felt a little weak, but my appetite started to come back. Today I started to feel like my old self.
“I’m starved,” I announced.
“I know a little Mexican place,” Yuri announced.
Silly boy. I wasn’t Pam, whom he could outrun. I chased him all over the field, and we both knew I was toying with him. He yelped when I wrapped my arm around his waist and picked him up like a bag of dog food. Yuri just went limp, admitting defeat, so I carried him back and deposited him in front of everyone like I’d made a big kill and wanted to show it off.
“Any other suggestions?” I asked.
“I hear there’s a steak place with a salad bar next to the hotel,” Allard suggested.
“Good choice. Now if everyone would have listened to me...” I started, with an I-told-you-so grin.
We went and took showers. I sent a text to Coach Kingwood to tell him our plans for a late lunch. He sent one out to everyone and I was happy to see the whole team in the lobby when I came down. The upside was that if Coach was with us, he was buying.
When we showed up at the steakhouse, they sent us to the banquet room. I think they were worried we would be a little too rowdy and wanted to separate a large group of teenage boys from their regular patrons. We all ordered the salad bar with our steak and we decimated it. I didn’t know about the rest of them, but I had several days of not eating to make up for. Coach Kingwood was duly impressed.
“Dear lord! I thought college boys ate a lot,” he observed, and then offered some advice. “Don’t fill up on salad and bread.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll figure out some way to choke my steak down,” I said between shoveling bites of a variety of salad-bar foods into my mouth.
He just shook his head when we all ate our steaks and huge baked potatoes when the main course arrived. I think we showed some restraint when we skipped dessert. We had to watch our figures, after all. Coach announced, after watching, that he was sure we were all over the virus that had afflicted us. I was just glad it happened this week instead of when we were in the middle of international play.
After lunch, we were sent to a large metroplex movie theater where we watched Suicide Squad. It was good to see Will Smith do an action film. It gave me hope that when I was his age (almost 50), I could be made to look like I still had it.
The afternoon was spent by the pool.
“Phil has a girlfriend,” Roc said in a singsong voice.
Next, he would be singing that they were kissing in a tree. Where was Zoe when we needed her? Then I grinned when my little brother flushed with embarrassment.
“Who are you dating?” I asked, playing dumb.
“No one,” Phil grumped.
“Everyone knows. You might as well admit it,” Yuri advised.
“Guys,” Phil whined.
Oh my God! He was so not a Dawson. He’d just opened the door for them to torment him forever. I remembered my freshman year when the team had been taking showers after football practice. Magic had looked down at Luke.
“Is that a hickey on your dick?”
Luke had slapped his hand over his package as everyone pointed and laughed. I hadn’t been there when it happened, so two weeks later Luke decided that I needed to be tormented. When he asked me the same question, I just looked down and grinned.
“It could be,” I’d said with a straight face.
Greg had taught me to own it if they made fun of me. Poor Luke had been made fun of for looking at my junk, and I was made out as a hero for getting a hickey on Mr. Happy. Clearly, Phil had much to learn, or he’d be the butt of their jokes. I guess it was up to me to teach him. He needed to learn to stand up for himself.
“What are you complaining about? She’s the hottest girl in the freshman class,” I said in his defense.
“But I’m not sure if we’re going out or not,” Phil explained.
“Give me your phone,” I ordered.
I’d seen him sneaking off to talk on it. I suspected he was calling Jill. I scrolled through his call record, hit the number he called the most and put it on speaker.
“Hey, Cutie,” Jill answered.
I gave him a look to keep him quiet.
“Hey,” I said, imitating Phil’s voice. “I have a question.”
“Okay. What’s that?”
“Are you my girlfriend?” I asked with a little whine in my voice.
Phil slugged my shoulder.
“You’ve never asked me,” she challenged.
I handed the phone to Phil. He took off so he could talk to her alone. When he came back, he was all smiles. I guess there was hope for him yet.
Monday August 8I finally had to take Phil’s phone away from him at midnight last night. I needed to get some sleep, and he’d yammered on with his new girlfriend for hours on end. When he came down for breakfast, Roc and Yuri tried to torment him about his new status.
“Have you updated your Facebook to ‘In a Relationship’?” Roc asked.
Phil got a panicked look.
“It’s not real unless she does it too,” Yuri counseled.
I looked up Jill’s Facebook.
“Single,” I announced, to the annoyance of Phil. “Are you sure she’s your girlfriend? I mean, let’s get serious for a moment. She’s way out of your league.”
“He is a Dawson,” Yuri said to defend his friend.
“He’s not horrible-looking, according to my sister,” Roc added.
“Nice save. We wouldn’t want you to be the one saying he’s good-looking,” I told Roc and then turned to my brother. “Dude, she’s taller than you are. She needs to be dating someone that’s at least six-two or six-four.”
They all gave me a funny look.
“For when she wants to wear heels. If she dates Phil, she’ll have to wear flats all the time,” I explained.
“You are such the model-boy sometimes,” Roc said, shaking his head.
I pulled out my phone, put it on speaker and dialed.
“Hey, I need your help,” I told Halle.
“Sure.”
“Hypothetically, would you date a guy shorter than you were?” I asked.
“No. He would have to wear lifts if we went anywhere and I wanted to wear heels. Then there’s the whole issue of small hands and feet,” she said, and then got suspicious when we all started laughing. “What’s going on?”
“Phil wants to date Jill Lacier, April’s little sister,” I explained.
“She’s cute. I say go for it, Phil,” Halle reassured him.
“Thanks,” he answered.
“Don’t worry about the small hands and feet issue. I’m sure if she likes you, it won’t matter.”
Everyone forgets that Halle has an older brother who torments her now and then. I would have to reward her for helping me put my little brother through the wringer. The howls of laughter from the three of us caught the attention of some of the other guys, and they wanted to know what we were laughing at. It was one thing to tease him within his group of friends, but another to put him up to ridicule from my teammates. He was my brother, after all.
“Halle James was making fun of some guy she knew with small hands and feet.”
“You’re talking to Halle James, the daughter of Rita James?” Patrick Welch, our catcher, asked.
“David’s done two movies with her and they date,” Phil said, as if Patrick lived on Mars.
Patrick not knowing meant he didn’t follow the gossip rags, and that caused him to go up in my estimation.
“Small hands and feet don’t always equate to a small winkie,” Daz Whitman, our left-handed middle reliever, offered as he held up his hand and wiggled his pinkie.
“I think he’s talking from personal experience,” Patrick said with a straight face.
As much fun as making fun of guys with small dicks was, I would rather talk to Halle. I left them to their discussion and spent a half hour catching up. Trip was scheduled to go in for more microsurgery on the nerves in his shoulder. Getting shot had been a trying experience for him and his family. He was putting it off so he could join his family when they came out to watch me play in Mexico.
She’d also gotten callbacks on the two movies she was up for.
“Hey, if I get the lead in the one that’s a combination of the Notebook and Crazy Stupid Love, do you want me to see if I can get you an audition for the male lead?”
It wasn’t lost on me that Ryan Gosling was the leading man in both. Halle had a huge crush on him. If I were honest with myself, I would love to be Ryan Gosling for Halle.
“Why are they still auditioning if they plan to film in the fall?” I asked.
“Another studio bought the rights and the studio head has a beef against the leading lady. She was trying to discredit him in some unsavory way and got caught. When they bought the rights, they signed her to a five-movie deal. Word on the street is that he plans to never make those movies, and she can’t make any others until her commitment is complete,” Halle explained.
“Why would you want to work for them?” I asked.
“Ari. He would never let me sign a deal like that. He told me her agent must have had a stroke and not read the fine print. He also said her agent has lost most of her clients over the fallout.”
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