Don Scribner’s Blog Actor, Screenwriter, Songwriter, Singer

more of the book

First thing I did was go to the computer, open a new Word page and type Same But Different. This article would be about love, one of my favorite topics.  I had an in with a woman’s magazine that published one of my stories.  The log line was :Love… incredible, one moment pure magic and five minutes later pfft. Tonight’s tale would evolve from the garden of love that needs to be nurtured.  Its thirst satisfied, days warmed with sunshine and the weeds of temptation kept distant, and above all be allowed to grow.  I was toying with thoughts such as:  Without love we do not have the precious beginning of evolution.  I wondered if a reader would discover the play of words.  Something told me I needed more thought and was happy to hear my phone ring. 

My heart pounded.  “Hi Missey.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I programmed you in.”

Her pause carried weight.  “I’m going to bed now and I feel uncomfortable even saying that to you.”

“I understand.  It takes time for friendship to truly evolve.  Thanks for calling.  I won’t keep you up.”

“I work in the morning.  Over the hill tomorrow.”

It was difficult not to say ‘be careful’ but I had to say something from the heart.  “I’ll be thinking about you.  Would you call me when you have the time?”

Again her pause had weight.  “I suppose.”  More weight.  “Yes, sure.  I can do that.  I’ll call you at lunch.”

“Thank you.  Goodnight Sweetie.”

“Okay.”  She hung up.

My joy of a simple conversation was evident as I swung around in my chair like a child… that excitement… we never loose it.  And, bed sounded good to me also.  As I stood and stretched I noticed the list of unusual occurrences I had for Whitey… the last being the missing tapes. I felt that biting at me and I hoped it wasn’t going to become another headache and I rolled my head in a circle several times to relieve or only because it felt good… I didn’t know.  That took me walking or pacing while saying “I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I don’t know.”  I looked at my guitar.  Whitey put it out here for this reason.  I picked it up, flipped on the tape recorder, fingered a few G and C chords and sang.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I don’t know.  Anymore.  Anymore. “  I clicked off the recorder and said almost as an aside:  “I really don’t.”  I played a couple of my favorites, Help Me Make It Through The Night by Kris Kristofferson and Life Turned Her That Way by Harlan Howard.   I preferred my versions of both and I love Kristofferson.  Enough.  I put the guitar down.

Something was still bugging me and I suddenly realized what it was… my appointment book.  I keep it on my desk unless I need it… addresses, numbers, directions, or whatever else.  I looked and the last several times I saw Teri were listed and probably more, but what caught my eye was that I also noted that she gets a mani/pedi weekly at Salon in Beverly Hills.  My God, that information is right on my desk.  So was every other date, telephone number of women and addresses.  My heart dropped from euphoria and I wasn’t sure why.  It was similar to walking off the dance floor as an achiever, but with trepidation at my side.

My initial feeling was to grab a beer and think about it, however I decided to have some hot decaf tea and sleep on it… and I did except for the half dozen times I awoke flooded with thoughts.

Whitey called shortly after breakfast.  “How’d you like to sit in on a little interview with your good buddy?”  He realized that I wasn’t going to comment so he continued.  “Sam is bringing in your buddy Robbie for a round of questioning.  It involves you and I suggested that you could be of use, behind the mirror so to speak and that you’re a writer so it could be good research.”  I could tell that Sam was not hippy-hi-aye for it, but he said okay.  What’d you say?”

There was only one thing that I could say.  “I’d love to.”  Then the reality of what was happening hit.  “Why is he being questioned?  Is he a suspect now?”

“Maybe.  Let’s wait and find out.  You okay?”

“I’m fine, but I don’t like what I’m feeling.”

“Well, we can talk about that when you get here.  He’s coming at 3:00.  Be early.  Oh, same place you had your prints done… just up the street.  Bring a notepad.  This should be fun.”