One of the most seductive things about Crosswinds was the country club atmosphere—the large grassy areas shaded by big leafy trees. The pond and waterfall, where students could go to contemplate (or smoke or make out or hide). The bungalow-style classrooms had wide windows, air conditioning, carpeting, and, of course, state-of-the-art electronics. No institutional green walls. No bells ringing at the end of class. No chain-link fences. If it’d had a golf course and a good restaurant, they could have turned the whole thing into a resort and made real money.
Even parent-teacher conferences had a casual vibe, like old friends dropping by for a visit. Crosswinds was one big happy family. As headmaster, Bob Parrish was the father of one wing
of the family. As the most generous and visible parent, Rubin Carson was the father of the other. In a public school, Bob would have been king. At Crosswinds, it was hard to tell who wielded more power.
Yet Rubin and his wife could not have been more gregarious and seemingly down-to-earth when they showed up to discuss Alex’s progress with Perry. Sure, they had met over dinner at the fund-raiser, but Perry was still surprised when Rubin greeted him with a gigantic hug.
“Tell me about my Alex,” he instructed.
“Alex’s a live one,” said Perry. “When I need to get discussion going, I call on him first. He’s bright, he’s witty, he’s full of all sorts of outrageous ideas, and he’s fearless about expressing them.”
The Carsons beamed with pride.
“I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t know when I say he’s not quite as conscientious with his work. He does maybe half his homework; his test scores are a consistent C. And frankly, he wouldn’t do that well if he didn’t rely on Cliffs Notes, which he waves about unabashedly in class.”
Rubin leaned forward. “That was very well put. Let me ask you a question. Have you ever done any writing?”
Perry was not prepared for such a sharp left turn in the conversation. “Actually, I was a writer. I worked on Boing! And I even wrote the pilot for Dire Straights.”
Rubin turned to his wife. “See, I told you.” Then, shifting his focus back to Perry, he said, “I told her after our dinner that I thought you were a writer. I can always tell. I know talent. I have a sixth sense.”
Rubin had a salesman’s intensity when he spoke. “Why did you leave? Someone with your intelligence should be a show runner. I’m always looking for bright young talent like you.”
Briefly, and with a minimum of self-pity, Perry explained
the sad saga of Nancy, Heather, his broken heart, and his broken career.
“I hate that aspect of our business,” said Rubin, shaking his head. “I just hate it. But let me tell you—you shouldn’t worry. This isn’t the time or place, but when this school year is over, you’ll come to my office, we’ll sit down, and we’ll talk about your future. I have a good feeling about you.”
“Thank you very much,” said Perry. “That’s very nice.”
“Now,” said Rubin. “How can we raise Alex’s C to an A?”
“That might be hard to do,” said Perry. “Even if he were to get an A on all the work he owes me, he’d only bring himself to a B, maybe a B-plus.”
There was a knock on the door. Bob Parrish opened the door and stuck his head in. “Can I interrupt and say hi?” he asked.
If Perry was surprised by the hug he had received, the embrace Rubin gave Bob was just this side of French kissing. Rubin was a very warm and friendly man.
“I’ll let you get back to your meeting with Perry,” said Bob. “But when you’re done, I want you to stop by the office. I have the blueprints for the new gymnasium”—he turned to Perry and added, “the new Carson Gymnasium”—“and I think you’ll be very pleased.”
“For two million, I should hope so,” said Rubin, and the Carsons and Bob enjoyed a hearty laugh.
“Take good care of this man, Perry,” said Bob as he left. “We need more families like the Carsons here at Crosswinds.”
“I will,” volunteered Perry. “I promise.”
Rubin turned his attention to the problem at hand, “Here’s what I don’t understand, Perry. If we can get Alex’s grade to B-plus, why can’t we get it just a notch more and make it an A? We’re so close. There must be a way.”
“Well, yes—that makes sense,” said an unsure Perry. “Let
me meet with Alex after school this week and we’ll see if we can’t work something out. But I can’t make promises. There are only a few weeks left, and Alex has a lot to make up.”
“Alex won’t let you down, Perry. I promise,” said Rubin. “But don’t you let us down, either. I run my life by a very simple equation: You take care of me and I’ll take care of you.”
Perry walked the Carsons to the door. Looking across the grassy knoll, he could see the site where the Carson Gymnasium would be erected, a tribute to both the tremendous fortune to be made in sitcoms and to the man who knew how to use that money wisely.