Chapter Text
We could live our life from history, but there’s no future in a memory, jazzed from Dawson’s laptop and his fingers froze, hovering over the keyboard. Shaking his head, he smirked around a sigh, muted the speaker and continued typing only to abruptly stop again. Slowly, his gaze slid to the framed photo of Andie’s goodbye dinner on his desk and he smiled, a genuine one he rarely afforded himself when engrossed in a script.
With his eyes trained on the three figures, lifelong friends, flanking the right side, the image disappeared inside a recollection from a long ago night that changed his world so irrevocably, recovery and reconciliation didn’t come until years later.
He had found out that afternoon when he returned a video Jen had loaned him. It was an innocent enough exchange until he noticed a look of cautious concern, or maybe it was pity on her face. But he knew. She didn’t have to say the words since he had pieced it together from what she didn’t say.
Being the theatrical observer of his small band of teenaged misfits, his imagination sped into dark places as he sat in his room watching a movie that only fueled the inevitable train wreck. He heard his father enter the house, followed by the grave silence an adulteress ex-wife and mother left behind, and the darkness suddenly had color, emotion and narration.
He had spent that day reminiscing about a girl he loved but had left him behind for reasons he never quite understood. A few tortured months later, he had done the same to her and was conjuring up ways to rectify it. He had asked her over for a movie so he rented the one they never finished on their first date. The scene was set, the words were carefully thought out, and the declaration only waiting for her arrival. However, time was not his friend that day.
Realizing that rejection was a possibility, he had employed the power of positive thinking, although being an insecure idealist, his feelings were all over the map. But he was resolute, determined to prove his love and fidelity until Jen, in a few short seconds, unraveled his carefully orchestrated reunion.
Joey often told him he was ‘so dramatic’ and his father had called him on it many times, but it wasn’t until the echo of their words was all he had left, that he understood how self-destructive he could be…how personally he took the actions of those he held so close.
There were dance lessons secretly attended and accusations that were quickly dismissed as unfounded. There was work on a Bed and Breakfast and a sailboat that removed them farther from him. There were unaccounted moments while they were at Aunt Gwen’s and another moment when Joey wanted to ‘talk’. There was a camping trip and topics that were broached but not equally addressed. There was an uncharacteristic scene in a jail cell, a bully confronted, rallies supported, walls repainted or rented, and worst of all, there was the knowledge that his best friends were passionate and devoted to those they loved, which could only have huge implications if they directed that towards each other.
‘Pure loyalty’ and ‘inspiration’ had been replaced by months of betrayal and lies and when he heard, then saw Pacey and Joey arguing mere feet from his house, his black and white world and sense of reason jumped the tracks, leaving them all in a twisted and fiery rubble, and nothing would be right between them for a very long time.
Maybe if they were capable of handling all the huge feelings and events they were going through, things might have gone down much easier. But then again, if none of that had happened, maybe they would have drifted and lost touch instead of maintaining friendships that in the end, were so significant to them.
“You’re doing it again,” Leslie said from a few feet inside his office.
Her tone was straight forward with a hint of impatience and when he looked up, he couldn’t help but chuckle at her condescending body language and annoying knowledge of his process. “Yes I am. Thanks for calling me on it.”
“It’s in my job description,” she said in a dry tease. “What happened to turning things over to the writers?”
“I’m working ahead,” he answered vaguely, not wanting to admit he was tinkering with season two if the show got picked up.
“Working yourself into a frenzy is more like it.”
“Can I help it if we’re ahead of schedule?”
“Yes. You could be less of a slave driver,” she answered with her ever sardonic demeanor. “I put your plane tickets on your American Express and shipped the package. It should beat you there. You’ll have a car waiting at Budget in Wilmington and I reserved a room at The Edgewater Inn for Tuesday and Wednesday. Do you want a car when you get to Boston?”
“No. I’ll play that one by ear.”
“It’s the holidays,” she reminded him.
“I know, but someone can pick me up if I need them to.”
She nodded as if the matter was settled. “Avery has requested your presence in the editing room and the caterer is here.”
“Thanks,” he said as she spun around to leave.
Looking back to his monitor, the curser mocking him, he reread what had started his walk down memory lane to begin with. In trying to make sure the show was different enough from real life so to not resurrect painful memories, Dawson sometimes had to relive those moments, just to avoid them. Indirectly, or maybe right on target, it actually helped him understand things that had occurred.
EXT. THE END OF COLBY’S DOCK - HIGH TIDE – EVENING SUN
As he sits on the edge of the dock and balances a fishing pole with both hands:
PETEY
So what are we gonna
do about Sam?
As he sits beside Petey, tugging on his fishing pole:
COLBY
We’re gonna go to sleep
and we’re not waking
up until we’re twenty-one.
Petey shoots him an amused look:
PETEY
Avoidance. I can
live with that.
COLBY
Maybe by then we’ll
know what in the
hell we’re doing.
PETEY
Maybe by then she’ll
have found someone to
take her off our hands.
COLBY
Maybe by then we’ll
have found someone who
makes us ask “Sam who?”
They both turn at the sound of Sam walking down the dock.
Petey reaches for a soda (insert product placement) and lifts it toward Colby:
PETEY
Here’s hoping.
Dawson closed the laptop, sat back and looked at the photo again for a few beats before reaching into his leather courier bag and pulling out an invitation he received a week ago. He had been expecting it, getting bi-weekly updates via email or brief phone calls, but seeing it in print made it real.
Tapping the cardboard announcement against his desk, he reached for the phone and pressed familiar, but intermittently called numbers.
“Hey, stranger,” she greeted absently. “Give me thirty seconds.”
Dawson patiently waited, hearing her peck at a keyboard, almost feeling sorry for her current victim. He’d been on the receiving end of her critiques and corrections numerous times, and while it was an honor, it was always quite the humbling experience.
“Okay, just had to finish making a note before I forgot it.”
“Multi-tasking again?”
“Yes and I love it. I have a good crop of students this time for the most part.”
“Poor souls.”
“You have no idea. I’ve got one kid who’s smarter than me and it’s really stepping up my game when we go toe-to-toe in class, and I just found something to stump him.”
“You hope,” he joked.
”Watch it. So enough about me, what’s going on in your world?”
“Nothing much,” he answered and smiled when she laughed.
“Understated does not suit you, Dawson.”
“What can I say, I’m still evolving,” he said, throwing her words back in her face.
“But being a smartass certainly does.”
“I have to get my cheap shots in when I can.”
“Good thing you’re on the opposite coast or I’d take that challenge.”
“Which brings me to the reason for my call,” he said, suddenly fidgety, nervously pulling on the phone cord.
“On the run from investigators again and need a place to hide out?”
Dropping his chin to his chest, he couldn’t help but smile. “What coasts?”
“Just keeping it real,” she said and cut to the chase when she asked, “The reason for your call?”
“What are your plans for the holidays?”
“My family’s going up to my uncle’s cabin in Vermont, but if you’re inviting me to California, I could be persuaded to ditch them.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Cape Cod.” When he heard nothing but dead air, he said, “Amy…you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry. There was an incident with my mouth and the floor.”
Chuckling softly, his grin grew in relief and anticipation. “So you’re up for it?”
“Tell me exactly what I’m going to be dealing with,” she required.
“The holidays with my family and friends. And me,” he added just as a reminder.
“That’s not really our thing, is it?”
“I’ll be in Boston next week and we can discuss what our thing is then.”
“Aren’t you just full of surprises,” she stated softly.
“I’ll call you in a few days with the details.”
“Okay. Take care.”
Dawson rested the phone on the cradle, nodding in quiet triumph. As he stretched his weary body, he wondered if being impulsive wasn’t so elusive to him after all. Glancing at his watch and knowing his schedule, he realized his day wasn’t going to allow for much of that.
After spending an hour or so dashing around to tie up last minute details, Dawson was in the midst of hosting a party for the L.A. contingent of The Creek and their guests, along with a few network executives. In addition, the marketing department had invited carefully chosen members of the media and television critics.
“So it’s a family drama loosely based on your life?” Scott Petrello of TV Daily asked.
“It is,” Dawson answered. “It’s about the golden age of lifelong friendships between three fifteen year olds…a girl and two guys, and their dysfunctional families.”
“So it’s got an O.C. vibe?” he asked.
“Well,” Dawson said, scratching the back of his head, carefully planning his words, “it’s lower on the socio-economic ladder and there are actually three generations. There’s an elderly couple who are the matriarch and patriarch of the show. It centers around the kids, but their families play a big part.”
Looking at his notes, Scott continued the interview. “It’s filmed in Wilmington and set in the fictional town of Brookside, North Carolina?”
“Yes. It’s a touristy coastal town on the continental side of the Pamlico Sound.”
“But you’re from Cape Cod,” he asked in a leading way.
“I am, but there aren’t any palm trees in New England and the weather is vastly different. A northern setting would’ve been problematic because the scenery is essential to the show.”
Another reporter cleared his throat before asking, “I see the potential of a love triangle. Will you be going in that direction?”
Dawson had been waiting for that question, which is why the opening scene of the premier answered it for everyone, even those who had no avenue to ask. “The first season is about the friends and how they deal with family issues, but the boy-girl thing will definitely get in the way.”
“Can you give us a brief description of the three main characters?”
“In a lot of ways, they’re misfits, but within their world, Colby is an idealistic golden boy, Samantha is an over-achieving tomboy and Petey is a rebellious underdog.”
“Which one is based on you?”
“Colby. Only he’s much smarter, nicer and a hell of a lot better looking,” Dawson said sardonically, earning a good laugh.
“Will you be bringing in other characters to add chaos to their dynamic?”
“Yes actually, in episode ten. A privileged city girl.”
Dawson felt a hand on his back and turned to see Leslie standing there.
“The screening room is ready,” she announced discreetly.
Returning to his small audience, he said, “Looks like a lot of your questions are about to be answered. And we’ll have a brief Q&A after you view the premier.”
“One more question,” Scott requested. “Are Samantha and Petey based on real people?”
“Yes, they are. I changed their names to protect their innocence, but we’re still very good friends.” Dawson chuckled as he guided them down the hall. “At least until they see the show.”
After the party was over and everyone had left the building, Dawson found himself back in his office working on future script outlines. He often felt like he had been given the keys to the city, albeit a fifth-ranked city on a night with stiff competition, but he had finally found some measure of stability in his career and wasn’t about to sit back and wait to see if they were a hit or not. Again, as he somehow managed to do with a good deal of success, he employed the power of positive thinking.
The biggest concern he had was the issue of whether or not a serial drama could find a substantial audience with unscripted television and procedural dramas dominating the airwaves. Earlier, the premier was met with a positive response, but he knew they were hand picked and therefore, not a true gauge of what the overall reception would be. But the good news was that there was a void left due to many popular series ending and he hoped to capitalize on that.
“Excuse me,” came an unexpected voice from the doorway.
Startled, Dawson’s eyes darted in her direction.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m Rebecca Keeling…the caterer. I’m here to pick up our supplies, but the conference room seems to be locked.”
“Right. Leslie left the keys on her desk.” Grabbing them and leading her down the hall, he said, “Didn’t I approve a check for Keeling Catering?”
“I hope so,” she teased. “Because if you didn’t, we’d have a problem.”
“I just meant that I’m surprised you’re the one here to do the clean up. Don’t you have staff for that?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
Dawson smiled, opening the door.
“We had five other events tonight and my folks jumped all over themselves to do those jobs. I’m not much into the whole celebrity thing so I let them have those and took this one.”
Dawson paused before turning around to regard her with a bemused expression.
“Wow,” she said, utterly embarrassed, “that sounded terribly insulting. Please forgive me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said in a light and casual tone. “I need these moments to keep from having a dangerously obsessive preoccupation with myself.”
“Aren’t those kinds of people usually surrounded by an entourage?”
“Surprisingly, it can be a one man job.”
Finally, she laughed, and any lingering awkwardness faded away. She began packing the dishes and linens in the bins that were hidden under the table. “So The Creek, huh? I’ve never seen it.”
“It doesn’t air until January twentieth.”
“That means I was right to come here since you are a nobody,” she said, her smile full of playfulness. “At least for the time being.”
“I’ll have you know that I directed a television movie that ranked in the mid hundreds in the weekly Nielsen’s,” he said, with a forced air of cockiness. “And an independent movie that was shut down before filming was complete.”
She glanced at him as she worked, liking his easy and droll manner. “Let’s hope your show does better.”
Dawson stacked the filled bin on the cart he assumed she brought with her. “If not, I can always look into catering.”
She smiled as she broke down the chafing dishes. “Was your party a success at least?”
“It was, thanks in large part to you.”
“I think food is an element that can make or break an occasion. If it’s good, it’s not the focus of conversation.”
“And if it’s bad?” he asked, lifting the last box on the cart.
“People talk about the food and not the important things. Same goes for music.”
“And the setting,” he added.
“I don’t know…the setting doesn’t really matter. People have had great discussions in the most unlikely of places.”
Dawson smiled, thinking of film festivals, coffee houses and even the floor of a Boston brownstone.
“Like a conference room for instance.”
Slowly, he turned around to look at her, but she was bent over, making notes in her day planner. After tucking her pen away, she reached for a business card and handed it to him which he accepted and slid in his pocket without looking at it.
“If you have any future catering needs,” she said. “Or if you’d like to have coffee sometime.”
“Thanks,” he said quietly and pulled the cart to the elevator. “Can I help you out with these?”
“Security let me park right out front,” she said. “Good luck with your show.”
Dawson nodded and watched her until the doors closed. Almost six years in Los Angeles and he was becoming immune to how carefree women were. It was a good thing since he learned the hard way to never mix business with pleasure, and he rarely found time for himself outside of work. But there was someone in Boston who occupied much of his thoughts these days, and as unlikely a pairing as it was, he was hoping that optimistic thing he had going would serve him well in all areas of his life.