| Romance Fiction posted November 5, 2023 |
  |
A love story.
The Boy Toy
by Terry Broxson
"Welcome to Chez Le Fondue. It's my pleasure to have you and your daughter joining us again for brunch today."
Jason's mind wonders how many times he has visited this elegant restaurant. "Henri, you know good and well Ashley is not my daughter. I was her mother's boy toy!"
"As you wish, monsieur." A hint of a smile crosses Henri's lips.
"Henri, I must say, I like the remodeling and new decor, the crystal chandeliers, old wood floors, and stunning Western art—particularly the two Remingtons and the O'Keeffe are very nice. Those colors and fabrics on the tables and chairs are so rich one would think we are in the middle of the oil patch in West Texas."
"Ah, monsieur, you jest, we are in the middle of the oil patch in West Texas."
"Exactly, we have another guest joining us. Can you seat us at a private table for three? S'il vous plait."
"Oui, monsieur, this way please." Henri seats his most valued customers at a corner table with windows looking out from the twentieth floor of the high-rise building. The view is outstanding if one likes mesquite bushes and flat land covered with oil wells.
After being seated and Henri departs, Jason turns to Ashley and remarks, "Henri's an old fraud. That fake French accent and Henry have roots in Gun Barrel, Texas—Henri, my rear end."
"Jason, are you saying your fake French accent's real?"
"Ashley, when I use my fake accent, know it has been refined and perfected over many years. It's as smooth as a woman's first smile in the morning."
"Exactly how many times during your seventy-three years have you been to France?" Ashley grins like a Cheshire cat.
"I consider myself a citizen of the world. I don't have to go to France to have a French accent."
"So, never?"
"Yep, that's the right number. But more to the point, why did you agree to talk to a writer for the New York Times, and why me?" Jason raises one eyebrow.
"Jason, we have been over this. You have an interesting story that people will find different and compelling. It might be fun for you. Tell me the last time you had some fun?"
"It dang sure wasn't talking to no reporter from New York!"
"Careful, you're starting to sound like some guy who works in the oil fields."
"But aren't you afraid a story like this might hurt your reputation? And what about your mother's legacy?"
"For sure, it'll be scandalous, yet I think I'll enjoy every word. Moreover, Mother would approve."
Jason wonders why's Ashley happy about this. "Have you considered the opinions of the Senior Pastor at the First Baptist Church and the congregation—tongues are gonna wag!"
"Reverend Goodman and I've had a meeting of the minds. My monthly checks won't stop. And the day the story is published, his sermon will be titled, Not Casting the First Stone."
"So, who's this guy we're meeting?"
"Jason, don't be a chauvinist. Her name is Staci Gatherings. She's one of the best profile writers on the paper."
Their waitress, a college sophomore, appears wearing a blue sequined western blouse and a white ruffled square dance skirt. "Good morning, and welcome to our Saturday brunch. My name is Molly, and I'll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
Ashley smiles at Molly. "I think I'll have a Mimosa. How about you, Jason?"
"Molly, my dear, you look so beautiful. I think I ought to take you dancing?"
Molly's face turns bright red.
Ashley taps Jason on the shoulder. "Jason, behave."
"Molly, forgive this old coot. I don't get out in public very often. Would you be so kind as to bring me a Bloody Mary with two celery sticks? You know they're good for the digestion."
"I'll be right back."
Jason spots Henri heading toward their table with a tall woman. Not unattractive, early forties. "I think our writer is here."
Ashley and Jason stand. Ashley says, "Staci, so good to see you again." She glances at the Maitre d'. "Thank you, Henri."
"My pleasure, Madame."
Jason can't help himself. "Mademoiselle, she's a Mademoiselle, Henri." He's such a jerk.
"Very good, sir." Henri walks away, moving his lips, but with no sound.
"Staci, I want you to meet Jason Gant, the man I've talked to you about."
Jason shakes her hand. "The pleasure is mine. Welcome to Texas."
"Thank you." Staci looks around the opulent restaurant. "This is a weekend of firsts for me. My first trip to Odessa and my first trip on a private jet. Thanks, Ashley."
"No problem. It'll take you back to New York tomorrow. I got you fixed up at the Doubletree tonight. But let's bring Jason up to speed on your thoughts about the story."
"Yeah, what are you gals up to?"
Staci laughs. "This gal became intrigued by the story of a man who spent forty years as a boy toy to one of the wealthiest, most accomplished women the country has known." She turns to Ashley. "And her daughter is no slouch. CEO of the fifth most valuable private company in America."
Jason smiles broadly. "I know how to pick 'em, don't I?"
Ashley jumps in. "Jason, I didn't know you did any picking."
Staci raises her hands like a referee. "Regardless of who the picker might have been. When Ashley told me you would be willing to talk about your relationships, I saw a Pulitzer. I intend to make you the most famous gigolo since Richard Gere starred in America Gigolo."
"Just a minute, I'm not now and never have been a gigolo!" Jason thinks that doesn't sound convincing.
Staci looks deep into Jason's eyes. Questions seem to bounce between them. "But, I understand you often refer to yourself as a boy toy."
Before Jason could speak. Molly arrives with his and Ashley's drinks. "Here you go, folks, and I see you have a new guest. May I bring you something?"
Staci points at Ashley's Mimosa. "I'll have one of those."
"Coming right up."
Ashley prods Jason. "You're about to say, what?"
Staci takes a spiral notebook and a tape recorder out of her bag. "Can I record this?"
"Sure, go ahead, but boy toy became like a nickname. I'm gonna start at the beginning. I got off work at noon on Friday, June 11th, 1971, my twenty-first birthday. I wanted to celebrate by ordering my first cocktail at a bar. I chose the Red Rooster, probably the swankiest place in Odessa during those days."
Staci raises her hand like a police officer and gestures for him to stop. "Were you working, going to school, what?"
"When I got out of high school, an oil field surveyor hired me to be his lineman. I swung a bush axe, clearing a line of sight for his equipment to see how to lay out the property lines for future drilling. It could be hard work, but I made up to $125 a week. Not every week, but steady enough."
Ashley smiles. "You must have been in good shape."
"Damn straight, Six foot three, one eighty, curly hair bleached from the sun, and no fat on this boy. I sat at the Red Rooster, about to buy my first drink, when Diane walked over and sat beside me.
"Diane thought I might be too young, but I showed her my driver's license. She bought my first drink and said, 'Happy Birthday.' We didn't stay for a second drink. She said, 'I have a pool, and we can cool off with a dip.'"
"It doesn't sound like anything you could pass up being your birthday and all." Ashley stifles a laugh and takes a sip of her Mimosa.
"I told her I didn't have a swimsuit, but she offered to provide one. Truth be told, I only needed my birthday suit.
"I spent the weekend. I found out she'd just turned thirty and had been married for three years. Today, Diane would be considered a trophy wife. The second wife to an older man who already had a family. He traveled a lot doing oil deals. With no kids in her future, she referred to me as her boy toy."
Staci glances at Ashley and then back to Jason. "Well, it could have been the sex."
He smiles. "When Monday came, I told her I had to go to work. She said, 'No, spend the week with me.' I explained I couldn't afford to lose a week's work. It might cost me $125 or so. She went to her purse, took out two hundred dollar bills, and said, 'Quit.'
"I never worked another day in the oil fields." I wonder what Miss Pulitzer winner wannabe thinks of that.
Molly brings Staci's drink. Ashley and Jason order another for themselves. Staci takes a sip. "This is lovely, fresh orange juice."
Ashley raises her glass and clinks Stacie's flute. "Yes, the OJ is fresh, but the Dom Perignon is what makes it tasty."
Staci shakes her head. "Another first, I never had Dom before. But, Jason, you sure sound like a gigolo to me. Taking money from a woman for sexual favors."
"Whatever you think is beside the point." He pauses for a moment and stirs the last of his Bloody Mary. "Diane wanted to help me with expenses. We had fun. She became a teacher. She introduced me to reading. I discovered authors like McMurtry, Hemingway, Breslin, and Shakespeare. I love The Merchant of Venice.
"Diane had a degree in literature. She used books to show me the world outside of Odessa. She brought new music into my life from Broadway. For five years, we shared confidences and loved each other, but we always knew it would end. It did. She told me they were moving to London."
"What'd you do?"
Ashley speaks up. "He didn't do anything. Diane introduced him to my thirty-eight-year-old mother and a cute little girl of four. Mother ran the family ranch and oil business started by her father. When she died, Forbes ranked it the tenth most valuable private company in America.
"Mother had grown tired of Daddy's shenanigans. He preferred playing poker with the boys, poking the ladies, drinking whiskey, and acting like a big shot with mother's money.
"So, Mother gave him a million dollars and a divorce. He went to California and made a small fortune in real estate. He also found a couple of wives and some stepchildren."
Staci flips through her notebook. She looks up at Jason. "Ashley's mother, Misty, had already divorced when you met her?"
"Yep, for about a year, she told me I came in like a cool breeze from the ocean on a hot day."
"So let me get this straight. You're twelve years younger than Misty, who took over your financial responsibility from Diane, and you became her boy toy. Is that right?"
Jason is grinning from ear to ear. "Little darlin', you got it right as rain in the summer and as straight as any lie ever told by a politician."
Staci's pen circles something in her notebook. "It just seems a little strange that Diane would pass you along to Misty."
"I know you never met Misty. When she wanted something, she got it. That's how it worked. Nobody passed anything."
Molly brings the next round of drinks. As Jason licks off the tomato juice from the celery stick, he uses it to make a point. "Misty and I liked each other from the start. Even Ashley liked me, mostly cause we played with the dogs, horses, and barn cats. We got into stuff around the ranch when Misty had to work."
Staci runs her fingers through her long, dark hair. "Did having a working woman with a kid cramp your style?"
Jason chuckles. "Heck no, her mother lived for Ashley. My so-called style flourished with Misty."
Staci glances again at her notebook. "Did Misty call you her boy toy?"
"She did. It became a term of endearment between us and a source of amusement when she said it in front of others. I still like to use it." Jason laughs at the thought.
"I don't understand a few things. Why didn't you and Misty get married? How'd you keep your relationship a secret? And honestly, sex can be fun, but you can't do it all day long."
"Umm, okay, a couple of those questions are pretty good. I did ask her to marry me. We were coming home from a barn dance in Monahans. She said, 'Jason, let's not screw up a good thing.' If she ever wanted to get married, I'd said yes in less than a heartbeat. We made no effort to keep our relationship secret."
Ashley quickly asks, "What about the First Baptist Church?"
Jason hangs his head. "Okay, you got me there. She liked to sing in the choir. Sunday morning became my alone time."
Staci finishes her Mimosa. She gives Jason a mischievous look. "So, never on a Sunday?"
"Staci, you seem to have a fixation on sex. I told you from the start I became a boy toy, meaning young, someone to have fun with. But you seem to think I did something wrong.
"I'll have you know people considered me one of the best Country and Western dancers they ever saw—square dance, Cotton Eyed Joe, or any other hoe-down steps you could imagine. My tango impressed everyone, too. I only played second fiddle to Misty. She loved to dance.
"We traveled all over Texas. Our only secrets were visiting out-of-the-way bookstores, collecting editions we liked, and stopping at every dance hall we saw." Jason's eyes twinkle at the memory.
Jason finishes his drink but is still holding the celery. "We also visited New York twice a year for the Broadway Musicals. We often stopped by the Metropolitan Museum. We even went to a half dozen operas."
Jason turns to Ashley with a look that has a purpose.
"Ashley, how many animal rescue shelters did Misty endow in Texas?"
"Close to a hundred. "
"How about college scholarships?"
"I'm not sure, well into the thousands."
"How many women's shelters have endowments that came from Misty?"
"I think around fifty."
"Ashley, how many of those endowments have your mother's name on them?"
"About half of them."
"Whose name is on the other half?"
"Jason, those would have your last name, Gant."
"Why do you think your mother put my name on things she endowed?"
"Because you helped her with every single one."
"When Misty wasn't working, we were meeting people and trying to make a difference. Staci, the point I'm trying to make is we had fun together and tried to help others where we could."
Jason's shoulders tense for a moment. "The saddest day of my life occurred when she died seven years ago."
Staci's eyes bore into Jason. "So what happened after Misty died?'
Jason looks at the celery in his hand. He puts it in his empty glass. "Ashley had a beautiful memorial service at the First Baptist Church. Hundreds of people came. We had a private burial at the ranch at her request."
"No, I meant what happened to you? Where did you go? What do you do?"
Ashley starts laughing. "He didn't go anywhere. He lives at the ranch and has an office there too. Jason is always talking to people about new projects to establish in Mother's name."
Staci's gaze shifts between Ashley and Jason. "So, did you become Ashley's boy toy?"
Ashley drops her head. I knew she would ask that question.
"Whoa, woman, look at me. I'm an old man. And don't disrespect Ashley. I want to expand Misty's vision. Ashley lets me do it with her money. But it's not the same without Misty."
Staci's hand reaches to turn off the recorder, but she stops and looks at Ashley. "You haven't been honest with me about why you wanted a story about your mother and her boy toy."
Jason inspects his empty Bloody Mary glass hoping for one more swallow. "You know, I've been wondering why you were happy about the story being told."
Ashley lets out a sigh. "I admit I've been devious. I thought the story needed a titillating hook. I should've just come out with the truth. I want people to understand Jason's relationship with Mother. People will think about how unconventional it may have been. But in reality, it worked marvelously.
"Over fifty years ago, he started as a boy toy, but he developed into a remarkable man. My mother and Jason were a dynamic unstoppable team. That is the story I'd like told."
Jason looks down and dabs a bright red napkin at his eyes. Please, Lord, don't make me blow my nose.
Staci leans over to turn off her recorder. "Ashley, that story makes sense, maybe not a Pulitzer. But a catchy title like Boy Toy Grows Up might work. Jason, how about we work on the real story this afternoon and tonight?"
Jason nods his head in agreement.
Staci closes her notebook. "I'm curious about one other thing. You're a successful woman. You just turned fifty, beautiful, and never married. Would you ever consider a girl toy?"
Ashley blushes, her eyes flutter, and she smiles.
"Welcome to Chez Le Fondue. It's my pleasure to have you and your daughter joining us again for brunch today."
Jason's mind wonders how many times he has visited this elegant restaurant. "Henri, you know good and well Ashley is not my daughter. I was her mother's boy toy!"
"As you wish, monsieur." A hint of a smile crosses Henri's lips.
"Henri, I must say, I like the remodeling and new decor, the crystal chandeliers, old wood floors, and stunning Western art—particularly the two Remingtons and the O'Keeffe are very nice. Those colors and fabrics on the tables and chairs are so rich one would think we are in the middle of the oil patch in West Texas."
"Ah, monsieur, you jest, we are in the middle of the oil patch in West Texas."
"Exactly, we have another guest joining us. Can you seat us at a private table for three? S'il vous plait."
"Oui, monsieur, this way please." Henri seats his most valued customers at a corner table with windows looking out from the twentieth floor of the high-rise building. The view is outstanding if one likes mesquite bushes and flat land covered with oil wells.
After being seated and Henri departs, Jason turns to Ashley and remarks, "Henri's an old fraud. That fake French accent and Henry have roots in Gun Barrel, Texas—Henri, my rear end."
"Jason, are you saying your fake French accent's real?"
"Ashley, when I use my fake accent, know it has been refined and perfected over many years. It's as smooth as a woman's first smile in the morning."
"Exactly how many times during your seventy-three years have you been to France?" Ashley grins like a Cheshire cat.
"I consider myself a citizen of the world. I don't have to go to France to have a French accent."
"So, never?"
"Yep, that's the right number. But more to the point, why did you agree to talk to a writer for the New York Times, and why me?" Jason raises one eyebrow.
"Jason, we have been over this. You have an interesting story that people will find different and compelling. It might be fun for you. Tell me the last time you had some fun?"
"It dang sure wasn't talking to no reporter from New York!"
"Careful, you're starting to sound like some guy who works in the oil fields."
"But aren't you afraid a story like this might hurt your reputation? And what about your mother's legacy?"
"For sure, it'll be scandalous, yet I think I'll enjoy every word. Moreover, Mother would approve."
Jason wonders why's Ashley happy about this. "Have you considered the opinions of the Senior Pastor at the First Baptist Church and the congregation—tongues are gonna wag!"
"Reverend Goodman and I've had a meeting of the minds. My monthly checks won't stop. And the day the story is published, his sermon will be titled, Not Casting the First Stone."
"So, who's this guy we're meeting?"
"Jason, don't be a chauvinist. Her name is Staci Gatherings. She's one of the best profile writers on the paper."
Their waitress, a college sophomore, appears wearing a blue sequined western blouse and a white ruffled square dance skirt. "Good morning, and welcome to our Saturday brunch. My name is Molly, and I'll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
Ashley smiles at Molly. "I think I'll have a Mimosa. How about you, Jason?"
"Molly, my dear, you look so beautiful. I think I ought to take you dancing?"
Molly's face turns bright red.
Ashley taps Jason on the shoulder. "Jason, behave."
"Molly, forgive this old coot. I don't get out in public very often. Would you be so kind as to bring me a Bloody Mary with two celery sticks? You know they're good for the digestion."
"I'll be right back."
Jason spots Henri heading toward their table with a tall woman. Not unattractive, early forties. "I think our writer is here."
Ashley and Jason stand. Ashley says, "Staci, so good to see you again." She glances at the Maitre d'. "Thank you, Henri."
"My pleasure, Madame."
Jason can't help himself. "Mademoiselle, she's a Mademoiselle, Henri." He's such a jerk.
"Very good, sir." Henri walks away, moving his lips, but with no sound.
"Staci, I want you to meet Jason Gant, the man I've talked to you about."
Jason shakes her hand. "The pleasure is mine. Welcome to Texas."
"Thank you." Staci looks around the opulent restaurant. "This is a weekend of firsts for me. My first trip to Odessa and my first trip on a private jet. Thanks, Ashley."
"No problem. It'll take you back to New York tomorrow. I got you fixed up at the Doubletree tonight. But let's bring Jason up to speed on your thoughts about the story."
"Yeah, what are you gals up to?"
Staci laughs. "This gal became intrigued by the story of a man who spent forty years as a boy toy to one of the wealthiest, most accomplished women the country has known." She turns to Ashley. "And her daughter is no slouch. CEO of the fifth most valuable private company in America."
Jason smiles broadly. "I know how to pick 'em, don't I?"
Ashley jumps in. "Jason, I didn't know you did any picking."
Staci raises her hands like a referee. "Regardless of who the picker might have been. When Ashley told me you would be willing to talk about your relationships, I saw a Pulitzer. I intend to make you the most famous gigolo since Richard Gere starred in America Gigolo."
"Just a minute, I'm not now and never have been a gigolo!" Jason thinks that doesn't sound convincing.
Staci looks deep into Jason's eyes. Questions seem to bounce between them. "But, I understand you often refer to yourself as a boy toy."
Before Jason could speak. Molly arrives with his and Ashley's drinks. "Here you go, folks, and I see you have a new guest. May I bring you something?"
Staci points at Ashley's Mimosa. "I'll have one of those."
"Coming right up."
Ashley prods Jason. "You're about to say, what?"
Staci takes a spiral notebook and a tape recorder out of her bag. "Can I record this?"
"Sure, go ahead, but boy toy became like a nickname. I'm gonna start at the beginning. I got off work at noon on Friday, June 11th, 1971, my twenty-first birthday. I wanted to celebrate by ordering my first cocktail at a bar. I chose the Red Rooster, probably the swankiest place in Odessa during those days."
Staci raises her hand like a police officer and gestures for him to stop. "Were you working, going to school, what?"
"When I got out of high school, an oil field surveyor hired me to be his lineman. I swung a bush axe, clearing a line of sight for his equipment to see how to lay out the property lines for future drilling. It could be hard work, but I made up to $125 a week. Not every week, but steady enough."
Ashley smiles. "You must have been in good shape."
"Damn straight, Six foot three, one eighty, curly hair bleached from the sun, and no fat on this boy. I sat at the Red Rooster, about to buy my first drink, when Diane walked over and sat beside me.
"Diane thought I might be too young, but I showed her my driver's license. She bought my first drink and said, 'Happy Birthday.' We didn't stay for a second drink. She said, 'I have a pool, and we can cool off with a dip.'"
"It doesn't sound like anything you could pass up being your birthday and all." Ashley stifles a laugh and takes a sip of her Mimosa.
"I told her I didn't have a swimsuit, but she offered to provide one. Truth be told, I only needed my birthday suit.
"I spent the weekend. I found out she'd just turned thirty and had been married for three years. Today, Diane would be considered a trophy wife. The second wife to an older man who already had a family. He traveled a lot doing oil deals. With no kids in her future, she referred to me as her boy toy."
Staci glances at Ashley and then back to Jason. "Well, it could have been the sex."
He smiles. "When Monday came, I told her I had to go to work. She said, 'No, spend the week with me.' I explained I couldn't afford to lose a week's work. It might cost me $125 or so. She went to her purse, took out two hundred dollar bills, and said, 'Quit.'
"I never worked another day in the oil fields." I wonder what Miss Pulitzer winner wannabe thinks of that.
Molly brings Staci's drink. Ashley and Jason order another for themselves. Staci takes a sip. "This is lovely, fresh orange juice."
Ashley raises her glass and clinks Stacie's flute. "Yes, the OJ is fresh, but the Dom Perignon is what makes it tasty."
Staci shakes her head. "Another first, I never had Dom before. But, Jason, you sure sound like a gigolo to me. Taking money from a woman for sexual favors."
"Whatever you think is beside the point." He pauses for a moment and stirs the last of his Bloody Mary. "Diane wanted to help me with expenses. We had fun. She became a teacher. She introduced me to reading. I discovered authors like McMurtry, Hemingway, Breslin, and Shakespeare. I love The Merchant of Venice.
"Diane had a degree in literature. She used books to show me the world outside of Odessa. She brought new music into my life from Broadway. For five years, we shared confidences and loved each other, but we always knew it would end. It did. She told me they were moving to London."
"What'd you do?"
Ashley speaks up. "He didn't do anything. Diane introduced him to my thirty-eight-year-old mother and a cute little girl of four. Mother ran the family ranch and oil business started by her father. When she died, Forbes ranked it the tenth most valuable private company in America.
"Mother had grown tired of Daddy's shenanigans. He preferred playing poker with the boys, poking the ladies, drinking whiskey, and acting like a big shot with mother's money.
"So, Mother gave him a million dollars and a divorce. He went to California and made a small fortune in real estate. He also found a couple of wives and some stepchildren."
Staci flips through her notebook. She looks up at Jason. "Ashley's mother, Misty, had already divorced when you met her?"
"Yep, for about a year, she told me I came in like a cool breeze from the ocean on a hot day."
"So let me get this straight. You're twelve years younger than Misty, who took over your financial responsibility from Diane, and you became her boy toy. Is that right?"
Jason is grinning from ear to ear. "Little darlin', you got it right as rain in the summer and as straight as any lie ever told by a politician."
Staci's pen circles something in her notebook. "It just seems a little strange that Diane would pass you along to Misty."
"I know you never met Misty. When she wanted something, she got it. That's how it worked. Nobody passed anything."
Molly brings the next round of drinks. As Jason licks off the tomato juice from the celery stick, he uses it to make a point. "Misty and I liked each other from the start. Even Ashley liked me, mostly cause we played with the dogs, horses, and barn cats. We got into stuff around the ranch when Misty had to work."
Staci runs her fingers through her long, dark hair. "Did having a working woman with a kid cramp your style?"
Jason chuckles. "Heck no, her mother lived for Ashley. My so-called style flourished with Misty."
Staci glances again at her notebook. "Did Misty call you her boy toy?"
"She did. It became a term of endearment between us and a source of amusement when she said it in front of others. I still like to use it." Jason laughs at the thought.
"I don't understand a few things. Why didn't you and Misty get married? How'd you keep your relationship a secret? And honestly, sex can be fun, but you can't do it all day long."
"Umm, okay, a couple of those questions are pretty good. I did ask her to marry me. We were coming home from a barn dance in Monahans. She said, 'Jason, let's not screw up a good thing.' If she ever wanted to get married, I'd said yes in less than a heartbeat. We made no effort to keep our relationship secret."
Ashley quickly asks, "What about the First Baptist Church?"
Jason hangs his head. "Okay, you got me there. She liked to sing in the choir. Sunday morning became my alone time."
Staci finishes her Mimosa. She gives Jason a mischievous look. "So, never on a Sunday?"
"Staci, you seem to have a fixation on sex. I told you from the start I became a boy toy, meaning young, someone to have fun with. But you seem to think I did something wrong.
"I'll have you know people considered me one of the best Country and Western dancers they ever saw—square dance, Cotton Eyed Joe, or any other hoe-down steps you could imagine. My tango impressed everyone, too. I only played second fiddle to Misty. She loved to dance.
"We traveled all over Texas. Our only secrets were visiting out-of-the-way bookstores, collecting editions we liked, and stopping at every dance hall we saw." Jason's eyes twinkle at the memory.
Jason finishes his drink but is still holding the celery. "We also visited New York twice a year for the Broadway Musicals. We often stopped by the Metropolitan Museum. We even went to a half dozen operas."
Jason turns to Ashley with a look that has a purpose.
"Ashley, how many animal rescue shelters did Misty endow in Texas?"
"Close to a hundred. "
"How about college scholarships?"
"I'm not sure, well into the thousands."
"How many women's shelters have endowments that came from Misty?"
"I think around fifty."
"Ashley, how many of those endowments have your mother's name on them?"
"About half of them."
"Whose name is on the other half?"
"Jason, those would have your last name, Gant."
"Why do you think your mother put my name on things she endowed?"
"Because you helped her with every single one."
"When Misty wasn't working, we were meeting people and trying to make a difference. Staci, the point I'm trying to make is we had fun together and tried to help others where we could."
Jason's shoulders tense for a moment. "The saddest day of my life occurred when she died seven years ago."
Staci's eyes bore into Jason. "So what happened after Misty died?'
Jason looks at the celery in his hand. He puts it in his empty glass. "Ashley had a beautiful memorial service at the First Baptist Church. Hundreds of people came. We had a private burial at the ranch at her request."
"No, I meant what happened to you? Where did you go? What do you do?"
Ashley starts laughing. "He didn't go anywhere. He lives at the ranch and has an office there too. Jason is always talking to people about new projects to establish in Mother's name."
Staci's gaze shifts between Ashley and Jason. "So, did you become Ashley's boy toy?"
Ashley drops her head. I knew she would ask that question.
"Whoa, woman, look at me. I'm an old man. And don't disrespect Ashley. I want to expand Misty's vision. Ashley lets me do it with her money. But it's not the same without Misty."
Staci's hand reaches to turn off the recorder, but she stops and looks at Ashley. "You haven't been honest with me about why you wanted a story about your mother and her boy toy."
Jason inspects his empty Bloody Mary glass hoping for one more swallow. "You know, I've been wondering why you were happy about the story being told."
Ashley lets out a sigh. "I admit I've been devious. I thought the story needed a titillating hook. I should've just come out with the truth. I want people to understand Jason's relationship with Mother. People will think about how unconventional it may have been. But in reality, it worked marvelously.
"Over fifty years ago, he started as a boy toy, but he developed into a remarkable man. My mother and Jason were a dynamic unstoppable team. That is the story I'd like told."
Jason looks down and dabs a bright red napkin at his eyes. Please, Lord, don't make me blow my nose.
Staci leans over to turn off her recorder. "Ashley, that story makes sense, maybe not a Pulitzer. But a catchy title like Boy Toy Grows Up might work. Jason, how about we work on the real story this afternoon and tonight?"
Jason nods his head in agreement.
Staci closes her notebook. "I'm curious about one other thing. You're a successful woman. You just turned fifty, beautiful, and never married. Would you ever consider a girl toy?"
Ashley blushes, her eyes flutter, and she smiles.
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