The Boss's Son

History Lesson Part 2

Chapter 2 - Scott's POV

History lesson...

Hi my name's Scott. I grew up in a small town and my parents own one of the biggest factorys there. Mom pushed me to excell at a young age, and by the time I was 20, I was playing concerts in big venues, starting a recording career with my orchestra and I had released my first album of classical music. Now I'm also part of the movie industry, as well as touring with the orchestra. We record music for soundtracks. This has put me into contact with so many different types of people. I get invited to all the 'it' parties and although my parents think I'm happy, my life feels empty.

I have a nice townhouse on the right side of Hollywood. I drive an Audi. I have clothes, shoes, accessories coming out of my ears. I should be loving the life I lead. But I am alone. Girls throw themselves at me, but I'm not interested. Been there, didn't like that. I'm into guys, seriously. People think that because you're successful, you have it all. I'm living the life and it's slowly sucking the life out of me. 5 years of living this empty existence, when all I want is something meaningful.

My writing has all but dried up. I'm just playing what is put in front of me. I can pretend there is feeling behind the music, but it isn't my own. The last few hook ups I had were with guys I didn't feel anything for. They were when I was travelling overseas or anywhere but my own city, so I would never see them again. My one solid relationship is with my family and I'm not even being honest with them. I have a sneaking suspicion that my sister knows I'm gay, but I haven't come out, so having that conversation will have to wait.

I get so lonely at night, alone in my flashy townhouse. I could go out and have meaningless sex with whomever, but that's not what I want. I just started therapy, to be at least able to talk to someone about my troubles rather than stewing in them. I didn't want to start doing things that would be more dangerous just to feel something again. I had tried skydiving, bungee jumping and driving fast cars. I wasn't self destructive, I just wanted to feel again. Dr Woodley is nice. I haven't been able to really open up to her yet. I hope I will be able to after I get to trust her a little more.

Home... I feel like going home for a while. I'm happy at home, even with the small town feel. People are real there. I want someone to hold me and tell me they love me. My Mom fits the bill and she would love to fuss over me again. Last time I went home for any length of time was three years ago, when I was sick. I spent two months getting over exhaustion from everything happening at once when my career took off. Before that, I spent each summer there in between boarding school. The summers were the best, mostly because of one kid.

I went to my closet and pulled out a small tin box that had been sitting in a shoebox since I moved here. The box contained a scallop shell, it looked cracked, but it was whole. It was the last thing he had given me before I left for New York. There was also a strip of photobooth photos with me and Coby (with one missing), a skipping stone, five letters I had never posted because I didn't know where to send them and a cassette tape.

I didn't even know his first name. We had agreed when we first met that we would call each other by our middle names because we were from different sides of the tracks. He was my first real friend. Not a phony, a suck up or someone who wanted to get up in the world through me. I wonder what happened to him. I absently rubbed my palm where I had a small scar.

He had been the one person I could be honest with about my love for singing. We used to pretend we were famous musical leads and perform for each other. When we were younger we had hit it off at the first sight of each other. He was this fast running blur, running away from some local bully and I had used my height at the time to rescue him. He had grinned and introduced himself as Coby, 'Because your Mom wouldn't like where I live so call me that and I'll call you by your middle name too.'

Every summer after that I looked forward to seeing him and having fun away from boarding school. We agreed never to speak of life outside the Summer and to just enjoy the beach with no family background complications. He knew I lived on the other side of town from him and while it didn't bother him in the slightest, he knew it might bother my Mom. So we agreed and were 'Rick and Coby' from then on. We talked about our dreams for the future more than anything else, our taste in music and books, movies and girls. Not that we really spoke about girls that much. He didn't bring it up and I really didn't want to talk about my Mom's attempts at getting me to go to the dances and other family friendly events in the town. I knew he wouldn't participate and it seemed rude to talk about things he couldn't be a part of.

Not that he minded. He encouraged me to talk. I became more confident, telling him what my real aspirations were and what I wanted to do with my life after school. We went to the once a week movie screenings at the local town hall. They screened the old fashioned black and white pictures that had gorgeous men and women looking like they could do anything. And in the movies they did. We learned a lot from those oldies. The occasional modern film was screened, but we liked the musicals the best.

He never seemed to have reason to be sad. I knew my family was better off and I could do anything I wanted when I finished school. It didn't seem to bother Coby that he expected to end up fishing like his old man or crabbing like his other school friends. I admired him enormously, he was so confident, he could speak to anyone and not appear nervous. The only problem he had was with one of his father's ex-employees' son. He was a bully and tormented Coby as often as he saw him. I stood up for him when I was around, but he often met me sporting black eyes.

His eyes... They were pools of liquid chocolate. Shiny with flecks of gold. You could stare at them for hours. Well I could. I don't know why I remember that now... That reminds me of the last memory I have of him. Looking at me with a photograph in his hand before running down the pier and out of my life.

Flashback...