Dawn of a New Daye
The story is set after the events of "McCormick's Bar and Grill" but in time is in advance of the airdate. McCormick is still on probation, and not yet in law school.
Dialogue from "Casablanca," is credited to Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, and Howard Koch.
Rated T for adult and controversial subject matter
Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.
The program was one of the "new breed" of cop shows, noted for its grittiness and realism, this one standing out as a period piece with authentic-and –pricey production details. The initial short run was a success; the full season order had been placed; and the show had made new power players of its writer-producers. They had toiled against network and studio orders for far too long before grabbing the bit from those riders and racing for the prize of greater creative freedom. Freedom and success, which had allowed Bill and Lee to earn a seat at the poker table in a high end casino in Las Vegas, where location shots of the show were filmed.
Current ratings success had earned the pair plenty of female attention-there were always young women hoping to break into television or movies- but Lady Luck was not among the seekers. In fact, luck was no lady tonight, having deserted the pair earlier in the evening and instead latching onto the remaining player opposite them.
"You going to ante up, pal, or do I just take the pot now?" The voice had a certain melodic edge to it, under the New York accent.
"Fold." Bill tossed in his cards. Lee waited only a brief moment longer, before tossing in his hand.
Their opponent laughed. "Come to papa, my beauties. Sonny Daye is invincible tonight." He took a satisfied puff on his cigar. "Just as well we're done here. I have a show to do across town." Bill and Lee watched him, though he was a small man, swagger effectively out of the room.
They adjourned to Bill's room, preparing for another late night writing session. Both writers' minds were traveling along the same path, and converged as they were plotting their next story arc.
"I've been thinking," began Lee.
"I'll call Entertainment Tonight. This is a first."
Lee ignored the remark, uttered with the ease born of a long partnership, and even more rarely, of friendship. "That guy tonight, Sonny Daye...I wonder if he's ever done any acting."
"Man, I think all of what he did tonight was an act. Wonder what he's really like."
Lee's creative juices were flowing. "I'm getting this picture about that guy, and I keep getting images of Casablanca, you know, and Captain Renault, trading lines with Humphrey Bogart."
"Claude Rains, he was awesome. 'Only a poor corrupt official.' Funny, now I'm thinking of Sidney Greentstreet-how was that line? Something like 'As leader of all illegal activities in Casablanca, I am an influential and respected man.' " Bill looked more intently at Lee. "Are we onto something here?"
"I'm seeing Sonny Daye-or a Sonny Daye type- maybe not another cop, but questionable like Sidney Greenstreet-"
"Working both legal and illegal sides, but knowing everything that's going on. Working in a nighclub!"
"He could run a nightclub, and be like Bogart, be shady like Claude Rains, but on the right side at heart, and know everything going on, like Greenstreet."
"He'll be Tom's informant." Tom was their leading man, playing a hardboiled, but realistic detective. The men grinned, intrigued by the prospect, and the challenge of writing dialogue like they loved in Casablanca. Now, they had to see if Sonny Daye could pull it off.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
The men had watched the show, listened to Sonny's antiquated patter. It fit quite well with the setting of their show. Satisfied, they caught up with him in his dressing room.
"My partner and I want to speak to you about testing for an acting job. We didn't actually introduce ourselves."
"I know who you guys are." The fawning from the casino management and servers had been noticeable, as had the numerous mentions to the show. Sonny found himself mentally preening, and straightened up taller. "So, you want me for a job? You can't do better than Sonny Daye. You want me to sing, too?"
"I think we can work that in," answered Lee. Sonny's Sinatra-era tunes would fit in well with the time period, and the role the writers envisioned for the nightclub owner.
Meetings were set to arrange for contracts and work through Sonny's agent. Sonny Daye was on his way toward his big break. He had waited for most of his life.
The part proved to be perfect for him, tailored as it was. He played the part of a the nightclub owner in test scenes, then for an upcoming show, as he always fantasized about himself- tough, cool, witty- a perfect antagonist to the series lead. Bill and Lee sought him out after the show aired, and audience reaction confirmed their own opinions.
"We got great feedback, and as your agent told you, we want to make you an offer to be a series regular."
"Hey, I'm your man. We could have a great thing going."
"The network will want some information for your bio and press materials. It's important to know," said Bill very seriously, "if there is something in your background that could cause an embarrassment to the show and the network." He and Lee looked pointedly at Sonny.
There it was. That history which could derail everything. Sonny looked back at the men, equally serious. "Look, I'll be straight. I done some time. It wasn't pretty."
The writers waited. It was one thing to have a single guest star with a history, but for a promoted regular it was another matter entirely. Lee cleared his throat. "What were you in for?"
"Safecracking. I did a couple of stints." To his surprise, the men opposite him both grinned, like they though it was funny or something. Ha.
"That's cool!" "Not bad at all" were the simultaneous reactions. They thought that, did they?
They did think that. Safecracking wasn't violent, it required skill, and onscreen in fictional settings, was always daring and romantic. They could work with that.
"But you served your time, right? And now are committed to turning a new leaf?" The press releases were being mentally written and Sonny's dirty past was rapidly being washed to whiter than white.
"Yeah, you're damn right! I ain't going back. But, there was one time, I actually helped the feds put some criminals behind bars." Sonny had never thought to brag on that, and he had escaped from Atlantic City for a time for fear of reprisals. But the mob had arranged for a succession of power, encouraged by Joe Cadillac, still holding a long reach from behind bars, and who would not allow harm to come to anyone associated with Mark McCormick.
"Anything else? Wife, family?"
Decades of denial and conditioned responses compelled his answer. "No. There's no one." Now why did I say that? I got a kid. Nah, not like he'd watch the show anyway. It's better off like this.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
Sonny's status on the show grew. He was the lucky recipient of the writers' love and skill for clever dialogue, and his dated act now seemed the epitome of Rat Pack or film noir cool. Sonny became a rarity in show business, a character-type actor elevated to recognition reserved for a favorite leading man. Off the show, he was now finally playing the big rooms, and suddenly was in demand for interviews.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
"Check again," ordered Hardcastle. "With a couple of hundred channels, there has to be a John Wayne movie on sometime today."
Mark scanned through the listings. "Wake of the Red Witch? I forgot that one."
"Nah, he dies in that. Find another one."
"Oh! Stagecoach. He plays a former prisoner with a heart of gold, but no one else understands then he's the hero and rides off with the girl."
"Yeah, made him a big star. What time is that on?" No answer. Hardcastle put down the file he was reading. "Hey! I asked, what time is that one on?"
Mark was staring at the paper. "I don't believe it."
"What?"
"Sonny! There's a picture of Sonny here in the paper!"
"I thought you were reading the TV listings, not the crime pages."
"I am! Listen-'Sonny Daye, breakout star of Vegas Deal, on tonight at 10:00 eastern blah blah blah will appear on a late night talk show on' yadda yadda did you know this? He's on a TV show!"
"How would I know, I don't watch cop shows. They get everything wrong." Hardcastle's dislike of cop shows extended to courtroom dramas as well. The sight of objections loudly discussed in front of juries instead of quietly at the bench or in chambers drove him nuts.
"Well, I'm watching him. You can watch Wake of the Stagecoach if you want. Imagine, my dad on a TV show!"
Despite his grumblings, Hardcastle did join McCormick at the appointed hour. "Eh," grunted the Judge, "at least the clothes and cars look right. It was really rough like that in those days, too. It's not bad for a cop show." Neither, though he was reluctant to admit it, was Sonny Daye's performance. He spouted off the witty dialogue, stole the scene from the star, and looked like he was born to the part.
"He's really good in this," murmured Mark.
"Well, let's see, he's playing a shady character with some underworld connections. Not exactly acting." I'm not jealous.
"He's wanted this for his entire life. It's great."
"Well, I suppose he's okay, but great-"
"No," said Mark softly. "That's not it. He waited and tried his whole life to be a star in show business, and now he is."
Hardcastle began grumbling again, but Mark paid no attention. He remained transfixed by what he saw on screen. It showed a man, who after struggling for a lifetime, and after many wrong turns, yet later in life finally managing to achieve his greatest dream.
They stayed up for the next couple of hours, waiting for the talk show. Sonny appeared, and sang a Sinatra standard-quite well to Mark's ears, so-so to Hardcastle, before taking his seat next to the host. Well dressed and poised, Sonny seemed to be in his element and bantered with the host over some usual trivial questions. There was a clip from the show, received with applause by the audience.
"Like your character, you actually do have a something of a dark past." The past had been publicized, and Sonny was ready for it.
"I do. It's no secret that I did some time, but I paid for it."
"And is there family? Married, kids?"
"No to each." There, it slipped out again.
Mark's flinch was small but Hardcastle felt it like a seismic shift. Damn you Sonny, why'd you have to do that to him again?
"I better go to the kitchen, get some stuff," Mark muttered. His head was bowed, and he failed to notice how Sonny, just before the commercial break, shed his on air smile and looked away from the camera.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
It was time for a talk. It would only be matter of time before Mark noticed that Sonny was becoming famous, and what he had said to an audience of millions. It was really all for the kid's good. Sonny managed to convince himself of that.
Sonny didn't see the Coyote in the driveway. He hoped the kid was around. Mark could be reasoned with, but Sonny wasn't looking forward to dealing with Hardcastle. Hopefully he was away too.
The hope came to nothing when Hardcastle himself answered the door. He stared at Sonny as if ready to dispense justice. The verdict was clearly in. Sonny could only hope to win on appeal.
"Hey, Judge, nice to see you." Sonny put on his most ingratiating smile. "I'm looking for Mark. He around?" He peered hopefully around the Judge, as if seeking a rescuer.
"He's not here." Hardcastle stayed where he was.
"Well, mind if I come in and wait for him?"
Hardcastle's mouth twitched as if he were about to refuse, then he stepped aside and let Sonny enter. He strolled into the Judge's den and sat down. The Judge followed and stood there, looking down at him. The stony silence was too much for Sonny, and he found himself chattering nervously.
"Well, how are things, Milt? Things have been going well for me. That's what I wanted to tell Markie about." He hoped the diminutive would be disarming.
Hardcastle cut him off. "Yeah, we watched the show the other night. And the talk show afterwards." Hardcastle had spoken coldly, now the heat rose and he snapped at Sonny. "What the hell did you think you were doing, telling the world you had no kids? How'd you think that would make him feel?"
Sonny was ready. He had rehearsed, but could ad lib if he had to. "Hey, it's not what you think! I did it for Mark. I mean, talking about my past, it's true I never married, and to then say I had a kid, I just didn't want anyone to think less of Mark, him being a bastard, you know what-"
He never finished. Hardcastle yanked him out of the chair. "Don't you ever call him that!"
Sonny wobbled on his feet after Hardcastle released him with a shove. "Look, I'm not saying I think less of Mark, or his mother. His mother, I mean, what she was like. She was something, you know?"
"No. I don't know. He doesn't say."
"Oh well, I'll never forget." Hardcastle, though glaring, didn't seem on the verge of another attack, so Sonny continued. "That first time I saw her. It was late spring of '53. I was singing at a graduation dance. Now, I usually wouldn't take a gig like that, but I was short then. I mean, I had counted on the surest bet in horse racing: Native Dancer in the Derby that year. Horse is compared to Man O' War, never lost a race, so what happens? He gets into traffic and loses the only race of his career. So, I take the gig singing at a high school graduation.
"Well, you can imagine. Girls always take a look at musicians. Some of them were cute, but then she walks in. It was like all those other girls were in black and white, and she was pure Technicolor. She was tall for a girl, and she had this strawberry blonde hair, all in waves. We played some popular tunes, then some fast stuff for dancing. She twirled so fast that her skirt stood straight out, and all I could see were those long beautiful legs."
Hardcastle could imagine that. Donna McCormick had passed those long legs on to her son.
"Anyway, we got acquainted, and I'd see her after she got a job in the coffee shop around the hotels where I was playing. And, well, things happened."
"You mean she got pregnant and you eventually left her and her kid."
"Hey, it wasn't all like that. I was there. I was ready to stand up, and I did, for a while. I wouldn't have left her alone like that during her time of need. Not Sonny Daye."
"Don't you mean Mickey Thompson, or whatever the hell name you were using?" jibed the Judge.
"Anyway," continued Sonny, "like I said, I was going to care of her. I wasn't going to take her to no back alley butcher either. No, sir. I found a good clean place, where they took care of the girls, no one would know, they could still have other kids-"
Hardcastle jerked him forward again, hauling him up so Sonny was on his toes. "Don't ever tell him this!" When he was a cop, he had seen the aftermath a few times, girls dead from hemorrhage or infection from illegal abortions. He hated the loss of life, and that any girl felt that this was her only option.
"Hey Judge, it all worked out, right? Mark's here, he's okay-"
He was still twisting the lapels of Sonny's jacket in his hands, holding him up on his toes, when Mark walked in.
He glanced from one to the other, his expression turning cool, and his mouth thinning into a tight straight line. "Well," he said evenly, "I guess I know who this is about, but I don't know what it's about."
Hardcastle released Sonny and turned to the other side of the room. His arms, always bulging against his sleeves, were matched by the fabric straining over his flexing shoulders. The seams looked they were about to burst.
"Well?"
Sonny had recovered his balance after stumbling when the Judge released his grip. "Hey, Markie, it's all right. The Judge and I were chatting, and everything's okay. Right, Judge? You can't say, that everything didn't work out in the end, right?"
Hardcastle took a few steps toward Sonny, looking like there was to be an end to judicial restraint, and that he could tear Sonny apart. Through gritted teeth, he managed to choke out the words. "Everything worked out in the end."
Mark wasn't ready to let go. "I'd like some more information, and I'll decide what's okay."
Hardcastle had barely looked at him. "Sonny has to leave now."
"Wait a minute" Mark's tone was more decisive.
"Sonny has to leave. Now."
Sonny spoke next. "It's okay, Mark, we'll catch up later, soon okay? Gotta run now, you look great." He scrambled towards the door. Mark didn't turn his head as Sonny passed. He kept his eyes on the Judge. "Well?"
Hardcastle turned towards him, expression hard and fixed. "You can ask until you're blue in the face, McCormick. I will never repeat those words to you."
Mark stared back, equally determined. The standoff had begun.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Sonny paced back and forth in his hotel room. He hadn't spoken to Mark, and things were downright disastrous with the Judge. It could be that the man wouldn't speak to Mark about the conversation, and Sonny could explain and sell his view to his son. Sonny rehearsed various versions of his story to Mark, hoping to sway him toward his father's point of view. After a couple of hours, there was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" He had to be careful these days, being a celebrity.
"It's Mark."
Sonny opened the door nervously, and scrutinized Mark's face carefully. The kid seemed composed. At least, he wasn't taking a swing or grabbing for any lapels. Mark plopped down in one of the chairs, and Sonny followed suit.
"Hey, Markie, good to see you. Listen, about today with Milt, just a misunderstanding."
Mark held up a hand. "It's okay Sonny. The Judge told me everything."
"What? He did?" This wasn't good. Sonny had expected that Hardcastle would stay silent.
"Well, he didn't want to at first, but I wore him down."
"Oh." Mark still seemed calm, much more reasonable than the Judge.
"And, so, we're okay about everything?"
"Yeah, we're okay. Look, we've both been around. It could have happened to me, and I'd have done the same thing."
Sonny broke into a relieved grin. "Yeah, I thought you'd see it like that. I mean, we're alike, blood is blood, right? And I want you to know, your mother never had any doubt. She always wanted you, wouldn't consider the abortion like I suggested for a second. She-hey, Markie, what's wrong?"
Mark's face had lost color. The composed face now bore nothing but shock. "Abortion," he said. "You wanted to abort me." Dismay and hurt crossed his face. He looked stricken.
"What, why are you surprised? You said the Judge told you everything!"
"I lied."
"What! Why?"
"You didn't think the Judge would ever tell me something like that, did you? Knowing how I would feel? Of course he wouldn't tell!"
They sat for a moment in silence. "Look, Mark, I really meant what I said about everything working out. I mean, I'm glad your mother wouldn't go through with it. I ain't never been sorry you were born. You understand that, right?"
There was a pause. "Yeah, I understand."
Sonny sighed, and felt a wave of relief. "Anyway, I came by to talk to you about the show. You know about my show, Hardcastle said you watched it."
"Yeah, we both saw it. You're good in it, Sonny. Congratulations. I know how much you always wanted that kind of success."
Sonny beamed. "Thanks, it took a while, but it's great."
"We saw the interview, too."
Sonny's grin faded. "Oh, well, about what I said, not having any kids.." He paused, now at a loss for words.
"It's okay, too Sonny. I don't mean to embarrass anyone or hurt your success. I'm not going to sell a story about Sonny Daye's secret ex-con son. But if anyone ever asks me about it, I won't promise to deny it either."
They were silent again. "That's fair," said Sonny. "And, we can still see each other around sometimes."
"Sure. We'll see each other around. Sometimes."
"Well, I got some reading to do. More shooting coming up, I'll be back in Vegas, they have early calls, so I guess I'll see you later, when the schedules work out."
"Goodbye, Sonny."
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
Their standoff had remained just that, a standoff and stare-off with neither man backing down, until Mark simply turned and left. McCormick had been gone for hours now, and it was very late in the evening.
Hardcastle had done his share of pacing by the time he heard the Coyote pull into the driveway. There was no sound from the front door. The kid was entering via the kitchen.
Hardcastle found him sitting at the table, his head in his hand, like he been through the wringer. Hardcastle guessed what happened. He wanted to do some wringing of his own, on Sonny's neck.
"Where've you been? You been gone for hours."
"I was out. Driving around, to clear my head." The news had initially chilled him to the bones. He had close calls before when he could have died, but hadn't imagined this one. He realized that this was not the worst that had ever happened to him, and he would come to terms with it.
"You went to see Sonny, didn't you?"
"Yeah. He told me everything. Well, enough anyway."
Hardcastle slammed his fist on the counter.
Mark started up again, with more energy. "Now, don't blame him for that. I said you told me."
Hardcastle looked at him incredulously. "He believed that?"
Thank you for that, Judge. "Well, I was pretty convincing. I lied my through my teeth."
They were both silent then, thinking about the outcome of the revelations. Both knew, that in spite of them, if Sonny ever needed Mark, then Mark would be there for him, because that was how Mark was.
Hardcastle broke the silence. "You hungry? Had anything to eat since this morning?"
"No, I'm not really hungry."
Hardcastle grunted. "You will be, and there's a ton of chores for tomorrow." He began rummaging through the refrigerator. "Got to have something for that, a sandwich."
Mark sat, lulled by the sounds of the crinkling of wrappers and cellophane, as the Judge pulled out bread and cold cuts to make a sandwich. Who needed words of sympathy, a touch of physical reassurance, when a meal at midnight had the same meaning?
There was no need of a material gift from FTD either to demonstrate comfort. "Hey, you want anything on this sandwich?"
"Say it with mayo, Judge."