Beverly Hills

Brandon had summoned Brian Ward to his office. He wanted to scrutinize it, observe it, understand if the last thing he wanted to do before leaving L.A. had a sense and a measure.

Brian was evidently excited. He had just graduated. Full of dreams. Of hopes. Things to talk about. He was just looking for a chance.

Brandon saw great similarities with himself years earlier. Those no he had received had actually opened unimaginable pages of life for him. He had traveled the world thanks to those no. He had given up for those no.

Barrett was there, he had resumed service, the direction of his creature, which he had found aged, rejuvenated, alive.

Walsh knew how to do his job.

"I will work day and night. I will make the chronicle of the city, of the neighborhood, whatever you want. Free. I just need to gain experience. They don't hire me if I don't have experience, but if you don't hire me I won't make experience."

"Yes, we know this story well," Brandon said, "Don't get upset Brian. You're too excited," he calmed him down, "told me about you. What do you like to do? Do you have hobbies? A family? A girlfriend?"

Brian followed those questions, in order to get hired he would tell him from the first few months of life.

"I live with my girlfriend Cassie, in an apartment in the Pico Union neighborhood. We have been living together recently. We have been together for two years. A long story."

"What is she doing?"

"SHe is a paramedic. She just started too."

"Well, you might have the news first," Barrett laughed.

Brandon scrutinized the resume and some articles Brian had brought. The pieces were good, very good language skills. He wasn't bad at all.

They shook their banda. Since Monday he was on trial.

Barrett didn't ask questions, obviously that whole thing had its placid ok. It seemed that Walsh cared particularly close to him and could imagine the reasons for it. Somehow he wanted to compensate Brandon for what he had taken away from him.

"That rejection of mine changed your life Walsh. For better or for worse?" He asked him while Brandon was putting his things in the box.

"I can't tell you," he replied, "it changed, it definitely turned around. It went as it should, I assume and so that's fine. I never ask myself these questions."

"Did they tell you anything from Washington?"

"Just something boils in the pot for me. So then you see that the no has definitely served," he laughed.

"There would be a place as head of the West Coast Cbs," Barrett said in a breath.

Brandon smiled at him and shook his head, "I can't stay."

"Why not?" He scrutinized him, he understood that he had no desire to answer him " the place is there. Think about it. They want you."

"No," he said, "I prefer go back to D C"

They shook hands and greeted each other fondly, while Barrett regained possession of his desk.

Betty was evidentlysad about Brandon's departure.

"Is there anything I can do for you? A coffee? Will I call you a taxi?"

"No, Betty. I wanted to thank you for helping me these months. Without you I wouldn't have made it."

She looked proud and softened in her gaze, the result of a beauty that was not recent, but still shining.

"But you can do a last one thing for me. I didn't send this. Do it for me. Maybe in a while, not right away."

Betty took the brown paper package, the address was written very clearly with a neat and black stroke.

Brandon walked out of those offices without looking back. He was glad at the bottom of returning to Washington. His alienated and alienating apartment was waiting for him. The editorial staff too. Its perfect comfort zone. Maybe he could go out a little more, commit to getting to know some girls, maybe someone was there for him out there. In those years he hadn't really tried.

He took a taxi and went to the ocean. Nightswimming sounded in his head. It was a different departure from years before. It was not towards the unknown. And he knew his tracks had not been deleted. His footsteps rose to the surface. And that was enough.

He had greeted those who owed. How he could. He breathed deeply. Two hours later his plane took off for Washington.

Dylan arrived at Taylor's house around five, for Sammy's training.

He found the little one waiting on the steps of the house.

"Mom?"

"It's in the garden."

"Okay. Tuck in the car I'm going to warn her."

Dylan overcame him and went to her. He saw her by the back.

"Kel? I'm here."

Kelly didn't move. SHe stared at a few points indeterminate that he couldn't see.

"Brandon left today, didn't he?" SHe asked him with a broken voice.

Dylan answered yes and that yes closed Kel's eyes instinctively. For protection. For lack.

London.

Raynolds told Brenda that taking responsibility for that musical was a bet on her.

"I'm investing money, Brenda. And not just me."

She could choose a team and she would have supported all. Choreographers. Screenwriters. SHe was the absolute leader. It seemed strange to Brenda that they gave her such a carte blanche. They really had to have liked her writing. After all, it was a true story, moreover usable, that could be spent on a wide audience.

SHe began to evaluate the list of names, with someone he had worked, with others she had not. It was harder than she thought. Better that way, she will have no time to think. Every now and then Dylan called her, he wanted to know how she was on the other side of the world, how her plans were going. He told her about Sammy, who seemed to have overcome the trauma. He played in basketball team. Kelly had begun to give up the grip. Brandon was gone.

Dylan chose to stay in Los Angeles. To be a father.

Brenda understood, understood, suffered in the minutes of that calls, until she hoped that there were no more. Dylan couldn't forgive himself for putting his son in danger.

Sometimes life is like this, a series of coincidences and doors that open up and you are sucked in without being able to feel well.

They talked a lot on the phone. When in L.A. it was the early afternoon and for her it was late evening.

Brenda already knew that road, she had already crossed it, traveled it, suffered it. Phone calls would become more and more slender until they disappeared.

He couldn't tell him no. She had never succeeded and she hated herself for it. sHe couldn't be with him, but she couldn't be without him either.