STS Ch-39

I stood outside my childhood home, taking it all in. I’d never spent this long away from it since the day I was born in this body, and the distance made everything feel strange and unfamiliar. If I hadn’t met Dad at my new place when I did, I probably would’ve hesitated to come here on a Sunday, knowing he’d be at home. But I couldn’t push this visit any further, not with post-production on Friday the 13th starting soon.

Leaving my hesitation on the porch, I pressed the doorbell once before realizing I didn’t need to ring the doorbell at my childhood home. I pushed the door open just as Dad stepped into the living room.

Our eyes met for a moment. Neither of us spoke.

“Hey, Dad,” I said after a full minute of awkward silence.

“Noah,” Dad replied, his tone flat. “I didn’t expect you to show up. You’re a big film star now.” There was resentment in his voice. “At least that’s what the neighbors think, after everything the media’s been saying about you.”

I waved it off. “Don’t take any of that seriously. It’s all for promoting the movie, nothing else. And of course I’d come here. You, Zach, and Daisy are here.”

Dad looked away and said quietly, “Not anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, even though I already had a pretty good idea.

Dad sighed and motioned toward the living room. “Come on. Let’s sit down if we’re gonna have that talk. You drink beer, right?”

I nodded slowly. He walked to the fridge, pulled out a full six-pack, and set it on the coffee table. The bottles clinked softly in the quiet house. He handed one to me, and I wrapped my fingers around it, feeling the cold seep into my skin instantly. I sat beside him on the couch, sinking into the old cushions that still smelled faintly of the cheap detergent we used.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.

He’d never smoked inside the house before, so hearing the question felt surreal. Nothing stronger than beer had ever made it into our home. Even that had been monitored strictly. I still remember when Peter and I snuck one bottle to share, thinking Dad wouldn’t notice. He did. I’d never seen him angrier.

Dad may be many things, but he’s always been responsible with us. That was the only reason I hadn’t worried too much about the twins when I moved out.

I gestured for him to go ahead. He lit a cigarette right away, the flame briefly brightening the dim room. He offered me the pack, but I shook my head and took a sip of beer instead.

“What’s going on, Dad?” I asked, impatience creeping into my voice when he stayed silent for almost a minute. “Did Mom take Zach and Daisy to LA?”

He looked defeated, like he still couldn’t believe the situation himself.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “But she will. She’s determined to take them as far away from my influence as possible.”

“Where are they then?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “She’s renting a place not far from here. She and her new husband have already booked flights to LA, and they’re leaving in less than a week. I thought she sent you a letter about it.”

Maybe she had, but I hadn’t checked my mail since coming back. I’d driven home late last night, and Julie had placed all my letters neatly on the bed, but I didn’t bother opening any of them. Not yet, at least.

What struck me most about this whole mess was Mom’s allegations that Dad abused her. I never saw that happen, not even once, and I remember my childhood clearly. An abusive person doesn’t just hurt their spouse; they hurt their children, too. And Dad wasn’t like that with any of us. Sure, he believed in tough love, but last I checked, that didn’t count as abuse.

“What exactly happened between you two?” I asked. “Why does she hate you so much?”

I expected him to brush me off. He always treated me like a kid whose opinion didn’t matter, and any “adult stuff” was kept far away from me. The old me had accepted it, so I stopped getting angry about it.

Which made it even more surprising when he actually answered.

“It’s all because I didn’t want her to work,” Dad said quietly. “Your mom was a smart woman. Almost too smart, I’d say. But she wasn’t happy with what I earned. She wanted every new appliance that came out. A color TV, a huge fridge, a fancy microwave, everything. She even thought this house was too small and wanted us to move into a bigger one. But if she worked, it meant you kids would be alone at home. I didn’t like that at all. My mother raised my siblings and me, and we turned out just fine. So why couldn’t she do it? Was I asking too much?”

His voice shifted into bitterness, like he was letting out years of frustration he’d kept locked away.

“In the end, you grew up mostly on your own anyway,” he went on. “She wasn’t there when you needed her most. And now that you’re grown, and Zach and Daisy are almost there, she suddenly swoops in and takes them away, telling a judge that I mentally tortured her. How’s that fair?”

“It’s not,” I said quietly. Mostly because she hadn’t even bothered to meet me all these years. A part of me, the kid who used to wait by the window for her car, always hoped she’d walk back through the door and tell me it was all one big mistake. But now that she’s actually here, I don’t even want to see her.

We fell into a long silence, both of us sipping our beers. Dad’s cigarette had burned out, but he didn’t light another. The house felt too still, like it was waiting for something neither of us wanted to say.

“Did you ever try to find out about your birth father?” Dad asked suddenly.

I shook my head. “No, and I never will.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my birth father,” I said quietly. “As you reminded me when we last talked, you were there when I was born, and you’ve been here ever since. That alone makes you more of a father than anyone else ever could. As long as you keep calling me your son, you’ll be my Dad, and no one else.”

He blinked and looked away, his eyes turning glassy. He didn’t try to hide it, just angled his face so I wouldn’t see too much. I didn’t say anything. I simply leaned in and hugged him from the side. I honestly didn’t remember the last time I hugged him. Dad wasn’t a hug person. At all.

Thankfully, he didn’t push me away. Instead, he placed an arm around my shoulders, stiff at first, then gradually settling into it. We didn’t speak about it, and we both silently agreed we’d never bring it up again once we walked out of this room.

“So,” Dad said after a few awkward beats, “can you tell me about the films you did?”

“You want to know about my films?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like showbiz.”

“I don’t,” he said bluntly. “And for good reason. I had a friend when I was your age. Fred. While I was drafted to Korea, Fred somehow dodged the draft and ended up in Hollywood. I still remember our last conversation before I left for training. We even joked about how he’d be having fun in LA while I’d die somewhere in Asia.” He paused, his expression darkening. “Fred never made it as an actor. He got depressed, started doing heroin, and overdosed a week before I came home.”

He looked straight into my eyes and said, “Promise me that whatever you do in your movie business, you won’t do cocaine, heroin, or any of that stuff.”

“I promise,” I said, matching his seriousness. Even though I knew drugs wouldn’t have any long-term effect on me, thanks to my heritage, I had zero desire to ever mess with hard substances.

He studied me for a moment, as if checking whether I meant it, then gave a slow nod.

“You were telling me about your films?” he asked again. “What are they about? My co-workers saw that article about you in that magazine and started asking questions, and I didn’t know what to tell them. Same with our neighbors. Suddenly, everyone is interested in knowing about you.”

I sighed. Just when he finally accepted my career choice, he had to ask for details.

“The films are a little…” I searched for a word that wouldn’t make this more awkward. “…on the adult side of things.”

He stared at me for a few seconds before saying, “Are you doing a porno?”

“What the fuck, Dad!? Of course not!” I snapped, heat rushing to my face. Then I deflated a little, remembering how my scene with Jeannine had turned out. I rubbed my forehead. “It’s not porn, but it’s… very close. I’m definitely not letting Zach or Daisy watch it.”

Dad nodded thoughtfully. “So, erotic films. Like Marlon Brando’s Last Tango in Paris? I liked that film.”

“You’re… okay with me doing films like that?”

Dad thought about his answer for a moment before shrugging. “I mean, if it were Daisy doing a film like that, I’d sure as hell not be okay with it. But you’re already almost naked in all your swimming tournaments, like you reminded me last time we argued about it. And people watch erotic movies all the time. I won’t enjoy seeing my son do it on a screen, but if you’re making money doing it, then why not?”

He paused, as if something important suddenly came to mind. “They’re paying you good money for it, I hope?”

I laughed and nodded. “Of course they are. More than good enough. That was one of the reasons I agreed to do it.”

“How much?” Dad asked hesitantly.

I thought about it for a while before saying, “I made a little over $425k this year.”

He stared at me in stunned silence. That amount included my income from The Blue Lagoon, Friday the 13th, and even the screenplay that I sold to Columbia. $425k was an insane amount of money for 1979. For perspective, an average house in the US in 1979 cost around $70k. Dad made somewhere between $10 and $15k a year from his carpentry job, so his shock was understandable.

Then an idea hit me.

“Dad,” I said slowly. “Would you consider moving to Los Angeles? You’d be close to Zach and Daisy, and I’ll probably have to move there sooner or later anyway.”

Dad shook his head. “I can’t afford it, son. I don’t have that much saved to change states.”

“But I have money now,” I said firmly. “I need to buy properties to save on taxes, or the government will take a huge chunk of what I earn. I’ll have to rent them out to claim the losses, but I don’t want to rent to strangers. If you move into one of them, you’d be helping me out while you live there, and I can focus on college.”

“You still want to go to college?” Dad asked rhetorically, almost stunned. He shook his head. “I can’t leave my job and everything else behind. I don’t know anyone in LA. I’d have to start over from scratch.”

I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, then what about after I finish college? We can move to LA together then. You’ll know me, I’ll know the place, and you won’t have to keep doing carpentry if you don’t want to. I’m earning well enough now.”

Dad shot me a glare. “It hasn’t even been a year since you left home, and you’re already talking about throwing your money around? What did I teach you about saving for the future? I earn enough for myself, I don’t need your charity. Sure, you made good money now, but you never know what’ll happen next year or five years from now. At least save some money for your future before wasting it.”

I smiled. His advice was solid, even if he didn’t realize that once your income crossed a certain point, spending strategically saved you more than hoarding did. High taxes had their own strange logic.

“Alright, Dad, stay here in New York,” I said with a small smile. “We’ll talk about it again when I’m ready to move to LA.” I pushed myself up from the couch. “As much as I’d like to stay longer, I have a meeting that can’t be delayed.”

(Break)

I took in the beautiful home my realtor had picked out for me, and I had to admit I loved it. There was only one problem. I didn’t think I needed a house this big. At least not just for me.

“This house is perfect for your needs,” Donny Phillips, the realtor, said eagerly as he led me through the hallway. “Since you don’t plan to live here, it’ll work perfectly as a tax shelter. For just $300k, non-negotiable, this place is a steal. It’s so cheap only because the past owner died and his heirs need the money urgently. It has eight bedrooms, ten bathrooms, a big heated swimming pool, and it sits on a 1.36-acre lot. Houses like this rarely come up for sale in New York, especially in a county as good as Westchester.”

He motioned for me to follow him. “And I haven’t shown you the best part yet.”

I trailed behind him down a set of stairs into the basement. What I saw made me stop for a moment. A full theater room stretched out in front of me, complete with a ceiling-mounted projector, a large screen, and rows of plush recliners facing it. Soft wall lights glowed along the trim, giving the room a warm, luxurious feel.

“Michael tells me you’re a filmmaker as well,” Donny said with a knowing smile. “This room is perfect for someone like you.”

He was right. It really was perfect. And knowing how property prices would skyrocket in areas like this, an eight-bedroom house in Westchester would probably cost tens of millions in a couple of decades. Better to grab the deal now, even if I never live in it.

Westchester County was one of the most upscale areas in New York outside the city. As much as I wanted to stay in Manhattan, I valued my privacy more than anything, so a standalone house always beat an apartment. And there was one thing about this place that sealed the deal for me.

I walked back upstairs, headed into the master bedroom, and pushed open the window. The view hit me instantly. A small private beach stretched out behind the house, the water sparkling under the afternoon light. Despite living in New York for years, I’d never actually gone to a beach before The Blue Lagoon. Now I had the chance to own a home on one, which opened into the Atlantic Ocean, not any lake. Perfect for my demigod powers. I was half-tempted to dive right in to test my theory, but I somehow controlled myself.

“I’ll take it,” I said casually, pulling out my company checkbook. I scribbled out a check for $45k and handed it to Donny. “I’ll make a 15% down payment and a loan for the rest. Is that okay?”

“More than okay,” he said, beaming as he accepted the check. “I’ll contact your banker and get everything started. You won’t regret this, Noah.”

“I know,” I said, heading toward the exit. “As much as I’d like to stay and admire it more, I’ve got places to be and things to do.”

I left soon after and drove over to Michael’s office. He grinned the moment I handed him the news, along with the signed power of attorney to manage the property while I’m away.

“Damn. Didn’t expect you to buy a house on your first day of looking.”

I shrugged. “I had a good feeling. It’s just an investment, by the way. I won’t actually be staying there. At least, not yet.”

He nodded. “Anyway, thanks to that house, you’ve already saved a lot on taxes. And the rest will be saved once you start making your next film. You’re a genius with numbers, by the way, to come up with such a great plan when I couldn’t. Maybe when you go to Harvard, you should study accounting.”

I laughed at his joke. The plan was simple: make a film under my company, Hunter Studios, Inc., and write off all the movie expenses against my income. That way, I’d essentially pay zero taxes on the money I earned this year, a huge relief considering tax rates could hit up to 70% in this era.

The only problem was actually making the film. I’d need permission from Harvard to shoot during the session, and I’d have to inflate my expenses well beyond what they actually were to ensure a loss. Michael assured me that kind of practice was common, so I didn’t worry too much.

After saying goodbye to Michael, I walked out to my old car with chipped paint in multiple places. I needed a new one, but that could wait until I talked to my siblings and, reluctantly, to my mother.

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AN: Check out the details of the house Noah bought here.