Free In Your Dreams Bobby Anderson by Sandra Jane Maidwell Page A

hadn’t given too much thought as to whether Patrick could actually see him, but that didn’t matter. He needed to see Patrick.
    “Um…sure.” Patrick didn’t sound as motivated as he usually did when Bobby called. Unbeknownst to Bobby, Patrick had a meeting scheduled in twenty-five minutes with one of his lesser-known actors, but he could juggle it―he would juggle it for Bobby.
    “Where?”
    “I’m coming to your office. Oh, and have some coffee ready, my head is aching.”
    Bobby hadn’t wanted to talk to Patrick about his dreams; but sadly, when he’d gone through his list of friends of who to talk to, he’d come up blank. None of them would understand. How could they? And even though Patrick wouldn’t understand either, of that Bobby was almost sure, he’d at least pretend to.
    If only his mother wasn’t off gallivanting around France he could talk to her. He’d tried her cell, but wherever she was, there was no coverage. He wasn’t exactly worried; she was with a tour group, after all, but her advice would certainly be better than Patrick’s.
     
    “What’s on your mind?” Patrick had a way with his clients. They were always in charge. He assumed nothing. He never asked, “What’s wrong?” He let them decide if something was wrong, even if they made unexpected emergency meetings and it was more than obvious that something was definitely wrong.
    Bobby leaned into Patrick’s desk and looked around the room as if expecting to find spies hiding behind the curtains and under Patrick’s desk. After a moment’s hesitation, he sighed and leaned back into his chair. Asking Patrick for help felt a lot harder than he’d envisioned it would on the way over. In his car he’d simply come out and told Patrick all about Susan, how he just had to find her. But he’d forgotten about the introduction. Now he faced telling the whole story: the vision, the paranoia. How would Patrick react? Bobby decided on a different tactic. Not telling the truth seemed like a much better option all of a sudden.
    “I —I have a friend…who wants to make a…movie.”
    Patrick sighed and looked at his watch. The pure gesture of it shocked even him. Normally he would never look at his watch in Bobby’s presence, but a movie? A friend? This meeting wasn’t even about Bobby.
    “This friend, my friend, had a question about something in his story, and he asked me for help.”
    Patrick did no t react or look at his watch this time, so Bobby continued. “He needs to know how the main character would find this girl he keeps meeting on a beach. He wants to know where she lives so that he can meet her, um, not on the beach…”
    “Yellow pages?”
    “She doesn’t give a last name.”
    “Address?”
    “She only says, New York City.”
    “So, your friend should write more into th e story. It’s not much to go on.” Patrick wanted to look at his watch again, but he had pushed that button already and self-preservation prevented him from doing it a second time.
    “Well, she gives clues. She lives in New York City, and on Wednesdays someone visits and plays this classical music she hates. She’d prefer to hear Paul Simon.”
    “Visits? What do you mean? If the person visits that means it’s her house, so why should there be music she doesn’t like? Why doesn’t she just play what she wants to hear? It’s not a much of a story.”
    Bobby frowned. He didn’t know , and the clue seemed lacking. But he had been so sure of a connection. What was it?
    “Your frie nd needs to re-write his script.” Patrick cracked his knuckles and played a quick finger strum on his desk. “Is that all, Bobby?”
    “ Patrick, My friend can’t re-write his script. Please, tell me, how does the girl get found?”
    Patrick studied Bobby’s face, a nd for a fraction of a second he felt fear. Fear that he was losing Bobby Anderson. Thankfully, it was just a fleeting fear soon gone, but Bobby was still there in his office, eyes desperate. What