The Richard Jackson Saga: Book: 9 Cold War

political dynamics, they cared about the image that had been created. The consensus of the reporters seemed to be that I had damaged my image and that my normal fan base would reject it. Furthermore, no one else would care to see it.
That was the critic’s opinion. The exit interviews told a different story. The audience loved it. As one of my fans put it, “It makes Ricky a more real person. No one is as good as he has been presented.” Interesting, I thought I was the goody-two-shoes. Would this let me get away with more? Thinking of Mum and Dad, there was no way, nice thought though.
What was interesting was the reaction of those who weren’t considered my fan base. The reaction was that it was a thoughtful piece that was exciting and showed all sides of a complex issue. One guy said it should be required viewing in all schools.
Mary had her moment in the sun and performed as expected. She even had an opportunity to plead for funds for Feed the Puppies and to announce her latest release in dress fashion for the discerning young lady. Her words, not mine.
We went from the theater to the Beverly Hills Hotel and Bungalows. They are okay if you like pink. This was the opening party. The final shoot party had been held some time ago. I was in England at the time so I missed out on the better party, at least a more enjoyable one. This was more of a political event than a celebration.
This is where aspiring actors and actresses looked for future parts. Agents looked for parts and talent. Producers looked for investment in their projects and directors looked for work. Writers peddled their screenplays. Everyone wanted something from me. This included the waiters and waitresses who were all aspiring actors.
Mr. Monroe was there and he kept close to me to help fend off those trying to get near me. By taking major points in the movie I was now a target of everyone looking for money. It was also becoming well known that I had money beyond the movie industry.
I did the glad-handing as needed and actually talked to a few nice people. But on the whole, I would rather be anywhere else. I was so jealous when Mum and Dad took all the kids and left. It was past Mary’s bedtime, you know, Ratfinks.
I had several invitations to go with individuals or groups to their bungalow after the party. This had become a common occurrence. I turned them all down as gracefully as I could. One guy got snotty but I didn’t respond, turning away.
It wasn’t as though I wasn’t interested in sex; I was very interested, just not with that crowd. Early in my career several of the stuntmen took me aside and explained some of the realities of life in Hollywood. The badger game being part of it. There were several variations to watch for. The best way to avoid them was not to get involved.
I suspect Mum, Dad, or Mr. Monroe were behind my education.
To top it all off I found out who made those VD training movies for the armed forces as I had to sit through every one of them. It lent credence to the punchline of an old joke, “The good news is it will shrivel up and fall off.”
The main reason I didn’t want to go with anyone was that I thought it would be better if I had my encounters with someone I knew and liked. At least I should be able to trust them. I didn’t feel saintly about it, just able to control my urges.
To me, this public party was not a party. It was a torture Rick device.
The strain must have shown on my face as Mr. Monroe took me aside and told me, “Go home, Rick. You’ve done your duty.”
I gratefully slipped out a side door. Of course, my escape wasn’t clean. A reporter I had met before was standing outside enjoying a cigarette. He politely asked if he could ask me a question. Feeling trapped I agreed.
“Rick, you look like you are running away from something.”
“I am. This party is not my thing.”
“What don’t you like about it?”
I told him the entire story from people wanting to use me in every manner possible.”
“It’s a shame you have gotten so cynical so young.”
“Am I wrong?”
“That’s the really sad part, you aren’t. I have seen more in my twenty years in this job than you can imagine. My only advice is to run away from it whenever you can.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do right now.”
“Do you mind if I mention in my column how you have seen through this world and are on your guard?”
“That would be fine. Maybe it will make some people understand that they are wasting their time and back off.”
“Dream on, and enjoy the rest of your evening.”
At that, I bailed out and headed home to bed. I had two good encounters with reporters recently. Maybe they weren’t as bad as I thought. Maybe more of them were like George Weaver.

Chapter 6
Monday morning was the start of a hectic day at Jackson House. At breakfast, we were all engrossed in reading the movie reviews. We had six different newspapers and all of them raved about the movie.
The comments ranged from historically accurate to a stellar performance in a new role by Richard Jackson. Then, of course, there was that new rising star, Mary Jackson. Entertaining, thrilling, action-packed, and romantic were just a few of the adjectives used.
Now the only thing left was for people to actually go to the movie.
While we were eating, reading, and commenting Mrs. Hernandez turned up the radio. A new song by Rick Jackson was playing. I liked