American Outlaw - Jesse James [81]
“I want to spend some more time with you, honey.” I gazed at her in my rearview mirror, strapped into her little car seat. “I miss you a whole bunch.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping at our house?” Chandler asked suddenly.
“It’s kind of complicated,” I began. “Mommy and I are taking some time off from each other. You know how you get mad at Jesse Jr. sometimes?”
Chandler nodded.
“And you don’t want to be around him?”
Chandler nodded again. “Because he’s a butt-head.”
I laughed. “Exactly. Well, that’s the way that Mommy feels about me, right now.”
“She thinks you’re a butt-head?”
“She sure does,” I said.
“Did you tease her?” Chandler asked, wide-eyed.
“No,” I said. “It’s more like, well . . .”
“Daddy,” Chandler said, tiring of the conversation, “when we get home, will you give me a ride on your bike?”
“Yeah,” I said, gratefully. “We’ll go real fast, sweetie.”
Karla and I began to slowly strategize how best to be parents apart. It saddened me, but I knew our separation was for the best. The bond of friendship we’d formed over the course of our marriage would last, I was sure of it. Now the important thing was for us to stay close to each other, since we were going to be connected through our children for the rest of our lives.
Life at the shop continued at as hectic a pace as ever. Fenders, once our lifeblood, were now pretty much out of the picture, as we moved into producing our expensive custom choppers full-time. The demand was immense, so I raised my prices precipitously. You couldn’t even get in the door without throwing down $60,000 to start. But instead of scaring people off, our high price tags only seemed to attract more interest.
“Dammit,” I grumbled, peering at my steadily growing waiting list. “I’ll be in my grave before I can make all of these bikes.”
“Jesse,” Melissa called, “I have a Thom Beers on the line. Will you speak to him?”
“Yeah,” I grumbled. “Put him through.”
“Hey, Jess!” came Thom’s voice. “How’s life?”
“Not great. Don’t know if you’ve heard, but my wife and I are splitting up.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Thom said. “But if it helps, I have some great news for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Discovery, apparently, is poised to give us a show.”
“We already had a show,” I said flatly.
“No,” Thom said, the excitement bubbling up in his voice. “I’m talking about a recurring series, man. Get you up on that screen every single week!”
“That’s not where I’m at, dude,” I said quietly. “You know me better than that.”
“Okay, I worded that awkwardly. What I mean to say is, this show is an opportunity for you to do new and exciting things, and get paid extremely well for it.”
“Well, now you have me slightly interested,” I admitted.
“Can we go out to dinner tonight?” Thom asked. “Have ourselves a little date?”
I laughed. “Yeah. Why not? I’m single now, anyway.”
We met in Venice that evening, at a typical West Los Angeles faux-hippie hideaway, where the tablecloths were hemp, and the candles were made out of soy.
“Would you two like to start with something to drink?” asked our waitress.
“I’ll have a tofu shake, extra beeswax.”
“He’s kidding. We’ll have a couple of beers, I think,” Thom said. “Whatever’s local.”
“No, no beer for me,” I said. “Just water.”
Then Thom began his pitch.
“They want to give you a show called American Chopper, Jesse,” he said. “The network thinks it’d be very cool to watch you build your custom bikes.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I hated having that damn camera crew in my face. And they were only around for a couple of weeks. I can’t imagine inviting them into my work for a year.”
“Well, they’re only offering a four-episode pilot,” Thom coughed, politely.
“Even so,” I said. “No way.”
“Well, then, I don’t know,” Thom said. He scratched his head. “I sort of thought you’d like that.”
“That’s not even creative, man,” I complained. “Can’t we do something a little more interesting? Something a little bit more . . . violent?”
“Discovery’s a family channel,” Thom pointed out. “In case you forgot.”
“I’m not talking violent to people,” I said. “Just like, a show that