Prologue:
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Pronunciation: 'fik-sh&n
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English ficcioun, from Middle French fiction, from Latin fiction-, fictio act of fashioning, fiction, from fingere to shape, fashion, feign -- more at DOUGH
1 a : something invented by the imagination or feigned; specifically : an invented story b : fictitious literature (as novels or short stories) c : a work of fiction;
“Dr. Colbert, Stone Phillips called.” Stephen relished hearing “Doctor” in front of his surname. It brought back memories of his father, a doctor in Charleston. It also brought back the sadness that had been with him since the plane crash that took his father and two of his brothers away from him. He wondered if his father were proud of him and all he had become. He looked at the picture, slightly faded of his family when he was but nine, he was seated on his father’s lap for the portrait. A low sigh escaped from his lips and he picked up the phone and dialed.
“Stone Phillips, please. This is Stephen Colbert returning his call.” He played with the Skymall crap on his desk as that godawful hold music played. “Stone, Stephen. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to let you know, I was honored to appear on your 100th show. Being a guest was the most fun I’ve had on television. Especially the ”Gravitas-off.”
“Thanks. You do know I patterned my delivery after yours.”
“yeah, I read that somewhere. Say, you got plans the weekend?”
“Just yard work. The wife says it keeps my head firmly on terra firma… or was that in terra firma… Why?”
“I thought you might want to go fishing. I hear you're pretty good.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty fair.”
“Modesty does not become you, Stephen. I’ll pick you up Friday afternoon. Pack deck shoes.” And the line went quiet.
Stephen knew he’d get an argument, but in the end, she’d let him. He’d have to find someone to sub in for him at Sunday school. He toyed with the idea of asking Jon, just to see his face, but he decided against it. For obvious reasons. He called the church and told them he had to go out of town this weekend, and someone would have to teach his class. They said not to worry.
Thursday’s show wrapped, was edited without a hitch, and Stephen was on his way home. Evie was not happy about the short-notice fishing trip, and let Stephen know it. He placated her with words and promises and sex. He loved his wife. Wondered whatever he did to capture and hold such a remarkable woman. He reflected on how much she put u p with, and still the passion held.
Friday morning saw the kids off with promises of Great America and Bugs, and they were satisfied. He packed for the weekend: rod, reel, tackle. He wondered about bait, but figured that there would be a bait shop. He packed a windbreaker, a change of clothes, pajamas, and of course deck shoes. Deck shoes… deep sea fishing? He thought about that. Where were we going? His thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell.
“Stone! C’mon in. Evie, Stone’s here!” Stone wasn’t to happy about being ushered into the house, he was anxious to get going. But he put on his game face.
“Hi, Evie. You ready?” Stephen nodded. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him fall overboard.”
“Bye, honey. Daddy’s gonna go catch dinner.” And he was out the door.
“You’re early.”
“Wanted to get on the road as soon as possible – we got a bit of a drive. And a flight.”
“Flight? Where the hell we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” After an hour of silence, they arrived at the airport, parked the car and boarded a charter flight. Stephen took notice that he and Stone were the only passengers. He asked the obvious question: how long of flight. Stone smiled. Every time Stephen got on a plane, he kept thinking about how he was a bit fearful of flying. A “necessary evil” he would call it. Stone saw the tiny flicker of fear, and heard Stone tell him
‘Don’t worry, Stephen. I won’t let anything happen to you. Evie will kill me...” The plane’s engine revved up, and the seatbelt sign lit up, and the plane began to taxi down the runway. Soon, the plane was at cruising height and speed, and just for cover, the two began chatting about “gravitas” and its relation to bullshit. The conversation became so absurd, the two were soon gasping for breath they were laughing so hard. The laughter suddenly turned into a shriek from Stephen as the plane hit a bit of turbulence, and the fear response returned.
“Hold me.”
“Sure, Stephen, sure. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just a bit of turbulence.”
“I HATE FLYING… almost as much as those fucking bears…” and he suddenly burst into tears.
“shhhhh.” Stone was rocking Stephen as though he were a child frightened by lightening or an imaginary monster under the bed. As he rocked, he petted Stephen’s head noting how soft his hair was sans all the crap they doused his head with when he turned into “STEPHEN COLBERT, SUPERPUNDIT”. Stephen burrowed his head deeper into Stone’s chest, the sobbing coming to a heaving set of sighs, and finally sleep.
“Stephen! Wake up. We’ll be landing shortly.” Stone gently shook the sleeping satirist noting how peaceful he looked. The plane landed, and they were driven to the harbor at Newpoort Mews.
Walking down the slip to Stone's toy, Stephen looked admiringly at the boats, and mentally picked out the style he wanted to own - that is, if Evie would let him. She worried about the "hole in his head" that ear with no eardrum. He worried about it too. Stephen stopped and stared at an older ship, 30 feet, twin masted and with a wooden dragon as a figurehead. "Stone! Hey, Stone! look at THAT beauty. who owns her?"
Stone simply said, "I do." and watched Stephen's jaw drop.
Chapter 1: The Sleeping Dragon Wakes
