The O. C. — older, fatter, gayer

The O. C., 2037

Seth and Ryan are sitting by a pool listening to an obscure band. Sandy enters, slowly pushing toward the men in his walker. Sandy: “ Ryan, we need to talk. I just got a tip from an old friend in the DA’s office. Your son Carter was involved in the heist.” Ryan stands and tugs on his white wife- beater, which barely covers his pot-belly. He stares mutely into the shimmering water.

Seth: “ Dad, if Carter gets arrested, Dean Jacobs will kick him out of Harbor and —” Sandy: “— Say, did you guys see that giant frog this morning? Why was it juggling those bagels?”

Seth: “ Dad, did you take your meds today?”

Sandy: “ Come again?”

Seth: “ DAD, TURN UP YOUR HEARING AID.”

Seth taps on his ear and points at Sandy, who nods and adjusts the volume on his earpiece.

Seth: “ Dad, call some of your old contacts. I know you’ve been retired for years, but if Carter is expelled from Harbor he’ll never get into a good college and —” Ryan: “— and he’ll end up like me, right?”

Seth and Sandy exchange nervous glances. Sandy: “ Come on, Ryan. You’ve done really well. Ryan’s Renos & Remodelling is a terrific company. I’m really proud of you.”

Seth: “ Yeah, dude, you’re like the Microsoft of Newport Beach. Only, you know, with like lumber and power tools.” Ryan rubs at his balding head and ambles toward the pool house, pausing to kick a chaise longue, which he misses, straining his hamstring. Ryan: “ I’m going for a drive.” He limps toward his pickup.

Seth: “ I just hope he’s not going to Marissa’s house, what with the restraining order and all. This is one of those times I’m really glad to be a gay graphic novelist.”

Sandy: “ Seth? You’re gay?” . . . . .

Kirsten sits alone in her bed at the Newport Green Acres Retirement Home. With a frown, she sips vodka from the bottle. Faded pictures are affixed to her walls, each a bittersweet reminder of the past.

She squints into the morning sunshine and reflects. So much heartache. The divorce. Julie’s tragic accident. The lesbian affair with Charlotte. The many, many benders in Tijuana with Jimmy Cooper.

She pulls out the bottle and pours so much vodka into her mouth it soaks the front of her red nightgown. Then she fumbles with her purse, removing a gun.

Kirsten puts the gun in her mouth and pulls the trigger. . . . . . Marissa is in her bedroom, striking an insouciant pose in the mirror. She pouts, examining her new Armani cocktail dress. Will this be suitable for the surprise 50th birthday party she’s throwing for Summer? A rock bangs against her window. Marissa walks over and looks outside, where Ryan is staring up, a cigarette dangling between his chapped lips.

Marissa pushes her head out the window and scowls. Marissa: “ Ryan, it’s over!

Don’t make me call the

cops again.”

Ryan: “ Marissa,

please, I just need to

talk. It’s about Carter. I

know he’s not your

son, but he’s in trouble and he’s always thought of you as a mother.”

Marissa: “Ryan, this has to stop. All this whining, complaining. All of these ridiculously tedious problems. It’s over between us. It was fun the first year, when you first arrived from Chino. Life was full of gunfights and dances and backstabbing. But three decades later, I just can’t have another conversation about our feelings.”

Ryan: “ Marissa, please. I have nobody else.”

Marissa: “Well, you should have thought about that before you killed Theresa in a jealous rage. You’re just lucky I never told anybody. I have enough on my mind with Summer’s party. Please, Ryan, I’m with Ricardo now and we want to raise our kids without all of this juvenile drama.” . . . . . Back by the pool, Seth is sketching when his cellphone rings. He glances toward the display window.

Seth: “ Ryan, where are you? What? You’re sailing to Tahiti? Dude, you’re the only brother I’ve ever had. You can’t leave me in this place. Ryan? Are you there?”

Seth sighs and puts down his phone.

Sandy, lounging beside him, silently twirls his eyebrows. Seth picks up Captain Oats and smiles at the plastic horse.

Seth: “ Looks like it’s just me and you, pal.” Sandy: “ Seth? Are you talking to me or the frog?” vmenon@thestar.ca