The Nation’s Top Male Model, Mark Antonious Richfield, sat behind the wheel of his purple/blue opalescent TVR Tuscan, British racecar. His sunglasses on, Mark drove his son, Hollywood actor, Alexander Mark Richfield, to a horse breeding farm in Oroville, California.
As Mark slowed for a stop sign, along the winding mountain roads on this hot, sunny June day, he glanced at his eldest boy.
Alex appeared preoccupied. He too, wore sunglasses in the glare. Thirty-one-year-old, Alex, and his fifty-one-year-old former LAPD police lieutenant husband, Billy Sharpe, had recently moved in with him.
Mark’s deceased father had built a gorgeous mansion in Paradise, California. The thirteen-bedroom manor-house, had two Olympic-sized pools, one indoor, one outdoor, basketball and tennis courts, a heli-stop in the meadow behind it, and…a horse stable.
Four horses already were housed in the remodeled barn, and they had a groom, Andrew Wilson, working for them.
Since Alex had expressed a desire to own his own horse, Mark drove with him to see it.
While they were out and about, Mark left his three very young children with their fulltime nanny, a former LA fireman, Blake Hughes.
Helping Blake with the childcare, was Alex’s husband, Billy Sharpe and Stan, Mark’s husband.
Mark and his second husband, a strapping young man, Stan Charles Richfield (Bergman) were raising three children; Isaac Milton, who was twenty-eight-months-old, and the product of Mark, and their surrogate, Becca McKenna, six-month-old Lily Hayden, also a child from their surrogate and Stan…and Jacob Bentley, who was eighteen-months-old, and the child of an illicit affair between Mark and his former fiancée, Sharon Tice.
Mark slowed down as he drew closer to the breeding farm. The lengthy gravel lane had a sign at the front with the horse farm’s name, and a white wooden fence. As he drove slowly over the loose stone, Alex sat up and became alert.
His low-slung car purring as he parked near other motorcars, Mark shut down the engine and moved his sunglasses to the top of his head. Before his son jumped out and raced to the office, Mark stopped him. “Alex.”
“Yeah?” Alex held the door handle.
“Let’s be rational. There are a lot of horses here to see. We don’t have to pick the first one we inspect.”
“Dad,” Alex groaned, “I’m not Isaac. Stop treating me like a little kid.” Alex climbed out of the car.
Mark exhaled tiredly and also climbed out, putting his sunglasses back on his nose in the glare.
