“No scenes?”
“Not of the acting variety, but lord only knows what Sapphire has up her sleeve.”
“Probably a leg of lamb,” quipped Paige, lightening the mood.
“I just hope she doesn’t hit me with it,” said Kate.
“Or if she does, that she at least has the good grace to share it with you afterward. Remember how greedy she was with those lamb kebabs? You would have thought that somewhere on those industrial-size trays there was an extra kebab or two.”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” said Kate, wrinkling her nose. “I can still smell lamb sometimes when I close my eyes at night. I think it is seared into my nasal passages. Why can’t she ever go on a diet that smells good?”
“Beats me. Remember her Kombuchi tea phase, when the whole set was covered with Tupperware containers of big, slimy mushrooms that procreated like Trebles? It was like living in a giant petri dish.”
Kate tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laugh in a failed attempt to keep coffee from shooting out of her nose. “Oh great,” she said, grabbing a napkin to wipe her face. “Now I am going to be smelling coffee all day.”
“Better than lamb.”
“True,” said Kate. “But not as good as chocolate.”
“When have you ever had chocolate come out of your nose?”
“You don’t want to know,” said Kate, shaking her head earnestly. “I was young and he was Belgian. The details are too painful.”
“Speaking of painful,” said Paige, bringing them back to reality, “what do you really think is going on at work?”
Kate felt her stomach do a rather athletic gymnastics routine. “I don’t know. It’s probably another scheduling change. Maybe Sapphire has decided she wants to work only on alternate Thursdays during the year of the cow.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Do you want me to go with you for moral support?”
Kate was so touched by the offer that she got flustered. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, wouldn’t it be boring for you?”
“Yes, it would be boring and painful and I would resent you forever,” said Paige with a dramatic sigh. “That’s why I offered. I am going for full-on martyrdom.”
Kate smiled, her eyes filling with grateful tears. “Well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your martyrdom.”
“Thank you,” said Paige, heading to the bathroom to get ready to go. She continued to talk while she walked down the hall. “Wait a minute—why am I thanking you? You should be thanking me. In fact, we should probably stop at a Barneys on the way so you can pick up a thank-you gift for me. I would like a pair of Manolo Blahniks, please.”
“Never mind,” called Kate through her laughter. “Your generosity is going to be too expensive for me!”
“Too late!” yelled Paige, just before she shut the bathroom door. “You are stuck with me!”
“Well, that sucks!” Kate yelled back.
But she was really thinking, How did I get so lucky?
30
Michael pushed back from his computer and stood up for the first time in six hours. His shoulders were tight, his neck was stiff, and his lower back ached…and he felt like a million—no, a bazillion—dollars. He felt like a writer.
With the exception of a brief sleep between midnight and three a.m., he had worked straight through the night, and he now had his first-ever completed outline for his first-ever script. He wanted to call someone to share his joy, but the only person in his life who knew him as a writer was Kate.
Oh, fuck it, he just plain wanted to call Kate.
He wanted to see Kate, to pick her up in a bear hug and twirl her around in a victorious dance that would, of course, culminate in a tender but sexy kiss. Or just a plain sexy kiss. At this point, it would take a mammoth amount of self-control to manage the tender part, but he had seen enough chick flicks to know that it was an important stop on the road to sexy town. Of course, he could go right for the Officer and a Gentleman version by picking her up and smashing her face in with a dramatic snog, but that always looked a little bit painful. Speaking of painful, all of this thinking about making out with Kate was giving him a very painful hard-on. So, the old saying was true: love hurts.
He laughed at his own play on words, wondering if Kate would be flattered or offended if he shared his sophomoric erection humor with her. He knew that his hard-on was the highest compliment, but women could be touchy about those things. It was probably not the best way to begin their first phone call. Sadly, his other opener was something along the lines of “So, I’ve been lying to you about pretty much everything. Want to grab a bite?”
Maybe it would be best to wait to call until he had some obviously good news, such as getting Sapphire off her back. If his meeting this morning went well, he just might be able to make that call this afternoon. He glanced at the clock to see how much time he had until his meeting—oh shit! He had forty-five minutes to shower, get dressed, and drive to Bob Steinman’s Beverly Hills office. The drive alone could take forty minutes. Oh well, his grooming and wardrobe would have to suffer. Hopefully, Bob didn’t use “cutest outfit” as the primary basis for his business decisions. Michael hit the print button on his computer and raced to take a shower while his outline printed out.
His outline.
He allowed himself the briefest moment to enjoy the sound of that wonderful phrase, then charged ahead into the frantic rush of trying to make it to his meeting as close to on time as the traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway would allow.
While in the shower, he heard both his cell phone and landline ringing insistently. He glanced at the caller IDs while he zoomed around his bedroom, shoving arms and legs into whatever clothing was easiest to grab, his only concession to fashion being that legs went into pants and arms into shirts. Hamilton Morgan’s number came up on both phones. No doubt he wanted to put in his two cents before today’s meeting. Well, he would just have to wait. This was Michael’s meeting, and Hamilton and Sapphire would wait patiently until he rode in on his white steed to save the day for Kate.
And if that didn’t work, Michael just prayed that this meeting wouldn’t be a total career-ending, dream-killing disaster.
Either way, he decided that he wasn’t going to call Hamilton until the meeting was over. Struggling writers had to take moments of feeling powerful wherever they could find them.
Two hours later Michael was leaving Bob Steinman’s office, stunned. He ran the meeting through his mind, trying to piece together what had happened. An hour and ten minutes earlier he had literally run into the company’s sleek outer lobby, doing his best to make up the time he’d lost in traffic. For a brief, terrifying moment he thought he might have missed the meeting altogether—a secretary saying “Let me see if I can find him” is never a great sign—but when Bob walked into the waiting room three minutes later, he was holding two take-out cups of coffee. He offered one of them to Michael and said, “Sorry I’m late. I thought I could feed my latte addiction and be back in time to meet you. Clearly, I was wrong.” He smiled and pointed to the cup in Michael’s hand. “That’s a peace offering. I hope you like cappuccino.”
“Love it,” said Michael, trying to hide both his relief at escaping reproof for his own tardiness and his shock at witnessing a studio executive who made his own Starbucks runs.
“Great, then I will consider myself forgiven,” Bob said, opening the nearly invisible door that led to the inner sanctum of executive offices. “Should we get started?”
“We should,” said Michael, taking a deep breath and silently repeating his newly invented mantra to himself: why the fuck not?
Why the fuck not, indeed.
The rest of the meeting was a blur of laughing, nodding, and hand shaking. Bob loved the idea. He loved Sapphire (…in theory. Thankfully, they’d never met in person. That could happen after the contracts were signed…). He especially loved the outline. His only question was “How soon can I see a full script?”
I don’t know, thought Michael. How long do
es it take to write a script? Luckily, the agent in him kicked in. “How soon do you want it?”
“As soon as you can get it to me. Is the writer available to start right away?”
“Yes, he is,” said Michael, thrilled to be asked a question he actually knew the answer to. “I happen to know for a fact that he would love to get started on this as soon as possible.”
“Great.” Bob shuffled the pages of the outline, looking for something. “I didn’t see a name here. Is this writer someone I should know?”
“That is a very good question,” said Michael, stalling. “And one for which I have a very good answer…”
“Which is?” asked Bob, leading.
“Which is…that, yes, you should know him, but not because you’ve seen his work before. You should know him because I believe he has a very bright future.” Knowing how much producers loved to claim discovery rights, he added, “You hold that future in your hands.”
“He’s never sold anything?”
“He hasn’t sold anything yet. He is someone I’ve just discovered, but for whom I have very, very high hopes.” Going in for the kill, Michael said, “Of course, we understand that his lack of experience affects his fee.”
“Well,” said Bob, smiling, “of course we want the best script, but saving money on a first draft never hurt anyone. I’ll have business affairs contact you about the details, but I think we should count on moving ahead as fast as possible.”
“Great,” said Michael, physically gripping the edges of his chair to hold himself back from jumping up and down and letting loose an earsplitting victory cry. “I’ll tell him to get started immediately.”
“Good, because time is of the essence. It’s a perfect twist of fate that you would bring this idea to me today. All of our research is telling us that this is the right time to do projects with female leads. Apparently, women make up half of the ticket-buying population.” Bob chuckled at his witty observation, and Michael joined in with a hearty guffaw (a little brownnosing never hurt). “And the beauty of casting Sapphire Rose is that she not only brings with her a built-in audience of Generations fans, but she also helps ameliorate the highbrow factor that a biopic can sometimes project. You know what I mean?”
“Absolutely. There is very little worry of highbrow where Sapphire is concerned.”
“Which is just perfect. We want megaplex, not art house. Am I right?”
“Right as rain, Bob.”
“That’s what I like to hear! Now, why don’t you go out and light a fire under the ass of that writer of yours and I’ll get my people started on the paperwork.”
“Consider it lit,” said Michael.
Michael now stood in front of the building that housed Cutting Edge Pictures, the company that, unbeknownst to them, had just hired him as a writer. Even as an unproven, fledgling writer, he could make one hundred thousand dollars for a completed first draft. Man, that number felt big now that he was on the other side of the artist/agent split. Ninety percent really was a lot better than ten. This explained all the big houses on the star our maps.
He was walk-skipping to his car, almost bursting from joy and the overriding feeling that all was right in the world, when he felt the vibration of his phone in his jacket pocket: Hamilton Morgan. Michael flipped open his phone, excited to have someone—anyone—with whom to share his great news.
“Hello, Hamilton!” he crowed.
“Hello, Michael,” said Hamilton, sounding somber.
“Is something wrong?” asked Michael, hoping that Sapphire hadn’t ruined both of their lives by deciding to enter a nunnery. Not very likely, granted, but if someone had recommended the Nunnery Diet, it was all too possible.
“No, I wouldn’t say anything is wrong, per se, but these things are never easy. Tears always upset Sapphire.”
“Why is she crying this time?” asked Michael, annoyed that her emotionality was ruining his victory buzz.
“Sapphire isn’t crying, thank goodness.”
Oh shit. “Who is crying, Hamilton?”
“Well, I’m afraid it’s going to be my Sapphire pretty soon, because she’s worried that she looks like the bad guy, but I keep telling her that—”
“Hamilton, stop!” He stopped. “I need you to slow down and tell me why someone might think that. What did she do?”
“She didn’t do anything, Michael, except try to do her best to protect the future of Generations, which, as you know, is her whole life—outside of the profound love that she and I share, of course. Didn’t you get my messages?”
Oh double shit. “What messages?”
“I left you several messages on your home and cell phones,” said Hamilton. “To be honest, we’re both a little peeved at you. This has been quite traumatic for Sapphire, and she really could have used your support, as could I, to be perfectly frank.”
Wow, honest and frank. It was Michael’s lucky day. “Hamilton, I apologize for missing your messages. I have been in meetings all morning with Bob Steinman.”
“Oh!” said Hamilton, brightening. “With everything that has been going on around here, I completely forgot about our big meeting. Tell us the good news, buddy!”
Michael was so annoyed by Hamilton saying “our” meeting that he almost wished he didn’t have good news…almost. “Actually, Hamilton, I do have good news. Very good news indeed. Bob is very excited about our project and very, very interested in Sapphire Rose for the lead. He wants to get started as soon as possible.”
“Well, isn’t that terrific!”
“I think so,” said Michael modestly.
“Although the timing is a little awkward.”
“What? How could the timing be awkward?” Michael asked, annoyed to have his news greeted by anything less than a victory parade in honor of the miracle he had just performed.
“Not awkward for us, Michael. For us, the timing is brilliant. The whole thing is brilliant!”
“That’s what I thought,” said Michael, trying “brilliant” on for size and finding he liked the fit.
“I just think it’s going to be difficult for the group here at Generations. It’s going to be quite a blow to lose Sapphire, too.”
Oh no. “Sapphire, too?”
“Yes, so soon after Kate leaving. It’s going to be tough for them to recover from that. Oh well,” said Hamilton, changing gears, “I guess that’s not our problem anymore, is it? I mean, now that we have a movie star client, right?”
“Right. Movie star client. But could we back up for just a minute here, Hamilton? Did you say Kate is leaving the show? Did she quit?” Michael held his breath.
“Yes. She’s leaving the show to pursue other interests.” Oh, thank god. “Or at least that’s what the press release will say,” Hamilton added.
Michael’s heart sank. He knew that “leaving the show to pursue other interests” was code for fired/canned/kicked out on your proverbial ass. Poor Kate. “How did she take it?”
“She was sad, I think. There were some tears. I like to think that it helped to have me there, a friendly face and all.”
“I’m sure having you there to share in her humiliation was like a warm blanket, Hamilton.”
“I like to think so,” said Hamilton. “Although she seemed resistant when I went to give her a hug.”
“That’s surprising,” Michael said sarcastically.
“Not really,” said Hamilton. “She never could accept my support. That is one of the things that drove us apart. She just couldn’t accept affection.”
“Yes, Hamilton, I can see how that would be difficult for you. Now, can we get back to the problem at hand?”
“What problem?” asked Hamilton, oblivious.
The problem of you being an insensitive fuck-head. “The problem of getting Kate her job back.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
“Because with Sapphire leaving to pursue other interests, it’s the right thing to do.” Michael could tell from the silence on the other
end of the phone line that Hamilton had no context for such high-minded ideals. He tried another tact: “Also, Sapphire has ownership in the show and you get a percentage of Kate’s salary, so keeping the show on the air makes good financial sense.”
“Ah, I see your point,” said Hamilton finally. “She’s already been fired, though. And I don’t mind telling you that it was hard enough to convince the powers that be that it was in their best interests to get rid of her. It would be uncomfortable to go back in and ask them to change their minds.”
“I think the last thing any of us wants is to make you uncomfortable, Hamilton.” Except maybe Kate, who just lost her job. “But maybe this is worth the risk of being the tiniest bit ill at ease.”
“Again, you make some very good points, Michael,” conceded Hamilton. “And if this were just about me, I would agree with you. But we have to answer to a higher power.”
“I’m pretty sure God would be all for Kate getting her job back.”
“What does God have to do with this? I am talking about Sapphire,” said Hamilton, as though Sapphire as deity was the most obvious concept in the world. “Actually, I should really go check on her. You know, she has not had an easy day, although your news about the movie will go a long way toward cheering her up. In fact, I am going to go tell her right now how well all of our hard work has paid off.”
Michael didn’t have time to be offended by the dial tone that took the place of good-bye or by Hamilton’s rather liberal use of the word “our.” He ran to his car and peeled out of his parking space, racing to get to the Generations set in time to try to reverse some of the damage caused by Hurricane Sapphire.
31
Kate sat on her little dressing-room couch, a half-full cardboard box of belongings on her lap. She was supposed to be packing up her personal items, but she felt incapable of standing up, much less moving objects from one place to another. She felt Paige’s hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said vaguely. “I mean, I think so. Does this box weigh four thousand pounds? It feels like it does.”
Outside In Page 21
