A Song For Josh, Drifters Book One

by Susan Rodgers

  Charles gestured to Carlotta and, with a small smile, nodded his head towards his old friend and compatriot in the film biz. Shortly, the quiet maid bent into an outdoor refrigerator and made a martini for Jonathon. Dee frowned at the script on the table, reached over, and thumbed through it.

  “I’ve assembled the best team around,” Jonathon vented. “The best writers, story editors, cinematographer, art department, cast. The production value is superb, second to none. The story is dynamic, provocative, edgy, and compelling, dammit. What else do they need, my soul? Jesus,” he growled. “Six years of my life, my own personal savings invested into developing this thing, and with the click of a mouse an HBO bastard can destroy it forever.”

  Even though she was too far away to hear every word, Jessie knew he was talking about Drifters. She’d been around the Keatings long enough to be party to umpteen thousand discussions about the show, Jon’s baby. He’d worked his way up through the ranks, making crap television for years, partnering with others and climbing the ladder one step at a time, until the day when he’d grappled with his soul enough to know this fickle industry would soon be the death of him if he didn’t make something worthwhile, tell a story that was memorable and enduring and beautiful and captivating and surreal. A show that had meaning, and that was as perfect as all his years of training and learning and patience and swallowing shit could permit him to make it. A masterpiece of modern television. His body language also gave him away. He was usually a genial man, smart, alert, but friendly. Today he was incensed and couldn’t sit still.

  Dee set down the script and glanced across the table as Jon accepted the drink from Carlotta and took a generous sip. “They know it’s good,” she said. “I’ve had discussions with Frank Zemmer myself – he’s in awe.”

  “It’s not Zemmer,” Jonathon inserted brusquely. “It’s that scoundrel Martag, the skinny little bald bitch. He’s got Zemmer by the balls.”

  “Ah,” Charles said, with sudden understanding dawning across his face. “Martag only gets involved when he knows there’s magic happening. You ass.” He grinned and lifted a glass to his friend. Dee raised her delicately shaped eyebrows, curious.

  Jonathon relaxed a little. He was wound up tight as a virgin on her wedding night. He settled deeper into the padded deckchair as, in the corner, Jessie straightened up a little higher. This was Josh’s show. What the hell was going on? What kind of game was Jonathon playing that had Charles grinning like a man who’d won the lottery and was about to show his wife the winning ticket?

  Their visitor squinted up into the sun and paused, before looking straight and purposefully at Dee. “I need a star,” he said. “Someone who has the power to pull people away from their crazy assed video games, and sweet little families, and ridiculous no-brain housewife porn to watch Drifters. Martag is paying attention – he’s interested in Canadian History, for fuck’s sake!”

  He leaned forward and took the script from Deirdre, held it before her like a trophy. His hands were shaking. “Dammit Dee, I need the world to watch this show. I need you to find me a star.”

  Dee, who had evolved from life as a casting agent to working mostly on just the management of Jessie’s career, had stepped out of ‘casting retirement’ and, as a favor, undertook a search for Jon’s lead actors. She had stayed on budget and acquired him the best available actors he could afford. Not everybody out there was hungry enough to try to play historical fiction – period shows. Although indeed there were a number of untried talents who were literally hungry enough to jump at anything, especially a potentially long running television series that the brilliant Jonathon McCloud was making. But what tried and true stars could Dee encourage to do this? And who was going to pay for it?

  Nearby, Jessie was breathless – what did this mean? Who was going to lose their part? She swore then and there she’d get up and choke Jonathon himself if Josh was getting axed. She narrowed her eyes at Jonathon, and did not dare to breathe.

  Jonathon ran a finger over the script. He eyeballed Charles, and then let his eyes wander towards Dee. “There’s very little money left. I can’t go deeper down the hole. I’m into contingency until the network steps up and commits. I need someone to do this with the understanding that, at least until it hits, we’re all giving something here. Someone who can believe in this project, in this story.”

  He was nothing if not the typical super intense artist. And he was a brilliant writer himself, as well as director, although he usually hired out to other directors, ones he trusted, so he could focus on perfecting the story each week, and create dialogue that carried the weight of Shakespeare’s in its day. And he had just issued a challenge that Dee felt she was likely unable to meet – although she would never say no to Jonathon. She knew how much this project meant to him and, besides, Dee didn’t get where she was by backing down from a challenge. It was just that this particular challenge would likely mean running a gauntlet of sucking up and begging and convincing, which wasn’t the type of medieval groping she generally liked to do, even for her best and most trusted clients.

  Haughtily, as if she were Queen Elizabeth the First negotiating the terms of imprisonment for Mary, Queen of Scots, she threw down the inevitable.

  “Jonathon,” she said. “Who are you letting go?” It was her least favorite part of the job, but one that almost always, predictably, reared its ugly head. Networks, producers, directors – they often changed cast around after a show’s pilot. Sometimes certain actors just didn’t cut the mustard. But she had seen her cast’s work on Drifters, and they were all good. A little green, most – yes. But good. She met Jon’s glance and didn’t look away. Charles watched her, in awe, and a little sorrowfully. She played the game well and was fabulous at casting, stern and demanding but fair, generous and organized. If anything, her only downside was that she cared about her roster of actors just a little too much. Charles knew his wife of thirty-five years was already on guard, that she was already suffering for the actor who was getting cut before she even knew his or her name.

  They were silent. Carlotta refilled Jessie’s lemonade on tiptoe.

  Jonathon took another sip, licked his lips. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I’m not cutting anybody. I want to add someone.” He drained the glass and set it on top of the script so the round bottom circled the name – Drifters, which was written in the middle of the cover page. He turned the glass between his fingers, those fingers that wrote such incredible stories, and wondered silently at how the word looked distorted through his makeshift lens. “I wasn’t going to do this until season two, but…”

  For the first time since he sat down he gazed over at Jessie, sitting there looking so small in the big lounger, hanging on his every word. He glanced down at the mammoth pile of scripts on the glass topped wicker table at her side, and had to steel his nerves before he spoke again. He had a lot of competition here, but these people were his friends. If he couldn’t ask them this favor, or be able to stand their rejection if, so be it, that was the way things went, then he’d mistaken the level of trust and affection between all of them.

  “I need to do a little rewriting, and we’ll reshoot a few scenes from all three episodes to make it work, but…” Both Charles and Dee groaned inwardly at the frustration this would cause the Drifters team, not to mention the expense, “I’ve got a new storyline in mind for Billy.”

  Jessie breathed. A little. Josh was safe.

  Jon continued slowly, keeping everyone in suspense. He tapped the glass nervously on the script, and then stopped as he remembered that, even amongst friends, in this fickle business one must still keep one’s cool. At all times. To infinity.

  He exhaled deeply, and ran his left hand through his unkempt white hair. He looked back over at Jessie, but she was no longer there. Damn, he thought inwardly. What the hell was I thinking? She’s a film star, an Academy Award winner. What the hell would she want with my little TV show?

  A shadow crossed over him as a hand shot onto
the table and grasped the script, lifting it a few inches so Jonathon had to quickly grab the stem of his glass to keep it from toppling over. He slid the glass over and off the page, noticing that it left a watery trail, like one of those slippery little things – silverfish – his parents discovered in the family’s basement when he was a kid. He narrowed his eyes at it, and then refocused on the task at hand. He looked up into Jessie’s startling eyes.

  “What are you casting?” she asked, her voice even and low, even though she already knew. “Male or female?”

  Again – silence. Jessie didn’t wait for an answer. She knew why Jon was at the Keatings’ house that afternoon. She took the script and walked around the pool, out the wrought iron gate, past Carlotta’s herb garden, and into the house. She hoped it wasn’t apparent that she was trembling.

  The three older folks at the table watched her go. One was rather incredulous at this sudden twist of fortune, even though it likely meant a waiting period while Jessie read the script and considered the part. The elegant female at the table laughed quietly – Jessie never failed to surprise her. Dee’s heart swelled with pride that Jessie had remained kind and down to earth through these last many changes in her life, and that she had taken it upon herself to step forward and even consider Jonathon’s request. The remaining man at the table paused for a moment, somewhat stupefied at what just happened, and then he let out a hearty bellow that could be heard on the grounds of the Vancouver Canuck’s Italian Villa beyond the trees next door.

  Jessie went into the kitchen and leaned against the granite countertop of the large island. She took her first peek at the script in her hands, and slowly opened it. She ran her finger over Josh’s character’s name – Billy – and then, below, her finger found the name Kate. She traced one and then the other. That’s who she would be, if she took this part. Kate. Billy’s love interest in Drifters. Josh’s counterpart in the show. It was overwhelming. Dangerous. Charlie fleeted across her mind, but only for a moment. In light of his recent affair with Leeza, whose star was growing as fast as her less than sterling reputation, he didn’t warrant much time in Jessie’s suddenly scattered thoughts.

  She turned away from the counter, motored out into the foyer, and practically leapt up the sweeping inlaid mahogany and glass staircase. But she didn’t dare grin – it was early stages yet. Carlotta looked up from where she was starting to vacuum Dee’s stylishly appointed front room, and twisted her eyebrows into a knot. She couldn’t remember a time when Jessie ran anywhere indoors, and she wondered what had gotten the girl so stirred up. For that matter, she didn’t recall a time in recent months when Charles had laughed so heartily. It was generally pretty much just business around here most days – they were all kind people to work for, but mostly the house was empty as everyone did their thing in the city or, oftentimes, down south in L.A. or around the world.

  Carlotta smiled. The house seemed happier when the Keatings and their pseudo-adopted daughter were around. At least – Carlotta was happier. She steered the vacuum around the Louis XIV chaise, and sang softly as she worked.

  As Jessie threw open the door to the bedroom where she’d hung out before Dee bought her the downtown penthouse condo, that Jessie still used whenever she felt like Charles and Dee’s company, which was often, she let herself remember the slow dance with Josh at the fundraiser. She wondered what the universe was up to, what was it thinking, throwing this interesting opportunity her way? Was it making up for past wrongs? What about – ugh – Charlie? They had seven years under their belt as a couple. She loved him, in a weird kind of way. Her infatuation with Josh was just a diversion from real life, albeit a dangerous one.

  She settled onto a comfy cushioned window seat and opened the script to page one. She told herself to read it objectively and, as the damp trail from Jon’s glass dried, her eyes never left the pages beneath her fingers. When she was finished, she closed the script, paused, and then texted Dee outside at the pool.

  pls ask J to send QT file of pilot to my email

  When Dee’s phone bleeped at her and she read the message, she laughed wholeheartedly. Jessie could hear her through the window, although she couldn’t see Dee from where she sat on the west side of La Casa.

  Poolside, a little glassy-eyed from a few too many late afternoon cocktails, Dee relayed the message, in its exact brevity, to Jonathon.

  When Jon left the house half an hour later, he took a moment to stop and smell the roses.

  ***

  Chapter Four

  After watching the pilot episode of Drifters in her office, Jessie sat for a while and pondered her options and this recent twist of fate. It was a pleasant experience, watching Josh and his friends in the new series. She liked the show – her father’s love of history, especially Canadian History, had delicately but surely embroiled itself in the fabric of her being, and she was glad that Canadian Networks – and recently, even American Networks - were once again buying historical dramas. This one was good – edgy and provocative, and almost too real to watch, at times. It featured an ensemble cast and told a fictional story related to the settling of British Columbia during the Gold Rush of the 1860’s. Josh’s character was a worn out, disillusioned American Civil War Veteran, a Yankee who made his way North in the Fall of 1865, and who found employment as a horse wrangler for a man who’d suddenly become wealthy by filling his pockets full of gold in a frisky, exploding town called Barkerville.

  Josh’s friends and fellow actors on the show were the genial blonde Stephen, who played a jovial saloon keeper named Bokeem; Carter, a quietly rugged, good-looking dark-haired First Nations actor from the Coast Salish people; Maggie, a freckled American motherly soul flown in to play a cook and housekeeper; and Sue-Lyn, a perky gal from Toronto who played an opinionated gutsy female prospector from eastern Canada. Jessie was witness to the growth of the actors’ friendship, as they hung out at Charlie’s Club occasionally, and she was glad Josh appeared to be staying off the dirt and no longer spending most of his time alone.

  Jonathon had done a miraculous job getting this show funded and off the ground. But did Jessie want to be a part of that? What was it about Josh that intrigued her? Was it because he reminded her of Sandy? Was there something in his eyes that told her they were somehow connected? Was it wishful thinking? Would she be walking into a snake pit by taking a part on the show where Josh, only clean for the last many months, played a major part?

  A light tap on the office door snapped Jessie out of her reverie. She expected her visitor was somehow associated with Drifters, since her possible involvement in the show seemed to be a hot topic on the thirty-first floor that day. Jon was a patient man but, regardless, he was still a production company executive on a budget, a man whose greatest ambition was in flux until he could convince a network executive of its true and total worth. Contemplating the power she held over this man, Jessie wondered how things had come so far. How could she, once a freckled, carefree little girl building sandcastles on the beach in Canada’s smallest province, now possess the control to influence the decision of one of television’s top network executives? A decision that could make or break a man’s dream? That could stop careers cold, and cause financial hardship amongst a cast and crew happy to be working, who worked in an industry where not everybody had the luxury to work year round? It was a heavy responsibility to bear.

  Charles pushed the door open without waiting for Jessie’s response and made his way across the small office to the rosewood side table, where he poured himself a glass of Evian water. Turning to face Jessie, he leaned against the table and sipped on the water as, with her feet up against the desk, she propelled her chair around to face him. In her jeans and plain yellow T-shirt, Jessie looked more like a child than the superstar he and Dee had spent the last many years mentoring. They stared each other down for a few moments before Charles opened the conversation.

  “Dee doesn’t think you should do Drifters.”

  Jessie twirled her right forefinge
r through a strand of hair, making a tight little ringlet. She let it go, and then started again. She kept it up throughout most of their conversation. It was something Charles had noticed she did when they first met. Whenever she was nervous or unsure of something, the finger would go into the hair and begin to twist and retwist. She did it with clothes too, he’d noticed. Sometimes he wanted to grab her finger and tell her to stop, that everything was okay now. But he – and Dee – both knew fame and money couldn’t stuff the hole in their girl’s bucket. Whatever she’d been through in her life, ain’t nothing was going to fill that hole. All the Keatings could do was try to keep the hole from growing any bigger. So he watched her create the ringlet one more time and then, when she let it fall, he refocused, and spoke again.

  “Jessie, honey. She thinks you need some time at home. R and R. The tour beat you down – 46 cities in three months. It was a lot to ask of you. We left this hole in your schedule so you could recuperate. But already you’re reading scripts and making plans to get back out there…one of these days I’m afraid this is all going to catch up to you and you’re going to crash.”

  Another ringlet. Adjusting her body weight, Jessie crossed one foot over the other, still on the desk. She’d drawn smiley faces on the toes of her plaid yellow Converse Chucks, and they taunted Charles from the desk except, from his vantage point, they were distorted, sort of upside down and backwards. He wondered when she’d done that, and why. Jessie often did strange little things others wouldn’t do, such as mark up a pair of sneakers in a very noticeable grade school way, and it was part of the charm of her, and was also the part of her that kept her separate from others. To Charles, these things were clues to her past. He wondered whether she’d missed a certain amount of her childhood, or teenage hood - the time when a child would have been scolded for such antics and thus stopped the behavior.