by Daphne Dawn
He hands me a cup. It’s a six dollar, triple espresso shot, heavy on the cream and six sugars, just the way I like it. The price is outrageous, but he’s buying so I’m just going to be polite.
“Thanks,” I say and grab the coffee. “If you didn’t think I was up, what made you come by?”
Jordan nods his head toward the television screen.
“Oh, that,” I acknowledge. “That is quickly becoming the bane of my existence. And if you don’t do something quick, fast, and in a hurry, people will really believe I am the biggest piece of shit-crap that ever lived, if they don't already.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here.”
“Please tell me you have a better plan than yesterday. 'Cause the disappearing act just will not work. I am not leaving town. And if I have to, I’ll say it fifty more times, until you get it.”
“Relax,” Jordan says, and motions me to sit back, as if I were a child who needed a time out.
The bedroom door suddenly opens and Jordan looks up. A slow smile spreads across his face.
“Jordan, this is Katie,” I say, but don’t take my eyes of the screen, and Jordan doesn’t take his eyes off Katie. “This is Jordan,” I add, lifting my coffee cup hand in his direction.
“Nice to meet you,” Jordan says, without shifting his gaze.
“I…uh…seem to have…left some things out here,” Katie says.
I finally pay attention and turn around. Katie is wearing nothing but my deep green silk sheet, and her long raven hair has that messy, I-just-spent-all-night-fucking, look. Sexy as hell. I can see why Jordan is a little slack jawed.
“Feel free, search away” I say, waving my hand in a gesture that says, 'don’t mind us'.
Katie tip toes in and picks up her bra from behind one of the seat cushions, a black lace thong from the coffee table, and her shirt and pants from the corner of the room.
I flash on a moment from last night and think oh, yeah, the coffee table. Blood quickly rushes to the center of my body, necessitating a quick adjustment of my towel, you know, to get a little more comfortable, cause I’m getting a little …stiff.
Katie pads back into the bedroom, leaving me and Jordan alone with our thoughts. They're probably pretty much about the same thing.
“Earth to Todd,” Jordan eventually says, snapping his fingers in front of my face, and dropping a folder on my now infamous coffee table.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Jordan doesn’t answer right away. Instead he sits next to me and simply says, “Open it up.”
“Unless that’s the answer to this nightmare, I’m not interested.”
“It may just be.”
I stare at the folder for a few seconds. I’m curious.
I lean forward and grab the manila envelope and look inside. It’s just a bunch of papers. Okay, I’ll bite. I pull out the papers and discover it’s a script and a production schedule, neither of which interest me.
I toss them both back onto the table. “What the hell is this?”
“You didn’t even give it a good look.”
“Don’t have to. Right now, I need a solution to this,” I say, pointing to the television where the non-stop bullshit of my life seems to be playing without pause. Damn, aren't there any murders or hurricanes these assholes can cover?
Jordan sighs, and leans over, picking up the script. “Look at this, it’s a movie and it’s being directed by Sophia Palmer.”
I don’t respond.
“Don’t you get it? Sophia is a ‘Palmer’. Her father is legendary. He’s larger than life in this industry. And Sophia has become the little darling of the media, her last two films were each a big success–“
“Big success in the world of independent films…big difference.”
“Regardless, she’s gaining clout. She’s smart, talented, and she’s fucking gorgeous. And if that’s not enough, she’s also starring in this movie. You have nothing to lose and everything, everything to gain.”
I pick up the production schedule, and look through it. I can see that the schedule is tight because it’s an indie and they have no money.
“No, thanks. Not interested.”
“Listen, Todd, you want me to get you out of this mess you’re in, right? Well, you and I both know that you’ve been in the tabloids too often, you have a reputation, you’re becoming someone the studios aren’t going to want to touch—“
“Hold up,” I interrupt. “I make the studios a shitload of money.”
“Yeah, but only when the fans love you and are willing to pay to see you. Right now, I don't feel a whole lotta love out there.”
And there it is. With all this negative air time, I am now damaged goods.
“You need to give this script a read,” Jordan continues, “it’s good.”
I don’t want to hear what he has to say. Besides, something else has caught attention: the sound of my career flushing down the toilet.
Jordan gets up and walks to the floor-to-ceiling window. He just stands there looking out, saying nothing.
It’s a standoff. No words between us.
I cave first, “What?” I say in a tone that is both annoyed and a little worried.
Jordan combs his fingers through his hair and turns to me, “Stop being such a piss-ant and let me do my job. I’m good at what I do. And I’m telling you, you need this script and you need this director.”
I give him the middle finger.
“Good God, get serious, Todd! You got a major situation and you’re acting like you’re in high school giving me the finger. I’m telling you straight up, this part could mean an Oscar nomination, it’s that good. Besides, you need to be around Hollywood royalty right now. It will help get the stink off you. And Sophia Palmer is Hollywood Royalty.”
The one thing I know is that Jordan has never steered me wrong and he's doing a good job of selling me on this. I’m still on the fence about doing an independent film, but I can feel myself relenting, grudgingly.
I turn toward the screen and damn, I’m still there. That settles the matter. The media is giving me no choice, and I need to distance myself from this hot mess.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” I say, looking up.
“Great.” Jordan claps his hands together, “because production starts in two days.”
Sophie
I walk into the boardroom and notice that my entire crew is present, punctual as ever. I smile. It’s good to have reliable people behind you, people who share your passion and commitment for a film.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people who don’t give a project one hundred percent, who miss meetings, and who, if they do attend, are disruptive.
So far so good, I think.
Alice smiles brightly, and Eric nods in my direction. Time to get down to business.
Thirty minutes later, it’s time to wrap up.
“So, unless anyone else has a question or wants to add something, that just about wraps it up for today.” I have a definite need for caffeine.
I see heads nodding, mumbling between cameramen. I hear the scraping of chairs being pushed back. Looks like no one has anything to add.
“Thanks, Sophie,” one of the ground crew calls over, giving me the thumbs up sign. In return I give him a short wave.
For me, however, meeting time is not quite over.
“Great work today, Sophie,” Alice pats me on the arm.
I force a smile on my face. My insides are about to explode.
“Remember the steam engine?” her voice is almost a whisper. “I think I can, I think I can, I know I can,” another reassuring rub on the arm. “You’ll blitz it, mark my words.”
With a deep sigh, I slump back in my director chair, a present from my dad.
Briefly, I reflect on Dad. He was my idol. Of course he would never ever have an inkling of self-doubt. But then I’ll never fill his oversized boots anyway.
Dad was the doyen of directors.
“Thanks,” I glance at Ali
ce and adjust my papers, clipboard, pen and laptop.
“Should I be part of this huddle?” Eric has joined our end of the table.
Instantly, Alice wraps her arm around his waist.
“It’s not a huddle. I’m just injecting Sophie with a little bit of self confidence.”
Eric feigns mock shock.
“Sophie.” He points in my direction. “This Sophie needs confidence?” Now he shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
All three of us laugh.
I’m lucky to have such supportive friends.
Alice and I go way back. We sat together on our first day of school.
But we really bonded when Charley Chatterley called me clumsy. I burst into tears, and Alice broke her ruler over pig boy’s head. Since then, we’ve been through thick and thin―as well as film school.
Luckily, Eric understood our friendship and was not one of those guys who tried to break us apart.
I push my own chair back and hug first Alice, who promptly makes choo choo noises in my ear, and then Eric, who thankfully doesn’t.
“Thank you,” for some reason I feel a little teary. “You two are too good to me.”
With a deep breath and my shoulders held proudly back, I smile brightly.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” I quip and glance at my watch. The two stars are due in three minutes. “With any luck, he won’t show up.”
I stress the word he.
Alice pecks Eric on the cheek and sits down again. I see him give us one last thumbs up before he’s gone.
I’m trying to think of words of wisdom Dad would have thrown my way over the years, but nothing comes to mind.
For another few seconds, I indulge in strolling down memory lane. I used to love sitting on dad’s knees when he was sitting in his director chair. It was black and had the words “Director” written on the back in large white letters. The words Do not touch were printed underneath.
Dad did not take me often on set, but when he did, I relished every second.
Suddenly, the door opens, and a petite blonde woman walks in, accompanied by a much taller and slightly round man at her side.
I watch Emma closely as she comes into the room. She’s not very tall, but she’s very well proportioned. Her eyes remind me of a deer. They look a little timid, but they’re beautiful.
To my surprise, I register that her blonde hair is naturally blonde; it’s not the peroxide blonde most actresses seem to have these days. She wears it in a casual up-style. A few strands have escaped and hang loosely down to her shoulder.
Alice stands to take over the introductions.
I hold out my hand and am pleased Emma takes it and actually shakes it. No dead fish handshake with this woman.
Something else I instantly like about her is her smile. It looks genuine, non-Botoxed.
“Nice to meet you, Emma,” I invite them both to sit down.
For the first few minutes, we engage in the usual small talk: about the weather, the traffic and then about the film.
“I’ve read the script,” Emma steers the conversation to business. “Who is playing the lead role?”
“Sophie is playing the lead role and directing,” explains Alice for me.
I glance at my watch. Todd should be here by now.
“Lovely,” replies Emma, and I’m pleased my co-star seems to be of a good nature.
My eyes wander to the door and back to my watch. The arrogant prick is now ten minutes late.
“Look, I’m really sorry but our other main star is not here yet. Do you mind if we wait just a few more minutes?”
Emma shrugs, leans back in her chair, and crosses her legs.
Her agent on the other hand flicks through his phone before he leans toward his star and whispers something in her ear.
“It appears I’m needed in other meetings after this. Are we able to start without him?”
I look at Alice, who nods her agreement.
“Sorry,” I’m all business-like, careful not to let my anger take hold of me. “Of course we can start.”
By the time our meeting finishes, I’m quite excited to be working with Emma. Eric described her as being subpar with a huge fan base. I found her easy to get along with.
Perhaps she isn’t the brightest bunny out there, but we can’t all be super geniuses, right?
“I can’t believe the arrogance of the man not to show up today.” It takes every ounce of self-control not to throw something at the wall. “Not only did he miss the meeting, but he made us, his colleagues, wait.” I’m seething with rage.
Alice drums her fingers on the edge of the table. She knows better than to interrupt me when I’m in this state.
“You better call his agent and find out what’s going on. Because if you let me do it, I’ll end up firing him on the spot.”
Todd
Damn, who are all these people?
I'm thumbing through my phone messages and there have to be at least ten missed calls and a dozen texts. The only number I recognize is Jordan’s. Nope, not right now, pal
I swipe left and put the phone back inside my jacket pocket. I am uninterested in anything except getting another glass of Winter Storm.
There’s nothing like twenty-one-year-old Kentucky bourbon. It goes down sweet.
I motion to the bartender for a refill. He hustles over with the tall white bottle, and I watch as he pours the deep amber liquid.
“Ahhhh,” I swallow and smile, enjoying the burn at the back of my throat.
I look around. The Eleganzia restaurant is the place to be seen, but there’s no one else here but me at the bar. It’s the lull between lunch and dinner, so the place is almost empty.
I look past the low copper-clad wall that separates the bar from the dining room and see a few celebrity wannabes still sitting at tables, hoping someone will notice them or give them a job.
The real celebrities have already had lunch with their agents, or managers, or studio heads, or with members of their entourage. Whatever it is they’ve done, they’re gone now. Probably out getting that extra shot of Botox, or working off that last cocktail at the gym, or screwing their assistant.
Like I said, whatever.
Looking out past the starlets-in-training, I start thinking again, and my grip tightens around my glass. What possessed me to sign that contract? An independent movie isn’t going to bring my career back from the free fall it’s in.
I take another swig. I'm definitely buzzed.
“Shit, man, finally,” Jordan grunts as he stomps over.
Damn, he’s found me.
He squeezes between the barstools and stands over me. “What the fuck? Like, what the literal fuck are you doing?”
I motion the bartender for another and give Jordan a sideways look.
“Why would you intentionally blow off this meeting?”
Now I give him a smirk.
“No, I’m serious,” Jordan says, pointing his finger in my face.
“Sit down,” I say, and once again I catch the bartender's eye. “Pour my friend a drink, won’t you?”
I can hear Jordan let out a big breath, and I know he’s flaming furious. But frankly, at this point, thanks to the Storm, I am feeling no pain. I’m happy to just sit here all afternoon.
Jordan swallows the shot in one gulp and then stares at the bottles lining the wall. I can see he’s thinking about what he wants to say, and I don’t have to wait long before he lets it rip.
“Todd, it’s obvious you’ve slipped into some sort of idiot phase. Pretty soon, you won’t need to disappear, ‘cause people are going to start acting like you’re invisible. It's never good when you don’t show up for a meeting, and I’m telling you, this is catastrophic.”
Jordan is serving up all kinds of buzzkill, and I need to put an end to this inquisition.
“Jeez, calm down,” I say, “This is not the shit storm you think it is. People flake on meetings all the time. Don’t worry about it.”
He gives me a stone-cold look, and it doesn’t matter what I say, because I can see he's not about to let up. Christ, he’s ragging on me like he’s my mother.
I’m about to tell Jordan that it’s time for him to leave, when I hear a commotion at the maitre d’s desk.
I swivel my seat to get a better look, and I see a sexy beauty with eyes blazing barreling toward me. I stand and Jordan jumps from his barstool. She stops inches from my face, her nostrils flaring.
“You are not that important. The world does not owe you a favor, and the sooner you realize it, the better off anyone forced to associate with you will be!”
I have no idea who this woman is, but there’s no doubt she is upset and hell bent on ripping me a new asshole. That video is like a bad smell following me wherever I go. But at this point I have taken all I’m going to take.
“Look, lady, I’m gonna tell you what I told the press. Fuck off!”
I expect her to march off, but instead she stands there looking a little nonplussed. Maybe this gorgeous woman is nuts. Maybe I should be feeling sorry for her.
I look around for help, but Jordan grabs me by the arm, and clears his throat.
“Uh…Todd…I’d like you to meet Sophie Palmer, your director and leading lady.”
Well, color me caught. I smile sheepishly at her, but it’s not returned. I extend my hand, but she slaps it away. This bitch is furious.
“Don’t you understand that you’re not the only one affected when you don’t show up?” Ms. Palmer pokes her finger hard against my chest, and I step back an inch, trapped between her and the bar.
“I’ve spent time and money and called in any number of favors for this movie.” She brushes back her hair with a flick of her hand.
For some reason, I find this woman's rant sexy. The angrier she gets, the more captivated I am.
“Look, this film is very important to me,” she continues, “and you just shit all over it by thinking you’re a movie star who can get away with anything. Well, let me set you straight. That’s not how we’re going to play this.”
