The astonishing result of this, and what will pay Corey more money than he’s earned, in total, ever, is the Atlantis 4 movie that Twentieth Century Fox is about to make. And that is a very good thing because, as of this moment, one Corey J. Purchase has nothing but the dog, his blue jeans, a couple of navy Bonds T-shirts, his Justin boots and the not so princely sum of $1217 in savings.
He’s so broke he can’t even afford to run a mobile phone - and you really need a mobile phone in LA. When Corey first arrived in the City of Angels he hadn’t expected to stay long, two weeks at most, enough to finalise the Fox deal with his agent Matty Bowen, who graciously lent him this Bimmer for his stay, then continue his trip around America.
Then he met her.
The front door to the McMansion swings open and Corey sees her, silhouetted against the warm glow inside.
Lola Jacklin.
Even from thirty metres she takes his breath away. Corey felt it the moment he walked into the sprawling Beverly Hills office on his first day in Los Angeles and shook her hand. She is a partner at Bowen & Associates, the agency that represents the Atlantis 4.
The twenty-eight-year-old is whip smart and knowledgeable about subjects that Corey does not have the first clue, like the entertainment business and world politics and the fate of art in movies. She is, on the other hand, not well versed in the subjects Corey knows a lot about, like Central Australia and moving cattle with helicopters and saving space shuttles. So, whenever they’re together she’s fascinated by his stories, is quick to laugh at his jokes (even if they’re lame), and has a ready smile that seems to indicate she enjoys his company. He certainly enjoys her company, is both enlightened and delighted by the sprawling scope of her thoughts, which cover everything from what is happening in ‘town’, as everyone who works in the LA entertainment business seems to call the city, to the fate of the planet. That she has a light southern drawl, is slight and willowy with long dark hair, and has the angular features he finds so appealing is a bonus but makes no difference to the depth of his feelings for her.
There’s just the one problem.
If she is ‘the one’, how does he tell her that he can understand everything his dog says? In the past that conversation with prospective girlfriends has immediately and irrevocably destroyed the budding relationship, so this time he’s decided that honesty is not the best policy, at least not yet. He’s going to hide the crazy, at least until the appetizer, then break it to her slow. That’s why he’s been telling Spike he’s to be seen but not heard. Corey won’t respond to any questions from the animal during this, their third date.
Spike barks.
‘Taking my shirt off will not make her like me more.’
Another bark.
‘Well, if I did it’d be in a natural, organic way and not just out of the blue. Anyhow, I have a plan so shhh!’ Corey takes a deep breath, opens the door, steps out of the BMW, then turns back to the dog with a firm whisper: ‘Seen but not heard.’
*
Lola watches Corey lope across the street towards her, that crooked grin on his face and that sparkle in his eye. It’s amazing. He’s always happy, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. They embrace and suddenly everything she’s been rehearsing this afternoon is that much harder to say.
She slides into the passenger seat, excited to be sitting beside this funny, strapping Australian man she met four weeks ago. She notices the dog in the back seat. ‘Hello there.’
Spike barks.
‘That’s Spike. He’s just along for the ride. To be seen but not heard: If his grotesque appearance is too disturbing, I find that it helps to squint when you look at him. If you do it just right he can almost appear homely.’
She laughs and pats Spike’s head. ‘Oh no, you’re beautiful.’
‘On the inside.’ He nods at Lola’s waist. ‘Belt up.’
She fastens her seatbelt as he twists the V8 to life and hits the gas. The BMW pulls away from the kerb.
Lola glances at the Australian. She feels something in her chest whenever she’s with him, felt it the first moment they were introduced at the B&A office. She’s not even sure what the feeling is; it’s like shortness of breath combined with indigestion, but in a nice way. It makes what she has to do tonight so difficult. She should have done it on the phone when he rang to confirm the date, but she chickened out. Chickened out! The woman regarded as one of the best closers in town, nicknamed, she thought a tad unfairly, Bitchkrieg by the studios. Truth is, she wanted to have one more night out with the chopper pilot because he’s so much fun. She’ll do it later - there’s no need to spoil the whole evening.
The sun dips beneath the horizon as they hit the freeway and Lola stares out the windscreen at the twinkling lights of her adopted city. Ever since she was a little girl, when Doc Hollywood, a mildly successful early nineties Michael J. Fox movie, came to shoot in her hometown, she’d caught the movie bug and wanted to live in LA. The fact that she now represents the Back to the Future star only underscores how stellar her trajectory from that tiny southern backwater to the top tier of the entertainment industry has been.
*
Corey takes in the glorious sunset before them. ‘So, I’ve been working on a pitch - a movie pitch.’
Lola turns to him. ‘Really? Excellent.’
‘Well, you know, being here these last few weeks got my creative juices flowing. Well, maybe they’re not creative, but something’s definitely flowing.’
‘What’s the idea? Pitch it.’
‘It’s just a thought at the moment.’
‘Well, turn it into an idea.’
‘You really want to do this on a night off?’
‘There are no nights off. Let’s hear it.’
‘Okay, but you have to be brutally honest. If it’s terrible, it’s terrible, okay?’
‘If it’s terrible, it’s terrible.’
‘Okay.’ He takes a breath, a little nervous. ‘I’m starting now: Hello, Ms Studio Executive Lady, how are you today?’ He speaks in a stiff, formal voice.
‘Very well. Thanks for coming in.’
‘No, thank you, my lady - I don’t know why I’m speaking in an olde English accent but I’ll push on, shall I?’
She does her best cockney British accent: ‘I prefer the Aussie accent myself, guv’nor, but, yes, let’s push on.’
That puts him at ease. ‘Okay, continuing.’ He takes a breath. ‘Now, let me ask you a very important question: which do you prefer, vampires or zombies?’
‘Vampires.’
‘Ba-baum. Family Feud sound for wrong answer. The correct choice is both.’
‘Both?’
‘Exactly! You mash them together and get Zompire, the first movie to feature a vampire zombie as the main character. He’s undead, twice. People have always loved vampires and now they love zombies so it only makes sense to combine them in an irresistible collision of blood-sucking flesh eating. That’s all I’ve got so far.’
Lola nods. ‘Not bad. “He’s undead - twice” is a good tag line.’
‘Great.’ He nods happily, then: ‘What’s a tag line?’
‘You know, the slogan on a movie poster.’
‘Oh. Of course. Right. So the idea’s not a complete shocker?’
‘It’s good, but if you want to take it to a studio you’ll need to think up an exciting plot that you can explain in twenty-five words or less, create vivid characters who grow and change over the course of that story, and create a compelling mythology that explains how and why Zompires exist. Also, consider what the subtext of the story is.’
‘I’ve never really understood what subtext is.’
‘It’s the underlying meaning of the film. Also, is there a love story? Where is it set? And when? Who’s the bad guy? You always need an interesting bad guy with a believable motivation. Is it a comedy or a drama? The title Zompire almost makes it sound like a comedy, but if, for example, it’s called VZ, shorthand for the vampire-zombie hybrid, suddenly
it seems more serious. On a poster I can see the V in blood red and the Z in raggedy grey. It’s intriguing, and graphically they’re strong letters.’
Corey studies her. ‘Now I know why you’ve got such a big house. You’re good at this.’
‘Well, yeah, it’s my business and I’ve had a lot of practice and I love movies. So, the takeaway is this: if you want people to take it seriously you need to flesh it out, no pun. Even little things, like is there a hero car of some kind?’
‘Hero car?’
‘You know, like the Tumbler from Batman Begins, or the Millennium Falcon from Star Wars, or the Minis in The Italian Job. It doesn’t have to be a car, just some sort of groovy transportation.’
It makes perfect sense to him. ‘Of course.’
‘And think about who could be in it. Makes it easier when you’re pitching a studio if they have an actor in mind for the lead role.’
He raises his hand. ‘Oh! I know who’d be great. That guy, the one in the tights —’ He can’t quite place the name. ‘You know, that movie about the bloke who turns into a tornado —’
‘The Blue Cyclone.’’
‘The Blue Cyclone! Yeah! Him. That guy. What’s his name? Steve…’
‘Scott. Scott Ford.’
‘That’s it. Scott! I guess everyone wants him in their movie.’
‘Oh. Well, yeah, they do. He’s, you know, a big star.’ She takes a moment, then gestures to the road ahead. ‘So, where are we going?’
‘Nearly there.’
*
Lola’s flustered. When Corey mentioned Scott Ford she had to change the subject. Oh man. It’s not like she’s doing anything wrong being here, but, gee, it sure feels like it. She needs to deal with this ASAP.
‘Ta-da. We’re here.’ Corey’s voice pulls her from her thoughts as he directs the BMW onto a patch of grass that overlooks a deserted beach.
She looks around. ‘Malibu?’
‘Yep, not far from Bowen’s place. I walk down here at night sometimes, look out at the ocean.’
*
In fact, the house where Corey’s been staying, which belongs to Matty Bowen, Corey’s agent and Lola’s boss, is just up the beach a little way, in case they want to ‘repair for a nightcap’, as it were. Not that Corey’s expecting any ‘repairing’ or ‘nightcap’ activity. So far the relationship has been completely chaste, not even a kiss - though he’s hoping that might change tonight. He has a plan. It’s not a particularly sophisticated plan, in fact it could be described as both rudimentary and amateurish, but it’s all he’s got and he’s gonna take it to the hoop.
They climb out of the car and Corey pulls a small wicker picnic hamper and a tartan blanket from the boot. He wanted the evening to be just right so he thought a hand-packed picnic was the way to go. He’d raided Bowen’s enormous fridge for supplies.
Lola’s impressed. ‘Thought of everything.’
They head towards a grassy knoll that overlooks the beach, the moonlight showing the way. Spike gallops ahead.
Corey stops at the spot where that moonlight glistens on the ocean at just the right angle, puts down the hamper and turns to Lola. She smiles and he realises this is it - this is the moment. Yes, he knows the night is young and he’s going early but it feels right.
She tilts her head. ‘What?’
‘If you don’t mind, I thought we could —’ He steps closer. ‘ — dance.’
‘Oh, God. Okay. I have to tell you I don’t do much of that. It’s like I’m from that town in Footloose.’
He grins and takes her left hand in his, places his other hand on her waist and moves her in time to the rolling surf. He can see she’s surprised, but, he’s almost certain, delighted too. Their eyes meet.
Time slows.
She smiles and he takes in her beaming face. He can’t believe it. The moonlight, the beach, the dancing - ha! Maybe his unsophisticated plan isn’t so rudimentary and amateurish after all. He leans down to kiss her. She hesitates for a moment, rises up on her toes to meet him - then turns away.
Time speeds up.
‘I’m-seeing-someone-I’m-so-sorry.’ She blurts it out as one word.
Corey lets her go and steps back, shocked. ‘Oh. I didn’t, I had no — I mean I would never —’
‘I-met-him-just-before-I-met-you.’ That sounds like one word too.
‘Right. Well, that’s a bit embarrassing - for me.’
‘No, no, it’s not. I should have said something earlier.’
Corey is stunned. And sad. And yes, embarrassed. He rarely gets embarrassed but he’s definitely feeling it now. So he doesn’t just stand there like some fool who tried to kiss a girl and somehow screwed it up, he flaps out the blanket to lay it on the grass - then stops, mid-flap, his heart not in it. ‘Can I ask a question?’
*
Lola really doesn’t want him to. She can’t remember the last time someone asked her a question she didn’t already know the answer to. She likes to be prepared yet has no idea what the Australian is about to say. ‘Sure.’
‘If you have a boyfriend, why are we here?’
She takes a breath, studies the tartan blanket in his hand. It’s easier than looking into his blue eyes. ‘Because you’re a funny, unique guy and I enjoy your company and I hope we can be friends.’
Hope we can be friends. It sounds so lame. As soon as she says it it’s like the air shifts somehow, even though there isn’t a breath of wind. He doesn’t say a word but he doesn’t have to. His response is all in his expression, the look of disappointment he’s trying to mask with that crooked grin she likes so much. She can see the smile is no longer genuine but forced, and that’s the saddest part of this whole sorry episode.
‘Can I ask one more question?’
She really doesn’t want him to. ‘Of course.’
‘Who’s your boyfriend?’ Then quickly: ‘You don’t have to tell me.’
She hesitates for a moment, then says: ‘Scott Ford.’
‘The Blue Cyclone guy? With the tights?’
She nods.
Corey is visibly surprised. Even if you don’t know who Scott Ford is you still know who Scott Ford is. He is currently People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, has that classic, square-jawed American face, matched with the chiselled physique of a Greek god. He’s also a bona fide international movie star, with over four billion in worldwide grosses, a billion of that from The Blue Cyclone alone. He’s charming and debonair and has an easy way with people. He can have his pick of any woman on the planet but he picked Lola. They met at a fundraiser five weeks ago and have seen each other whenever their schedules allow, which has been two dates so far with a third pending. Though it’s not yet bedroom serious, they talk regularly and plan to meet up when he’s back in town tomorrow. Lola hesitated about telling Corey, but the fact is it’s only a matter of time before it hits the media and, well, she didn’t want him to find out that way.
Corey nods slowly. ‘Right, well, I’m really glad for you.’ He forces another grin but she doesn’t have the heart to return it.
*
In stark contrast to the drive to the beach, which had been fun and full of promise, the trip back is awful and silent and pretty damn depressing.
Scott bloody Ford! Good God. It’s impossible to compete with a guy like that. Even with Corey’s limited understanding of who was ‘hot or not’ in the entertainment universe, he knew Scott Ford was a big deal. Whatever fame Corey had accidentally stumbled upon through helping save the hijacked shuttle or on his trip around America, they were but minor footnotes compared to that bloke’s career. And, ironically, Corey thought The Blue Cyclone movie totally rocked.
Lola turns to him. ‘You okay?’
‘Yep, no wuckers.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s short for “no wucking forries”, which is the reverse of —’
‘Oh. Yeah, got it.’
Corey guides the BMW along the road. That’s the third time she’s tried
to start a conversation and it’s the longest response he’s given. He can tell she wants to talk but he doesn’t know what else there is to say. The more he thinks about what happened the more embarrassed he feels. Did he completely misread the signs? Obviously. It doesn’t matter, though. This is the end of it.
She tries once more. ‘Look, I feel like I should explain —’
‘There’s no need.’
‘But I really want —’
‘It’s okay, Lola, really.’
He pulls up beside her McMansion, doesn’t kill the engine, keeps his eyes forward. ‘In spite of everything, I appreciate you telling me, instead of just not returning my calls, or, you know, letting me see it in a magazine or something.’
She takes a breath, meets his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugs. ‘It is what it is. Nothing to be sorry about.’
‘Well, I am. And I meant what I said. I’d like to be friends.’
He looks at her. ‘When has that ever happened in a situation like this?’
She studies him for an uncomfortable moment, then shakes her head. ‘Never.’ She opens the door, steps out of the vehicle, walks towards the very big house and out of his life.
He watches her go, wills her to stop, turn around, run back to the car, tell him that it’s all been a terrible misunderstanding.
That does not happen.
He slots the car into gear and pulls away from the kerb.
*
‘Well, that blew chunks.’ Corey rubs his face as he pulls the BMW onto Santa Monica Boulevard. He can’t remember the last time he felt this bad. Yes, he’d often been lonely back in the Northern Territory, but this is different, and, in many ways, worse, because he’d caught a glimpse of what life could be like with someone extraordinary - and then it was gone, like smoke on the wind. It feels like he’s lost something precious that will be impossible to replace.
And, to ice the worst cake ever, he asked her who her boyfriend was, thinking he might be able to learn something from the answer, like what kind of guy you had to be to date a woman like her. Well, he learned something all right: never ask questions like that! The answer is a guy who is so far out of Corey’s league that they aren’t even playing the same game.
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