by Ames, Alex
“But the kids . . . ?”
“Agnes will cover. I already cleared the date with her.” Hal had blocked all exits.
“But . . .”
“Go, tiger!” Hal tapped on the chalkboard’s empty thumbs-up screen.
And that was that.
Louise
Louise’s private feud with Madge Hardy came to a new peak on Friday afternoon. One of the biggest literary agencies in the United States had asked bidding parties to an auction of the hottest ticket of the season. A year earlier, a coming-of-age story called Five Ways of Solitude with Sarah Lewis had hit the bookshelves and had left most records of the industry behind. The advance for the first-time author had been extraordinary, $6 million. The marketing budget alone was $20 million, and it was released in twenty-five languages on the same day globally. And the book had been worth every penny. It had entered the charts all over the world at number-one fiction spot in March and had stayed there for a long time there, way past New Year. It was the must-read for everyone older than fourteen, and everyone had read it. Usually a book’s film rights were snapped up much earlier, but the shrewed agent had anticipated the success and had waited out until a considerable craze had built up over the year. A profitable craze.
“You are bidding for the film rights for a book that was under every Christmas tree last year,” the literary agent said, concluding the completely unnecessary spin of stats and records, as every participant knew the facts inside out.
“Get on with it,” Izzy muttered, the conference phone on mute. Louise and Emile, plus Aaron, the scriptwriter hired by Louise’s production company, were sitting in Izzy’s office, waiting eagerly for the auction to begin.
The auctioneer got on with it. “Here with me I have a notary public to witness the correctness of the proceedings. The minimum bid increments is a hundred thousand dollars; we are starting at five hundred thousand. Before I open it, we will run a quick roll call based on the RSVPs you returned to us.”
Izzy gave some running commentary for Louise and Aaron as the auctioneer’s voice droned through the list. “That’s Tom Cruise’s company. That’s the Chinese. Universal is behind that one . . .”
“Mono Movie?” the auctioneer asked.
“Here!” came the reply in the phone conference.
Izzy nodded. “That’s Madge’s outfit.”
The agent finished the list of about thirty-five participants, alphabetically, so Louise’s company, Waterstone Productions, came almost last.
“Half of them are pure spectators with barely the starting bid in the bank,” Izzy remarked.
After the roll call ended, the auction began. The auctioneer asked whether anyone would meet the initial bid of five hundred thousand dollars. A formality, as everyone on the line expected a fierce sell.
“Solei Productions meets the bid,” came a crackling reply.
“Anyone six hundred thousand?”
“Unicorn meets six hundred,” came another crackling reply.
The bidding went on. As the book had been such a runaway success, it was impossible to tell how much the rights would go for. Usually rights went for about 2 to 3 percent of the overall production budget, but for this one all bets were off. After a minute it had hit $1 million; after another two minutes $2 million. So far, only three participants had met bids; the other ones were either already out of budget or waiting for their moment.
“Now?” Louise asked anxiously, keeping her voice low, even though the phone was on mute.
“We wait until Madge makes her first bid,” Izzy said. “Psychological effect.”
Madge’s Mono Movies lifted its virtual hand after a considerable pause when Solei Productions was the last of the first bidders standing.
“Do I hear 2.5 million? Solei Productions currently meets the bid at 2.4. Anyone for 2.5?” the auctioneer asked.
“Mono meets 2.5 million,” came Madge’s voice.
“She is bidding herself? Now that’s what I call ego!” Izzy smiled. “You want to pit your ego against her?”
Louise nodded. “Okay, open the line.”
“Not too fast, Lou-baby. Let’s see what Solei is doing.”
And Solei productions said immediately, “Solei bids three million.”
There was stunned silence for a moment, then the auctioneer repeated the bid.
“Now, that is a statement to say, ‘Don’t mess with us,’” Izzy said. “But it could be their last bluff.”
Madge countered emotionless. “Mono bids 3.1.”
“Solei, do you meet 3.2?” the auctioneer asked.
There was a longer silence: 3.1 million was a lot of money for the rights to a book that had yet to be made into a movie concept. Most serious bidders had writers and a concept in the background, but a concept is a concept and you never knew what you had on paper before the green-light committee.
“Anyone meet 3.2?
Silence. Izzy had unmuted the phone; he held his finger up to stop Louise from bidding.
“The bidding stands at 3.1 million dollars for Mono Movies. Anyone for 3.2. No one? Give you a moment to consider. 3.2? Mono stands at 3.1, for the first. For the second. And . . .”
Izzy pointed at Louise, who slowly and measuredly slapped Madge’s face: “Waterstone bids 3.5 million.”
Stunned silence again. Then over the speaker Madge, “Louise, that you?”
“Hi, honey, I am always late to parties,” Louise crooned, and Izzy had to laugh.
“Mono bids 3.6,” Madge replied, a strain in her voice.
The bidding went on. At $4 million for Madge, Izzy asked for a quick break for consultations and muted. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can step out without losing face now. The movie will need to make a lot of money to cover this initial cost.”
Louise looked at him. “How much did I make last year?”
Izzy answered from memory. “Ninety-one million and change.”
“Am I allowed a little indulgence once in a while, Father?”
Izzy gave a small smile and ceremoniously unmuted the phone.
Louise said, “Waterstone bids 4.1 million.”
The auctioneer audibly breathed out and repeated. “Waterstone Productions bids 4.1. Anyone for 4.2? Mono?” The line kept silent. “Waterstone’s 4.1 million it is for one. 4.1 for two. And . . . 4.1 for three. Waterstone wins the bid for the movie rights of Five Ways of Solitude. Miss Waters, Mr. Goldfarb congratulations. The courier will bring over the paperwork, to be signed within twenty-four hours. Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes today’s auction. Louise, we all expect premiere tickets for the movie in about two years. Good day.”
Louise, Emile, Aaron, and Izzy gave one another high-fives, then Louise got up. “All right, Aaron, your baby now. Script by September, green light in November, for a first clap in March.”
“Yes, boss,” Aaron said with a grin.
The media were having a field day with Louise’s record bid. Jimmy Fallon started his monologue, “Louise Waters today snapped up the film rights for the very successful book Five Ways of Solitude, beating out Madge Hardy. For an unheard-of four million dollars. Four million. It is rumored that Louise plans to bid for Miami next.”
“That is not funny,” Louise mumbled, watching TV alone in bed at midnight with a celebratory mini-cup of Ben & Jerry’s in her hand. “I hate Miami!”
Fallon continued. “Madge Hardy has saved herself a lot of money today and now plans to make a movie called Six Types of Loneliness”—laughter—“for a script budget of eighteen dollars.”
“That, again, is funny, Mr. Fallon,” came Louise’s commentary.
The Roots went into the first bars of Pink Floyd’s Money, and Fallon waved them down. “A spokesperson for Madge told us, ‘You know: six is better than five.’” Big laughter.
“Not necessarily,” Louise said, licking the spoon.
“Whereas Louise Waters countered, ‘Not necessarily; don’t think about your friend, think about the Olympics.’ Give it up for
the Roots, ladies and gentlemen!”
“Jimmy, without Madge and me you would be curating a funny cat video channel on YouTube,” Louise said, switched the TV off, and went to brush her teeth.
Rick
Friday night, Josh invited the whole Flint and Heller crew to dinner at Topper’s, a restaurant near the harbor. Josh mingled with Styler, Morris, and Martin, talked about old times, movies, and crazy movie stars, while Hal and Rick stayed in the background. Josh was bonding with the crew to have them motivated to work on his fantastic boat. After ice cream, everyone started to leave. Josh had left his car in the shipyard, so he and Rick walked the short distance in the warm spring air.
“Louise sends her regards. She had to buy some movie script today.”
“Regards back.” Rick smiled. “Sorry again for the disturbance on the set. But it made for a great war story.”
“No harm done; everyone was in touch with the things that really matter.” Josh smiled back. “Louise was very taken by Dana. She usually has neither time nor patience for anyone below the late teens, but Dana got through to her.”
“She has no kids of her own?”
“First, you need a man for that, and she is single. And then it must fit into your life, right?”
“I guess. But meeting a man and having kids is not rocket science, even for actors. Hasn’t she been married a few times and been in relationships?”
“Yeah, two times married, but that was in her early career days. After that, nothing serious. You don’t need to tell me about kids—I have two from my first marriage,” Josh said. “They’re in college, and their mom lives in Chicago. But I’ve not been a good father, and therein lies the rub. An actor’s career is demanding, and our personalities are pretty self-centered, especially in the league that Louise and I play in.”
“But other people with demanding careers cope as well and raise children.”
“Yeah, but all actors are insecure ego-chickens.” Josh grinned.
eight
Serendipity
Rick
Saturday’s blind date, Cheryl, turned out to be great company indeed. She had shoulder-length honey-blonde hair, brown eyes, and her laugh was as open and refreshing as advertised by Hal. Especially when Rick told funny stories about his days on the East Coast. Her laugh reminded Rick of Louise’s.
Of all things, where did that comparison suddenly come from? Rick found himself thinking.
They met outside, strolled along Santa Monica Pier, exchanged some biographical highlights, and then went to a nice Thai place close to the Third Street Promenade. They wound down the date at nine. “My car is with the valet service over there,” Cheryl said, pointing, and they exchanged a shy farewell kiss on the cheeks. Rick gave her a wave. His car was parked by the pier, so he walked back alone.
The Pacific lay dark in the moonlight, lazy waves caressing the beach, and Rick decided to take a beach walk before taking the car back to Oxnard. A short text exchange with Agnes verified that everything was peachy on the home front. He had to admit to himself, and on Monday to Hal, that the date with Cheryl had been enjoyable, and he also had to admit that he found her sexy and more than once had imagined what she would look like underneath her shirt and jeans. But was he really ready for another relationship?
What exactly do I expect from a new relationship? No Bella replacement, that’s for sure. No mother replacement for the kids, that’s for sure, too.
Though young, Dana probably would have his new partner around for a while, and a tight bond could be developed. But for Charles, Britta, and Agnes, she would always remain Dad’s new one; they might develop a certain respect but in no sense of the word a family-like relationship. That basically left the burden of acceptance with himself. Can I imagine the rest of my life with Cheryl? And the answer to that was easy: Nope, I can’t. And somehow this is scary, right? She is sexy, and we had great laughs and conversations, but there was no spark whatsoever.
So, what should “she” look like? Good looking, of course. And she should be standing on her own two feet, professionally and financially, I am not looking for a homemaker. She should like sailing, kids, and movies. And pizza, the main food of any shipbuilder anywhere. Everything else is negotiable, unknown dream woman.
But there were huge blank spots where Rick had no opinion at all. Would he expect her to live with them or would she keep her own place? If so, how far away? Santa Monica was about seventy minutes away, South Bay already close to two hours.
What about kids of her own? A nice patchwork family? Hey, honey, your kids and my kids are beating up our kids!
Uh-oh, shapely legs and benefits in bed were only going so far. With horror he thought about inner-family conflicts of all sorts. Four kids were already a handful!
He had almost reached the former foundation of the Venice pier and decided to turn back; it was getting late. Rick glanced at the moon and thought about Bella, if she really was up there somewhere or all around him or sitting as a china angel on the top shelf overlooking Dana’s bedroom. Sadness engulfed Rick once more, this familiar feeling of a tight stomach, a tight heart, and a tight everything that pulled so deeply and profoundly at his soul that he always had the feeling of being sucked into oblivion, into nothingness, or into a small spot of light, like an old TV set that has been switched off.
Will that ever stop, Bella? Give me a sign that it will, please!
Louise
Not far away, Louise had spent Saturday evening with sponsors and producers in Venice Beach to celebrate the purchase of the movie rights. Everyone was in a great mood and couldn’t wait to make the movie. They dined in a nice French restaurant with the fantastic benefit that the small portions fitted Louise’s lack of appetite. She excused herself after coffee, the benefits of a diva, and had the limo brought around.
“Bel Air?” Floris asked when they got in.
“Yeah,” Louise looked around. Venice was still at full swing, lots of people milling about, two paparazzi shooting away at Louise as she entered the car. “Are they following us?”
Floris gave their surroundings a 360 while the driver circled around the block. “No, all clear. I think they’re wait for Miley to appear; she was in one of the private back rooms.”
“Can you take a detour to the beach, please? I’d like to take a walk,” Louise said to the driver.
Floris handed her a small bag wordlessly. Deftly, Louise put on a black-haired wig and a pair of prescription-less prop glasses, her regular routine. The car stopped on a side street, a block from the beach that put Venice on the map of tourists, bodybuilders, and artists. Floris gave it another check and raised his thumb. Louise got out and strolled down the street, Floris following her at an agreed distance in case some fans recognized her and got wrong ideas.
The ocean lay quiet and dark, only a single person walking on the seashore in the distance. A metal seeker? Night swimmer? Or another lost soul trying to sort out his or her thoughts? Some men who passed her looked her over; she definitely was overdressed with a black AJ sheath dress and high heels. Without much thought, she took off the shoes and continued barefoot, stopping at one or another artist who gave their evening performances to the already dispersing late-evening crowd. A young man sang a Mumford & Sons song: “And I will wait. I will wait for you.” She had no money on her, so she had to leave him without a tip, but when she looked back she saw that Floris put some money into the open guitar case.
And who is waiting for you, Lou-baby? she thought. I think I need to meet with my shrink again.
Venice Beach slowly became Santa Monica and Louise gave Floris a sign. The limousine appeared a minute later and she glided back home behind black tinted windows.
nine
Never Asked Out
Louise
When you are Louise Waters, you are not asked out on dates. Period. Dates and relationships are preplanned, arranged, executed under public eyes, and leaked by the public relations firm or the social-media team, with the only
intent being to maximize the underlying business. Which was selling movies and your image. And when you were seen together with your lover, it was to bring both of you into the headlines as much as possible, giving curious readers as many news bits as possible to keep the click-rate up and increase exposure in the various media channels.
Which put the ball firmly in Louise’s court. She had liked the shipbuilder’s look. And his easygoing way, not intimidated by her fame. And his diverse group of kids. After Josh had told her that the wife was tragically out of the picture, Louise saw that as a sign. Here was a guy she had instantly felt attracted to, who was available. Check. Check.
Would you like to go out with him? Big check! Why do you hesitate, Lou-baby? It’s your responsibility to ask him out, because nice guys like him don’t even know your number. So pick up the phone and call him! Shoot, she didn’t even know his number, only at the shipyard.
The Flint family phone rang four times until a breathless girl picked up. “Tammy, you won’t believe what Peter told me today!”
“As much as I’d like to know what Peter told you, I am not Tammy. This is Louise Waters. Is your dad around?”
A second of stunned silence. Then a four-letter word under the breath and a very abrupt, “Sec!” That had to be the second girl, Britta, who had been starstruck by Josh during the studio visit.
“This is Rick. Who’s there?” His tenor voice, slightly stressed, maybe on a tight Sunday family schedule?
“This is Louise Waters. Is it a good time?”
“If I hadn’t met you already, I would have said this is a bad Hal joke!”
“Kind of almost is. He was the one who gave me your home number.”
