- J. M. Barrie, The Little Minister
“Do you always show up early to your appointments?” the receptionist asked Lou after she was done talking on the phone. “Some people who have meetings with Mr. Wallace do show up five minutes before the scheduled time, but I rarely notice when they do. Mostly people show up late because of the LA traffic, so they say. I don’t mean anything by it, but arriving here twenty minutes early in Hollywood is - I must say - quite a rarity. I hope I’m not bothering you, Mr. Eyvind. It’s just that I’m curious.”
Sitting in a comfortable black leather couch, with an open paperback copy of the novel An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser, Lou stared at the lady, amused by her interest in his own principles.
He said, “Well, like my father said, ‘It’s better to be early than right on time, because being prompt makes you better at controlling your life.’” Lou paused to think for a moment, then continued. “My father would show up to his job two hours before he started, taking a nap in his car. He did that for almost forty years.”
“Wow, you had a one-of-a-kind role model, Mr. Eyvind,” the receptionist said.
“Honestly, I didn’t heed his advice until I started writing my novel,” Lou admitted. “Before then I spent most of my twenties wasting away my time partying. You know, drinking booze, smoking pot, fornication, and browsing the assortment of illicit drugs available in America.”
The receptionist smiled, giggling gleefully as if a hidden secret were revealed too her.
She said, “Sounds like a great subject for your next book. A kind of memoir.”
“Maybe one day, but not for a while,” Lou said, without any hint of pride.
“Mr. Eyvind, since I have the time—.”
Lou put up a hand to interrupt her, and said, “Please, call me ‘Lou.’”
“Not ‘Ludwig’?” she asked.
“My friends call me ‘Lou.’ It’s what I prefer over ‘Ludwig’ - in private, that is. My literary agent told me it’d be more professional to use my full first name on the book cover. I wanted ‘Lou’ printed on it, but my agent is extremely staunch when it comes to publicity and image. He won.”
“But ‘Ludwig’ is such a unique name,” the receptionist said. “I don’t personally know anyone who has that name.”
“Do you know anyone named ‘Elvis?’’ Lou inquired.
“No.”
“Exactly. My work will never be as influential as those of the kings of music.”
“Don’t be so modest,” the receptionist said. “I beg to differ.”
The lady opened a drawer in her desk, reached inside, then lifted up a hardback copy of the novel For Once by Ludwig Eyvind.
She said, “This is in my top ten list of the best books I’ve ever read. As I was trying to say earlier, since I have the time - being that you’re early, and I haven’t received a call yet - can you please sign my copy?”
This made Lou smile, running his hand through his hair - more embarrassed than elated.
“Of course, ma’am,” he said, standing up from the couch, and taking out a pen from his black jean short’s pocket. “What’s your name?”
“Carolyn Lozano,” she informed, placing the novel on the counter of the reception desk, opening it to the title page. “Lozano is spelled—.”
“I know how to spell it. I’m half-Mexican, you know.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right, of course. And your other half is, um, Russian, right?”
As he signed his name in the book, Lou chuckled at her guess. He said, “Close. My father was born in Norway.”
“I see the reason why you’re tall.”
Lou handed the copy of his first published novel back to Carolyn.
He said, “Well, I do know a Mexican who’s taller than me.”
“Thank you so much, Mr.- Oh, sorry. Thank you, Lou.”
“Anytime, Carolyn.” Lou turned to sit back down on the couch.
“I’ll remind Mr. Wallace that you’re here,” Carolyn said, about to press a button on the phone.
“No need, Ms. Lozano, I’m already here,” a man said, entering from an adjacent hallway.
Lou turned to look upon the man he had come to meet: Terrence Wallace. A thirty-something film producer credited to over twenty movies. He was a spectacled individual, wearing a burgundy long sleeve shirt, stained bluejeans, and had on a pair of sneakers. For a second, Lou found his look to be a bit awkward, but then realized formal attire was no longer a requirement with today’s Hollywood standards. Especially for a person as successful as Terrence Wallace; he could dress in any manner he damn well pleased, being he had been honored with two oscars so far in his career.
He stepped up to Lou, extending his hand.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mr. Eyvind,” Terrence greeted.
“And you as well, Mr. Wallace,” Lou said, shaking Terrence’s hand. “Please, you can call me ‘Lou.’”
“That’s what he likes to be called in private,” Carolyn said.
Terrence looked over at her staring down at Lou’s autograph inside her copy of For Once, running her fingertip on the paper’s surface where the red ink formed his name.
The phone rang at her desk, and she answered it immediately.
“Yes,” Lou said.
Terrence turned his head to look back at Lou before him.
Lou continued, “That’s what my friends call me. ‘Ludwig’ is kind of my stage name, you could say, though it really is my birth name.”
Terrence chuckled, then said, “That’s cool, man. You can call me ‘Terrence’ from now on. Only the people who work for me call me ‘Mr. Wallace.’”
“Mr. Wallace is in a meeting at the moment, Mr. Reynolds,” Carolyn said into the phone’s headset. “I can have him call you back, or you can leave him a message.”
“Welcome to Vela Films, Lou,” Terrence said. “Please follow me to my office.”
Lou followed Terrence down the hallway the producer had just entered from.
As they made their way, Lou heard sounds of the buzzing activity of a big Hollywood Film company office: phones ringing, people talking fast as if they were either hyped up on too much caffeine or just did a few lines of cocaine, printers printing almost nonstop, copy machines copying nonstop. They entered a big open room with cubicles in the middle, offices on the sides, and a conference room with a glass wall enclosing it. There were four people inside it having a meeting. Young people, who barely looked twenty years old, were running all about the room - from office to office, from cubicle to office - delivering lunch, or paperwork. One young lady coming towards Lou and Terrence came to a complete stop when she came upon their immediate vicinity, backing into a wall as they passed by her.
“Good job, intern,” Terrence said.
Lou glimpsed at her and saw that she stood still, one hand flat against the wall she had backed into, and holding a stack of paperwork tightly against her chest with one arm. He noticed she looked away from his direction as they went along - avoiding their faces, he guessed. He had once seen that kind of thing in a comedy movie, but the joke was obviously based on a fact.
Terrence said, “The kids do a wonderful job here. They got a real future in the film business.”
They arrived at the end of the big room to the main office - Terrence’s office. It was the first time Lou had been in such a place so much resembling a beehive; he already was starting to get a headache.
“That’s Sheila, my assistant,” Terrence said, pointing to a lady sitting at the biggest desk in the whole room.
She gave Lou a wave, saying, “Hello, Mr. Eyvind.”
“You can call me ‘Lou,’ ma’am,” Lou said.
The fortyish, brunette lady gave Lou a happy grin at being referred to in such a gentlemanly manner.
“Would you like anything, Lou?” Terrence asked, opening the door to his office. “A drink? A donut? Maybe a sandwich? The intern’s here get you anything quicker than a snap of your fingers.”
“That depends on which intern,” Sheila informed.
“Sheila, give Kevin a break, he’s still so young. He skipped college to work for me.”
“That’s the problem, Terrence. If the boy had gone, he’d be more organized.”
“Sheila is still old-fashioned,” Terrence said to Lou. “Anyways, you want anything?”
“No, I’m good,” Lou said, “thank you.”
“Alrighty then, come on in.” Terrence entered his office, holding the door open as Lou followed him through the threshold. “Have a seat.” He then closed the door.
Lou took a seat in a cushioned black leather chair in front of Terrence’s desk.
“We won’t be interrupted, I assure you,” Terrence said as he walked around his desk, and sat in his chair.
Lou looked behind the man through the floor-to-ceiling window at the view.
“It looks nice out there from here, Terrence,” Lou commented.
“Even with all that smog, it looks beautiful,” Terrence said. “Are you enjoying LA so far?”
“Yes, I am,” Lou replied. “I mean, I’ve been here before when I was on the promotional tour for my book, but not long enough to have a look around and visit the sights.”
“You know, to be honest,” Terrence began to say, “after living here for nearly twenty years, I don’t know of the ‘sights’ in Los Angeles other than the Hollywood sign, Disneyland, Universal Studios, and the sunset strip.”
“Don’t forget the Hollywood Walk of Fame,” Lou reminded Terrence.
“Oh, yeah. Who could forget a bunch of names on a sidewalk?” Terrence seemed unimpressed by the idea. He asked, “So you got any plans after we’re done with our meeting here?”
“Yep,” Lou replied. “I’m hanging out with an old high school buddy of mine who lives out here. He’s an actor. He also a part-time personal trainer at Gold Bodies Gym.”
“What’s his name?” Terrence asked. “Has he been in anything I’ve seen?”
“His name’s Hanz Ramado. And I don’t know if he’s had any speaking parts in a film or television show yet. Just has been an extra, or maybe a stand-in.”
“Really? His name’s ‘Hanz Ramado?’” Terrence tilted his head forward, raising his brow, not believing a person could really be born with that name.
“Well, that’s his stage name,” Lou informed. “His real name is ‘Henry Johnson.’”
“What’s wrong with that name? Sounds like a strong male, father-figure type of name for an actor.”
“His nickname in school was ‘Hairy Johnson.’”
“Oh, shit,” Terrence said, “now that I know that fact then ‘Hanz Ramado’ actually sounds cool. But I must say, with a name like ‘Hairy Johnson,’ he could’ve been a really big porn star.”
“Then I guess you could say he’s got something to fall back on,” Lou said. “Anyways, after he had had enough with that nickname, he began working out the last two years in high school, and got so big and muscly, no one fucked with him again. I can’t wait to see him. It’s been like seven years since last I saw the dude.”
“So you two going to party at a club, or something?”
“I told him to surprise me.”
“Cool, cool. So shall we get down to business, Lou?”
“Yes.”
“So your literary agent told me over the phone that you wanted to negotiate with me personally about Vela Films optioning your novel.”
“That’s correct,” Lou said with a slight nod.
“This is actually the first time I’ve had a meeting with an author regarding the cost of optioning their work for a film adaptation,” Terrence admitted. “And I have to say, Lou, it makes me a little nervous.”
“Why would it make you nervous?”
“You have to understand that at this point in the production process when it comes to adapting another artist’s work - which he or she may have spent years working on - is really a delicate period that can make or break the making of the film. I mean, almost every producer in the movie industry has had their production scrapped based on the moment between you and I right now. I’ve dealt only with agents when an option was taken from me, and then given to some other company. Never have I dealt with the actual author. I don’t think any producer does. But here you are, sitting right in front of me, in my office. It’s a bit intimidating.”
“Bullshit, man,” Lou said, tilting his head back, chuckling in disbelief. “You’re Terrence Wallace, man. There’s not one film buff I know who doesn’t know your name. You got what? Like four oscars-.”
“Two,” Terrence corrected, holding up two fingers.
“Okay, two golden boys,” Lou continued, “And what is the total box office of all your films?”
“I don’t like to get into the financials-.”
“Almost 7 billion,” Lou stated. “I Googled it. And you’re telling me that you’re intimidated by an author who’s first novel only made it to number four on the New York Times bestsellers list.”
“Yes,” Terrence confessed. “It’s just that I really want to adapt your novel.”
“I want you to do it, Terrence. And I’m not here to get in the way. I’m here to guarantee this production goes forward more smoothly. I just want you to know that I’m here with lube and no condemn, because I want you and I to make a fucking baby.”
“How do you propose we lube up the commencement of the film’s production?” Terrence asked, amused by Lou comparing filmmaking to fornication.
“I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” Lou said in his best Marlon Brando impression. “Wait, let change the wording. I’m going to make you an offer that’ll make you want to blow me right here in your office.”
“I would do that,” Terrence said as a matter of fact. “I’m bisexual, you know.”
“I’m speaking metaphorically, Terrence. Don’t get excited.”
“It’s Hollywood, man.”
“I understand that, but enough with the sexual metaphors, let’s move on. Let me ask you this: with a novel as successful as mine, what would be the usual cost you’d offer to option it? Please, do be honest.”
From the perception of Terrence, this situation was not only informal, it was basically abnormal; never before had he had a face-to-face, private meeting with a novelist regarding negotiations over the optioning of their work. Most author’s he knew were reclusive types, never bothering to even consider coming to Hollywood, only leaving their agents to do all the leg work, or making the phone calls.
“Well, usually I’d be talking prices with agents,” he told Lou, “but since you’re here to do that instead yourself, I’ll write down my offer on a piece of paper, and slide it over to you face down. Old School.”
“We’re not in a restaurant, man,” Lou said, “you can just say it.”
“No, Lou, let’s have fun with this.” Terrence looked around at the top of his desk for a post-it, or a sheet of computer paper. There wasn’t any. He said, “Hold on a second, I’ll just find myself some paper.” He opened all his desk drawers, finding nothing to use. “Give me a piece of paper, Lou? I seem to be a conservationist. Paper is murder.”
“I don’t have any paper,” Lou admitted.
“Don’t all writers carry a pen and notepad?”
“The thing about me, Terrence, is that I don’t like to write in public. So, no, I’m unable to supply you. How about you text me the offer?”
“Okay, good way not to waste paper,” Terrence said. “God bless twenty-first century technology. I have your cell number, anyways.”
“You do?” Lou said, surprised.
“Yeah.” Terrence reached into his jean’s front pocket to retrieve his cellphone. “Got it from your literary agent. I get everyone’s contact information I do business with.”
Lou took out his cellphone, saying, “Wish Ray told me that.”
“You ready?” Terrence asked, about to start typing the text on his cellphone.
Lou nodded.
Terrence keyed in the amount, then pressed SEND.
Lou’s phone gave out the ding sound to indicate he had just received a text message.
“So, do you like what you see?” Terrence queried, placing his phone on the desk, then put a hand to his chin, leaned an elbow on his desk, waiting for a reaction patiently.
After staring at the dollar figure amount in the text message, Lou looked up at Terrence with a confident smirk on his face, then lowered his gaze back upon the screen of his cellphone, and began typing in a reply.
What was going through Terrence’s mind were thoughts about how this hot, newly successful young author was going to commence negotiating - via text messaging - on a higher rate for an option, then a three figure deal in selling the film rights, and more points on royalties from the box office return than Terrence expected. This fucking kid was about to take Vela Films for a few million so he could buy some “pussy-magnet” cars, a big fucking house on a big fucking plot of land, and maybe enough money to hire a ghost writer to get another big seller under his fucking name.
Fucking shit-stain hack, Terrence thought.
His spiteful thoughts were interrupted when his phone’s little speaker gave out the sound of a bubble popping to indicate he had just received a text message. He looked down at his phone’s screen to see this: All for 1 dollar. Under 3 conditions that must be met.
At first Terrence began nodding with a grin on his face, somewhat entertained at what he was looking at. Obviously he thought Lou was joking, but when he looked up at the novelist, he saw him staring back at him with his eyebrows raised, slowly nodding his head.
“No, Terrence, I’m not joking,” Lou said, holding up one hand with the index finger stiffly extended upward. “Just one dollar, under three conditions.”
“Bull-fucking-shit,” Terrence blurted.
“No, man,” Lou said, slowly shaking his head assuringly. “This is no fucking lie. I want you to know that I want the film adaptation of my novel to happen, and to help boost the guarantee it will come to fruition, I’m aiding you and your production budget to save a junk of dough.”
There was a moment of silence as Terrence’s facial expression was that of unbelieving shock; his eyes wide open, gazing at Lou, jaw dropped - almost touching his chest due to his head tilting forward as if he were incapable of holding it up at that moment - and his tongue slightly sticking out of his mouth, laying over the bottom lip.
When he finally came out of the momentary paralysis, Terrence said, “Like no other author currently living on this planet would do such a thing.”
“I know of one,” Lou said.
“Yeah, so do I. Stephen-fucking-King. And you know why he sells the movie rights to his top-of-the-charts bestsellers?” Terrence didn’t allow Lou the time to answer. “Because he’s got over two hundred million - and counting - just from his book sales alone. The man doesn’t need Hollywood money.”
“Well, he does have control on how the movies are made,” Lou informed. “I do not plan on doing such a thing.”
“But you said here there are three conditions,” Terrence reminded, gesturing at his cellphone. “Stephen King has the same number of conditions.”
“Like what?” Lou inquired.
“Um, script approval, Director approval, and if he so desires, whether the adaptation ends up being just a film, or a series on fucking television. That goddamn genius Kubrick fucked it all up for the rest of Hollywood when he pissed off the King.”
“That’s fucked up,” Lou said. “Look, Terrence, I have as much respect for the art of cinema as I do for any other art medium. Music, comics, paintings, you name it. All are within there own domain of artistic integrity.”
What Lou said didn’t seem to give Terrence a revival of confidence. The film producer put both hands over his face, and propped both elbows on his desk.
“So what are these three conditions?” he asked from behind his hands.
Lou leaned forward in the chair, and said, “Terrence, look at me.”
“Just say what you want,” Terrence responded.
“Seriously, Terrence, look at me.” When Terrence didn’t say a word, Lou restated, slowly and clearly, “Look..at…me.”
Terrence lowered his away from over his face, giving out a stressful sigh, looking directly at Lou with half-open eyes.
“I have no desire for a smidgen of creative control over the making of the film. The conditions do not impede the filmmaker’s vision, like at all.” Lou gave Terrence an affirming grin.
“Condition one,” Lou began, “I want to be present as the screenplay is being written. I’ll be with him, or her with every line written, every draft completed, as a consultant. If the screenwriter has a question, I’ll be there to answer it. This condition does not include final script approval. I’ll leave that up to you. End of condition one. Second condition: I want to be on set everyday of principal photography. As with condition one, I’m there simply as a consultant. If the director, an actor, or anyone else has a question for me, I’ll be happy to answer it. If anyone feels my presence to be any kind hindrance, too fucking bad. I’ll decide whether to leave, or stay during a scene. How do you feel about the first two conditions, Terrence?”
The producer leaned back in his chair, the tips of his thumb and fingers touching each other in front of his face.
“Not bad at all, Lou,” Terrence said, almost relieved. “I assure you, those conditions will happen. Now, third times a charm. What’s the third condition? Let me guess, a part in the movie for a Mr. Hanz Ramado.”
Lou burst out laughing. He waved a hand at the notion.
“No,” Lou said when he got ahold of himself. “He’ll have to audition like every other struggling, up-and-coming actor.”
“Nonetheless, I’ll keep him in mind when casting begins,” Terrence said.
“If you wish, man. Honestly, I think my friend Hanz is better suited to play one of the muggers. Don’t tell him I said that. Anyways, condition number three: I want someone I know in the film business hired for a position on the film crew.”
“What position would that be?” Terrence inquired.
“The eyes of the editor during principal photography,” Lou said.
“The cinematographer?”
“No, the script supervisor,” Lou corrected.
“Wow, talk about a random request. That position isn’t even in the opening credits. Has the person worked on a feature film before?”
“Yes, but only independent films with shoe-string budgets so far, and a few short films. Some commercials too. I must admit, Terrence, this is the most important condition.”
“It’s no problem, Lou. You’ve already helped me so much with lowering the film’s budget, it would be my pleasure to appease you. What’s the dude’s name you want hired as script supervisor?”
“Her,” Lou corrected. “Her name is Julie. Julie Mannett. You can look her up on your phone. She’s got a website with her resume, and video footage of projects she’s worked on. Also she’s got a file on IMDb.”
“I’ll google her right now,” Terrence said, picking up the cellphone off the desk.
“Her website’s juliemannett-dot-net,” Lou informed, “not dot-com. You can find a link to the IMDb profile.”
“You know, Lou, this isn’t the first time I’ve looked up a resume before hiring someone to work for me,” Terrence said as he typed up Julie’s name on his phone.
“Sorry, Terrence. Just trying to be helpful.”
Lou sat back in the chair, waiting as Terrence browsed through the Google Search results on the cellphone’s touchscreen. In a bout of foreboding anticipation, the author watched the film producer’s finger stroke the touchscreen’s surface, thinking for a moment that maybe he was making a mistake offering this sort of deal. It wasn’t about the money he was losing out on, it was the fact that this third condition could cause a kind of controversy, possibly ruining his reputation, and Julie’s as well.
When he felt he had to say something to Terrence before anything went further, these words came to his mind: A leap of faith is all it takes for personal growth, and not only in the spiritual sense, but the most important one of them all, emotional.
The words from Lou’s deceased cousin calmed him down, extinguishing his stressful thoughts at that moment. Louisa had always come to his mind with her words of wisdom at the most appropriate moments.
“Here she is,” Terrence said, tapping his cellphone’s touchscreen.
A tingling sensation went from the base of Lou’s spine to the back of his head. A feeling of nervous excitement he had not felt for nearly a decade, not since the moment he first looked upon the beautiful girl who would eventually take his virginity. There was no going back, the deal was done; he knew it.
“Julie’s website has got a good set up,” Terrence commented, eyes still on the cellphone. “Now I’ll have a look at her resume. That’s nice, she went to NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. A lot of their alumni have gone on to do excellent work.”
“Like Scorsese,” Lou put in.
Terrence looked up at Lou. He said, “Yeah, I know.”
“Sorry,” Lou said.
Terrence looked back down at his cellphone, his thumb recommencing to stroke the touchscreen.
“How do you know her?” he inquired.
“We went to the same high school,” Lou said.
“Victory High School in Concord, Massachusetts, correct?” Terrence said. “It’s listed on her resume.”
“Yes,” Lou replied. He then raised his hands a little, both forming the rock n’ roll horns, saying, “Go Lionhearts.”
“I see here a list of a few short films,” Terrence began to say, “two music videos, three independent feature films I’ve never heard of, and - now this is cool - two iPhone commercials. That’s an impressive resume.”
“The feature films don’t impress you as much as a cellphone commercial?” Lou asked, a bit bewildered.
Terrence looked up at him, and said, “Hey, I’ve never seen these little films, but I’ve seen these commercials.” He looked back at his cellphone. “I’m gonna send her an email right now with the offer for the position.”
“Don’t inform her I recommended her, please,” Lou said.
“Why?” Terrence asked as he began typing the email with his thumbs.
“Because it just seems inappropriate.”
“I’ll let you in on something, Lou. In this town, in this business, to get one’s foot in the door with the bigwigs, someone you know has to open the door, especially to those with a profession such as script supervisor. Otherwise it takes a lot more than just a few independent films made with shoestring budgets. If she accepts, which is most likely, you are the one who just boosted her career. But, as you wish, I will not tell her who opened the door.”
“Thank you, Terrence.”
“The email has been sent. Now on to our business. I’ll have Sheila come in here to write up the contract for you to sign over the film rights. I actually have a dollar in my wallet. She’ll have to write up a receipt as well.”
Terrence pressed a button on his desk phone.
He said, “Sheila, I need you to come in here to type up the film rights contract.” He then released the button.
Sheila’s voice came from the phone’s speaker.
She said, “I already typed it up, and made a copy. All Mr. Eyvind has to do is sign it.”
Terrence pressed the button again, and said, “It has to be amended. Actually the whole thing has to be redrafted. All the wording has to be changed.”
“Motherfucker!,” she blurted. “You know, I got shit to do.”
“It can wait. I’ll let you go home early, okay. Please come right on in.”
“Fine.”
Terrence looked at Lou with a bright, gleeful smile. He said, “She’s the best. I can’t live without her.”
The door opened. Sheila entered looking grumpy.
She said, “Alright, what’s got to be changed?”
Terrence got up off his chair, stepping from behind his desk.
“Please, have a seat at my desk, Sheila. Something wonderful has happened.”
Sitting at Terrence’s desk, Sheila said, “Yeah, I get to go home early and fuck my husband before he gets too drunk to get his fat ass off the lazy-boy.”
“Lou here is signing over the film rights to his novel for only one dollar,” Terrence said.
Sheila shot a shocked expression at Lou, eyes wide, brow raised.
“A dollar,” she said. “Who do you think you are, Stephen-fucking-King?”
“And do you know why he’s doing it?” Terrence said.
Both the producer and his assistant stared at the uncomfortable author, who felt like he was shrinking into the chair. He desperately needed a double shot of Wild Turkey.
“Why?” Sheila asked.
“To win back the heart of his ex-girlfriend from all the way back in high school,” Terrence said, crossing his arms over his chest.
His cellphone emitted the sound of a bubble popping. He looked down at the screen in his hand.
“She’s already replied to my email,” he said. “Hopefully she accepted the script supervisor position for the movie.”
Sheila erupted with an astonishing gasp, then said, “That’s so romantic. Usually a guy like Mr. Eyvind would want to hook up with an actress, but to win back an ex-girlfriend who happens to work in film is so…lovely. I wish I met my husband like that, all he did was get me pregnant.”
Lou couldn’t take this embarrassment by misunderstanding anymore.
“First off, you two,” he began to say, “call me Lou, not Mr. Eyvind, please. Second, she’s no ex-girlfriend of mine. Julie is simply an old high school acquaintance I just so happen to know who works in film, and I’m just helping her out by getting her a job on a bigger production to boost her opportunities.”
“So she’s an old friend who you had a crush on, and she kept it in the friend-zone,” Terrence assumed. “And you were too shy to say anything at the time. Now that you’re successful, you want to be reacquainted to see if there can be any romantic fire started.”
“That’s even more romantic,” Sheila said. “I’m even getting butterflies in my stomach, Lou.”
“That’s not even true,” Lou said.
“Then what’s the truth, Lou?” Terrence asked. “This is a dollar we’re talking about. No one in this industry does such a thing unless they’re on the Fortune five hundred list.”
Lou took a moment to breathe, putting his head back, staring at the ceiling, then looked back at the two looking back at him with curious eyes.
“Okay, fine,” Lou said. “This never leaves this room, promise me.”
“Cross our hearts,” Terrence and Sheila said in unison.
“The second guess was close, but not entirely factual,” Lou said. “Julie and I were in the same circle of friends. I did have a crush on her. To tell you the truth I don’t think her and I ever had a private conversation. That’s all I’ll say about it, okay. End of subject, lets move on.”
“She accepted the job,” Terrence said, reading the email on his cellphone.
“Really?” Lou blurted, with a hint of excitement, almost stiffening in his chair, but then immediately regained his composure. “I mean, really? That’s cool. I’m happy to have helped her, and the budget for your movie. I just want to add, Terrence, it’s just a coincidence she’s working on the adaptation of my novel.”
“Then why are you blushing?” Sheila asked.
“You know,” Terrence said, “if this got out to the press, it would be the best kind of publicity for the movie. Free publicity. I can see it now: ‘For Once, a film about a man’s odyssey through America to find his true love. Adapted from a novel written by a man in his own quest to attain the heart of a love that could’ve been - would’ve been if he had just said the words - by the making of this movie.’”
“Uh, no,” Lou said.
“Julie gave me her number,” Terrence informed. “Want to talk to her?”
“No.”
“She stated in the email that she loved the book, and that she knew you in high school.”
“OH-EM-GEE! She remembers thee,” Sheila shrieked. “It’s like Shakespearian.”
Lou looked at both of them blankly, feeling a little irritated.
“Let’s just get this over with, you two,” he said, deadpan. “I can’t wait to be apart of the production.”
“Sheila, commence writing up the new contract,” Terrence said.
“Yes, sir,” she said, turning to Terrence’s computer, starting up a new file on it. “I’m so excited.”
“Thank God for true love,” Terrence said, “it’s saved me a shitload of money.”
He then took out his wallet, extricated a one dollar bill, and handed it to Lou.
