Syrup (18 page)

A smile twitches at the corner of Gary’s mouth. “We’re making a

movie,” Gary says.

“Holy
shit,”
I say. I look across at 6 and see that she looks as dazed as I feel. “Holy
shit.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Pepsi’s been doing its fucking product placements for years. Now it’s our turn.”

GET YOUR PRODUCT INTO THE HANDS OF THE HERO AND THE PRODUCT BECOMES A HERO, TOO, ASSOCIATED WITH THE ADMIRABLE QUALITIES OF THE CHARACTERS. IT’S NOT COINCIDENCE WHEN THEY SHOOT A PEPSI OFF A SPACESHIP OR USE AN ERICSSON AS A SECRET WEAPON: IT’S TENS OF MILLIONS OF DOLLARS.

“We’re not fucking around with the hero kicking cans here,” Gary says. “I want you to be clear about that. Having our product as some incidental prop isn’t worth shit in sales. Coke will be an integral part of this film.”

“You’re making an ad,” I say suddenly. “An ad that people will pay seven bucks to see.”

“Yeah,” Gary says, smiling broadly. “Yeah, you got it.”

“Now this is going to be a damn good movie.” He pokes the top of the table for emphasis. “This is going to redefine what advertising is all about. We’re buying the best scripts and the best people. Trust me, we’re very concerned about making a good movie, not just a good ad. And our partner is Universal, by the way, and they’re even more concerned about it than we are.”

Gary stops and looks at us. I should probably throw a comment in at this point, but I’m feeling a little stunned. I came in here expecting to talk about giveaways and TV spots, and Gary is talking Hollywood.

“So what do you think?” His gaze swaps from me to 6, then back. “Do you want to be part of this?”

I take a breath. “Gary, it’s amazing. You know any marketer would kill to be in on a project like this.”

Gary smiles.

“But there’s a problem,” I say. “Isn’t there?”

Gary sighs, as if this is an annoying diversion. “Yes, there’s a problem. The problem is Jamieson’s goddamned golden boy.”

“Sneaky Pete?” I ask, hardly daring to hope.

“Yeah,” Gary says. “You got it.”

“I knew it.” I smack the table. “He’s just not a creative, right? I mean, a project like this needs someone who can come up with ideas.”

“Uh, right,” Gary says.

“This is
great.”
I turn to 6 excitedly. “It’s our turn, 6. This is our time.”

She regards me blankly, then turns back to Gary. “Gary, what problems is the project presently experiencing?”

“Well,” Gary says, blowing out his cheeks, “like Scat says, I think it’s a general lack of ideas. I just don’t think he’s got the... creativity to handle it.” He nods emphatically. “Just not creative enough.”

6 takes a moment to digest this. “Are you on schedule?”

“Oh ... technically,” Gary says, waving dismissively.

“Are you on budget?”

“Ah.” Gary frowns at the table. “It’s hard to say.” He looks up at 6 hopefully, but she declines to accept this as an answer. “Yes.”

“I see,” 6 says. “So what you’re saying is that Sneaky Pete’s lack of creativity is causing the project to run on schedule and within budget.”

Gary blinks at 6, but she simply stares back at him. “Uh, well,” Gary says uncertainly, “I suppose the problems haven’t begun to really manifest themselves yet.”

6 waits for this comment to sink quietly into the carpet. Then she says simply, “He’s after your job, isn’t he?”

Gary sighs. “Yes,” he says.

“Jamieson thinks Sneaky Pete is God’s gift to the carbonated beverages industry,” Gary says, “and so does everyone who has Jamieson’s ear. If you look at what he’s really done, there’s nothing. But he’s got the perception.”

“Gary,” I interrupt, “I have to know this. Whose project is it? Do you control it, or does Sneaky Pete?”

Gary sighs. “Well, technically it’s mine. I’m at the top of the tree. But he’s been delegated all the real responsibility; he allocates the funds. Practically speaking, it’s his.” I see 6 nod grimly. “If it succeeds, he’s going to reap the kudos. And probably get VP Marketing in the bargain.”

I am shocked.
“Vice president?
He’s twenty-seven years old!”

Gary looks at me, and I suddenly see that he is furious. “You don’t have to tell me that,” he says slowly, “and I don’t have to tell you how good he is.”

I am humbled. “Sorry, Gary.”

6 leans forward. “Gary, this scenario doesn’t seem to have much room for us.”

He straightens. “Trust me. There’s room.”

“I don’t want this project to succeed,” Gary says. “Frankly speaking, I hope it dies in the ass.”

I struggle to keep a poker face and fail. “You’re going to write off sixty million dollars?”

“No, not at all. I hope
Sneaky Pete’s
project fails. I very much want the
movie
to succeed.”

“You’re proposing,” 6 says slowly, “a second movie.”

Gary nods.

I look at him, then at 6, then back at Gary. “Huh?”

“I want to do what Sneaky Pete’s doing, but do it better, faster and cheaper. Much cheaper. I want to rough cut a few scenes within a month, to demonstrate what we can do. And then I’ll make a case to take back the whole project.”

“And get rid of Sneaky Pete.”

“Yes,” Gary says. “Oh yes.”

“Right...” A thought occurs to me. “Will Jamieson really let you produce two separate movies at once?”

Gary lets out a short bark of laughter.
“Shit,
no.
Jamieson’s
not going to know about this.” He shoots a glance at 6. “I’m sure you understand this.”

“Of course,” 6 says.

I’m starting to feel like the dumb one in the class, but I open my mouth, anyway. “So how are we going to get some of that one hundred forty million?”

Gary clears his throat.

“We won’t,” 6 says. “Will we?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “It’s already been signed off. I’ll have to fund you out of miscellaneous.”

“Ah,” I say. I look at 6, but she doesn’t seem about to ask. “You don’t happen to have another one hundred forty million in miscellaneous, do you?”

“No,” Gary says.

“How much do you have?”

“Well,” Gary says, “you have to understand that I’m not talking about making a whole new movie out of this. I only need you to do a few scenes.”

“Gary,” 6 says relentlessly. “Budget.”

Gary hesitates, and I see 6 wince. “Ten thousand.”

I burst out laughing.

I can’t help myself: I just spray laughter across the table like champagne. Neither Gary nor 6 seems particularly impressed, or particularly jovial for that matter. “So what you’re saying,” I tell Gary, trying to regain sobriety, “is that you want us to take your ten thousand and go head to head with Sneaky Pete and his one hundred forty million.” Another snigger slips out. “Have I got that right?”

“Yes,” Gary says, not embarrassed at all. “That’s right.”

“We’ll do it,” 6 and I say simultaneously.

When Gary leaves to collect the scripts, I jump out of my chair and start pacing. “It’s not much,” I tell 6. “I mean, boy, we’re really up against it. But I think we can do this. Don’t you?”

6 shrugs.

“Oh, come on,” I say. “I know you’re playing it cool, but you’re just as excited about this as I am. You
jumped
at the chance. I mean, a movie! We’re going to make something special, 6, I just know it.”

6 says carefully, “Scat, we’re not going to beat Sneaky Pete.”

I blink. I run her words back through my mind, but can’t get rid of her
not.
“What?”

“Gary’s dreaming. He might as well pack up his desk now.”

I gape. “But—but you just agreed to—”

“If he’s willing to spend ten thousand trying to keep his job, I’ll take his money.” She sniffs and looks out the window. “And we’ll make a good attempt. But it won’t be good enough.”

“6,” I say, “that’s not very positive.”

“Scat, you just don’t get it,” she says, exasperated. “You can’t make a film for ten thousand—even part of a film—and expect to compare it to one with a budget of one hundred forty million. It just can’t be done.”

“But—” I begin, but Gary returns, cradling a mass of scripts.

“Here they are,” he says, dumping them onto the table. One conveniently skids straight into my hands, and, feeling a little serendipitous, I pick it up. Printed on the cover in neat twelve-point Courier is: BACKLASH. “These are just the good ones. We started with about a thousand.”

“Can we take these with us?” 6 asks.

“Sure, I’ll get them delivered today. What’s your address?”

6 is halfway through Synergy’s address when I look up. “You won’t need to do that,” I say steadily. “I’ve found our script.”

6 and Gary look at me.

I hand Gary the script. “Now I’ve only read the first few pages,” I say, “but this is
fantastic.
Look this action! And wow! What a concept!”

Gary frowns at the script, then looks up. “Uh, Scat ... this is the movie Sneaky Pete is making.”

On the bus ride back to Synergy, 6 shakes her head. “The movie Sneaky Pete is making,” she says, and though I can’t really see her face through her hair, it sounds as if 6 is grinning.

6 unlocks the office and I enter, carrying the stack of scripts that have actually beaten us back here. We should have caught a ride with the messenger.

The answering machine light is staring back at us unblinkingly, so I’m guessing that Synergy isn’t exactly overflowing with business. “Where do you want these?”

6 waves her hand vaguely, so I just dump them in the middle of the office floor. They spill across the snappy blue carpet and 6 frowns at them. I smile at her uncertainly and she tosses her hair and starts rifling through her desk, leaving me unsure of what the hell I should do. I’m fairly sure that at some point in the near future 6 is going to say,
Well, time for you to hit the street.

“So,” I say, “we’ve got some job ahead of us, huh?”

6 stares at me, then sighs. “Scat, just get it over with.”

“Huh?”

6 heads toward the percolator. “You’re homeless and desperate. You need a place to stay. You want to stay here.” She punches a red button and the machine purrs happily.

“Well,” I say, “it’s a little depressing to be summed up like that ... but yeah, I do.”

“Well, forget it,” she says, turning back to her coffee.

I open my mouth to protest, then catch myself. All of a sudden, 6’s words sound a lot like:
I’m afraid I have to tell you that Christian Dior will not be signing Cindy.
I stare at her, but she is ignoring me to push percolator buttons. I take a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll take the scripts and go. You obviously don’t believe in this project, anyway.”

6 stops so fast that I could swear there’s sugar hanging in midair. By the time she turns around, I’m scooping runaway scripts off the floor.

“Scat—”

“No, I understand completely,” I say, really laying it on now. “I imposed on you too much last time, and it’s not fair to do that again. I’ll just tell Brennan I’m working alone. After all, he called me, not you.”

I have one hand on the doorknob when 6 says again, “Scat.” Only this time she’s not protesting; she’s commanding. It’s so many octaves lower it’s like a growl. Despite myself, I turn.

There is a small approving smile playing on 6’s lips. “You’re getting better at this.”

I even get a bedroom.

I wake to the sound of 6 in the shower, which is so much like a dream that it takes me long minutes to work out I’m actually awake. Then I start thinking about what I’m doing here.

I’m not completely sure how I feel about 6. And even if I was, I have no idea what I’d do about it. I mean, sure, she’s intriguing, gorgeous and treats me like shit, but despite these attractive qualities I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship based on manipulation.

It’s all too hard for this time of the morning, so I drag myself out of bed and start dressing. Since I have exactly two outfits—the clothes I was wearing when I met 6 at the Saville and the suit I bought yesterday—there’s not a whole lot of decision making required. I toy briefly with the idea of walking out in only underwear, then realize I never want to be that vulnerable around 6.

There’s not much space behind the office: just two tiny bedrooms (although 6’s is bigger than mine), a kitchen from the 1960s, and a bathroom so small you have to stand in the bath to brush your teeth. I head into the kitchen, vaguely hoping 6 has some good toasting bread, and become locked in a struggle with one of the cupboards. I don’t realize that 6 has come up behind me until she speaks.